Authors: K. Larsen
Jezebel (29 page)
Annabelle
“Try to wake up. Don’t have the power. I’m a daughter in the choir.”
~ Curbstomp, Meg Myers
The suspense was more than Annabelle could handle. She raised her hand to her mouth and mindlessly rubbed her bottom lip with the tip of her thumb. Disappointment coursed through her over their time being up but, for the first time in a long time, Annabelle couldn’t wait to get home. It was Tuesday-not only Jezebel day, but now father-daughter dinner night, and it was something that over the last month she’d grown to love.
“Jez, this story is cray,” Annabelle breathed.
Jezebel looked at her perplexed. “What in God’s name is cray?” she laughed.
“Short for crazy,” she explained.
“It’s not exactly any shorter than crazy. Cray, crazy, is the z really such a nuisance?”
Annabelle burst out laughing at Jezebel’s rant.
“No, I guess not,” she said when she finally composed herself.
“Take your ridiculous terms home to your father for dinner. What are you two making tonight?” Jezebel asked.
“Crepes, I think.” Annabelle slid her feet into her flip flops and hoisted her purse up onto her shoulder.
“Mmm, make sure you have
Nutella
at home—a must for crepes.”
She smiled at Jezebel and nodded. “I’ll pick some up and surprise Dad.”
“Au revoir kid,” Jezebel called after her.
~
***
~
Annabelle’s week passed quickly now that summer was in full swing. Her dad even went to Madison’s family’s cookout with her—and enjoyed himself. She and Mark and Madison had spent days at the lake getting tan and swimming to keep cool. Over the weekend her father had brought her up to the college she’d be leaving for in just a few short weeks, and explored the campus with her. She couldn’t remember a time when things had gone this smoothly. A small part of her that she tried to keep hidden was waiting for something to give but she consistently shoved that niggling doubt, that naysayer voice in her head, to the dark recesses of her soul. She was happy. Things were falling into place seamlessly and she wouldn’t let her own insecurities or hang-ups ruin that.
“Someone is tan and glowing,” Jezebel greeted. Annabelle breezed into the room and plunked down into the seat waiting for her.
“Why thank you,” she answered.
“I rather like you looking all,” Jezebel waved her hand around in the air, “laid back.”
“I had a good week. How ‘bout you? How was your visit with your husband? By the way—what’s his name?” she rambled.
“Our visit was much needed!” Jezebel clapped her hands together. “He always renews my drive to stay on task.”
“Uh,” Annabelle breathed.
“You’ll understand someday, trust me,” Jezebel said.
“Okay. Whatever. You’re so strange sometimes.”
Jezebel winked at her and grinned. “Nothing wrong with that. Now let’s hop to it. We’re running out of visits and there’s much left to tell you.”
“Oh! Wait, I brought snacks for us to have while you talk. I made them myself,” Annabelle beamed and dug through the large bag she’d schlepped in with her today. She pulled out a
Tupperware
container and popped the lid off before setting it on the side table between them.
“These look scrumptious,” Jezebel said. She picked up a cookie and took a bite. Letting out a groan she swallowed and started. “Paris, nineteen ninety-four.”
Celeste
Paris 1994
May
When she woke the world still spun, the truth still hung thick in the air and she still hurt deeply. Irrationally she scribbled Gabriel’s name on a scrap of paper. She stared at it for what felt like an eternity. She scratched it out, angry black slash marks, but it was still there, underneath, lingering. She hated knowing it was still there. She lit a match and smiled as she watched his name burn. Celeste shoved her hand into the pocket of her purse where she now kept the locket he gave her and rubbed the cool precious metal of the chain between her fingers. She couldn’t bear to throw it away so she resolved to carry it with her always-like a charm, like a burden, like a reminder.
Celeste had stumbled through the first three days, barely registering anything around her. She made the effort to seem aware and awake and cognizant of her surroundings. She sat with Matteo in the evenings. She chatted and ate whatever he put in front of her and she busied herself cleaning his house. But her mind ran solely on Gabriel and his unfathomable betrayal.
By day eight, Celeste was sure she would die. Her mind just couldn’t wrap around the scandal. The hows and whys circled ferociously in her thoughts. She couldn’t make sense of anything and she wasn’t sleeping at night. She knew she needed to present the information to someone else. To get logical feedback. She was too hurt, too angry, to find logic on her own. To know what the next steps were for her. Matteo was the only person she trusted. Her parents loved her, but had lied to her over the course of her entire life. Dan was loyal, surely, but to his position and government. Gabriel had used her for research.
Research.
Like a rat. Like a guinea pig. Monique and him probably laughed about it daily through the years and years of her blindness. She had only Matteo.
This game had an hourglass for a timer and she saw the sand running out. Gabriel had said so himself a thousand times and she just hadn’t understood. How could she? He was close. His work was drawing to an end. She’d been happy for him. Hopeful that once he accomplished his task, they’d have more time together. She was the task. Had he ever planned to stay with her once he completed his objective? She couldn’t know and she didn’t want to find out.
~
***
~
Celeste sat on the couch, listening as Matteo alternately asked questions and thought out loud. He scoured every last document she had. He had even run out to the estate to grab the rest of the scattered papers in the attic. And now, here he was, without question, without judgment, trying to make sense of what was in front of them. His lit cigarette rested in the ashtray on the table, smoke billowing up and dissolving into nothing. Celeste thought it ironic. She felt like the smoke looked. Fading. Dissolving. Ending.
Celeste pushed out of her chair and wandered to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Matteo followed Celeste and gave her a sheepish smile. He ran a hand over a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?”
She felt the fatigue in her limbs and heard it in her voice as she continued. “What do you want me to say, Matteo? Do you want me to go to pieces and break down and cry? What good is that going to do?” He raised both hands in mock surrender, pulled out his chair at the kitchen table, and sat. He gave her a weary look. She could see his worry every time he looked at her. Or when he lingered just a moment longer than he should, to make certain she wasn’t about to crumble.
“I told you if you called I would always come running, Celeste. Did you think I’d leave you at your highest or your lowest? I’m just checking in
fiore mio.
This is heavy shit.”
Celeste looked at him as she propped a hip against the countertop. Matteo, who took the trash out for his elderly neighbors. Matteo, faithful and loyal and compassionate. Matteo, who had
always
been there. Matteo, who was not a liar.
“I’m . . . I feel like I’ve been balled up, thrown in the road and driven over a thousand times, only to be kicked around afterward by some kids with nothing better to do. That’s what I am,” she grumbled. “All of this hurts, but you know what hurts the most?”
“Tell me,”
“Gabriel’s infidelity. How ridiculous is that?”
“
Fiore mio,
when we commit to someone, we promise to do our best to be aware of their needs and desires, to be sensitive to signs of distress and respond accordingly. We don’t promise to give the
appearance
of fidelity and sensitivity.” His words slammed into her with such force that her foot slid on the kitchen floor jarring her hip and sense of balance. Matteo leapt up from his seat, caught her in his arms and steadied her.
He squeezed her close and kissed her forehead. “Celeste, you and I were always with each other before we knew the other was ever there.” Celeste sniffled and nuzzled her face into his chest. He smelled of summer and cigarette smoke and earth. “We belong together, just like a breath needs the air. That’s why you’re here now. That’s why we’ve spent nearly a lifetime as best friends and that’s why I will help you any way I can.”
Celeste nodded her head as she took stock in his words. She let them sink into her soul and ease some of her pain. She wasn’t alone and with Matteo near, she never would be.
Releasing him, she grabbed her tea and ambled back into the living room. Papers were strewn everywhere. Matteo was worried for her safety and had voiced that concern a dozen times already. He narrowed his eyes as he read stacks of redacted papers and stroked his chin. He urged her to go home, grab her things and come back to his house while he attempted to sort things out.
~
***
~
Matteo left for work early the next morning, citing something about a llama with a sinus infection. Celeste had laughed at the serious tone in his voice and sent her mouthful of coffee out her nose. Matteo joked that it served her right and let her know he’d call to check in on her later. In her darkest hour he was her light.
Celeste wandered the streets of Paris for hours that day. She stopped at cafés and picked up tasty treats for she and Matteo to snack on over the weekend. She bought some clothes and window-shopped to kill time. Walking back to Matteo’s she noticed a car parked on the street. Light rain had started to come down and she noticed that although it appeared no one was in the car the windshield had been cleared. Shaking her head she hurried the last few blocks to Matteo’s, the rain starting to collect on the ground and the wind picking up around her.
Celeste pushed through the front door, bags in hand. She dropped her things on the kitchen floor and started the kettle. Glancing at the clock she realized Matteo wouldn’t be home for hours still. Sighing she dipped her teabag robotically into the mug of steaming hot water.
Celeste stood for a solid hour in the shower, letting the hot water and the steam soothe her aching body and soul. As she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself she wiped the fog on the bathroom window and stared out at the street below. She noticed the same car again, parked down the street—not the car so much as its windshield. It had been cleared. Once was odd. Twice was purposeful. Celeste looked to the other end of the street then back to the car. The car was gone. The hairs at the back of her neck tingled. She went to the front door, bolted it, and called Matteo home urgently.
~
***
~
From what they could ascertain, Celeste was being watched. Matteo grew more paranoid as hours ticked by. Afraid for her life.
“Cece, if he’s done this to you . . . if he’s been doing this to you . . . for years . . . I will punish him. I cannot stand by and let this happen. We need to talk to a lawyer.”
“Matteo . . . stop. Please. We just need to figure this out. What good is a lawyer going to do against the federal government?”
Angry, he shook his head and kicked the chair to his left.
Annabelle
“When everyone has their disguise. I’ll show you my heart is real.”
~ After You, Meg Myers
“I am freaking out. Freaking. Out. I can’t go home now!” Annabelle cried out. She wanted—no, needed—more.
“I told you there was more to tell but you’ll have to wait,” Jezebel said and popped another cookie into her mouth. “These are seriously amazing. Bring more.”
Annabelle laughed, “You can keep those. I’ll bring something else next time. Dad’s trying to teach me how to bake this week.”
“Good man! I am benefitting greatly from this lesson,” Jezebel said setting the
Tupperware
container in her lap.
“Next week Jez . . . can’t wait,” Annabelle said as she exited the room. A warm feeling blossomed in her gut and a smile broke out on her face. Jezebel was a tough cookie to crack so it pleased her tremendously to know she had impressed the woman.
~
***
~
“No woman in the history of the world has ever looked so beautiful standing in my doorway in nothing but my shirt.” Mark’s voice startled Annabelle. She spun around to face him with a hand over her jumping heart. He crossed the short distance between them, stroked her hair and caressed her arms. She kissed his neck and muscular shoulders.
Their trip to the bed was inevitable. Her back pressed his chest while he moved slowly and gently in her. As he thrust into her, he whispered how deeply he loved her, how much he would miss her and what he would do to her when she came home to visit. Annabelle realized she didn’t have a care in the world-she was happy.
~
***
~
Annabelle smiled the entire ride to Glenview. Her father belted out the lyrics to some tune from his youth as they drove. The windows were down and the wind whipped around them. She felt free and content.
“Tell Mark I’ll pick you up today too,” her father called out the window as she shut the car door.
“Dad.”
“Belle, humor me,” he said.
“Fine, but I’m spending tomorrow night at his house,” she answered.
Her father groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I do not want to hear about you spending the night at anyone’s house besides Madison’s.”
Annabelle laughed. “Fine Dad, tomorrow I’m spending the night at Madison’s—happy now?” He shot her a look that could kill, as she smirked back at him, before he pulled away from the curb. Annabelle turned on her heel and headed into Glenview.
“What’s shakin’?” Jezebel said as she rounded the corner.
“Hey! No time for small talk—I need more Celeste,” Annabelle said dropping her things. She slid out of her shoes and curled up in the chair.
“What about my snacks?” jezebel asked.
“Oh right.” Annabelle chuckled and leaned down. She rummaged through the large bag and pulled out a container then handed it to Jezebel. “Peanut butter chocolate balls.”
“Tiger, you shouldn’t have,” Jezebel grinned and popped the lid off. She took one of the treats balls and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed and she looked like she’d gone to heaven. “These. Are. Amazing.”
“Why thank you,” Annabelle returned.
“You are most welcome, kid, you may have found your talent in life.”
Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really want to cook for a living.”
“Bake. Not cook. But I hear you—long hours, hot environment . . . could trigger your inner attitude to reappear,” Jezebel said with snark.
“We wouldn’t want that,” Annabelle said dryly.
Jezebel shook her head furiously before laughing. “Alright, You’re in such a damned rush-Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” she said.