The Servants of Twilight (11 page)
When she felt lecturing wasn’t sufficient, she used her ultimate weapon—tears. She wept and blamed herself for their failures. “Both of you are going to come to a bad end, and it’ll be my fault, all my fault, because I didn’t know how to reach you, how to make you see what was important. I didn’t do enough for you, I didn’t know how to help you overcome the Scavello blood that’s in you, and I should have known, should have done better. What good am I as a mother? No good, no mother at all.”
. . . all those years ago . . .
But it seemed like yesterday.
Christine couldn’t tell Charlie Harrison everything about her mother and that claustrophobic childhood of shadowy rooms and heavy Victorian furniture and heavy Victorian guilt, for she would have needed hours to explain. Besides, she wasn’t looking for pity, and she was not by nature the kind of person given to sharing the intimate details of her life with others—not even with friends, let alone strangers like this man, nice as he might be. She only alluded to her past with a few sentences, but from his expression, she thought he sensed and understood more than she told him; perhaps the pain of it was in her eyes and face, more easily read than she supposed.
“Those years were worse for Tony than for me,” she told the detective. “Mainly because, on top of everything else that Evelyn expected of him, she also wanted him to be a priest. The Giavettis had produced two priests in her generation, and they were the most revered members of the family.”
In addition to the Giavettis’ tradition of service to the Church, Evelyn was a religious woman, and even without that family history, she would have pushed Tony toward the priesthood. She pushed successfully, too, for he went straight from parochial school into the seminary. He had no choice. By the time he was twelve, Evelyn had him brainwashed, and it was impossible for him to imagine being anything
but
a priest.
but
a priest.
“Evelyn expected Tony to be a parish priest,” Christine told Charlie Harrison. “Maybe eventually a monsignor, perhaps even a bishop. Like I said, she had high standards. But when Tony took his vows, he asked to be assigned to missionary work, and he was—in Africa. Mother was so upset! See, in the Church, like in government, the way you usually move up through the hierarchy is largely through astute politicking. But you can’t be a constant, visible presence in the corridors of power when you’re stuck in some remote African mission. Mother was furious.”
The detective said, “Did he choose missionary work because he knew she’d be against it?”
“No. The problem was Mother saw the priesthood as a way for Tony to bring honor to her and the family. But to Tony, the priesthood was an opportunity to serve. He took his vows seriously.”
“Is he still in Africa?”
“He’s dead.”
Startled, Charlie Harrison said, “Oh. I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s not a recent loss,” she assured him. “Eleven years ago, when I was a high school senior, Tony was killed by terrorists, African revolutionaries. For a while Mother was inconsolable, but gradually her grief gave way to a . . . sick anger. She was actually angry with Tony for getting himself killed—as if he’d run away like my father before him. She made me feel I ought to make up for how Daddy and Tony had failed her. In my own grief and confusion and guilt . . . I said I wanted to become a nun, and Evelyn . . . Mother leaped at the idea. So, after high school, at her urging, I entered the convent . . . and it was a disaster . . .”
So much time had passed, yet she could still vividly remember the way the novice’s habit had felt when she’d first worn it: the unexpected weight of it; the surprisingly coarse texture of the black fabric; the way she had continually caught the flowing skirts on doorknobs, furniture, and everything else that she passed, unaccustomed as she was to such voluminous clothes. Being trapped within that venerable uniform, sleeping within a narrow stone cubicle on a simple cot, day after day spent within the dreary and ascetically furnished confines of the convent—it all stayed with her in spite of her efforts to forget. Those Lost Years had been so similar to the suffocating life in the Victorian house in Pomona that, like thoughts of childhood, any recollection of her convent days was apt to put pressure on her chest and make breathing difficult.
“A nun?” Charlie Harrison said, unable to conceal his astonishment.
“A nun,” she said.
Charlie tried to
picture this vibrant, sensuous woman in a nun’s habit. He simply couldn’t do it. His imagination rebelled.
picture this vibrant, sensuous woman in a nun’s habit. He simply couldn’t do it. His imagination rebelled.
At least he understood why she projected an uncommon inner tranquility. Two years in a nunnery, two years of long daily sessions of meditation and prayer, two years isolated from the turbulent currents of everyday life were bound to have a lasting effect.
But none of this explained why she exerted such an instant, powerful attraction on him, or why he felt like a randy teenager in her company. That was still a mystery—a pleasant mystery, but a mystery nonetheless.
She said, “I hung on for two years, trying to convince myself I had a vocation in the sisterhood. No good. When I left the convent, Evelyn was crushed. Her entire family had failed her. Then, a couple of years later, when I got pregnant with Joey, Evelyn was horrified. Her only daughter, who might’ve been a nun, instead turned out to be a loose woman, an unwed mother. She piled the guilt on me, smothered me in it.”
She looked down, paused for a moment to compose herself.
Charlie waited. He was as good at waiting as he was at listening.
Finally she said, “By that time, I was a fallen-away Catholic. I’d pretty much lost my religion . . . or been driven away from it. Didn’t go to Mass anymore. But I was still enough of a Catholic to abhor the idea of abortion. I kept Joey, and I’ve never regretted it.”
“Your mother’s never had a change of heart?”
“No. We speak to each other, but there’s a vast gulf between us. And she won’t have much to do with Joey.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Ironically, almost from the day I got pregnant, my life turned around. Everything’s gotten better and better since then. I was still carrying Joey when I went into business with Val Gardner and started Wine & Dine. By the time Joey was a year old, I was supporting my mother. I’ve had a lot of success, and it doesn’t matter at all to her; it isn’t good enough for her, not when I
could
have been a nun, and not when I
am
an unwed mother. She still heaps guilt on me each time I see her.”
could
have been a nun, and not when I
am
an unwed mother. She still heaps guilt on me each time I see her.”
“Well, now I can understand why you’re sensitive about it.”
“So sensitive that . . . when all this started with the old woman yesterday . . . well, in the back of my mind I sort of wondered if maybe it was meant to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I’m meant to lose Joey. Maybe it’s inevitable. Even . . . predestined.”
“I don’t follow you.”
She fidgeted, managed to look angry and dispirited and frightened and embarrassed all at the same time. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath and said, “Well, uh, maybe . . . just maybe . . . it’s God’s way of punishing me for failing as a nun, for breaking my mother’s heart, for drifting away from the Church after once having been so close to it.”
“But that’s . . .”
“Ridiculous?” she suggested.
“Well, yes.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“God isn’t spiteful.”
“I know,” she said sheepishly. “It’s silly. Illogical. Just plain dumb. Yet . . . it gnaws at me. Silly things can be true sometimes.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m proud of Joey, fiercely proud, but I’m not proud of being an unwed mother.”
“You were going to tell me about the father . . . in case he might have something to do with this. What was his name?”
“He told me his name was Luke—actually Lucius—Under.”
“Under what?”
“That was his last name. Under. Lucius Under, but he told me to call him Luke.”
“Under. It’s an unusual name.”
“It’s a
phony
name. He was probably thinking about getting me out of my underwear when he made it up,” she said angrily, and then she blushed. Clearly, she was embarrassed by these personal revelations, but she forged ahead. “It happened aboard a cruise ship to Mexico, one of those Love Boat–type excursions.” She laughed without humor when she spoke of love in this context. “After I left the sisterhood and spent a few years working as a waitress, that trip was the first treat I gave myself. I met a man only a few hours out of L.A. Very handsome . . . charming. Said his name was Luke. One thing led to another. He must have seen how vulnerable I was because he moved in like a shark. I was so different then, you see, so timid, very much the little ex-nun, a virgin, utterly inexperienced. We spent five days together on that ship, and I think most of it was in my cabin . . . in bed. A few weeks later, when I learned I was pregnant, I tried to contact him. I wasn’t after support, you understand. I just thought he had a right to know about his son.” Another sour laugh. “He’d given me an address and phone number, but they were phony. I considered tracking him down through the cruise line, but it would’ve been so . . . humiliating.” She smiled ruefully. “Believe me, I’ve led a tame life ever since. Even before I knew I was pregnant, I felt . . .
soiled
by this man, that tawdry shipboard affair. I didn’t want to feel like that again, so I’ve been . . . well, not exactly a sexual recluse . . . but cautious. Maybe that’s the ex-nun in me. And it’s definitely the ex-nun in me that feels I need to be punished, that maybe God will punish me through Joey.”
phony
name. He was probably thinking about getting me out of my underwear when he made it up,” she said angrily, and then she blushed. Clearly, she was embarrassed by these personal revelations, but she forged ahead. “It happened aboard a cruise ship to Mexico, one of those Love Boat–type excursions.” She laughed without humor when she spoke of love in this context. “After I left the sisterhood and spent a few years working as a waitress, that trip was the first treat I gave myself. I met a man only a few hours out of L.A. Very handsome . . . charming. Said his name was Luke. One thing led to another. He must have seen how vulnerable I was because he moved in like a shark. I was so different then, you see, so timid, very much the little ex-nun, a virgin, utterly inexperienced. We spent five days together on that ship, and I think most of it was in my cabin . . . in bed. A few weeks later, when I learned I was pregnant, I tried to contact him. I wasn’t after support, you understand. I just thought he had a right to know about his son.” Another sour laugh. “He’d given me an address and phone number, but they were phony. I considered tracking him down through the cruise line, but it would’ve been so . . . humiliating.” She smiled ruefully. “Believe me, I’ve led a tame life ever since. Even before I knew I was pregnant, I felt . . .
soiled
by this man, that tawdry shipboard affair. I didn’t want to feel like that again, so I’ve been . . . well, not exactly a sexual recluse . . . but cautious. Maybe that’s the ex-nun in me. And it’s definitely the ex-nun in me that feels I need to be punished, that maybe God will punish me through Joey.”
He didn’t know what to tell her. He was accustomed to providing physical, emotional, and mental comfort for his clients, but spiritual comfort wasn’t something he knew how to supply.
“I’m a little crazy on the subject,” she said. “And I’ll probably drive
you
a little crazy with all my worrying. I’m always scared that Joey’ll get sick or be hurt in an accident. I’m not just talking about ordinary motherly concern. Sometimes . . . I’m almost
obsessed
with worry about him. And then yesterday this old crone shows up and tells me that my little boy is evil, says he’s got to die, comes prowling around the house in the middle of the night, kills our dog . . . Well, God, I mean, she seems so relentless, so inevitable.”
you
a little crazy with all my worrying. I’m always scared that Joey’ll get sick or be hurt in an accident. I’m not just talking about ordinary motherly concern. Sometimes . . . I’m almost
obsessed
with worry about him. And then yesterday this old crone shows up and tells me that my little boy is evil, says he’s got to die, comes prowling around the house in the middle of the night, kills our dog . . . Well, God, I mean, she seems so relentless, so inevitable.”
“She’s not,” Charlie said.
“So now that you know a little something about Evelyn . . . my mother . . . do you still think she could be involved in this?”
“Not really. But it’s still possible the old woman heard your mother talking about you, talking about Joey, and that’s how
she
fixated on you.”
she
fixated on you.”
“I think it was probably just pure chance. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If we hadn’t been at the mall yesterday, if it had been some other woman with her little boy, that old hag would have fixated on them instead.”
“I imagine you’re right,” he said.
He got up from the desk.
“But don’t you worry about this crazy person,” he said. “We’ll find her.”
He went to the window.
“We’ll put a stop to this harassment,” he said. “You’ll see.”
He looked out, over the top of the date palm. The white van was still parked across the street. The man in dark clothes was still leaning against the front fender, but he was no longer eating lunch. He was just waiting there, arms folded on his chest, ankles crossed, watching the front entrance of the building.
“Come here a minute,” Charlie said.
Christine came to the window.
“Could that be the van that was parked beside your car at the mall?”
“Yeah. One like that.”
“But could this be the
same
one?”
same
one?”
“You think I was followed this morning?”
“Would you have noticed if you had been?”
She frowned. “I was in such a state . . . so nervous, upset . . . I might not have realized I was being tailed, not if it was done with at least some circumspection.”
“Then it could be the same van.”
“Or just a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“But if it’s the same van, if I
was
followed, then who’s the man leaning against it?”
was
followed, then who’s the man leaning against it?”
They were too far above the stranger to get a good look at his face. They could tell very little about him from this distance. He might have been old or young or middle-aged.
“Maybe he’s the old woman’s husband. Or her son,” Charlie said.
“But if he’s following me, he’d have to be as crazy as she is.”
“Probably.”
“The whole family can’t be nuts.”
“No law against it,” he said.
He went to his desk and placed an in-house telephone call to Henry Rankin, one of his best men. He told Rankin about the van across the street. “I want you to walk past it, get the license number, and take a look at that guy over there, so you’ll recognize him later. Glom anything else you can without being conspicuous about it. Be sure to come and go by the back entrance, and circle all the way around the block, so he won’t have any idea where you came from.”
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