Bosom Bodies (Mina's Adventures) Page 4

  “You know, mission is feminine, viejo is masculine, so the correct adjective for mission should be vieja.” How can she not know the difference? She is from Guatemala. They speak Spanish.

  “Oh, sí. Sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

  Something wasn’t right. Mina felt awkward in her own home. She wished she'd had the courage to say no to Angelina. When would she ever learn? Bleeding heart, that’s what Paco called her the other day when she insisted on giving money to a beggar. She picked up the empty mugs just to be doing something.

  “Let me do that for you.” Angelina stood up.

  “Not tonight, it’s your night off,” Mina joked. She rinsed the mugs and put them in the dishwasher. Her stomach made gurgling noises. Maybe she drank too fast. She yawned.

  “I usually watch the news and Jay Leno, but between the office and finding out about poor Barbara, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go to sleep. You are welcome to watch TV or whatever you want to do. So, what time should we leave to get you to the bus?”

  “Tomorrow is Tuesday. If I could get there by eight a.m. I’ll be okay.”

  “How much money do you need for the bus? I’m not sure I have cash on me.” The envelope with Angelina’s name and the hundred-dollar bill was still in her pocketbook. Somehow Mina didn’t feel like mentioning it.

  “I have money for the bus fare, thank you.”

  Mina yawned again, her head felt heavy. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Good night then, see you in the morning.” She headed to her bedroom.

  Something woke her. Almost. She wanted to open her eyes but her eyelids wouldn’t budge—so heavy, stuck together. Mina moved her fingers, to lift the eyelids. Where were her fingers? She couldn’t feel her fingers. She had fingers; that she remembered.

  She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to be awake, to understand why her brain and her body no longer functioned. Too tired. She was too tired to think, but she didn’t want to sleep. She forced her eyes open. Was it day or night? White above her head. The ceiling? She could see a ceiling. Then a shadow darkened the whiteness above her eyes. Was it a frightening dream like those from her childhood back in Italy? Every corner had a shadow. Every shadow hid a monster, the kind of monster that made you bury your head under the covers. She tried to pull the covers over her eyes, but again, couldn’t find her fingers.

  Too tired to fight. Too tired to think. She let her eyelids drop.

  Now her eyes were open. Noise came from somewhere in the living room. She heard a door open, then close. It was her front door. Who was it? She moved her mouth, but no sound came. She tried to get out of bed, felt her bare feet touch the floor. Another sound, the muffled roaring of a motorcycle? Crazy. She was going crazy. Her head spinning, Mina fell back on the bed. All was quiet again, quiet and dark, her heartbeat the only living sound.

  Loud ringing beside her head. Must be the alarm clock. Is it morning already? She had to do something, at eight o’clock. What was it? Mina turned to look at the time on her digital clock. Her eyelids barely open, she concentrated on the red glow coming from the night table. The glow flickered, dancing and mocking her. The numbers became glowworms, crawling out of the clock, slithering on the night table and flying away, like fireflies in the summer nights of her childhood. “Mina, you’ll be late, get up.” Her mother’s voice. Where was her mother? She could smell her perfume all around her. She knew it—Boucheron. She moved her arms above her head, reaching, searching, “Mamma, sono qui. I’m here.” Tired, her arms fell back by her sides and once again, sleep prevailed.

  The pounding came from somewhere in the living room. Mina was awake in the sense that her eyes were open. Was it morning? She lifted one hand and could see her fingers. All five of them. Voices joined the pounding sound. Someone was banging on her front door. She had to get up, open the door and see what the commotion was all about. Maybe it had to do with the thing she was to do at eight o’clock. Why couldn’t she remember? She sat up in her bed, cold sweat circling her head like a crown of tears. She wanted to throw up. The pounding stopped. No more voices. The need to feel alive trumped the urge to sleep. Mina managed to get her feet on the floor, and then, little by little, she stood. Perspiration ran down her neck, her chest, to her navel.

  So tired.

  She rested her body against the wall. Couldn’t stand the nausea.

  Baby steps.

  The house was so quiet, no sounds and no outside noises. Something wasn’t right.

  Baby steps.

  Mina could see the sunshine on her terrace and the couch, only feet away. Please God, let me get to the couch. She stopped praying after her mother’s death. Why start now?

  When she sat on the couch, elation filled her like an important achievement had been reached. Soon she felt herself slipping back to sleep. A sense of urgency thrust itself into Mina’s consciousness. She had to stay awake, get help. The phone was in her bedroom. Too far.

  Voices came from the hall outside her front door. Maybe her neighbors were on their way to work. She could get their attention while they waited for the elevator. She pulled herself up from the couch and moved toward the front door holding first to the back of the sofa, then to the cocktail table. When she ran out of furniture to hold on to, she let herself slide against the door. The outside voices faded. No, please, help! She turned the knob. Her door wasn’t locked. Holding on with both hands she propped her body between the door and the wall. Where were the neighbors? Footsteps on the stairs. Getting louder. Her head jerked up, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t fight any more. Her fingers relaxed, let go. Her body slipped, and she collapsed on the doormat. Thoughts fled past her, faces, memories. Then all went dark again.

  Chapter 6

  “Is she breathing?” The voice sounded so far away. “You said there wasn’t anyone left in the building.”

  “I went door to door. When I knocked, no one answered. How was I to know?”

  “See if you can catch the meds before they leave.”

  “Ahead of you. They’re on their way up.”

  Mina knew the voices were talking about her. She must open her eyes, speak. She heard the soft swoosh of the elevator door. Hushed voices and footsteps.

  “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” A man’s voice. “Help is on the way. Good girl! Hold on tight, you’ll be okay.”

  More whispering.

  Mina opened her eyes. Three pairs of eyes looked back at her.

  “How are you feeling?” The man wore a uniform, something dark, a ski vest? She must be dreaming again.

  “Can you talk? Are you in pain?” Another man knelt beside her, a different uniform, no ski vest. This man touched her wrist. He had gloves, not like the gloves used to wash dishes, gloves like skin. Nauseous, she closed her eyes. Something cold probed her chest, below her heart. She still had a beating heart, and she knew these people were cops and paramedics. Who called them? The cold object brushed against her breast and she recoiled.

  “What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?” The man with the gloves.

  Somehow she managed, “Mina.”

  “Good girl, Mina. I need to look at your eyes. This isn’t going to hurt. Okay?” The man pointed a penlight at first one eye, then the other. Why? It wasn’t dark, and her eyes were fine.

  “Do you think you can sit up if I help you?”

  Mina was aware of more people. She could see the shoes, the uniforms. Then another voice joined in. “What’s going on? Where did she come from?”

  This voice she knew; she was sure of it.

  “Mina? What’s going on?”

  DeFiore. It had to be DeFiore. She searched the faces. Yes, he was squatted next to her. “Hello there, what happened to you?” Before she could answer, DeFiore turned to speak to the man with a different uniform, the one touching her body with a cold object. “No visible sign of trauma? Vitals good? Okay. Let me talk to her. Can we get her inside?”

  They lifted her up and laid her on the couch. She thought how ironi
c it was that she had made all that effort only to end up exactly where she started. Her awareness grew while the nausea receded. Mina propped herself up on her elbow. Her living room was like a police station. How did all these people get here so fast? Who called them? DeFiore stood a few feet away talking to a paramedic. Another paramedic came down the hall.

  “Nothing?” DeFiore asked.

  “Birth control and Midol, that’s it.”

  Maledizione. They went through her medicine cabinet? Her tremendous outrage produced a miracle. She was wide-awake and incensed by such action.

  “Mina, did you take sleeping pills?

  “No, I didn’t, and how dare you go through my stuff?”

  “Calm down, we are trying to figure out what made you so sick and lethargic.”

  “How did you all got here so fast? Who called you?” She was suddenly so tired again.

  “We had a hostage situation on the floor above, the penthouse. It turned out to be a lovers’ quarrel. And the only reason we found you is because Sergeant Jones here,” DeFiore pointed to the man with the vest, “was coming down from the rooftop and saw you on the floor outside your door. So stop arguing and try to remember what you did last night before you went to sleep. What did you eat, drink? I assume you went to bed, you are in your pajamas.”

  Arrgh! No, no. He was right. She was in her pajamas. Mina lowered her eyes wishing she could disappear. She was supposed to do something at eight o’clock.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Eleven.” DeFiore answered. “Going somewhere?”

  The paramedics were packing up their gear and Sergeant Jones fidgeted with his belt. He looked like he wanted to bolt out of there.

  “I was supposed to drive Angelina to the bus.” She remembered. Hurray!

  “Oh, when did you last speak to—Angelina?”

  “Last night?” The return of Mina’s memory empowered her.

  “How about you tell me the whole story?”

  “Can I have a glass of water?”

  DeFiore exchanged glances with one of the paramedics who nodded and went to the refrigerator. The others seemed to be hanging around waiting for DeFiore to tell them what to do next. Mina drank the water wondering what happened to Angelina. Wasn't she spending the night on the couch? Why was there no trace of her anywhere? Should she tell the whole story to DeFiore? Why did she get so sick? Was Angelina also sick? Mina's mind went into overdrive.

  “I’m waiting.” DeFiore wasn’t giving up. Mina knew that.

  “Angelina was going to spend the night here, and I was going to drive her to the bus station so she could go to Oceanside to see her family. I overslept or something. She must have walked to the bus stop.” She heard the quiver in her voice. Talking exhausted her, but she was finally thinking straight.

  “You overslept? You look like you're coming out of a drug binge. What time did she get to your place?”

  “Huh, well, she was in my car. We drove together.”

  “How did she getnever mind. You don’t lock your car. So you two drove straight here from Bosom Bodies, and she spent the night here?”

  Mina nodded. She wanted everyone to leave, she wanted to close her eyes and go back to sleep. “Yeah, we had hot cocoa and then I felt very tired. I went to bed, and…I don’t feel good.”

  “You both drank hot cocoa? Where did you put the empty cups?”

  She pointed to the dishwasher, hoping he would go back where he came from.

  DeFiore went into the kitchen. “White mugs?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have them analyzed.”

  “I washed them.”

  DeFiore smiled. “I’ll have them analyzed,” he repeated. His two-way radio went off. He turned away from Mina. “Yes, Sam. Where? You're sure?” He looked at Mina, his face an unfinished puzzle. “I’ll be right there.” DeFiore motioned to Sergeant Jones to take the mugs. He spoke to him in a low voice that made Mina suspicious.

  What were they talking about?

  “Mina, I have to go. Paco is sending Margo to stay with you until you are back to normal. And Jones here will keep you company. “

  “No way. I’m fine, thank you very much. Jones can go where he is needed and the same with Margo.”

  “She's on her way here. Shush and be a good girl. Talk to you later. Jones, walk to the elevator with me.” He turned to the two paramedics hanging around. “If you think she’ll be okay, you can go. Thanks, fellows.”

  To Mina’s relief they all left. Two minutes later, DeFiore and Jones were back.

  “Where is your phone?” DeFiore asked her.

  “In the bedroom, exactly where I will be as soon as you get out of my house.”

  “Good. Jones is staying put until Margo gets here. You need to answer the phone when it rings.” He looked at her, and Mina felt he was going to say something important. He didn’t. He left before she had a chance to tell him again to take Sergeant Jones with him.

  Her flash of energy had passed, and she needed to lie still, close her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could make it to her room, but she had no intentions of asking the Sergeant for help. Maybe she could just close her eyes for a minute or two.

  Margo’s perky voice woke her. Damn, goodbye peace and tranquility. “Mina, you look like hell! What happened? Party hardy?”

  She didn’t know how long she slept or what Sergeant Jones did while she lay asleep on the couch. Mina wanted to scream. Instead she gave Margo “the look,” for all the good it did. Nothing could dampen Margo’s enthusiasm, especially if there was a man around.

  “Mina, I’m putting you to bed and making you some coffee, strong coffee. Have an espresso machine?” She put her arm around Mina’s waist and helped her off the couch. Soon Mina was in her own bed. “You rest now, and I’ll make coffee for the three of us.” Three of us? Sergeant Jones must still have been there.

  The phone rang. Mina picked it up.

  “Mina? It’s Adams." Oh, great. She needed her lawyer like she needed a hole in her head. "I hear you aren’t well. DeFiore called. I need you to listen carefully; it’s important. You must give your car key to the policeman waiting in your living room.”

  “What? Why does he need my car? Something wrong with his?”

  “No, Mina, that’s not the reason. Give him the car key, and then I’ll explain to you. Okay?”

  “Coffee is ready.” Margo walked into the bedroom. Sergeant Jones was with her but stopped at the threshold. “Did you spill perfume in the bathroom? Smells like a cosmetic counter in there.”

  “Is Margo with you? Good, I was hoping she got there. Mina, the key?”

  Was this all part of her dream? If so, she needed to snap out of it. But the coffee smelled real, and Margo looked, well, like Margo. The ignition key of her Bug was on the night table. As she picked it up, she noticed the answering machine light blinking.

  “Adams, I’m giving him the key. I don’t want to, but I’m doing it.” She felt herself tear up. Was she crying because of her car? Time stood still - Margo at the foot of her bed, steaming coffee in hand, Sergeant Jones waiting by her bedroom door, Adams on the phone telling her to surrender the key, and that red light blinking, blinking. “Here.” She lifted her hand, open palm. Jones came to her, took the key, nodded and left.

  “What’s wrong with your car?” Margo asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong with my car,” Mina cried into the phone.

  “Could have fooled me.” Margo wasn’t done. “There was a small crowd surrounding the Bug and a tow truck down in the garage. Did you have an accident?”

  “What?”

  “Mina, listen to me." Adams's voice commanded her attention again. "DeFiore thinks you were drugged, and it’s hard for you to understand everything that’s going on. You need to trust me. The police are impounding your car. Are you listening?”

  “Impounding my car? I only have a few parking tickets. And why would I have been drugged? Nothing is missing from my place that I know of
, anyway. Maybe I ate something bad. When do I get my car back?” She was out of breath, and her head pounded like window shutters in a hurricane.

  “Mina, it’s possible your car was involved in a hit and run.”

  At some level of consciousness Mina knew the car, the drugs and the police were all somehow connected to Barbara’s death, but something deep inside wouldn't let her accept that reality yet. She lay still under the blanket, breathing softly, afraid the rhythm of her breath would start a chain reaction in her head. All was quiet in the place.

  At the end of the hall she could hear the TV. Margo must be watching some late show. The only light filtering through her covers came from her blinking answering machine. Curse that flickering from hell. Her nausea gone, her brain wide-awake, she tried to put the pieces together. Could Angelina have drugged her? But why?

  Maybe Ginger would shed some light on this mess. Poor Ginger. What a sad welcome home. She would call Ginger in the morning. Maybe they could have coffee or something. Darn, she didn’t have any transportation. They took her car. It was a conspiracy, to isolate her. Margo was there to keep an eye on her so she couldn’t seek help. Who else was there to ask? She was all alone.

  The phone rang. It was so unexpected that Mina froze. She slid her hand from under the covers, grabbed the phone and whispered, “Hello.”

  “Mina? Is that you? Why are you whispering? Are you okay?” Brian.

  “I’m not feeling well.”

  “Oh, so sorry. Is that why you didn’t answer last night? Poor baby, and here I was thinking you were out partying. I apologize. Delete that rude message I left, will you? Is it the flu? Did you see a doctor?”

  “Who are you talking to?” Margo asked from the bedroom door.

  “Is someone there with you?” Brian said.

  “It’s Brian,” she said to Margo. “Margo is here to help me out,” she said to Brian.

  “Margo is spending the night? You must be very sick. And I’m stuck here, doing nothing constructive. Our passports were taken.”

  “What do you mean taken?”

  “Stolen. Both Mom’s and mine. We have no passports. We must wait until we get duplicates from the American Embassy. You have no idea how badly I want to get back to California. It’s snowing here.”