KARMA IS A BOOMERANG
Saturday morning, Bella and Precious are almost at Bella’s parents’ house in Dobbs Ferry. They are both glad the drive is over. At ten Bella had texted Precious to come downstairs. She was in the backseat with brunch: bagels, coffee, orange juice, and champagne. She was hungover and unpleasant.
Getting into the car, Precious took one look at Bella’s pale skin, dark circles, greasy hair, and grumpy face. She offered a cheery good-morning. After getting a grumble in response, she asked if Bella had fun with Julius last night.
Giving her a hateful look, Bella popped the champagne and poured some into her orange juice carton. Precious ignored her, helping herself to a bagel and a coffee, then burying her nose in the magazine she’d brought.
After they are buzzed into the security gates of Bella’s parents’ estate, the driver slowly navigates the town car up the long, curved driveway to the house. When they reach the front Maureen throws open the door and walks to the car to help them with their bags. Seeing only her overlarge purse, Maureen asks in her Irish lilt, “Is this all you’ve brought with you for the weekend, Miss Isabella?”
“That and Precious, Mo,” jokes Bella. She’s in a better mood after finishing the bottle of champagne.
“Miss Precious, always lovely to see you.”
Precious hugs Maureen. “Good to see you too, Mo.”
“What a long time it’s been since we’ve had Miss Isabella back,” she says to no one in particular as she leads them into the foyer.
“Bella, is that you, darling?” Miriam says, coming down the sweeping staircase, her arms open and her Roberto Cavalli silk caftan flowing behind her.
“Yes, Miriam. You’re expecting me, aren’t you?” Bella sounds bored.
Miriam envelops Bella in a bear hug. Bella stands there, her arms at her side, looking questioningly at Precious.
When her mother lets her go, Bella looks at her. “Are you okay, Miriam? That was quite a display.”
“Oh, stop it—I’m just so happy to see you. You’re going to give Precious the wrong impression,” she says, hugging Precious, though not as forcefully.
“Precious has been here before, remember? She doesn’t have the wrong impression.” Bella looks around. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Is this all you’ve both brought? Surely that won’t get you through the weekend? You young women these days, you can live for days out of a bag the size of an envelope. So modern.”
“Miriam, earth to Miriam.” Bella snaps her fingers in her mother’s face. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s at the school, as usual,” Miriam answers distractedly. She turns to Maureen. “Would you set up coffee in the breakfast room, and some of those scones you made?”
“Yes, Ms. Miriam, straight away.”
Miriam turns to Bella. “Why don’t you two freshen up, then join me for coffee?”
“We’ve already eaten—”
Precious elbows Bella. “That sounds nice. Thank you, Miriam.
Rubbing her arm, Bella says, “We’re hoping not to stay that long. Why isn’t Daddy here? I told him I was coming.”
“According to him he’s doing some paperwork at his office, though what can’t wait at ten in the morning on a Saturday is beyond me. Especially when he knows his daughter is coming home. I’ve barely seen him all week. Honestly, I don’t even know if he bothers to come home at night. I don’t know what’s gotten into him . . .”
“Miriam, you’re babbling—are you off your meds?” Bella says, heading to the staircase.
Precious stands in the foyer, wishing she could disappear into the antique runner.
Bella stops at the stairs and turns back to her mother. “Will I see him at all this weekend? That was the point of me coming out.”
“Apparently after this alleged paperwork he’s allegedly going to the club for a few rounds of golf. He’ll join us for dinner; he should be back around four o’clock.”
“Nice of him.” Bella’s annoyed. She’d hoped to see him early, assess the situation, and then be back to the city by evening.
Zenobia is returning from her yoga class at Crunch. Walking up Fulton Street, she is incognito in an oversize hooded top, sweats, and a baseball cap. She stops at Habana Outpost for an English Breakfast tea. Hearing a familiar voice behind her ordering the same thing, she turns and is face-to-face with David.
“Zenobia—what a surprise! I didn’t even know that was you.”
“Yes, I’m incognegro,” she laughs.
“Were you taking an aerobics class or some such American pursuit? You’re already skinny as a rail.” When she frowns he says, “Er, in a good-skinny-rail way.” She’s still frowning. “Er, you’re not exactly rail skinny—you are a model. You have just the right amount of fat, just where it ought to be.”
Zenobia looks at him as if he’s crazy.
“Stop looking at me like I’m crazy.”
“You’re acting crazy.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are—Anne Heche hiding-in-the-bushes crazy. What are you doing here anyway?” she asks. “This is my neighborhood. You’re not stalking me, are you?” she jokes.
“Er, no. You’ve already got your own stalker with that Malcolm, haven’t you?”
“You still haven’t answered my question, David. What are you doing in Brooklyn of all places? You live in Gramercy Park. I’ve never even known you to take the train farther downtown than Tribeca.”
“Yes, well, I do live in Gramercy. I take the train to Brooklyn, though, as you can see.”
“You never have for me.” Zenobia is enjoying his discomfort. “Give it up. You’re acting dotty.”
“Er, I was at, uhm, at BAM; there was a show there.”
“Why so secretive? You went to a matinee—big deal. What did you see?”
“Actually, it was . . . last evening.” He mumbles the last part.
“Last evening—what are . . . ?” It begins to dawn on Zenobia: She looks more closely at him. He’s wearing a black suit—definitely not afternoon attire. And wait, the lump in his jacket pocket . . . it’s his tie. “David, you’re on the walk of shame.” She pulls his tie out of his pocket.
“Give me that back,” he says, grabbing for the tie. “I haven’t the foggiest what that means, Z. You’re far more Americanized than I.”
“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist, David. It means”—she raises her voice—“that you got shagged last night and you’re just now going home.”
When he looks around uncomfortably, she notices how good he’s looking: His normally slicked-back hair is messy and falls into his eyes; his cheeks are flushed. Always immaculate, now he’s slightly disheveled—several buttons on his shirt are undone, and he has morning stubble on his face. The overall look is alarmingly close to sexy.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” She smiles broadly.
“You can call it whatever pleases you. I’m a grown man—older than you, I might add,” he says, guiltily stuffing his tie back into his pocket.
Zenobia looks at the redness spreading across his face. She’s having fun torturing him. “I’ve never actually pictured you knocking boots, and for good reason, I assure you. So was it good?” She looks closely at him. “Dear God, David, you’ve got a love bite on your neck.”
David brushes past her and pays for their teas, desperate to get away from the grin on the cashier’s face.
“Are you happy now? You’ve informed half the place.”
He stops and looks over her head. “Including Malcolm.”
Zenobia feels her chest tighten as though she’s been caught doing something naughty. She turns as Malcolm walks up to them.
“What’s this then?” he asks without preamble.
It’s Zenobia’s turn to be embarrassed. “Yes, well, isn’t this a surprise? I just ran into David,” she stutters. “Oh—this is David Black. He’s my partner at NOW.”
“Pleased to meet you, Malcolm.”
Malcolm looks David up and down, ignoring his hand. “I thought you were much older.”
“And I figured you for much younger,” David answers, not missing a beat.
Malcolm looks at Zenobia. “He’s British. You never mentioned that.”
“Didn’t think it mattered,” Z says. “You didn’t seem interested in my work one way or the other.”
Malcolm turns to her. “It matters. I wonder why you left it out?”
Before she can answer, David says, “I wonder why Z didn’t mention you were back . . . in town?”
Now they are both looking at her.
David looks at Malcolm. “But now I can understand why.” Trying to defuse the situation, David smiles at Malcolm. “I can’t believe we’ve never met. Z and I have been working together for years.”
Grateful for the small talk, Zenobia turns to David. “I know. Can you believe I stayed with the same agency for so long?”
“That’s because you’re incredibly faithful,” David says warmly.
“That’s probably why your modeling career is over,” Malcolm says, annoyed at the look David’s giving Zenobia. “She had so many other offers but she stayed with Wilhelmina. I always wondered why, but perhaps now I know.” He arches a brow.
David puts his cup on the counter and turns to Malcolm. “Her career is far from over. And I would know. She now has two careers, quite possibly to support you. While you haven’t even got one—at least that I know of.”
Oh dear. This isn’t going so well. Zenobia starts to insert herself between them.
Malcolm turns to face David. “Funny, you know so much about me. I know next to nothing about you.”
“And almost less than that about Z. As far as I can tell,” David responds.
At that moment, a pretty black girl with short-cut hair and dangling earrings walks up to David.
“Hey Davie, I’m sorry I took so long. The line was nuts,” she says, oblivious to the tension. She sneaks an arm through his.
“Are these your friends? I thought you lived in the city. I’ve seen you both around the neighborhood before.”
They all stand there not speaking for a few seconds, then David says, “Alana, this is Zenobia, my business partner.”
Zenobia offers her hand. “Hi, Alana, very nice to meet you.” Good God, she looks all of twenty-two years old. “I’ve known Davie for ages but he’s never mentioned you,” she probes.
Alana smiles sheepishly, showing annoyingly cute dimples. “Well, we sorta just met . . . last night.” She looks up at David. “He’s quite a charmer.”
Remembering Malcolm standing at her elbow, Zenobia introduces him. “This is um, this is . . .” Bollocks! She can’t remember his bloody name. “Malcolm,” she says finally, wishing she’d never come into the café.
Malcolm gives Zenobia a scathing look, then turns and stalks off. Zenobia is left standing there, her morning ruined, not looking forward to going home to Malcolm. She’s not quite sure why she’s feeling queasy as she watches Alana kiss David. When David gives her a hug and whispers, “Karma is a boomerang, eh love?” she takes her now-cold tea and slinks out.
The train ride into Princeton wasn’t so bad, Hope thinks as she steps out of the cab in front of her mom’s house. She pays the driver, then removes a leather briefcase and a large shopping bag from the car. Hope likes taking the train to Princeton; the rumble of the engine usually relaxes her, but this time it didn’t. Before walking to the door, she looks around at the house, then at the neighborhood. It seems frozen in time. Nothing has changed since she and Faith used to run around in their diapers on the front lawn, playing tag with their beloved daddy.
Hope walks slowly to the house. As she fumbles for her keys, Cherry opens the door.
“Hello, Miss Hope, so good to see you.” Her Jamaican lilt always cheers Hope up.
“Hi, Cherry, how are you?”
“Very good, my dear.” Cherry smiles.
“Who is it, Sherry?”
“How’s she doing?” Hope asks.
“She not doing so good today,” Cherry says. “Sorry you have to come when she’s feeling a little down.”
“Is that you, Ricky? Where did you get to today?” Pearl Harris enters the foyer from the living room, where Hope can hear the TV playing.
“Hi, Mommy, it’s not Daddy; it’s me.”
“Hope.” Pearl squints at her. “Hope, how are you, honey? Your father left early this morning. He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
Hope steers her mother back into the living room and hugs her. A petite woman with a once-regal bearing, Pearl now feels thin and frail. She is wearing deep blue silk pajama pants and a matching top with beaded detailing on the front. Her once-full hair is thinning and completely gray. Cherry has taken pains to put it up in a bun secured neatly with several bobby pins. She’s wearing ballet slippers. Her only piece of jewelry is her wedding ring; the huge diamond solitaire sparkles in the light, but Hope can see that it’s not quite secure on her thin fingers.
“Don’t worry about that right now, Mommy, I brought you a surprise,” Hope says, hoping to distract her from trying to find her dead husband.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Hopie, what did you bring me? You know I love surprises.” Pearl claps her hands.
Hope opens the shopping bag and pulls out a box with a big red ribbon around it and hands it to Pearl.
Pearl fusses with the box, turning it upside down and shaking it. When she can’t navigate the ribbon, Cherry smoothly pulls the bow apart and takes off the lid. As Pearl moves aside the tissue paper, her mouth forms a smile.
“What a lovely fuzzy robe,” she says, taking out the robe and holding it to her cheek. She kisses Hope. “I must tell you, though, I’ve got quite a collection of these. Why does everyone think a robe is going to bring your memory back?” She laughs. “I love it, darling; it’s cashmere, isn’t it? You always had such good taste—far better than your sister; she’s too self-involved to think about anybody else.”
“Thanks, Mommy. There’s something else in the box.”
Pearl’s face lights up. “Oh, really, it’s too much.” She rustles through the paper and pulls out a long, rectangular jewelry box.
“Oh, this looks encouraging,” she says, opening the box. Her hand goes to her mouth when she sees the beautiful gold-and-pearl bracelet. “Oh, Hopie, it’s lovely. It’s too expensive—I can’t take this,” she says, holding her arm to Cherry for help putting it on.
“Oh, Miss Hope, it’s just lovely.”
“Don’t think I forgot you, Cherry.” Hope pulls out another box from the shopping bag and hands it to Cherry. “Oh, Miss Hope, you didn’t.”
“You know I did. I need to keep you around.”
Cherry sits down and opens the box. Inside is a fine gold chain-link necklace. Dangling at the end of the chain is a single flawless diamond. Cherry is speechless. She just stares at the pendant.
Hope smiles and takes the necklace, placing it around Cherry’s neck. “It’s the least I can do. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the only person I trust with my mother and you seem to love her as much as I do.”
When Hope turns her around to look at the necklace Cherry discreetly wipes away a tear with her sleeve. “Yes, well. Who’d like some tea?”
“I’d love some tea, Sherry. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, darling?” Pearl asks Hope.
“It’s Cherry, Mommy; her name is Cherry. Yes, I’d love some tea.”
Pearl waves her away. “Sherry, Cherry; she knows I’m talking to her. Half the time I can’t remember my own name.”
“You feisty today, Ms. Pearl. Must be because you happy your daughter here today, eh?” She turns to Hope. “Maybe I’ll bring some of that pound cake I made this morning. It’s still nice and fresh.”
“Sounds perfect. You know it’s my favorite,” Hope says.
When Cherry leaves, Hope watches her mother fuss with the bracelet. “You’re a wonderful girl, Hope. You know how to treat people. Why aren’t you married?”
“Because I’ve been taking care of you, Mommy.”
“Well, Cherry’s here now; surely some of your time’s been freed up? She takes good care of me. It’s time for you to live your life.” Sometimes her mother stuns her when she’s lucid.
“Even the god-awful Faith has a husband. Of course, he’s as god-awful as she is.” She pats Hope on the knee. “It’s your turn now.” When Hope doesn’t answer, Pearl says, “I’m sorry that Terence you were engaged to ran off with his tail between his legs at the first sign of trouble, but you were too good for him anyway.”
Her mother is back, sharp and telling it like it is. Hope doesn’t know how long it will last but she’s glad for these few moments.
“It’s hard, Mommy. Daddy died right after I got promoted at Shades. I haven’t had any time to myself between taking care of you and your estate and trying to figure out my new position at the magazine.”
“Enough time has passed, Hopie. Sherry will take care of me. You just pay the bills and handle your business. Speaking of which, you said you had some papers for me to sign.”
Hope wishes she could hold on to Pearl and keep her like this.
“I remember back when we used to go to Texas for the summers. I loved it back then.”
“Mommy, we’ve never been to Texas.”
Hope looked at her. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Oh, you’re probably right. It seems the older I get the more clearly I remember things that never happened. But I’m having a heck of a time remembering the things that actually did happen. It’s all very confusing.”
It’s sometimes work keeping up with her mother.
“So where do you want my John Hancock?”
Hope opens the briefcase that holds her mother’s documents. Pulling out a file, she puts an X near several lines and gives her mother the pen. Without even reading the document, Pearl signs where indicated.
After several pages of documents are completed Hope puts everything back into the file, then puts the file into her briefcase. When Hope returns the briefcase to the floor Pearl grips her hand as though she’s just remembered something.
“I had something to tell you; it was very important . . .” She trails off as she tries to remember what it was.
This isn’t new; almost every conversation Hope has with her mom she forgets half of what she wants to tell her.
Pearl is agitated, getting up and walking to the window, then she turns around and puts her hand to her mouth. “What was it?”
“Was it about my visit, Mommy?” Hope suggests.
“No.”
“Is it about Faith?”
“Faith?” Pearl looks at her questioningly.
“Faith is your other daughter, Mommy.”
“Oh.” She looks at Hope. “Hope and Faith.” Then she laughs. “That’s a good one. At least I had a sense of humor before I lost my mind.”
Her mother scares her when she checks in and out like this. She’s completely lost one minute, then she’s as sharp and funny as ever, then she’s gone again.
By now Pearl is waving her hands around. “Oh, yes, Walker.” Pearl looks at Hope, pleased to have remembered. “He called me. He wants me to go to his daughter’s funeral because he can’t get down there.”
By now Cherry has returned with a tray laden with a teapot, cups, and generous slices of pound cake. “I hope you won’t mind but I accidentally made an extra pound cake and I can’t eat it. You better take it with you, Miss Hope,” she says, smiling.
“Sherry, would you turn the TV to my show? It’s almost time, isn’t it?”
“It’s always time for your show, Ms. Pearl. I tape all of them for you.”
Pearl sits down next to Hope on the couch, resuming her earlier conversation. “Yes, so Walker can’t get to his daughter’s funeral, because he’s still trying to catch those two men who murdered her.”
Pearl sits entranced as the opening credits roll. Hope looks questioningly at Cherry, who is looking sadly back at her as the theme song for Walker, Texas Ranger comes on.
“C’mon, Walker, go get them.” Pearl turns to Hope. “You see, I have to go to the funeral because he won’t be there. He was nice enough to come and tell me. We’ve been friends for years. It’s the least I can do. Can you arrange a plane ticket for me?”
Hope sits looking dumbly at her mother, the woman who taught her how to drive, how to manage money and who set up a trust for her to buy her town house, who raised two girls successfully to adulthood and kept a perfect house for her husband, was telling her that she and Chuck Norris had been friends for years and that Hope should arrange for plane tickets for her to go to Texas for him. Hope looks at Cherry, who signals her to come into the kitchen.
“I’ll be right back, Mommy. Enjoy the cake and Walker; I’ll just be in the kitchen.” But her mother barely notices her leaving, she’s so engrossed in Walker’s latest mission.
The minute they are out of earshot Hope asks, “What’s going on?”
“Ms. Pearl she getting worse. She been talking about Walker like she know him. She say he come to the house and want her to go to Texas—”
Hope cuts her off. “But that’s crazy. I can’t have my mother telling people she’s the best friend of a TV character. I know it’s her favorite show but maybe she shouldn’t watch it so often.”
“I don’t think that’s the answer,” Cherry says sadly. “Ms. Pearl is getting worse. She not sleeping at night; I hear her in the room walking around all night some nights. She going through all the drawers and taking things out and putting them in crazy places. I find her shoes in the bathtub the other day.” Cherry’s voice sinks to a whisper. “And lately she talking to herself.”
Hope’s heart sinks to her stomach. She doesn’t know what to do, or what to think. Over the past three months, Pearl has been to doctor after doctor and had endless tests taken. But nothing has helped.
“Is she taking all her medications?”
Cherry nods. “Of course. She fit as a fiddle, but her mind is going more and more.”
When Hope’s eyes well up, Cherry takes her hand. “You doing all you can do, Miss Hope. Miss Pearl she happy and healthy. She have a good life. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”
Cherry squeezes her hand. “You done all you can. You can’t do no more. You need your own life. Let she be how she want to be. I will take care of her. You rest on that.”
Then Cherry gives her a big hug and doesn’t let her go until she’s stopped crying.