“No, Alice, that’s not it.”
It is it, Charlie. This is why your father kept it from you.
I don’t say anything.
“Alice, you followed my father. You knew he was seeing these girls. I asked you to follow them, only them, to get dirt on them, but you didn’t trust me and you went after him. My father told me. He recognized you. And you know how he recognized you? Not just because of your recent notoriety but also because you and my father know each other. Apparently, you went out on a date. You went out with my father and didn’t tell me.”
“I wouldn’t call it a date…”
Since when does a meeting with a mutual lack of interest become dating? Under that definition, Charlie and I have been involved in an intense affair.
Charlie ignores me.
“We were mutually uninterested. He was obviously mourning your moth—”
“Don’t say anything about how he mourned my mother. I will tell you how he mourned my mother.”
Charlie has tears in his eyes.
“Emily, my mother, was a social worker. She worked right up until she was so sick she couldn’t move. For the last eight years of her life, she had been helping girls in trouble. For the most part, they were prostitutes. Most of them had been abused or were drug addicts, and my mom helped them to transition out of their careers. For many, the change was easy. For others, it didn’t work. My mother had been working with Rosalie, Doreen, LaDonna, Trini, Carly, Justine, and Charisse and Oxanna right until the very end. And, for various reasons, they couldn’t make the transition. She couldn’t get them to quit. When she knew she was dying, she told my father that her greatest regret was that she had failed these women. My father promised her that he would do it for her. He would do whatever it took.
“Then my mother died, and my father was devastated, but he kept going. And he decided he was going to carry out my mother’s last wish. He collected her files and sought out these women. He obviously couldn’t communicate with them the way my mother had, but he went out with them. He paid them. He paid them to talk to him. There was no sex.
“He paid them a lot. And, as the police reports said, he got them appliances. The police reports failed to mention that he also got them books and job applications. He even helped Trini, Justine, and Oxanna to get their GEDs. He ultimately told each of the women who he really was and why he was doing all this.
“This was all happening while he was being investigated, but he didn’t care. He had made the promise to my mother, and he was going to see it through even if he went to jail. He was afraid that if he told the police what he was doing, they would throw the girls in jail.”
“But why did the girls rat on him? He was helping them.”
“They were scared. They were accepting his money, and they thought that if Murch found out they were taking the money without providing any services, she’d have her thugs take it all. Murch was tough on them.”
So Henrietta Murch was dirty!
“Why did he tell you this now?”
“He wanted to wait until everyone had quit the business and they were safe. LaDonna was the holdout, but she has finally quit. She’s moving to Washington to be with her aunt. Now that they’re all safe from Murch, he’s told the police the entire story. He would have kept silent forever, but he realized what this was doing to me.”
“Wow,” I say, “your father is a hero.”
“You say that now,” Charlie accuses.
“I’m not sure what you—”
“What? You’re not sure what I mean? You saw my father with these women. He saw you outside his apartment. He saw you when he was on one of his ‘excursions.’ He didn’t know why you were stalking him. He thought maybe you were in love with him and couldn’t take rejection. He saw you, Alice, at the hospital where my mother died. I can’t believe you fucking followed him to the hospital where my mother died.”
William noticed me.
“When he was convinced that you weren’t a stalker, he thought you were coming to him for help. He knew you were in trouble.”
“Walt—I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, but—”
“But what, Alice? What? You thought my father went to prostitutes—that he had sex with them. Even after I told you that it was impossible. You didn’t take me at my word, Alice. I have believed you from moment one.
“And then I think to myself, Okay, so she thinks my father is some kind of Eliot Spitzer, why wouldn’t she tell me the truth? I’ll tell you why. You thought I’d be so depressed that I wouldn’t help you, or worse, that I would kick you out. Or that I would think that everybody around me is a liar and then I would most certainly kick you out. I don’t know, Alice, if I would have done that stuff. But now I do know. You’re a liar. You lack moral courage. You can’t be truthful with anybody because then you won’t be able to get what you want from them.”
“I wanted to tell you, but you were so certain—”
“Certain? Certain of what?” Charlie is yelling now. “Certain that my father was a law-abiding citizen. Certain that my father, who I believed was a faithful and loving husband for thirty-seven years, wouldn’t date a girl young enough to be his daughter, or worse, step near a hooker. Wow. I must have been living in a bubble, Alice, to be so naive about my father.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” I’m trying to calm Charlie down. His face is purple.
“Alice, I don’t fucking care what you’re saying. Because it’s all a lie. A lie to get me to house you and help you. How do I know you didn’t fucking kill Polly Dawson? I wasn’t there. How do I know you didn’t kill Mona Hawkins? Because you were supposedly baking flirtatious cupcakes for me? How do I know you actually baked them? You could have bought those cupcakes. The fact is, Alice, I know nothing about you. I thought I did. I thought you were this delightful flower that had been waiting to bloom. As you stayed in my house, I added water and sunlight, and started to feel close to you.”
A blooming flower? He does love me. No man uses floral terms to describe a friendship.
“But no, Alice. You’re a weed.”
A weed! I can’t believe that Charlie just called me a weed.
“I want you to leave.”
“Where will I go?”
He’d better not say, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” The flower analogy was cliché enough.
“I don’t give a shit. Why don’t you turn yourself in? Maybe you should make today a lesson in honesty. If you’re innocent, the truth will come out.”
“The truth?”
“The truth,” he says. “Why don’t you try it?”
“Okay, Mr. Honesty. Here’s the truth. I went out with your father on a ‘date.’ I did it as a favor to Jean—while she was dating Hugh Price. He was wonderful. He seemed like a really nice man, a really nice father, in fact. He reminded me of my father. And that was it. He had no interest. I had no interest. And I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t worth mentioning, and all of us would have been embarrassed.”
And now for the hard part.
“I did follow your father. I followed him a lot. I saw him with one of those women on your list. I knew he was grieving. I know what grief can do. It turned my mother, my fantastic, loving, devoted, and responsible mother, into a zombie who ultimately remarried the first person she saw—despite his ambivalence about her kid. So, meaningless sex with anonymous people didn’t seem so bad to me. I admired your father no less. I am sorry about my intrusion at Sloan-Kettering, but I wanted to clear him for you. I wanted so much for him to be innocent. Not for me. But because I didn’t want to hurt you. Because, and here it is, Walter…”
I can’t believe what I’m about to say to him.
“Because I love you. I loved you when I first saw you in Professor Flatineau’s class at Harvard and then when I was a paralegal at Pennington and Litt. That’s why I gave you beads. And I quit after I gave you beads because I was mortified. And then, when you took me in, the shallow love I had for y
ou filled out and became a real thing.”
Charlie’s stunned. I haven’t spoken this many words in my entire stay.
“And another thing,” I tell him.
“What?”
“The name Walter doesn’t suit you. You should consider changing it.” I slam the door behind me.
I’m outside Charlie’s house now. I feel the way I did on New Year’s Eve. I have nowhere to go. Maybe Charlie’s right. Maybe I should turn myself in. Then the police would have the truth.
The problem is that the police are never going to believe my story. I don’t believe it and I lived it. They’re never going to understand why I followed Polly. I was in therapy the whole time and I didn’t even mention it to Dr. Moses. And as much as I’m disappointed in Charlie right now, I would never divulge to the cops that he’s my alibi for the Mona Hawkins murder. Despite his having thrown me out, I don’t want to get him in trouble. He let me stay with him for six weeks, and I can’t put his future in jeopardy simply because I don’t like the way he reacted to my withholding the information about his father.
Was I right about keeping the stuff to myself? In hindsight, no. Charlie says I lack moral courage.
Maybe he’s right.
I’m going back. Back to Mother’s house.
I still have the wig that Sophie gave me. The doorman accepted that I was an extra cleaning person when Sophie took me into the building with her. Most of the residents in that building have a staff. I put the wig on right outside Charlie’s house. It’s actually keeping my head warm.
I’m outside Mother’s apartment. I walk right in and nod, with my head already down, to the doorman. He remembers me from this morning and tells me to go on up. I get in the elevator and press the six. We live on six. Or I should say “they” live on six? I haven’t lived here for fourteen years.
I ring the doorbell. Sophie answers in less than a second. When she sees me, she tries to stop me from coming in.
“It’s not a good time,” she whispers.
I know why she’s saying this. Barnes is standing right behind her.
“Hello, Barnes,” I say.
“Alice, we’ve been worried sick,” Barnes tells me.
I skip the niceties.
“I’m here to see Mother.” I look right at him. “Don’t call the police.”
Mother comes running in. She’s crying.
“Alice. Is that you, sweetheart?”
“Hi, Mother,” I say. We hug. Mother continues to sob.
“I thought you were dead,” she says.
“We were worried sick.” Barnes actually looks relieved.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Sorry?” Barnes says. I can tell that he’s about to embark on a self-righteous monologue.
“Sorry? You disappear for months after police question you for your involvement in that poor woman’s death. You don’t contact us. We haven’t been able to function.”
“Why can’t you just say, ‘Alice, we’re so glad you’re okay?’” I say to Barnes.
“Naturally we’re glad you’re okay.” Barnes surprises me. “I’m elated, but I’m also angry. You could have called.”
I’m touched by Barnes’s concern. It seems legitimate.
“Barnes, I’m terribly sorry.” I turn to Mother. “Mother, I am really sorry for what I have put both of you through. I know that you’ve been crazed. But I thought it would be too dangerous to contact you over the past few weeks.”
Mother keeps crying.
“I know that you’re wondering what my involvement is in these two murders, and all I can say is that I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve been hiding out for a while, hoping that the police would find the real killer in the meantime.”
“The real killer?” Barnes says. He can’t possibly think I did this.
I ignore Barnes.
“And Mother. I’ll answer anything you need to know, but I’m asking you not to call the police. I just need to sort out a little information. Once I have it, I will go to them.”
Although Mother’s sobs continue, I can see that she is nodding in agreement.
“We most certainly will not agree to that,” Barnes exclaims.
“I wasn’t asking you,” I tell Barnes, dismissively.
“Well, what is to stop me from calling the cops?” he asks.
“Mother will stop you,” I say.
“What?” Mother stops crying rather abruptly.
“Mother will stop you from calling the cops,” I say to Mother. “She will because she owes me.”
I keep talking. I haven’t prepared this speech so it comes out a little weird.
“When Mother married you, I didn’t say anything. Because I knew that you had rescued her from terrible grief. I was aware, Barnes, that you didn’t like me. I don’t just mean that you didn’t want to take responsibility for me. You didn’t like me personally, which is weird because I had never had that effect on anyone in my entire life. But you loved Mother, and more important, she loved you, so I made a promise to my dead father that I would keep my mouth shut. I kept it shut through elementary school when you undermined me, I kept it shut in high school, I kept it shut in college when you kept Mother from visiting me. And I’ve kept it shut for the last ten years or so even when I see your eyes roll in my presence. But…”
I look at Mother.
“I’m not keeping it shut now. I figure my father will forgive me for breaking my promise under the circumstances.”
I continue.
“What I’m trying to say, Barnes, is that you can be a jerk. Despite this, I get why Mother loves you. You’re supportive of her career and you make her feel pretty, and necessary. I wish you would do the same for me.”
I turn to my mother.
“Mother. You’ve always told me that I’m too passive and that I need to learn passion. You paid for all of that therapy, and now, I think I know what you were hoping I would find. And I found it.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Barnes rolls his eyes. He was never a fan of therapy.
“No, not Jesus.” I am irritated. “Me. And Mother, when this is all over, I would love to tell you every delicious minute of the past weeks. But I ask you now if it would be okay to hold off on contacting the authorities. You say I never finish anything. Let me finish something. Let me clear my name. Let me do it. Give me two days. If I’m still number one on the most-wanted list, call away.”
“You’re not going to let her do this,” Barnes says.
“Yes, Barnes, I am.”
“Two days. She could be on another continent in two days.”
“Barnes. It has been seven weeks, and here she is in our living room. And she’s not here for money or help. She’s just here to check in.”
Barnes leaves the room.
By instinct, I am tempted to apologize to Mother. I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Alice, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Mother?” It comes out like a question. Am I in trouble?
“You look wonderful. Don’t tell my husband, but I’m very proud of you.”
I look at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. My wig is on crooked, and my face is a little dirty.
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Can I have twenty dollars?”
I’m out on the street again. I actually managed to get Barnes to leave the room. Mother is proud of me. Yay!
Reality check: I’m still on the run, and I have no place to live and only twenty dollars to my name. More important, my best friend hates me and Charlie hates me.
It starts to snow, and my wig is providing me with less warmth than Charlie’s hat. I need to be indoors. I run into the Barnes & Noble on Eighty-sixth between Lexington and Third. I realize I haven’t read a book in months. A distraction. I look at their new fiction. The store is doing a big-time promotion of The Golden Pillow. That was the book Polly was reading. The cover gives little away. The author is Ted Swinton. Ted Swinton? Where have I
heard that name before? Ted Swinton. I turn the book over. “Advance Praise for The Golden Pillow.” Hmm. The New York Times says that it is “haunting.” The Detroit Free Press calls it “astounding… a colossal effort.” The San Francisco Chronicle says, “Swinton may be the best novelist America doesn’t know about.” I scan down the back cover. I can’t afford to buy the book; I might as well see what it is about.
For years, Theo Barlow basks in the naïveté of youth. He is the star of his high school football team, the highest-ranking student in his class, and possibly the most charming teenager in the quaint little village of Melting, Connecticut. And then the morning he is to graduate from high school, he makes a gruesome discovery: On the night before he was born, his parents suffocated his brother.
Not a promising premise.
I look inside the book jacket. And I see a picture of the author. My first thought is that he’s cute. My second thought is that he’s gay.
I know him. That’s my third thought. I mean, I don’t really know him. I’ve just heard about him from Jean. Ted Swinton is Preston Hayes’s best friend. I look underneath the photo. It says Ted Swinton lives with his wife, Carolyn, in New York City. They have two bulldogs.
I’m dying to call Jean. I feel connected to her somehow through this picture of Ted Swinton. I open up the book and read the acknowledgments page. It looks as if Ted Swinton has thanked everyone he has ever met for helping to make his book possible. He thanks all of the publishing people, his agent, his parents, his wife, Hank and Frank (the dogs?), a bunch of other people, and finally a big thank-you to Dr. Michael Ledyard for “showing me the way.”
Dr. Michael Ledyard?
He’s the one I keep seeing on TV, saying he cures homosexuals.
Ted Swinton is gay. I knew it.
Why else would he be thanking him in the book? Thanking him for showing him “the way.”
I scan the acknowledgments again for Preston Hayes’s name. According to Jean, the two have been best friends for years. I think she said they were roommates at one time. I check the list several times, but Preston’s name is not on it. Maybe Preston isn’t really his name. I mean, who comes out of the birth canal with a name like Preston Hayes? He was probably born Egbert Jones or something. But, even if Preston were an Egbert, he would’ve told Jean. It sounds like they’re at the confiding stage. She certainly had no trouble telling him my little secret. He should tell her this one. I mean, if he’s so taken with her.
Following Polly Page 25
