The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (3 page)

“Speaking.”

“Ms. Bell, my name is Florida Kinsey and I’m the office manager at Crenshaw, Slayne & McDonough.”

“Oh, good morning,” Mercedes said. Her heart lurched against her ribs.

“I received your letter and wondered if you’d like to come in for an informational interview.”

“Yes, I would.” She struggled to keep her eager voice steady.

“We don’t have an opening for a paralegal right now, but I’m interested in your letter.”

“When would you like me to come in?”

“I’m free this afternoon. How about one o’clock?”

Mercedes looked at her watch and then at her dirty fingernails. She just had time to iron something from her meager wardrobe and make herself presentable.

T
HE LAW FIRM WAS IN
a six-story building near Lake Merritt. The lake was glistening in the bright sunlight. Mercedes parked and
stepped onto the asphalt, straightening her skirt. In her mind, she could hear the chiding voice of her mother, Eleanor, correcting her posture. She sucked in her stomach, held her head high, and calmed herself with the thought that it wasn’t a real job interview.

In the firm’s reception area, Florida greeted her and led her down the hall to her office.

“As I told you before, we don’t have an opening right now, but your letter caught my eye. I appreciate your willingness to come in on such short notice.”

“Thank you for the invitation.”

“We’ve never employed a paralegal but we’re interested in the possibility. Our law clerks are a great help, but they’re usually third-year law students, so they don’t tend to stay long. As it turns out, a close friend of ours is Morrie Shapiro, your litigation teacher. He said you’re ‘the cream of the crop’ and that you’re ‘head and shoulders above the rest.’”

“He’s generous with praise,” Mercedes smiled. “Would you mind telling me a bit about the law practice here?”

“We are a civil litigation firm and we handle a lot of insurance defense matters. We have malpractice cases of various types and just hired a family law associate, which is new for us.”

Mercedes weighed how much of her current circumstances to reveal, then decided she had absolutely nothing to lose.

“Ms. Kinsey, since you’re kind enough to see me, I’d like to explain my situation. I’ve worked toward a paralegal career for two years now. Then suddenly, three months ago, my husband was killed in a car accident. I have a seven-year-old daughter to support, so I had to drop out of school to look for a job. Right now we’re in financial straits and we’re moving into more affordable housing. In fact, I was packing when you called.

“If you’d give me a chance, I would be your most devoted
employee. I think I have the skills you need. I’m well organized, I have a lot of energy, and I
must
find a job as soon as humanly possible. I don’t even care what the starting salary is, as long as benefits are included. I just really need a job.”

Florida clasped her hands together and looked straight at Mercedes.

“Mr. Shapiro told me your work is excellent and you’re always well prepared in class. I can see you’re sincere. I’m sorry we don’t have a paralegal position to offer you now, but I’ll keep your letter. If something comes up I’ll have you in mind.”

On the way out, Florida led her around the rectangular suite, past a corner office where an auburn-haired man sat with his feet up on his desk, half reclining in a high-backed leather chair, talking animatedly on the phone.

“That’s Darrel Crenshaw, one of the partners,” Florida explained. Although engrossed in his conversation, he looked up quickly and nodded at them. His bright, keen brown eyes and reddish hair made him look like a fox. He stroked his Vandyke as he watched Mercedes turn the corner and walk toward the elevator.

L
ATE THAT NIGHT SHE RESUMED
packing after Germaine was asleep. The Crenshaw firm was one of the last four. Three others were still pending, so there was hope yet. At least she’d found a house that was just the right size with a kind, watchful owner nearby.
Eleanor would have a conniption if she saw the neighborhood.
Mercedes smiled at the thought.

F
IVE MORNINGS LATER,
Mercedes roused Germaine in her new room. The child opened her eyes and blinked sleepily.

“Mama, today’s the day,” she said.

“The day for what?”

“The day you get a job.”

Mercedes said nothing and kissed her.

“For real, today’s the day,” Germaine said earnestly. “I dreamed it.”

“If that happens, young lady, I’ll buy you a hot fudge banana split.”

It had been a long time since any such extravagance had been possible. Germaine grinned, showing the gaps in her mouth where the adult teeth were soon to appear.

M
ERCEDES DROPPED HER DAUGHTER OFF
at her old school, where she was finishing out the year. As she returned to the new neighborhood, she passed the local elementary school, a dilapidated brick structure tattooed with graffiti, surrounded by barbed wire and the pitted pavement that passed for a playground. At home she scoured the breakfast dishes as if she could scrub away the frightening prospect of Germaine attending such a school. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Good morning. It’s Florida Kinsey. Is this Mercedes?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m calling because something most unexpected just happened. One of our law clerks quit without notice this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I’ve been speaking with Mr. Crenshaw. We’ve decided to create a paralegal position in our office and we’d like to offer you the job.”

“I accept! Oh, Ms. Kinsey, you have no idea how happy this makes me.” She struggled to keep her voice steady.

“We’re happy, too. We think you’ll be a great addition to the office. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow!”

“Our workday is from nine to five.”

“I’ll be there at nine.”

“Well then, Mercedes, welcome to Crenshaw, Slayne & McDonough!”

Mercedes hung up the phone and burst into tears.

T
HAT AFTERNOON SHE WAITED IN
front of Germaine’s school in the car, enjoying the sun and marveling at how everything could be transformed by one conversation.

Germaine got into the car with her usual somber expression— one more tolerable day at school. Mercedes kissed her and patted her hand. When they pulled up in front of the ice cream parlor down the block from the newsstand, Germaine got out and went for the newspapers.

“Hold on a second, Honey,” Mercedes called out. “I heard today they have free newspapers in here if you come by after two. Let’s go in for a minute.”

She opened the door to the ice cream parlor and found a table. Germaine trooped obediently along and slipped onto the banquette beside her.

“Will they let us wait here?” the girl asked.

A waitress approached and Mercedes broke into a broad smile. “Two hot fudge banana splits, please.”

“Mama, you got a job! I was right!” She embraced her mother and kissed her cheek.

L
ATE THAT NIGHT,
as Mercedes lay in bed, pictures of Eddy played in her mind—the interminable movie. She saw his mischievous face
and the way he’d first looked at her, handsome and full of guile. She thought about his crazy sense of humor and how he’d made her laugh.

Then she saw him as he had been in their last moments together, enraged, inebriated, accusing her of taking money out of his wallet. There he was, bellowing that she should be glad he didn’t leave her high and dry for another woman, as “useless” as she was. He seized the car keys and gave her a murderous glare, announcing he didn’t know when or
if
he’d be back. The door slammed so hard it rattled the windowpanes. Her skin prickled and blood rushed in her ears as she relived the scene again.

Then she saw the dining room table, the stacks of index cards, the copies of letters she’d sent out, the countless rejections she’d received, the hundreds of newspapers she’d scoured, the last four pink cards against the dark wood, and the name that held her future: “Crenshaw, Slayne & McDonough.”

Her tenacity had paid off. In the morning she would officially be a paralegal employed by a law firm,
no longer useless.
The thrilling promise of tomorrow made her smile in the dark.