The Witch's Key (14 page)

“Are you kidding? First off, you know that she renews
her youth every decade or two. So, it’s not inconceivable to
imagine that she could have been a hot, train-hopping mama back in
the 40s. Secondly, the woman knows everything about hobos and their
lingo. She knows Jersey Jake, and you saw how she reacted when I
asked her to come with me to meet Mister Marcella. You’d have
thought I wanted her to submit to shock therapy or something.”

“She did snap at you over that.”

“Damn straight. And not to mention how she refuses to
let me near her.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know…near her, romantically speaking.”

“Whoa! Tony, you dog! Where did that come from?”

“Hey, it’s not without merit. Think about it. She
went through all the trouble of including me in her rite of passage
ceremony to make me young again, yet she doesn’t want a piece of
this?” I splayed my arms for Carlos to take a gander just in case
he had forgotten what a rockin` physique I had.

“Yes, very nice,” he said, conspicuously unimpressed.
“Now how `bout sitting down?”

“So, you see what I mean? I think the reason she
resists getting close to me is because she’s—”

“No, Tony. Don’t say it.”

“My mother.”

“Oh, damn! You said it. That’s wrong, man, just wrong
and sick. There’s no way that Lilith is your mother, therefore, she
is not Gypsy. So, there. Leave it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don’t know, but I think you’re really reaching
here just to find an explanation that might be staring you in the
face all along.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. what?”

“Man, don’t make me spell it out.”

“Carlos!”

“You’re not her type, Tony! Did you ever think of
that? Maybe the reason she included you in her rite of passage was
because she pitied you.”

“Get out! You’re jealous.”

“Am I?”

I got up in his face a little and held him with a
stare. But instead of backing down, he locked in on me like a
laser. In all the years we have worked together, I could always
tell when he said something to me that he wished he had not.
Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. Carlos is sometimes
many things: stubborn, moody, fastidious, even
obsessive-compulsive, but one thing he definitely is not, and that
is jealous. My old Cuban amigo had not a jealous bone in his body,
which only meant one thing. I backed down and let my eyes drift
into the fading bubbles in my beer. “You really think I’m
pitiful?”

He shook his head easy. “No, not now. But when you
first came back from Florida you were pathetic.”

“Was I?”

“Please. You could have been the poster child for
pathetica.”

“That’s not a real word.”

“Well, whatever, but you were pathetically
pathetical. I know that.”

“All right. I get it. You think that’s it? You think
Lilith won’t let me in because I’m not her type?”

“Tony, come on. You’re mister conservative. You look
both ways before crossing your Ts. Your idea of taking a chance is
buying milk two days before its expiration date. Lilith, on the
other hand, would check to see if an electrical socket was hot by
sticking her wet finger into it. You see the difference?”

“Yeah. So, what do I do?”

“Chill. Give it some time. Enjoy the new you.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Okay, then, try this.” He slapped me on the back to
emphasize his great idea. “Take Lilith to meet Mister Marcella and
see how he reacts.”

I slapped him back to let him know what a terrible
idea it was after all. “No. She won’t do it. I just told you how
she wouldn’t go with me the first time.”

“Don’t tell her. Make something up.”

“Yeah, like she won’t figure it out when I pull up in
front of the hospice center.”

“Yes, but then it will be too late. She’ll have to go
and see him. If she’s not Gypsy, then she can’t possibly make up a
good excuse not to go in with you.”

“I see. So, you want me to lie to Lilith.”

“Yes.”

“Would you lie to Lilith?”

“Of course not! Are you crazy?”

I rocked back on my stool and gave it some thought.
As much as I disliked Carlos’ idea, it was probably the only way I
would know for sure if Pops’ Gypsy and my Lilith were one and the
same. I picked up my beer mug and polished off the last of the brew
in a long succession of gulps. Then I turned to Carlos and gave him
a nod as I banged the mug back down. “I’ll do it,” I said, knowing
that I would remember that moment one way or the other for as long
as I lived. “And you know what? I don’t care if Lilith gets angry
with me. It’s about time she learns that….”

Carlos looked at me with anticipation. When it seemed
apparent that I might not finish my thought, he leaned forward and
asked, “Learns what?”

I tilted my empty mug on edge, wondering how much of
my bravado was liquid induced. I had never wanted to stand up to
Lilith more than at that moment. But then, she had never pushed me
to the edge of intolerance so hard before. After concluding that my
words came not from alcohol, but from within, I said with a certain
amount of pride and authority, “That I’m no pushover.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But look, tomorrow, first thing, we need to check
out all the places where these transients supposedly committed
suicide to see if we can find the signs Thatch told us about.”

“You mean Gypsy’s calling cards?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, I’ll get with Spinelli to get a list of the
locations. You want me to pick you up?”

“I guess you better. With things the way they are
between me and Lilith, I don’t want to make any assumptions about
her car.”

“All right, done.” He glanced down at his watch. “You
ready to split a cab?”

I considered going home and getting a good night’s
sleep, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment depressed
me more than I wanted to admit. Lilith’s late night romps usually
kept her out until way past midnight, and though I had no right to
expect anything from her, something about that just rubbed me the
wrong way. I lifted my mug to the barkeep and signaled for a couple
more.

“No, not yet,” I told Carlos. “Not till I’m sure I’ll
sleep well tonight.”

He smiled at that. “Good enough, but you’re
buying.”

I smiled back. “Of course.” And we stayed until
closing.

The next day I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and
bacon, which really amazed me because Lilith usually slept in later
than me and almost never made breakfast. I rolled over in bed and
the entire room rolled with me. My head throbbed and my stomach
ached, and the surprisingly bright sunlight stung my eyes so badly
that I almost did not recognize my surroundings. That is when it
struck me. The reason my bedroom did not feel like my own was
because I wasn’t in my bedroom. I was in Lilith’s. The first thing
I did was lift the covers and see if I was naked. The second was to
check the clock to see if I overslept. The answer to both questions
was yes. I tried hard to piece together what happened the night
before, but could recall only vaguely Carlos and I drinking
shooters at the bar and giving waitresses hobo monikers like Loose
Caboose Katie and Flatbed Phyllis. I cannot say that I had not
dreamed about waking up naked in Lilith’s bed before. I just hoped
it would have followed an occasion I could remember as special and
meaningful.

After waiting a moment for the room to stop spinning,
I climbed out of bed and put on my pants. Then, with more
trepidation than I had known in years, I slithered into the kitchen
and sank into a chair at the table as quietly as a mouse. Lilith
stood by the stove, her back to me as she scrambled eggs. Though I
had not yet announced my arrival, she somehow knew I was there.

“Coffee’s on,” she said, without looking back over
her shoulder. “I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”

“Wait,” I said. “You’re fixing breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Since when? You don’t make breakfast.”

“I’ve been known to crack a few eggs.”

“You mean a few heads,” I said, but under my
breath.

“What?”

“I said, so soon out of bed?”

She laughed softly. “You want toast with
breakfast?”

“How `bout toast
for
breakfast?”

“
Oh, nonsense.” She slapped a helping of eggs
onto a plate with some bacon and ushered it to the table. “You need
more than toast to rebuild your strength after last
night.”

I looked up at her through bloodshot eyes, but even
that did not wear against her smile. “After last night?”

She ran her fingers along my cheek and jaw before
pressing them gently to my lips. “Yes. You remember last night,
don’t you?”

I watched her stroll across the room with unnatural
ease, as if floating on a thread of air. She poured me a cup of
coffee and returned it to the table in a similar manner. Only then
did I notice her wearing my tee shirt from the night before. It
hung baggy off her shoulders, conforming loosely over the rounds of
her breasts and then straightening shapelessly at the bottom.
There, it wrung her bare legs at the knees in a striking contrast
of mocha and cream. My stomach fluttered at the thought of what lay
concealed below the mere stitch of fabric that last touched my skin
before hers. An illogical jealousy tore at my psyche, damning my
stupidity for having given away my assumptive right to reach up
under that shirt and caress the curves beneath it. In my wildest
dreams, I could not have imagined myself so incapacitated by drink
that I might forget the slightest details of the very dream I lived
for. Yet, as I sat there, staring with my foolish grin at a prize I
had not earned, I collected my fantasy-based memories and began
filing them away as surrogates for the real ones I missed out on
the night before.

As Lilith placed the coffee down in front of me, I
basked in the fragrance of her body spray lingering in faint trails
below my nose. I closed my eyes and filled my lungs with the
ghostly essence, remembering the same sweet smell on her pillow and
bed sheets just moments before. I opened my eyes to find her
leaning over me still further, reaching for the sugar, her hair
spilling over my shoulder and across my face. I glimpsed down the
opening in her v-neck and gasped at the reward ever slightly. She
pulled back sharply, giving me a look of mock disgust, but then
smiling right away. I smiled back a guilty apology, and she
accepted it with a wink.

“So,” she said, patting down the neckline of her
shirt. “You didn’t say if you remembered last night.”

I spooned a couple of sugars into my coffee and
stirred it absentmindedly. “Of course, I remember. Why wouldn’t
I?”

“Well, you were a bit tipsy.”

“Was I?”

She laughed, as though remembering things that I
could only hope to remember and then forget. “Yes, you were. I
didn’t know you drank.”

I blew into my coffee and took a much-needed sip. “I
guess I picked it up down in Florida. They are always whipping up
something exciting to drink down there. If it’s not one fruity
concoction with them it’s another.”

“Indeed. You were whipping up a little of your own
excitement last night, weren’t you?”

“I suppose,” I said, though I cringed at not knowing
what the hell that was. “I didn’t get too crazy, I hope.”

“For me?” She laughed, almost spooky-like, which made
me think that if I had not been too crazy for her, then I was
probably most definitely too crazy for me. I decided to keep my
mouth shut and eat my breakfast. Lilith finished preparing a pile
of bacon and eggs for herself and took a seat directly across from
me. “So, any regrets?”

My heart nearly stopped cold. “Regrets?”

“About last night.”

Sure, I thought. I regret not remembering a freaking
thing. It seemed obvious to me now that we slept together. Her
morning after behavior all but proclaimed it in writing and on the
news. Never mind that I had wanted it to happen so badly that I
could have killed for it. But that was before I realized the
possibility that she could be Pops’ Gypsy, which meant that she
could be my…. No. I could not bring myself to go there. I could not
do it. What is done is done, I thought. I could only look her in
the eye and tell her, “Uh-uh. I have no regrets. You?”

She smiled devilishly, which made me feel very dirty.
I found myself suddenly unable to look at her any longer. So, I
turned my eyes away and stared down into my coffee, stirring it,
once more, absent of purpose. There, I felt I could search for the
answers within me. Somewhere in the drunken halls of my memories, I
knew there lay the details of a torrid conjunction.

“My only regret?” she said, her wicked smirk still
taunting me, “is that morning came too soon.”

I nodded, agreeing most obediently. But for me,
morning came, perhaps, not soon enough. If it meant that the sun
became her foe, than surely it befriended me. And it was in that
light that the answer came. My memories had not abandoned me. She
had taken them away.

I dropped my spoon into my cup and looked up into her
eyes. “Wait a minute. Something’s not right.”

Her brows perked up convincingly. “Oh?”

“I have to tell you. The truth is that I don’t
remember last night at all.”

“You don’t?”

“No, but you knew that.”

“Well, I couldn’t say for sure, but—”

“But nothing. You did it.”

“Did what?”

“You made one of your whisper boxes and opened it on
me. Didn’t you?”

“I certainly did not.”

“Don’t deny it. You took advantage of me because I
came home drunk. You had me open a whisper box so that you could
have sex with me, and then you made me open another to make me
forget.”

“What!” She slammed her hand down on the table and
rose on a column of venom and steam. “Are you insane? Do you
honestly believe that I need to employ witchcraft to have sex with
you? Ha!”