at age nine, but she worked in the field for eight, sometimes ten hours a day. Coffee got you through. It was a necessity. For Jeremy it was a luxury, but as she put the small pot on the tray she was startled to see him coming down the stair in his pajamas and robe. She could see him from her spot in the kitchen. He trudged, heavy footed, to the bottom of the stairs, spotted his mother in the parlor and went toward her.
Actually, she thought, he did look sick. He was flushed. His eyes looked glassy. She watched from the kitchen as he began talking heatedly to his mother, waving his arms. He was angry about something. Very angry. Nasty angry. “So like his father,” thought Clarissa. His mother looked small, defensive. He ranted at her. Clarissa couldn’t hear the conversation but he was clearly bullying his mother who was trying, somewhat feebly, to counter his arguments.
Clarissa felt the prickly thing again. This time it was strong. Becoming stronger like a great storm gathering momentum with each breath. It moved up her spine and across her scalp. She had never felt it like this. She couldn’t make it stop.
Jeremy stormed into the kitchen and brushed past her to take the breakfast tray. She was on him before he knew it. The prickly thing had taken her over. She grabbed his arm and a voice that was not hers, deep and growly, burst through the wall of caution she had built so carefully over the years
“Who do you think you are chile? Don’t you dare ever, ever talk to your mamma with such a mouth. You hear me? You hear?” She shook his arm as she spoke. “You nasty little spoiled brat. If I ever hear you talk to her like that again I will smack your ass so hard it will burn. Don’t think I won’t do it, you little shit. Now go and apologize to your mother.”
Her eyes blazed with a fierce dark energy. She was no longer the deferential old black lady. She released her iron grip on his arm. She pointed toward the parlor where Mrs. Delano was crying softly. “Did you hear what I said, chile? Go. Now!”
Jeremy stood speechless. He had never seen Clarissa like this. He had never seen anyone like this. The hair at the back of his neck stood up and a slight chill moved through him. He felt her vise like grip on his arm and was amazed at her strength. There was no thought. No resistance. He felt himself under the sway of her voice and, as if in a trance, went into the parlor.
“Mom,” his voice was hesitant, shaky. “I’m really sorry.”
Mrs. Delano’s tears gave way to stunned silence. She simply stood and stared after him as he went back to the kitchen, picked up his tray and took it up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Mrs. Delano stood at the foot of the stairs, looking in amazed silence up toward Jeremy’s closed door.
After a while she came back into the kitchen where Clarissa was tossing pork chops up in the air and clubbing them into small bits with her carving knife. The strangest bit was the sound of her singing, in her amazing, dusky voice. “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy..”
Late Thursday Morning
Marjorie Delano got to the clubhouse later than she had intended.
“Darn that Clarissa,” she thought. She knew that she was considered by some of her friends to be ‘slightly flaky’ and others thought she was very flaky. Being late on a day when the board needed her vote did not help her reputation. She took her seat with as much grace as she could muster. The chairman nodded briefly and kept talking. Someone across the room glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow in Marjorie’s direction.
The Southold Country Club June Meeting was already well into the usual discussions about how the membership had to be protected from the new riffraff that was constantly seeking entry into this inner sanctum of suburban life. They sat around the large table, an odd assortment of very upright and uptight citizens, conscious of their status and their very special place in the world.
“Membership in our club is the greatest prize and cannot be handed out to just everyone,” the chairman said.
The perfection of their trim gardens, their quiet cocktail hours, their elegant balls, were their reward for the efforts they made to preserve them. When he launched into the details of the monthly financial statements, Marjorie excused herself and got up to leave. She ignored the secretary’s whispered insistence that they needed her vote on something or other. She could not shake off a sense of alarm about the morning’s bizarre occurrence. She had never seen Clarissa like this. She had never heard Jeremy apologize to her for anything, ever. She went quietly out of the Board Room and went across the hall into the meeting room with the maroon brocade curtains. Marjorie waited until she knew her voice would pass for calm, took a deep breath and dialed her husband’s private number.
Daniel Delano hated being interrupted at work. His orders had been delivered to his family with no lack of intensity and vigor, and what passed, in his mind, for humor.
“If you are bleeding to death and cannot find a doctor, then maybe you can dial my personal number,” he had said as though it was funny, but they were not amused. The members of his family knew well what he meant. As the CEO of a multi-million dollar legal firm, his priorities were more than clear. They were set in stone.
Marjorie had begun her married life as a free thinking, independent woman. She had been beautiful and intelligent but gave up even the remote possibility of actually doing something with her degree in psychology. The years of life with Daniel had worn down her inner reserve of fire and now she readily bowed to his wishes in most instances, saving her fights for those few things that really mattered. As Marjorie dialed the number with only slight hesitation, she was prepared for her husband’s irritated and condescending voice as he answered.
“What, Marjorie?” He drummed his fingers on his polished mahogany desk.
“Trouble at home.”
“What kind of trouble? I’m on a call to Madrid. Can you make it brief?”
“Clarissa has flipped her petushkas.”
She launched into a frantic account of how Clarissa had terrified Jeremy into apologizing for his behavior, which was in itself, a reason to tremble. Then the singing. Clarissa never sang in their home, ever. Then the brandishing of the carving knife, tossing the pork chops into the air then chopping them into tiny pieces. And the deep, guttural voice which came from somewhere in the belly of this tiny woman and the weird laughter, and ……
“And you left Jeremy at home with her? What were you thinking?” Mr. Delano was thumbing through a file on his desk as he shouted at his wife. “What were you thinking?”
Finally her composure destroyed she burst into tears. The tears which often arose from Mr. Delano’s temper, always made her husband even more irritable. And that made Mrs. Delano cry even more.
“Marjorie,” he fairly shouted into the phone, “Marjorie, stop. Just stop. For God’s sake pull yourself together. Call Jeremy on his cell phone and tell him to stay in his room. Tell him to lock the door. I’ll take care of Clarissa.”
Daniel Delano was only too happy to take care of Clarissa. He had wanted, long ago, to be rid of her and hire someone younger and someone definitely not black. She did a passable job but a younger woman would do much more and would look more respectable, more pleasing. He needed someone with a deferential manner. He would be happy with a Latino he often said.
His wife was adamant that they keep Clarissa on. She had no pension, a mere pittance of social security and, as far as they knew, no family. Mrs. Delano said it was their Christian duty and she had prevailed till now. Her concern actually arose from her knowledge of Torah law which demanded that the orphans and widows be taken care of, but calling it their Christian duty seemed much more politic. Mr. Delano did not care overly much about orphans and widows. He wanted his home cared for in an impeccable manner. And, on this rainy Thursday morning, he was delighted to take care of Clarissa.
He closed the office door but his secretary was able to catch a few phrases of the conversation.
“Listen, Tom…….problem…..probably psychotic…..dangerous…
Not safe in my