BROKEN SERENADE - Prologue and Chapter1

PROLOGUE

London, 1989
Each and every one of his patients had something different, malignantly interesting, something that incited his curiosity and induced him to wait for the next appointment almost anxiously. What made them extremely fascinating for his purely medical interest was the fact that none of them was entirely out of touch with reality. They were human beings only partially lost into inexistent territories artificially created by their captivatingly alienated minds. And psychiatrist Doctor Andrew Evans was struggling to show them a way back to the normal world - a world that appeared mentally healthy, considering the rules by itself established. He was a bachelor with no intention of ever marrying and he had no other passion or hobby. He did his job with patience and complete dedication, always pushing himself to his limits and beyond, fighting desperately to escape his own inner monsters. Those little devils inside his head ravished his being every once in a while with unhealthy and scandalous cravings.
Still, the most important thing for Doctor Andrew Evans was the fact that he felt in control in the presence of each one of his patients.
However, this teenage girl made him increasingly uneasy. She was naturally blonde, with ash highlights in her hair combed obediently in a ponytail. She looked as if by some miracle she had climbed out of a Christian icon! Most certainly she has blue eyes like the clear sky of a beautiful summer day, the doctor guessed, in a poetic mood, and probably she is still a virgin.
He opened the file of his future patient and realized in only a few seconds that appearances can be deceiving sometimes, as in this particular case. He read fast, between the lines, the story of this girl, rejoicing for every wrong step she had taken until that moment. Down, down in the human mud, Mr. Evans thought. The lower you are now, the more you’ll have to climb with my help. Your recovery will be spectacular, he reflected in an instant of sudden and unexpected confidence in his own practice.
Miss Lauren had become a mother at the young age of sixteen. With the assistance of an international agency, she had given up her child for adoption. Her baby girl had brought joy and happiness to a wealthy family in California.
Miss Lauren had managed to keep herself away from serious troubles for an entire year. It had been a period almost sterile from the criminal point of view - only one act of petty theft from a cosmetics boutique, and an attempt to pose as an adult in an alcoholic beverages store. Just until a few months ago, when life had sent her a message, as concrete as it had been horrifying: You can’t play with fire and not get burned. Maybe fortune would smile upon you once, or twice, but not every time you take a wrong step.
One late night, she was returning home from a party that she had attended without the consent and awareness of her parents. She had taken three girlfriends with her in the car. Eager to add a little bit of excitement into their lives of obedient, bored high school girls, they had unnecessarily entered the freeway. Unfortunately, Miss Lauren had gotten her driver’s license only a month back, and she had drunk a considerable amount of beer at the party. The wrong way sign had not rung any bells with her as she had commenced her wild freeway ride. The accident had been inevitable. Her Toyota SUV had hit the small Ford car frontally. The two men in the Ford and her three friends had died instantly. Miss Lauren had been the only one wearing a seatbelt and, thanks to that vital detail, the sole survivor of that grisly accident. However, she had lost her left breast and, along with it, a consistent part of her mental faculties. In the months following the accident, Miss Lauren had already tried to end her life twice. Now, she had been put under suicide watch.
At the moment of her scheduled medical appointment with Doctor Evans, her musical talent was the only good thing about her. Many connoisseurs in the matter considered her a real piano virtuoso.
Brimming with professional anticipation, the psychiatrist decided that it was time to face the little beast and start to tame her.
“Miss Johns, would you, please, be so kind as to invite Miss Lauren into my office,” Doctor Evans addressed his assistant.
The girl entered, as formal and haughty as a queen, and she came to a stop in front of his desk.
As it was his custom with all his new patients, he stood up and reached out to shake her hand and introduce himself.
“Miss Lauren, I am Doctor Evans…”
The young girl looked at him with cold, unblinking green eyes. She was undoubtedly beautiful. She had the glacial, primitive beauty of a rare, lethal reptile.
She did not give the slightest impression that she intended to welcome his gesture. On the contrary.
What the hell is on your mind? I can’t wait to discover, the doctor found himself thinking.
“I am a woman,” she stated proudly. “The code of politeness dictates that you should wait for me to initiate the handshake,” she continued with a smirk. “And then, Doctor Evans,” she said arrogantly, tilting her head to one side and looking down on him with unjustified superiority, “I don’t particularly like being in your office. They forced me to come for an evaluation.”
“A mental evaluation,” the psychiatrist specified rigidly.
“Yes”, she answered with a stern face.
“Is it the environment of my office, or is it the reason you’re here that you actually dislike, Miss Lauren?”
“Both,” she answered promptly. “Well…you could also add yourself to the list. Nothing personal, mind you! It is just your profession that I can’t stand. You’re going to be my shrink, Mr. Evans. You’re going to want to know what’s on my mind. This is something that I don’t only dislike. In fact, I find this situation revolting!”
I should have anticipated her behavior. Silently, Doctor Evans disapproved with his own technique so far. Most teenagers are rebels. Why would she be an exception to the rule?
He decided to ignore her crude and disturbing sincerity. It was better that way.
“Please, do sit down, Miss Lauren,” the doctor invited her in a patronizing tone of voice.
The girl took a seat immediately. In a matter of seconds, her coolness dissolved unexpectedly, and she began to cry.
“Don’t you understand?” she lamented. “I don’t want to live. I don’t want to! I can’t!”
“Do you feel responsible for the deaths of your friends and of those two men? You have to know that the feeling is normal. Post traumatic stress disorder can lead to suicidal behavior,” the psychiatrist attempted to explain her psychological condition using academic terms.
Her crying and sobbing fit stopped as suddenly as it had erupted. She broke into a nervous, hysterical laughter.
Patiently, the doctor waited for her to calm down. He handed her a box of Kleenex.
“Hey doc, you really amuse me,” the girl replied harshly with unmasked impudence. “They are dead. D, e, a, d,” she spelled the word. “My remorse will not bring them back. I am talking about me… ME! What am I going to do? How could I go through this perfidious life with only one breast? I am mutilated. Forever. I am a monster,” she yelled. “Do you have a pill for that, doc?”
Yes, you are a monster indeed, Mr. Evans agreed. An enchanting, ravishing monster, he reflected and dared to stare once again into those elongated green eyes.
Lyrics from Kim Carnes’ song, Bette Davis Eyes, came back involuntarily to his mind: She’s a spy, she’s got Bette Davis eyes… He wanted to push the song away, but his brain continued to play it on mute stubbornly, obsessively.
She is a monster, the doctor concluded.
Out of nowhere, this stringent need rushed into his mind, a strong desire to plant a minuscule seed of kindness in her. With it, a sparkle of hope flickered anemically. Theoretically, it should work, Mr. Evans reflected with a certain amount of reluctance. An encouraging thought sprang to his help, fueling that feeble expectation. Come on, Andrew, you’ve been experimenting this on yourself for such a long time. If it’s working for you, why wouldn’t it work for her? Come on doc, give it a try!
When he spoke again, his voice sounded professional, detached, but very convincing. Yet, deep in his heart, he inferred that nothing good could come out of this either. Primordially an optimistic person otherwise, Doctor Andrew Evans was amazed by the raw pessimism that engulfed his being, like an acute crisis of an illness considered long ago cured. Morbid thoughts continued to torture his will as he started to talk.
“Miss Lauren, have you ever heard of the Amazons?” he asked slowly, with patience mastered over years of medical practice.
The girl did not answer. He had no doubt that she had never heard about the Amazons. She’s been quite busy lately. Too many parties, drugs, drinks, and men to try, Mr. Evans thought maliciously.
“The history places them in antiquity, a civilization formed exclusively of extremely courageous women-warriors. Some historians believe the Amazons resided on the actual territory of Ukraine.” Still a bit uneasy, the doctor shifted in his seat. He made another futile attempt to engage her in the dialogue.
“Have you ever been to Ukraine, Miss Lauren?”
The girl shook her head in negation.
“No, of course not,” the doctor continued. “That’s the place where you can find the most beautiful women in the world, blonde, tall, superb. The ever-so-coveted Russian women. Men from everywhere are crazy about them.”
Including that mediocre Sean, Doctor Evans thought, sickened again by his brother’s actions. As if it were not enough that he had become a dentist and was picking cheese from between his clients’ teeth - a disgusting profession in Andrew’s opinion – now Sean had opened a matrimonial agency. Moreover, he was using his newly established business to infest England with young Russian women. Nothing else but gold diggers looking to climb the social ladder fast and easy in exchange for their sexual favors.
The black thorn of guilt scratched at his conscience again. Andrew Evans did not love his brother, even though he was aware that Sean idolized him. It was obvious that the man made every effort to imitate him. Yet, the outcome was disastrous. He’s trying, poor fellow, but he’s bound to fail. Time after time, after time. He doesn’t possess the intellectual capacity to copy me. In his opinion, Sean was a weak, corrupted, frivolous man and an ignoramus when it came to art. For God’s sake, we share the same blood, the doctor thought with remorse, appalled by his own lack of affection for his brother. He wanted to love Sean; he wanted that from the bottom of his heart. Nevertheless, it was impossible. Andrew was capable though to play the loving sibling exceptionally well, and that had proved to be enough so far.
He urgently resumed his conversation with Miss Lauren. He even talked more enthusiastically, as if he intended to make up for those few seconds of personal distraction.
“Aware of their physical inferiority in a hand-to-hand combat, the Amazons were said to have chosen the bow and arrow as their main weapons. The legend claims that these warrior-women used to cut off or burn out their left breast to make up for their physical limitation and reach the best results in archery.”
His words had an immediate effect on the girl before him. As if by magic, Miss Lauren’s face brightened up. Happy to have finally gotten her attention, the psychiatrist continued his ancient-history lesson zealously.
“In this matriarchal society, men were accepted only as slaves and as necessary instruments used to perpetuate the specie. They had no voice in the tribe; their opinion didn’t matter at all.”
The young girl interrupted him unexpectedly, wearing a mysterious smile on her soft lips.
“Doctor Evans, I am not interested in men. Not anymore.”
Miss Lauren’s voluntary confession almost startled him. For an instant, a flash of confusion washed over his face. Then he remained looking at her fixedly, dumbfounded.
“I’m even less interested in their opinion,” she continued nonchalantly. “Actually,” she said, getting up and stretching out her hand with rehearsed grace, “the meeting is over. One hour. Not a second more,” she added, looking up at the big, round clock on the left wall.
Under the old clock, that now showed 3 PM sharp, an oil painting captured the image of two little girls between the ages of ten and eleven as they played with a ball. An indiscreet gust of wind blew their short, pleated dresses, uncovering their fancy, lace-stitched underwear.
“We’ll see each other again, doc, I promise you,” Miss Lauren assured him. “The Amazon women’s story is very interesting.”
As he enjoyed a strange feeling of masochistic nature inside his ego, the doctor dared to hope that the girl would keep her word. He was almost sure that she would return. His professionalism would have to assert itself, like in all other cases up until now. He was well known for his success.
Miss Lauren walked toward the exit with the elegance of a model. She stopped before the closed door and kept her back on him. Balancing her entire weight on one foot with the grace of a ballerina, she leaned to her left and examined another painting that was hanging above a tall lamp. The girl touched it gingerly with the tips of her fingers. It had the same subject with the one seen before - little girls playing - this time on a lake’s shore. Both paintings must have been the work of the same painter, variations on the same theme.
“Do you like children, Doctor Evans?”
She had asked the question meaningfully, turning around gracefully, with not a bit of urgency, like in a movie scene filmed in slow motion.
The psychiatrist did not lift his eyes to look at her. Apparently, he continued to take notes into her file, but she observed that he had stopped writing, and his hand was slightly shaking. There was a long silence. That moment she knew she had him. Surprisingly, he knew that too.
Finally, the doctor sighed.
“Good bye, Miss Lauren,” he said coldly, as she opened the door and left.
After only a few seconds, he called his assistant. He struggled to control his fury.
“Miss Johns,” he yelled. “Who put these paintings on my walls?”
“Surprise, Mr. Evans!” the woman chirped happily. “This is the gift from your brother. He insisted that I should expose them on your birthday. Actually, I put them on the walls yesterday after my lunch break, but you didn’t return to the office in the afternoon.”
“Take them down immediately and send them back to him with this note.”
The secretary sent a quick glance over the small note just written in a hurry in her presence, and she blushed violently up to her flapping ears. She backed up silently.
A week later, when Miss Lauren did not show up to honor her appointment, Mr. Evans experienced hastily a feeling of relief, a moment of indisputable happiness. The disappointment in his assistant’s voice, when downcast, she announced that the young girl had left the sanatorium and was nowhere to be found, did not impress him in the least. Actually, he felt liberated. It was as if he had had a short encounter with the devil, and to his utter surprise, the creature had unexpectedly changed its mind and had abandoned, had spared him.
Apparently, his happiness had not been long lived. The following day, the old woman who cleaned his house found him dead, lying on his kitchen floor. Subsequently, the autopsy attributed his death to a fatal combination of alcohol and sleeping pills. His family was shocked. His old parents vehemently denied the fact that Mr. Evans had ever had sleeping problems.
“Not so difficult to resort to medication anyway,” they had insisted, even though they had not seen their sons in years.
Nevertheless, in the absence of other concrete evidence that would have proved the contrary, the coroner quickly listed his death as accidental suicide.
The police received only one anonymous phone call regarding this mysterious case. The person had allegedly seen Miss Lauren leaving the doctor’s residence that particular night. However, at the time of her supposed departure from his house, Doctor Evans was believed to have been still alive and not yet deadly intoxicated. According to the forensics, his death had occurred a few hours later. Moreover, the detective in charge of the case concluded that the girl, in spite of her tumultuous past, did not have any reason to kill her psychiatrist whom she had met only once in her life.
CHAPTER 1
Woodside, San Francisco Bay Area, summer of 1996

Serene and carefree, morning filtered in through the wide-open window. Vivien yawned, blinked a few times, and then let go of her pink stuffed bear that she always hugged while she slept. Her eyelids still heavy, she jumped off the bed and fell on her knees. She positioned her elbows on the edge of her bed and put her palms together in a pious gesture of prayer. Her grandmother’s words reverberated inside her mind with convincing power that filled her little heart with hope and chased away her morning somnolence.
“If you pray hard enough, God will hear your voice, and He will make your wish come true. You only have to have trust in His unlimited power, and He will undoubtedly help you,” granny had said.
Granny knows so many things. She bakes the best cookies and tells the most exciting fairy tales. She is so smart and wise! Vivien remembered.
She concentrated on her prayer.
“Dear God,” she started with ardor. “I beg you, I implore you, don’t let Tee marry Nadine today. Please, please,” she asked insistently. “She doesn’t deserve him. I do. And You know that, because You know everything. So please, please, please, don’t let him marry her.”
The bedroom door opened unexpectedly, and Mrs. Alison Hopkins appeared in the doorframe.
“Good morning, bluebell! Why are you sitting on the floor, sweetheart?”
Joyfully singing a funny tune, she dashed into the room and placed Vivien’s dress, shoes, socks, and hair-flowers on the armchair by the bed with remarkable scrupulosity. After that, Alison kneeled and took her daughter in her arms. She gingerly touched the child’s brown curls - so darkly brown they almost seemed black.
Vivien rested her head on her mother’s chest.
“Did you sleep well last night? My sweet, my beautiful little baby!” Her mom hugged her lovingly, leaving quick little kisses on her head and cheeks.
Vivien hurriedly sent her passionate prayer to Dear God one more time. Then, she answered her mother’s question.
“Yes, mommy. I slept like an angel.”
“That is exactly how you’re going to look today at Tim and Nadine’s wedding. Wasn’t Nadine so gracious to choose you to be her flower-girl?”
“Mademoiselle Lili asked her.”
“Mademoiselle Lili only suggested it, sweetie,” her mother corrected her. “In the end, it was Nadine’s choice, and you should thank her.”
A few hours later, Vivien was descending the white marble stairs holding on to the slippery railings with exaggerated care. She stopped in the foyer and happily admired herself in the gigantic mirror that covered the wall by the entrance door. All dressed in white, she looked like out of a fairy tale. Only the hair flowers were a light blue, and they went perfectly with her big blue eyes.
She slunk out of the house with the ability of a tiny mouse, without anyone noticing her escape. She tiptoed quietly on the wild cherries alley up to the gazebo. Then, without hesitation, she made a quick left turn and broke into a sprint toward the house with dwarfs where Mademoiselle Lili - her piano and French teacher - lived.
Vivien liked Mademoiselle Lili enormously, because she was beautiful and elegant and because she let her try on her high-heel shoes and sandals whenever that thought tickled her fancy. Moreover, a month ago, her sophisticated piano teacher had allowed her to test all her perfumes, while she had been on the phone with a lover she repeatedly called “sweet love”. The woman had misled him to believe that she had put his pictures on her piano and on her vanity. Clever, Mademoiselle Lili! Vivien thought with admiration, thinking that she would never be able to lie to someone with so much courage and confidence. On her piano and on her vanity, the woman had displayed sexy pictures of her favorite student - Nadine! She still had them there. She wasn’t afraid her nose would grow, and she would look like Pinocchio, or that her lover would drop by and would catch her in the lie. All because of Nadine! Vivien was jealous on Nadine. Now Nadine was taking her Tee too. Tee was Vivien’s knight in bright-white armors. God knows. Tee is mine.
Four years back, when Vivien had just turned four, Tee had saved her life. Killer, their neighbor’s Pit-bull monster, had cornered her in the lavender bushes and would have torn her apart if not for Tee’s rapid intervention. He had lifted her on his broad shoulders, careless that he was destroying his Prom night impeccable attire. He had so bravely fought for her with the unleashed dog, that he had become her hero forever.
Vivien sneaked into the neighboring yard through the broken, ivy-invaded fence that Mademoiselle Lili’s friend, Mr. Logan, would not care to fix. He was well too preoccupied with his sculptures. “Art is such an insatiable beast. It sucks the energy out of the artist, so there is nothing left for petty, unimportant tasks,” Mademoiselle Lili would often say to Mr. Logan’s defense. Mademoiselle Lili is ever so nice!
The little girl saluted quickly the two funny dwarfs guarding the entrance. Mr. Logan had just finished them a couple of days ago. She jumped over her usual, graceful bow – she was in a hurry! Vivien was burning with excitement. She wanted to show Mademoiselle Lili how beautiful she looked today.
She stood on her toes and stretched her arm to ring the doorbell placed unusually high on the wall. Before her finger reached the dirty button, she observed that the door was cracked open. She pushed it just enough to allow herself to slip inside the house.
A superb bride’s dress was thrown in disorder on the piano, and a pair of white high-heel shoes lay scattered under the stool.
From the upper floor, Vivien could hear Nadine’s insolent laughter and her intriguing, low-pitched voice.
“Come on Lili, stop lamenting! I will not exit your… vicious circle,” Nadine quipped giggling, evidently in an exceptionally good mood. “God, I can’t stand that sniveling! Lili, you have to understand, I love Tim, and I need him. Tim is my chance to a normal life. I can’t afford to miss the boat this time, I’m getting older.”
Mademoiselle Lili’s impotent answer precipitated in a cascade of muffled whispers. Only her ankle bracelet clinked joyfully, and the little girl imagined her piano teacher walking back and forth as she always did when she was nervous.
Vivien had never seen Mademoiselle Lili without that vulgarly expensive anklet embellished with diamonds that – according to her parents’ sayings – were worth as much as a Ferrari. There was a malicious rumor going around that she always wore it at her left ankle to distract attention from the ugly birthmark on her right ankle. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Lili concealed it wonderfully, using makeup. She does a great job. And anyway, her birthmark isn’t even half as disgusting as people say it is, the child thought, ready at any moment to defend her beloved teacher.
Vivien eyed covetously the exquisite white shoes with metallic high-heels. She would have liked to try them on, to walk in them a little, but Nadine would have never allowed her that. Nadine was a particularly possessive young woman, a very enigmatic and secretive person. Vivien had overheard her mother telling a friend that Nadine had not invited anyone to help her choose the dress, veil, or shoes. She had been dead set to keep her wedding attire secret for everybody, starting with Timothy and ending with the last piccolo that served at the party.
The letter on the piano, coming out partially opened from its pink envelope, tempted Vivien to go back and take a look at it. She played with the thought for a couple of seconds, watching mesmerized the yellow roses printed elegantly on the right upper corner of that high-quality paper. The dialogue that reverberated from upstairs raised her curiosity and urged her to climb the stairs. The women’s conversation became clearer with every single step she took.
“I think I’ll dye my hair after the wedding. A light brown…or maybe even something darker…much closer to my natural color,” Nadine announced. “Then, I’ll just let it grow. I’m so sick and tired of this color! All women around me are blonde!”
“Blonde hair makes you look gorgeous, gives you radiance and noblesse. My Amazon women will always be blonde, and you are not going to be an exception, Nadine!” Mademoiselle Lili admonished her. “You’ve got to stop being such a rebel. This attitude is not you at all. I consider Timothy Leigh to be a bad influence on you. I will not tolerate the slightest sign of mutiny inside my organization.”
“Don’t you want to know how it was at the dentist’s office?” Nadine said. She asked the question as if she had not heard Lili’s last words, or as if she were conversing now with an entirely different person.
“I didn’t have any problem,” she continued. “My teeth look better indeed. They are sparkling white now! Don’t forget to remind me to return your insurance card. Anyway, my purse is in your car.”
“I’m lucky I guess. I didn’t need their services so far,” Lili muttered.
There was silence for a few moments.
“There is something else,” Lili said, very excited all of a sudden. “I want you to have my ankle bracelet. You know what they say: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Your dress is new. Your flowers are blue. You borrowed the garter from lucky Alison. And something older than this marvelous piece of jewelry I doubt that anybody else can offer you.”
“Lili, this is absolutely scandalous!” Nadine exclaimed. “I cannot accept such an expensive gift!”
Mademoiselle Lili started to cry.
“Nadine, please, I beg you…”
“OK, OK, Lili. I will wear it only today, but after the wedding, you’ll have to take it back. Do you promise? This is all I can do.”
The dialogue ceased for a minute. Vivien could hear the tinkling of the anklet being moved from one woman to the other. Then, Mademoiselle Lili’s words sounded so heartbreakingly sad, like the voice of a person terribly wounded.
“Don’t do this,” the woman repeated sobbing. “Don’t do this, sweet love! There is still time to change your mind. You know how much I love you. Please don’t leave me, please don’t go, sweet love…”
Holly crickets! There is a strange man in the house! That lover of hers is here, the little girl thought, suddenly scared out of her wits.
Vivien dashed down the stairs, instinctively remembering the intriguing phone conversation Mademoiselle Lili had enjoyed about a month ago while she had been granted the favor of testing all her perfumes. The child rushed out of the house and instantly faced a new problem: Igor’s used bicycle was leaning against the fence. Next to it, his painting canvas, his brushes, and his oil colors palette lay in disarray. Vivien didn’t like Igor. Firstly, because he was Nadine’s brother, and secondly, because she was so afraid of him. The guy was a twisted freak. It was enough to watch his abstract paintings with their morbid colors to realize that something was definitely wrong with him. Moreover, Vivien had seen him many times shooting arrows at squirrels in the backyard. Good thing he had the accuracy of an all-thumbs clown and couldn’t hit any. He has a screw loose, that cuckoo-boy, no doubt about it! She concluded once again.
The frightened little girl looked around her and didn’t see Igor anywhere. Lucky me! With cautious, small steps, she finally reached the opening in the fence. Then she sprinted across the outside courtyard and went home. She stopped to catch her breath in the miniature garden behind the gazebo and decided to pick a bouquet of pink and purple petunias and feed them to the tiny turtles that wandered everywhere in the yard.
These ladies are crazy! Vivien reflected worriedly. The wedding is in less than two hours, and they are not even dressed yet.
It wasn’t too long before she heard her mother calling her.
“Vivien, we’re leaving! Let’s go, sweetie!”
They all got into her father’s Mercedes, and in no time, they were driving on Woodside Road. From that, they merged onto La Honda – the winding highway that strenuously crossed the mountains from Woodside to the Pacific Ocean. The road’s unusually tight and frequent curves threatened to turn Vivien’s little stomach upside down. As if that were not enough to put a strain on her nerves, all drive long, her mother instructed her about what to do and what not to do at the party.
Isn’t that strange how grown-ups imagine that they know everything! Vivien meditated sullenly. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am eight years old – not a baby anymore!
She continued to chew reluctantly on Greek olives, hoping they would chase away her motion sickness. Eventually, they did!
The wedding had been organized to take place on the picturesque beach of San Gregorio.
Shortly after their arrival, Vivien and her parents spotted Tee vivaciously getting out of his Mitsubishi Eclipse. The exquisite grey coupe had been recently decorated with white, pink, yellow, and lilac flowers and ribbons. A noisy army of pink, blue, and white painted cans was hanging by its fender, and on the back window, someone had written with pink, flowery capital letters, “JUST MARRIED”.
The young groom checked his white tuxedo with a critical look. He frowned and muffled a few curses. When he noticed the Hopkins family, he beamed and welcomed them warmly. As he got to Vivien, he crouched to level with her height.
“Vee, you look like a miniature bride,” he complimented her. “Do you want to see the world from above?” Timothy asked as he lifted her up in the air.
“Yes, Tee, yes, yes!” Vivien sang happily. “Yuck! Is this your new perfume?” She wrinkled her perked little nose. “‘Cause I don’t like it at all. You smell of gasoline! You actually stink, Tee!” she exclaimed disgusted.
Timothy Leigh graciously ignored her remark. His face was glowing with happiness, and Vivien regretted the fact that she didn’t share his feelings. Furthermore, she had sabotaged him earlier with her morning prayer. Suddenly she felt guilty and ashamed of her own actions.
From above Tee’s head, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Logan playing the piano. The little girl recognized a part from Arabesque by Claude Debussy. Unfortunately, the performance seemed pathetic, without any trace of passion, like the execution of a novice. It reverberated timid and controlled over the guests’ conversation. The man was sending frequent glances toward the parking lot. Perspiration was dripping down his forehead in heavy beads, and Vivien wondered how it was possible that Mr. Logan suffered from excessive heat here, on the ocean coast, where the cool, humid breeze gave her goose bumps. On the other hand, maybe he was anxious. Apart from her loony brother, Nadine didn’t have any other family, and Mr. Logan had been given the honor of escorting her to the altar.
The English accent of Timothy’s older brother, Clark, sounded cold and sour as he approached them.
“Put that child down, Tim, and give me the rings,” he demanded, eyeing his brother with a mixture of surprise and disapproval. He lowered his voice. “And for Christ’s sake, mate, grow up! You’re getting married today!” he barked and then turned away as if to deter further dialogue or introductions.
Vivien glared at him with total indifference. He was a stranger whom she had never seen before. She had heard of him only. Not much. Clark had flown from England for his younger brother’s wedding, but he didn’t seem very pleased to participate. After a long and acrimonious conflict between their parents that had ended in a painful divorce, Clark had chosen to follow his father in London. Now it was for the first time in almost ten years that he was returning to California. Mr. Leigh senior had declined the wedding invitation invoking problems with his prematurely weakened health.
In less than an hour, all guests were sitting on their reserved places. A buzz of conversations filled the air. They all waited eagerly for the arrival of the bride.
Over the murmur caused by the muffled whispers – most of them placed discreetly in the ear of the next-sited person - the used engine of Igor’s half-corroded truck croaked tiredly. Finally, it stopped with a sudden, vulgar sound that made some women blush and some men laugh up their sleeves. The boy climbed out of the car at a snail’s pace, getting on everybody’s nerves with unmasked sadism. A diabolical smirk was hanging on his bonny face unsuccessfully cleaned of painting oils. Nevertheless, you could see that he had tried, and that was something to be much appreciated coming from a person like him. Igor looked even funnier dressed in that borrowed black suit with elaborate sleeves that were far too long for his size. Half of the collar of his white shirt was hidden under the coat. The other half sprang negligently from underneath, like wanting to declare openly that the boy was nothing but a clown struggling in his pubertal crisis.
Walking affectedly in a manner that dismissed the people around him as unworthy of his attention, Igor reached the altar. He stopped in front of Timothy and whispered loud enough to be heard by at least the guests in the first row.
“She’s late, isn’t she? What a disaster! Maybe she doesn’t want to marry you after all. That would be a smart move,” the boy said with a smug smile.
Timothy ran a disparaging look over his odd appearance.
“Go and plant your skeleton on a chair, Igor. As far back as you can,” he advised the boy clearly, fighting to hide his irascibility. “Try not to spoil our wedding with your presence.”
“I have something for Mr. Logan,” Igor announced, full of importance.
He turned his back on Timothy and walked toward the piano. His voice transformed. He adopted a very polite tone.
“A little while ago, Mademoiselle Lili gave me this envelope for you, sir. She instructed me not to give it to you until this very moment.”
Mr. Logan received the envelope with shaking hands. He opened it slowly, sending Timothy worried coups d’oeil, as if he already knew that what was concealed inside that envelope concerned them both.
Indeed, a couple of seconds later he extracted a smaller, pink envelope. He kept it a while between his left palm and his big, round belly that generously overflowed his belt. When he finished reading those few red lines scratched hideously on white paper, he handed the pink envelope to Timothy.
“This is for you, Tim,” he announced with unsure voice, continuously wiping the sweat off his forehead. His face seemed purple. “I’m sorry, boy. I’m really sorry… But I must leave now, I must,” he mumbled and hurried toward the parking place.
Timothy tore the envelope apart. A pink letter with yellow roses printed on the right upper corner slipped through his fingers. The young man caught it under the sole of his white leather shoe before the capricious breeze could snatch it and take it into the ocean. He read it, and his beautiful masculine features clouded over with deep emotion and sheer surprise. He turned toward the guests and family and spoke like from another world.
“She’s not coming. She doesn’t want to marry me anymore.”
The crowd gasped. Some women began to weep.
His long, powerful fingers crumpled the envelope and letter into a tight ball that he examined for a while with hatred, disbelieve and despair. Then he stuffed it nervously into the right pocket of his perfectly fit white pants. As the crude reality sank in, the groom’s fury gained an exponential crescendo. Unexpectedly, he unleashed all his anger upon Igor. With both hands, he grabbed the boy by the collar of his coat, lifted him a foot above the ground, and shook him vigorously with hurricane force.
“Where is she? Speak to me, you walking carcass! Where did she go? And why? Why now? Why right now?” he yelled out of control.
The teenager turned livid, shaking his legs and arms like a marionette.
“I swear I know nothing!” he screamed defensively. “I was joking earlier…Tim, leave me alone, man…please! You’re choking me, man…”
Driven instantly by peaceful thoughts, Clark and some of the groom’s closest friends jumped up from their chairs and rushed to help Igor.
“Let him go, Tim!” Clark commanded. “It doesn’t solve your problem, brother!”
“Take it easy, man!” another one pleaded.
Among the strong and young bodies of the men who had gathered shortly to take Igor out of Timothy’s crazy grip, a cute little girl was jostling and screaming her lungs out, struggling helplessly to reach the center of the commotion.
“Tee, don’t despair,” the little girl called out. “I will marry you! I’m all dressed up already. Teeee, listen to me! Teeee! I love you, Tee, I truly love you!”
A young man caught her by the arm and tried to push her out of the way, fearing that she could have gotten badly hurt by mistake. The child pounced upon him wildly.
“Take your hands of me, you beast!” she snapped, throwing rose petals from her basket right in his face. “I want to talk to Tee. He needs me. Teeeee!”
“Someone, take this spoiled brat away from here!” the young man yelled, at a loss. He took her by her shoulders and lifted her in the air, immobilizing her arms. Her fancy basket fell to the ground, covering his shoes in pink and red rose petals. He was beginning to regret his earlier act of kindness.
“I should’ve let you get into that foolish huddle and end up squashed like an obnoxious bug that you are,” he growled in her ear. The child writhed and shook her legs in the air. Red with fury, she continued to call out her “boyfriend’s” name.
“Put her down!” The groom’s voice reverberated like a thunder. He freed Igor instantly. The boy hit the sand almost inert, like a bag of potatoes.
Timothy Leigh rushed to Vivien’s side. She had started to cry silently. He lifted her in his arms and withdrew from the crowd. He sat on the piano bench and put her up on the piano. For a while, they just looked into each other’s eyes.
“I will marry you, Tee,” the eight-year-old girl uttered timidly, now acting like a scared little mouse.
“Vee, don’t you think that one painfully crushed soul is enough for today? Really! Do you want to humiliate yourself too?”
“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Tee! I thought about them all,” Vivien went on to plead her case. “I know how to make peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches and soft-boiled eggs. You can drive me to school every day and then go do your things. I won’t bother you.”
Exhibiting a sad smile, Timothy interrupted her.
“Vee, I understand that you want to help me get over this failure, deadlock, unfortunate situation – you name it! – but the sacrifice is way too big. And it’s impossible. I cannot marry you even if – against all reason! – I would want to. It is illegal. You probably know that too. In less than five minutes, the sheriff would be here to handcuff me and throw me in jail. Now, tell me! Would you want that to happen to me?”
“Who would denounce you, Tee? Not me, you can imagine,” Vivien rushed to exculpate herself, wearing an innocent look over her tear-wet face. “It’s true, you’re a bit older, but thirteen years difference between us is not une catastrophe,” she pointed out.
Her exercised French accent brought a faint smile on Timothy’s purple lips.
“You’ll grow up to be a beautiful woman, Vee. And you’re going to make a man very happy one day,” he said convincingly.
“But I want to make you happy, Tee! And I don’t want to wait to grow up! I’m old enough to make a decision. And I made up my mind: I want to marry you. Every girl has to find herself a boy and marry one day. What difference does it make if it’s now or ten years later? The sooner the better. And we have everything ready: guests, music, preacher, food and stuff…”
He wasn’t getting anywhere. Timothy Leigh rolled his eyes at her, exasperated, exhausted. He didn’t need this peculiar conversation, not now when he was going through the most difficult time in his adult life so far. Not ever, he decided, on second thought.
“Vee, I’m a man, and you’re a child. Men don’t marry children. Bottom line, I will not marry you. Period,” he said clearly.
However, his broken heart sent him an instant lived premonition that he could not completely ignore.
“Look,” he added quickly, reaching into the hidden pocket of his coat. “This gift was something special for the woman of my dreams.”
He placed in her lap a small pastel-blue box tied elegantly with a delicate yellow ribbon. “Nadine doesn’t deserve it anymore, but you can wear it when you grow up. If you want to.”
Huge, transparent tears sprang one after the other from her big blue eyes. Heavy and fluid, they rolled down her beautiful rosy cheeks.
“I don’t want gifts from you. I want you. I love you, Tee,” she whispered confused. “Is it so hard to understand? I could make you love me too, you just have to be patient,” she insisted sobbing. “I love you so much! Please don’t leave me!”
The young man looked at her wonder-struck. This child was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, as if she were reading right into his soul. She knew exactly what he needed – love. He needed love so badly! What an irony! Timothy reflected sadly. The only girl who truly loves me is actually an eight-year-old child, and I’m going to break her little heart now the way Nadine did with me. Life is cruel. It punishes me in so many ways today… Without any reason at all…
He registered Vivien’s mother pitched voice like a gravely wounded man who hears the siren of the emergency ambulance coming to his rescue.
“Vivien, what in the world have you done now? I was dead sure you would do some sort of foolishness. I could feel it in my bones since we were still at home,” the woman said, wiping her daughter’s tears with an embroidered handkerchief and getting her down from the piano.
“Caprices of a spoiled child! The lack of education always surfaces, as oil on top of water,” a hostile Mrs. Leigh hissed nastily. The new hairstyle that she had recently adopted, right after she had bleached her hair, encouraged one to wonder if she were not, in reality, advertising for brooms. In fact, it seemed that she displayed one – in a tasteless manner – right up on her own head.
“I beg your pardon!” Alison Hopkins replied indignantly, and her cheeks flamed. “Vivien is a very sensitive child. She only wanted to express her empathy with Timothy’s misfortune,” the woman said to her daughter’s defense.
“Will you forgive me, dear Alison,” Timothy’s mother excused herself theatrically, a scornful smile on her heavily made-up face. “I was thinking about an entirely different person. The thought that I was actually referring to your daughter shouldn’t even cross your mind.”
Then, Mrs. Leigh brushed past her son and told him in the same aggressive tone that had made her proverbial in the Woodside area.
“Don’t make such a fuss, Timothy dear! She wasn’t worthy of you anyway.”
Not quite content with her bitter remark, she turned around and lectured him a little more.
“Just forget her! All right? She’s five years older than you. You’re so young! Smart men don’t marry at 21. You think marriage is good sex and laughter. You’re wrong, son! Happy marriage is a fata morgana. Only fools rush in!”
Timothy didn’t want to reward her with a reply, and frustrated, she called her limousine driver and left.
Alison Hopkins acted as if she had not heard Mrs. Leigh’s insensible words. She gently put a hand on the abandoned groom’s arm.
“We’re really sorry, Tim darling,” she told him sincerely. “You certainly didn’t deserve this.”
With that, she bid him goodbye and turned to her weeping daughter. She grabbed Vivien’s hand and dragged her toward the parking area, where Mr. Hopkins was waiting for them with the Mercedes’ doors open.
“I find it unnecessary to tell you that you’re grounded the entire following week,” she said categorically. “I am perfectly sure that you know what that means: no chocolates, no visiting friends, no escapades to Mademoiselle Lili, and no piano or French lessons. Rien, comprenez-vous?”
“Oui, maman,” the little girl answered resigned.
“Don’t be so hard on her, Alison!” Carol Hopkins called from her chair.
Vivien freed herself from her mother’s hold and ran to give her dear grandmother a hug.
“There, there, child. You’re too young and beautiful to suffer. If it’s any help at all, just remember that I’ll always love you.”
“I love you too, granny Carol.”
For a few seconds, under her granny’s fancy, flowery parasol, Vivien felt as if she had evaded into a fairy-tale-like world. The tears ceased to flow.
As the two women began to chat, the little girl turned to the groom again. More composed this time, she called out to him loud enough to make everybody look at her once again. She didn’t care what they thought, if they judged her, or if they made fun of her. She only cared about his answer.
“Tee, will you wait for me to grow up?”
Timothy nodded, smiling ruefully.
“I’ll try, Vee.”
“Good,” she said calmly and wiped the last tear that still rested on her cheek like a glistening dewdrop.
Vivien was able to steal a few chocolate bonbons, and many of her friends came to their residence in Woodside that week. But her piano and French lessons with Mademoiselle Lili ceased forever.
Mademoiselle Lili had committed suicide that very day. When they had returned from the unfulfilled wedding, they had found her house in flames. Mr. Logan had not reached her in time to save her.
The young woman’s burned body had been identified using her denture prints and her never-missing anklet that proved to be a common gold jewelry with cubic zirconium. Many believed that Nadine had helped her, and then she had left with Lili’s car. Minutes after, she had suffered that terrible accident on Interstate 1, and as a result, she was missing, probably she had drowned in the ocean. Others went even further with the suppositions and pointed the finger at Timothy and Mr. Logan. Vivien had someone else in mind – that scrawny Igor. However, Lili’s explicit, coherent suicidal note had exculpated everyone in the eye of the law.
The gossip regarding Timothy’s wedding, the mysterious disappearance of Nadine, and Mademoiselle Lili’s premature death continued to flow that summer in Woodside as if from an inexhaustible source of morbid imagination. Just until the end of August, when another ill-fated event finally put it to rest. A well-known face plastic surgeon from the area apparently had committed suicide, after he had allegedly shot in the head his entire family: his wife and two teenage daughters. The women had been found wearing huge yellow scarves wrapped around their scarcely dressed bodies.