The Coach House (21 page)
“What happened to you?”
“Oh…the stupidest thing. I was checking the oil in my car, and I guess I didn’t have the hood up all the way, and it fell on my head.” He laughed. “I feel like such a fool.”
And you must think I’m a fool as well for buying that story.
* * *
The weather held out on Christmas Eve, making the three hundred mile drive to Johnston City much easier than the last time they had made the trip. Whether sincere or contrived, Richard’s demeanor was much different on this visit. He appeared to be almost anxious to see his family again, something Marie hadn’t expected. He talked about his childhood on the way, something he rarely did.
“I got into my share of trouble in school,” he reminisced. “Getting good grades was easy for me, so I often had too much time on my hands.”
“Like how?” She was curious to know more about his childhood and delighted he was divulging it without being prodded.
“I remember sneaking into my sister’s room and hiding her underpants, one pair at a time, until my mother asked her what on earth she was doing with her underpants.”
“Richard!”
“I know. But I was only ten or so.”
“Still.” Not having a brother, she wasn’t sure if that was natural behavior.
“Tom was always asking me for help with his homework. Well, one day I gave him all the wrong answers, and he ended up failing a test.”
“Now that’s just mean.”
Richard laughed. “Well, he never asked for my advice again. And he constantly wanted to hang out with me and my friends. One day Tom followed us to the tree fort we had built in the lot behind us. We all climbed the rope ladder up to the fort. The ladder wasn’t connected to anything, so it took some agility to climb it. Tom was scared, but we coaxed him up. Then we all climbed down, but Tom was too scared to follow us. One of the other boys yelled, ‘Just jump down,’and before I could say anything, the stupid little nitwit jumped. Broke an arm
and
a leg. I got punished for that one.”
“As well you should have.”
“I guess it wasn’t a terrible childhood. My parents did the best they could on a coal miner’s salary. I’m sure it was hard for them.”
They stopped for lunch, and Richard shared more of his childhood pranks. He also shared some of the good memories. It was a side of Richard that Marie liked…a lot. When he talked about his childhood and family, it told her more about the person he was today. And the connection to his family added an important balance to his life that Marie felt he needed, someone to care about outside of her and himself.
They checked into the Lincoln Hotel in Urbana late Christmas Eve, or rather early Christmas morning. That evening in the shower they explored each other’s bodies with soapy fingers until they were too aroused to do anything but make passionate love to one another. Like old times.
They changed into their nightclothes, sat up in bed, and wound down listening to the radio.
I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
Marie felt something sharp rubbing against her thigh. She reached down and pulled out a small familiar robin’s
egg
blue box from underneath the sheets. She looked at Richard and smiled. Inside was a gold bracelet with a heart charm. Her initials were on the front of the heart. On the back was inscribed
So in love
with you
am I.
R
A line from their song. “That’s so sweet.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Thank you.”
I want a love that’s on the square
Can’t seem to find somebody
Someone to care
She got out of bed, went into her suitcase, and handed him a similar blue box.
“Looks like we’re keeping Tiffany’s in business,” he chuckled as he opened the box. Inside were a diamond studded tie clip and cuff links. “They’re perfect. I love you, Marie. I love you
so
much.”
“I love you, too.”
I don’t want a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday, Friday or Saturday
Oh nothing but Sunday oh yea
I want a Sunday Sunday
I want a Sunday kind of love
She fell asleep in his arms, listening to him breathe, ecstatic to be in a delightfully pleasant place again.
* * *
The look on Bernice’s face revealed how happy she was to see them. Alan emitted his usual grunts. Tom, Malia, Malia’s husband and their daughter, now a two-year-old toddler and an adorable scene stealer, were all there. Marie had bought her a Raggedy Ann doll, which she took to right away.
Richard wanted to pay for the cost of dinner, so he had wired Malia money to cover it. It was likely the most extravagant meal that had ever been prepared in that kitchen. Baked ham, pork roast, mashed potatoes, au gratin potatoes, string beans, zucchini, cornbread, applesauce, candied pears, and fresh rolls with real butter. Apple pie and peach cobbler for dessert. Even Alan commented on it.
The dinner conversation was gratifying. Richard and Tom joked about some of the times they had growing up, with no mention of the tree house incident. Malia shared funny stories about Richard for Marie’s enjoyment. Mariabella toddled around the room trying to get their attention with her antics. Bernice and Alan were more relaxed this time, and Richard was like a completely different person. With all her heart, Marie hoped it was genuine.
They talked about the “good ole days” when they sat around the radio listening to Jack Benny, Amos and Andy, and Fibber McGee and Molly. At the time, Duke Ellington was the “in” singer, and Bernice admitted she stopped what she was doing whenever he came on the radio.
Marie looked around the table, grateful to be part of this family. While she had fond memories of her childhood with her mother, it was nothing like this—more than one conversation going on at a time, lots of laughter, and lots of teasing.
Tom interrupted her thoughts. “So when are you two going to have a baby?”
The room got uncomfortably quiet. Marie and Richard looked at each other and smiled. “Some day,” they said in unison. She silently cringed after saying it. She of course had no intention of getting pregnant, not any time soon anyway.
When it was time to go, Bernice pleaded, “Not so long in between visits next time?”
Richard hugged her good-bye. “I promise, Mom.”
The sound of Richard’s humming in the car on the way back to their hotel felt to Marie a lot like sunshine after a month of rain. While she wasn’t sure Richard would be able to completely shed his illicit ways and become the scrupulous man she so desired, her hopes were high.
“That was a nice visit, don’t you think?” she asked.
“I guess so.”
She patted him on the arm. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t be. I did it for you.”
Just when her hopes had reached a decent level, he yanked them back with a few short words.
Close to the hotel, Richard said, “By the way, did I tell you that Judge Lucas’ brother died?” Judge Lucas was an acquaintance of Richard’s, the man who married them.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“They think it may have been a heart attack. The funeral is on Saturday. I’m going to go to it.”
“Of course. I’ll go with you,” she offered.
“No, that’s not necessary. You didn’t know him or anything.”
“You sure? Just for moral support?”
“Naw. I’ll probably only stay long enough to pay my respects and then come home. You want to try that new Italian restaurant on Oak Street Saturday?”
“Sure.”
They fell asleep that night, holding hands, with the radio on.
In the blue of evening, night winds above whisper I love you,
There will we find romance in the blue of evening.
Marie took advantage of Richard being gone to the funeral to clean out two closets that were becoming cluttered. She turned on the radio loud enough to hear it from across the apartment while she cleaned. When the music stopped and news came on, she stopped what she was doing. The announcer was talking about the death of Timmy “The Bomber” Buccieri, notorious Chicago gangster, who was gunned down in cold blood on the southwest side of the City. The funeral was today. They expected a huge turnout.
The pit of Marie’s stomach felt heavy. Minutes passed.
Judge Lucas’ brother. Another lie.
She considered confronting him, but the only way she could prove him lying was to contact Judge Lucas. If it turned out to be true, Marie could give the Judge her condolences, and Richard would be in the clear. But if it wasn’t true, there would be no graceful way to deal with the rest of the conversation, and he would surely tell Richard, making for a very unpleasant situation. She decided against it.
Her mental image of happily ever—house, picket fence, children, cocker spaniel—was quickly collapsing.
Richard surprised Marie with a trip to New York to see
A Streetcar Named Desire
to celebrate their two-year anniversary. He had received his first commission check on the Fiefield project and splurged on a three-room suite at The Plaza Hotel. He devoted all his attention to Marie this trip, taking her shopping, choosing her favorite restaurants, and making sure she was pampered and satisfied.
When she entered the hotel room following an appointment at the beauty salon, Richard was lying on the bed, watching television. Sporting a new look, her hair was piled high on top of her head in an upsweep. “It’s all the rage in Paris, dahling,” she mocked, swaying her hips widely while she modeled her new ’do. “What do you think?”
“I like it!” He walked over to her and put his arms around her. “But then I’d like anything, as long as it was you wearing it,” he whispered going in for a hug. “Have I told you lately just how happy you make me?”
Lately she had become somewhat impervious to his sweet talk. She pulled out of his embrace. “Hey, you’ll mess up my new ’do.”
“Okay, but it’s just going to get messed up later tonight,
dahling.
You can be assured of that!” He looked at his watch. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes, by the way.”
They agreed that
The Streetcar Named Desire,
starring Marlon Brando, Jessica Tandy, Kim Hunter, and Karl Maiden, was the best and most thought-provoking play they had seen yet. Full of culture clashes, romance, flawed personalities, insanity, and deceit, the entire performance kept her on the edge of her seat.
At the end of the play, when Blanche was committed to a mental institution by her brother, she uttered the words,
“Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,”
as she was led away by a doctor. As Marie dabbed at her tears with Richard’s handkerchief, she heard the sniffles and stifled sobs of the people around her.
* * *
The month following their two-year anniversary, Marie and Richard went to the Green Mill for a late-night dinner. A band they had never heard before, Muddy Waters, was playing in the lounge. Moved by the seemingly effortless integration of piano, guitars, bass, drum, sax, and vocals, they stayed for an after dinner drink and listened to them play what some deemed “offensive race music.” During one of their breaks, Richard asked one of the band members where else they played. He was told the 708 Club was one of their frequent venues, and Marie and Richard began to go there on a regular basis.
Located on the south side of Chicago, they were often the only white couple in the club. But it made no difference to them. They both loved the music.
Well I’m goin’ away to leave
Won’t be back no more
Goin’ back down south, child
Don’t you want to go?
