Jackie Collins, page 18
lawyer's letter t'say I gets it regular."
"That's blackmail."
"Your word-ain't" "And if I refuse?"
"Then the whole town gets t'know who Cyndra's daddy is, an' the filthy
things you done t'her."
"What are you saying?"
"You know what I'se sayin'. Cyndra's your child."
Benjamin paled. "It's . . . it's not possible."
"That it is."
"How?"
"Remember when I first came t'work here?"
His throat constricted. "Yes."
"You was chasin' me day an' night-soon as your wife left the house you
was after me-an' I was sleepin' in that room down in the basement.
Well, one night you came there, held your hand over my mouth, an'
shoved your thing inside me even though I didn't want it."
"You wanted it," he said angrily. "After the first time you were
begging for it."
"You got me pregnant an' I didn't know what t'do. So I ended up
marryin' the first man who'd have me-an' we moved t' the trailer
park.
Thing is, when I told him I was pregnant he ran out on mean' all these
years I been alone. But I kept on workin' for you-an' you kept on
pokin' me till I wasn't young nuff for you no more."
"My wife and I supported you, and this is how you pay us backby
lying?"
She gave a hollow laugh. "Supported me-shee-it! I worked my black ass
off for you an' your family, an' don' you forget it. Washin' your
dirty underdrawers, cleanin' the shit in your johns, wipin' up all the
mess.
"And now you're going to blackmail me with this far-fetched story?"
"I'm gonna get what's right for me an' that child of yours."
"She's not my child," he said vehemently.
"Want me t'tell the town bout how you was screwin' me all those
years?
Want me to tell them how you raped your own daughter?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"Honey," she said bitterly. "I ain't got nuttin' t'lose. How bout
you?" Nick drove the van to the drugstore, parked in back and entered
through the kitchen, grabbing Louise as she passed by carrying an order
of ham and eggs.
She stopped and let out a whistle. "Lookit you! Your damn face is one
big mess.
"I need a doctor," he said urgently.
"Seems like you shoulda thought of that before."
"Not for me. Luke's sick-my kid brother. I got him in the van.
Who can I take him to?"
"Gee . . ." She hesitated. "Doc Marshall's away, an' Doc Sheppard
don't like bein' bothered at home."
"Where does he live?"
She placed her order on the counter and gave him her full attention.
"What's wrong with the kid?"
"I dunno. He's hot, can't breathe good."
"Maybe I should take a look before you go waking up Doc Sheppard-he's
an ornery old bastard." She untied her apron. "Hey, Dave," she
yelled, "I'm takin' a break, have Cheryl fill in."
Out in the van Luke was shivering uncontrollably. Harlan sat beside
him looking miserable.
"Thought you said he was hot," Louise said accusingly, placing a hand
on the child's forehead. "Oh, , yeah-he's hot, all right."
"What do you think it is?" Nick asked.
"Dunno. But it ain't good." She climbed into the van. "Let's go.
We'll wake up old Doc Sheppard. Hang a left, then take the second
street on the right. An', Nick-put your foot down."
The bus ride took longer than ever. Aretha Mae sat by the window
gazing out. usually she let her mind go blank-ridding herself of the
cares of the day. But today she was filled with pent-up
emotionsfeelings she hadn't allowed to surface for seventeen years.
Benjamin Browning was Cyndra's father and she was glad she'd finally
told him. Yes-glad to see the expression on his pompous white face
when the full impact struck and he'd realized what he'd done.
Filthy pig. He was no good-only his money saved him from wallowing in
the gutter.
With a deep sigh she recalled the day she'd started work at the
Brownings'. Her mother had answered an ad in the newspaper, and Mr.
Browning had agreed to pay her bus fare from Kansas City if she could
start immediately. "My girl be there," her mother had assured him,
delighted to be rid of one of seven daughters. Her mother had lied and
said she was eighteen. The truth was she was barely fifteen and just
out of school. "Work hard. Stay quiet. Don't get in no trouble."
Those had been her mother's parting words.
Six months after she left home her mother was killed by a drunken
driver. She had no father.
At first Aretha Mae liked working in a house with running water, indoor
toilets and unheard-of luxuries like a refrigerator and TV. But Daphne
Browning was not pleasant to work for. She'd recently given birth to
Stock, and she had no intention of caring for the child unless he was
clean and fresh at all times and never crying. Although she had all
the housework to do, Aretha Mae soon found herself caring for the baby
as well as attending to her other duties.
Benjamin Browning watched her like a tiger stalking its prey. She was
aware of his lecherous eyes and roaming hands, but she managed.
Lbuise had the door open and was proceeding to charm Dr. Sheppard-a
short man with hairy hands, a halo of white hair and big pop eyes. He
was old and crusty and took a lot of charming.
"What's this?" he said, when Nick appeared with Luke in his arms.
"This child is sick," Louise said quickly. "Can you take a look at
him, doc? Please."
"I'm off duty," the miserable old man said.
"I know." Louise kept her voice soft and persuasive. "But I figured
you'd do us this one favor-what with Doc Marshall bein' away an all,
an' you bein' the only doctor left in town." She paused, giving him a
seductive look. "I'm coming in to see you next week. I had those
stomach cramps again, thought you could look me over."
Dr. Sheppard cheered up.
Louise continued to pour it on. "I guess I need another of those uh
.
. . exams you're so good at giving. I felt so much better after the
last time."
"Yes, yes," the old man said. "Bring the boy into the examining
room.
She winked at Nick. He carried Luke into the examining room and laid
him on the cold table.
The doctor bent down and peered at Luke. "This boy is black," he said
indignantly.
So? Nick wanted to say. What the fuck does that matter?
"We thought he was too sick to drive to Ripley," Louise said quickly.
"That's where black people are supposed to go," Dr. Sheppard muttered
bad-temperedly, rubbing his bulbous nose with the tip of his thumb.
"I'm not supposed to look after coloreds."
"Hey-" Nick couldn't help himself. "It's the seventies, for God's
sake, an' we ain't even in the South."
Dr. Sheppard turned to glare at him. "Who are you, young man?
I've never seen you before."
"Thank God for that," Nick muttered, and then loud enough for the
doctor to hear, "I'm his brother."
Dr. Sheppard's bushy eyebrows shot up. "His brother?"
"Just take a look at the kid, will you?"
Ten minutes later they were out of there. "Nothing wrong with the
boy," Dr. Sheppard had said. "All he needs is a good night's sleep
and an aspirin.
Nick didn't believe him, but what could he do? "How about that other
doctor he was talking about-the one in Ripley?" he asked Louise.
She shrugged. "I dunno. Never heard of him. I'm sorry, I gotta get
back to work. Dave's gonna be pissed, you know what he's like."
He dropped Louise off and began the drive to the trailer park.
Maybe the old doctor was right-maybe all Luke needed was rest and an
aspirin.
On the way home he spotted Aretha Mae trudging along the road.
He swerved over to the side.
"What you doin' with your father's van, boy?" Aretha Mae asked
sharply.
Quickly he explained about Luke. She jumped in the back, took one look
at Luke and was as panicked as he was. "I told him not to play out in
the snow," she fretted. "I told him he was gonna catch cold. He's got
something' bad, I know it."
"Yeah," Nick agreed. "That's why I took him to see Dr. Sheppard."
"That dumb old fool-he's no good," she said, shaking her head in
disgust. "He won't treat us-whatever the law says. We gotta take him
to Ripley."
"The roads ain't clear yet. It took hours to get back earlier."
"We have t'go," Aretha Mae said obstinately.
"What about Primo? He don't know I've taken the van."
"Too bad," she said.
He shrugged. "Okay. Ripley it is He drove as fast as he could,
considering the condition of the roads.
Even so, it was midnight by the time they reached Ripley.
Aretha Mae directed him to a house in a rundown neighborhood, and when
he got there she jumped out of the van and rang the bell.
An Indian woman in a said answered the door. She didn't seem at all
surprised to have patients arriving in the middle of the night.
"It's my child," Aretha Mae said. "He be real bad."
"Bring him in," the woman said graciously. "I'll get my husband."
Dr. Singh Amroc was a slightly built Indian man, totally bald with a
thin black mustache. After a cursory examination of Luke he said,
"This boy has pneumonia. It's essential he be admitted to a hospital
at once.
They all set off, crowding into the van, the doctor too.
On the way to the hospital Nick began thinking about Lauren. He hadn't
called her, would she be mad? Girls were funny about things like
phoning when you said you would-but he was sure that when he explained
everything she'd understand.
He wondered if her parents had given her a hard time. He missed her
already and couldn't wait to see her again.
At the hospital he sat in the waiting room with Harlan while the doctor
and Aretha Mae filled out the forms to get Luke admitted.
Harlan stared at his half brother. "Thanks, Nick," he said solemnly.
"You're my best friend."
"Hey-" He shrugged, embarrassed, "It was nothing."
Primo's rumbling stomach awoke him. Bleary-eyed, he groped for the
large clock ticking away on the floor. It was late, very late, and
where the hell was Aretha Mae?
He staggered to his feet, brushed a scurrying cockroach off the side of
the bed and went outside, taking a piss in the nearby brush.
Then he lurched back inside, grabbed a can of beer and sat and
brooded.
After ten minutes he went outside again and kicked open the door of the
kids' trailer. Nobody was around.
"Where the fuck is everybody?" he yelled. "Where the fuck is my
dinner?"
He noticed his van was missing. "Goddamnit!" he muttered, making his
way back to the main trailer. The bitch had taken his van and the
kids. The bitch would pay for being home late. Nobody treated him
this way. Nobody kept Primo Angelo waiting and got away with it.
Luke had to stay in the hospital.
"There ain't no way I'm leavin'," Aretha Mae said, her mouth set in a
stubborn line. "No way at all."
"If you're stayin', we're stayin'," Nick said.
"No-you'd best get back. When Primo finds his van's missin' he'll be
mad."
"I'm not going' back without you and Luke."
"Yeah, me too, Ma," Harlan joined in.
"Suit yourself." She was too tired to argue.
"I know a cheap motel," Nick said. "We can all spend the night
there."
"What'll we do about Primo?" Aretha Mae worried.
"I'll call Joey in the morning. He'll stop by the trailer an' tell him
what's going' on."
She nodded. "Good. Now you take Harlan to this motel while I stay
here."
"Why don't we stay with you?"
She shook her head. "No. Don't want Harlan comin' down sick, too.
You go rest up."
Reluctantly he got up. "Well be back first thing tomorrow."
"You got money, boy?"
"Well . . . don't know if I've got enough."
"Here." She rummaged in her purse and counted out fifteen dollars in
worn bills.
"Thanks," he said, pocketing the money. "We'll get back here early."
They left the hospital and drove straight to the motel. The man in the
manager's office recognized him. "You here again?" he said, winking
lewdly. "Must've been a good one."
Nick ignored the comment. "Well be stayin' one night," he said, paying
in advance.
He took Harlan into the room, settled him in front of the television
and hurried to the pay phone. For a moment he stood in the ice-cold
booth wondering if he should phone Lauren at this late hour. No way:
It was even too late to contact Joey-his mother would be seriously
pissed. Shit! There was nothing left to do except go to bed, he'd
call everyone in the morning.
Harlan awoke at six a.m. "I got a bad feeling, my gut hurts," he
whined.
Nick got out of bed and stretched. "Don't worry about it.
Everything's gonna be fine."
Harlan shook his head. "No, it ain't, Nick. It ain't."
"Quit worryin' an' get dressed. We'll get to the hospital early."
Outside the wind was howling. Shivering, Nick pulled up the collar of
his jacket, stuffed his hands in his pockets and ran over to the van.
Harlan followed him and jumped in the passenger seat.
Five minutes later they were standing at the hospital reception desk.
"Luke Angelo," Nick said.
The nurse consulted her admission book. "Ward five, fifth floor."
They took the elevator. At the nurses' station on the fifth floor Nick
asked again, "We're here to see Luke Angelo."
The nurse glanced up. "Relative?" she inquired.
"Yeah. I'm, like . . . uh . . . his brother."
"The doctor is with Mrs. Angelo right now," the nurse said, all
business. "Please take a seat."
"Uh, Luke . . . he's okay, right?"
"Take a seat."
They waited over ten minutes before Aretha Mae appeared, clutching her
thin winter coat-a Brownings cast-off-around her.
Harlan ran down the corridor and threw himself at his mother.
Nick knew it before she said a word. He got up and walked slowly
toward her. His throat was dry and his stomach churning.
Aretha Mae shook her head hopelessly. "He's gone," she said, her voice
no more than a hoarse whisper. "My baby is dead."
Harlan let out a wail that could be heard from one end of the hospital
to the other. It was a sound Nick would never forget.
