Soulmates Page 9

  “I think I remember something about a helicopter ride someone offered him that he shouldn’t have accepted.”

  “Yep, that’s him. So now, I need to let it go. She gone, it’s not my business or my problem.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, John. If I may speak frankly, you are always going to worry about your ex. What’s her name?”

  “Cassandra.”

  “You were married to her, you loved her even if she left you, you have kids with her; you mentioned a daughter. You’ll always have a place in your heart for her. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be for you to recover. How long has it been?”

  “Two years. Should be way over it by now.”

  “Ha! Who said that? Someone who has never been through it, probably. You’re still grieving. Give it a while. You weren’t invited to the wedding, were you?”

  “No, no thank God.”

  “I’d be begging for an invitation if it were me.” Shocked, John shook his head.

  “No way. I’d end up starting a fight with Carrier.”

  “Can I tell you a story?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “When my husband died, his girlfriend came to the hospital before me.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry. Here I am whining about Cassandra. You should have stopped me.”

  “That’s not why I’m telling you. I forgave her immediately.”

  “I don’t believe it! You must be a lot better person than I am.”

  “Ugh. I’m not such a great person, trust me. Yes, I forgave her, but guess what?” Pam paused for effect, enjoying the moment, flaunting her stupidity to make another human being feel better about his predicament.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” he said, clenching his fists, playing along with her.

  “I found out she’s been seeing the man who stood me up at the altar.” John didn’t know what to say to her, so he just shook his head. “Yep, I actually saw them together that evening.”

  “How’d that come about?”

  “He was at my neighbor’s house. The guy next door is his former brother-in-law. Jason stopped over to ask forgiveness and I watched him walk back to Jeff’s place, so I did a little PI work and he was there with her.”

  “Who is this woman?” John asked, curious now.

  “She’s not yet thirty. My son was murdered last year. You heard about it, I’m sure.” John nodded his head. “Brent fathered her baby.”

  “So what you’re saying is you have to have a relationship with someone who’s betrayed you twice.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’!” Pam gave John more details as he asked, and the lunch hour turned into an afternoon of show and tell. John got his phone out and showed Pam the history of his life in photos.

  After three, he yelped when he realized the time. “We’ve got an appointment at Ferry Stone to look at quartz. Are you up for it?”

  “I sure am,” Pam said, jubilant. The past three hours were enjoyable as she listened to John’s secrets and she told him some of hers. It was the closest thing to intimacy either had in years.

  “Wow, it was really nice to be able to dump on you,” John said, laughing. “I’m sure you can’t wait to see me again.”

  “Me, too,” Pam said. “I have many more gory tales to tell you but I’ll save them for dinner tonight, if you’ll dine with me.” They were walking out to the truck and John paused for a moment, looking down at the ground.

  “I’d be honored to have dinner with you,” he said. “I would have asked if you didn’t. You just beat me to the punch.”

  “I don’t cook anymore,” Pam said. “Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine,” John replied. “We’ll go out. There are so many great places to eat around here; you’ll never have to cook again. I don’t mind it. I’d invite you over to my place, but my daughter Violet moved home while she’s finishing her degree. She’s somewhat the interloper so I’d like to avoid her if possible.” He was laughing while he told her this, and Pam agreed.

  “I love my daughter, but she’s married to a former boyfriend of mine, so you can imagine the problems that has caused.”

  “Now you’re lying,” he said, laughing.

  “No I am not. You laugh, but I could write a book.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s nothing to laugh about.” He opened the truck door for her and offered her his hand while she climbed in.

  “I’m pushing sixty,” she said. “Just so you know. I’m sure you figured it out.”

  “You’re a good looking fifty something,” he answered. “Although I guess that was inappropriate to mention. In case you’re curious, I’m almost there myself.” He paused before putting the key in the ignition. “I don’t usually take my clients out for three hour lunches.” Glancing over, he saw that she was watching him, smiling.

  “I wondered,” she replied, looking ahead, but she was still smiling.

  Chapter 9

  The day before, Annabelle Fiche, Bernice Smith and Nelda Fabian were in a long customs line waiting to get on their boat. Pam wisely insisted they have wheelchairs, so the wait was becoming a time to chat and solve all the problems of the world. Once that was accomplished, they started to gossip.

  “Lisa is not going to like us being gone for two weeks,” Bernice said. “I don’t see her lasting with Ed’s mother all that time.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Nelda replied. “She has Daniela, and Pam will fill in if need be. You’re right about Gladys though. She tests my patience every time I’m around her.”

  “You two are mean old witches. Gladys Ford is the sweetest woman, and she’d do anything for Lisa. You’re just jealous of her.”

  “Why do we keep putting up with Annabelle’s crap?” Nelda asked the universe.

  “You could be on your way back to the Bronx instead of going on a cruise,” Bernice added.

  “Ha! You two would be in a nursing home again if it weren’t for me. I don’t see Miss Pam putting up with your B.S. either. No siree. Besides, how many personal assistants do you think you’d find who’d play Mahjong for an entire weekend? Or do tequila shots with you? Or find porn websites for you to look at? You, Miss Smith could stand to be a little more appreciative.”

  “Yeah, cut her a break, Bernie,” Nelda said. “Annabelle might reduce your cigarette ration again.”

  “Annabelle, it’s you who need to be more appreciative,” Bernice replied, increasing the haughtiness in her voice just enough for the effect. “I don’t see you doing as well in another home. You have the nicest room in our wing, eat the same food we eat, go on these excursions at my expense; yes, I’d say you need to be a little more grateful.”

  “Whose expense?” Annabelle asked, frowning.

  “Who started this conversation, anyway?” Nelda groused. “And what the hell is taking so long?”

  “At least you’re sitting down,” Annabelle said, grunting when the line started to move and she had to push two wheelchairs. “Your arms aren’t broken, why am I pushing you? Get moving you two, I’ve got bags here to drag.”

  “Oh, it’s so undignified,” Bernice complained. “If I knew I was going to have to finagle this thing myself I’d have just as soon walked.”

  “Ha! You’d be on your ass by now or in an ambulance on your way back to Babylon. Just push the wheels, for God’s sake. If I knew it was going to take all day to get on the damn boat I would have never agreed to go.” They shut up with the effort of wheeling their own chairs through the line. Annabelle secretly agreed with Nelda. Who knew how long it would take to get everyone signed on with identification pictures and passport examinations? She didn’t notice that one of the ship’s stewards was watching her appreciatively while they waited.

  “This is a great damn way to start out our vacation, arguing while we’re locked up in a boat together.”

  “I didn’t start it this time,” Bernice complained. Thinking for a minute, they turned to Annabelle with her Cheshire cat grin. “It was you!”

&nb
sp; “I’m guilty,” Annabelle said. “I called you witches. Sorry.” She looked at her watch and tapped her foot. “This is getting unbearable.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth that the line started to move again. A young man in a blue uniform walked along the line, asking people to have their passports ready.

  “What’s taking so long?” Nelda asked.

  “Travelers from Spain, here in the US on visas didn’t have their paperwork in order.”

  “Oh no,” Bernice said. “Were they turned away?” The man nodded his head before moving on.

  “Looks like it. They can sail in a later ship.” He turned to the crowd. “Now listen up everyone. Have your passports ready so we can get this ship out to sea!” Hurrahs cried out as weary travelers saw a glimmer of hope.

  The women moved up to the head of the line as complaining resumed.

  A door connected their staterooms; Annabelle’s being nearest the hallway. Anyone wanting to get at the women would have to get by her, first. Bernice looked around the room with a definite look of distaste on her face, her hands out at her sides, offering the room to the gods. “This is a stateroom?”

  “With balcony,” Nelda read from the brochure. “Our finest accommodations for the discerning traveler as they voyage to their favorite destination. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this jail cell.”

  “It is about as inviting as a cell,” Bernice replied.

  “You two are really ungrateful,” Annabelle added, disgusted. “I want to have a good time, so stop complaining and let’s get our clothes unpacked and get out there to see what there is to do.”

  “I have a better idea,” Bernice said. “You unpack our clothes as you’re being paid to do and Nelda and I will go investigating.”

  “Forget it,” Nelda said. “I’ll put our stuff away and you two take off. I need some down time.”

  “Okay, we’re outta here. Come on Mrs. Smith, get going.” They left together, bickering, and Nelda set out to unpacking and hanging up clothes. They were back after fifteen minutes.

  “Well, a bunch of riff raff,” Bernice announced. But Annabelle laughed unabashedly.

  “Middle-class tourists on vacation, just like you and I,” she said. “It’s not so bad. We can let our hair down and have a good time. As soon as this party barge pulls away from the dock, we’re going to start drinking. And I might add, there’s a casino on board.” Watching Nelda carefully, it was a fact they kept hidden from Pam and from Nelda, who had an unsatisfied gambling desire from way back.

  Visibly shaken, she plunked down on the bed. “Don’t sit on that coverlet,” Bernice cried. “We can’t be sure when it was last changed.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “About the coverlet?”

  “No! About the casino.” She looked back and forth between them trying to suppress the thrill the news had given her.

  “No, we’re not kidding. We wouldn’t lock you up on a cruise ship without a casino. What would you do the whole time? Play Mahjong with me?” But Bernice was smiling, happy there was something she could do to make a good friend happy.

  “I can’t believe it. I didn’t bring much money with me,” she replied disappointedly. Nelda lived on social security, her late husband’s pension from working in the New York City sewer system for forty years, and the money Pam invested for her from the sale of the house in Brooklyn. It wasn’t a fortune, but since she didn’t have any expenses living with Pam she saved it and when something really exciting came along, like a casino at her disposal for two weeks, she didn’t pinch.

  Bernice prompted Annabelle, who dug through her purse, producing a plastic card. “From Pam,” she said. “A cash card for your birthday.” Practically bouncing up and down on the bed, Nelda was ecstatic.

  “Yippee!” she hollered. “We don’t have to tell Pam how I spent it, do we? I am going to have fun tonight! What time does the casino open?”

  “We have to be out to sea,” Annabelle answered. “So what’s it going to be tonight? Dress-up dining room? Or Bermuda shorts cafeteria style?”

  “I say dress up,” Nelda replied. “We don’t do this every day. Who knows? We might find a man for Annabelle.”

  Rolling her eyeballs, Annabelle laughed. “I’ll find my own man, thank you very much. But I’m not totally against finding one for you, Nelda.”

  “Forget it! Not interested.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” she said, glancing at Bernice, who suddenly got busy trying to figure out how a hanger worked.

  “Oh is that right?” Nelda said. “Well, we’ll see about that! I’d rather be alone. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter 10

  The townhouse Cara Ellison formerly owned was in foreclosure; her attorney rented a one-bedroom apartment off the parkway on the way into Babylon. It was noisy and dark, but she was grateful to have her own place again after prison, not having to move in with her mother and grandmother in the Bronx. Neither woman came to visit her once while she was in jail so chances were they wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.

  “This place isn’t big enough for a two people, even if one of them is a kid,” she said.

  “You won’t have that to worry about the kid for a while,” he said, looking around. It was no easy feat cramming her belongings into the space, renting a small storage locker for her, as well.

  “You’re so cynical. Not getting my kid back is not an option, so you better hop to it.”

  “Get busy finding a job and stop telling me what I better do, Ellison. I already told you the paperwork is ready. You’ll have a retainer fee to start custody proceedings.”

  “Yes, well thanks. You’re free to leave now.” Opening the door for Johnson, Cara made a last ditch effort to show some appreciation. “Have a good day and thanks for everything!” An insincere smile and a little wave and Clifton Johnson had to laugh.

  “Yes, well I guess you’re welcome,” he replied. Closing the door after him, she went to the one window that overlooked the dingy parking lot and watched him get swallowed up in the sea of cars. She was finally alone. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

  Wanting desperately to talk to Dan Chua, it hit her that she didn’t have a phone. There was an old-fashioned yellow rotary wall phone in the outdated kitchen, but when she picked up the receiver, it wasn’t connected. Did she even have food? The harvest gold refrigerator stocked with essential items thanks to Clifton Johnson, the thought that she’d get her old body back through forced starvation brought a glimmer of hope. But only a glimmer. The Formica-topped table and vinyl covered chairs were relics from her grandmother’s house, pieces she’d used in the finished basement with rec-room in her former townhouse. For the past twenty years, she’d worked like a horse to rise above her modest beginnings in the Bronx to gain the title of Miss New York. Thinking about those glory days of pageantry, all eyes upon her, the attention she got from men and media were counter-productive, but she couldn’t help herself. Each achievement lead to the next until she was in a position that no one in her family had ever before achieved; a college degree, her dream job with a six-figure income, a home in the best neighborhood. Sitting down at the table, she put her head on folded arms and started to cry, but for a moment only. One of the methods Cara utilized to attain success was never allowing self-pity to creep in, and the attribute was still practical, although repressed after a year in the slammer.

  This was her own apartment, she had public assistance until she could find a job, and if Clifton Johnson wouldn’t help her get Dan Junior back, surely there were charity firms who would come forward to help. Not all was hopeless. Getting up from the table, she decided to see what possibilities this dump had. The living room wasn’t half-bad filled with her furniture. She pulled chairs and tables this way and that until the grouping pleased her. A large shelf mimicked the focal point of a mantelpiece. Her belongings would spice up that shelf. She walked down a short hallway to the bedroom, stopping at the door leading to a small storage
closet packed tight with boxes. At least the putz had taken the time to mark the contents on the outside. A box labeled knick-knacks caught her eye. She pulled on it, shoving the boxes above it back against the wall before they fell on her head. After not seeing her belongings for a year, it was like Christmas time. Finding a vase and figurine she liked from her former life, she walked back into the living room and placed the pieces on the shelf. Something about the act of trying to make the apartment her home both saddened her and energized her.

  Making up the bed, putting her own sheets and coverlet on it, readying for her first night of freedom, joy returned. Grateful she was home; still the longing for her baby, the push/pull of happiness/regret was taking its toll. From experience, Cara knew the only solution to the angst, which could develop into a paralyzing depression, was to focus all of her energy on improving herself.

  Basic hygiene first, she needed a dye job. She’d spend a small amount of cash on hair dye. Just get through the next seconds, she kept repeating. Take care of yourself, fix up the apartment, then get a paper to job hunt. Did they even print papers anymore? The library! She’d go to the library to job hunt. A year ago, the idea she’d have to use a library computer for anything was as foreign to her as imprisonment. It showed you how adaptable a human being was. Suddenly, things like coins took on a new importance. She’d have to find a pay phone. Did they even exist? What about washing clothes? Hopefully, this dump had laundry facilities somewhere. In the boxes from her bedroom, she found a jar full of change she’d saved.

  Praying the car had gas in its tank and that it would start; she took a final look in the mirror and grabbed her keys. “Let’s hope I remember how to drive,” she said to the air.

  Pulling out of the driveway, she turned the car toward the village. Slowly, but steadily, her sense of independence grew stronger. She was free!

  ***

  On Friday, Natalie decided it was time to go back to Greenwich Village.