| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 14 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Tuesday, October 26, 09:26:32pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Nikita tossed the mail on her kitchen counter as she pushed the door shut with the heel of her shoe. She kicked off said shoe, then its mate, and wandered into the kitchen, luxuriating in the feel of the cool tile against her warm toes. She pulled a Pepsi out of the fridge, and stepped down into the living room and draped her long body gracefully across the couch. She picked up the unopened pop can and held it to her head, sighing. Today had been filled with meetings and contract negotiations, and Nikita was fighting a raging headache. She wasn’t happy when her phone rang. She considered letting the machine pick it up before remembering she had promised Carla a dinner date. Rolling over on her belly, she picked up the phone from the end table and placed it to her ear.
“Hullo?” she said expectantly. Nothing. Not even the sound of heavy breathing. Shrugging her shoulders, Nikita snapped the cell shut, sat up and popped open her Pepsi, taking several large gulps. The phone rang again. “Hullo?” Silence again. “Is anyone there?” This time she heard a nervous cough, and waited patiently for the other party to speak.
“Nik?” The female voice was deep—not low and husky, like Nikita’s, but hard and rough from too many cigarettes and too much whiskey.
“Who’s calling?” she asked, gooseflesh appearing on her arms. She knew that voice from somewhere. It couldn’t be—
“Nik? It’s uh, it’s Roberta.”
How on earth had her mother gotten this number, and why would she be calling after fifteen years? Still, she had to be sure.
“Mum?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes, Nik,” the voice on the other end of the line sighed in relief. “It’s your mother.” A few, stunned moments of silence passed while neither woman spoke. Then Roberta began in a rush of words. “I know it seems weird hearing from me after all this time, but I want you to know, baby, I never stopped looking for you. Ever since they took you away from me. I’ve been trying to find you and bring you back home,” she improvised.
“M-Mama?” Nikita choked out, her eyes filling with tears. Her mother loved her. She never gave her away, no matter what all those agency people had told her.
“Yes, baby girl. It’s Mama, and we’ll be together again real soon. I’m living right here in the city. Can you imagine? I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that magazine. Baby, you looked like a fairy princess. I was so proud of you. I just had to find you and tell you that.”
“Where are you?” asked Nikita tearfully. “When can I see you?”
“Oh, you can’t come to my neighborhood,” Roberta said, setting the wheels in motion. “It wouldn’t be safe. I’m scared to death myself half the time, and I’ve lived here for years,” she added, forcing a laugh. “Where do you live, and I’ll come you your place?”
Nikita dutifully recited her address and, after exchanging more endearments with her mother, hung up her phone.
Michael may still see her as a little child, but her mother accepted her for who she really was, and she loved her. She had said so.
* * *
“Are you sure they’ve made contact?” Michael persisted. Detective Marco O’Brien again answered in the affirmative. He consulted his notes.
“On 10 May Roberta Wirth took a taxi to 412 Plaza Drive. The taxi was met by and paid for by the l'Éclat model known as Nikita. They went to dinner at One Water Street, and returned to Plaza Drive at 8:45 pm. Mrs. Wirth was put into a taxi and returned home. They have met at Nikita’s residence three times since then, on 13 May, 17 May, and 22 May. Each time Ms. Wirth left Nikita’s apartment she was carrying bags of what appeared to be clothing and other gift items.”
“She’s scamming her,” Michael surmised shrewdly.
“It appears so,” confirmed the detective. “Nikita opened a joint checking account at Wells Fargo Bank in the names of Roberta and Nikita Wirth on 4 June, with a beginning balance of $5000. The account now has an overdraft of $128.52.” He flipped his notepad over. “Nikita has also purchased a used car for her mother, as well as a television, a VCR, and a microwave.”
“Nikita needs to be loved by her mother. She may feel like she has to buy this love, but she is not stupid. She is being conned big time, and part of her probably knows it.” Michael narrowed his eyes. “From what you’ve told me, Roberta is not that clever. She has to have someone helping her. See what you can dig up,” he instructed the detective.
He handed O’Brien their prearranged fee, then left the restaurant where their meeting had taken place. He was about eight blocks from Plaza Drive now. The temptation to see her was overwhelming, but he fought it. Nikita had forgotten him and moved on with her life. He would try to protect her interests, but he could not interfere in her personal life, especially as he had a wife and son of his own back in Marseilles. He summoned his driver and reluctantly headed toward the airport and back to his own life in France.
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