Dreams of Jeannie and Other Stories Part 21

"Thank you for picking me up," Marilyn said. "And for taking care of Debbie and Buddy. I'm not sure I ever really thanked you for that."

"You're welcome." Annie said it stiffly, without looking at her. "You'll need money to stay in the hotel. I picked up fifteen hundred in cash to tide you over. I was going to give it to you in the morning."

She took the bills out of her purse and handed them to Marilyn. Then she got out of the car and walked around it toward the house, leaving the engine running.

"Thank you again," Marilyn called to Annie's back.

Marilyn slid into the driver's seat. She touched the steering wheel and carefully released the parking brake. She eased the car away from the curb.

Freedom. She could sleep wherever she wanted. Stay wherever she wanted. Starting tomorrow, anyway. She had definite plans for tonight.

"Mrs. Bradford!"

The voice startled her. A short, dark, middle-aged woman in a pink uniform with two shopping bags at her feet was standing in Annie's driveway, waving. It took a moment for Marilyn to recognize Consuelo.

She pulled over to acknowledge the maid's greeting.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Bradford," Consuelo called.

"Thank you. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"Just to the bus stop on Wilshire, if it isn't out of your way."

"No, not at all."

Marilyn leaned over to open the door.

Consuelo tucked the shopping bags under the dashboard and sat heavily.

Marilyn again eased the car out into the street.

"It's good to be careful," Consuelo said. "It takes awhile for things outside to feel normal."

"How do you know?"

"My nephew robbed a 7-11. He was in county jail for three months."

"What happened when he got out?"

"n.o.body cared. Everybody robs a 7-11, n.o.body cares, except people who hire you. When he got out, he came home. His mother was glad to see him."

"And he promised her he would never do it again?"

"No. The next time it was an Arco AM-PM. Don't tell Mrs. Stenner, okay?"

"I won't tell Annie. Where is your nephew now?"

"Back in jail, waiting trial. It's bad, you know? He robbed the 7-11 because he couldn't find a job, and he wanted money for clothes and stuff. Then he had a jail record, so he couldn't find a job, so he robbed the Arco. What does he do next?"

"I don't know." Marilyn concentrated on the signal light, on making the left turn on Wilshire.

"Who will hire him? His life in prison, that's what he's looking at. His whole life in prison."

"I'm sorry."

"Could you maybe talk to somebody? To give him another chance?"

"I'd be happy to, but I don't know anybody."

"Mrs. Bradford, forgive me. But you got a year in county jail for a crime I would have got life in prison for. You know somebody."

"I'll try to think." Marilyn frowned, not certain how one went about helping a petty thief. "I'll let you know if I can help."

"Okay. Thanks. The stop is at the corner."

Marilyn pulled over and Consuelo got out. She smiled at Marilyn the whole time she was retrieving her shopping bags.

"I believe you will help, okay?" Consuelo gave her a little parting wave.

"I'll do what I can." Whatever that was.

She drove down Wilshire toward Beverly Hills, wondering if anyone she knew would help Consuelo.

Then she turned north to Sunset. She had a date, a date set over a year ago, a date to meet at the Chateau Marmont. Blood surged in her veins again, the feeling of being alive. The blood in her head, in her fingertips, in her thighs, was arousing her. She had to concentrate on driving.

The traffic was picking up, and she had to drive slowly. Carefully. She didn't want anything to happen to the car.

Seeing the hotel turrets was a relief. She eased the BMW into the narrow driveway that led down to the parking garage.

The young man in uniform opened the door and smiled at her.

"Are you staying with us?" he asked.

Marilyn did her best to smile back.

"Just for the night."

She took the claim check and left the car.

Dealing with the clerk in the lobby was a little harder. But the reservation was there, in her name, guaranteed with a credit card number, even though hers had been cancelled long ago.

"Do you need help with your suitcase?" he asked.

"No. Thank you."

The clerk directed her up the staircase to the second floor.

The room was disappointing. Marilyn wasn't certain what she had expected, but something with a little more glamour. A newer bedspread, better upholstery on the chair. And a little less street noise. Sounds filtered up from Sunset Boulevard. Still, there was s.p.a.ce. s.p.a.ce to swing her arms. A bowl of fresh fruit. And a framed poster from the Matisse exhibit on the wall, one of the pictures he had painted from inside a room of the view out the window, and she liked it better the more she looked at it.

There were no bars on the window in the Matisse poster. The artist was inside looking out, but he could leave. Now there were no bars on her windows, either.

She placed the few items of clothing from her suitcase in the dresser, her toothbrush and makeup in the bathroom, and lay down on the bed, enjoying for a moment the luxury of being alone, knowing she wouldn't be alone for long.

In the morning they could make the next round of decisions. Where to live, how to tell people about the relationship. How to tell Debbie and Buddy. The rare moments when she had envisioned her new life, it had included Debbie and Buddy. Somehow she had thought they would understand and forgive, and she still thought that. It would take awhile, but someday she would explain it and they would all understand and forgive her, Annie too.

She was still lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when the telephone rang. It had to ring three times before she remembered that she was supposed to answer it.

"Lynn? Lynn? I thought you were going to call me at the office when you got to the hotel."

She panicked for a moment, struggling to recognize the voice, one she hadn't heard in over a year. But it wasn't Ross. Ross was dead.

It was Ed. Yes. They had agreed that he shouldn't come to the jail, but they would meet at the Chateau Marmont the day she got out. And he hadn't forgotten.

"Ed. I'm just settling in."

"Don't get too settled. I'll be there in less than an hour."

"I don't have anything to wear to dinner."

"h.e.l.l, Lynn, we'll order room service."

"I'll see you in an hour, then."

Marilyn hung up the phone. Ed Bradford was Ross's half-brother. And he had hated Ross almost as much as she had. That was what had first drawn them together. Mutual revenge against Ross for being Ross. Then it had become much more.

Divorcing Ross had crossed her mind, but Ed had argued against it. They had so much more to gain with Ross dead.

By the time she heard a knock at the door, Marilyn was showered and dressed in her one change of clothes. Another blouse and slacks that were too tight. She was annoyed that she had to see Ed with a bad haircut, no manicure, and ill-fitting clothes. But they had both waited long enough for this night.

"Lynn! You look great!"

Ed walked in and kissed her on the cheek.

His lips were full and rough. She turned her face, wanting more.

"Easy, Lynn," he said. "Somebody's coming."

She pulled back and looked at him.

There was a faint resemblance to Ross, especially around the deep-set eyes, the same ones Buddy had inherited. Ed's eyes were bright blue, though, and there was no anger in them. The suit he was wearing looked like one Ross might have worn, Italian silk, tailored to fit. Ed was shorter and heavier than Ross. But Ross would have envied his thick, dark hair.

"I've been called Marilyn for the past year," she told him. "Would you have a problem calling me Marilyn instead of Lynn?"

"Not a problem, but you might have to remind me a couple of times," he answered. "Everyone in L.A. changes something. You might as well change your name."

She smiled at him.

Another knock at the door made her lose the smile. But Ed had said he was expecting someone.

Ed opened the door to display a young man with a pony-tail and too many earrings holding a tray with a champagne icer and two gla.s.ses.

"Come right in," Ed said.

The young man set the tray on a table between two chairs.

"Do you want me to open it?" he said.

"I'll take care of it. Here you go." Ed handed him a folded bill.

The young man glanced at it.

"Thank you, sir. Anything more, just give us a call."

He slipped discreetly out the door.

Ed twisted the cork from the champagne, poured two gla.s.ses, carefully letting the foam settle, and handed one to Marilyn.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"To freedom," she responded. "And to us."

He clinked her gla.s.s and took a sip. "To us. It's been a h.e.l.l of a long year, but I haven't forgotten. And you haven't either, or you wouldn't be here. You'd be celebrating with Annie and Karl and your kids instead."

Marilyn opened her mouth to tell him that they hadn't wanted her, but she decided that could wait. They could talk about Debbie and Buddy in the morning. She took a sip of the champagne.

"I want to be with you," she said.

"Come here." Ed put his gla.s.s down. "Let's start the celebration now."

Marilyn took another sip of the champagne. The wine was cool and bittersweet and the bubbles made her nose itch. But she wanted more, she wanted more of everything. She held up her hand to hold him off so that she could drain the gla.s.s. Then she put it down next to his and held out her arms.

"Now," she whispered.

Ed took off his jacket and dropped it on the chair. Marilyn was tugging at his tie, then the b.u.t.tons on his soft white shirt.

"Slow, kid," he said, laughing lightly. "I'll meet you on the bed."

Marilyn stepped back long enough to get rid of her own clothes, tossing them so that they mixed with Ed's on the chair. She reached the bed before he did, and when he sat down to get rid of his shoes and socks she began kissing the back of his neck.

"I've waited so long," she whispered.

He stood up to get rid of his trousers. Then he was on top of her, kissing her with that wonderful rough mouth, kissing her face, her eyes, her neck, lingering on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sliding down over her stomach, and the blood was flowing in her veins and arteries so that she could barely contain herself, forcing herself to slow down, not wanting to spend too much too soon, but giving in to the surging waves of pleasure almost at once.

He worked his way just as slowly back up her body.

"I'll get us more champagne," he said.

"You don't have to stop," Marilyn said. "Please don't stop now. I want more."