“Heather always had the gift. But the irony was she didn’t want it; didn’t want any part of it. The ability was thrust on her like a physical handicap. She once even said she would rather have been born blind than possess the ability to do alchemy. But too bad—that was her burden.”
Beatrice listened to Mills rattle on, half expecting him to start chuckling at some point, pat her on the shoulder, and say he was kidding—this was all a joke. But he didn’t and as his cockamamie story went on, she became more and more engrossed in it.
“She would never tell me how she did any of it, not that I would have understood or been able to duplicate the process even if she had. Heather said anyone can find and mix ingredients but the last most important element is the touch, whatever that meant. I asked if she literally meant physical touch but she said no, it was something far more abstruse than that. She made it plain that she didn’t want me to ask more about it.”
“You actually saw her do alchemy—change dross into gold?”
“Yes, twice. But there are different kinds of alchemy. Not just—”
“Can you tell me about them?”
Mills took a deep breath and both cheeks puffed when he let it out again. “The first time we made love we were fifteen. Heather’s father died when she was a child. He was a draftsman for an architectural firm. One of her prize possessions was an expensive Yard-O-Led mechanical pencil he owned. She carried it with her everywhere. That first night we were at her house because her mom was out playing bridge. The pencil was on the desk in Heather’s bedroom. I’d admired it earlier. When we were done, she excused herself and left the room. Before she did, she stopped at her desk and picked up the pencil. Then she smiled at me over her shoulder.
“A few minutes later she came back and said, ‘This is for you.’ She handed me a solid gold mechanical pencil, that mechanical pencil. She wanted me to have it as a keepsake of that night.”
“But how did you know it was the same pencil?”
“Bite marks. Her father chewed on his pens and pencils when he was working. That one was no different. All over the top of this beautiful heavy gold mechanical pencil were bite marks.”
The waitress brought Mills his glass of wine. Neither of them spoke after the woman left. Beatrice kept waiting for him to give her a sign—a smile or a wiggle of the eyebrows, something that said OK, I am teasing you. But his face looked even more serious than before.
“Heather had told me about the alchemy before but that was all—she never made a big deal of it. Only said she could do this weird thing and that sometimes her mother asked her to do it if there were unexpected bills to be paid; nothing more than that. When I asked what alchemy really was, she made up some kind of boring bullshit explanation that had to do with science and metal and math. But I was a boy and way more interested in her breasts than her math talents, so I didn’t ask again.
“She and her mother certainly lived modestly, just the two of them in their little house. God knows with that gift, they could have been rich as Croesus and lived a hell of a lot better than they did. But her mom didn’t want it. She had a job that made them enough money to live OK. Heather was very smart and got a full scholarship to the state university and then one to graduate school at the Colorado School of Mines.
“After a while we went our separate ways in high school although we always remained friendly and helped each other out when we could.”
“She didn’t stay your girlfriend in high school? She gave you her virginity and a solid gold pen as a thank you, but you left her? God, Mills, you were incorrigible even back then.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Wrong—she dumped me. Absolutely broke my heart, but she said she wanted to date other guys and play the field. Remember that old phrase ‘play the field’? I haven’t heard it in years, but those were her exact words when she told me it was over between us. Heather could be very cold and single-minded about things when she wanted. Said we’d always be friends but you know what that means, especially when you’re a teenager and a hormone rodeo.
“We traveled in different circles in school so I didn’t see her all that much after we broke up. Interestingly, she liked the wild crowd, the drinkers and druggers and bad boys galore. The kids who were always in trouble with the police or being suspended from school for doing outrageous things. One of Heather’s boyfriends was the first guy in our school to get tattooed. Remember, this was decades ago and back then getting ink was a pretty big deal. Anyway, she ended up with a reputation for many walks on the wild side by the time we graduated.
“She went to one college, I went to another, and that was that until a few years ago when she called me out of the blue. Said she needed a good divorce lawyer and had heard I was one of the best.”
“You are. I’ll attest to that.”
Mills stared at Beatrice a few beats too long before smiling and giving a military salute in thanks. It felt like he was looking for something in her face, something that was there but hard to find. She thought it was an odd reaction to her compliment.
“But here’s where the story gets interesting. A few days after we spoke, Heather came to my office. She looked pretty much like she did in high school, only thinner and more chic. My first impression was she looked European. I was sort of right because it turned out she’d lived in Russia for five years.
“We chatted a while about old times but it was plain she was just doing that to be nice. Eventually I said, Look, Heather, tell me what you need and let’s talk about it. She was getting divorced and asked to hire me because she wanted the whole process over as quickly as possible. I said fine—give me all the details, I’ll contact your husband and his lawyer, and we’ll get things rolling.
“She said no, she wanted to hire me to represent her husband; wanted me to be his lawyer. She already had one for herself and he’d agreed to let her find him one.”
Beatrice said, “I’m confused.”
“So was I, but those were the facts: She already had a lawyer for herself and was hiring me to represent her husband.”
“But, Mills, didn’t her husband want to find his own lawyer? Why would he want someone to represent him who was an old friend, an old boyfriend, of his wife?”
“That’s exactly what I asked. She said her husband was Russian and didn’t know a good lawyer here. Anyway, both of them just wanted the divorce as soon as possible and they had already agreed on who’d get what. They had no children so that wasn’t a problem.”
“That’s crazy! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Her husband came to my office the next morning. His name was Vadim Morozov. Kind of a nondescript-looking guy, you’d never notice him in a crowd—thin, maybe six feet tall, balding, a nice face but nothing special. He had a heavy accent but his English was almost perfect. The problem was I already knew he was one very bad character.
Heather had filled me in on him the day before.
“They met at a party her last year in Moscow. He told her he was a businessman, which wasn’t so far from the truth. He was in import/export but soon enough she learned that meant smuggling: cigarettes, liquor, stolen cars from the West, rare Tabriz and kilim carpets from Iran… the list goes on and on. Vadim was a very resourceful fellow.