Pieces of Paris, page 3
Annalisse eased back in her chair. No point in telling them she preferred the bright lights. Let them think of her as Dennis did—the wholesome farm girl.
“My mother raises hogs, as a matter of fact,” she said. ”My father is a judge.”
It was at least a part of who she was, anyway. And if it put them at ease, so much the better.
“Well, you must have had your fill of Latinos, living in California,” Emily Canliss said, her nostrils flaring. Dame Maggie Smith? “Do you know they want to take over the state?”
Startled, Annalisse felt her stomach tighten. For Dennis’s sake, she must keep her cool. But an imp prompted her to reply as kindly as she could, “You know, I really think they’re more concerned with feeding their children.”
Mae looked at her sharply. “How many Latinos did you actually know?”
Clearly, they thought she was naïve. “I knew some very well, in fact. They were my neighbors.” She paused and smiled almost apologetically. “I tutored Latino children through an outreach program when I lived in San Diego. Some of them were very bright. If I could find anyone who was interested, I’d start something of the sort here.”
The senator’s wife drew back and viewed her with a shrewdness that made Annalisse uncomfortable. “Well, dear, I must tell you that it won’t do your husband’s career any good to make friends with the Latinos in Blue Creek. They’re taking over the town with their slovenly ways. The chicken factory hires them because they’ll work for almost nothing. One of the things your husband will be expected to do as prosecutor is to cooperate with the government to rid this town of the illegals.”
Annalisse looked at the calm, superior Mae in her pearls and pink linen suit, and she felt herself losing it. Maybe it was her resemblance to Dame Judi, but it seemed to her that the woman spoke as though she were playing the role of “M” in a James Bond movie, giving Dennis his assignment: exterminate the vermin. She felt her jaw harden.
She said, “Dennis will do what he thinks is right, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think you are, missy? One of those misguided bleeding hearts? We will not have gangs and drugs springing up in our town!”
“Have they?” Annalisse asked mildly.
“Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“As long as you treat them as outcasts, that is exactly what will happen. With a name like Cavanaugh, your husband’s ancestors must have been Irish. Surely you can understand. There was a time when this country saw the Irish as a plague, too. It left them in the streets to starve.”
Mae looked as though she’d been slapped. But Annalisse continued, “Fortunately, things changed as they were assimilated. I believe that the ability to assimilate minorities is part of the strength of our country.”
Mae drew herself up and her eyes sparked danger. “I suppose you think we’re just poor and ignorant and need to be enlightened. Well, Blue Creek has kept itself free from your type. That’s why we like it here. It’s not like the big city. We could never assimilate those people!”
Closing her eyes, Annalisse took a long breath, telling herself to be calm. She had long suspected that Blue Creek was a bastion of bigotry, but Dennis had refused to see it. Yet these women must have some good qualities. Perhaps she could find some common ground. “They need education so they can become useful, with a future . . .”
Emily Canliss broke in, her nose high as though smelling something unpleasant. “Before you know it, it’s going to be another Tijuana if we don’t drive them out somehow. This is exactly the type of situation the KKK used to handle.”
“There’s always Sonny’s Boys,” a tiny lady Annalisse didn’t know said in a cracked voice.
“Sonny’s Boys?” she echoed.
Though the small woman said nothing else, her eyes gleamed behind their folds with the hard, excited light of the fanatic. Annalisse had no doubt that she was referring to some sub-rosa group that had taken on the Klan’s mission. Horror crept over her as she imagined a group of tattooed skinheads attacking small Latino children with clubs. Looking from the self-righteous Mae to the vinegary countenance of Emily, she could no longer stop her outrage from surfacing.
“If Sonny’s Boys are who and what I think they are, I can tell you that my husband would never tolerate such people. Believe me, Dennis Childs knows no fear.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Annalisse,” Mae said in a silky voice. “We’re true Americans here in Cherokee County. So we don’t believe in your political correctness. What’s wrong with speaking our minds?” Then changing in an instant, she slapped the table with her palm. “At least the Irish were white. Those Latinos are filthy, girl! Filthy and disgusting!”
The cafe had gone dead silent. Annalisse could no longer remain at the table. “From my experience, their manners are considerably better than yours,” she said simply. Standing, she made her way out. Not even pausing to put on her waders, she grabbed them and barged out into the downpour. The water gushing down the street between her and her car was her Rubicon, and she knew it. The look on Mae Cavanaugh’s face had been positively malignant. Annalisse had never seen such a transformation. Dame Judi could take lessons from Mae Cavanaugh.
She had no idea where she was going. Not home. Driving over the bridge, she noticed vaguely that Blue Creek was skimming its belly. She headed instinctively for the high ground of the city park, beating the steering wheel with her fists. If she’d had to insist on seeing the scene as a film, she should at least have played it like Emma Thompson—straightforward, honest, and unflappable.
As it was, she had probably ruined Dennis’s career. But was she supposed to just sit there and listen to such flaming fascism?
For heaven’s sake, calm down, Drama Queen. As her heart slowed, she told herself that if it hadn’t been for the ever-present Jules, she would have been able to swallow hard and keep quiet. Maybe.
But snatches of that other life kept seeping up through those cracks she’d tried so hard to patch over with her marriage and children. She was totally unreliable emotionally, and she hated it.
Nothing like this had ever happened before. She’d never lost it so completely, so totally beyond saving.
In her head she recreated the scene she had just left. The KKK! How could she be expected to keep her cool in the face of that? What would Dennis have done?
Annalisse began to feel a little better. The KKK or Sonny’s Boys would surely be a deal-breaker for him. He wouldn’t want any part of the government in a county like this. Maybe he’d even want to move.
Then she sighed and shook her head. Dennis was a fighter, it was true. But he was sold on Cherokee County and so happy to be here, she almost wanted to shield him from disillusionment. That was, she realized, an instinctive reaction she practiced all too often.
With this thought, her mind returned to its rut. Was her marriage a cop-out? She certainly didn’t seem to belong in the life she had chosen. Dennis and Jordan thought she was someone she wasn’t, but they loved her. Together they had built a cozy little world, much like the one she had been raised in. And, of course, there was Bronwyn. Up until now, she had tried with everything in her to make her new life succeed. Especially since there was no going back. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.
Annalisse headed up the hill to the barbecue pavilion, parked within the dense screen of evergreens that surrounded it, turned off her lights, and slumped back, glad the windows were beginning to fog.
When she had been listening to his music last night, Jules had been so vivid, so alive, standing on the beach that wintry day, eyes as gloomy as the sky, salt spray tangling his hair. It was the world around her that seemed dead.
She felt like some kind of volcano. She never knew when the lava would spill over her, smoldering with memories of a life long dormant. What has caused the volcano to become active, suddenly, without warning?
And Dennis. Poor Dennis. On the day she’d found him, she’d found hope to begin anew. And so, she’d put Jules behind her and never spoken of him. Tried never even to think of him. But apparently the wounds were too deep. Four years of marriage to Dennis hadn’t stitched them shut, and now Jules and everything he represented were yanking out the sutures. The pain was beyond description.
* * *
The ocean was always foreign to Annalisse. A mesmerizing disorientation settled on her as she stood at the base of the cliff on San Gregorio beach, watching the waves of the Pacific crash into a white boil at her feet. She was no longer an unimaginative biology major but the wispy denizen of a mysterious world fraught with dangerous potential. Salt spray tangled her hair. Jules put his arm around her shoulders.
Punching him playfully, Annalisse turned and ran back to their picnic blanket. “I used to dream of making castles in the sand when I lived in Wisconsin.”
He threw himself down beside her, breathing hard. “Sand castles? Seriously? Sometimes you’re too good to be true, Lisse.”
“Well, wasn’t this picnic a good idea?” She sprinkled a pinch of sand over his curls. He grinned a rare grin but made no effort to rid himself of her offering. “Or would you rather be back in your dorm studying for midterms?”
”When I first met you, I thought you must be either naïve or stupid,” he remarked. He began idly to dig a trench with one hand. “But you’re just honestly happy, aren’t you?”
“What are you doing?”
”A castle has to have a moat, doesn’t it?”
She laughed. “Yes, and pie crust turrets. Where’s that plastic knife we used on the cheese? It’s just what we need. And our paper cups.”
“How do you do it?” He stopped his activity and studied her.
“It shouldn’t be too hard, but the sand’s got to be real damp.”
“I didn’t mean that, you crazy kid,” he said. “I’m asking you how you manage to stay so optimistic all the time.”
“I know it would be more politically correct for me to be fraught with angst over my weight or the environment or the future in the Middle East, but I love life here in California. It’s like a dream come true for me.” She didn’t add, and I’m with you.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, and the castle took shape. With the help of the plastic cheese knife, Annalisse fashioned a turret fit for Rapunzel.
“Just how far into the future do you look, Lisse?”
Surprised by the question, she looked at him. His moody, dark eyes punctured her mood.
She returned to her castle-making, trying to rescue the afternoon. “Oh, I don’t know. I picture getting my degree. Going to work for a lab somewhere.”
“And your music? What about your piano?”
“I’m not in your class, Jules.”
He put his sandy hands up to her face and turned it so she was looking into his intense black eyes. “Listen to me, Lisse. I’ve heard you play. Deep inside you, you have not only the passion but the core of genius. I don’t know where it came from, but it’s there. And that kind of genius comes along so rarely, it’s your duty to develop it. Why do you think I put you on to Rachmaninoff? You don’t choose music. Music chooses you.” He paused and kissed her forehead lightly.
Annalisse bit her lip. Jules had never talked to her about her talent before. She had no idea he felt this way about it. Genius? Her? Annalisse Lundgren?
“But you’ve got this complex,” he continued. “You think your being just off the farm instead of out of some fashionable conservatory makes you inferior.” Brushing his thumbs over the sensitive skin under her eyes, he continued. “But I’m telling you that you’ve got a huge advantage over most people. You just need to work at it harder. Stop treating it as a hobby and start treating it as your life.”
“You’re right. I can’t really see me making it as a concert pianist.” She tried to laugh it off. In spite of Jules’s words, she knew deep inside that something about the picture was wrong. She belonged in a lab, probably bent over a cadaver.
“I’m going to need an accompanist,” he said softly, still looking directly into her eyes. “I’d like for it to be you.”
“Me?” Annalisse was suddenly breathless. “But I’m not nearly good enough! Why would you want me?”
“Because of that passion. Underneath that Scandinavian calm of yours, there’s a lot of excitement brewing.”
“How do you know?” she demanded, feeling herself go scalding hot.
Taking her by the shoulders, he tumbled her back onto the sand. Then, slowly and delicately he began to kiss her, running his fingers through her long hair, tasting her cheeks, her forehead, her ear, and finally her lips. She couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe he was kissing her, couldn’t believe he thought she had a genius within. Her world was turning upside down. As he stroked the planes of her face, she kissed him back with a fierce tumble of emotions. The world twirled around her in lover’s vertigo. Jules laughed, a joyful carefree laugh, as they played like children on the beach until they were both thoroughly covered with sand and their castle lay in ruins.
Jules whispered, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the talent buried in you is greater than mine. You understand me, Annalisse. You understand my music. You want to be part of it, don’t you?”
She looked into his face and saw the earnestness he had always reserved for his violin. “Yes,” she stumbled, out of breath. I want to be part of you. “Yes, of course I do. But there are so many things against it. I mean . . . I don’t know if I’m really cut out for that kind of life. I’m so ordinary, Jules.”
“You’re deluding yourself. You’re not ordinary at all. Don’t you want to travel the world? Play in the great concert halls? What could be more fantastic?” His eyes shone.
She looked away. There was no way she could picture herself in such a role. But why would he lie to her about her talent? What motive could he possibly have? “I . . . I’ll have to think about it, Jules. That’s a huge change. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around.”
“There are things you don’t know about me, Lisse. I need your buoyancy, your happy view of life.” He cast his eyes down, and he drew a heart in the sand. “This last month, seeing you every day—things have changed for me. I’ve been waiting to see how deep your strength goes, whether it’s real or not. I’m convinced it is. And I know I’d be crippled without it.”
Stunned, she struggled up onto her elbows. What did he mean by that? Crippled? She watched as he deserted the ruins of their castle and walked to the edge of the water once again. Jules was incredibly moody at the best of times. For a reason she couldn’t define, she feared those moods, and so she was unable to ask him to elaborate. Instead she concentrated on the sheer unexpectedness of his praise.
He thinks I can do it. He wants me. These thoughts drummed in her head. She still didn’t know what to make of them.
At length, she stood and joined him. “It’s starting to rain again,” she said, putting a hand out to catch the mist.
”I know,” he said, taking her in his arms. “It’s making little crystal beads in your hair.”
Chapter Four
Hillbilly Law could not be called a cerebral experience by any stretch of the imagination, but here in Blue Creek, unlike Los Angeles, Dennis felt the law was still considered an honorable profession.
This morning he was attempting to write a title opinion on a piece of real estate located down on the creek—a largish farm that originally had been granted by the United States government to the St. Louis and San Francisco Railway Company. When the right mood was upon him, he could really get into an abstract of title, fleshing out with his imagination the tale told on the yellowing pages.
But today ominous rumblings rattled the windows, breaking his concentration, and he found himself resenting the trivial nature of the task. A pervading dampness seeped through the thin walls, accentuating the mustiness of the old chiropractor’s office he rented, and he felt the nagging annoyance of being unable to afford something better. Of course, this office was about as good as it got in Blue Creek. A rare longing assailed him for a client in pinstripes with a Gucci briefcase and a complex corporate tax problem.
Following a brisk knock, Dennis’s secretary, Leila, entered the small office. This week her bobbed hair was a sort of fuschia. He and Annalisse laid bets on how long each color would last. Leila ruled him with an iron fist and was probably the only reason his law practice made a dime. “Ada Lou Horneby’s out there. Appears she’s got another poor lost soul along with her. If you take her on this time, Dennis, I’m not doing anything, not even one letter, unless you promise to bill her.”
“How can I bill Ada Lou? The only thing she’s got is the gold in her teeth.”
“Well, she can’t expect you to handle every charity case she comes across. How do you know she hasn’t got a secret stash? She must know lawyers don’t come cheap, but every time she leaves here she gives me a lecture because I haven’t sent her a bill.”
“She’s very proud, Ada is.”
“Dennis, you don’t understand these people! If you don’t let them pay, they don’t respect you. She must owe you at least three thousand dollars.”
He told her to show Ada Lou in.
Entering heavily, an enormous woman turned out in an iron gray wig and a “town dress” of lavender-flowered jersey gripped her lawyer powerfully by the hand. “Mr. Chiles, this here’s my nephew, Lonnie Warner. He’s havin’ an awful time over some money’s owed him.”
Dennis had trouble restraining his instinctive reaction to the poor specimen of humanity who mutely trod in her wake. He was probably not as tall as he looked. It was just that he was all angles and legs. It appeared that he hadn’t had a square meal in years. Missing his front teeth, he looked almost comic under his perplexity and three days’ growth of beard. He also smelled.
