1 Straight to Hell (18 page)

“I’m beginning to think you are a holy man,” I said.  “Or at least the reincarnation of one.”

He smiled uncomfortably.  “No, but I believe that whatever rules the world is ultimately good, and I try to follow that example.”

I couldn’t resist gently teasing him.  “It’s like those bracelets, ‘What would Jesus do?’”

“Him, sure.  Or Gandhi or Deepak Chopra or Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu or even you.”

I laughed, startled.  “Me?  Are you kidding?”  If only he knew about the demon lodged in my soul.

“You took in Ari when she had nowhere else to go.  And you let Jasmine stay here, too.”

I shook my head and blew on my coffee.  “I’m no saint, Tommy.”

“Neither am I.”  He gave me a soulful look and toyed with one of the metal spacers in his earlobe.  For all his ferocious tattoos and savage piercings, Tommy was a surprisingly anxious young man.  I often wondered if his outrageous body art was more of an armor worn to protect himself from the world.  “I’ve done some terrible things.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He stared at his coffee mug with such concentration that I almost expected it to go up in flames.  “I argued with my sister,” he finally said.  “The day before she died.”

When he’d made all of the cookies for Carrie’s wake, he’d told me that his sister had died less than a year before.  And even though he talked about her frequently, I still didn’t know what had happened.

“Stacy had trouble with depression and had been in a downward spiral for a long time.  She was also drinking pretty heavy.”  Tommy’s eyes were distant, as if he was watching a heartbreaking scene I couldn’t see.  “One night, I went over to her house to convince her to get some help.  We got to arguing, and things went from bad to worse.  She called me names and started screaming that I wasn’t a very good brother.”

I took Tommy’s hand and squeezed it.

“I got really angry at her,” he continued.  “I couldn’t stand to see what she was doing to herself.  Finally, I told her to go to hell.”  His voice broke.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I went over to apologize the next morning, but I found that she’d passed out on her back, and thrown up during the night.  She choked on…”  He couldn’t continue.

“Oh Tommy, I’m so sorry.”  I reached across the table to hug him.  I couldn’t bear to see him so upset.  “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

He nodded, but the pain etched in his features didn’t go away.  “I try to tell myself that.  But so far, I can’t believe it.”

“You must miss her terribly.”

“I do.”  He took his wallet from his back pocket.  “I don’t think I ever showed you this.”  He handed me a well-worn photo.  It looked like a high school portrait.

I studied the young girl.  She was dressed differently in the picture, wearing a plaid blouse and a silver necklace, but her severe haircut, and serious expression gave her away.  This was my cellmate from the weird prison that I’d gone to after being hit by the Volvo.  And, unless things had changed since my last visit, Stacy was still in hell.

I didn’t tell him, of course.  Not because I didn’t think he’d believe me, I was almost sure he would, but because I couldn’t bear to deliver the news.  He was already in too much pain as it was.

A few nights later, Mr. Clerk appeared at my elbow.  I’d been stirring marinara sauce, and his entrance surprised me so much that my hand flew up, sending fat drops of red liquid over my arm and his white, suit coat.

He eyed his coat with dismay.  “Ruined, of course.”

“It isn’t ruined,” I said, and took some soda water from the fridge to rinse the stains.  “Besides, I wouldn’t have done it if you’d knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“I’m not a person,” he replied.

This had become something of a joke between us.  Now that Mr. Clerk realized I wasn’t competing for William Darcy’s affections, the two of us got along pretty well.  Although, if he had any idea how much time I spent fantasizing about William, he’d probably hate me all over again.  Most of my fantasies started with a scene in which I cursed William for the things he had said to me in Miss Spry’s office, and then ended up with his heartbroken apology and our reconciliation in my bed.  And on the couch.  And in the shower…

Mr. Clerk removed his coat and handed it to me, so that I could anoint it with the soda.  “Besides,” he said, “if you’d learn to pay attention, you could hear me coming.”

“I thought I
was
paying attention.”  He’d been giving me advice on how to deal with the otherworld, like showing me some of the back passages he used to travel from one place to another so that I no longer had to rely on Miss Spry to send me herself.  But there was still so much I didn’t know.  “Isn’t there a handbook or something with instructions in it?  A web page maybe?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  He used the spoon I’d been stirring with to taste the marinara.  His eyebrows shot up.  “That’s very good.”

“It’s much better when I use fresh tomatoes from my garden,” I said, “but thank you.”  I handed him back his coat which was now fully white again.

Once more, Mr. Clerk looked impressed.  “You have some talent after all.”

“I’m not a complete failure,” I told him.  I glanced at the clock over the stove.  “You’re a little late for Real Housewives.”  We’d become so chummy that he often visited me in the afternoon when the girls were at school.  I think he was lonely.  We’d drink tea and gossip about the people on the reality shows we watched.  Mr. Clerk claimed that Miss Spry had been acquainted with most of those families for years.

“You have another assignment for tonight.  Ten o’clock sharp.  And you’re to dress up,” he said.  “Wear something from our little shopping expedition.”

Although I dreaded the idea of doing Miss Spry’s dirty work, a part of me perked up at this.  Going out at ten in the evening all dressed up implied that something exciting was about to happen.  Most importantly, something without kids.  I hadn’t done anything remotely this adult since I’d hosted a cocktail and hors d’oeuvres party for the grand opening of Ted’s new office.

Mr. Clerk continued.  “Your job is to sit next to the old man in the rumpled suit and engage him in conversation.  But when he asks you to come to his room, you must throw a drink in his face and insult him.”

 I couldn’t help but laugh.  “So I’m a succubus,” I whispered the word so the girls wouldn’t hear, “but you want me to
not
seduce someone.”

Mr. Clerk’s bland expression didn’t change.  “That’s correct.”

 “Who are you?”  Ariel had come into the doorway and was watching with narrowed eyes.

Mr. Clerk immediately drew away and smiled tightly in that I-hate-children-but-don’t-want-anyone-to-know-it kind of way that older, unmarried men seem to have patented.  He held out his hand for her to shake.  “I’m Mr. Clerk.  A friend of your mother’s.” 

“Aunt’s,” Ari corrected flatly.

I found it interesting that Ari could see Mr. Clerk.  I’d wondered if these new friends of mine were invisible to the living, but apparently not.  In fact, from the way Ari took in Mr. Clerk’s white suit, his gray hair, and plastic smile, they were not very interesting, either. 

Ignoring Mr. Clerk’s outstretched hand, Ari sniffed at the pan on the stove.  “What is that crap?”

Patience, I coached myself.  Patience.  “Spaghetti sauce.”

“It doesn’t
smell
like spaghetti sauce.  And where’s the jar?  My mom always makes the stuff from a jar.”

Your mom used to feed you donuts she found at the bottom of a Dumpster, I thought.  “It’s like the stuff from a jar.  Only much better.”

“Well, I’m not eating it,” Ari said and stalked out of the kitchen.

Mr. Clerk wiped his hand on his pants even though she’d never touched him.  “Charming.”

“Isn’t she just,” I muttered.  Yes, a night away from home was exactly what I needed.

Although I’d normally be in my pajamas by nine o’clock, that night, I was showering, attempting to fix my hair and putting on my makeup.  As I peered into the bathroom mirror, I wished for my vanity which used to dominate my dressing room at my old house.  Yes that’s right, I had my very own dressing room, and Ted had his.  I told you my house was nicer than yours.

I hadn’t touched any of the bags from my shopping spree a few weeks before, and opening them was a thrill.  I’d forgotten how many wonderful things I’d bought.  Er, stolen.  It took me a while to decide, but I finally selected a gypsy-print silk dress that fell mid-thigh, and tall boots with stiletto heels.  After dressing, I looked myself over in the mirror, wishing I’d known about this assignment earlier so that I could have had my roots retouched.  Hopefully the man in the rumpled suit would be too short to see the top of my head.

Ariel appeared in the bathroom doorway as I was putting the finishing touches on my face.  “Where are you going?”

“Out,” I said.  “Just for a while.”  I squeezed past her and went into my room, wondering what to wear over the dress.  Outside, it was hovering above ten degrees, and I wasn’t about to step outside without a coat or jacket or something.

“Out where?”  As if afraid of the light in the room, Ariel hung in the shadowed hallway.

“Out with a friend.”

“You have friends?”

“Ha, ha,” I told her.  I picked a black sweater from one of the bags and modeled it in front of the mirror.

“I just mean that you never go out.  Especially not on a school night.”  She edged her way into the room and sat on the bed.  “When are you coming back?”

“Soon.  But Jas and Tommy are here, so don’t worry.”  Of course, my niece would have to pick tonight of all nights to be this chatty.  Ten o’clock was rapidly approaching, and I had to get going.  Mr. Clerk had told me where the find the right passages, but if I disappeared in front of Ari, I’d be facing questions I couldn’t answer when I returned.  So, though I hated to do it, I chased her away by going on the offensive.  “What’s up?”

She fiddled with the strap to my purse and shrugged.  “Nothing.”

“You’re acting like you want to talk, so spill it.”

She flung purse strap aside and glared at me from under her black-lidded eyes.  “There’s nothing, okay?”

“Does it have to do with that voodoo doll I found?”  That creepy little bit of cloth still haunted me.  “Or the fight club?”

She flinched.  I’d hit the target.  But as much as I wanted to find out her story, I had to leave.  So I went in for the final assault.  “You know, Ari, if there’s anything you want to talk about, anything at all, you can.  Is it a boy?  Your period?”

“God!  There’s nothing, okay?”  She stormed past me looking furious, then stomped down the hall.

The sound of her door slamming was like a bullet in the back of my neck.  I hated myself for sending her away, but didn’t know how I could have avoided it.

At ten-o’clock sharp, I quickly entered the passage that opened up on the far side of my bedroom, the walls to the apartment dissolving into a smoky gray blur.  A moment later, I found the door I needed and passed through it.

“Lose the sweater.”

Blinking, I saw Mr. Darcy standing in front of me.  He was looking casual but elegant in a brown leather jacket and jeans.  Behind him was a set of glass doors that opened onto a posh restaurant overlooking a dark cityscape of twinkling lights.  We were high up, thirty stories at least.

“Unless the next two words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry’, then don’t talk to me,” I said.  But at the same time, I shrugged off the cardigan.  “Besides, back home, it was freezing.”