by Joy Fielding
“Daddy!” she hears Julia cry with sleepy delight as he visits her room to kiss her good night.
Cindy feigns sleep as he creeps into their room and takes off his clothes, crawling in beside her without washing up. Even though he has undoubtedly showered before coming home, she can smell another woman on his skin. She moves to the far side of the bed, hugs her knees to her chest till morning.)
“Earth to Cindy.” A voice snapped at the silence.
Cindy turned toward the grating sound.
“My husband asked you a question,” the Cookie said.
“You called the police?” Tom asked a second time.
“Yes, I did. They should be here any minute.”
“Julia’s going to be so pissed,” the Cookie said.
“I don’t understand why you felt it necessary to involve the police.”
“What exactly is it you don’t understand?” Cindy asked her ex-husband, checking her watch. “It’s almost one o’clock. Nobody has seen or heard from Julia since yesterday morning.”
“She’s going to be so pissed.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No,” Tom admitted. “But …”
“But what?”
“You don’t think it’s a little early to be sending in the cavalry?”
“Did you know she broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Yes, I knew that. So what? Kid’s a loser.”
“A very angry loser,” Cindy said. “So angry he wrote a really scary story about a man who kidnaps his former girlfriend and tortures her to death.”
Tom waved a dismissive hand in front of his face, as if swatting away a fly. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“Really? Well, the police don’t think so. They’ve asked me for a recent photograph of Julia.” She patted the pocket of her khaki pants, tried not to see the pictures inside it.
“I still don’t understand when exactly you spoke to the police.”
“I’ll explain,” Neil said, motioning Tom and Fiona toward the living room. “You go find the photograph,” he directed Cindy.
“And what exactly is your part in all this?” Tom was asking Neil as Cindy left the room, running up the stairs, Elvis at her heels.
Cindy stood motionless outside Julia’s bedroom for several seconds, as if waiting to be invited in, Elvis’s tail slapping happily against the door. Her daughter wouldn’t like her snooping around in her room any more than Cindy had appreciated seeing Tom on the wrong side of her front door. How dare he come inside the house, make himself at home, bring that silly twit he married into her space, rub her nose in his new life—what was the matter with him? Did he think that just because he’d once lived here that gave him some kind of residual rights?
I make the money. I make the decisions.
Cindy took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. What exactly was she so angry about? The fact that Tom seemed so unconcerned about their daughter’s whereabouts, or the fact that he still looked so damned good, that despite the years and everything that had happened, he still had the power to make her go weak in the knees? “It’s not fair,” she muttered, turning around in helpless circles, trying to think where Julia might have stored her most recent head shots. Probably in the same place she keeps her address book, she thought, shaking her head, aware this was the second time this morning she’d invaded her daughter’s privacy.
“She’s going to be so pissed,” she told the dog in the Cookie’s voice, as once more, she rifled through the drawers of Julia’s desk. Getting pretty good at this, Cindy thought, counting three boxes of unused stationery, at least thirty black pens, several scraps of paper with nameless phone numbers scribbled across them, four unused key chains, two empty picture frames, a leopard-print chiffon scarf, a dozen matchbooks, and three unopened packages of Juicy Fruit gum.
No head shots.
She opened the closet, slapped at the size-two clothing dangling precariously from the wooden hangers, again rummaging through the stacks of sweaters piled carelessly on the built-in shelves, and straightening the shoes lined up across the closet floor.
No head shots.
She ransacked each drawer of her daughter’s dresser, suppressing a shudder when she came across Julia’s collection of sexy push-up bras and thong panties. Doesn’t she have any normal underwear? Cindy wondered, recalling the days of her own youth, how she hadn’t even owned a bra when she married Tom. Her sister, Leigh, who was several cup sizes larger than Cindy, used to tease her about her lack of endowment. “My breasts might be small,” Cindy had countered, “but they’re perfect.”
Now they’re just small, she thought dryly, closing the last of Julia’s dresser drawers, and looking out the front window in time to see a police cruiser pull up in front of the house.
The police had arrived at Sean’s apartment within twenty minutes of his roommate’s call. They’d listened with interest as Paul apprised them of the situation, told them that he’d asked Cindy and Neil to leave repeatedly, and that they’d refused. Cindy, in turn, patiently explained that her daughter had recently broken up with her boyfriend, Paul’s roommate, and that she was now missing. She and Neil had come by to talk to Sean, only to find Julia’s torn picture in his wastepaper basket and this alarmingly odious little story, she said, her voice cracking, her patience evaporating, as she thrust the offending piece of paper at the two police officers, and suggested they start combing the area immediately south of the King Sideroad for any abandoned shacks. “Hey, hey, hold on a moment,” they’d said, trying to slow her down.
“Slow down,” Cindy repeated now, falling to her knees and peeking under her daughter’s bed, the dog’s nose wet against her cheek. She saw an old electric keyboard and a new acoustic guitar, both covered in dust, which wasn’t surprising since Cindy couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Julia play either. She was about to give up in defeat, go downstairs and tell the police that Julia must have taken the head shots with her when she went to her audition, when she saw the large manila envelope peeking out from under the shaft of the guitar. “Perfectly logical place to keep them,” Cindy said, stretching to retrieve the envelope and opening it as the front doorbell rang. Elvis barked loudly in her ear, then ran from the room. “I’ll be right down,” she called over the dog’s repeated yapping.
“Hello, Officers. Please come in,” she heard Tom say, as if this were still his house.
Cindy pulled a handful of photographs out of the envelope, smiled sadly at her daughter’s beautiful face. She looks so radiant, Cindy thought, admiring the determination in her daughter’s eyes. As if nothing can stop her, as if nothing can get in her way. “Julia gives good attitude,” Tom had once remarked, and as much as Cindy hated to admit her ex-husband was right about anything, he was right about that. Julia stared back at her mother from the black-and-white glossy, her head tilted provocatively to one side, straight blond hair cascading toward her right shoulder, her skin flawless, with just the hint of a smile on her enviously full lips.
And yet Cindy knew that beneath all the bravado lay a bundle of insecurities, wriggling like snakes inside a canvas bag. Unlike Heather, who had the confidence but not the attitude, Julia had the attitude without the confidence. It was an interesting contradiction, Cindy thought, removing several of the head shots from the top of the pile to give to the police. She thought of the pictures in her pocket. Can’t very well show these to the police, she thought, removing them from her pocket and glancing through them.
“Cindy?” Tom appeared in the doorway, as if he’d been lurking there all along, just waiting for the right moment to pop into view. Clearly a man who understood the value of good timing, who knew how to make an entrance. “What’s taking you so long? The police are waiting.”
Cindy jumped to her feet, only to stand frozen to the spot, unable to move.
“What’s going on?” Tom said. “What are you doing?” He walked to her side and removed the pictures from Cindy’s hand.
/> “I found them in Sean’s apartment.”
“She looks pretty good,” Tom remarked casually.
Cindy shook her head in dismay. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Come on, Cindy. Lighten up. You can’t see anything.”
“You can see she’s naked.”
“You can also see she’s enjoying herself thoroughly.”
“Which makes it all right?”
“Which makes it none of our business.”
“She’s your daughter!”
“She’s a consenting adult.”
“Do you think I should show these pictures to the police?”
“Only if you want to cloud the issue,” he warned her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the police are easily distracted. One look at these and they aren’t going to take your concerns too seriously. I thought the objective here was to find our daughter.”
“So suddenly I’m not overreacting?”
“Of course you’re overreacting. It’s part of your charm.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t punish me for something that happened seven years ago.”
Cindy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You think this is about you? About our divorce?”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s about our daughter.”
“Our daughter who’s missing,” he reminded her, as if she didn’t know.
The air rushed from Cindy’s lungs. “You don’t think something’s happened to her, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Tom said evenly. “I think she just decided to get away for a few days.”
“Without telling anyone?”
Tom shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“She’s done this before?”
“Once,” he admitted. “She was upset about my getting married, so she took off, came back a couple of days later, apologized, said she’d just needed some time to get her head clear.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.” He reached over, touched her arm. “I know our daughter. She likes to stir things up a little. Like her mother,” he added with a smile.
Cindy looked toward the window. “You’re so full of shit,” she said.
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I still think we should wait until Tuesday before dispatching the troops, or we’re going to be awfully embarrassed when Julia comes waltzing home.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about being embarrassed.”
“Really, Cindy, your language.…”
“Fuck you,” Cindy told her ex-husband, watched him wince.
“Well, I guess there’s a certain comfort in knowing that some things never change.” He shook his head. “Look. Your accountant suggested I call Michael Kinsolving to see if Julia showed up for her audition. Who knows? Maybe she mentioned something to him about her plans for the weekend.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible. Come on, the police are waiting.” They were halfway down the stairs before Cindy realized that Tom hadn’t returned the photographs of Julia. She was about to ask for them back when one of the police officers appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring toward them expectantly.
Cindy watched her former husband smile as he slipped the provocative photographs of Julia into the pocket of his linen pants.
TEN
“MAYBE she eloped,” the Cookie was suggesting to the second police officer as Cindy and her ex-husband reentered the living room beside Detective Andy Bartolli. Detective Bartolli was the elder of the two men, and the stockier; his partner, Detective Tyrone Gill, was younger by a decade and taller by several inches. Both had necks the size of tree stumps.
“What did you say?” Cindy felt the sudden constraint of Tom’s hand on her arm, as if he feared she was about to throw herself at his wife’s head.
The Cookie tossed long red hair from one shoulder to the other. “Maybe she eloped,” she repeated, as if she really thought Cindy might not have heard her the first time.
Cindy stole a glance at the two detectives, sensing their interest already starting to wane.
There’s no urgency here, the looks they exchanged suggested.
“What makes you think she might have eloped?” Detective Bartolli asked.
“Julia would never elope,” Cindy interjected.
“Oh, please,” the Cookie said. “How many times have I had to listen to that stupid story about you and Tom running off to Niagara Falls without telling anyone? She thought it was so romantic.”
She did? Cindy fought back tears. Julia had never said anything of the sort to her.
The police waited as Tom called Michael Kinsolving, whose assistant said the famous director had left town until Tuesday and couldn’t be reached, although the assistant confirmed that Julia had indeed shown up for her fifteen-minute audition promptly at eleven o’clock.
After asking several pointed questions about Julia’s recent state of mind—Has she been depressed lately? How upset was she about the breakup with her boyfriend?—the policemen left with several copies of her head shots, promising to phone as soon as they spoke to Sean Banack. With Tom’s approval, and over Cindy’s objections, they decided to wait until after the long weekend before launching a more formal investigation.
“What now?” Cindy asked when they were gone.
“Try to relax,” her ex-husband advised. “Call me in Muskoka if you hear anything.”
“You’re going to the cottage?” Cindy asked incredulously.
“I can’t do anything here.”
“Julia’s fine,” the Cookie said with a yawn. “She’s a big girl. She probably just needed some time away from her mother.”
“Would somebody please get this moron out of my house?” Cindy pleaded, looking from Tom to Neil.
The Cookie turned a sickly shade of beige that perfectly matched her outfit. The dog started barking. “I think it’s time we left,” Tom said.
“Yes. You’re very good at that,” Cindy agreed, only half under her breath.
The phone rang. Both Tom and Cindy strode purposefully into the kitchen, colliding in the doorway as they reached for the phone. “Hello,” Cindy said, pressing the phone to her ear, her eyes warning Tom to back off.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.
Cindy’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “What makes you think something’s wrong, Mom?”
Tom rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. So that’s where Julia gets it, Cindy thought.
“A mother always knows when something’s wrong,” her mother said, and Cindy felt her heart sink, thinking of Julia.
“We’ll go,” Tom whispered.
“Who’s that?” her mother asked. “Was that Tom?”
“You’re amazing, Mother.” Cindy watched Tom usher the Cookie out the front door.
“What’s he doing there? Now I know something’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“No. Mom! Mother! Damn it!” She dropped the phone into its carriage. “Shit!”
“What’s up?” Neil asked good-naturedly, coming into the kitchen.
“My mother’s coming over. Sorry for the language,” she said, still smarting from Tom’s earlier admonition.
“What language?”
Cindy fought the urge to kiss him full on the mouth. “You should probably go.”
“I’m happy to stay.”
And I would dearly love you to stay, Cindy thought. “I think you’ve met enough of my family for one day,” she said instead, walking him to the door, thinking how his body contrasted with Tom’s. While both men were approximately the same height and weight, Tom had a way of overwhelming everything in his path, rather like Julia. Neil was more like Heather, an easier, more accommodating fit. “Thank you,” Cindy told him, both eager and reluctant to say good-bye. Talk about bad timing. “
I don’t think I could have managed without you.”
He smiled. “I bet you say that to all your accountants.”
Cindy reached out, touched his cheek. Beside her, Elvis growled. “Got a little more than you bargained for, didn’t you?”
“I’ll call you later,” he said, patting Elvis on the head.
She watched him back his car out of the driveway. “I won’t hold my breath,” she said wistfully, as his car disappeared down the street.
It was only then that Cindy became aware that she herself was being watched. She swiveled toward her neighbor’s house. “Faith,” she said, returning the other woman’s wan smile. “I didn’t see you there. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Faith Sellick was wearing a sloppy red-and-black-checkered shirt over a pair of black capris. A red ribbon dangled from her hair. “Lots of activity at your house today.”
“Yes.”
“I saw the police car.”
“It was nothing.”
Faith nodded, stared at the street.
“Where’s the baby?”
“Ryan took him to the office this morning.”
“That was nice of him. It gives you a chance to relax.”
“I guess.”
“It’s such a beautiful day,” Cindy remarked when she could think of nothing else to say. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she heard herself ask, realizing she was reluctant to go back inside the house, that she was afraid to be alone. Time alone meant time to think. Time to think meant time to worry. Time to worry meant time to imagine the worst.
“That would be nice,” Faith said, carefully measuring out each word. “Tea would be very nice.”
“Good. Come on over.”
She walks as if she’s asleep, Cindy observed, her eyes following Faith Sellick as the young woman floated down her front steps and along the sidewalk. Elvis ran forward to nip at her heels.
“Hello, boy,” Faith said absently.
“Come inside.” Cindy stood back to let Faith enter.
“This is really very sweet of you.”
