The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (13 page)

L
ATER THAT EVENING,
she listened to a mockingbird on the lamppost outside and noted that Jack had not called. It was actually a relief. He was a whirlpool, spinning her world, pulling her in, and she was tired of reacting to him.

If Jack were as sincere and smitten with her as he acted—a huge
if
—then the door might open to other possibilities. But if he wasn’t, it was pure lunacy to submit to all the turmoil and to certain heartbreak. She might as well put her head back on the chopping block where she’d put it for Eddy.

She was in her bathrobe, brushing her teeth when the phone rang. On the fourth ring she picked it up.

“Hi. Sorry about calling so late, but I was with clients and time got away from us.”

“It’s an odd time to be with clients.”

“It’s a family I’ve known for many years. The father died this week. I prepared the estate plan and there’s a lot of drama among the heirs over the will. Anyway, I did try calling before we got started, but the line was busy.”

“I guess you get pretty entangled with families in estate planning. I never really thought about it.”

“How was your day?”

“Germaine got the invitation of her lifetime, to Disneyland. She’s out of her mind with excitement.”

“That’s like winning the lottery for a kid. How did this come about?”

“One of her friends from school invited her to go with their family. I can’t believe their generosity.”

“You’d do it if your fortunes were reversed.”

“That’s true.”

“And Germaine is a special girl.”

“You haven’t even met her.”

“I’ve seen the evidence.” He was tired too and his voice was even deeper than usual.

“You see a lot of things.”

“May I see
you
this weekend?”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner on Saturday?”

“That’d be great. I don’t know when I last ate a real home-cooked meal.”

“Six o’clock Saturday then.”

A
T 6:05 ON SATURDAY NIGHT,
Jack stood on the front stoop of the pink palace in a black golf shirt and khakis, holding a bouquet of blue irises in one hand and a cold bottle of champagne in the other.
Mercedes led him in through her modest living room. In the kitchen he spied a tantalizing confection on a flowered plate.

“Ooh, what’s that?” he inquired.

“Decadent dark chocolate cake with raspberry filling,” she replied. “I made it this morning.”

“‘Decadent?’”

“The name of the recipe,” she grinned.

The table was set with cloth napkins, candlesticks and old sterling silver flatware, decidedly out of place in the ghetto. He picked up a fork, examined the monogram, turned it over, and put it back down on the table. 1916. Old family stuff.

He put the champagne in the refrigerator, taking the chance to snoop around the bags of fresh vegetables and jars of various homemade concoctions. Mercedes looked fresh in her ironed white shirt. Aside from the few nights Mr. Friedman had joined them for dinner, Jack was her first dinner guest.

Jack’s ears tuned in to the neighborhood—the loud argument down the street, the noise of the young men playing basketball around the corner, dogs snarling at passersby, and freeway traffic. The classical station was playing the Beethoven violin concerto, so Mercedes left the dial there.

Without asking, he opened her cupboard and selected the only two wine glasses from her motley assortment of drinking vessels. He took the kitchen towel from her shoulder and opened the champagne.

“Here’s to the culinary skill of my lovely hostess,” he said. They clinked glasses and sipped the effervescent champagne, which burst on her tongue like ambrosia. Dinner not far from ready, he took the seat normally occupied by Germaine.

Mercedes sat down and drank the first glass with him. He mentioned again what a rarity a real home-cooked meal was in his life. There had been none at home, unless Janine Reneau had made him
something in her tiny apartment. Once in college, he had always eaten out.

“You never learned to cook?”

He shook his head.

“But surely you’ve had girlfriends who cooked for you.”

“No,” he shrugged.

“No ex-wives?”

“Not one.”

“Not one who could cook?”

“No ex-wives of any variety. What about you?”

“No ex-wives for me either,” she laughed. “Only one late husband.”

She served him a plate of oven-barbecued chicken basted with her special sauce, creamy scalloped potatoes, green beans mixed with toasted slivered almonds and tiny bits of bacon. Out of the oven, she pulled piping hot dinner rolls she had made from scratch. She split one, slathered it with butter, and handed it to him. He put it all in his mouth at once and closed his eyes. She watched bliss register on his face.

The setting sun ignited the sky into the colors of orange sherbet and rose pink, which gradually deepened and darkened. She lit the tapers and turned on the stovetop light. Stars gradually appeared and the moon rose through the bay window.

“So where
is
Germaine? I was hoping to get to meet her.”

“Germaine Llewellyn is in demand. I’m afraid you will have to get in line.”

“Like her mother. Then please give me a number.”

“We’ll see.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“She’s been through a lot, Jack. I’m going to do everything in my power to protect her and keep her world stable.”

“Which includes not introducing her to . . .”

“To whom? What would you call yourself?”

“To someone who is courting her mother.”

“Is that what this is?”

“What would
you
call it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How could you possibly not be sure?”

She rose and came around to clear away his dishes. He stopped her and pulled her down into his lap.

“I’m not dating any other women and I have no intention of doing so until . . .”

“Until what?”

“Until we see where this goes. Now it’s your turn.”

“You know I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Is that by choice or circumstance?”

“My circumstances
are
my choice. I don’t want to waste my time if you’re just playing with me. I’m quite content on my own.”

“I can see that. And it’s one of the most attractive things about you.”

“I’ve learned to judge men by what they
do,
not what they say. Talk is cheap.”

He pulled her down into the crook of his arm and kissed her, scooping up her long legs and cradling her against him.

“I don’t want you going out with anyone but me,” he said, “and I don’t want to see anyone but you. You’re an extraordinary woman. You have character, a good mind, and your feet are on the ground.” He waited to see if she would say anything. “Plus I may be falling in love with you. Is that enough clarification?”

She smiled. “For now.”

“Good, because I really want a big piece of that chocolate cake.”

She extracted herself from his embrace, got up to brew coffee, and cut two pieces of the rich cake. They sat opposite each other in
the candlelight. Jack slowly ate the enormous piece she had cut for him, savoring every bite in prayerful silence, worshiping in the temple of chocolate, and before the goddess who made such things possible.

They moved to the living room. He made himself as comfortable as he could on the small sofa and pulled Mercedes against him. He put his cheek on the top of her head, which leaned against his chest. She put her arm around his deeply satisfied belly. The rumble of his voice reverberated through her as he spoke about his visit to Janine earlier in the day and his trip to the San Francisco flower market, where he had found the irises.

“So tell me about Germaine’s father,” he said.

She sat up and faced him, leaning against the side arm of the couch, her feet up on the cushions between them.

“We met right after I finished college. Eddy was a carpenter working on a framing crew. I was a waitress in a nearby restaurant where the crew would congregate after work. He was good-looking, tan, and funny. I knew nothing about him except what I saw in his circle of friends, and I really didn’t care. I was sick of family interference and just wanted my own life.

“We had an intense, immediate attraction for each other. His job came to an end and he decided to try his luck in California. He asked me to marry him and go with him. I’d always wanted to live in California and I was desperate to be free of my parents. I was thrilled to do something so bold and reckless. So we eloped.”

Jack, the professional listener, nodded.

“Things deteriorated after only a few months. Eddy drank too much and became a control freak. He didn’t like me talking to other people, going places on my own, or having a job, even though we needed the money. He changed careers and went to work in a retail chain, selling computers. I chalked up some of his weirdness to making
so many changes at once. But then I got pregnant, and our marriage went from bad to worse.

“After Germaine was born and got past the infant stage, I decided to go to night school to become a paralegal. It was a new field and it looked interesting. But Eddy opposed the idea and hated any sign of my independence. I could see the writing on the wall. I went to school so I could support Germaine and me when the time came.”

Jack reached for her hand.

“It was a good plan, but then he was killed in a drunk-driving accident.”

Jack pulled her feet up into his lap and began massaging her soles.

For the first time with anyone, she spoke about the financial straits in which Eddy’s death had left them—her struggle to find a job, to move, to find the right school for Germaine, to keep her parents at bay, and to make a new life.

“I’ve always wondered whether his death was an accident or suicide. Either way, the aftermath was not something I ever want to live through again.”

Jack looked around her impoverished living room with enlightened appreciation.

“Death has a way of reprioritizing life,” he said. “After my dad died I was a mess. At first I grieved being orphaned. Then I was relieved because he’d been such a bad father. Patrick, my oldest brother, had a family and was sort of a father figure, which made it easier. But then, three years after Dad died, Patrick died too—and soon after Patrick, my other brother, Jeremy, also died. I was devastated. I dropped out of school, bought a one-way ticket to Europe, and just wandered the streets.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty. And here I am, almost twenty years down the road with no family of my own.”

She nodded. “What did you do in Europe?”

“I traveled. I had about ten thousand dollars the old man had left me. I learned to use the currency exchange rates to my advantage. After about a year, I decided to go to law school. I came back, finished college, and paid for law school with the money I made buying and selling currencies.”

“I can’t imagine what I would have done in your shoes,” she said.

“I had friends.”

“Why have you never married?”

“Never met the right person. Worried about whether I could really pull it off.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think I was cut out for family life. I never found anyone who really wanted the same things I did.”

“And has that changed?”

“Maybe. I don’t know what’s going to happen, any more than you do,” he said. “But I keep thinking about you and Germaine. Maybe possibilities are opening up that I never imagined.”

“I could say the same thing,” she admitted. “Pain and accepting responsibility for one’s decisions can change a person.”

“Life is giving us an opportunity. Let’s see where it will go.” Jack Soutane’s handsome face broke into a soft smile.

Around midnight he got up to leave and held her in a long embrace. Her arms encircled him and she spread her hands across the muscles of his back. She inhaled his scent and kissed the black hair escaping his open collar.

He squeezed her gently in a long sensuous kiss, cupping her bottom in his hands.