When the authorities completed their interrogation, fear erupted like hot lava inside the recesses of Daniella’s mind. When she was questioned, she did all she could to think logically.
Was Stan the reason why she was detained? Why did Interpol question her? Did they tell Simon anything? What was she thinking! Of course they wouldn’t. She didn’t know herself. Why was she being accused of a cover-up?
She only used her maiden name to keep people from asking too many questions about her husband. Their lives were so separate. She tried to distance herself from this “other life.”
Simon was at his limousine. The massive engine of the ivory white 1970 Silver Shadow Rolls Royce softly purred as he waited anxiously outside in the misty cool of the early evening. He saw the two airport constables walking in from of Dani before seeing the fright in her face. Even though they just met, Simon had never seen her so blank. The other night she was absolutely radiant at the Lennox. He wished he could turn back the clock.
As they got closer, he noticed she was massaging the area of her pulsepoints around her wrists. Daniella quivered like a lost kitten caught in an April downpour.
Once they got into the back of the limo, Simon noticed the depressions in her skin. "What made those marks?"
He tried to contain his lividness.
Daniella was silent. She was ashamed that she was treated like a terrorist suspect.
Simon resounded his controlled frustration as best he could. “What happened back in there?”
“I can’t tell you!” Daniella blurted from her otherwise calm composure.
“Why not?” Simon disputed. “I think I have some right to know something!”
“I. . . .I just can’t! Simon, I don''t even know you that well in spite of what we shared on the flight, but please, just trust me, if I could I would. All I know is that I came here to see about my father. He might be an innocent bystander in serious peril if I say anything. Damnit! I can''t believe what Stan is doing!
Forgive me for swearing but I really have got to figure this out by myself.”
Simon was a man of wise decisions. He held fast to his composure, saying nothing more. He reached out in a gesture to hold Dani’s hands between his two strong, wise palms, rubbing them gently.
She didn’t resist his kindness. In fact, Dani went one notch further in their budding intimacy, and scooted her trembling body underneath the sanctuary of his sheltering arms.
For the next 15 minutes, silence ensued.
The driver asked, “Where to Mr. Rose?”
Simon replied, “Just keep driving, I think both of us need this time right now.”
The driver tipped his hat in obedience, and drove away from the airport into the distance.
The unexpected call Stan received was one that he never expected. He picked up the cordless from the planning desk in the kitchen. After a quick minute of nothing but “yeahs. . . uh huh’s. . . a few expletives mixed with unpleasant frowns and a cringe or two, his last words to the unidentified caller were simply, “Yeah yeah man, I got that! Meet you in about 30!”
After the call, he watched Eileen’s curious stare. The call Stan just received changed his carefree drinking buddy demeanor to one that made Eileen feel more like an intruder in a demilitarized zone. She didn’t know whether to question him or ignore the non-verbal concern expressed on his face after the call.
“Everything alright dearest?” Eileen knew that Stanford Donovan had the mentality of a pitbull when it came to territorial matters. She wasn’t quite sure if she should venture into his business of a private conversation.
Stan stalled, skirting the issue. “If you think it was about my runaway wife, you missed the target. Just some foundation business… uh, ya know I gotta make a quick run. Not sure how long I’m gonna be but, it’s real important, and I gotta get dressed and cut outta here for a bit.”
“Well that’s just peachy now isn’t it wonderboy!” Eileen said with a tone of miffed statire and mild inebriation. “First Dani, and now you! Is this the kind of attention I get on a nice little ‘thought about you’ visit?”
Hell Eileen, don’t push me I mean, we’re okay on certain terms, but you can’t even control your own daughter.”
“Obviously, neither can you since I found all sorts of, shall we say ‘personal paraphernalia in lingerie drawer! Eileen was getting beside herself. “You must not really be all that of a man and. . .”
With that, Stan grabbed Eileen by the arm, pulled her next to his chest. The strength of his bicep and grip on her forearm was evidence enough for Eileen that she had crossed a serious line. Never underestimate me as a man! Got that?”
Eileen mocked back to her son-in-law. “Sweetie, if you weren’t married to my daughter, it would be so nice to evaluate that premise myself.”
Stan flung her back against the double fireplace in the kitchen. Eileen caught herself on the iron bakers rack to keep from falling. “Woman, he sneered, if it wasn’t for the alchohol you had for brunch, I’d throw you out the back door. Don’t give yourself that much credit. I got buddies that would rather bed a two dollar hooker than a gold digging aging trailer trash tramp like you!” Then he exited the room going back upstair to change to meet his unplanned appointment, but not before Eileen tossed her martini glass in his direction, shattering it against the dividing wall.
“Don’t worry.” Stan snorted as he went up the stairs. “I’ll put it on my Christmas list this year. I’m sure you’re invalid husband’s money is good for it!”
Eileen was beside herself. First her ungrateful stepchild betrays her; now an equally ungrateful son-in-law! “Who the hell does he think he is?,” she muttered. Looking towards the stair as she heard the upstairs shower to the master bedroom suite running, she thought to herself and shaking her fists in the air, “You put your hands on me, Mr. Football-Has-Been, and you’ve messed with the wrong woman.”
Then she retreated back to the kitchen, embarrassed. She saw the cell phone lying on the counter. Picking it up in its sleek black leather covering, she mused to herself.
“Hmmmm, now I wonder who all the D-man keeps locked in his secret little directory?
As she began to hit the recall button, the doorbell rang.
Oh, God, what the hell is wrong with a mother protecting her interests?” She place the phone back on the countertop as if to make it look undisturbed, and went to answer the front door. A woman stood there with a rather dowdy looking floral print outfit. Her hair was in a French roll, and she had on what Eileen thought were the most gaudy looking earrings from what could have been some rummage sale rejects. The woman wore plain flat shoes, and spoke with a bit of a lazy southern drawl.
“Uh, hello, you Mrs. Donovan?”
“Who wants to know?” Eileen snipped.
“I’m from the church daycare. I need to get a message to her. . . her friend Josie Jones sent me over with these papers.”
The woman messenger carried a white envelope stamped in red. Confidential.
“Oh, well, I’m her mother, Eileen Dixon. And your name is. . .”
“People ‘round here just calls me Essie Mae. I work the day care in the office. And this fax came for Miss Dani. It’s about the fundraiser she’s workin’ on for Carlyle Church’s Anniversary.”
Oh I’ll see that she gets it. Eileen had to thing fast. “You know, my daughter’s out of town, on special business!”
“Uh, ba-ba, business?” Essie Mae stuttered. That’s a, kind, kinda funny! Sa-sa-sauhuh, Sister Josie don’t send me over to n-n-n-NObody’s house if she th-th-th-thinks they ain’ home!
“Oh, my!” said Eileen. “No need to worry! You can go ahead and leave it here, I ‘spect my daughter will be calling me sometime real soon! Never you mind about anything comin’ back to make you look like you didn’t do your job. Everything’s going to be just fi-i-i-i-i-ne Miss Essie Mae!” Eileen always tried to mimic the accent of people in a covert, condescending way.
“You sure?”
“I’m absolutely sure, so you go right ahead and tell your boss lady, church lady”
“Miss Josie”
“Yeah, whatever! I’ll be sure that Daniella gets this as soon as I speak with her later on. You go run and tell that to Miss Josie now, ya hear?
Essie Mae smiled, and walked back to her rusting brown Ford station wagon. It’s a wonder that Eileen didn’t hear it rumble up the driveway before the doorbell rang.
“Hmph! Some cars just ought to be smashed to bits out of pity!” Then she took the envelope, forgot all about checking the numbers in Stan’s directory. For now, she had a new trump card. One that her snooty son-in-law didn’t know about. All she needed now, was time to figure out how to use it for her own advantage.
Stan yelled down towards the stairwell. “I heard the door!”
Eileen called back, “Oh, nobody but some poor person collecting canned goods. You go on and get ready for your meeting!” Her smile was all too shifty, as she planned to discover the contents of a fax from the office of her daughter’s best friend. Especially since the fax had to do with, what she’d hoped, was more indirect insurance on her acquired lofty lifestyle.
Update on Unveilings, Episode 9: Today, my best friend Vanessa just called from Minnesota around 12:35 p.m. Wednesday, Dec. 14. Her mother just died. I can''t write the rest of this sequel at this time. Instead, a poem just hit me, and the title just hit me too. I gotta write this thing.
(Love you too much! Keeping this promise. . . I just need a few days, that''s all.)
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Curiosity creates adversity
Carole...love and peace
Love Tinka