The Message
Andrew lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It was past 11:00. After Bridget's concerned appraisal of Juliet, Andrew descended into a very definite funk. He had really hoped that she would wise up after making such a jackass of herself at Eirian's. But it had never stopped Catherine from doing something as bad or worse the next time.
He loved Juliet. He knew inside he deeply and truly did. He would give anything so she could have a good, happy, successful life. But there was also a wild anger within him at Juliet. Sometimes he saw too much of Catherine's petty, self centeredness in her. There were days when she sounded and sometimes even looked like Catherine and all too often she acted like it. She had no thought of the long term consequences of her actions. Now of all times she should have known better. Not with Siobhan spinning the world out of control. He had to pay Eirian an extra five thousand dollars to get her to try again with Juliet. Save the whales, Eirian used to tell him every time she'd ask for a donation. It seemed that he was now bankrolling their entire recovery effort.
He stared and stared at the ceiling, his mind unable to get off finding a way to make Juliet see sense and act responsibly. His mind went over and over different programs and therapies to make her see reason. He seriously considered pouring himself a stiff drink because of Juliet's drinking but something seemed just a little too hypocritical about the idea. He knew he had to force himself to sleep so he could be strong looking tomorrow. He was going back to the pension fund board of the General Commission on Christian Unity and Interreligious Concerns. He'd find out how badly they had messed up their finances and hopefully he'd be their savior. He really needed that.
The alarm clock woke him. He quickly got out of bed to chase the cobwebs out of his head, trying to remember what he was dreaming about before the alarm went off. As he brushed his teeth he remembered part of it, something about the monsters coming and struggling to find bullets for the guns and Bridget was there and he was saying how she had such nice, firm Celtic breasts and she lifted up her dress and showed them to him as he admired their beauty and perfect roundness. No doubt the dream would have worked into something good if the bloody alarm clock hadn't forced him back to reality.
He beat Claudine into the office. Not by much, but he did it. There was no phone message from Tim. He was a little concerned but Tim was a big boy and could take care of himself.
He checked his e-mail but there wasn't any news from Max-Genetics yet. Tomorrow, they had promised. Instead he focused on the matters at hand. He opened his leather briefcase and took out three apples, a bag of baby carrots and four slices of whole grain bread. It was healthy enough although somehow there was something ironic about the main use for his briefcase was now as an overpriced lunchbox. His real work he carried back and forth on an encrypted sixteen gigabyte USB drive that he kept in his wallet. As he munched an apple, he pushed his personal life entirely out of his mind and began proofing his PowerPoint.
Bridget's mind was far from Juliet's problems that morning. She'd known of the true extent of Juliet's drug and alcohol use far longer than Andrew did and she understood how Andrew had been an enabler. But there was nothing she could do right now about it. Juliet would have to come to her own moment of clarity. Instead she sang a half remembered old song as she polished her counter.
"Having your baby
Is another way of saying
that I love you.
Having your baby
is another way of saying
what I'm thinking thinking of you.
I can feel it. Isn't it showing?
Can't you see it in my eyes. My face is glowing.
Having your baby
is the only thing that really matters to me.
I feel like a lady.
I'm a woman in love and I love what it's doing to me.
The need inside me.
I feel it growin'
I'm having your baby
I'm a woman in love and I love what it's doing to me.
I feel like a lady.
I'm a woman in love and I love what's going through me.
Didn't have to keep it.
Didn't have to go through it.
I could have swept it from my life but I wouldn't do it.
Cause I'm having your baby.
I'm a woman in love and I love what it's doing to me.
I feel like a lady.
I'm a woman in love and I love what's going through me.
Havin' your baby.
I'm a woman in love and I don't mean maybe."
She tried to remember the rest of it but couldn't. She couldn't even remember who wrote it. Oh well, it didn't matter. She knew how it felt.
As she sang, Bernie and his friend Otis unlocked the back door and came on in. She had seen them around a couple of times so she waved. Bernie was shorter than his father but fortunately taller than his uncle Moe. Otis was black and very, very big, built like a football player. She'd heard from Sophie that they were both going part time to law school at NYU and driving cabs part time to pay for their expenses and tuition. "Good morning, good morning," she told them. "What may I get you?"
Bernie shook his head. "We didn't mean to interrupt your lovely singing. We'll just grab it ourselves, Bridget."
"Oh, nonsense. Not after I've made everything all ready for the day. You have to let me do it. Have a seat." She put on her plastic gloves. "So, what would you like?"
"A hard salami on rye. But like Carnegie Deli."
Her eyes went wide? "Ooh, that sounds good." She turned on the slicer and got to work slicing a pile thick enough for one of those gigantic Carnegie Deli sandwiches. "With sliced dill pickles and a smear of potato salad and a can of Dr. Brown Celery soda, right?"
He smiled. "You remembered."
"I do try. Now Otis, what is your pleasure."
"Just a can of tuna."
"In a deli like this all a strong man like you can think of is a can of cat food?"
Otis patted his stomach. "Too much deli food. I got to eat better."
"Alright. How about a big glass of V8 and some fruit salad with it? You need your veggies too."
"Yes, mother. Can you do it to go? Got to get those commuter tips. And can you sing that song? I really liked how you did it."
"Certainly!"
As she sang and prepared their breakfasts, Bridget didn't notice the woman standing outside peeking through the curtain of kosher salamis. The face would have looked all too familiar, even under the grey haired wig, sun glasses and shapeless clothes. She pretended to be reading the menu as she looked at Bridget. "How utterly and revoltingly fitting," Siobhan thought. "She's fell from Park Avenue to sandwich lady and surely she went back on the bottle again." Siobhan moved on without attracting attention to herself, looking around carefully to make sure nobody was watching her. One can't be too careful, she thought.
She knew she was doing the world a favor, just as she had done it a favor by removing John DeLario. She felt proud about removing him from the world and how she so neatly made it look like he had decided to commit suicide after murdering Gemma. Henry was just a matter of indifference, an obstacle she had to overcome to get to the end she was meant to get to. She smiled. Still, she had to admit it was fun. It surely beat attempting to hold down a stupid job like making sandwiches. That had always been such a fiasco, almost as much as a nightmare as trying to fake a relationship with Andrew and Dylan. Had she reached that point of boredom with Henry? Perhaps she had. Perhaps that's why neatly killing him off had been so wonderful. No divorce, no break-up scenes, no loose ends, no worries about him trying to come back into her life when she didn't want it. Just wonderful finality.
As she walked, lit a cigarette. She had only one left in the pack. One more to take down, one way to do it, she thought, understanding the message the cigarette pack was telling her.
The sidewalks were so crowded with smelly people, she thought. It made her shudder as each one walked by, pulling back so none would touch her. She would breathe easier after her mission was done, when she escaped away to Paris or perhaps to some little, quiet for a while like Moustiers-Sainte-Marie in Provence. Yes, there she could properly rest until she felt like herself again.
She had to focus, to plan carefully. She knew she had been distracted lately, probably because she had been sleeping so poorly. It was as if her one purpose in life now was to strike at her enemies. Seeing Bridget look so feeble and utterly vulnerable made her feel far better than she had in days. It positively lifted her out of the ever deepening funk she had been in. It was just post partum depression, she told herself. She was run down. She would feel better soon. Her greatest enemy had been delivered into her hand.
She knew she had to strike with utter surprise. She would stake out the location as she planned her greatest move.
She passed a Chinese market. There was a message for her here too. Everyone else who walked past just saw a window display arrayed with kitchenware and food but she saw the true meaning to the kitchen cutlery.