Chatterbox Chimp
When Britt Pepperidge was divorcing her husband, she fought tooth and nail for custody of the couple's daughter. The judge, like most people, felt little Tatiana belonged with her mother, believing by reason of her sex alone that Britt would be the better parent for the four-year-old. The young mother's maternal instincts, however, had never fully developed. If truth be told, she didn't even care for children much, not even her own. The only reason she sought custody was to spite her husband, Noel, who doted on the little girl.
There was really no need for the bitterness Britt harbored toward her former husband. Noel Pepperidge hadn't been abusive, unfaithful or neglectful. Nor had he broken her heart, for Britt never really loved him in the first place. The two married when they were only eighteen, just months after high school graduation. Naturally, people warned both of them of the pitfalls of marriage at such a young age and advised them to wait. Noel, though, was afraid the beautiful girl he loved would slip through his fingers if he procrastinated. Britt accepted his proposal simply because getting married seemed preferable to going to a trade school or, worse, getting a job.
At first, the marriage—to everyone's surprise—appeared to be a good match. The teenage couple's happiness seemed complete when eighteen months after their wedding Britt learned that she was pregnant. Noel was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father, and once his young wife was past the morning sickness of her first trimester, she was happy, too. Oddly enough, it wasn't the idea of having a child that pleased her. It was all the attention she received because of her condition. Lazy by nature, she enjoyed being pampered and having people wait on her, and she took full advantage of her family's concern for her health and the baby's well-being.
Unfortunately, the special treatment the expectant mother had received abruptly ended when Tatiana was born. Suddenly, attention was being lavished on the infant, not the mother. No one seemed to care anymore that Britt wasn't getting enough sleep at night, that she could no longer fit into her pre-pregnancy clothes or that she felt that, at the tender age of twenty years, her life was already over.
For more than two years, Noel put up with his wife's petulant moods, her constant whining and her incessant nagging until finally he couldn't take it anymore. When Britt refused to see a marriage counselor, her husband decided a divorce was the only remedy to their mounting problems. He owed it not only to himself but also to his daughter. He didn't want Tatiana growing up in a dysfunctional family. What he hadn't foreseen was the judge giving custody of the child to his wife. As far as he could tell, Britt didn't love the little girl—at least not like most mothers loved their daughters.
"I get to see my child every other weekend and two weeks during the summer," he complained to his parents. "It doesn't seem fair."
"Cheer up," his mother coaxed. "Britt will get tired of being a single parent. It's far too much work for her. Once she's had enough, you can negotiate a custody arrangement more to your liking."
Noel didn't doubt that his ex-wife would soon tire of her added responsibilities, but he hated the thought of missing a single day of Tatiana's childhood.
* * *
As Noel's mother had predicted, Britt soon regretted her legal victory over her husband. While the two were still married, Noel had done the lion's share of household and childrearing chores. After the divorce, Britt was forced to take care of the house, the finances and the baby on her own. It was a lot more work than she had bargained for.
In less than six months from the date of the final divorce decree, Britt voluntarily agreed to extend her ex-husband's visitation rights. Noel was delighted. Every Friday night he showed up promptly at 6:00 p.m. to collect his daughter and, to avoid potential problems with his ex-wife, brought the child home by 9:00 p.m. every Sunday.
Britt reveled in her added freedom. With Tatiana under her father's charge, she was free to pursue a social life of her own. One Saturday night she accompanied her sister, CiCi, to a local theater production of Hamlet, even though Britt didn't like and couldn't understand the works of Shakespeare. The acting was mediocre, and the sets and costumes were obviously designed by amateurs. Yet Britt took no notice of the play's shortcomings. She was far too entranced by the theater company's leading man.
"Who's playing Hamlet?" she whispered in her sister's ear.
"That's Ridley Cole. He's done a few TV commercials, but he's not much of an actor," replied her sister, a theater arts student at the state college.
"Who cares if he can act? He's gorgeous!"
"That's probably why the producer hired him," CiCi laughed. "He's eye candy, and—alas, poor Yorick—that always sells tickets."
Britt, who did not share Cici's high standards, enjoyed Ridley's performance immensely. In fact, she couldn't take her eyes off of him. It didn't matter that Shakespeare's lines were too archaic for her to follow, for the bard's immortal words fell on deaf ears. Britt was not the least bit impressed by Hamlet's soliloquy. Nor was she interested in Ophelia's descent into madness. Her only concern was in watching the male lead strut across the stage in black tights.
Finally, after Horatio bid his sweet prince goodnight and the play came to its tragic conclusion, Britt rose from her seat and headed toward the rear of the theater.
"Where are you going so quickly?" CiCi asked, trying to catch up to her sister.
"I've just got to meet him."
"Don't you even want to know if he's married before you make a move on him?"
"Not particularly," she replied, but moments later she reconsidered. "Well, is he?"
"No. He's not married or engaged. He's single."
Britt's hand froze in the act of knocking on the dressing room door.
"He's not gay, is he?"
The door suddenly opened.
"No, he's not" Ridley replied with a laugh.
Although Britt blushed with embarrassment, she managed to comment, "Thank God!"
* * *
The romance between the young divorcee and the handsome actor progressed rapidly. Unfortunately, it didn't appear to be going as far as Britt would have liked, which was all the way to the altar. Despite having survived one failed marriage, she had no qualms about entering into matrimony again, especially with someone as good-looking as Ridley Cole. The actor, on the other hand, embraced his bachelorhood as a drowning man would cling to a life raft. He had no desire whatsoever to marry. When it came to women, he preferred variety. Being married, he imagined, would be akin to eating the same meal every night for dinner.
After three months of dodging Britt's efforts to rein him in, the dashing actor decided to end the relationship altogether. Unfortunately, it proved to be more difficult than he'd imagined. A coward at heart, Ridley couldn't come out and tell her that he didn't love her and that he was already bored with her. He preferred to make excuses and tell lies, hoping she would eventually take the hint or lose interest in him. But Britt was persistent. She kept phoning him and showing up at the theater and at his apartment. Finally, Ridley shamelessly used Tatiana as an excuse for the breakup.
"Your daughter is an adorable little kid," he explained, "but I'm not interested in becoming a daddy."
"You don't have to be. When we get married, I'll give custody to Noel. You won't have to see Tatiana at all."
Ridley shook his head in exasperation.
"You just don't get it. I want to be an actor and hopefully get into movies someday. I don't want a wife, and I don't want kids—ever."
Britt heard the words but didn't quite grasp their meaning. To her, it was the child, Tatiana, who was not wanted, who was driving a wedge between her mother and the man she loved. It was Tatiana who was standing in the way of Britt's happiness.
* * *
Noel looked forward to spending the holidays with his daughter. Britt had agreed to let him have the child from December 23 through January 2. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he didn't question his ex-wife's motives.
His parents drove up from their retirement home in Florida to spend time with their granddaughter in Massachusetts. On Christmas Eve, they took the little girl to Chez Pierre where the entire family had brunch with Santa Claus. In the evening, they went to a candlelight church service, after which Tatiana went back to her father's house and hung her stocking on the fireplace mantel.
When Noel finished reading "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," he finally put his daughter to bed.
"You better get to sleep," he warned. "You've got a big day tomorrow. You'll have to open all the presents Santa will bring you later tonight."
The following morning Tatiana went downstairs into the living room where she found a mountain of gifts beneath the tree. After she finally opened them all, the family sat down to Grandma's home-cooked dinner. Exhausted, the little girl was asleep on the couch by eight o'clock.
Like all good things, the holidays were over too quickly. Before Noel knew it, New Year's Day was behind him, and he was standing on his ex-wife's doorstep, returning his daughter to her care. Tatiana was always sad to see her father leave. Silent tears slid down her cheeks.
"Don't cry, sweetheart," Noel comforted the child. "I'll be back next Friday night to pick you up. Maybe it will snow, and I can take you sleigh riding on Naumkeag Hill."
The little girl's face brightened, and she nodded her head eagerly.
"And if it doesn't snow, I'll take you to Chuck E. Cheese in Copperwell."
"Can't you see you're spoiling that child?" Britt asked irately.
Noel was no longer bothered by his ex-wife's outbursts.
"She's my daughter. If I want to spoil her, I will. I'll be back on Friday."
Britt hurried the little girl inside and slammed the door without saying goodbye to her former husband.
* * *
The following Friday, however, when Noel arrived at his ex-wife's house, no one was home. He rang the bell twice and then knocked loudly, but there was no response. He walked around the outside of the house, looking through the windows, trying to peer inside. Nothing seemed amiss.
Noel took his cell phone out, called his ex-wife's number and left a message on her answering machine, asking her to phone him as soon as she got home. Hoping Britt would return shortly with Tatiana, Noel drove to The Quill and Dagger bookstore where he sat at the coffee bar, drinking an espresso and waiting for his phone to ring. An hour passed, yet there was no word from Britt. He phoned the house again. There was still no answer, so he paid for his coffee, left a tip for the young man behind the counter and headed home.
When his cell phone finally rang at three o'clock in the morning, Noel jumped from his bed, his heart racing from having been awakened from a sound sleep.
"Hello," he said into the receiver.
There was no immediate answer.
If this is some damned kid making prank phone calls ....
"Noel?"
The voice was faint, but he recognized the caller.
"Britt, what's wrong?"
Silence.
"Is Tatiana all right?"
Noel was on the verge of panic. Why didn't his ex-wife answer him?
"She was taking a bath. I left her alone for only a few minutes to answer the phone."
Noel felt a gut-wrenching spasm in his stomach. He wanted to slam the receiver down on its cradle, to go back to sleep and wake up and find his ex-wife's phone call had been nothing more than a horrifying nightmare. But some perverse need to know the dreadful truth kept him on the line.
"Where is Tatiana?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion.
"She's dead. She drowned in the bathtub."
* * *
Noel stood in the foyer of D'Agostino's Funeral Home, flanked by his parents, steeling himself for the ordeal ahead. His mother was gently sobbing into a tissue. Noel's father squeezed his son's arm in a loving, supportive gesture.
"Take your time, son. We'll go inside whenever you're ready."
It was the moment Noel had dreaded: having to go into the viewing room and see his daughter's body. Mortician Vito D'Agostino solemnly stepped out of his private office, shook the mourners' hands and offered his condolences. The shattered father then turned to his parents and nodded. He couldn't put it off any longer.
The shock of seeing his beautiful little girl in her miniature white coffin, her eyes forever closed, her laughter forever silenced, shook Noel's very soul. He embraced his parents, and all three wept. After several minutes, he regained a modicum of composure. He walked toward the coffin and took his daughter's tiny hand.
His parents knelt and prayed beside the casket. A long-time agnostic, Noel envied the comfort their religion afforded them. Although they were both heartbroken, they no doubt saw Tatiana's death as a part of God's mysterious Master Plan. But as he looked at the painting of Jesus with arms spread wide as though welcoming all the little children to come unto him, Noel felt only blind anger. Why had this purportedly loving, merciful, omniscient God taken his child from him? Noel's heart nearly burst with grief as he remembered how gentle and affectionate his daughter had been, how she had so often looked at him with her blue eyes full of innocence and trust.
"Why didn't I protect her?" he sobbed as a wave of guilt washed over him.
"Tatiana's death was an accident," his mother assured him.
"There was nothing you could have done to prevent it," his father added. "You mustn't blame yourself."
Neither parent suggested that their son put the blame for Tatiana's drowning at the foot of the little girl's mother.
* * *
After the funeral was over, the mourners went to Britt's house where a caterer had prepared an elegant buffet. Many of the people who accepted the invitation were uncomfortable with the way their hostess was behaving: as though she were throwing a party rather than mourning her child. But then, not everyone expressed their grief the same way, they thought charitably. No one, not even Noel or his parents, doubted that she was bereft at her daughter's tragic death.
As Britt mingled with her guests, however, her thoughts were not on Tatiana. She had been trying to get in touch with Ridley Cole for several days but was unable to do so. Now that she was no longer bound to motherhood by an invisible umbilical cord, surely the handsome actor would return to her. After all, it was not Britt he had rejected but the unwanted burden of fatherhood.
Unlike his ex-wife, Noel was not in a very sociable mood. On the contrary, he wanted to crawl off to some dark corner, lie down and die, and hopefully catch up with his daughter's soul in the fabled bright light. But since that was an impossible dream, he went to the little girl's room instead.
The reaction to being in Tatiana's bedroom was bittersweet. Noel not only felt the piercing stab of grief and loss intensify but he was also bombarded by memories of happier days. Nearly everything in the little girl's room, including the Barbie bed set and the collection of Disney DVDs, had been gifts from her father.
Noel sat down on the bed, careful not to disturb the dolls and stuffed animals Tatiana had placed on her pillow shams. He picked up her favorite book from the night table, The Steadfast Tin Soldier by Hans Christian Andersen. Why had his daughter liked that particular story? he wondered. Why hadn't Tatiana preferred Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty or one of the many other fairy tales where the heroines lived happily ever after? Perhaps even in her youthful innocence, Tatiana had known it was all a lie. No one lived happily ever after outside the pages of books. In real life, there were no fairy tale endings, not even for beautiful princesses—wasn't the tragic death of Diana Spencer proof of that?
As Noel examined his daughter's belongings, he couldn't help feeling that he'd been cheated. He would never experience Tatiana's first day of school, never play the tooth fairy when she lost her baby teeth, never teach her to ride a two-wheeler, never walk her down the aisle, never do the millions of things a father hoped to do with his child.
The grief became so unbearable that Noel had to leave the room. As he crossed the floor to the bedroom door, however, he spied Tatiana's favorite toy, the Chatterbox Chimp he had given her for Christmas. His daughter loved the plush toy so much that she slept with it every night since he had given it to her.
Noel took the stuffed chimpanzee into the living room where Britt was still playing happy hostess to the gathering of mourners. Everyone turned in his direction when he entered the room.
"What are you doing with that thing?" Britt asked.
"It was Tatiana's favorite toy."
"Was it?"
"Didn't you know that?"
Britt ignored his question and turned her attention back to her guests.
"That was not a rhetorical question," Noel shouted. "Didn't you know this talking chimp was our daughter's favorite toy?"
"No, I didn't," she admitted, feeling neither guilt nor sadness that she hadn't really gotten to know her little girl.
"You should have! You should have known and sent the toy to the funeral home along with her clothes. We should have put it in the coffin with her," Noel cried, finally breaking down in tears, despite his monumental effort to remain in control. "She should have it with her, so she won't be all alone down in the ground."
Other people in the room—both men and women—began crying.
"Stop it!" Britt said between teeth tightly clenched in anger. "Don't do this now."
"Why? Are you afraid I'll spoil someone's good time? For Chrissake, Britt, this isn't a cocktail party."
"Then stop acting like a drunken fool."
"Oh, am I behaving inappropriately? Excuse me, but I don't know how I'm supposed to act at a time like this. I never buried a child before, although you seem to be holding up very well."
"You sanctimonious bastard," Britt cried, reaching out her well-manicured hand and slapping her ex-husband across the face.
Father Ferris Bridges, the minister who had officiated at the couple's wedding, Tatiana's christening and, finally, the little girl's funeral service, stepped forward and tried to diffuse what was in danger of becoming an extremely volatile domestic situation.
"Tatiana wouldn't want to see you two arguing," he said soothingly.
"You're right, Father," Noel said, finally backing down.
"Is that a Chatterbox Chimp?" the minister's wife asked, trying to distract the bereaved man. "Our grandson wants one for his birthday. How does it work?"
"There's a miniature tape recorder inside, run by batteries. When you press the paw right here," Noel explained, demonstrating as he spoke, "you activate the recorder. You then press the buttons on his stomach, to rewind the tape and play it back."
When he pressed the PLAY button, his daughter's voice filled the room.
"I'm gonna teach you a song, Mr. Chimp. 'Old MacDonald had a farm, e-i-e-i-o, and on this farm he had a ....'"
"Shut up, you stupid little brat!"
It was Britt's voice on the recording.
"I'm tired of hearing you sing that ridiculous song."
The mourners turned to stare in shock at their hostess. What kind of mother would talk to a small child like that?
"Turn it off!" Britt ordered, but Noel refused to obey her command.
"I'm just teaching Mr. Chimp a new song, Mommy."
"Well, I don't want to hear it. Put that damned toy away and go get undressed. It's time for you to take a bath."
Britt tried to wrest the stuffed monkey from Noel's hands, but he firmly held onto it.
"Come on, Mr. Chimp. It's night-night time. After I take my bath, we'll go to bed."
Unintentionally, Tatiana began singing again. Then the sound of a scuffle ensued. The listeners could overhear the little girl crying, begging her mother not to hurt her.
"Hurt you? I ought to kill you. If it weren't for you, Ridley and I ...."
The hysterical mother finally managed to get the talking toy from her ex-husband and proceeded to rip open the back and remove the batteries.
"You killed her!" Noel charged. "You murdered your own daughter."
Britt vehemently denied his accusation and angrily threw the stuffed toy at her ex-husband.
"You're talking nonsense. I never touched her."
"Daddy?"
A collective gasp came from the mourners. Chatterbox Chimp was speaking with Tatiana's voice despite the fact that Britt had removed the batteries!
"Daddy?"
"It's me, princess."
"Mommy hurt me, Daddy. She put me in the bathtub and held my head under the water."
"No!" Britt screamed. "That can't be Tatiana. She's dead."
"Yes, and you killed her."
As though the demons of hell were at her heels, Britt Pepperidge ran from the house and out into the street. She had been so eager to escape the damning evidence of her heinous crime that she failed to check for oncoming cars.
* * *
Noel stood in the foyer of D'Agostino's Funeral Home. Just days earlier, he had stood in the same spot and shaken the hand of the same mortician. On this occasion, however, he was led to a different viewing room where a larger coffin was on display.
As Noel looked down at his ex-wife's body, he felt no grief. In fact, he felt nothing—not anger, hatred or even the satisfaction of knowing his daughter's cruel death had been avenged. There was only emptiness inside him, a black hole where his soul had once been.
Later that day, Noel returned to his apartment where, on his living room sofa, he saw the Chatterbox Chimp, which he had taken home with him the day of his daughter's funeral. The sight of the stuffed animal brought tears to his eyes.
"Don't cry, Daddy."
Noel's heart lurched.
"Tatiana?"
"I've come to say goodbye, Daddy, and to tell you that I love you."
"Tatiana, don't go!"
Although Noel's hands trembled as he fumbled with the toy, he still managed to find the control buttons. He pressed REWIND and then PLAY as he held his breath in anticipation. There was nothing but white noise on the tape. Chatterbox Chimp mutely stared back at him through plastic, sightless eyes.
"Goodbye, Tatiana," he cried into the silent, empty room. "I love you, too."
I once had the idea of marketing Chatterbox Cats, but you-know-who convinced me how disastrous that might be!
