Saturday Morning (18 page)

“Ah, ma’am … ma’am, can I help you?”

Clarice looked up to see a woman with a friendly smile. The warmth of the smile and voice made tears burn her eyes.

“I-I’m just moving here, and my key won’t work in the door, and I didn’t know how to call the manager, and I … ” She stopped to catch a breath.

“Sometimes new keys are hard to work. Would you like me to try it?”

“Oh yes, if you would.” Clarice handed her the brand-new key ring that Gregor had made especially for her. “My husband was to be here. I just don’t know what happened to him.”

“Traffic can be so terrible here. Where is he coming from?”

“Florida.”

“Oh, my, quite a ways.” The woman smiled over her shoulder as she inserted the key. Nothing happened. She tried again, with the same luck. “You were right. The key doesn’t work. Come on in with me, and we’ll call Frank, the manager. He’ll take care of this.”

Clarice got to her feet, knees creaking in the process. “Like some man said, getting old ain’t for sissies, that’s for sure.” She clutched the handle of her suitcase and proceeded through the door the woman was holding open.

“Such a lovely place. My husband said I would love it here, and I’m sure I will.”

“Why don’t you sit in that chair, and I’ll get Frank?”

“Of course.” Clarice parked her suitcases by her side and sank into the wing chair, absently stroking the carved wood part of the arm. The room looked as warm and inviting from this view as from beyond. The flowers on the carved walnut library table were indeed fresh: lilies, gladiolas, and chrysanthemums in lovely rust and orange shades, along with greens and baby’s-breath. Classy and friendly at the same rime.

She knew she’d love it here; Gregor always had her best interests at heart.
I can’t wait to tell him how thrilled I am.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” The woman had returned, man in tow.

“Mrs. Gregor Van Dam. Clarice.”

Frank scratched his chin, hesitated, then asked, “You said you were supposed to be moving into this building today?”

“Yes, is there a problem?” Something uncoiled in her midsection.

“Well, ma’am, I hate to say this, but there is no one moving in here today, or even this month. We have no vacancies.”

Clarice cleared her throat. “Why, right here I have all the instructions.” She dug in her bag and pulled out the envelope. Opening the sheet of paper, she pointed to the paragraph that included the name of The Frederick and the address. “See.”

“I believe there is some major misunderstanding here. As I said … ”

“So you mean he is already moved in.”

“Not unless he moved in six months ago. And I know those folks. They still live here. I don’t know what to tell you.”

There is some mistake, all right.
Clarice could feel her heart thudding in her ears. “I need to get in touch with my husband. Surely,
he … ” But when she punched redial, the same voice message came on. She clicked it off without leaving a message as instructed.

“Clarice.” The voice seemed to come from a distance. “Are you all right?”

She pulled herself back from the edge of what looked to be a precipice and blew out a breath. Voices of her sister, her friends in New York, others in Florida, shouted in her head.
“He’s no good.” “Too smooth.” “You’ll be sorry.” “No fool like an old fool.” “Don’t come crying to me.”

Her hands shook so badly she could hardly put the envelope back inside her purse. She who had always been so strong.
Herbert, what have I done? Where is Gregor? You can see him. I know you can. Surely there is some mistake.

But right now talking to her long-dead husband failed to bring her the usual comfort.

“Perhaps you would like to check into a hotel until you decide what to do?” The woman offered the suggestion gently.

“I could call you a cab.” Frank leaned closer. “Unless there is someone local you could call.”

“I don’t know anyone local.” She tried to put some starch in her voice, but that failed too. “Yes, please call a cab.”

“Mrs. Van Dam, do you have a preference as to which hotel? We have all of them.”

“One that’s close, not too expensive, but safe. You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard about this city.”
Get your gumption back, Gerty. You start to cry now, and you’ll dissolve into some kind of puddle.

When the taxi arrived, the two people helped her in, and Frank told the driver to take her to the Holiday Inn on Van Ness. “That’s the closest to here,” he told her. “I do hope everything will be all right.”

“Thank you, you’ve been most kind.”

Clarice collapsed against the seat back. Surely once she’d put her feet up for a bit, she would be fine. She’d talk with Gregor, and all this would be food for laughter someday—when she’d recovered. She clutched her fur coat closer around her. Fear always made her cold.

The cab driver came around and opened her door, then lifted out her bags. “You need help with these?”

“No, no, thank you.” She handed him five dollar bills, one of which was a tip.

“Thanks.”

She watched him drive off, then resolutely turned to the door. Good thing it was an automatic door, because right now she didn’t have the strength to push it open.

Pulling her luggage, she approached the desk and joined two others in line.
Please, please, Mother Mary, have mercy on me. Let there be a room.

The young man greeted her with a nice smile when her turn came.

“You have a room?”

“Yes, smoking or non?”

They went through the routine, with her growing more weary by the second. When he asked for her address, she gave the one at The Frederick, for she had no other.

When he asked for a card, she handed him her Visa and shifted from one foot to the other. Why had she insisted on wearing heels on a trip like this? Even though they were only two inches, right now they felt like four. Her legs ached, her shoulders felt like she’d been pulling that suitcase for a week, and some demon was stabbing pins in her feet. Hatpins.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card was declined.”

“Declined! Why, that cannot be. Run it through again.” She pursed her lips. “Please.”

He shook his head but did as she asked. When her third and last card was declined, she sagged against the counter.

“But I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to call your bank and see what’s wrong?”

Was he being sarcastic? She looked back at him, but he seemed sincere.

“There are phones right over there.”

“Th-thank you.” The space across the lobby looked like a mile.

She carefully called each card. The answer was the same. “I’m sorry, but that card is over the limit and cannot be used.”

She set the receiver in the cradle and leaned back against the wall. What could she do?

Blessed Virgin, if I ever needed help, I need it now. Where can I go? I can’t sit here in the lobby.
Another call to Gregor’s phone yielded only the same answer.

Do not cry, you old fool! Something terrible has happened to him.
Had there been a plane crash? That wouldn’t be in the papers on the rack today. She needed to see a television. Watch the news? Could one call to see if a plane had crashed?

The war in her head and heart drained all her energy as she staggered to a chair and sat down.
What can I do? Where can I go?
Like a gerbil on an exercise wheel, her thoughts went nowhere. Her stomach knotted; heartburn gnawed at her esophagus.
Surely I’m having a heart attack. If I have a heart attack, they’ll call an ambulance. I’ll have a place to sleep. You silly old fool. No, something has happened to him. Gregor loves me.

“Ma’am … ma’am … ma’am.” Someone was tapping her shoulder.

Gregor, no, he wouldn’t call her … ma’am. She tried to open her eyes, but the weights holding them closed were so heavy.

“Ma’am … ma’am, are you all right?”

She nodded and won the battle with her eyelids. Straightening,
she swallowed and looked around. The young man from behind the desk stood in front of her.

“Please, is there someone I can call for you? You cannot stay here. I’m so sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid someone was coming for him.

“I—May I use the rest room?”

“Yes, of course. It’s down that hall.”

“Thank you.” Clarice walked as though she were in a fog, unable to see more than one step at a time. Two steps too fast, and she might pitch over the cliff.

After using the facilities, she washed her hands and peered into the mirror.

Her eye makeup was smeared, her powder looking like a distressed finish on antique furniture. She applied lipstick, more by feel than sight, took two steps, and remembered how her feet hurt. Sitting on a padded bench, she removed her heels, stuck them in her suitcase, and pulled out a pair of walking shoes. If she had to walk all night, at least her feet would not hurt so terribly.

She trundled her cases out the door and into real fog, the San Francisco kind that seeped into the bones and broke the will. She fastened the closures on her coat and struck out for the street. With her shoulder bag banging against her side, she stopped again and unbuttoned her fur coat. Taking her arm out of one sleeve, she put the strap over her head, and with the bag under her arm, she shoved her arm back in the sleeve and closed the coat. With the collar turned up, she felt warmer than a moment ago. At least she was doing something.

Was everything in this blasted city on a hill? She paused in a doorway, out of the wind.

“Keep movin’, lady, this here’s mine.” The voice came from down by her feet.

“What?” Something bumped her ankle. She started, stifled a
scream, and leaped out onto the sidewalk again. She dragged her suitcase, bumping over curbs, stepping around sleeping forms covered by papers, blankets, rags. A dog growled at her.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she tried to pick up her pace. Was she being followed? Were there no police?

“Hey, lady, ya’ got a dollar, change, anything to help a … ”

She staggered off without responding.
Keep going, keep going.
Going uphill set her to panting and puffing. Her shoulder ached from dragging the weight.
Let it go.
She clenched the handle with all her might. From streetlight to streetlight, she staggered as if drunk, finally to lean against a wall, unable to go any farther.

“Hey, get that old broad.” The voice almost penetrated her inner fog that drifted like the silver mist around her.

“Git outta here. You git!” The voice roared out of nowhere, followed by the sound of hard objects striking something softer, screaming profanities, and shoe soles slapping against concrete.

Clarice huddled into her coat, making herself as small as possible.

“You all right, there?” The voice of a thousand cigarettes and an ocean of booze grated in her ears. When she failed to answer, the voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. “You keep movin’, or they’ll strip you nekkid.”

“I-I cannot.”

“You ain’t from these streets. What brung you here?”

“He didn’t come.”

“Ah, a man. More trouble than they’re worth.” Her cackle made Clarice shiver.

“I-I don’t know where to go.” She forced the words past a throat clogged with the moisture she’d been sucking in.

“Where you from?”

“Florida, Miami.”

“I alles wanted to see Florida.”

God, if only I were there
. So heavy. Eyes, head, if only to melt down into the cold cement that was now eating into her posterior, even through a fur coat.

“Ya heard of J House?”

“I’ve never heard of anything.”

“Run by woman named Hope. You go there. Shell find a place for you.”

“Why don’t you go there?”

“Ah, ain’t no hope for me. Can’t abide by the rules.”

“Rules?” A shudder racked her, clattering her teeth, knocking her knees.

“No drinking, gotta be sober. Life’s hard enough drunk, let alone sober.”

“I see.” Clarice sniffed but hadn’t enough energy to dig into her purse for a tissue.

“Na, you don’t see. You get to Hope, you hear?”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s AA, ain’t that a—?”

“AA?”

“You go on to see Hope.”

“Where?”

“Ask one of the coppers. One will come by soon. Be out on the curb. Wave. You don’t look like one of the ladies.”

“How do you know what I look like?”

“Don’t, but I can guess.”

Clarice leaned forward, looking both ways on the street. “There’s a white car coming.”

“Be ready.” AA gave Clarice a push. “Get you on out there.”

Clarice used the wall as a support to lever herself to her feet. Clutching the handle of her case, she staggered to the corner, right under the streetlight.

“Help, please help me!”

The car, with a light bar on top, pulled over to the curb. “What do you need, ma’am?”

“Please, sir, I’m from out of town and I’m lost and AA said I should go to see Hope at … at, oh, I don’t remember. Some place.”

One of the officers got out of the car and came to stand beside her. “Your name, ma’am?”

“Clarice—er Mrs. Van Dam. It’s a long story and not a nice one.”

“Where you from?”

“Miami.”

“You want to go to J House?”

“I-I have no money for a hotel.”

“Get in.” He opened the rear door and handed her in, followed by her case. “How you got this far without being robbed is beyond me.”

“Grace of God, sir. Grace of God. And an angel named AA.”

“I’m sure … ah … Annie’s not been called an angel in this life.”

“She has now.”
When I get help, I’ll help her any way I can.