Chapter 3: The Lady Cloaked in Black

It was exactly one week after our strange encounter with the ghostly black cat, but we still had not forgotten about it. There was an awful storm that evening; the one I had seen approaching the week before had at last decided to manifest. Rain pelted our roof, while thunder and lighting boomed outside; shaking our windows, and just at about Midnight, the unexpected occurred; the lights suddenly went out without any warning, plunging my father and me into total darkness. As we scrambled about the room, searching for spare candles or flashlights, a knock suddenly came at the door.

I froze at the spot one which I had been standing upon; Who could that be? I wondered, as I felt my father's hand upon my shoulder, "Bea, I'm going to find out who's at the door... Just stay right where you are."

I nodded, as his footsteps pounded away to the door that led to the outside world.

"Who's there?" he called out; just loud enough to penetrate the loud sound of the falling rain.

"Me!" a shrill voice answered from the other side of the door.

"What do you need?" he called out.

There was a slight pause as the woman began to answer him, "My car broke down a few blocks away," she answered, calmly, "I need some shelter from the storm."

There was a second slight moment of silence as my father debated on whether or not to allow the mysterious woman to enter the house.

"Please," she called from outside, "I don't have anywhere to go."

I shook my head at my father's stupidity as he turned the doorknob, and the door creaked open to reveal what lay on the other side; I could not see her very well; she appeared to be a dark silhouette against a rainy background, What the hell? I wondered.

"Thanks," the woman said, taking a few steps inside, "I'm lucky I found you; all of the other houses... When I knocked, no one answered."

"Oh."

Suddenly, as fast as they had gone, the lights came back on; the room was thrown into a heavenly and strange golden glow; I opened my eyes wider as my father led the strange woman into the room that I had been waiting for him in.

As they approached, I got a better look at the woman. She appeared to be in her late-twenties or early thirties; high cheekbones, sparkling blue eyes, and a long plait of golden blonde-hair done up in a ponytail-- now soaking wet, but clearly beautiful when dry. Her face was utter perfection; not a wrinkle, line, or blemish could be seen, and she was as skinny as a stick... There was no denying it; she looked gorgeous. She was dressed totally in black; from heat to toe. The only thing that clashed with her outfit was a purse-- she clutched a Louie Vuitton bag, now wet from the rain. She smiled at me; revealing a perfectly white, and sparkling set of teeth.

I halfheartedly returned the smile, "Are you Beatrice?" she asked, coming towards me.

"Yes," I replied, slowly backing away; frankly freaked out by the fact that she had known my name, "And who are you?" I added as an afterthought.

"Oh, how silly of me!" she exclaimed, turning around to face my father once again, and taking his outstretched, and shaking hand, "I am Jacqueline, and you are...?" she asked, staring deeply into my father's eyes with her own.

I could instantly tell that my father had been love struck by her-- the bitch! I had already taken an immediate disliking to her; Who'd the bitch think she was? Waltzing in here, and flirting with my father not even six months after my mom's death?

"J-James," he stammered, allowing her perfect hand to leave his, although I could tell that he wished nothing of the sort.

"You've got a lovely home here!" she gushed, surveying the living-room with its antique furniture, and paintings that my mother had done back in college, "I live out in the city, and I've always dreamt of living in a place like this."

"I've lived here for about ten years," my dad was saying, grinning from ear to ear at being able to please her.

"So, would you mind my staying here for the night?" she asked, after a long pause in which I kept on biting my tongue to keep myself from smacking her.

"Of course," he replied, once again taking her hand in his, "I'll show you to your bedroom."

"Money hungry bitch," I muttered under my breath, hoping that it was all one huge nightmare, as he led her away. And once again, I felt like screaming. And I felt like ripping the bitch's plait of blonde hair directly out of her scalp, and strangling her with it; since she had ruined my life-- well, at least for one night...

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I awoke the following morning to find that the storm had cleared, and that the previous evening-- and all of the tragedy that had ensued had not just been a dream; I found Jacqueline lurking around in the bathroom when I went in to brush my hair, "Morning, Beatrice," she greeted cheerfully, pulling her hair back.

"Hi," I murmured, Why can't she just leave already? I wondered, trying to give her an equally annoying smile, "Where's my dad?" I asked.

"Oh, James went out to get something for lunch-- It's nearly noon," she added to my expression of misunderstanding, "you know sleeping in like that is one of the first signs of total laziness."

"Is it now?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"I'm sorry if that was rude of me," she laughed, "James and I were up all night, talking about things."

"Were you now?" I asked, through gritted teeth.

She nodded, "He truly is a great man, your father..."

"Isn't he?" I asked, Why don't you just marry him then? I wondered, "I've gotta go," I lied, turning my back to her.

"You and he seem very close," she went on, "so sad to have been widowed at such an early age-- It must have been very hard for you two after your mother died."

"What?" I whispered, stopping in my tracks once again, and turning around to face her."

"He told me all about Joanna-- Do you miss her often?"

I had never talked about my mother with anyone, but as I stared into her wide eyes, I felt the urge to answer her-- to finally confide in someone after months of trying to keep everything in, "Yes," I answered, as tears filled my eyes, "always."

"Oh, poor dear... I didn't mean to pry," she held out her arms, and began walking towards me, "I--" but she interrupted, by embracing me.

She pulled away after a few seconds-- although it seemed much longer, "I'm so sorry for you," she whispered, patting me gently on the head as she would a dog, "it's just that I never knew my own mother."

"Oh," I said, lamely; wondering if there was a chance that I had been wrong about her, "Can I brush your hair?" she asked, eying it.

I slowly nodded; unsure if her maternal urges could be trusted; she pulled me by my arm back into the bathroom, and we stood directly in front of the mirror together; she took a brush to my hair, and I winced in pain a bit as she began pulling it through, "You know, you really are a pretty little thing."

"Thank you," I murmured.

"You are pretty... But, then again, you could afford to take some better care of yourself-- You're practically a young woman, and you dress like a slob, for God's sake."

Is she being serious? I wondered, annoyed, and so, I had been right in assuming that Jacqueline was no more than a shallow empty shell of a human being; as quickly as I had begun to trust her, the moment had gone, "I cannot believe you," and, I pulled away from her, and fled from the room.

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The next evening, Jacqueline was still gracing us with her presence; it made me sick watching my father staring at her breasts or her perfect face... It made me sick!

To thank my father for his 'hospitality,' Jacqueline decided that she would cook us all up an absolutely 'exquisite' dinner (since she had spent two years in Culinary School.) I watched her with bated breath as she boiled water in my mother's pot, cut onions and peppers with my mother's knives, and tossed a sickening looking salad with my mother's tongs.

All throughout dinner, I gritted my teeth in great annoyance as I listened to their conversation. I didn't even bother touching the plate of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread in front of me, for knowing Jacqueline, it would be a totally disgusting meal, and the lasagna looked as if it had been overcooked by at least an hour.

I stared at my father, and shook my head sadly, what did he see in her, anyways? For all he knew, that seemingly perfect face of hers was full of Botox.

"What's the matter, Beatrice?" Jacqueline suddenly asked, bringing me out of my deep thoughts, "Don't you like your dinner?"

I stared at her; restraining the urge to laugh, by gulping down some of my Diet Coke, "It's great," I lied.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, melodramatically, as tears-- tears! filled her blue eyes, "You don't like my cooking?" she asked, obviously trying to make a scene, and I watched with a bit of triumph as she began to cry.

"I think it's great, baby," my father suddenly spoke up, as he nearly choked to death on a large chunk of onion in his plate of salad; I snorted at this site, "So, Jacqueline... When exactly are you leaving?" I asked, trying to sound casual, after the blonde bitch had calmed down long enough to speak.

"I'm not sure. James has said that he wants me to stay here forever... You're so sweet," she added to my father, "but I'll probably be going back home tomorrow... Why...?"

"Oh, no reason," I hissed, under my breath, as Jacqueline and my father shared their first kiss in front of me, "If you would excuse me," and without their consent, I pushed my chair back, rushed up the stairs to my bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

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Jacqueline did not leave the following day, or the next, for that matter. An entire week passed before she went out to her parked Ford Anglia a few blocks away, and went driving off to 'work;' She probably has some nice, cushy, easy, high-paying job, I thought to myself, as I watched her walk down the street from my bedroom window, Maybe she'll get shot on the way to her car, I added, hopefully, as she paused, and brushed a few black hairs from off of her white purse…

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"So, do you like her?" my father suddenly asked, bringing me out of a great daze.

"Who?" I asked, exasperatedly; already knowing the answer.

"Jacqueline," he whispered, for the millionth time that day, "Isn't it the most lovely name?" he added after a brief pause in which I rolled my eyes in both annoyance and sadness.

"It sounds like the name of some witch," I muttered, throwing a box of Oreos into the shopping cart, "Dad, I don't know why you've become so hooked to that woman... She hasn't returned any of your phone calls, and if she cared so much about you, then she would have already... Dad!" I screamed, as it appeared as if he had not even heard me.

"Yeah?" he asked, snapping out of his dream world at last.

"Dad, get out of La-La-Land! The bitch is trouble," I warned, as I picked out a fresh head of lettuce, and dropped it into the waiting cart, "If you mention her name one more time, I swear I'll scream."

"Jacqueline," he repeated, and I promptly prepared myself to scream, but then, I stopped myself; she was here-- she worked here! Here of all places! Albertsons-- Jacqueline worked at the God-dammed supermarket!

Please don't let her have heard him... Please, God... Please, God... But no sooner had I made this prayer, she had turned around; hearing her name called. Her plait of blonde hair whipping around as well, and if you'll believe it, I hated it even more.

"Hi, James!" she called, waving, "I'm the check-out girl! Come on over to my line."

Her ugly, ringing voice had somehow gotten the attention of the entire store; everyone now faced us, as my father returned the goofy wave, and then dragged me over to the line of the bitch.

When it was at last our turn, I saw that she was once again wearing black; under her uniform, and it was then that I finally realized it. It just wasn't her color.

She smiled as my dad handed her a hundred dollar bill, and when she gave him twenty dollars, and sixty-seven cents as change, "I'll call you!" she yelled, as we exited through the sliding-glass doors.

I glared angrily back towards her as we headed out towards the parking-lot… I was seething!