Blow Your Mind (25 page)
Authors: Eric Pete
“I’m sorry.” He turned his ear in her direction. “Who?”
“Um . . . a gentleman known as Kash . . . with a K. I believe you may have had some gambling debts with this person. At least until he and his associate were gruesomely murdered the other night and his house blown up.”
“Suzette, I don’t know where you get this kind of faulty information and wild conjecture, but I can assure you—”
“And is there any truth to the stories that your wife may have been assaulted by these figures before their murders and was recently hospitalized at Saint Aloysius as a result of such assault? Is that really why she’s not here?”
Coleman stared her down, his hand suddenly covering the microphone. The mayor no longer looked so sure of his boy. In fact, he’d moved several seats down to ensure that he wouldn’t be sharing any camera frames with Coleman.
The crowd began reacting to what was just thrown out by the reporter. A lot of them knew about Kash and his dealings. Now for Coleman and him to be connected, well . . .
It wasn’t nice. Boos and impromptu chants began.
The rest of the mayor’s appointees began fidgeting. Some looked absolutely nauseated.
As Coleman’s hand reluctantly slid off the microphone, he addressed her.
“I said it before and I’ll say it again. My wife is ill and that is all. And I don’t appreciate these baseless accusations. I’m here for something positive and don’t appreciate your cheapening it.”
“We had ledgers delivered to our station, News-maker Six, anonymously. These ledgers, in fact, list you by name and some type of code, along with substantial sums owed over a five-year period. So you don’t want to address—”
“Next question,” he cut her off. “Maybe from a real journalist.”
A hand came up as the mayor whispered to his handlers.
“Yes, Kip.”
“Any truth to the allegations just raised, Mr. Coleman? And was Mayor Kurtz aware of your dealings before your appointment?”
They weren’t going to let it go. A juicier story than what they came for. Even I could smell the blood seeping out of the steak.
I never knew he was on the line with Kash too. Guess it wasn’t my business to know. Still, I smiled with the newfound revelations.
Snowflakes clinging to my shoulders, I pulled my coat tight and left the circus for that overdue chai tea.
Man, I missed Pumpkin.
41
BIANCA
“In my dream, I’m back in Seattle. As a kid.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“I’m in the diner again. My dad comes here all the time. It’s near Pike Place Market. I like the food.”
She laughed.
“It smells good too. I guess that’s why I don’t complain much.”
“Is anyone else there?”
“Bunches of people. It’s the weekend. He made me miss my cartoons to come here. I think he brings me because my mom won’t ask questions.”
“Is your father eating?”
“No. He’s here to see someone.”
“Oh? Is it—”
“Yes. It’s her.”
“Is she nice to you?”
“Yes. Very. And I hate her for it. I hate myself too.” I opened my eyes, uncomfortable with visualizing the moment anymore.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“But how about then?”
“I thought she was sweet. Very pretty too. I remember the first time she spoke to me. She stopped talking to my dad and came over. She asked me if I wanted some dessert.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. But my dad didn’t like me eating too much dessert. He said it made me ‘silly.’ ”
“Hyper?”
“He called it ‘silly.’ She ignored him, though. Asked me what I wanted. I wanted ice cream.”
“How was it?”
“I didn’t have it. Their freezer was broken that day. So she offered me pie instead.”
“And?”
“I ate it. Loved it. Started asking for it every visit.”
“You were there often?”
“Yes. Until she . . . began coming by our house. That was toward . . . the end. I really liked the pie. Can’t stand the stuff now. I get sick at its smell.”
“Apple? Cherry?”
“No. It was around Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie. I liked it so much that she gave me a nickname. Started calling me—”
“Pumpkin,” my therapist answered for me. For the first time in this session, we’d locked eyes. First time in any of these sessions.
“Yes. It’s what she called me from that point on. Even when she took my dad away. He left me and my mom for her, y’know? After all the . . . things my mom did for him. Just trying to keep us together.”
“Do you feel like you’re to blame?”
“My mom wondered why the hell she’d call me Pumpkin. I explained that I’d been seeing her with my dad for quite some time. It just made my mom more depressed. Never treated me the same after that. She felt I’d betrayed her. All the way up until she . . . committed suicide.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing a Kleenex. “I left Seattle a few years later. Just got on that bus one day . . . and came here.”
“So . . . do you now understand how you may have developed this separate persona unbeknownst to you?”
“Yes. What did you call it?”
“Dissociative disorder. Although yours is quite complex, given the issues with your husband.”
“Doctor, can you help me?”
“Yes. We can try, Bianca.”
For the first time since being in here, I ceased looking at this person as my enemy.
I held out my hand.
And she took it.
Something to work on.
42
HENRY
I
paced outside the treatment facility, an institute adorned with ivy snaking across its hallowed, aged exterior. Learning of her upcoming release, I acted irrationally once again. Couldn’t help it.
paced outside the treatment facility, an institute adorned with ivy snaking across its hallowed, aged exterior. Learning of her upcoming release, I acted irrationally once again. Couldn’t help it.
It had been a long time, but that all too familiar rush greeted me. I plopped a piece of gum in my mouth to take the edge off. As I waited, I kept my distance beyond the walls.
Then the gate opened.
She wore a mahogany cardigan and a plaid skirt this crisp spring day. Classy and sexy she was as her brown suede boots strode down the worn steps toward the waiting limo. Rather than rushing to it and fleeing the place of her confinement, she did the unexpected—removed her sunglasses and paused to reflect. I think she was savoring the fresh air as much as I. As I crossed the street, the limo driver was putting the Lincoln in park. She motioned to him that she would be a minute. In the sycamore trees that lined the street, she watched the cardinals dart about overhead.
When she saw me, I froze. Yards and worlds apart, neither one of us knew what was going to happen.
“Why are you here?” she groaned.
She wasn’t ready for this. Far too fragile for me to be intruding at this moment. Instinctually I reached out, but quickly withdrew my hand. It was free of pain, free of the cast.
“God, I really don’t know. I . . . I just . . . My name is Henry,” I futilely offered.
“I know. Now please leave me alone.”
“Damn. My sponsor warned me against coming,” I fretted, sharing my thoughts verbally.
“Sponsor?”
“Gambler’s Anonymous. Y’know. My issue?” I shook my head. “Sorry. I keep thinking I’m talking to . . . You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, not really. Just that awful experience.”
“This is bad. Really bad. I just don’t know how to go forward without—”
“Let’s cut to the chase. I’m not ready for this. You’ve been waiting for me to come out. Now what do you want from me? What more?”
“All I want is to thank you . . . or Pumpkin. You really did a lot for me, and I messed it all up. I just want to tell you that I’m working now and staying humble. I’m fighting my demons day to day, and I’ve done well so far. I’ve been waiting for this day, when I could be face-to-face with you. I came to beg for your forgiveness, Pumpkin.”
I bowed my head.
She just shook hers, the beginnings of a curse word forming, but she broke it off. The limo driver exited, watching both of us curiously. She nodded that she was ready, then turned to me.
“There is no Pumpkin, Henry. Move on. She was a creation . . . a fantasy. Neither she nor I are your salvation. I don’t know you and don’t care to know you. And I don’t accept your apology.”
“Oh. I guess I get what I deserve.”
“You most certainly do. Actually, you’re getting off light.” A gleam formed in her eye. It was there for a nanosecond, then gone in just a blink. “Good-bye.”
The driver came around, opening the door for her. As she entered, I felt a deep sense of loss welling up in me. Something dear was slipping through my grasp, destined never to be held again.
“Hey! Wait!” I called out before her door was shut. She just looked, her patience waning. “Pumpkin said she’d kill me if she ever saw me again.”
The driver closed the door, leaving me staring at a tinted window. I smiled, searching for something on the other side. A sign of some sort. As the limo began pulling away, her window lowered.
My spirits lifted.
“Then consider yourself lucky that I’m not her,” she replied as the limo pulled off.
Destination?
Unknown.
I just knew I wasn’t going with her.
43
BIANCA
I
did remember him.
did remember him.
Beyond the torture endured that night.
Bits and pieces. Like snapshots.
Sweet, stupid Henry. A foolish man fraught with wrong choices. With what I’d just done, I’d saved him one more.
“Ready, ma’am?”
“Yes. Get me away from here.”
He scrutinized me in the rearview mirror, uncertain whether I’d changed my mind about the first destination on the itinerary.
“Go,” I insisted. I folded my arms, averting my eyes before I said something rash. If only my life could be reconciled like my personality.
The limousine ride was quiet and reflective. I sifted through distasteful emotions against the backdrop of smooth jazz emanating from the speakers. Four anonymous instrumentals later, we were in the thick of it.
Hunter’s Green. The wooden neighborhood sign was warped and faded, with only the word GREEN still prominent. A testament to failed policies and administrative apathy.
Tanner had been charged to fix this, but while I was . . . away, his glorious committee was scrapped. Tanner had gambling debts with the devil who had dwelled in these here parts. When the reports flew, he was cast off like Paris Hilton’s last boyfriend. He was never charged with that evil man’s murder, but implications sufficed. His empire was on shaky ground.
And shaky ground allowed for takeovers.
From what I read, his board of directors felt it was time to take the company in “another direction.”
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