John MacDonald - The Girl in the Plain Brown Wrapper

Nobody looks far enough down the road we’re going. Someday one man at a big button board can do all the industrial production for the whole country by operating the machines that make the machines that design and make the rest of the machines. Then where is the myth about anybody who wants a job being able to find it?

And if the black man demands that Big Uncle take care of him in the style the hucksters render so desirable, then it’s a sideways return to slavery.

Whitey wants law and order, meaning a head-knocker like Alabama George. No black is going to grieve about some nice sweet dedicated unprejudiced liberal being yanked out of his Buick and beaten to death, because there have been a great many nice humble ingratiating hardworking blacks beaten to death too. In all such cases the unforgivable sin was to be born black or white, just as in some ancient cultures if you were foolish enough to be born female, they took you by your baby heels, whapped your fuzzy skull on a tree, and tossed the newborn to the crocs.

And so, Mrs. Lorette Walker, no solutions for me or thee, not from your leaders be they passive or militant, nor from the politicians or the liberals or the head-knockers or the educators. No answer but time. And if the law and the courts can be induced to become color-blind, we’ll have a good answer, after both of us are dead. And a bloody answer otherwise.

I stopped in the driveway at 28 Haze Lake Drive at ten of three. As I got out of the car motion caught my eye and I saw Biddy waving to me from the window of the studio over the boathouse.

She opened the door as I got to the top of the outside staircase. She seemed to be in very good spirits. She wore baggy white denim shorts and a man’s blue work shirt with the sleeves scissored off at the shoulder seam. The seams came about four inches down her upper arms. She had a little smear of pale blue pigment along the left side of her jaw and a little pattern of yellow spatter on her forehead. The familiar slow heavy breathing was coming over the intercom.

“Maybe it’s the extra sleep you let me have, Travis. Or maybe because it’s a lovely day. Or maybe because Maurie seems so much better.”

“Electrosleep?” I asked, gesturing at the speaker.

“Oh, no. Just to get her to sleep and then I took it off. It’s more natural that way, even though I don’t really think she gets quite as much rest out of it.”

I looked at the canvas she was working on. “Seascape?”

“Well, sort of. It’s from the sea oats that used to grow in front of the Casey Key place, the way you could see the blue water through the stems and the way they waved in the breeze. It’s coming along the way I want it. We can keep talking while I work.”

“So she’s much better?”

“I’m sure of it. Strange how maybe something changed for her when she was lost and we were trying to find her. At least she didn’t go off and let somebody buy her too many drinks and get into some kind of nasty situation. I guess she must have been wandering around in the brush. But she doesn’t remember anything about it. She just seems to... have a better grip on herself. Tom is terribly pleased about it. I even think it might be all right to take her to the opening tomorrow night, but Tom is dubious.”

“Opening of what?”

“Maybe you noticed that big new building at the corner of Grove Boulevard and Lake Street? Twelve stories? Lots of windows? Well, anyway, it’s there and it’s new, and it’s a project Tom has been working on for almost a year now. He organized the investment group and got the land lease. The Courtney Bank and Trust will move into the first four floors next week, or start moving next week. Almost all the space is rented already. Tom is moving his offices to the top floor. It’s really a lovely suite of offices, and the decorators have been working like madmen to get it done in time. So tomorrow night it’s sort of a preview of the new offices of Development Unlimited, a party with bartender and caterer and all, beginning just at sundown. He thinks it will be too much for her, but if she is as good tomorrow as she is today, I really think we ought to try it. If she begins to act as if she can’t handle it, I can always bring her home. She is sleeping well now, because I made her swim and swim and swim.”

I looked down into the back lawn and saw a chin-whiskered man in overalls and Mennonite hat guiding a power mower.

“What did you want to ask me about, Trav?”

“Nothing of any importance. I wondered if you know a Mrs. Holton. Janice Holton?”

“Is she sort of... dark and vivid?”

“Yes.”

“I was introduced to her once, I think. But I really don’t know her. I mean I would speak to her if I saw her, but I haven’t seen her in weeks and weeks. Why?”

“Nothing. I met her Sunday night after I left here, and she looks like somebody I used to know. I didn’t get to ask her. I thought you might know something about her, like where she’s from, so I could figure out if she’s the same one.”

“I really don’t know a thing about her except she seems nice. She must have had quite an impact on you, if you came all the way out here to ask me that.”

“I didn’t. I just had some odds and ends. That’s one of them. I wondered about something else. I don’t mean to pry. But remember, I’m sort of an unofficial uncle. Did your mother leave you enough to get along on?”

She rolled her eyes. “Enough! Heavens. When she knew she needed the first operation, back before Maurie became so sick with that miscarriage, she told each of us how she had set things up and asked us if we wanted anything changed while she still had time. Some enormously clever man handled her finances after Daddy died, and made her a lot of money. There are two trust accounts, one for me and one for Maurie. After estate taxes and legal costs and probate costs and all that, there’ll be some fantastic amount in trust for each of us, close to seven hundred thousand dollars! So as soon as it’s settled and the Casey Key house is sold and all, we’ll start getting some idiotic amount like forty thousand a year each. I had no idea! It’s tied up in trust until each of us reaches forty-five, or until our oldest child gets to be twenty-one. If we have no children, then of course we just have access to the whole amount when we’re forty-five. But if we do, then each child gets a hundred-thousand-dollar trust fund when it gets to be twenty-one, and because, by the time you’re forty-five, you certainly know there aren’t going to be any more kids, the same amount is sequestered — is that the word? — for your kids, like if you have five all under twenty-one, then a hundred thousand would be set aside for each one for their trust funds, and you would get what’s left over.”

“What happens if either of you die?”

“All the money would be left in trust for the kids, if I was married and had any. And if not, the trust would just sort of end and Maurie would get the amount that’s in trust. God, Travis, it is such a horrid feeling thinking these past weeks what would happen if Maurie did manage to kill herself. Hundreds of thousands of dollars directly to me, and all that income from the trust. It’s spooky, because I never knew and I never thought of myself that way. I knew there would be some, of course. But past a certain point it just gets ridiculous.” She turned from the painting, brush in hand, and smiled at me. “Dear Uncle, you do not have to worry about my finances.” Her face saddened abruptly. “Mother just didn’t have much of a life, the last six years of it. After we got back to the Key, after my father died, we’d take long walks on the beach, the three of us, every morning. She talked to us. She made us understand that Mick Pearson just could not have ever accepted a neat, tidy, orderly, wellregulated little life. He had to bet it all, every time. And I remember that she said to us that if she’d only had five years of him, or ten, or fifteen instead of twenty-one, she would still have settled for that much life with him instead of forty years with any other man she’d ever met. She said that was what marriage was all about and she hoped we’d both find something just half as perfect.”