Broken Serenade (7 page)

   
The magnificent news that Timothy Leigh was still not married improved the exaggeratedly sweet taste of Laura’s homemade pumpkin pie considerably, up to the point of making it edible. Architectural Digest had presented him as the most talented architect in the Bay Area. He had established his own business in Menlo Park. Laura was remarkably well informed. She even knew the names, ages, and favorite colors of each and every one of Tee’s former girlfriends. Unfortunately, seen through the old woman’s eyes, the man of Vivien’s dreams seemed distant, incapable of love or of getting truly close to a woman. An introvert totally dedicated to his work.  

   
“If, by any chance, you happen to receive a mere greeting from him, you can consider yourself a lucky person that day. He’s as cold as a frozen chicken. I don’t see him getting married any time soon. If ever! And then, who would put up with him? One of his girlfriends dished up on him that he was a controlling freak.” Laura leaned close to Vivien’s ear. “In bed, I mean,” she added pianissimo. “He never has sex without a condom. He’d rather double it than take the risk and father a child. He told the poor girl exactly that! Imagine that you’re all worked up and ready to be loved, and he drops that bomb on you!”   

   
Vivien shifted in her seat.
Now that is way too much information! I didn’t need to know all that!
Bedroom fights of other people didn’t really concern her. She was quite fed up with her own.

    “You wouldn’t want to go out with a man like that, girl!” Laura said meaningfully.

   
“Anyway, I’m not interested in him anymore,” Vivien declared in a timid voice, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin. “I got over that childish infatuation with him long ago,” she continued, examining the small piece of pumpkin pie from her plate as if she intended to count its every molecule of cinnamon generously sprinkled on top.

     Laura treated her with a suspicious look
over her cheap glasses. The young woman’s words, told without vitality, unconvincingly, urged her to believe the contrary rather.

     “Over some things time passes by vainly, with no influence whatsoever,” the older woman mumbled to
herself, suddenly experiencing a strange premonition. “At least it’s of good omen,” she said superstitiously, feeling her right eye involuntarily trembling.
Right eye augurs well, left eye is ill omen
, she continued her paranormal thought. 

   
“Did you say something, Laura?” Vivien inquired, incapable to understand the woman’s indistinct utterance.

   
“No, dear,” Laura denied, making the sign of the cross with her right pinkie over her right eye that was twitching unstoppably. “Let’s get some work done! I personally doubt that we can finish everything today,” she mentioned, flicking specks of pie crust from her black sweater embellished with orange pumpkins crocheted by her own hands.            

   
Carol Hopkins, Vivien’s grandmother, had collected all kinds of knick-knacks. Over the years, she had hidden them in carton boxes organized meticulously in two roomy closets situated on both sides of the entrance hallway.

   
Early that evening, the women reached their goal. Most part of the content of the boxes was destined to go to the local charity organizations. Laura promised to call and have them taken out right the next day.

   
Vivien elected to keep the envelopes with old family pictures, a few objects d’art, a miniature collection of glass figurines, and a few arras made by Carol herself. In a plastic basket full of brand new golf leather gloves, Vivien stumbled upon that forgotten gift received from Tee on his wedding day, fifteen years ago. Tee had bought it for Nadine, but as she had not shown up, he had chosen to give it to her.
Most certainly to soothe my tears!
Vivien remembered.

    The very elegant box wearing Tiffany’s signature
was small and delicate and, after all appearances, no one had ever bothered to open it. One thing for sure – Vivien didn’t know what was inside it. She had placed it into her grandmother’s purse right after her last conversation with Tee and had forgotten all about it. Like always, the memory of that day made her so sad and desperate for answers, it usually brought her on the verge of a panic attack. It had been the most horrible day of her life. In only a few hours, she had lost her dearest friends, Tee and Mademoiselle Lili. She had never discussed it with anyone, but she often wondered what reason Mademoiselle Lili could have had in order to decide to put an end to her own life in such a horrible way. Now, bits of the past assaulted her memory. Vivien perfectly remembered Mr. Logan, only minutes before he had suffered that stroke that had rendered him blind for the rest of his life. Between uncontrollable sobs, he repeated as a defected robot:

   
“She was afraid of death, she was so afraid of death…”

   
If she were so afraid of dying, why did she choose to commit suicide?

   
“There are some paintings your grandmother never unpacked,” Laura pulled her out of the mysteries of the past. “I think you should take them home, check them out, and see if you’d want to keep any. These are works of young artists, who expose their paintings in studios here in Menlo Park. Their certificates of authenticity are stapled on their backs. Some of the painters could be celebrities by now, and their works could be worth tens of thousands of dollars.” 

   
“Thank you, Laura,” Vivien said, lifting one of the big carton boxes. “Put some on top of this box, please. I’ll take them to my car right now.”

   
Two more trips to her Lexus, and everything she wanted to keep had been loaded in the trunk.

   
“I will have something to amuse myself with tonight,” Vivien said, thinking about all the old pictures she had found, the paintings, and the mysterious gift from Tee.

   
“Then have fun, my dear!” Laura wished her and gave her another warm hug.

    After that, t
he old woman retired slowly to her light pink Cadillac, unseemly moving her abundant hips that resembled two oversized, round pillows applied unnaturally on her gigantic derrière. 

   
The moment she felt safe from any curious ears or eyes, the woman grabbed her cell phone. She dialed a number, and the ever so known voice answered at the first ring.

   
“I put the object in a visible place. As you’ve predicted, she noticed it immediately and took it with her.”

   
“Good job, Laura!” 

   
Laura cursed inaudibly.
Good job,
she repeated nervously inside her huge head.
I’m not your dog, you anorexic bitch!
You can talk to your dog like that, not to me!
Nevertheless, the person’s next words calmed her down on the spot.

   
“You’ll find a fat envelope in your mail box, for all your efforts. Keep watching her every move. And for God’s sake, Laura, don’t cook for her!” The derisive chuckle scratched Laura’s nerves once more. “It would be such a shame to destroy a waist like hers. I am usually not inclined to fall for brunettes, but this girl is like a fine porcelain doll. Ah, mon Dieu! Elle est magnifique! We all have our weaknesses, don’t we Laura?”

   
“Of course, of course,” Laura consented obligingly, even though the conversation had already ceased. The person on the other end had hung up, not caring about her ass-kissing reply.    

    Laura visualized in her mind
the thick envelope in her mailbox. Unlike all her neighbors, she kept her mailbox locked. This was the main reason she did that. The vivid contemplation of that pile of money made her salivate much easier than a plate full of donuts and hamburgers. And Laura loved donuts and hamburgers! But not as much as she loved money…    

CHAPTER
5 

   
 
T
he evening had fallen humid and cold. After the earlier rain, a wave of arctic air had found its way unexpectedly over the area. The sky was clear, and through the sunroof, Vivien was able to distinguish small stars, their feeble brightness diminished by the city’s lights.

   
She stopped at Safeway store, a few blocks away from her house, and bought a few bags of Reese peanut butter cups. Just because she had lived through the most terrible Halloween in her entire life, did not mean that she should have to shut the door in the cute faces of her neighbors’ children. And she shouldn’t offer them broccoli and celery either, just because that was all she had in her refrigerator at that moment. She passed for an oddity for most of them anyway. Daily, she played classical music on her piano. “The music for burials and people gone off track,” as Jack, her gardener’s five-year-old son had told her one day.    

   
“Padre mio, Miss Vivien!” poor Rosario had exclaimed terrified, reddening up to the top of his sunburned ears. “He don’t hear that from me, I swear,” he had added, denying it strongly with fast and simultaneous movements of his hands and head. “Vaia con Dios, Jack! Go and play, chico! He surely got it from those kids he plays with around here,” Rosario had suggested, embarrassed, already contemplating his dismissal.

   
“Don’t worry about it, Rosario,” Vivien had tried to calm him down.”That’s not a reason for me to get upset or mad with you. Any mischief Jack would do, he’s still my favorite little friend,” she had stated, ruffling the kid’s black and thick hair, very eager to get over that uncomfortable situation for all three of them.  

   
De gustibus non est disputandum
, Vivien reflected in Latin, as she threw the bag full of bonbons on the front passenger seat.

   
She was getting ready to back up and leave the parking place, when a white van entered and parked right beside her car. In the dim light of the van’s interior, Vivien was surprised to recognize a familiar face. The past was suddenly rushing upon her in full force today. She had met Tee and Clark earlier, and now Mr. Logan had come into her path. She postponed her departure and started to rummage through her CD collection. She picked one and introduced it into the CD player, all the while casting glances through her side window at the white van and its passengers. She waited until they climbed out, just to be sure, that the older man who walked assisted by a young, sizeable blonde woman was indeed Mr. Logan. He had shed a few pounds and his baldness was deeper, leaving only a slim line of white hair at the base of his head. But most assuredly, it was her darling old friend from her childhood years.  

   
She opened her car’s door and addressed him timidly.

   
“Mr. Logan, do you remember me? I am Vivien Hopkins. We were neighbors in Woodside, fifteen years ago.”

   
“Vivien,” the old man exclaimed enthusiastically. “You lovely child, do you still like my dwarfs? You used to love them. You gave them names. What was it? Peet and Pat?”   

   
Vivien was speechless. She could not believe that Mr. Logan would recall all of that so easily, after so many years. His calloused hands began to touch her shoulders and her face. 

   
”You’ve grown a lot,” he discovered. “You’re a young lady now.”

   
“Mr. Logan,” the blonde woman accompanying him precipitated. “You can’t touch anybody. We don’t do that around here, OK?”

   
She was talking to him as you talk to a child. Vivien could not help but remark her strong foreign accent. Considering the fact that
blondie
pronounced V instead of W, she quickly concluded that the woman was either Russian or German.

   
“Not a problem here,” Vivien assured her. “Mr. Logan and I are old friends.”

   
His personal assistant exploded in a false laughter that revealed her lipstick-stained front teeth.

 
  “It’s amazing how he remembers people, places, and events that happened years and years ago. But for the life of him, he can’t recall what he had for lunch, or what his present address is, if you happen to ask him.”  

   
“I move too often, Vivien,” the old man confessed. “That’s why I don’t remember the damn addresses. I get very confused…”

   
“Where are you living now?” Vivien inquired.

   
“On Flowers Street, in Menlo Park. Fifth house on the left, right after the gas station that’s across from Safeway,” the woman explained. 

   
Vivien beamed.

   
“I live on Flowers Street also. We’re neighbors then.”

   
“Great news! When you have time, come over to see my statues collection,” Mr. Logan invited her. Then he came closer and whispered in her ear. “Every now and then,
she
calls on me. I can smell her perfume the instant she enters the house. And I can hear her walking and breathing. She doesn’t talk to me, but I guess she misses me from time to time and drops by to see me. You remember my Lili, don’t you, Vivien?”