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Designed Intent
Chapter 35
The Weekend
Bobby's first call woke Gleason from a nap on Saturday afternoon. He woke her twice on Sunday; she is sleeping a lot, he thought.
After he woke her Saturday, Gleason gathered her dirty clothes and carried the basket to the car, intending to go to the Laundromat. She was so winded by the time she got to her car that she had to lean on the vehicle, gasping, forearm against her chest. Gladys, the estate manager happened to be walking from the stable to the main house and saw Gleason bent against the car.
"Dr. Wintermantle, are you ok?" she asked as she rushed to Gleason's side. Gladys put an arm around Gleason, opened the driver's side door and maneuvered her onto the seat as Gleason continued to gasp. "I'm calling for help. Stay here."
"No! No!" Gleason breathed, "Please, don't. It will . . . it will stop. Please." Gladys squatted down in front of Gleason and Gleason thought the woman looked remarkably like Bobby in this posture.
The manager set a hand on Gleason's thigh and stroked up and down, squeezing just a bit, sliding a bit too high. Then she said, "Let me help you back to your apartment."
Gleason shook her head and moved her leg, trying to extricate it from the other woman's grip, "No, no. I'm fine, really. Thank you." Gleason stood up and the hand on her leg lifted as Gladys stood as well. "Thank you, Gladys, I'm fine now. Thank you."
"Doc, you should really go back inside and lie down. Come on, let me get you situated." Gladys put an arm around Gleason's shoulder and stood a bit too close, leaning in a bit too much.
"No! I'm fine, please," and Gleason shrugged her off and continued, "Please, I'm all right. I need to run my errands. Thank you." And with that, Gleason got into her car and left.
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Bobby went to work and then to the range Saturday. Afterward, he found a new gym, but did not like it as well as the other. This one will keep you out of trouble, he told himself setting his gym bag on the back seat. Bobby spotted the condom wrapper sitting in the crack between the seat and the seat back. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket with thanks that he had found it and not Gleason.
From the gym, he went to the grocery and bought real food: apples, orange juice, grapes, and two bags of salad, little tomatoes, green peppers, onions, mushrooms and celery. He purchased ground sirloin, a few nice little steaks plus a dozen peanut butter cookies; and milk, for the cookies.
Estella cleaned the apartment while Bobby was at work on Saturday. "Desus Krite!" she exclaimed aloud when she entered, she had never seen his place look such a mess. "What deh hell he do? Hab a party? A drunk ass party? Desus Krite!"
She tsk-tsked as she set the empty scotch, whisky and beer bottles into the recycling bin. The kitchen was disgusting. "He gonna pay me extra for dis mess, damn him ennyway," she grumbled.
The bedroom was another disaster waiting for her. She found the two still-sticky stains on the sheets when she stripped the bed. "Desus Krite!" she said again with disgust.
However, it was the prize amid the dirty clothes that shocked her. Estella sorted his laundry into the four usual piles – whites, darks, dress shirts and things to go to the dry cleaner. She pulled a pair of suit trousers from the mountain on the chair, went through his pockets as she always did and removed a crumpled and stiff handkerchief from the front pocket. Estella was about to toss it onto the whites pile when she caught sight of something peeking out from under a fold. Using her index fingers and thumbs as pincers, she pulled apart the handkerchief and found the used condom. "Desus Krite!" she said again, but this time she said it sadly. "Oh my Dodd, what he do? What he do?"
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Malcolm spent the weekend with his wife and son. Maeve thought he seemed preoccupied but Malcolm was kind and sweet with their son. Angus was talking more and more. Maeve was happy, Angus was happy, and Malcolm was frustrated as hell.
They tried to make love early Saturday morning, but Malcolm was unable to finish. It had never happened before and he was embarrassed and angry. Maeve told him not to worry; she was loving and understanding, Malcolm was not.
Malcolm knew what had happened. He was making love to his wife, enjoying her body, loving what she was doing to his, when Gleason popped into his mind. He saw her, saw them, coupling on Gleason's bed. Oh God, it would have been so good! Then he heard Maeve moan and he ripped back to his own bed with his wife. And it was over, his penis folded like a daisy in a steam room.
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Melvin Turnbuckle appeared in a lineup but Marzullo, the pawnshop owner, couldn't identify him and the thief strutted out of One Police Plaza with cocky attitude. It was a huge setback for Bobby and Eames.
Turnbuckle had made up his mind – he, Brine and Nye Teen were going to do it. Just going to do it. He had the necklace and wanted that church stuff. Brine was just the man to show him the good stuff. Yes sir, he was going to call his boys and get it lined up.
Turnbuckle was an interesting and rare breed of thief. He stole from other thieves, a 'two-taker.'
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Sledge stayed at Eames' place through the weekend. They went to dinner and then to bed Friday evening, neither getting much sleep; it wasn't all sex, though, they did talk.
Edward explained about Linda, his ex-wife, and that they still loved each other. He explained that he needed to keep the important parts of his life separate. Alex and Linda were the two most important parts of his life and so he had to keep them separate. The only way to do so was to keep the three of them living separate lives.
Alex wanted to understand. It saddened her to think that the real reason she wanted more from Edward was that she feared growing old and alone. Alex wanted to believe that she was tough and strong and could go it alone; she had done well enough after Joe, her husband, had died. But it had been nearly nine years since he was killed and she was beginning to see and feel her years; she did not want to be alone anymore. Marriage wasn't what she was looking for; she just didn't want to be alone for the rest of her years.
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Mrs. Goren woke slowly Saturday afternoon. Her induced sedation would keep her and the voices in her head quiet. She ate little and said nothing. Christian was happy his Gramma was awake; he wanted to talk with her about his daddy and his mommy, they did bad things.
"Gramma, Gramma," he said to her, leaning on and tapping the edge of her bed while she ate that clear green jiggly stuff, "Gramma?"
Frances neither saw nor heard him – her mind was pretty much empty and would be for several more days. When Christian realized his gramma couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, he went behind the drapes and sat. He felt sad, frightened, worried; he felt like he was fading.
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Bobby drove from work to Carmel Ridge Sunday evening. His mother was sitting in her chair, but did not notice him. "Hi, Mom," he said, pulling the wooden armchair over to face her. He sat and stared at her. She looked so pale, so old.
He saw his brother in her. Frank took after their mother – sharp features, small frame, short. Bobby took after their father – round features, big build, tall. Both brothers were exceedingly intelligent, as were both of their parents. Despite his petty criminal nature, Frank had stayed in school, mostly due to a plea bargain and parole agreement when he was fourteen; their father made sure Frank's ass was out of bed and inside the school doors every morning. He had won a full scholarship to university and studied science. Frank had decided on chemistry, "I want to be a drug-maker," he explained to his folks; Bobby knew Frank did not have pharmaceuticals in mind.
He thought of the little boy his mother said she saw and spoke with. He caught himself actually glancing around the room, expecting to see no one, but still glancing.
Christian sat behind the drape, peeking out at his daddy. He wanted to go and sit by his daddy, but he didn't, he was too sad and faded to move. He didn't want to fade away; his time here wasn't done yet. His gramma needed him, his daddy and his mommy needed him. Christian wasn't sure why he was fading, but he was. Angels aren't supposed to cry, but this little one did.
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