Goodnight Blackbird (19 page)

"It's also for heterosexual girls who like to swim."

"In my senior year I didn't go out for the team again. Coach Herbert was beside himself. He begged me to reconsider."

"Why didn't you?"

Jacqueline shrugged. "Guess I started listening to my mother."

"I guess we all do that from time to time. Doing what we think we should do instead of what our hearts tell us to do. Most of the time we mistake it for wisdom."

Jacqueline was quiet for a long time. Finally she said, "Cassie actually tried to convince me not to do it. You'd be surprised at how nice she is. But I really needed the money. It was only about six or seven times." She shook her head. "You know, when I think about it, it's like it's something that happened to some other person. Like it's not even part of my life at all. Maybe that's what they call compartmentalization."

"Maybe."

"A couple afternoons a week, Cassie will give me a call, saying she's meeting some clients for drinks, and if I'm interested, meet them in the bar at Hotel Such-and-Such. Sometimes I don't go. Sometimes I do. And it's not what you think, either—I don't get all dressed up in some slutty gown slit up to the thigh. Cassie says that most of the men that come to her want the 'businesswoman experience.'"

"What's that?"

"The whole traditional concept of the woman in the evening gown with the plunging neckline and the stiletto heels, that's actually passé for a lot of guys. Many of them fantasize about the powerful corporate-type women they work with day in and day out. The sensible skirts, dark suits, stylish glasses. The go-to-hell attitude. I didn't even have to buy a new wardrobe."

"I could have given you the money."

"So I can be beholden to you for something else? I'm tired of owing people, Darren."

"You wouldn't owe me anything."

"Yes. I would. It costs more than money to be a charity case. More than you know." Jacqueline dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "This may be hard for you to understand, but I don't really care about sex anymore. It actually seems kind of silly. Naked aerobics, for six seconds of pleasure. Funny how things change. When we're teenagers it seems so majestic and awe-inspiring. Now it's about as awe-inspiring as ordering Chinese food."

Darren smiled.

"So I guess that's how I rationalized it. Like at a garage sale, when we sell things we don't care about. It's just a transaction."

He looked through the links in the fence at the empty pool. He still didn't know what to say.

"I mean, we all sell ourselves every day," Jacqueline said. "Do you really believe in the press releases and PowerPoint presentations you write every day? You use your writing abilities, you sell them to your company. But it's just a job. I need you to understand this."

"I do."

"You think I'm disgusting, don't you? Tell me the truth."

"I don't think you're disgusting."

"But you've probably lost respect for me."

"Jacqueline, I'd be proud to walk in the door with you anywhere, any time."

She looked away. "Why?" she said, her voice thick with anger. She glared at him, and the irony was that she looked disgusted with him and in no mood for greeting card sentiments. He wanted to say,
Because I love you
, but she would've waved the words away like irritating mosquitoes. She wanted a nuts-and-bolts answer to how any self-respecting man could want to be with a woman who sold herself for cash.

Because I love you
. Unfortunately, that was all he had. Sometimes greeting cards, even with their flowery excesses, told the truth.

"I think what you're doing is probably not safe," Darren said. "So would you do me a favor and stop?"

"I'm keeping that house, Darren. And I'm not taking any handouts."

"Then Cassie Christopher is going to get a call from me booking your services every evening until kingdom come. You'll never even have to take your clothes off."

"Darren, no."

"
Yes
." It was his turn to sound pissed.

She laughed. "Man, you are one for the books. Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

Jacqueline shook her head, still smiling. "I can't even come up with the right adjective."

She looked at her hands, the smile slowly fading. "I'm scared about something."

"What?"

"That dream I told you about. The party.... I did some checking on the house's history. There's a possibility that it's not Michelle in the house." She took out a wrinkled printout from her purse and showed it to Darren.

"Jesus," Darren said.

D
arren called her from work two nights later.

"I'm gonna book the flight for you in the next couple days," he said. "I need to know if Kevin's coming or if it's just you alone."

Jacqueline sat down at the kitchen table. "I'll call him tomorrow."

"How are you doing?"

"Hanging in there." Surprisingly, there had been no fallout from the party. She had expected a ten-megaton bomb of drama to detonate, perhaps beginning with an alarmed phone call from Kayla to Jacqueline's parents. Cue her mom, screeching like a banshee and having three strokes. And her dad... God, it would kill him. He would disown her. But the phone had been silent. Although in a lot of ways it was a relief, it probably also meant that Kayla and everyone else at the party had simply decided to forget Jacqueline LaPierre even existed. That's what you did with social pariahs.

"I sent you a present," Darren said.

"As if spending thousands of dollars on a Michael Percival reading and trying to save my soul weren't presents enough."

"It's a DVD. Michael Percival talks about life after death, spirits, ghosts and crisis apparitions."

"I've heard the term crisis apparition but I'm not sure what it is."

"I guess in times of crisis or stress, someone's spirit can appear to us, either to comfort us or give us a message. Sometimes it can even be the spirit of someone who's still alive."

Jacqueline thought for a moment. "Do you think that's why she's appearing to me?" she said at last. "Because I'm in crisis?"

"It's possible."

"But she started appearing long before I even lost my job."

"Then maybe she's visiting for some other reason," Darren said. "So. You're back to thinking it's her."

"I don't know." In her research into the history of the house and its former occupants, the only odd thing she'd uncovered was a 1957 article from the old Cleveland
Press
.
Skull Fragment Is Human, Coroner Says
. Apparently a portion of a skull had been unearthed in a tract of land in Beachwood being developed into a housing subdivision—a subdivision that would be born in late 1958 and include Jacqueline's street and two others. She hadn't been able to find any follow-ups to the story, leaving all her questions—who did the skull belong to? which lot had it been found in?—unanswered and probably unanswerable.

"Most of me thinks it's Michelle, but I'm still half-tempted to call someone at the coroner's office," she said. "Maybe they have some cold case files I could look at—"

"It was more than fifty years ago. And you don't know where the skull was found. Your development has a couple dozen houses."

"A couple nights ago you thought this could be significant. We're talking about somebody who was probably murdered. Right in my neighborhood."

"This whole earth is a graveyard, Jacqueline. I think you're reaching."

"Then what did she mean by 'That's not my name'?"

He had no answer.

"So how's your apparition doing?" Jacqueline asked after a pause.

She heard the creak and sag of Darren leaning back in his office chair. "She's being mischievous."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm flying to Portland in a couple days to interview for Magruder-Cartwright. Last night I got my suitcase out of the attic and put it in my room. When I woke up this morning it was gone. I tore the house apart looking for it. I found it again in the attic, buried under a mound of insulation that had mysteriously come down from the rafters."

Jacqueline smiled, but the smile was short-lived. "So you're really going for this job."

"If I can fool them into thinking I'm qualified. A few other people at my office are jumping ship to other Goodman operations too." The chair creaked again—Darren was leaning forward. "I got another e-mail today. No sender address. Khabir worked his magic but he still can't figure out where they're coming from."

"What'd it say?"

"I'll forward it to you now. I get uncomfortable looking at it. Look, I'm a little worried about you. About you being alone there while you're feeling this bad."

"How do you know I'm feeling bad?"

"After that party, I doubt you're feeling good."

"I'm not planning on killing myself, at least not yet. Why give my in-laws the satisfaction?" She let the flippancy vanish from her voice. "Thank you for your concern. It means a lot."

"Let me know what Kevin decides."

After he hung up, she powered up her laptop and checked out the e-mail Darren forwarded to her. At first she thought it was gibberish, but then she looked more closely:
ewigieuv xxx swk43yq sva whyd u try to send me away8wffcv darrennn xjgxx just want to be 7t8with you xxxxooo fgehwr97 plse dont send me away xxxxjrweq youre my sweetie xcbvd1xxxooo

Jacqueline managed to get Kevin on his cell as he was driving home the next night. "My friend—Darren—is going to book the flight to Tampa to see Michael Percival. I was hoping you would come with me. It's October 14." Please say no, she thought. The idea of being cooped up in a plane with Kevin's simmering hostility was enough to make her want to cancel the trip altogether. But Michelle was his daughter too.

"I'm coming over," Kevin said. "We need to talk."

"You don't need to come over. I just need to know if you're in or out."

"I'm not going to see a psychic, Jacqueline."

"Fine. Don't waste gas coming over here."

"I'm coming over."

Christ, what did he want? Their lawyers had worked out virtually every issue in the divorce agreement so there wasn't anything left to fight over.

When he arrived, the first words out of Kevin's mouth were, "Please tell me it's not true." He stared at her as if she were some new and disgusting form of alien life.

Jacqueline felt tired. She sank down on the couch. Allison had probably called him. Maybe they had gotten together for drinks.
I think there's something you ought to know, and it's hard for me to say it.
She probably wore her deep crimson lipstick and squeezed Kevin's hand at all the appropriate moments. Or maybe Kayla had told him. Didn't matter.

Kevin's expression pinballed between fear and rage and abhorrence. "You're sickening."

She shrugged. "Okay."

"'Okay'? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what the hell do you want from me, do you want to humiliate me, do you want to call me names and scream at me? I've already been humiliated, I'm a little numb to it all. So just get it out of your system so you can get out of here and I can go to sleep."

"I didn't come here to yell at you. I came here to convince you to get help."

She went into the kitchen to take an aspirin.

"You need to see someone," Kevin said. "A psychiatrist."

"What for?"

He barked a bitter, shocked laugh. "What for? Do you want a list?"

While she poured herself a glass of iced tea, Jacqueline heard him rummaging around in one of the drawers of the sideboard in the dining room. Then he appeared before her, holding the framed photo of the two of them on their wedding day. "Do you remember this woman? Look at it, Jacqueline."

"Hey, what do you know, she looks like me."

"Magna cum laude, beautiful wife and mother. And now she imagines ghosts and spreads her legs for money from strangers."

Jacqueline looked at the picture for a long time, breathing hard. Then she grabbed it and flung it as hard as she could at the wall. It exploded in a hissing spray of glass shards. The imitation silver frame broke at one of the corners and clattered to the floor.

"Just get out of my house," she said, her voice rising to nearly a scream.

"It's not your house!" he yelled into her face. "My name is on the mortgage!"

She stalked off into the living room.

"You need to get counseling," Kevin said, "and you need to do it now. Do you hear me? You're falling apart."

"You don't get to order me to do anything."

"You will get help. Or your parents are going to find out about this."

"What, they don't already know? I figured Allison would have them on speed-dial."

"I'm not kidding, Jacqueline. This is the deal. It's for your own good."

"Another ultimatum. Classic."

"What do you mean, another?" Kevin asked.

"Like in '96. Before we got engaged. You got all annoyed with me and said we were just spinning our wheels and had to either get married or break up. You wanted a future together. I thought women were supposed to be the experts at emotional blackmail but I guess men are good at it too."

"Great, now I'm the villain who forced you into a loveless marriage. I don't remember holding a gun to your head."

No, of course there hadn't been a gun. Most of the world's crimes aren't committed at gunpoint. But now she was being melodramatic. Their marriage and life together hadn't been a crime, it had simply been... not enough. "I hate to break this to you, kiddo," Jacqueline said, "but I don't have any health insurance. You're more than welcome to foot the bill for another shrink, but I thought I was already driving you to the poorhouse. Hey, when you go shrink shopping, pick out a cute one. Maybe one day I'll want to start dating again."

Kevin looked like he was on the verge of tears. "What in God's name happened to you?"

"Life."

"I'm trying to help you. I want to keep you from destroying yourself."

"You can take your help and shove it up your ass," Jacqueline said.

Kevin looked at her for a long time. "This is going to be the last time I'm ever going to talk to you. I'm urging you to get some type of counseling."

"Kevin, I am seeking counseling. From Michael Percival. You can mock him all you want, you can belittle my beliefs, but I think this is going to help me. This is what I need to do now. I need to talk to my daughter."

Kevin drifted toward the front door, zipping up his jacket.

"You called me sickening," Jacqueline said softly. "I can't believe you called me that. Do you remember three years ago, when the company lost that class action suit?" A Stratus Chemical plant in Newark had been found guilty of dumping toxins in a nearby river. The rate of children there with testicular cancer was off the charts. Kevin had been on the company's beleaguered defense team.

"It was my job, Jacqueline."

"You called me sickening. I let a few sleazy guys ejaculate inside of me, but you defended a company that killed children and ruined parents' lives. Do you really want to talk about morality with me?"

Kevin said nothing.

"Do you want to know one of the reasons I just couldn't bear to stay married to you?" Jacqueline said. "It's because you're ordinary. You're a nice man, you were a good father, you always remembered our anniversary, but you're still just like fifty million other guys out there. It's like you guys were stamped out with a cookie cutter. You want to have a pretty wife and play house, you want to mow the lawn on Saturday and lie on the couch and watch the Browns lose on Sunday. In a few years you might take up golf. And that's it for you. I think that's sickening."

"And you think you're distinguishing yourself by turning your life into a long-term nervous breakdown? What prize do you get for that?"

No profound or witty answer occurred to her, so they simply looked at one another for a few seconds more. Then he left. Kevin was true to his word; it was the last time they ever spoke, and on the few instances when they had to communicate with one another they did so through lawyers. Once the divorce was finalized in mid-November, there was no need even for that.

Jacqueline called Darren at work around noon the following day. "He's not coming," she said.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." She cradled the phone against her shoulder as she picked up the wrinkled wedding photo from the pile of broken glass on the kitchen floor. "But can I ask you for yet another favor?"

"What?"

"Will you go with me?"

Long silence on the other end. "Are you really sure you want me there?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay."

Jacqueline spent the afternoon sorting through the mess of photos stored in the bottom drawer of the sideboard. She would most likely dump the wedding album (Happy Jacqueline trying on her gown and wearing her happy wax dummy grin; Happy Jacqueline and Happy Kevin shoving happy coconut cake into each other's stupid, happy mouths), but she found a high school photo of herself that she liked. She looked like a totally different person. Her hair was a short, boyish mop (better for swimming). Her face was lean but healthy—not gaunt, the way it was now.

"Hi, you," she said to Jacqueline 1.0.