The Jewel Box by C Michelle McCarty Page B

where he had managed several casinos. His wife Celeste owned an exclusive boutique near River Oaks, Houston’s most affluent neighborhood, thus left management of the Jewel Box to Beau. She preferred not to be seen anywhere near the place.
    After moving into an apartment as Carol Wood, I spent two wonderful weeks with Nikki. Beau came by for quick visits and taught Nikki card games, while offering me Larry McMurtry novels. Emerson was too esoteric, but I was diggin’ McMurtry. Beau also introduced us to Nora, an older lady who occasionally babysat his son, Gilles. Beau worshipped that boy, so I knew Nikki would be in competent hands. We went through trial runs, and as much as my daughter liked Nora, a day didn’t pass without her pleading to stay with Jimmy again. I finally gave in and took my unrelenting child to see her cousin the weekend before my scheduled return to work. Praying Wesley wasn’t lurking about, I crept through my sister’s neighborhood, eyes peeled for his red convertible. Despite my fears, bruiser Wesley never materialized and the cousins laughed nonstop for two days.
    Although Nikki was developing quite the melodramatic personality, she surprised me by not throwing a tantrum when I parked her with sixty-year-old sitter, Nora. After three weeks at work, I repaid Beau, bought nicer furniture, and put money aside for replacing my used car with a new one. But Saturday night of my fourth week dampened my spirits when I only made a hundred dollars. I needed a dependable car for driving late at night.
    With a sleeping Nikki sprawled across my shoulder, I was struggling to open my apartment door when Wesley came up behind me and shoved us inside, instantly waking Nikki. The creep had followed me from the Jewel Box to Nora’s, and then to my place. “Shhhh, Mommy,” Nikki whispered as she clung tightly to me watching Wesley’s every move.
    “I came to take you back with me.” His voice was eerily calm.
    “That’s not a good idea,” I said, trying to sound unruffled.
    “Don’t make me beg,” he growled.
    Nikki’s grip intensified.
    “Let me put her to bed. She’s tired.” My voice was shaky and I wasn’t sure my legs would hold up as I carried her to the bedroom, but I couldn’t allow her to witness any violence I feared might happen. It took forever to calm her to sleep, and then I tiptoed back into the living room.
    Wesley stood, looking fatigued. “We’ll pack tomorrow, and get on the road Tuesday.”
    My hands trembled as I picked up a note pad by the phone and used Nikki’s red crayon to write capital N, capital O, exclamation point!
    Wesley responded by ripping my phone from the wall, then holding a gun at my throat until I promised to accompany him back to El Paso. And marry him. Who could turn down that proposal?
    On Sunday Wesley used Nikki as hostage, making me pack belongings while he sat on my sofa watching sitcoms.
Love American Style
, indeed. Wherever he went, he kept Nikki within reach. Shortly after my Nova keys went missing on Monday, Wesley forced me to close my bank account. Guns are highly persuasive. When he took Nikki along to rent a U-Haul, I briefly attempted to reconnect my ripped phone cord before running to a nearby pay phone. Ellen wasn’t home. I called Mother collect.
    A.J. Foyt would’ve been impressed. Mother made the hour drive in forty-five minutes. When she knocked at my door and shouted my name, Nikki bolted from Wesley’s side. He grabbed me. I broke from his grasp, pushed Nikki into the bathroom and ordered her to lock the door. Instead of calling my name, Mother began a loud countdown threatening to call the police when she reached five. On her count of three Wesley opened the door, and she rushed inside displaying a forceful demeanor I had never seen in her. Wesley fell back on his acting career. So ingratiating he could’ve persuaded a Mormon to drink coffee with whiskey and denounce Joseph Smith, Wesley laughed as he told us there were no