Mourning Glory (33 page)

"Tomorrow," he said, holding her in a tight
embrace.

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

"Same time, same station." He paused, kissed her
eyes. "I love you, Grace."

"And I love you, Sam."

So,
she thought,
what the
hell are you going to do about it?

He walked her to her car and she got in, waved and drove
away. She was both relieved and regretful at the same time. But as she drove
across the bridge, facing the prospect of Palm Court, her regret held sway over
her relief. He hadn't offered any option at all. Apparently this arrangement
was to stay exactly where it was for the foreseeable future.

In the face of such inaction, how could she remain silent?
She contemplated calling him on the telephone, having it out, maybe telling him
the truth about Anne. Hell, she had the evidence right here beside her. She
patted her pocketbook. Right here.

Where do we go from here, Sam? You can't just leave me
in limbo. Not now.

As she neared her apartment, Grace grew increasingly
depressed. Was this her fate, to live in this dump forever? Had she constructed
too noble an image of herself? Too independent? Too self-contained? Was she
wrong in not telling him about Anne, Anne the faithless, Anne the cheat and
liar?

By the time she reached Palm Court she was too mentally
exhausted to reason logically. Opening the mailbox, she took out the contents,
knowing without even looking that they were either overdue bills or junk mail.

She dreaded any confrontation with Jackie. Jackie the
needy. Jackie the wanter. She let herself into the apartment, noting that she
had kept to her schedule of arriving home before her daughter.

As she slumped in the chair of the darkened living room,
she felt a sense of cold remoteness. She wished she were someone else, in some
other place. What she craved now was blankness, invisibility. Then she heard a
click. The door opened and Jackie came in. Because of the darkness she didn't
see Grace and moved quickly to the little kitchen and flicked on the light.

Throwing her books on the Formica breakfast counter, Jackie
grabbed the phone from its wall cradle and dialed. Grace was about to make her
presence known but, for some unknown reason, she hesitated, listening instead
to her daughter's voice.

"Mr. Barlow, this is Jackie," Jackie said,
uncharacteristically breathless. "You have to make it fifty. Twenty-five
is just not enough. And you promised that this would not have anything to do
with my job at the theater. Right? It's just a business deal between you and
me. Forty? But I needed fifty. How about forty-five?"

Grace's first instinct was pride; her daughter was asserting
herself, standing by her guns.
Good girl, Jackie,
she thought, listening
further.

"Okay. An hour then. As much as you want. Yes.
Everything. That, too. I'll come in an hour before the theater opens on
Saturday morning. No. You don't have to worry about my mother finding out. And
you can trust me, Mr. Barlow. Yes. I know you are, and I know you'll keep your
word about the condoms. No, we don't want any repercussions. Not from your wife
or my mother. Just for the fun of it. Believe me, I won't make trouble. But
only on Saturday. Anything you want. I'm not exactly a dumb little virgin. Yes,
Mr. Barlow. Not a word. I promise." She hung up.

Grace felt the sensation of a fist squeezing her gut. Her
heart suddenly pounded like a sledgehammer in her chest. At first she thought
she had mistaken the context. No. It wasn't open to misinterpretation. Jackie
was making a deal to prostitute herself. After a brief pause, during which she
tried unsuccessfully to get herself under control, Grace erupted.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Jackie?"
Grace shouted, standing up.

"Mom. How could you ... listening to my private
conversation?"

In the harsh light of the kitchen, Jackie's face turned a
flat ashen, as if all the blood had drained out of it.

"Don't you understand what you're doing?"

"I didn't mean for you to hear it.... "She turned
her face away and her shoulders indicated that she had begun to sob.

"You're a sixteen-year-old child, for God's sake,
Jackie. Has this man been pressuring you, harassing you? We could call the cops
or something."

Jackie shook her head in the negative and averted her eyes.

"Look at me," Grace commanded.

She felt her heart breaking. She was devastated, as if
Jackie had just been discovered to have a terminal illness. As always she
blamed herself for Jackie's transgressions. Hadn't she taught her right from
wrong? Apparently the lessons hadn't stuck. It was just one more parental
failure chalked up on the scoreboard.

In a burst of frustration and anger, Grace stepped across
the room and, grabbing Jackie's shoulders, spun her around. Tears were
streaming down Jackie's face.

"Did he harass you into this?" she shouted.
"Answer me."

Jackie bit her lip and again shook her head in the
negative.

"No, he didn't," she croaked.

"Then why..." Grace demanded.

"Money," Jackie said, swallowing hard, finding
control. "I approached him. I needed extra money. It was my suggestion.
The only thing we haggled over was price."

"Doesn't he understand the risk he'd be taking?"
Grace snapped.

"It's my fault, Mom. Not his." She raised her
voice. "He isn't a bad man. He's married with two very nice children. He's
fifty-one years old. And I could use the money, Mom. It wasn't meant to harm
anybody."

"No harm. No harm," Grace cried. "Never mind
the psychic harm to yourself. Where is your pride? Where is your self-respect?
This is prostitution, Jackie. And your dear Mr. Barlow—we'll nail that
son-of-a-bitch to the cross. He agreed to this. How could he be so awful?
Risking statutory rape, sexual harassment, contributing to the corruption of a
minor. Hell, we'll get this bastard." She felt herself hyperventilating
and needed a few moments to get herself under control.

"Please, don't do anything like that. It wasn't meant
to be a big deal, Mom. It was my fault."

"He's the one with the money."

"I sort of threw it in his face."

"And he caught it."

"Darryl said..." Jackie began, then realized that
she had made a terrible mistake.

"So it was his idea," Grace fumed.

"Sort of..." Jackie started to cry again.
"Please, Mom. Leave it alone. Please."

"You've got yourself a pimp."

"It isn't like that," Jackie muttered. "A
one-time thing."

"It's the beginning," Grace said. "He's
making you a hooker."

"It was just Mr. Barlow, Mom," Jackie whined.
"One guy."

"I can't understand what's happening to you. It's ...
it's pure prostitution, that's what it is. You're selling yourself, throwing
away your self-respect. Don't you understand the difference between right and
wrong? I'm not going to let this pass, Jackie. Darryl ... that filthy bastard."

"How else was I supposed to get the money, Mom?"

Jackie wiped her eyes with a tissue. Saturated, she balled
it and threw it into the sink and took another from a box on the Formica table.
Then she cleared her throat.

"This was a business transaction, Mom. I couldn't meet
my car payment. Darryl had no choice. And I need my car."

The car, the car, Grace screamed within herself. The image
of Darryl jumped back into her mind. The shaven-headed Darryl with his black
leather jacket, swaggering in his high-heeled black cowboy boots, his proud,
pooching bundle of genitalia in his tight jeans, the real dagger with the
swastika and the tattooed dagger on his arm, encircled by the snake and the
words, death before dishonor.

She studied her daughter, a child caught in a whirlpool of
contradictions, unable to understand the consequences of her actions,
victimized by the demons of adolescence and the ineptitude of her parents,
especially herself. In Jackie's mind, Darryl was the avenging angel come to
rescue her from the black pit of despair. Again she blamed herself for not
working harder to keep Jackie from his evil intent. A wave of painful guilt
washed over her.

"I'm not going to let him get away with this,"
Grace said. "I should have stepped in earlier, been more aggressive."

"You'll be making more trouble than you need, Mom. You
don't know him."

"I'm not afraid of him. Not afraid of his stupid knife
and his macho posing."

"All Darryl wants is his money. He doesn't want to
hurt me. I owe it to him. A deal's a deal." Jackie looked at her mother,
biting her lip, her now dry eyes flashing with anger. "Hell, you can't
give it to me."

"Jesus, what have I raised here?"

"Well, I can't depend on you. You're a goddamned
loser, Mom. That's what you are. Nothing is lower than a loser."

"And what are you—" Grace began, feeling a sob
begin deep inside of her. She had the urge to explode with horrible, hurtful
words, words of rebuke, words of anger and frustration. She managed to tamp
down her rage, bottle it inside of her, searching her mind for some direction
that would not make the matter worse than it was, if that was possible.

"Darling, please. Let's not focus the anger on
ourselves. We're in this together, you and me. All I'm trying to do is keep you
from hurting yourself. What you're doing with Mr. Barlow is, to be kind, just
plain wrong. Can't you see that? Above all, you've got to respect yourself.
You're a beautiful young woman now. Don't make yourself ... a..." She
groped for the right word. "A commodity. You're a person ... the future
will be what you make it." She sucked in a deep breath. "I love you,
darling, with all my heart. A mother wants the best for her daughter. I know, I
know. So far I have been a loser. I admit it. But there is hope. Believe me.
Trust me. I'm trying to turn things around. I need time...."

She felt tears coming and turned away, clearing her throat,
then wiping them away with a tissue. Suddenly she felt a hand on her back.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean—"

Grace turned and embraced her daughter, feeling her body
wracked with sobs.

"It's about time we had a good cry," she managed
to say, hoping that the gesture would bridge the growing gap between them.

Jackie quieted, then disengaged.

"If I don't get Darryl the money, he's going to take
the car back. I just didn't know what to do. I had no choice."

"Now, let's put our heads together on this,"
Grace said, feeling she had regained some of her parental authority. "I
stick with my premise. I'll bet that car was stolen, or, at the least, its
ownership is suspect. There are worse things as well.... "Her voice
trailed off as she hesitated.

"Like what?" Jackie asked, frowning. Grace sensed
some of her belligerence returning.

"Let's face it. Now don't get upset, but it must be
said. Inducing a minor to prostitution, statutory rape. Maybe stolen cars.
Jackie, you can't ignore the obvious. The man is vulnerable."

Jackie shook her head and bit her lip.

"You can't, Mom."

"Why not? He can't just terrorize you like this."

"He's not terrorizing me, Mom," Jackie muttered.

"You can't still be defending him?"

"I don't want him to hurt anybody."

"Hurt anybody? He's already hurt you, Jackie."

"Not really," Jackie whispered, averting her
eyes. Grace shook her head in despair, feeling the rage begin again.

"Jackie, Jackie, my poor baby. Can't you see it? This
whole thing stinks to high heaven. This terrible person has you in his
clutches. He's not just terrorizing you. He's deliberately and ruthlessly
taking advantage of you, trashing your life. Wake up, baby. We've got to stop him."

Grace looked at her daughter, a sad, frightened little
girl. Watching her, she felt as if she were confronting her own failure and her
anger dissipated.

"You mustn't do this, Jackie," she pleaded, her
voice calming. "This would only be the beginning of a downward slide. He's
using you for his own evil purposes. How can I make you understand?"

"Look, Mom, none of this is helping. It's still a
matter of the money."

"It's more than just money..." Grace began.

Jackie suddenly erupted.

"More than just money. More than just money. Are you
crazy? It's all about money. Mom, money is the most important thing in the
world. We have nothing. Nothing! What kind of a life is this? Look at this shit
house. Look in my closet. Rags. Cheap crap. Other kids have cars, clothes. I
feel like a beggar. I don't want to feel like a beggar, Mom. I like nice
things. And ... and..." She seemed on the verge of hysteria. "If I
have to depend on you ... we'll never get out of here and I won't ever have
anything."

"Well, don't pin your hopes on Darryl and his stupid
bike. Follow him, he'll lead you straight to the gutter."

"At least I have a car," Jackie shouted. Her
adolescent arrogance had returned. "That's more than I ever got from
you."

"You think that's your car, Jackie? Don't delude
yourself." Grace walked to the phone and picked it up.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling the police."

"I wouldn't do that, Mom," Jackie cried,
panicked, as she moved toward Grace and grappled for the phone. "Please.
He can get real nasty, Mom. Please. I'm begging you. He's dangerous. He'll hurt
you, maybe worse."

Jackie seemed on the verge of hysteria and Grace let go of
the phone. She searched her daughter's face, seeing abject fear in her
expression.

"Has he threatened you, Jackie?"

"He can make trouble Mom ... big trouble ... for both
of us." Jackie hesitated. It seemed a reluctant admission.

"For both of us?"

Jackie's thin facade of arrogance was crumbling again. Her
eyes filled with tears, which began to roll down her cheeks.

"I just don't want any trouble, Mom. He could hurt
you."

"You're worried about me?" Grace said, the full
weight of her guilt descending on her like a rock on her chest. Her parenting
had been an abysmal failure. She would never forget it. It was all her fault,
hers alone. She couldn't even cast blame on Jason.

"Yes, Mom. I'm worried about you."

"I hadn't realized..." Grace began, sucking in a
deep breath. "Look, I'll find a way out of this mess, Jackie. And I won't
make trouble. And Jackie..." She wanted to tell her about Sam and the possibilities
her relationship with him boded for a better future. Not yet, she decided.
"And I promise you things will be getting better."

"You always promise, Mom, but nothing happens."
Jackie wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

"It is happening, Jackie. It is ... you'll see."

Jackie's perceived need for money and her obviously
self-destructive relationship with Darryl had driven her to take desperate
action. Her discontent was far deeper than Grace had realized. Perhaps a faulty
gene had come down from her and Jason's blood that had blurred the line between
the good and the bad.