Generation of Liars

by Marks, Camilla

  “So you followed me because you were afraid I would go back to Pigalle?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want you getting involved in that kind of work again. That’s why I told you that you could stay with me as long as you need. I figured you must have run away from home and landed in Pigalle as a dancer, that’s why your lips always get wobbly when I ask you anything about home, because you’ve been hiding this from me. I didn’t want you doing anything desperate to pay the rent.”

  “Desperate?” I opened my mouth to correct Ben, to let him know I was never a sleazy dancer. Yet, it occurred to me that letting Ben believe that lie was probably better than letting him know the truth.

  “It’s okay, Alice, we don’t have to keep secrets from one another anymore.”

  “But I thought you were at the hospital? How did you even see me leave?”

  “I was at the hospital, but my shift ended early. They overstaffed us. I saw you leaving the apartment building as I was coming in. It’s been so unlike you to pry yourself off the couch lately, so I wanted to make sure everything was okay. That’s all.” He bent into me and kissed my forehead, and the kiss seemed to evaporate all my anger. “What were you doing out here, Alice? Out here in the cold without even a coat on?”

  “Don’t use that tone with me, Ben.” I let the tension renew in my voice.

  “What tone, Alice?”

  “The one you use when you talk to me like I’m a mental patient who just wandered outside in her bathrobe into the cold to chase a snowflake.”

  His eyes were going up to the sky, as if to pray away the frustration. “A bathrobe would be a marked improvement from what you currently have on.”

  “Yup, that’s the tone.”

  “I’m frustrated, can you blame me? Please just tell me what was so important you had to leave the house half-dressed.” He paused and ran his fingers through my damp hair, the ends were hardened like icicles. “And without even drying off from the shower.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Ben. I just wanted to call my family and say hello.”

  “But you could have simply used the phone in the apartment.”

  “I know I could have. But this is a tradition. I always call my parents from a phone booth in Paris on Christmas Eve.” I felt guilty about lying, but I knew Ben could never understand. Ben saw that my teeth were chattering and he took off his gloves and attentively placed them over my hands. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and we started walking back to the apartment.

  “I didn’t know you had a tradition, Alice. I’m sorry for worrying.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him. I sunk my chin into the warmth of his coat. “There’s probably a lot you don’t know about me.”

  * * *

  When we arrived back to the apartment, I slinked into the bathroom and reached into the linen closet and grabbed a towel to dry off my icy hair. I took a peek at the dynamite stick and stared at it for the first time with the understanding that it had no control over me now. I hadn’t murdered anyone. I could turn it over to the United States Government and go back to normal. As long as I made sure Motley was never able to hurt me again, first.

  When I popped out of the bathroom, Ben had an announcement. “Alice, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh?” I asked, tucking strands of loose hair into a ponytail.

  “I have decided that I want us to go out to the tree market near the Eiffel Tower and get a Christmas tree together so we can decorate it.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea.”

  Ben stretched out his arms onto my shoulders and stooped his knees so that he looked me in the eyes. “Will you let me give you some of my warm clothes to put on before we go outside this time?”

  “Sure,” I said, playfully squirming under his grip and turning my back to him. I led him by the arm into the bedroom. I climbed up onto the bed and crossed my knees over themselves and asked him, “What do you have for me?”

  He trotted to the dresser. “Aside from an elaborate and expansive line of high-fashion hospital scrubs, I do believe I have some stylish, yet leisurely, apparel for the fine lady.” He pulled out a wooly gray sweater and tossed it to me. When I slid it on over my shoulders, the sleeves were comically long on me. “Now for the bottoms.” He selected a pair of gray corduroy pants. “It says slim fit, so maybe that will help account for the vast size discrepancy.”

  I slid into the pants. “Belt, doctor. Stat.”

  He slid a leatherette belt from the dresser and I coiled it securely to my waist. He cocked one eye and planted his finger on his chin. “One more thing.”

  “Oh?”

  He pulled out a wooly hat that was charcoal gray and adorned with a fuzzy fabric pom pom on the top. He placed it on my head like he was placing a cherry on a sundae. It slid down my forehead and totally covered one side of my face. I wrapped my arms around Ben’s waist.

  He collapsed down next to me onto the bed and pulled me in. “Well,” he said, lifting his head from the kiss, “the tree market probably isn’t open all that late, plus we will want to rush if we plan on getting the tree back here and decorating it before I need to leave for my shift.”

  “You have a shift tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes, overnight, but I will be back in the morning. Then we can spend Christmas together.”

  We left the apartment and caught the train. I propped my chin on the seat headrest and watched the city streets zoom by. With Ben being gone later that night, I knew it would be the perfect opportunity to work out a plan to finally take down Motley and get back Rabbit’s money in the process. Then I would truly be free, once and for all. I smiled up at Ben. He stroked the hat away from my eyes and traced his fingers along the fogged-up glass.

  We picked out a little three-footer and dragged it home on the train, through the tight doorways of Ben’s apartment, and placed it in front of the window. It barely fit in the tight corner and its frond’s blocked the Ophelia painting that hung on the wall. I rummaged through Ben’s CDs until I found Christmas music and popped it in and let it play softly in the background as we decorated the tree. I strung popcorn and garland while Ben warmed cocoa on the stove. Ben snapped a picture of me smiling beside the decorated tree.

  “It looks great, Alice. It finally feels like home in here.” He put a warm mug in my hands.

  “It does feel like home, Ben, doesn’t it?” I smiled and took a sip. “I guess life is looking pretty good for us, huh?”

  “I’m glad you’re in high spirits tonight. There’s nobody I would rather spend Christmas with. I hope I spend all my Christmas Eve’s decorating a tree with you for many seasons to come. Do you feel the same way?”

  “Of course, Ben.”

  Actually, I was feeling a lot of different things. But in that moment, Ben was my home. I wanted to believe so. I wanted to believe it was true love. After the tree was done, I noted that Ben drew into a quiet disposition. Almost like he was watching me, monitoring me. I knew I couldn’t really blame him for worrying about me, after all, he had watched me be the poor weepy, depressed girlfriend who barely left his apartment for months. Then to find me, barely dressed, and wandering the streets of Paris in the snow. Now tonight I was all lit with excitement. Probably he was afraid I was having a breakdown and I would drown myself like the portrait of Shakespeare’s Ophelia that he loved so much.

  It was almost eight o’clock and Ben was chugging a cup of coffee before heading to the hospital for his overnight shift. I walked over to him and kissed him on the nose. “Love, do you have a Paris phone directory?”

  “It’s in the drawer beneath the sink.” He rubbed my arm tenderly before he would let me go and I reached over and ran my hand through his thick, brown hair. “Who are you calling?”

  “Still doing a little job searching.” I was padding over to the drawer. I put the thick directory down on the table with a thud. “I can’t mooch off you forever.”

  “Job hunting on Christmas Eve?”

  I opened the phone direc
tory under the letter T. “Getting a head start on my New Year’s resolution.” I scanned mid-way down the page and saw that Vivienne Ting had a number listed in Paris.

  “Very intrepid of you, Alice.” Ben was draining the last of his coffee into his mouth.

  I wrote down the number listed for Vivienne on a piece of paper, looking up when I heard Ben get up off the couch and walk into the bedroom to get dressed for his night shift at the hospital. I gave him a smile when he shuffled from the bedroom over to the bathroom, dressed in minty-green scrubs.

  “I can’t believe you got stuck on the overnight shift on Christmas Eve,” I called to him over the sound of water running from the bathroom faucet.

  “Don’t worry, Alice.” He was tapping his razor against the porcelain sink. “It will go by fast and then I will be back here before you know it to celebrate with you.”

  When Ben kissed me goodbye on his way out, I inhaled the smell of fresh shaving cream from his cheeks. As soon as the door was shut behind him I dialed Vivienne’s number. When she picked up I heard the searing bullets of Warcraft in the background, which meant there was a good chance Rabbit was with her.

  “Vivienne, it’s Alice.”

  “Alice?” Vivienne repeated my name with trepidation, like it was a forbidden word. After Vivienne said my name, I heard Rabbit’s voice bust into the background, yelling something about six million dollars, and then a nasty name for the female anatomy.

  “There was six million dollars in that bag?” I asked Vivienne.

  “Yup,” she replied, ever so mournfully.

  “Rabbit is still upset about the money, huh?”

  “Yeah, I mean it’s all he really talks about. He barely leaves my couch. It was a lot of money, Alice.”

  “What if I said I had an early Christmas present for Rabbit?”

  “A gift?” Vivienne asked. “Unless you have six million dollars sitting under your Christmas tree and tied with a big red bow, I doubt Rabbit cares.”

  “Vivienne, what if I told you that I’m going back to Motley’s house tonight and I’m not leaving without that bag of money?”

  “I would tell you that you’re insane, Alice.”

  “Just listen,” I pleaded. “I’ve had a lot of time to myself for thinking, and I promised Rabbit I would get his money back, and I need to uphold that promise if I want to ever truly be a good person.” I grabbed one of my cigarettes and stuffed it into the corner of my mouth. “You have to understand why I need to do this. I mean you’re the one who lectured me about what a self-centered person I am.”

  “I will admit, Alice, I’m impressed by your sudden burst of morality. But are you sure you really want to take this risk? Motley is overdue on killing you. The other times you got away were just luck, but this time I’m pretty sure he’ll gut you and string your entrails like tinsel over his Christmas tree.”

  “Thanks for the imagery, Viv.” I was bending to light my cigarette over the gas burner. “The thing is, I want you and Rabbit to come. I can’t do it without you guys.”

  “You expect Rabbit to go back into that house after he was shot and held captive in the wine cellar?”

  “If my plan works, none of us will have to worry about Motley ever again after tonight. You and Rabbit can run off into the ever-loving sunset with the cash.”

  “Rabbit really does want that money.”

  “So then it’s settled. You guys are coming along.”

  “We’ll do it. If I can convince Rabbit, I mean.”

  “Viva la Viv!” I cheered. “Listen, it’s almost nine now, so meet me at Motley’s house in thirty minutes. Just go to the bushes in the adjoining neighbor’s yard we used last time to scope things out.”

  “Okay. But it might take some convincing for Rabbit.”

  I assured Vivienne a few more times that six million dollars did buy a kind of happiness that was worth risking your life for. “Bring your ropes.” These were the last words I uttered before hanging up.

  Chapter Forty-four: The Hole

  THE COUPLE WAS lying side by side, shaded by the midwinter bristles of a rose bush. I startled them when a twig snapped beneath my heel. Two sets of wide, owlish eyes were primed on me.

  “You’re late,” Vivienne chided, “and you’re wearing the wrong shoes for this mission.” She was referring to the silver stilettos I was wearing. They had been the only pair of shoes I had at Ben’s. I had showed up with them the night I moved into the apartment permanently, right after Motley had gotten run over. One shoe had my confession note inside it, practically embedded into the sole from the mix of chlorine and sweat the shoes had endured. I thought the confession might be a good luck charm now that my secret turned out to be untrue. Now that I knew Heather Gilmore was alive.

  “I had to stop for cigarettes,” I replied. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Hello, Alice,” Rabbit said sardonically.

  “Are you ready for your stocking to get a whole lot heavier?” I asked. I was pounding a cigarette loose from the pack. “Six million dollars heavier, to be exact.”

  “The last time I schemed anything with you, the only thing that got heavier was my foot, from the addition of a lead bullet.”

  “By the way, how is your foot?” I asked.

  “It’s mostly healed. You were right about that doctor being very good.” Suddenly remembering how much he hated me, Rabbit’s eyes got cold again. “Vivienne says you called us here because you have some sort of plan to get the money back. So what’s the plan?”

  “Yeah,” Vivienne broke in, “Alice is going to get the money back just like I told you.” Her fluttering eyelashes targeted me. “Right, Alice?”

  “Just like I said, we aren’t leaving here without that money.”

  “How?” Rabbit was demanding to know. “I don’t see Motley willingly handing it over.”

  “Yeah, Alice, how?” Vivienne’s eyes were wide and fluttering, like those of a cartoon princess.

  “Motley had no idea I had that money on me when we showed up here to rescue you that night. He doesn’t know I dropped the money inside the hole. As long as he hasn’t had a reason to go down there since the day you escaped, there’s a good chance it’s still sitting at the bottom.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Rabbit said. “Do I have to remind you that we are about to step foot into the house of a man who freaking shot me once already?”

  “I have a way of taking care of him,” I said.

  “How?” Rabbit demanded to know.

  “Have you ever heard the expression ace in the hole?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s the strategy. Ace in the hole. Except we aren’t leaving this time until there is an ass in the hole. An ass named Motley.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Alice, back up,” exclaimed Rabbit. “Your grand scheme is to somehow lure Motley down into the hole in the wine cellar?”

  “Yeah, and then once we trap him down there I am going to call the U.S. State Department and tell them they can come pick up their trash.”

  “Pray tell, Alice, how the heck exactly are we going to lure Motley down there?”

  “It may need to be more of a push than a luring. I’m working it out in my head right now. What do you remember about the hole, Rabbit? How deep is it? Would a fall into the hole kill someone?”

  “Well, to be honest, Alice, I try not to remember my time in the hole very often. All I remember about the hole is that I was terrified and bleeding and that it was dark. Very dark. I was barely even conscious when Moonboots threw me down there. I had been shot, remember? The only time I was really awake in the hole was when you guys came to get me out of it.”

  “You don’t remember anything about it at all?”

  “Just that it was dark, oh, and creepy as hell. Did I already mention dark?

  “I think dark got mentioned already, yes.”

  He was scoffing now. “It does not sound like we have a plan at all. What we have is a terrible, half-baked scheme that is sure to ge
t us all killed.”

  “No, just hear me out.” By now I was pacing around and abstracting a mental image of the cellar in my mind. “Once we get inside the house, you and I will be visible and Vivienne will be the wildcard.”

  “Visible?” Rabbit interrupted. “You mean bait, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer him. I pointed at Vivienne. “Vivienne, you’re going to get into the wine cellar and crawl down into that hole and hide out. Meanwhile, Rabbit and I are going to lure Motley to the cellar. As soon as we get him within striking distance, that’s when you lasso the rope over Motley.”

  Vivienne pet the rope she was wearing stretched over her shoulders. “What do I do once I have him?”

  “You pull him down into the hole with you and tie him up.”

  Her henna eyes were bubbling as she envisioned the scenario. “So, let’s assume the plan works up until that point. Once I have Motley incapacitated, you want me to crawl back up with the money, right?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  A sigh flared from her nostrils. “Why do I have to be the one who goes down the hole? I don’t like holes. I had a bad experience with a hole once.”

  “Can the prima donna shtick, Vivienne. This is the plan.”

  The blazing glow of a pair of headlights cut across the length of Motley’s driveway.

  “Look who just got home,” Rabbit announced. His eyes followed the black Bentley zipping up the driveway. The overhead door lifted and the car disappeared inside.

  I was positioning myself to run. “Let’s see if we can beat him inside.”

  We ran through the yard and onto the two-tier palazzo-style patio in the back of the house. The exterior door led into the kitchen. Rabbit pulled a key ring from his pocket. “One of the perks of being Motley’s favorite all this time.” He unlocked the door and we rushed inside. We heard the sound of the garage door creak open and the sound of Motley kicking off his shoes in the entryway.

  “Faster,” I whispered. The three of us began jogging and made our way down the familiar hallway that led to the wine cellar. I carefully creaked open the door to the dimly lit cavern and we piled inside.