Secrets of the Red Box (16 page)

Bonnie thought the look on Mrs. Kemp’s face would melt her buttons. She couldn’t get out of
the exchange fast enough and rushed to the door. As she opened it, Christine stood on the other
side with a look of surprise on her face.

Mrs. Kemp stopped short behind Bonnie, her temper still flared. “And don’t expect a
recommendation from me either, Miss Cooper!”
Bonnie spun around and glared at Mrs. Kemp. “I wasn’t expecting one.”
She sneered and cocked a brow. “Goodbye, Miss Cooper.”
Bonnie rounded, grabbed Christine by the elbow, and pushed her way to the foyer. Christine
gave her a wide-eyed look. “That must not have gone well,” she said, looking back at the exchange
door.
Bonnie let out a breath. “I wasn’t expecting it to. But at least it’s over. You want to grab a bite?”
Christine winced and looked at her watch. “I would, but I have a family thing tonight.” She
clasped Bonnie’s arm. “Why don’t you come? It’s just my cousin’s birthday, and—” Bonnie didn’t
like “family” things of any kind. She couldn’t even abide the sound of the word. As far as she was
concerned, families were nothing more than a societal excuse to legally inflict pain on one another.
“Thanks,” she said, cutting Christine off with a swipe of her hand. “But I’d rather not.”
Christine appeared deflated, but nodded. “Sure. Okay. Call me next week and we’ll go to the
movies or something.”
Bonnie forced a smile. “Great. I’ll do that.”
Christine moved forward to give her a hug. Bonnie felt her body stiffen as Christine patted her
on the back. She had to will herself to reciprocate the gesture and pulled back as quickly as she
could. “I’ll call you,” she said with a flick of her head and turned to leave.
“Good luck,” Christine called to her. “On Monday, I mean.”
Bonnie waved, but didn’t turn back. As she walked, she thought about Christine’s family, what
they might be like. They were probably kind, like Christine, probably soft-spoken and hospitable.
But then, she thought, maybe they were awful people, harsh and over-bearing. Maybe that’s what
made Christine a bit shy. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She was never going to find out.
Thinking of families made her think about her own mother. She started to wonder how her
mother had died, but more specifically, if her father had anything to do with it. She knew full well
the capacity of his temper, knew he’d beaten her mother to unconsciousness before. Maybe he’d
killed her. Maybe he’d hit her one too many times or kicked her hard enough to cause an internal
hemorrhage. As much as she disliked the idea of talking to her father again, she wanted to know. Of
course, she thought, he probably wouldn’t tell her the truth anyway. And how would she prove it?
She couldn’t return to California to investigate for herself, and she didn’t dare set foot in California
again.
Still the question remained and began to grow in her mind. She wanted to know how her mother
had died, what had happened to her, where she’d been buried, and when. As she walked in the thick
summer heat Bonnie became obsessed with the idea and knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d at least
made an attempt to find out.
As she entered the apartment building and climbed the stairs, the heat of August became stifling.
She hadn’t left any windows open because there were no screens. Bonnie was afraid Baby Girl might
jump or fall the four stories down, even though the cat wasn’t yet big enough to reach the window
sill. When she opened the door, a wave of hot air assaulted her. Baby Girl came loping from the
bedroom, her tail in the air. She greeted Bonnie with a tiny meow, and Bonnie’s heart melted.
“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” she said to the cat. “I’ll open a window for a few minutes, but don’t
you get any ideas.”
Baby Girl shadowed her to the bedroom and climbed the bedspread with her tiny, needle-like
claws as Bonnie cracked the window a couple of inches. It seemed to make little difference—the
hot, sticky air outside only slightly cooler than the air inside. “I’ll buy us a fan.”
Baby Girl pranced across the bed, lifting her front feet in an alternating kneading motion.
Bonnie slipped her hand beneath the cat and held her close, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so glad
you’re here to greet me,” she whispered. “It makes coming home a whole lot better.”
Baby Girl squirmed a bit and Bonnie placed her on the floor. The cat walked from the room and
Bonnie changed her clothes. She thought about her mother again and decided she had to call, even if
it proved to be of no use. She had to try.
Bonnie went to the compact living room and took the phone from the table beside her chair.
She sat down, placed the phone in her lap, and stared at the dial. Apprehension shimmered in her
belly. She hated the thought of hearing her father’s voice, hated the way it made her feel. All the
years of abuse came flooding back to her, bringing with it the pain, the feelings of worthlessness.
Baby Girl pranced toward Bonnie, eying her little rubber ball. Bonnie watched as the cat swatted
the toy, sending it across the room, and then chased after it with a vengeance. Bonnie let out a
chuckle and felt the roiling in her gut calm just a bit. She bolstered her courage and dialed for the
long-distance operator.
It seemed an eternity before the phone rang in California. Her heart began to race and her throat
went dry. She considered hanging up, and then heard the ringing stop.
“Yeah?” He sounded perturbed.
Bonnie licked her lips and concentrated all her effort into speaking calmly. “Hi, it’s Bonnie.”
Silence on the other end deafened her. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and swallowed. She
wasn’t sure if he was still there. “Hello?”
“Uh, yeah, what do you want?” His voice had an edge to it.
She reached deep within, willing herself to continue. “How have you been?”
Silence again. “I can’t really imagine that you care,” he growled. “What do you want?”
Bonnie closed her eyes, forced herself to ask the question. “How did Mama die?”
“I thought that was you, the one who called and asked for Jean.”
“It was,” she said, her insides quivering now. “So how did she die? What happened?”
John Murphy drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Cancer,” he said bluntly. “Some
woman thing.”
“Oh,” she heard herself say. “Was she sick long?”
“No. She didn’t know she had it until right before she died.”
Bonnie felt tears well up in her eyes. “Did she…did she suffer much?”
“I don’t know. She never said—I never asked.”
Of course he wouldn’t know, she thought. He wouldn’t care, either. “When did she die?”
“It was, uh…” She could almost hear him thinking. “Uh, sometime last month.”
Bonnie became furious. How could he not know the date she’d died? But then she had to
remind herself who she was talking to. She tried to quell the rage that now churned in her gut.
“Sometime last month. That’s it? Do you know the day? Where she’s buried?”
“Why the hell do you care, anyway?” he shouted into the phone. “You left her a long time ago.
You broke her heart, you know. So what difference does it make when she died or where she’s
buried?”
Bonnie felt as if she was folding in on herself, the pain of his words excruciating. Could it be
true? Had she broken her mother’s heart, or was it her father’s ploy to probe her old wounds?
Maybe her mother was hurt, but Bonnie believed her mother was glad for her too, glad her daughter
had escaped the relentless abuse.
Bonnie’s voice went icy, as cold as the feelings she held for him. “I broke her heart? Really? And
what about you? You broke more than her heart. You broke her spirit every single day. You killed
her inch by inch, you bastard! So I’m happy for her…glad she’s dead so you can’t hurt her
anymore!” Bonnie slammed the receiver down as a flood of tears rose to the surface. She put the
phone back on the table beside her and covered her face with her hands. The tears burned her
cheeks as she slid into a chasm of emotional pain. She hated him down to the deepest core of her
being, wished him dead, wished he would suffer the way he’d made her suffer.
Baby Girl trotted to the chair and rubbed her body against Bonnie’s leg. She lifted the kitten
onto her lap. “I should have stabbed him when I had the chance,” she whispered to the cat. “I
should have stuck that knife into his gut until he was dead…” Bonnie brought Baby Girl toward her
face to nuzzle her close. The cat was in a playful mood. She stretched out her front feet and stuck
her razor claws into the flesh of Bonnie’s cheek, then nipped her chin, bolted backward, and jumped
to the floor.
Bonnie was slightly stunned and reached to touch the little scratches. The salt from her tears
made them sting. She wiped her face with the palms of her hands and got up from the chair.
Pushing back the conversation with her father, she went to the kitchen. Baby Girl met her there,
mewing and circling her feet in figure eights. “Now I’m your friend again,” she chided mildly and
wiped her runny nose. “Damn it, he’s not going to make me cry.”
The cat sat on the oval of braided rug and looked up the full length of her owner. Her little eyes
sparkled with hope. “Oh, all right,” Bonnie sighed, reaching for the pink dish.
As Bonnie filled it, her thoughts returned to her mother. Had she ever been happy, Bonnie
wondered, even one day in her whole life? Bonnie could count on one hand the number of times her
mother
might
have been, though she couldn’t really be sure of it. She didn’t know much about her
mother’s childhood, except that she had two brothers and that they, and her father, had worked the
coal mines of Kentucky. Because her mother never spoke of them, Bonnie could only surmise she
hadn’t been happy. The day they’d moved into the apartment in Long Beach seemed to be a happy
day. Her mother appeared so pleased to have a real home.
“Look, Bonnie! Running water in a real sink,” she exclaimed, turning the tap. “And a stove…” Her eyes
misted. “How long has it been since I cooked on a stove?”
Bonnie pulled on the handle of the refrigeratorand peered inside. “Look, Mama, there’sa special place for eggs!”
“Really?” Jean stood beside her daughterand stared at the little nested egg holder on the top metal rack. “Well,
I’ll be…”
“Where does the ice go?” Bonnie asked, searching the machine.
“It doesn’t need any,” Jean said, closing the refrigerator door. “It runs on electricity.”
She took hold of Bonnie’s hands and squeezed. “And best of all, you’ll haveyour very own bedroom. And I’m
gonna decorate it all up for you, and we’ll make curtains and everything.”
Bonnie threw her arms around her mother’s waist. “My own room…I can hardly believe it.”
Jean cupped her daughter’s face between her roughened hands. “Things’ll be different now, baby girl.”She
smoothed back Bonnie’s golden hairand smiled. “You’ll see.”
Bonnie looked up at her mother, blinking. “I’m afraid to go to school, Mama. Can you come with me?”
Jean kissed the top of Bonnie’s head. “I can’t come with you, but I’ll walk you there. You’ll do fine, baby. You’re
smart and you’ll catch on real quick.”
Bonnie pulled away and turned her back to her mother. “But…what if they make fun of me? What if I don’t
know something?”
Jean took hold of Bonnie’s shouldersand urged her around. She knelt down and took a firm hold of Bonnie’s
hands. “Now you listen to me, Bonnie Blue. No one’s gonna make fun of you. They got no reason to. Why you’ll be
one of the prettiest and smartest girls in the school. And you don’t have to be afraid of not knowing something, because
that’s why you’re in school—to learn.” Jean brushed her hand over Bonnie’s cheek, then kissed it. “Now go out and
help bring something into the house.”
Bonnie nodded, but before her mother could stand, she threw her arms around her mother’sneck and hugged her
as hard as any ten-year-old could. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, baby girl.”
John stormed in through the door, his arms loaded with two heavy boxes. “What are you doing in here? Get out
there and help!” He dropped the boxes in the tiny kitchen.
Jean bolted upright and lowered her gaze as she started for the door. Bonnie followed her. John reached out and
struck Bonnie on the back of the head. “Use your head for something besides a hat rack,” he snarled. “You know
better than to be in here when there’s work to do.”
Bonnie quickened her step. The blow sent a dull ache through her head, but she wouldn’t cry. She never cried. She
never gave him the satisfaction.

August 13
^th
was Bonnie’s lucky day, she thought as she walked up the street to Kirkendall, Jones
& Company. She was looking forward to her new job and was surprised that she didn’t feel at all
nervous. She promised herself she’d keep her involvement with the employees to a minimum. She
wouldn’t allow herself to get tangled up in relationships that only forced her to keep lying—or
rather, she amended, allowed her to
keep
lying.

Beatrice looked up as Bonnie came in. She smiled and came through the little door at the end of
the counter. “Hi, Bonnie. Mr. Hammond is in a meeting and asked me to show you around.”
“Oh, okay…Beatrice, isn’t it?”
The woman nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be working and introduce you
around.”
Beatrice gave her a tour of the offices, the restrooms, the lunch room, and ended at a location
across the hall from where they’d started. She opened the door and peeked inside. “Irene?”
Irene swiveled around from her switchboard and took off her headset. She offered a ready smile
filled with somewhat crooked teeth. Glasses teetered on a tapered nose framed by a heart-shaped
face. Her graying hair was curly, pulled back from the sides with combs. Irene’s somewhat stocky
build showed as she came to her feet. “Hi, Beatrice. This must be Bonnie?”
Bonnie stepped forward. “Yes.” She noticed there was a narrow window facing Harney Street,
allowing daylight to flood the small room.
Irene extended her hand and smiled. “Hi, Bonnie. Irene Orton.”
“You’ll love Irene,” Beatrice said. “Everybody does.”
Bonnie smiled at Beatrice, then turned to face Irene. “I’m excited to be here.”
“I’m excited you’re here too,” she said, grinning. “I’ve been working the exchange alone for
almost a month.”
“Well, not anymore.” Bonnie moved toward the switchboard.
The switchboard lighted and Irene spun away, holding up a finger to Bonnie. While she took the
call, Bonnie found a place for her purse and glanced around the cozy room. She liked the fact that
she had only Irene to interact with. It would be easier to avoid revealing more than she wished.
Irene ended the call and looked at Bonnie as if sizing her up. “I like a woman who can take
charge,” she said. “So I understand you worked for Mrs. Kemp.”
Bonnie arched her brows and looked at the older woman with surprise. What if they were
friends? What if they talked about her? She’d have to be especially careful if that was the case. Her
entire idea to start over came around to smack her in the face. “Yes. Do you know her?”
Irene laughed. “Sure, I know the old bat. She used to work here—oh, about ten years ago. I
haven’t seen her since she left. Is she still as blunt and bad-tempered as ever?”
Bonnie felt herself relax, putting aside her caution. She picked up her headset. “You might say
so.”
“Figures.” Irene snorted. She handed Bonnie a sheet of paper. “I typed up a copy of all the
extensions and some commonly requested phone listings. I like to call it the Kirkendall Bible.”
Bonnie took it and sat at the switchboard. “Thanks, Irene.”
Irene settled back in her chair. “And we have to stagger our lunches,” she said. “I go at 11:30, so
you’ll go at 12:30. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Bonnie said with a shrug. “That’ll work.”
“What do you think of the atom bombs dropped on Japan?” Irene asked with her hand clutched
to her ample breast. “I don’t pretend to know anything about atom bombs, but it seems to me
they’re horrible weapons. Still, they dropped them on the enemy…” A light flashed on Irene’s
switchboard. “Here we go,” she announced with a flourish.
Bonnie studied the list of extensions as Irene assisted her caller. She already felt comfortable in
her new surroundings. It was an entirely different feel to that of the Rose Building and Mrs. Kemp’s
management. A light flashed on her switchboard and Bonnie pulled up a jack. “Here we go,” she
said under her breath.
In between calls, Irene chatted as if she’d been deprived of company for months. She told
Bonnie that Kirkendall had made custom riding boots for King Gustav V of Sweden and Japanese
Emperor Yoshihito. Of course, she had insisted, that was before the war, but it was a proud feather
in the Kirkendall cap nonetheless.
Irene also told her she’d been working there for nearly thirty years, part-time while she raised her
children, and that she wouldn’t work anywhere else in Omaha. Bonnie took it all in, amused by
Irene’s easy way and bubbly personality. She hadn’t needed to say a thing except to comment
occasionally to Irene’s constant chatter, which was fine with Bonnie. She didn’t want to talk about
herself anyway.
When the end of the day arrived, Bonnie was tired and ready to go home. Irene gave her a wide
smile. “You did real good today, Bonnie. I hope you’ll love it here as much I as do.”
Bonnie was thoughtful a moment and then smiled. “You know, Irene, I think I will.”
Irene gathered her purse and hat. “Got any plans this evening?”
Bonnie’s insides lurched. Was she going to ask her to do something? “Uh, haven’t decided.”
Irene opened her handbag and stirred the contents about until she found her keys. “Bowling
night. My husband and I have gone bowling every Monday night for…” She paused and looked up
at the ceiling. “For forever, I guess. Do you like bowling?”
Bonnie didn’t want to get trapped into an invitation. She’d only gone bowling once in her life,
and gave a non-committal shrug.
“We love it,” Irene said with a laugh. “But then, I guess you’d have to, to go every Monday
night.” She paused at the doorway, a key poised between her fingers. “In fact, I met my husband at a
bowling alley when I was sixteen years old. That was forever ago, too.” She walked through the
door. “Well, good night, Bonnie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bonnie raised a hand and offered a little wave. “Good night, and thanks for everything.”
Irene started down the hall. “Don’t mention it,” she called, then waved across the hall. “Bye,
Beatrice.”
Beatrice called a goodbye to Irene, and looked at Bonnie in the open doorway. “How’d it go?”
Bonnie smiled and closed the door behind her. “Pretty good.” Her smile broadened and a
feeling of pride washed over her. “Actually, reallygood.”
Beatrice nodded. “I had a feeling about you. I told Mr. Hammond you’d be the one.”
Bonnie went to the counter. “You did? Why?”
Beatrice raised a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t know—just had a hunch, I guess. Anyway, he
must have agreed, because here you are.”
“Well, I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Bonnie said sincerely. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Bonnie went to the stairs and took the two flights down to the main floor. She walked beneath
the arched entrance and smiled. It had been a good day, one of the best in a long time. As Bonnie
crossed Eleventh Street and continued down Harney, she felt a sort of optimism center within her.
It seemed her life had turned a corner, as if she might really be able to settle in and call Omaha
home.
She walked along Harney Street, passing by the Paxton Hotel, and then further down, the
Orpheum Theater, the YMCA, and the Omaha Public Library. The air seemed thick with humidity
off the Missouri river, its long sticky fingers reaching into the heart of the city as if to choke it into
submission. Bonnie took off her hat and used it as a fan as she waited on the corner for the light to
change. She felt a trickle of sweat wind its way down her back and wished she could strip off her
clothes. The light changed and she crossed the street, hurrying to get home and out of the heat.
Once home, Bonnie took a cool bath and let the heat seep from her bones. Baby Girl cried at
the edge of the tub until Bonnie dried off one hand and lifted the cat onto the rim. The curious
creature stared into the water, watching as Bonnie wriggled her toes. Baby Girl’s whiskers twitched
as she stretched a tentative paw toward the rippling water. She placed the pads of her toes on the
surface, looked shocked, withdrew her paw, and shook it. Bonnie giggled, and the cat jumped to the
floor to lick the offensive substance from her foot.
Cooled and comfortable now, Bonnie dried off and slipped into a thin cotton robe. She went to
the living room and switched on the radio, waiting until the vacuum tubes warmed and hummed to
life. She dialed it to a program that suited her and took a seat. Baby Girl, no longer traumatized by
the bath tub incident, climbed up the chair and sat on the arm to stare at Bonnie.
“What do you want?” she asked softly as she trailed her finger down the kitten’s spine.
Baby Girl began to purr and crossed into Bonnie’s lap. She circled twice, then plopped down
without ceremony, closed her eyes, and went to sleep. Bonnie closed her own eyes and enjoyed the
feeling of contentment that spread through her. How different things were now. Life in California
had never felt like this, never given her the sensation of peace she felt here. Even the itch that had
always prodded her to be doing something every minute of the day had calmed. She no longer felt
compelled to feed her inner hummingbird. She could remain home, where it was quiet.
It occurred to her that Baby Girl had a lot to do with that. She supposed it was because she had
something to come home to, something to occupy her thoughts and time. Baby Girl filled a need
she hadn’t known was there, but was evident to her now. Maybe it had something to do with the lost
baby, the one she’d aborted. How old would she be now? It was a girl, she remembered—at least,
that’s what the med student who’d performed the abortion told her. But no, she thought, she’d
asked about the baby, hadn’t she…asked about the gender. She didn’t know what difference it
would have made. The baby would be almost three years old now, Bonnie realized. She
wondered…no. She stopped herself. She couldn’t speculate now. It was far too late for that.
There was a knock at the door. Bonnie’s eyes flew open—she wasn’t expecting anyone. Was this
it? Had they finally tracked her down? Her heart raced as she put Baby Girl in the bedroom, turned
off the radio, and crossed the living room. The knock became a pounding, insistent and forceful.
“I’m coming.”
There was no time to think of a way out, to avoid whatever awaited her on the other side. Her
breath came in short bursts of fear, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Bonnie
swallowed and inched the door open. She felt the air leave her lungs as she looked at Paul Warsoff.
“Paul,” she said with relief.
Paul pushed on the door. “Let me in, Bonnie. I just want to talk.”
“No,” she said, blocking his way. “Don’t do this, Paul. Just go away.”
Paul shoved hard and Bonnie was forced back, almost losing her balance as he thrust his way in.
A fury raged in her blood as she glowered at him. “Get out of here!”
Paul held up his hands. “Please, Bonnie. I just want to talk.”
What could he possibly want to talk about? Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear where she stood?
“There’s nothing to talk about, Paul—”
“Why did you leave?” he asked, looking wounded. “I found out this morning that you quit.”
Bonnie let out a breath. “Yes, I quit. And you know why.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Bonnie,” he said. “I know you quit because of me, and I feel
horrible about it—”
“I don’t care how you feel about it. Just leave.”
Paul grabbed her by the wrist, his eyes hot on hers. “There’s no reason we can’t be civil about
this.”
Bonnie tried to pry open his grip, but it was steely and hard. “Let go of me!” She used her free
hand to strike him across the face.
His mouth curled as he grabbed her other wrist. He pulled her to his chest, his breath smelling
of alcohol. “You know what you are, Bonnie? You’re a
tease
.”
“And you’re drunk,” she spat.
“I don’t like rejection, Bonnie.”
He smothered her mouth with his. Bonnie felt sick to her stomach, revolted by his taste. She
struggled against his hold, but he held her fast. She realized she could not fight him like this and
relaxed. As her body yielded, so did Paul’s. His kiss softened, and then he opened his eyes. “I knew
that’s what you really wanted.”
Bonnie smiled, backing him toward the open doorway. She brought her mouth toward his, then
she clamped her teeth on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Paul yelped and jerked back as
Bonnie rammed her knee into his groin. He groaned, lost his breath, and thudded to his knees. His
eyes squeezed shut against the pain, and his hands clamped over his crotch. Bonnie shoved him so
hard he toppled backward into the hallway. She almost laughed at the sight of him lying on his side,
whimpering like a child.
Bonnie stood in the doorway, her fists balled at her sides. “Don’t come back again, Paul, or I
promise you’ll regret it.” She slammed the door, locked it, then leaned against it as she tried to catch
her breath. The adrenalin pumping through her veins made her light-headed. She went to the
kitchen, her knees feeling like rubber. Taking down the bottle of Scotch, she poured some into a
glass and threw it back.
The Scotch burned her throat. She felt the warmth of it rise from her belly, up her chest to her
neck, her jaw, and into her head. Bonnie closed her eyes as her nerves began to steady. She leaned
against the kitchen sink and rubbed her throbbing temples, convinced there wasn’t one redeeming
man on the entire planet. They were all like Paul Warsoff, or Dave Miller, or Evan, or her father,
and all the others…all of them…selfish bastards.
///////