Chapter
17
We
were in the apartment over the flower shop when I told Marlo
I loved her and that I loved Candy too. She broke down and cried and I was ashamed
when she said, in her little voice, “If you love Candy I’ll learn to live with
it, even if I don’t like it.” I told her that Jeannette wanted me to tell her
I didn’t love Candy and she became furious, and told me to leave.
That
evening, Jeannette agreed to meet with me again and talk about it. I took her
to the Bird Cage and we sat in the same booth McClenden
and I had sat in when he told me that Marlo had been
gang raped.
I
admitted that I was incapable of lying to Marlo and
that I had told her everything. Her eyes flashed in anger and then were philosophical
and finally sad.
She
said, “I should have known it would come to this.”
“Everything
will work out,” I said, reassuringly.
“You
fool,” she said, looking at the table, but her voice was soft and almost tender.
My
pride was hurt and I stifled the reflexive, angry feeling that rose up to cover
the pain.
She
said, “I was wrong.” and looked up at me, resigned. “You were right to be honest.
I was dreaming.”
“At
least I told Marlo I love her.”
She
put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Her dark curls fell onto
her cheeks. She said, “I need a drink.” The dark mascara shadow was painted
under her lower eyelids again and she seemed infinitely beautiful and yet not
beautiful at all. Her upper body twisted suddenly towards the bartender behind
her and I was lost for a moment in the shimmering light and shadow of her hair.
Holding her fingers in a victory sign, she ordered two Manhattans. The bartender
came over and asked for my ID even though I was certain that he recognized me.
Sweat broke out on my forehead as I dug my wallet from my back pocket and handed
him my driver’s license.
After
he left, she raised the glass to her lips and drank ceremoniously. “For starters,”
she said, placing the glass in front of her like a little shield, “it’s my opinion,
and I admit it is only an opinion, that your mother killed your father.”
I
snorted, “I guess I’ve never thought of that.” I paused and looked into her
eyes to see if she was serious. She was. I said. “You know how I feel about
my mother.”
“Not
exactly.”
“She
loves me in Christ.”
I
was offended by the edge of white teeth that appeared through her parted lips.
Then her face softened and she sipped from her glass.
I
said, “Women aren’t good mothers just because they’re born female. I forgive
her.”
“For
murder?” Her voice was sardonic.
“For
not being a good mother.”
She
said, “Forgiveness is the message of Christianity, isn’t it.”
I
assented with my eyes but the thought of my mother killing my father was absurd.
She
added, “Hatred destroys the hater and love exalts the lover. Why can’t those
goddammed Christians learn the message of their Savior?”
I
said, “I don’t know.”
“She
killed him.”
I
felt my heart beating. I asked, simply, “Why?”
“Your
mother was the only person who knew that I was planning to run away with your
father.”
I
blinked. She took my hand, moved by my sudden emotion.
I
asked, “How did she find out?”
“I
don’t know. But one thing she didn’t find out was that I was pregnant with your
father’s child.”
I
stared at her.
She
said, “You think I’m crazy don’t you?”
“Tell
me why you think my mother killed him. What is the evidence?”
“Your
father and I planned to run away with Candice and Marlo.”
I
stared in disbelief.
She
said, “We were 22 years old. We didn’t know anything.”
I
tried to say something moralistic, but I couldn’t form a sentence.
“Robert
Hollyfield was a mistake for me and Rhonda Bradford
was a mistake for your father. We loved each other.” She fixed her eyes on mine
again. “He loved me Brad.” Her voice vibrated with emotion. I watched as she
regained her composure.
“The
plan was for him to meet me and Marlo at a restaurant
in
“What
happened?”
She
stared at me with wide eyes.
“Tell
me, what happened.”
“She
went down on her hands and knees and raved like a madwoman. I was paralyzed
with fear. I couldn’t move.” She looked into my eyes for a few silent, terror-filled
seconds and then emptied her glass.
I
said, “My mother’s like that.”
She
said, “Rhonda never knew that Candice was your father’s daughter. Hollyfield
doesn’t know either.”
The
bartender was laughing in the dark, behind her. He was standing behind the bar,
about twenty feet away, holding a glass up to the light in one hand and a white
towel in the other. His head was moving back and forth and his eyes were closed.
Suddenly and improbably, it occurred to me that he might be crying.
“The
look on her face, the emotion in her voice. I had never seen her like
that before.”
“She’s
an evangelist.”
“Your
father loved me Brad. We planned it for a year.” A lone tear formed at the corner
of her eye. “And I’m sorry to say...” She looked around to make sure we were
alone. “... He hated your mother.” For the first time, I noticed a tiny mole
on her left cheek near her mouth. I found myself staring at the strands of hair
that covered her forehead and seemed to disappear into her dark, painted eyebrows.
“A
lot of people hate my mother.” We sat in silence for a moment. I asked, and
there was desperation in my voice, “Is Marlo my sister
too?”
A
sad smile appeared on her face. She put her hand on mine. “I didn’t even meet
your father until after Marlo was born.” She touched my cheek. “Marlo
is Robert Hollyfield’s daughter, all right. She’s
not your sister.”
“And
Hollyfield raised my sister, Candy, as if she were
his own daughter. Because he didn't know that she wasn't. And you are Candy’s
mother. At least he knew that.”
She
nodded.
“Are
my father and Hollyfield brothers?”
“Of
course not.”
I
shook my head in disbelief.
`
“I told you. Bob and Bill met on the Warner Brothers lot. They were stunt men
for Todd Hunter. They looked alike from a distance and people used to think
they were brothers but no one ever thought they were twins.”
“This
is beginning to sound like a bad novel.”
“I’m
telling the truth.” She signaled the bartender for two more Manhattans.
“Jeannette.
I’ve looked at all the evidence and I don’t see anything that even remotely
suggests that my mother killed my father. If you can think that Rhonda Bradford
killed my father why should I believe you when you say Candy is my sister?”
She
was silent and I thought she was weighing the possibility of not answering.
She said, evasively, “Your mother’s maid told the detective Hal Lipset
that Rhonda burned a lot of papers in the fireplace the day before we were planning
to leave. Hal couldn’t prove they were my love letters but he managed to retrieve
some charred pieces of paper that had my handwriting on them. And no one has
ever found the love letters”
“So
she was jealous,” I said, “and she burned them. So what.”
She
was silent.
I
said, “Well?”
“There’s
a lot of circumstantial evidence. Your mother’s psychotic
behavior that night for example.”
“Describe
it.”
A
look of terror came into her face and her eyes widened. Then a wave of panic
passed through my body as I contemplated the possibility that her suspicions
were true and that my mother really had murdered my father.
“Hollyfield
and I never slept together again after your father’s death, and we had horrible
fights.”
“Did
Hollyfield find out about your affair?”
“No.
But he must have known something, subconsciously at least.” She fixed me with
her dark, magnetic eyes. “After one of our fights he said I wasn’t a fit mother.”
“It
sounds like pure projection.”
“The
next day, Marlo disappeared. I became frantic and
went to see Rhonda because I knew she was the only person he would listen to.
She wasn’t home but the maid came to the door with Marlo
in her arms. She thought Rhonda was crazy too, I guess. Anyway, she dropped
Marlo in my arms and I ran. I stayed in
I
squeezed her shoulder. A pained, apologetic look came into her face. “I was
forced into it Brad.”
“Into
what?”
She
shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Drinking.” She
took out a Kleenex and wiped her face. “My face is a mess.” She blew her nose
and I helped her wipe mascara from her cheeks.
She
continued, “I descended into madness, for three years. Then, one night, Marlo was sexually molested by a trick.” Her mouth dropped
open and she looked at the expression on my face. It must have expressed horror.
“That was the night I stopped drinking. The next morning, I packed all of our
belongings into two suitcases and moved to
I
stared down at my empty glass. I felt very young and I didn’t know what to say.
“Rhonda
and Hollyfield never found me. I don’t think they tried very hard.
I think they were glad to get rid of me.” She looked into my eyes for sympathy
and then back at the circle of brown liquid. “Then you showed up.” She tossed
the remaining liquid into her mouth and swallowed with a grimace.
We
went to her apartment, had another drink and sat together on the couch. I said,
“I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble. I’m sorry I came into your life.”
“Brad.”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“Marlo
was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen before I met Candy.”
“So
you do love her.” She paused. “Your sister.”
“Candy’s
not my sister!”
She
sighed and closed her eyes.
I
said, “I don’t care about biology.”
She
opened her eyes and took my hands in hers.
I
said, “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do.”
She
squeezed my hands. She said, “The burden must be immense.”
“It
is.” I repeated her word, “Immense.”
She
pulled my hands to her face and kissed the back of one. Again, the absurd thought
was there that it was Jeannette I loved.
“Jeannette.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t
tell Candy or Marlo anything yet.”
She
was silent.
I
said, “I might never tell Candy that she’s my sister.”
“I
see your father’s face, when he was 22.”
“Will
you promise.”
She
said, “I promise. Come here. Put your head on my shoulder.” She opened her arms.
“Now, tell me why you don’t love my daughters.”
“Don’t
say that.”
“Marlo
told me.”
I
cleared my throat and said, coloring slightly, “Well, do you know Stendhal’s
book, On Love.”
“Didn’t
I tell you I was working on my Ph.D. in French, at
“Yes.”
“Well.”
I
stared at her, self-consciously and I couldn’t find anything to say.
“Brad.”
“Yes.”
“I
have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I
stopped believing Rhonda killed your father a long time ago. Something came
over me tonight, that’s all. Your face reminded me of your father I guess. Being so close to you. I don’t know. It all came back. All the poison and despair.” She kissed my hair. “I think its over now, for good.”
I
got down on my knees in front of her and put my hands on the couch, on either
side of her. “I have to tell you something too.”
She
stared down at me.
“I’ve
never in my life met women like you and Marlo and
Candy. What I feel for all of you is much greater than love. It’s beyond words.”
She
sighed. “I suppose you have such a great need to love and be loved by women
because of Rhonda.”
“What
do you mean.”
“What
I mean is, your mother has the soul of a timber wolf. Dr. Orenstein
said she was a psychopath. Your father agonized over leaving her because of
what he thought might happen to you.”
“My
grandfather shielded me from her and she wasn’t around much when I got older.”
She
looked down at me with tender eyes. “You don’t remember anything about me, do
you?”
“What
do you mean?”
“Didn’t
Dr. Orenstein tell you anything about me?”
“Yes.
A little bit.”
“Did
he tell you that I changed your diapers while your mother and my husband were
casting out devils and lining their pockets?”
“No.”
“Your
father and I thought they were funny at first, but they became a very bad act,
very fast. Did you know that the vice squad almost put them out of business
during that period?”
“No.”
“And
who do you think was your mother during that time?”
“I
don’t know.” I looked up. “I guess you were.”
She
smiled.