The Immaculate Deception Read online

  I wondered if Cary Grant was milling around. Maybe Vera Blandings. Nope, I changed my mind. To me, Mother May I was perhaps the scariest movie that Hitchcock ever directed. He had a mother complex and often used it as a theme. Tammy and I watched part of this film once during a wicked thunderstorm. We were around fourteen. The protagonist had been manipulated by his mother into robbing banks. The knife scene had us both screaming like sissy-girls. I certainly didn’t want to be dreaming in that one now.

  A young African American woman sashayed down the aisle toward me. A Caucasian hand came out from a lower bunk and grabbed her ass. She giggled. The curtains opened and she climbed in. I did a double take. No, I couldn’t do a double take, it happened too fast and they closed the curtains. But I knew who that ass-grabber was. Doctor Nathan Payne. Daddy. And that gorgeous girl also served a great hors d’oeuvres platter. That was Katherine, the White House maid.

  I crept up to the curtains. I heard rustling and her giggling. Okay, this was really gross. Daddy fooling around with another woman. Or any woman. Especially my momma. Children didn’t want to think about their parents doing it. We were all hatched on a big hot rock. No sex involved. Right? From the looks of things, I was probably back in the mid-forties again. Daddy wasn’t married back then, so he was at least not cheating on Momma. But I couldn’t believe the pompous hypocrisy of his nibs, the great Doctor Nathan Payne, pillar of the community. Dating a black girl in 1945 was probably a big social no-no. If not against some southern law. Well, that probably made it all the more delicious for them.

  I didn’t wanna stick around for the afterglow. I was kind of hungry. That hot dog really would’ve hit the spot. But under different circumstances. And even under similar but not with a stranger. Man, if only I could conjure up my mate, Mr. Jones. He’d pull a grilled chicken salad out of his fedora or something like that for me. Then turn me upside down and cart me off to the next adventure.

  I closed my eyes and began walking in the darkness. Swaying back and forth with the locomotive’s cadence. “Ouch.” I bumped into the side of the train car. Two more blind steps. “Ouch.” Make that the end of the car. I opened my eyes. I moved out of the corner and opened the door. I stepped into the vestibule. Before I could turn the opposing door handle, it opened. And there he was. My man. I grabbed him around the neck and laid a big juicy kiss on his volcanic lips.

  He said, “Hello, Cinderella, where have you been?”

  “Where have I been? You’re the one who left me stranded on the streets of Miami in the middle of the night.”

  He said, “The City of Miami Beach. They are separate entities. I had to leave you. I told you you’d have to meet someone from your mother’s past.”

  “Well, I ended up wandering around. I wanted to wash the sand off my feet.”

  He smiled. “Let me guess. In the Lincoln Road fountain?”

  “Uh-huh. Then I met a man. Or should I say he was surprised to meet me.”

  “I’ll bet he was.”

  “You know him?”

  “Sergeant Bill Blandings, Bureau of Engraving and Printing Police Department.”

  “I know. The old cop turned up and arrested him. He was Vera’s first husband.”

  “Yeah, they were hitched a while.”

  “Hey, when did she divorce the pirate?”

  Dream boy cleared his throat. “Bill and Vera Blandings did not divorce. She was his widow.”

  “Did he die of natural causes?”

  “Let’s just say it was a premature death.” He scratched his chin.

  And what a handsome square chin it was. “Okay. How about a little less talk and a lot more kissing?”

  Mr. Jones twirled one of my curls around his finger. A long index finger on his left hand. I stumbled into him when the train pitched hard to the left. My hand accidentally brushed his left front pocket. Well, not that accidentally actually. I felt my mate’s pleasure to see me.

  He wrapped his arms around me. My pulse reacted. He held my cheeks and gazed into my eyes. I noticed his eyebrows. Perfectly formed. Brownish-blond. And like on the beach, he wasn’t wearing a hat. He had a blond flattop. Dark blond but blond. His nose was perfect. And oh my God, those sensual lips of his. Whiskers. I saw whiskers. More than just midnight shadow.

  “You haven’t shaved lately?”

  “I’ve been…um…busy.”

  “Busy with who?” I jealously demanded.

  He grinned and brushed a lock of hair back from my left ear. His lips brushed my neck and then my ear as he whispered in his oh-so-smooth British accent, “On a mission.”

  “Mission?”

  “I had to put a scare into someone.”

  “Why?”

  “Part of the mission.”

  “Am I a part of your mission?”

  “You are my mission of love…” He kissed my neck, ever so lightly. Shivers inched down my back and arms.

  I placed my right hand on his cheek and rubbed. “Prickly but soft,” I said.

  He licked my neck, serpent-like, teasing the little hairs on the surface of my steamy skin. He said, “You don’t like beards, sweetheart?”

  “Oh no, I don’t mean that. Just never had one.”

  He pulled away, giggling. “Well, I should hope not. I don’t want to make love to a man.”

  I blushed. “No, I mean I’ve never kissed a bearded man before. But I would love for you to be my first.”

  He cradled my head in his hands. “Oh the things I’ll do for you. You have never been touched before. Not like I will touch you. I was made to love you, you know.”

  “So you keep telling me. You’re my mate.”

  “Yes I am, sweetheart. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “I wish this was real.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Not just in my sleep. I wish you were a living breathing man, in the real world.”

  “But I am. I told you to believe in us. I do. There’s nothing I believe in more. When you need me, when you really need me to be, I will be there for you, Cinderella.”

  “And the carriage turns into a pumpkin at midnight. I’m so sick of pumpkins. My whole life has been pumpkins. Rotten, small, picked-over, leftover pumpkins. And evil stepsisters. Well, more or less. Actually a half-brother and an adopted sister. But they treated me like…”

  He took my hand and led me through the car and out a door—into the night. We were on a little balcony, outside of the observation car, at the end of the train. He spun me around, so my back faced him. He slipped his arms around my waist and drew me near. He softly kissed my cheek, from behind. And I felt the reminder that he was indeed—my mate. A strong, hard reminder.

  He said, “Look up there at the stars, love. You see up over there, those two, the brightest in tonight’s vivid concert?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mercury and Mars.’’

  “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,” I quipped, realizing instantly that book about the emotional differences between the sexes wasn’t written yet.

  He said, “I’m taking you to Mars. Your vessel somehow became stuck too close to the sun, on Mercury. No worries, I’ll take care of you, love. I never miss a destination.”

  “So let me get this straight. You are my soul mate through history but you have lived as a man on earth. How do the planets fit in with all of this?”

  “How wouldn’t they? You live in the twenty-first century, a dot in history. That isn’t necessarily the present. The planets have been around since time began. And some of them are heavenly.”

  This was all a bit much to comprehend. Even more so because I felt his hot hardness rubbing against me. “Well, shall we travel on your noble steed, Prince Charming?”

  “Whatever pleases my woman.” He began moving rhythmically behind me. My breath quickened. I heard him breathing deep and heavy.

  The wind picked up. I heard the “Donna” song. Sucking me off the train. I grasped on tight to the railing but, alas, I smel
led the potatoes frying in my mother’s kitchen.

  ~*~

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. It was pitch-black, save the dim light over the stove that dusted around the corner into the living room. I heard the sizzling and the scraping of the metal spatula in the cast-iron skillet. I threw my feet over the edge of the slick leather sofa, onto the floor. I stumbled into the kitchen. “Momma?”

  “What?” He turned.

  “Oh it’s you, Perry. I thought it was Momma.”

  “That was some dream you had, Sister. Could hardly hear you snoring and farting over all the moaning and screaming.” He turned the electric burner off and grabbed a fork from the adjacent silverware drawer.

  I yawned as I watched the elephantine bald man shake salt on the potatoes and then eat right out of the skillet. Perry popped a hot chunk into his mouth.

  He said, “I see you paid a visit to my office today.”

  “Huh? What makes you say that?”

  “The will on the coffee table in the living room. Why didn’t you just ask me for it, Oh-Donna? What, you don’t trust me, do you? I told you what the will spelled out.”

  My face flushed. I was busted. Hmm…think quick, Donna. Plausible denial…plausible denial. Nope, couldn’t come up with anything. Diversion tactic…diversion tactic. “Perry, I need a car.”

  “So,” he said, huffing hot potato heat out of his mouth.

  “No, I really need a car.”

  “What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

  “I totaled it.”

  Laughing, Perry spit a chunk of spud into the skillet.

  I said, “It’s not funny. I could’ve died.”

  “Well, don’t even think about Chloe’s Corvette. That’s part of the estate.” He always called her Chloe, never “Mother” or any of its endearing monikers.

  I almost died and my big brother didn’t even care. What was the use in telling him about my accident and how horrible it was anyway? He wouldn’t stir up any sympathy on my account. I was right not to call any of my family from the hospital. The only thing Perry was interested in was his inheritance. Incensed, I fought the tears and said, “No, the Vette isn’t part of the estate.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The pink slip is in Momma’s name and she ain’t dead. So there.”

  “Fine, have it. See if we care.”

  “We? Oh you and Tammy-the-terrible.” I cleared my throat. “I can’t use her car.”

  He grabbed a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and gulped a big swig directly from it. He spit it in the sink.

  I laughed as he turned the spigot on and ran water into his mouth.

  I said, “Check the expiration date before you swig in this house, Perry.” I handed him a clean dishtowel from the bottom drawer.

  He wiped his mouth. “Thanks.” He threw the towel onto the top of the semi-clean dishes piled in the drainer. “Why can’t you use hers? It’s an automatic.”

  “It’s been impounded.”

  “Oh so the old girl finally ran up too many red-light tickets, I told her she had to pay those. She swore she didn’t have the money. I have no idea what she does with all her money but when you get done with the accountant, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of pleasant surprises. Well, me and Tammy will anyhow.” He laughed.

  I simmered in quiet rage. I was great at suppressing it. A master suppressor, with forty-two years of experience. “Perry, I need a car. I can’t get home to my job and back here to take care of things.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine what?”

  “Fine. You can have Dad’s old gold Chrysler. I don’t use it anyhow. I seized it so he wouldn’t go out driving and killing anyone.” Perry dug a key ring out of his pocket and peeled off the ignition and trunk keys. He gave them to me.

  I tucked my blouse in and buttoned the skirt. I plodded into the living room and slipped on my shoes and suit jacket. I shoved the pantyhose in my big blue purse, careful not to let the bulging bundle of uncut hundred-dollar bills show. I picked Daddy’s will up from the coffee table.

  My brother stomped past me. “See ya round.”

  “Wait up,” I said.

  “I’ve got a thing to get to.”

  “But aren’t you going to drive me over to your house to pick up the car?”

  “Look, I gave you the keys.” He slammed the door in my face.

  Fair enough. I’d make my own way over to get the hoop-dee car. I shuffled back into the kitchen and picked up the business cards the two real estate shysters left. Vivian Whong and Marv Goldenmyear. Actually, we needed Lucky the Leprechaun to sell this place. I really should clean it. I shoved the skillet into the sink. I couldn’t believe that Perry actually ate the old potatoes that had been sitting on the stove since the day Daddy died. Yes, I could. That boy had eaten like a goat ever since I could remember. Kind of like when women ate when they were unhappy. Poor guy. An orphan and all now.

  Hmm…so what was he doing with all that improper green dough behind his couch? I got a flash of that chartreuse turkey with the mayonnaise and eww…quite sure, I didn’t need to eat anything this evening. My clothes seemed to be fitting much better. I might be able to get into a size ten soon.

  I heard a truck outside. Not out of the ordinary. Someone must be getting some furniture delivered. Man, I’d love some new furniture. British Colonial. Dark woods, palm and monkey motif, from the turn of the last century when the British Empire still conquered and ruled little tropical islands. Well, maybe it was the twentieth century, or the century before that but the decorating style was so wonderful. I’d like a big wicker fan and palm tree pictures. Perhaps even an elephant-foot umbrella stand. And a wooden freestanding coat rack with some parrots or monkeys carved into it.

  If only money grew on…grew on palm trees? Oh I wish I could have a palm tree in my front yard. But they wouldn’t survive the single-digit winters and all the heavy snow here. Not to mention our famous Washington ice storms.

  I thought about the Bradford pear outside my house and the lightning strike. Doom-doom music played in my head. Somebody had cut the rest of the tree way down and hauled it away. The community association probably. I’d know for sure when I received the bill in the mail. And there would be one, naturally.

  I needed to get to Reston and rent a PO box so I could forward Momma and Daddy’s bills. I really didn’t want them going to my home address. Wish I hadn’t done that. Maybe I could catch it in time. I couldn’t wait to be done with it all. Then I could get on with my life. My life. I wouldn’t have to dread the telephone ringing anymore. And once I got the estate through probate, I would be through with the siblings. Whoo hoo.

  I sulked. Then what would I have? A nice townhouse in an affluent Washington suburb. Great school district. Number one in the nation, sometimes. Fairfax County. I sighed. Not that I’d be having any offspring to educate. Not unless I settled for the likes of that aging cop with the woolly back and the pink and purple polka-dotted Harrys. Eww. I would rather die a lonely old maid. Maybe I would hit it off with Ashley, my absentee roommate, and she wouldn’t ever move. She would eventually get too old to drive a bus. We could live in my house, her in the basement, me upstairs. And we could email each other about our swollen ankles and personal dryness.

  My life sucked. But that was my own doing. How come I had been working for nineteen years at a peon job? The money. Yeah, it was good. Better than some people made with college degrees. And the company did have a tuition assistance program. I could have had a degree by now, attending classes on nights and weekends, if I’d really wanted that. Blah blah blah. I bored myself.

  I heard the front door open and slam against the wall. The clock on the stove indicated it was 6:25 p.m. I heard Tammy’s voice. “Just come right up here, boys.”

  Intending to surprise her, I crept into the living room, still holding the skillet.

  She stumbled on the top step and said, “Oh shit. Oh-Donna, why are you always lurking here? Don’t yo
u have a life?”

  “Whatcha doin’, Tammy?” I asked.

  “I’m doing your job, thank you very much. These boys from the gym are good enough to come by and clean out the house.”

  “Do your boys have names?”

  “Move outa the way so they can get the dollies up.”

  I transferred the skillet to my left hand, dangling it casually over my shoulder. I shoved past my sister and stuck my hand out to the first young muscleman. “Hi, I’m Tammy’s younger sister, Donna.”

  He shook and said, “I’m Arnold.”

  “Glad to meet you, Arnold. My, what black eyes you have. You are tall, dark…and smoldering.”

  He grinned. His top front teeth were gold. I wondered if they were cosmetic caps or if he’d lost them.

  I turned toward the other guy and shook his hand. He said, “I’m Ziad. The beauty runs in the family.”

  “Thank you, Ziad. My, don’t you have bulging biceps. Well, it’s so special that you boys would come all the way over here to help out a friend in her darkest hour. Poor Tammy is just crushed over the loss of our poppa.”

  “Oh anything for Miss Tammy,” Ziad said.

  Arnold was still grinning. I shoved Tammy up into the living room, out of the way. Looking into her eyes, I pierced them with an evil hex. Or I wished I did. I placed my right hand on the skillet and swung, hitting the gold drapes.

  Tammy screamed.

  “It’s okay, Tammy, it was just a little Japanese beetle bug. I hate those things, they gobble up Momma’s roses and blueberries.”

  She glared at me.

  “Come on in the kitchen, Tammy-sweetie-pie.”

  She huffed and followed me. I turned the spigot on and squirted some detergent onto the burnt-on grease. As I washed the skillet, I said, “I don’t care what you do with all the contents. Sell it, bury the crap at sea, cremate it at Acme. Just leave me ten things, okay?”