Where Love Has Gone (19 page)

The maitre d’ was no fool. He knew an attraction when he saw one. He gave us a corner window looking out over the ocean, where everyone could see us. Then he sent over a bottle of champagne and the violins.

Elizabeth smiled at me. “You must be a very big man around here.”

“It’s not me.” I lifted my glass. “It’s you. As a matter of fact it’s a lucky thing he doesn’t remember me. The only other time I was ever in here I was thrown out for being drunk.”

She laughed. “He’ll change his mind once he sees me eat.” After awhile the violins went away and the dance band came on. I looked at her, and when she nodded we moved out onto the floor. I put my arm around her and where my hand touched the flesh of her bare back I could sense the strength that lay hidden there under her skin.

I stumbled, trying to find the beat of the music. “It’s been a long time.”

“For me too.” Then she put her face against my cheek and after that it was easy.

I was surprised when the orchestra wrapped it up and I looked at my watch and saw that it was three o’clock. It had been a long time since an evening had gone by so quickly for me. I paid the check and laid a big tip on the maitre d’ for being so nice to us. The scent of flowers came down from the hills as we walked out into the star-filled California night. Mingled with the salt air it was real heady.

“Want to walk down near the water?”

She nodded and slipped her arm through mine. We went down the path that wound its way around behind the restaurant past the small motel fronting on the beach.

The night was very still. No sounds came from the road high behind us. “I could ask you to watch the grunion running,” I said.

“I’m a sucker for fish stories.”

I laughed as we walked along the beach for a while until we came to a rock. We sat down and looked out at the ocean. We didn’t talk. We didn’t have to. The night was filled with a rare kind of peace.

I flipped my butt and watched it leave a trail of sparks on its way to the water. We sat there real close, watching the surf break on the sand, not touching each other, but close just the same.

She turned her face to me. “Luke.”

I kissed her. No hands, no frantic clinch, just our lips touching and tasting and telling each other of the way it had been with us before. How lonely we were, how we would like it to be.

After awhile she took her mouth away and put her hand on my shoulder and we sat that way for a long while. Then she sighed a little and raised her head. “It’s getting late, Luke. I’m tired. Let’s go back to the boat.”

We were silent in the taxi that took us back to Santa Monica. Just our fingers spoke as they rested quickly intertwined.

We climbed down off the dock onto the boat and came to a stop outside the cabin. Her voice was quiet and calm.

“I’m not the type for weekend romances, Luke. When I go it’s for the long time, the whole distance. I’m not a lonely widow trying to fill an empty gap in her life. I don’t want to be used like a fire extinguisher, to put out a torch.”

I looked into her eyes. “I understand.”

She was silent for a moment while she sought the truth in me. “I hope you do,” she whispered softly. “I want you to.” She reached up and pressed her lips to mine. “Give me a few minutes before you come in.”

She disappeared into the cabin and I lit a cigarette. Suddenly my hands were trembling and I was afraid. I didn’t know what I was afraid of but I was. I looked around for a drink, but all there was was a few cans of beer. I opened one and drank it quickly. It wasn’t cold anymore but I felt better after I drank it. I threw my cigarette into the water and went into the cabin.

She was lying in my bunk, the sheet pulled up to her throat, her spun-gold hair spread over my pillow. “Turn out the light, Luke. I’m a little shy.”

I reached over and switched it off. The light from the dock poured in through the porthole, framing her face. I fumbled my way quickly out of my clothes and knelt beside the bunk and kissed her.

Her arms came up around my neck. “Luke, Luke.”

I raised my head and slowly drew the sheet back. Her eyes were open now, she was watching me. After a moment’s silence, she spoke. “Am I beautiful enough for you, Luke?”

Her breasts were full and proud. Her waist was tiny as it fell away from the bones of her high rib cage, her stomach flat with just a hint of roundness as it reached down into the swelling curve of her hips. Her thighs were strong and her legs long and straight.

Her voice filled the silence again. “I want to be beautiful for you.” “My golden goddess,” I whispered, kissing her throat.

Her arms tightened around me. “Hold me, Luke. Love me.”

I felt the passion flooding into me. I kissed her breasts. She moaned softly and I felt her warmth spread open beneath me. Then there was nothing but the pounding of my heart and the roaring of my

brain. Suddenly all the whiskey and all the whoring I had engaged in for escape turned back on me and broke the dam.

“Oh, no!” I cried, feeling her arms freeze around me in surprise and shock. “Please, no!” But it was over.

I lay very still for a moment, then I sat up slowly and reached for a cigarette. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I should have known better. I guess I’m no good for anything anymore. I’m not even a decent lover.”

I sat on the edge of the bunk staring down at the floor, not daring to look at her. She was silent for a moment, then reached up and took the cigarette from my mouth. She put it down and with the other hand turned my face to her.

Her voice was soft and kind. “Is that what she did to you, Luke? Did she take you apart like that?”

“I took myself apart,” I said bitterly. “Like I said, I guess I’m nothing but a lousy lover.”

She drew my head down to the warmth of her breasts and stroked it slowly. “You’re not, Luke,” she whispered. “The trouble with you is you love too much.”

When I woke in the morning she was gone. In her place was a note and four one-hundred-dollar bills. I opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

Dear Luke,

Please forgive my leaving like this. I know it may not seem fair but there is nothing else I can think of to do at this moment. Everyone carries his or her own cross and has to fight his or her own peculiar kind of war. I fought mine with Johnny died. You’re still fighting yours.

If the time should come when you win enough of your war to come out of hiding and be the kind of man you really are, maybe we can take that long trip together. Because that’s what I really want, that is, if you want it too. I know I’m not making much sense, but then I never make too much sense when I’m crying.

Love, Elizabeth

For three months I tried to forget what she had written, then one morning I woke up in the drunk tank and everything was gone. The boat, my credit, whatever self-respect was left—all gone. They gave me thirty days on the work farm when I couldn’t get up my fine.

At the end of the thirty days, when they gave me back my clothes, I found her note still in a pocket. I took it out and read it again, then looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were clear for the first time in a long time. Really clear. I could see myself.

I thought of Elizabeth and how good it would be to see here. But not like this. I didn’t want to show up looking like a bum. So I got a job as a laborer on a housing project and seven months later

when the job was completed, I had worked my way up to assistant foreman. I had six hundred bucks in my jeans and an old jalopy that I could call my own.

I got into my car and drove non-stop to Phoenix. There I learned that she’d gone to Tucson, where her boss was just beginning a new development. I was in Tucson late that same afternoon. The office was way out on the speedway, and the first thing I noticed when I pulled into the parking lot was the sign:

CONSTRUCTION HELP WANTED

I opened the door and went in. A dark-haired girl was sitting in the outer office. She looked up at me. “Yes?”

“The sign outside says you’re looking for help.” She nodded. “We are. Had any experience?” “Yes.”

“Sit down, please. Miss Anderson will be with you in a moment.”

She picked up the telephone and whispered something into it. Then she gave me a form. “Fill this out while you’re waiting.”

I’d just finished when the phone buzzed and the girl pointed me toward an inner office.

Elizabeth didn’t look up as I came in. She was staring down at a sheet of figures. “You’ve had experience?” she asked, still not looking up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes were still on the desk. “What kind of experience?” “All kinds, ma’am.”

“All kinds?” she asked impatiently. “That’s not a very definite—” She looked up and the words disappeared in her throat.

She seemed thinner somehow, her cheekbones stood out more. “But that’s not the reason I came out her, ma’am,” I said, watching her eyes. “The real reason is—I came out here looking for someone who said she might be willing to take a long trip with me.”

For the longest kind of a moment she looked up at me, and then she was out of the chair and around the desk and into my arms. I was kissing her and she was crying and saying my name over and over again. “Luke … Luke … Luke.”

The door on the other side of her office opened and the old man, her boss, came in. He noticed us and turned to go back out, then took a second look. He cleared his throat.

He reached into his jacket and came out with a pair of glasses. He peered at me again and again cleared his throat.

“So it’s you,” he said. “It’s about time you got here. Now maybe she’ll stop moping so we can

get some work done.”

He stomped out of the office, closing the door behind him, and we turned to each other and began to laugh. Somehow, listening to the sound of her laughter, I knew I would always feel better just knowing that she was around. Always, even like now, when I was in San Francisco and she was in Chicago, waiting for me on a lonely Saturday night.

3

__________________________________________

Harris Gordon was in the lobby the next morning when I came down at nine o’clock. We went into the coffee shop, where there were nothing but empty tables. It was Sunday morning.

The waitress put down the coffee and I ordered a stack of dollar-sized pancakes and sausages.

Gordon shook his head. “I’ve already had breakfast.”

When the waitress went away I asked, “Where do we go from here?”

He reached for a cigarette. “We’re fortunate in one respect. We’re not facing a murder trial.” “We’re not?”

“No,” he answered. “Under California law, a minor who has committed a felony is not treated in the same way as a criminal adult. This is particularly true in cases involving minors under the age of sixteen.”

“Then how do they determine guilt and punishment for a child?”

“Again, that is where the law operates to our advantage. There is no such thing as punishing a child. California maintains that a child cannot be held responsible for his or her actions, even if guilt is determined. Instead, the minor is subjected to a custodial hearing in Juvenile Court to determine the best possible solutions regarding rehabilitation and an eventual return to society.” He smiled. “Do I sound too much like a lawyer?”

I shook my head. “I’m still with you. Go on.”

The waitress returned with my breakfast. Gordon waited until she had gone again before he continued.

“The court must determine in whose custody the best interests and welfare of the child will be served. One or both parents, as the case may be, a foster home, a remedial school like Los Guilicos, even a hospital or mental institution if necessary. But only after a complete investigation is made. In the event the court decided to retain her in custody, Dani might be sent to the California Youth Authority Reception Center, at Perkins, to undergo a psychological and psychiatric study in depth.”

“What does that mean?”

“One thing it’s sure to mean,” he answered quickly, “Is that if you have any idea of gaining custody, you might as well forget it. The court would never permit the child to be taken out of the state.”

We stared at each other. At least I know where I stood. I wasn’t to be allowed custody of Dani no matter what. I kept my voice impassive. “So I don’t get her,” I said. “Who does?”

“Frankly I doubt that the court would ever return her to Nora. That leaves three possibilities—

her grandmother, a court-selected foster home, or Los Guilicos. I think we can eliminate the foster home. Dani’s grandmother can offer more advantages.”

“Then it’s between the old lady and an institution?” He nodded.

I finished the last of my pancakes and signaled for more coffee. “Which do you think it will be?” “Do you want my frank opinion?”

I nodded.

“The odds are perhaps ten to one on Los Guilicos.”

I sat there silently for a moment. The thought of Dani spending months, maybe years, behind fences was more than I could take. “How do we get them to give us that one chance?”

Gordon looked at me closely. “We’d have to prove that we could give Dani everything that an institution could. That means close supervision, schooling, religious education, psychotherapy, analysis if necessary. And constant contact with the probation officer assigned to her.”

“Why is that necessary if Dani is with her grandmother?”

“Because only her custody will be entrusted. She will still remain a ward of the court until the court is completely satisfied that she can cause no more social problems.”

“How long will that take?”

“Based on my experience, I would think she’d remain a ward of the court until she is at least eighteen.”

“That’s a long time for anyone to live under a microscope. Even a kid.” He looked at me strangely. “She killed a man,” he said. “That’s forever.” That was blunt enough. Even for me. “What can I do to help?”

“I feel it’s important that you remain in San Francisco until Dani’s court hearings are concluded.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “Trials go on forever.”

“This is not a trial in the ordinary sense, Colonel. There is no jury to assess or determine guilt. This is just a custodial hearing before a judge, involving only the persons concerned. Even the police and the district attorney aren’t involved, unless they are asked to appear to answer specific questions concerning the welfare and behavior of the child. The entire matter must be disposed of quickly. The law acts to protect the child from needless detention. If the child is held in custody more than fifteen days, without a hearing, she must be released.”