Ghosts In the Heart. Michael J.D. Keller

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СКАЧАТЬ coeur, I’m not an angel.” She spoke to him and he could hear her soft breathy voice with absolute clarity. “It is not time for you to die. I need you Alexander. I need you to come for me.” Her smile was still there, but there was an expression of quiet entreaty in her blue eyes. “Only you can save me, mon amour.”

      His lips moved as he tried to speak her name. His right arm trembled as he strained in a futile effort to raise his hand to touch her check. Then the mist returned, it darkened and a smothering blanket of black oblivion swallowed him.

      It was the music that penetrated the blackness and forced open a door. The beat was a type of light jazz punctuated by sharp digressions on a guitar. He heard the music first, followed by a buzz of voices and then a growl of car engines passing behind him. He could sense people moving around him even before someone lightly brushed against his side.

      “Pardon moi, monsieur.”

      He opened his eyes and a physical world sprang back into existence. He was standing on a sidewalk, an urban walkway filled with pedestrians, some briskly passing by, others stopping to listen to the music. In front of him, the large glass window of a restaurant provided passers-by with an unobstructed view of a small jazz combo - trumpeter, bass player, and guitarist whose music was enticing all to enter.

      It had been twenty-five years since he had been here. Mckenzie had not the slightest doubt, however, where he was. The glass window belonged to a gathering place for the hip young professionals who resided in the area. It was the Chez Grenier on the Rue Oberkampf. He was in Paris.

      CHAPTER 8

      San Francisco 1982

      “A pilgrimage!” Marcus sarcastically and derisively dismissed the entire idea. His characterization was expressed in the same bitter tone of disappointment that dominated his increasingly strained relationship with his son. “You aren’t going to experience culture, see the sights, or revel in the arts. Hell, you aren’t even going to chase women.” Marcus snorted as if the last alternative would have at least sounded reasonable to him. “No, you want to go walk the holy road, touch the relics, and genuflect at the shrine. You want to go feed that sick fantasy of yours.”

      “Father, this really isn’t any of your business. I am not asking for your help. I have my own money saved and I can pay for the trip myself.” There was an obvious similarity in the tenor of Alex’s response to his father’s sneering observations. His reluctant conversations with Marcus routinely stretched the outer limits of civility. A search of his tone for any semblance of filial affection would have been fruitless.

      “I think you two need to dial it back a bit. You are supposed to be talking not fighting with each other.”

      Both Alex and Marcus turned with some surprise to look at Christie. Usually she just left the room when the latest round in the ongoing Mckenzie civil war broke out. It was something of a departure for her to intervene so openly.

      Alex actually welcomed the interruption more than Marcus did. Christine “Christy” Mckenzie, nee Hager, otherwise known as Stepmother Number Two, had developed an oddly friendly relationship with her husband’s difficult off-spring. It helped that she was closer in age to him than she was to her husband. From the beginning, Alex had understood her in a way Marcus had not. Marcus saw only the flashy, spectacular endowed blonde who looked so perfect on his arm—a young woman who could stir the delicious jealousy of his colleagues while simultaneously feeding the ego and libido of an aging male.

      Alex, on the other had, had seen through the well constructed veneer to the cunningly intelligent and more than a little mercenary woman who hid behind it. Christy understood both her role on the stage as well as the likelihood that the curtain would someday go down. Men like Marcus tended to replace trophy wives periodically by trading in for a newer model. Marcus had also crafted a fairly extensive prenuptial agreement that limited the financial rewards of divorce. So as the poet said “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may” or as Christy interpreted the sentiment, spend as much as you can as fast as you can.

      A different son might have tried to warn his father about the financial depredations going on under his own roof. Alex choose instead to become an implicit coconspirator. He winked and grinned at Christie’s extravagances. He believed that there should be a price to be paid for being a wealthy amoral lecher and he was fully prepared to let Christie collect that bill from Marcus.

      In return, Christie tried when possible to run interference for him, to shield him from Marcus’s latest angry fixations. It was Christie who dissuaded the elder Mckenzie from cutting off his son’s university tuition when Alex insisted on taking degrees in literature and philosophy.

      Marcus had stormed about the house complaining loudly that Alex’s educational choices had no financial promise. “What the hell is he going to do with that kind of background - run a McDonalds?” Marcus had taken Alex’s most recent renunciation of any interest in the legal profession as a personal rejection - as an ongoing affront to his pride in being one of San Francisco’s leading trial lawyers. In that regard, Alex had squarely hit the target he aimed for.

      Christie had artfully deflected Marcus’s anger by reminding him that Alex was only in his early 20's and that there was plenty of time for him to make career choices. She completed her exercise in psychological manipulation by including a physical component that created a rare mellowness in Marcus’s disposition. Later she provided Alex with an edited account of this incident ending with the pungent observation that “You owe me your senior year, sonny boy.”

      “This is Alex’s graduation gift, dear.” Christie’s honey soaked words still had the power to bank the flames of her husband’s anger. She would retain that ability for almost four more years until Marcus’s wandering eye alighted on Melody, a/k/a Stepmother Number Three. At that time, Christie would gather her possessions, including her extensive jewelry collection and the pass book to her private checking account, kiss Alex on the check, and even smile knowingly at Marcus before making her uncomplaining departure. Christie knew how to make an exit.

      At this time, however, she still exercised her power of control. “You did promise him that trip two years ago and you can’t go back on it now.”

      “Oh hell” Marcus snapped and slid a thick envelope across the table to the chair where Alex was sitting. “At least you won’t be some damn backpacking hippie in jeans and sandals. If you are going to do this, do it with some style.”

      Alex opened the envelope while thinking that the backpack approach would have been fine with him. Examining the contents he could see that a better alternative had just become available. Airline ticket, first class from San Francisco to New York to Paris, a nice stack of hundred dollar bills and an American Express credit card in his name. The only thing tempering Alex’s pleasure at the prospect of his long anticipated journey was the galling realization that he would now have to express some appreciation to his father. He did not actually grit his teeth but the temptation to do so did pass through his mind.

      “Thank you, Father” Alex’s voice was flat. If there was no hostility in his words neither was there any overt warmth. “This is quite generous of you.”

      “Damn right it is” Marcus responded with a note of triumph. “I just hope that when you come back you will be ready to do something serious with your life.”

      Well, so much for the heartfelt exchange, Alex thought. He caught a glimpse of Christie standing behind Marcus just as he was about to snap off a response. She subtly shook her head. Let it go, she was telling him. Let your father win this one.

      If Marcus had known when to stop, Alex СКАЧАТЬ