Wilson, Paul - The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

Burger-Meister was a McDonald's clone and a new client for Carl. The company had been regional in the south but was preparing to go national in a big way. They had the usual assortment of burgers, including their own answer to the Big Mac: the vaguely fascist-sounding Meister Burger. But what set them apart were their desserts. They put a lot of effort into offering a wide array of pastries—eclairs, napoleons, cream puffs and the like.

Gia's assignment was to come up with the art for a paper placemat to line the trays patrons used to carry food to the tables. The copywriter had decided the sheet should extol and catalog all the quick and wonderful services Burger-Meister offered. The art director had blocked it out: around the edges would be scenes of children laughing, running, swinging and sliding in the mini-playground, cars full of happy people threading the drive-thru, children celebrating birthdays in the special party room, all revolving around that jolly, official-looking fellow, Mr. Burger-Meister.

Something about this approach struck Gia as wrong. There were missed opportunities here. This was a place mat. That meant the person looking at it was already in the Burger-Meister and had already ordered a meal. She saw no further need for a come-on. Why not tempt them with some of the goodies on the dessert list? Show them pictures of sundaes and cookies and eclairs and cream puffs. Get the kids howling for dessert. It was a good idea, and it excited her.

You're a rat, Gia. Ten years ago this never would have crossed your mind. And if it had you’d have been horrified.

But she was not that same girl from Ottumwa who had arrived in the Big City fresh out of art school and looking for work. Since then she’d been married to a crumb and in love with a killer.

She began sketching desserts.

After an hour of work, she took a break. Now that she was rolling on the Burger-Meister job, she didn't feel too bad about paying the rent. She pulled the checkbook out of her purse but could not find the bill. It had been on the dresser this morning and now it was gone.

Gia went to the top of the stairs and called down.

"Eunice! Did you see an envelope on my dresser this morning?"

"No, mum," came the faint reply.

That left only one possibility.

13

Nellie overheard the exchange between Gia and Eunice.

Here it comes, she thought, knowing that Gia would explode when she learned what Nellie had done with the rent bill.

A lovely girl, that Gia, but so hot-tempered. And so proud, unwilling to accept any financial aid, no matter how often it was offered. A most impractical attitude. And yet...if Gia had welcomed handouts, Nellie knew she would not be so anxious to offer them. Gia's resistance to charity was like a red flag waving in Nellie's face, making her all the more determined to find ways of helping.

Preparing herself for the storm, Nellie stepped out onto the landing below Gia.

" I saw it."

"What happened to it?"

"I paid it."

Gia's jaw dropped. "You what ?"

Nellie twisted her hands in a show of anxiety. "Don't think I was snooping, dearie. I simply went in to make sure that Eunice was taking proper care of you, and I saw it sitting on the bureau. I was paying a few of my own bills this morning and so I just paid yours, too."

Gia hurried down the stairs, pounding her hand on the banister as she approached.

"Nellie, you had no right!"

Nellie stood her ground. "Rubbish! I can spend my money any way I please."

"The least you could have done was ask me first!"

"True," Nellie said, trying her best to look contrite, "but as you know, I'm an old woman and frightfully forgetful."

The statement had the desired effect: Gia's frown wavered, fighting against a smile, then she broke into a laugh. "You're about as forgetful as a computer!"

"Ah, dearie," Nellie said, drawing to Gia's side and putting an arm around her waist, "I know I've taken you away from your work by asking you to stay with me, and that puts a strain on your finances. But I so love having you and Victoria here."

And I need you here, she thought. I couldn't bear to stay alone with only Eunice for company. I would surely go mad with grief and worry.

"Especially Victoria—I dare say she's the only decent thing that nephew of mine has ever done in his entire life. She's such a dear; I can't quite believe Richard had anything to do with her."

"Well, he doesn't have much to do with her anymore. And if I have my way, he'll never have anything to do with her again."

Too much talk of her nephew Richard made Nellie uncomfortable. The man was a lout, a blot on the Westphalen name.

"Just as well. By the way, I never told you, but last year I had my will changed to leave Victoria most of my holdings when I go."

"Nellie—!"

Nellie had expected objections and was ready for them:

"She's a Westphalen—the last of the Westphalens unless Richard remarries and fathers another child, which I gravely doubt—and I want her to have a part of the Westphalen fortune, curse and all."

"Curse?”

How did that slip out? She hadn't wanted to mention that.

"Only joking, love."

Gia seemed to have a sudden weak spell. She leaned against Nellie.

"Nellie, I don't know what to say except I hope it's a long, long time before we see any of it."

"So do I! But until then, please don't begrudge me the pleasure of helping out once in a while. I have so much money and so few pleasures left in life. You and Victoria are two of them. Anything I can do to lighten your load—"

"I'm not a charity case, Nellie."

"I heartily agree. You're family"—she directed a stern expression at Gia—"even if you did go back to your maiden name. And as your aunt by marriage I claim the right to help out once in a while. Now that's the last I want to hear of it!"

So saying, she kissed Gia on the cheek and marched back into her bedroom. But as soon as the door closed behind her, she felt her brave front crack. She stumbled across the room and sank onto the bed. She found it so much easier to bear the pain of Grace's disappearance in the company of others—pretending to be composed and in control actually made her feel so. But when she had no one around to play-act for, she fell apart.

Oh, Grace, Grace, Grace. Where can you be? And how long can I live without you?

Her sister had been Nellie's best friend ever since they had arrived in America. Her purse-lipped smile, her tittering laugh, the pleasure she took in their daily sherry before dinner, even her infuriating obsession with the regularity of her bowels; Nellie missed them all.

Despite all her foibles and uppity ways, she's a dear soul and I need her back.

The thought of living on without Grace suddenly overwhelmed Nellie and she began to cry, quiet sobs that no one else would hear. She couldn't let any of them—especially dear little Victoria—see her cry.

14

Jack didn't feel like walking back across town, so he took a cab. The dark-skinned driver made a couple of heavily accented tries at small talk about the Mets but the terse, grunted replies from the back seat soon shut him up. Jack could not remember another time in his life when he had felt so low—not even after his mother's death. He needed to talk to someone, and it wasn't a cabby.

He had the hack drop him off at a little mom-and-pop on the corner west of his apartment: Nick's Nook, an unappetizing place with New York City's grime permanently embedded in the plate glass windows. Some of that grime seemed to have filtered through the glass and onto the grocery display items behind it. Faded dummy boxes of Tide, Cheerios, Gaines Burgers, and such had been there for years and probably would remain there for many more. Both Nick and his store needed a good scrubbing. His prices would shame an Exxon executive, but the Nook was handy, and baked goods were delivered fresh daily—at least he said they were.