Chapter
16
From
the Jung Institute, I drove all the way down
Jeannette
was sitting in front of the Fior d’Italia,
at a white-covered table that was in a row of tables along the sidewalk. I spotted
her before she saw me, and the expression on her uncomposed
face produced the same feeling that had led me to joke to Dr. Orenstein that
I had fallen in love with her. When she saw me, she waved and her wave reminded
me of Marlo’s wave, although I couldn’t say why.
She
said, “I was afraid you were going to stand me up.”
“I
couldn’t find a parking place.”
“Let’s
go sit in the park in
We
got up from the bare table and walked across the street. The vault of the sky
was still powder blue and the same misty gray obscured the horizon. A pleasant
breeze blew in from the
“I
was very close to your father.”
I
turned to her. “Dr. Orenstein told me that you had an affair with him.”
“Tell
me everything that Dr. Orenstein said about me.”
I
dropped my eyes. I was silent for awhile and then said, as if asking a question
“He said you were having an affair during the year before he was murdered.”
I looked into her dark brown eyes, searching for what it was my father had loved.
“Murdered?”
She asked. Her eyes were guileless and they startled me. She smiled and I colored.
I
added, “Earl said they never found the murder weapon.”
A
great tenderness came into her face.
I
continued, “I know that the body was never found. My mother even tried, once,
to imply that my father might not be dead, that he might simply have deserted
us, but my grandfather got very angry and she never said it again. My grandfather
told me that he drowned in the undertow off
“Yes,
we swam there often. It was considered dangerous but he was a very powerful
swimmer.” Her expression became abstracted. “Does Earl, have any idea who murdered
your father?” She pronounced Dr. Orenstein’s first name with a familiar tone.
She turned her face away and I felt suddenly alone, even abandoned.
I
followed her eyes to the pale, sun-drenched facade of the church. She pressed
her hands together, as if in prayer, and her head moved slightly, from side
to side. She closed her eyes and her lips moved imperceptibly. I was plunged
into a kind of apprehensive sadness and I said, “No, he doesn’t. Or if he does,
he didn’t say anything to me about it. Earl said that my grandfather didn’t
want me to know that the police had NOT ruled out murder.” My voice was suddenly
husky. After a pause I added, “Earl said I could look at the evidence and...”
I stopped in mid-sentence. Her face had turned back to me and it was strangely
happy, even ecstatic. I was overcome with emotion and sprang to my feet. I turned
my back to her and looked at the church again. I asked, without turning around,
“Do you know Hal Lipset?”
“Of
course. Hal and your father met during the war, in
When
I turned around, she was looking at the backs of her outstretched hands. I said,
“Hal gave all the evidence to Earl.”
She
placed her hands on the back of her head and pulled her arms back, causing her
breasts to push against her beige and white short-sleeved sweater. She closed
her eyes. “Brad.”
“Yes.”
Her
eyes remained closed while she said, “I want you to do everything in your power
to keep Salas away from my daughter.” She opened her eyes.
I
sat down and studied her face, looking again for the cause of her power over
my father. I found nothing but an improbable assemblage of curves and angles.
She
said, “Marlo thinks she loves you.” Her tone was incredulous and
mocking.
A
flash of anger went through me.
“Brad.”
“Yes.”
“When I found
out who you were it nearly drove me out of my mind. I’m still shaking.”
She
raised her hands to show me, but they were steady. She closed her eyes again
and shook her head.
I
waited for tears to fall but they didn’t.
She
opened her eyes and said, “I want you to stop seeing Candy.”
I
fell into a bottomless rage that was more like panic than anger, and my head
reeled. I stood up for the second time and turned in a crazy pirouette in front
of her. “Oh God, I feel sorry for you,”
“Tell
me about your relationship with Candy.”
I
watched her eyes closely as I described the farmhouse we had rented and the
land around it and how I had I promised to buy her a horse, even though neither
one of us knew anything about horses.
She
took both of my hands and pulled me toward her. The duplicity in her face caused
me to pull away. She said, and her voice was swiftly sad, “She cries in the
night. I can’t console her.” She sat there on the green bench, impassive, looking
into my eyes, and I suspected that she was thinking that I was too young and
inexperienced to know what love is.
I
had a sudden impulse to dominate her with a kiss. I searched her face for direction.
There was none. I said, “I can’t explain it. Candy’s like a sister to me.”
She
was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “
I
wanted to tell her to stop treating me like a child.
“Was
Anne your first relationship?”
“No.”
I stood up again. She stood up too. “I’ve been in love several times.”
She
looked away and said, as if she hadn’t heard me, “Brad.”
“Yes.”
“I
have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“It
might be ... difficult for you.”
Her
frightfully powerful eyes were on me again.
“Say
it.”
She
drew close to me.
“Anne
told Marlo that you raped her.”
I
drew back. My mind raced back to the night in the apartment with Anne. “Raped
her?”
“Would
you like to tell me what happened?”
I
explained what happened and when I finished, the far away look was in her face
again and her right hand rested on her cheek and her left hand rested, absently,
on my knee.
I
said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
We
walked, very slowly, arm in arm, on the circular path towards the church.
I asked, “Have
you ever been inside a church?”
“Of
course.”
I
was suddenly aware again of the great difference in our ages. I said, “Marlo
tells me you’re an atheist and a Communist.”
She
was silent. “My parents were Communists and I thought I had to be one too.”
“Oh.”
“I
was accused of being a Communist during the McCarthy period. When
I was in the Ph.D. program at UC Berkeley.”
“Ph.D.
program?”
“I
was studying French.”
“Marlo
never told me that.”
“Good.”
She smiled. “Then you don’t know everything about me.” We walked across
I
smiled stupidly.
She
tugged my arm, “Let’s go in.”
We
climbed the stairs and I opened the door for her and she went in before me.
We stood behind the last pew, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dark. At
the far end of the Church, a Priest stood at the altar in white cassock and
chasuble. At least fifty candles burned behind him while he spoke, in Latin.
Acolytes, bridesmaids and the parents of the bride and groom
crowded around him. The church was dark and about half full. To our right,
a boy of about five was standing on the seat and pulling at his mother’s dress
saying, “I wanna go home. I wanna go home.”
He pulled the strap of her dress off her shoulder. She bent over and whispered
something in his ear and pulled the strap back into place. He grabbed the strap
and pulled it down again. All at once, the Priest pronounced the couple man
and wife, and there was sparse clapping from the congregation. The bride, who
was blonde, gathered the dark haired groom into her arms and swept him up into
a mock passionate kiss. He pretended to swoon in her arms and the congregation
laughed. She had flowers in her hair, and the groom wore an enormous purple
velvet top hat, which had fallen onto the carpet when they kissed. He picked
up his hat and they walked, barefooted, down the aisle to the door. As they
approached us, I saw that her breasts were visible through the flower pattern
of her dress. She waved to me, thinking I was someone else and I smiled. Instead
of going out the door, they turned and circled the congregation.
We
went outside and Jeannette took my arm again, leaning against me as we walked
down the stairs. She said, “That was a surprise,” and looking at the long, white
limousine parked in front of the church, added, “I should have known.”
I
said, “Let’s walk.”
“Your
father and I walked these same streets after the War. They haven’t changed much.
We ate over there a lot.” She nodded towards the Ristorante
Fior d’Italia. She looked
up at me and smiled. “It’s funny.”
“What’s
funny?”
“You
move and talk like your father but your mother is the surface.”
“My
grandfather always said, to keep me humble, that I have my mother’s blocky,
peasant looks.”
She
squeezed my arm. “Her peasant good looks, you mean. But
your father.” She looked into the distance for a moment. “Your father
and Robert Hollyfield were two of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever
known. They were stunt men for Todd Hunter.”
“I
know.”
“That’s
why they looked so much alike and that’s how they met. On
a
“No.
The police can’t do anything.” I paused. “It’s up to me, I guess.”
We
stopped at the corner of
“What?”
She
looked away into the far away place again. “It’s just Marlo
and me.” Her face was open and defenseless.
I
said. “I feel like running.” I looked up the steep hill. “Stay here. Don’t move.
I’m going to sprint to the top of the hill.”
Her
eyes laughed. “Why?”
“Stay
put.” I said, tapping her shoulder. I sprinted to the top of
She
examined my arm. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s
nothing. It’s just a raspberry. I’ve had hundreds of ‘em.
Don’t worry. Let’s go back to the park.”
“Are
you sure?”
I
averted my face.
“Brad.
Your face is white. Are you sure you’re OK?”
I
said, “I feel weak. Let me lean against you.”
“I
don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
She
held me in her arms and I nuzzled my face against her thick hair. I whispered,
“Hold me.” Her arms tightened around my back.
I
said, “I’m beginning to feel better. My strength is coming back.” I kissed her
hair lightly and loosened my grip. “Thank you. I don’t know what came over me.”
We stood there in the street and she looked up at me like a concerned mother.
Her
expression changed suddenly and she said, abruptly, “Let’s go back.”
“All
Right.”
I
reached out my hand and she took it, giving it a little squeeze.
I
said, “I don’t know what to tell Candy.”
She
was silent.
I
said, “I’m very concerned about her.”
She
looked away and I felt as if she were hiding something from me.
“You’re
hiding something from me.”
A
playful smile came into her face. She said, “Why are you so sure of yourself
you crazy young.... Colt. Why are you so certain that you can stand the truth?”
“I
can stand the truth.”
She
looked at my forearm. It oozed blood, from the wrist to the elbow and was beginning
to burn.
“The
truth is that Marlo needs you.” She looked into my eyes. “Do you know that
she’s dropped her classes at
“Yes.”
I said. “Well, actually no, I didn’t know. I...”
“Anne is her only friend and Marlo’s not speaking
to her because Anne said you raped her and she refuses to believe it.”
I
shook my head in disbelief. “That’s absurd.”
She
looked into my eyes reassuringly. She said, “They haven’t talked in over a month.”
She lowered her voice. “And she doesn’t want to see you either, unless you stop
seeing Candy.”
“And
if I don’t stop seeing Candy?”
“No
woman will share a man with another woman.” She looked inwards and seemed to
doubt herself for a moment, but quickly regained her confidence and fixed me
again with her brown eyes.
“I
don’t know what to do.”
“Where
are you parked?”
“On
“Let’s
walk to your car.”
We
walked up the hill towards my Volkswagen.
She
stopped, and pointed to my car. “Brad. Your car!”
“What
about it?”
“It’s
sandwiched in. You’ll never get out.”
It
was locked between two larger cars.
She
asked, “Have you ever been to
“No.
Actually, I haven’t.” My mother had taken me to the top several times when I
was little and I was surprised that I hadn’t told her the truth.
“I
suppose spending all that time studying mathematics and playing ball, you never
had time.”
I
laughed. “Actually, I just remembered that my mother took me up there, once.
When I was 9 years old.”
Climbing
the winding, stone staircase, my legs got tired and I stopped to rest under
the low hanging branches of a Myrtle tree.
She
said, “Tell Candy the truth. Tell her you love Marlo
and...” She stopped herself in mid-sentence and grabbed my hands and pulled
me close to her. “Lie to her. Tell her you’ve left Candy. ” She dug her fingernails
into my wrists. I tried to disengage myself by pulling my arms toward me but
she didn’t let go and the force of her grip caused her body to move against
mine. Her face was only a few inches away from mine, and she repeated, in a
tense, loud whisper “Lie to her!”
I
said, “All right.”
She dropped my
wrists and backed away. “I’m sorry.”
She
looked down at my left wrist. Her nails had dug into it and blood had formed
along a small ridge of skin.
“Did
I hurt you?”
My
right forearm was bright red and the scratch seemed like nothing in comparison.
She
took my hands in hers. “You’re a mess.” She smiled. “For what it’s worth, I’m
a Black Belt in Karate and I’m dangerous.” She paused. “Marlo
said you beat up Candy’s pimp.”
I
nodded my head.
“You
almost killed him.”
“It
was for Candy.”
She
dropped my hands and looked up at
We
crammed into the elevator along with a German couple, their two small children
and a baby carriage. Their faces were red and they were sweating. I spoke to
them in German and the boy, about 5 years old, smiled at me. The two-year-old
looked at Jeannette, curiously.
I
asked, “In America on vacation?”
The
man smiled, startled that I could speak German. “Yes. We’re on vacation.”
“Where
are you from?”
“München.”
“I’ve
been there. It’s beautiful.” I guessed that everyone knew that
“If
I could speak English as well as you speak German!” It was the usual polite
flattery. We got out of the elevator and watched helplessly while his wife struggled
to get the baby carriage out of the elevator. As they walked away, I heard him
explaining the meaning of my last sentence to his wife and I realized that I
had made a ridiculous grammatical mistake.
“I
am impressed,” Jeannette said. “Just like your mother. She speaks how many languages?
... Ten?”
“Six.”
“Only
six.”
“Yes.
She said learning languages was a waste of time so she stopped learning them
when she was 30. She reads Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Latin and speaks Spanish
and German fluently.”
“It’s
just like your mother not to speak French.” She laughed and added, “Is it true
that you have her photographic memory?”
“She
doesn’t have a photographic memory. It’s just very good. I inherited her good
memory.”
“Your
mother was a bitch.”
“You
really hate her?”
“We
both loved the same man.”
“Tell
me about my father.”
We
leaned against the stone wall and looked at the
I
said, “I’m going to tell Marlo that Candy has gone back to LA and that I never loved
her.”
She
looked into my eyes for a long time and then turned and hurried towards