Misisipi Page 6
“Wanna taste bubble gum?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She took a bite and kissed him hard with its melting milkyness. She wanted to taste his pistachio so he returned the favor. How was the blueberry? Equally good, but could it compare with the Oreo cookies? Their lips were numb by the time the chillily delicious challenge was over.
“You know, Missus Cohen thinks Mordecai is her dead husband,” Julianna said. “Mordy the cat, that is. Mister Cohen reincarnated.”
“I wondered why I got the territorial treatment.”
“Well, she named it after him. The floor is paper thin. I hear her talking to him constantly.” Julianna adopted a spot-on imitation of her landlady. “Oh Mordy, ya made toilet in da kitchen again. That colon of yars was never right after little Benjamin’s bar mitzvah. Why’d ya pester me for so much kishke?”
Scott laughed.
Julianna carried on the performance. “You know I don’t want you sitting in Hannah Goldberg’s lap when the girls come over. I know she always had a thing for you. You ought not to be encouraging her now you can’t do nothing for her.”
They both cracked up.
Julianna swatted her own hand. “I shouldn’t really. She’s a good soul and she’s been good to me. She’s not nosey but she looks out for me.”
“I can’t believe you’d need anyone looking out for you,” said Scott. “You’re one tough cookie and cream.”
“Yeah. Maybe. It’s nice to have allies though. The world’s a dangerous place, doncha know?”
“Are we allies then? Allied?” Scott squinted, partly at the sinking sun behind Julianna, mostly because he knew it was a loaded question.
“Oh yes.” She slid closer. “We signed a pact, didn’t we?”
He smirked. “We did?”
“Yes. And we toasted it over a fine meal. Bubble gum and blueberry. The bubble gum pact.”
He nodded. “Ok. The ‘BG’ pact. Sounds formidable.”
Julianna’s expression stiffened. She dropped her gaze as a momentary trough punctured her good mood. “How about the ‘Pistachio Alliance’?” she suggested, gripping Scott’s hand and looking for his approval.
Scott affected a mock Churchill voice. “If God be with us, those who stand against us would be… ?” He waited for her answer.
Quizzical at first, Julianna’s face lit up. “Nuts!” she exclaimed.
He continued. “And if they will not crack, we will lay them bare with relentless shelling.”
Julianna pinched her nose. “Oh man. That’s so gordy.”
“We will roast them on the beaches. We’ll pummel their cities until only the husks remain.”
“Ok Winston. Not close but you can have your cigar anyway.” They laughed at his silliness. Scott was relieved to see Julianna’s face glow with good humor again.
“It’s an accord then,” she declared. “Quoique notre partenariat soit né dans un conflit, notre récompense ultime est l’amour.”
“Eh. Ok. What did I just sign?”
“Vous venez de me donner vos terres, votre peuple, votre cœur et votre âme, avec tous ses désirs à travers, un échange irréversible et non-négociable. Si vous n’obéissez pas à ces termes, vous risquez un énorme châtiment.” She kissed him. “D’ailleurs, vous m’avez aussi donné votre corps!”
Discovering how his lips were no longer numb either, she decided it was still worth checking again.
As dusk fell, Julianna broke the thoughtful silence of a long embrace. “So, where does this ditty chart?”
“Huh?”
“In your collection of perfect moments. What number does this come in at?”
“I wasn’t counting, honestly.”
“Oh, I must rate in the top five at least. To tell the truth, I’ll be disappointed not to have broken the top three.”
“Mmm. Yeah. This is a pretty good moment.”
She elbowed him. “Don’t be coy. Good is a-dime-a-dozen. I mean perfect, quintessentially unique, unforgettable; a moment you would gladly stay in for the rest of your life, only the essence of it to sustain you.”
“I don’t have a chart of perfect moments.”
“That’s a cop-out. Makes me number one by default. You telling me I’m ousting even dear old Mom and all her home-cooking highlights?”
Scott looked at the ocean. “My mom died when I was twelve.”
Julianna groaned. “Oh God, Scott. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” She forced him to look at her. “Please forgive me. Stupid! Stupid! I never meant to disrespect—”
He hugged her close. “It’s ok. Really, Julianna, it’s fine. I’m good. You weren’t to know.”
She sniffled. “I still shouldn’t have said it. Jesus, I’m so insecure sometimes.”
He tightened his embrace. “More secure now?” She nodded against his chest.
“I don’t have a chart anymore cause you’ve blown it all to kingdom come,” he said.
She placed her hand against his firm face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re perfectly welcome,” he smiled back, with warmth and wonderment of her.
As they returned to Missus Cohen’s, an elderly couple holding hands ambled toward them. Scott and Julianna paused to let them pass.
The woman smiled at Julianna. “You both look lovely together. So perfect. Don’t they, John?” she remarked.
“Sure do,” the man agreed. “Lucky lad.”
Scott and Julianna watched the couple walk on. “Think that’ll be us someday?” Julianna wondered, “Growing old elegantly after decades of passionate togetherness?”
“This is LA, remember. He might be on his eighth wife.”
“Hmm. After all her passion, he might be on his eighth hip, but she’s still his one and only.”
The sun had set and the early stars winked from the indigo tinge above the shore lights. Julianna grabbed Scott’s arm and took her station securely at his side. “Come on, Indy. Let’s see if we can’t put a down-payment on your second hip.”
Chapter 9
The small attic window was open. Scott could hear the Pacific. The sound of the water, rolling and pulsing, had commanded the rhythm of their love-making. He had dozed for a time. Awake now, on the small single bed of the simple strawberry room, he kept still and watched Julianna. She stood at the window, gazing out. She was freshly showered and had wrapped herself in the thin sheet they had long since kicked from the bed. The white fabric was pulled tight around her. Within it, the contoured impression of her fists, her arms, her sharp shoulders and her appled buttocks, all summoned this simple shroud to dream the vital art of her. It was an impression he would never forget.
He propped himself on one elbow and let out a quiet wolf-whistle.
- I want you to put me in the ocean, she answered.
- What?
- I want you to put me in the ocean.
- I’m too wasted to carry you down the hill and dunk you in the surf. You saw to that.
- No, silly man. I don’t mean for a swim. I mean… finally. When I die, I don’t want to be buried. I want to be cremated. I want to be a part of the ocean.
- I thought they’d cured me of that.
- What?
- The morbid hopelessness that all women succumb to after they screw me.
- Ha!
- All joking aside, that’s really strange talk. What’s wrong?
- Nothing’s wrong, Scott. Au contraire, everything’s perfect. You were perfect. You are perfect. It was beautiful.
- Why all the death talk then?
- Death’s just as much a part of life as living. A good life is preparation for a good death, so they say.
- Better to concentrate on the good life then, eh? I thought we made a worthy contribution.
- Promise me, please. I don’t mean to be morbid. I won’t mention it again if you only promise me now. When I’m… when I go, don’t ever let them bury me. Don’t bury me. No ground; just ashes to ashes. And I want to be part o
f the ocean.
- You’re making an awfully big assumption, Julianna.
- And what might that be?
- That you’ll keep me round long enough for me to see that through.
- You’re staying. Assumptions are no longer an issue in the matter.
- You’re not considering this anytime soon, are you? I mean, you’re not… I mean, Julianna, are you ok? Is there—
- No, God no. Not that I know of anyway. I hope to live a hale, hearty, and hedonistic life with you.
- Any particular ocean?
- It’s all ocean. All waters lead to and are the one ocean. We’re even ocean; 98% water or so I’m told. Water and space.
- So it’s more accurate to say water-to-water, not ashes-to-ashes?
- Well, I think we all started off as ash, astral ash; the Big Bang and all that. You and I—stardust. Maybe a little piece of me and a little piece of you were once companions on some great cosmic dust storm making its way to this rock.
- I thought you looked familiar. Aren’t you that ion storm I ran into a few million years ago, running wild with that Shoemaker meteor crowd?
- A bad bunch. Always knew they’d come to a sticky end.
- By Jupiter they did. Anyway, doesn’t the Pope say you lot can only be pushing up daisies, no charbroiling?
- Sssshh. It’ll be our secret. I daren’t risk getting excommunicated.
- Ok. I give in. Ocean. You got it.
Julianna took a sip from a water bottle on the window.
- Isn’t it amazing? To think, I drink this now, and in 100 years, every glass of water than anyone pours, anywhere on the planet, will contain at least one of the molecules I put into my body right now.
- Well, numerically there are more molecules of water in that bottle than there are glassfuls of water in the oceans. It’s just statistical probability.
- Bah! You are so not the romantic you led me to believe. For that, I’m going to plague you from the next life. Every time it rains, that’ll be me, trying to knock some spirituality into that thick head of yours.
- Can’t you just come back to bed and let me try and knock something else into you?
- Stop it! Hmm-mmmm. Maybe-eeee. I mean though, to go on beyond this life as part of the majestic circle of existence; to be the mirroring of the sun at first dawn, east of Australia. To hear the first heartbeat of a newborn dolphin in the shadow of the Azores. To carry whalesong across the Straights of Magellan. To be the glacial shelf of Antarctica, as the penguins land to mate. Riding down the Rockies on the back of the great Colorado River. It’s just magical to think about it.
- Even carrying concrete-booted Mafia wiseguys to the bottom of the Jersey River?
- Yes, even the nasties. It doesn’t matter. To be a part of everything, all at once, for all time. Hey, how did you know I was Catholic?
- You blessed yourself. Earlier, watching the ocean, your lips were moving, like you were praying. Then you blessed yourself.
- You are sneaky.
- What were you praying for?
- Not ‘for’. Thanks.
- Thanks for?
- Scoot over and I’ll show you.
- Yes! Get back in here, Dolphin Girl.
Chapter 10
2005 – Boston
Tuesday August 23
A ringing phone woke Scott.
“Jules?” he mumbled, disoriented.
He was still on Julianna’s bed. He rolled over, fumbled in the dark, and inadvertently swept the items off her night stand. He heard the glass of water shatter on the floor. The ringing was coming from his pocket. He dug his cell out of his pants. On the screen, the office number blinked with each demanding Breep.
The Sanders meeting! “Fuck.” He pressed ‘Reject’.
He hit the lamp switch beside the bed and peered down. The note and paperback sat in a mess of water and broken glass. The note was saturated, the ink already starting to bleed. He swatted the book out of the puddle and plucked the note up, shook it.
The cell screen showed 5:43am. “No fucking way!” He was toast.
From the hallway, the house phone started. And the hits just keep on coming.
He crept out of the bedroom and listened. On the answerphone speaker downstairs, the words were indistinct but the panicky tone in Andy Finkerman’s voice was obvious.
When Finkerman hung up, Scott dashed to his own bathroom and stripped off his shirt. He looked at his drawn stubbled reflection.
This is impossible. I won’t make it, even if I wanted to. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he cursed.
His cell went off again. This time the caller id said ‘Unknown’. His thumb hovered over ‘Reject’. It was most likely Finkerman, calling from his own cell now.
It might also be Julianna, calling from… somewhere.
He answered.
“Scott?” It was Sarah Parales.
“Sarah. Where are you?”
“At the office, where you should be right now. What the hell’s going on?”
“I fucked up.”
“No shit. Andy’s just gone to the lobby with a flea up his ass. Sanders is on the way up right now. Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Scott. Jesus, it’s ten-of.”
“Sarah. Don’t tell him you got a hold of me. I need to figure this out.”
“It’s Julianna, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You had another fight?”
“She opted for Box B this time.”
“She left?”
“Last night. I got home. There was a note.”
“What did it say?”
“Pretty much ‘See Ya’.”
“Have you gotten hold of her?”
“I tried. Just getting voicemail. Her car is gone, some clothes. This is real, isn’t it?”
“Any idea where she might be?”
“Maybe her father’s. I didn’t try there yet. If she isn’t, that’s gonna be an awkward chat, right?”
“What about her work? She has to turn up at the school soon, right?”
“Faculty have another week before they’re called back. I suppose I could check if she’s taken an extension or something.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Scott? Another… incident?”
“Jesus, no! Seriously. She’s gone. She was here yesterday morning. Now she ain’t.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I dunno. Keep trying her phone, I guess.”
“You’re not going to go chasing after her, are you?
“What else can I do?”
“Maybe what she did is for the best. Not now, but eventually, for you both.”
“I’m not in any state to answer that right now. I didn’t sleep so hot last night.”
“I wouldn’t know how you sleep. You have to take better care of yourself, I keep telling you.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m here if you want to talk, as always. 24-7.”
“I appreciate that, Sarah.”
“Well then, appreciate that you need to get your head straight on this. I care about you, Scott. You know that. Whatever she has decided to do, that’s her call. If this is what she wants, you’ll only get more hurt by trying to fight it.”
“What’s gonna be the fallout from me not showing?”
“Lemme figure that out, ok. I won’t let on I found you. I’ll work on Andy. It’ll be ok. Wait for me to contact you.”
“Thanks.”
“Scott, just think about this before you do anything silly. Be selfish and look out for yourself for a change.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Bye Scott.”
“Bye Sarah.”
Scott slumped on his bed. Moments later, he was soundly asleep.
He woke after Ten. Emerging in a tee-shirt and sweatpants, the bright beautiful morning only served to heighten his sense of dislocation. He felt like a prowler in his own home, creeping barefoot downstairs in the full lig
ht of day and in and out of the still-empty rooms. He felt like the ‘wrong’ in his own picture.
There were four messages on the machine, all from Finkerman, and Scott skipped past each without listening to any. He assumed the last contained the word ‘Fired’, ‘Suspended’, or some such crap.
After breakfast, he made a list of avenues to pursue: her school, her father, a few close friends. He stared at the one other entry, which he had punctuated with a series of increasingly strident question marks: ‘Another man????’
Without any sense of comfort, he crossed it out and added two others.
‘Hospitals’
‘The Ocean’
He shuddered. Going to work and subjecting himself to whatever shitstorm waited suddenly seemed like a more palatable option.
With a brown bag in hand, he returned to Julianna’s room and gathered the pieces of the busted glass. He briefly considered trashing the note as well, instead obstinately rereading, folding, and pocketing it. The paperback rested against the wall where he had flicked it. He picked it up, thumbed the page corners to check the wet damage, and the book split open where a Polaroid photograph was wedged into the binding.
Scott recognized Julianna in her early-to-mid teens. He had no idea about the young black girl beside her though. It was a sunny day wherever the camera had found them, seated on porch steps and clinched in a cheek-to-cheek embrace. The other girl’s hair was styled in cornrows, their short braids falling over her ears and finishing in cheery-colored beads. Julianna had hers long, feral, a don’t-mess-with-me temperamental teen mess. It was the style she had returned to—albeit neater—in the last year. The girls wrapped their arms around each other in a sisterly embrace which spoke to a fierce affection. Strange then how this friend, with his wife-to-be, never merited a single mention to Scott throughout their life-that-was.
The image was tightly focused on its subjects, too much so to offer any other clue about its location. Supposing it might be North Carolina, Scott was equally sure that Julianna has never been back there since her adoption.
He turned the Polaroid over. Written on the reverse was a telephone number. He dropped the book, rushed downstairs, and retrieved his laptop from the car. Feeding the number—a 214 area code—into a reverse-lookup website, he stared at the result, more perplexed than ever.