“It depends on who you hire to defend you. I want to think of who to recommend. But you should have the best. This is going to be a very big trial, and there will be a lot of sympathy for Solange. You've had a lot of press with your lady friends in recent years, Sam, and that is not going to help you.”
But Sam was shaking his head with determination. “I don't want someone else. I want you to defend me.” He looked up at Arthur and Arthur almost visibly shuddered.
“I can't do that.” His voice was a croak in the room full of echoes.
“Why not?”
“Because I'm your friend. And I'm not a criminal attorney.”
“I don't care. You're the best there is. I don't want anyone else. I want you.” His eyes filled with tears, it was all so horrible, it was beyond belief, but it was happening, it was real. He had made it real. He had made reality from a nightmare.
Arthur's face was suddenly covered by a thin film of perspiration. This was bad enough, but to defend him on top of it. He just couldn't. “I don't think I can do it, Sam. I don't have the experience in this field. It would be a tremendous disadvantage to you. You can't do this …”… to either of us … Oh God, please. He wanted to cry. But Sam was adamant as he looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“You have to. For me, for the girls … for Solange … please …” For Solange? Christ, he had killed her. But the worst of it was that Arthur knew Solange would have wanted him to do anything Sam wanted. He knew better than anyone how desperately she loved him.
“We'll both have to think it over, but I am convinced it would be a terrible mistake. You need the best, Sam, not a tax attorney you drafted into this out of some misguided allegiance. I can't do it! I just can't!” It was the most emotional Sam had ever heard him, but he still wanted Arthur to defend him. “But more importantly right now, is there anyone you want me to call for the girls?”
Sam thought about it and shook his head. There was no one they were close to, except Arthur, and the thousands of acquaintances they had had in the theater. But Solange had had no close friends. She had been totally involved in Sam's life, his children and his career. She never had time for anyone else, nor any particular interest.
“Any family I should call?” He knew he should know that after the years they spent in Europe together, but suddenly he couldn't remember. He knew Sam's parents were dead, but he couldn't remember if there was anyone else, some remote relative he should call, but Sam only shook his head.
“No one who would be important to the girls. There's my sister in Boston, but for God's sake, don't call her.”
“Why not?”
“I haven't seen her in years, not since before Hilary was even born. She's a real tramp. Just forget her.”
But Arthur couldn't afford to forget anyone now. Maybe an aunt was just what the girls would be needing. “What's her name? Just in case. You never know in a situation like this …”
“Eileen. Eileen Jones. She's married to an ex-Marine named Jack. And they live in Charlestown. But believe me, you'd hate them.” Sam stood up, and walked across the holding cell to stare out the barred window.
“I'm not planning to invite them down for the weekend, for chrissake, but right now a relative or two might come in handy.” He had three daughters, two of them practically babies, and he had no one in the world to take care of them except a nurse and a maid … and Arthur …
And then Sam turned to face Arthur again. “Can I see them?” His eyes filled with tears at the thought … his little angels … his babies … how could he have done this to them? He had robbed them of their mother, a mother who would have assured them of a happy childhood and a perfect life, a mother who never failed them in any way, who was always there for them, who gave them every kiss, every hug, every bath, played every game, read every story, and whispered with them when she put them to bed at night, with giggles and tickles and cuddles, and now … the very thought made him shudder. He wondered if he could even take care of them himself when he got out. But there was no point thinking about it. He would have to.
But Arthur was looking at him now. “Do you really want to see them here?”
“I guess not.” Sam's voice was the merest whisper. “I just thought … I wanted to try and explain … to Hilary at least …”
“You can do that later. Right now, we have to get you out of this.”
“Do you think you can?” It was the first time Sam had asked him that, and Arthur didn't like the prospect.
“I think someone else would have a better chance of doing it for you than I would.”
“I don't care. I already told you, Arthur. I only want you to defend me.”
“I think it's going to be a tough fight … for anyone … to be honest with you, Sam.” He hated to say the words, but he owed him the truth after all. “You'll have to plead insanity … crime of passion … you've admitted everything. It's all pretty cut-and-dried, and in the past few years you've gotten yourself a hell of a reputation.” It was true, they both knew that, and Arthur had always wanted to tell him what a damn fool he was, but for a different reason. He had hated him for hurting Solange, and so needlessly, but on the other hand, they were friends, and Sam's success had come so fast and hard that Arthur suspected it was difficult for him to deal with. He was only thirty-five now, and he had become a big star when he was only in his twenties. It was a lot to digest and a lot to live up to, and he had paid a price for it … but so had she … more than Sam ever knew. There was a lot about Solange he hadn't noticed, he was so wrapped up in himself and his career that in recent years he had become self-centered, and spoiled. Even his daughters seemed to know that. Alexandra had even said to Arthur recently, “We have to make a big fuss about Daddy when he's home, or he gets very angry. Our Daddy needs a lot of attention.” It was true, and Solange had explained that to them, teaching them how to stay out of his way when he was tired, or having them bring him little treats, like the chocolates he loved, or a plate of fresh fruit, and something cool to drink, or sing a little song she had taught them just for him. The entire household had been trained to revolve around Daddy.
And now they had lost both Solange and Sam. Arthur thought about it all the way back to the office that afternoon, after he left Sam. And on his own, he decided to call their godparents and see if he could arouse any interest. With Sam in jail, and Solange gone, they had no one now except Arthur. But the godparents they had chosen had been chosen for their important names and pretty faces, well-known actors most of them, and none of them had any real interest in the children. They were much more interested in talking about the news with Arthur, why had Sam done it, had he gone crazy, had Solange done something to provoke him, what was going to happen now, when was the trial … but absolutely nothing about the children, which left him right back where he started, as the only person they had to depend on, in Sam's absence. He was going to hang on to their aunt's name, just in case, but in the meantime, he was going to follow Sam's instructions and not call her.
The next thing he did was to check into Sam's bank accounts, so he could handle his affairs. And he was horrified at what he found there. The balance was infinitely less than he had expected. Sam spent everything he made, mainly on his life-style and his girlfriends. In fact, he had already borrowed ahead against future salary in his next play, and aside from the small amount of cash in his checking account, he was in debt up to his eyeballs. There was barely enough to pay the maid's and nurse's salaries over the next few months, until the trial was over. It was a hell of a spot to put the children in, and Arthur remembered Solange saying as much to him years before. She had always wanted Sam to think of the girls, and save some money. But instead he bought her diamond bracelets and fur coats, and God only knew what he spent on his other women. He was known to be a generous man, and he had never skimped on anything, once he could afford to. But now it left him with ten thousand dollars in the bank and ten times that in debts. It was amazing how little one knew about one's fri
ends, and Arthur wished he had talked to him more sternly years before. He had never realized that Sam was irresponsible to this extent, and now it represented disaster for his children.
Arthur had tried to talk to Marjorie about it, bemoaning the children's fate, and hoping to stir her sympathy for them. But he was disappointed to find she only had harsh words for them, making comments about their undoubtedly being gypsies like their parents. She seemed to have no compassion whatsoever for them.
But in the next few days he barely saw his wife. He had his hands full with Sam and the girls, the press constantly badgering all of them, even the children, and he had to make the funeral arrangements for Solange. There was no one else to do it.
The funeral was set for three days after Sam had gone to jail. She lay in state for two days, and on the third day, they held the service. And it was amazing to Arthur how many people came, mostly out of respect for Sam, but there were a great many people who had known and liked her. “She was a lovely girl …” he heard countless people say, “… absolutely beautiful … didn't know how lucky he was … should have been an actress too … always wanted her to model for me … wonderful with her kids … hell of a girl … lucky man to have a wife like that … she was French to her very soul … incredible girl … don't understand why he did it … she was crazy about him …” It went on and on, and Arthur sat in the front row, with the girls and their nurse, trying not to cry as they closed the lid of the coffin. Hilary sat very stiff next to him, and once she walked right up to it and stared down at Solange, and then she kissed her, and returned to her seat with a wooden look of grief, as though she were numb from the immensity of her pain, but she wouldn't let Arthur touch her. In fact, she wouldn't let anyone close to her. She only held tightly to Alexandra's hand, answering all her questions about why Mommy was sleeping in the box covered with white roses. Arthur had paid for all the flowers himself, he hadn't wanted to deplete their funds any further, even for their mother's funeral service.
Alexandra thought Solange looked just like Snow White after she ate the apple, and she kept asking Hilary when she was going to wake up … and if Daddy was going to come and kiss her.
“No, she's going to go on sleeping like that, Axie.” Her voice was very quiet as the organist played the Ave Maria in church.
“Why?”
“Because she is.” She shushed her. “Now be quiet.” She tightened her grip on her sister's hand, and her face went dead white as she watched her mother's coffin roll slowly past her. She stood silently, and then suddenly reached out and pulled two white roses from the heavy blanket of flowers that covered the casket, and handed one of them to Alexandra. Alexandra started to cry, and whispered that she wanted Mommy to wake up, and she couldn't breathe like that with the box closed. It was as though she knew her mother was dead, but none of them could face it. Even little Megan had begun to cry, as though she understood too, and the nurse had to take her outside where she could wail in the winter sunshine. It seemed incongruous to bury her on such a pretty day, but perhaps not … everything about Solange had always been filled with light and flowers and sunshine, from her flaming red hair to the brilliant green eyes to the lithe body that was always in motion.
Arthur took the children back to the apartment in the limousine, and then went to the cemetery himself to see that everything was attended to. And then he went to see Sam at Rikers Island. He brought him one white rose from the casket, like the one Hilary had given Axie.
Arthur looked very tall and thin and pale, as he entered the holding cell in his dark suit with his homburg in his hand. He looked like the messenger of Death, and in a way he was, as Sam looked up at him and trembled.
“I thought you'd want this.” He held out the white rose, and with a trembling hand, Sam took it.
“How are the girls?”
“They're doing very well. Hilary is keeping them all intact. It's as though she's taken on Solange's role, as their mother.”
Sam dropped into a chair and put his head in his hands, still clutching the rose Arthur had brought him, but it had the smell of death, and sadness, and funerals. There was no joy left in his love for her, or his life, he felt as though everything were over. And in an important way it was. He lay in his cell day and night, and thought only of Solange. Even his daughters seemed remote now. He wondered how much they would hate him in later years, when they discovered, and fully understood, that he had murdered their mother. It would make any kind of relationship with them impossible. Everything was impossible now. And life was no longer worth living. He had already said as much to Arthur, who told him he had to think of the girls now. He owed them everything. But what did he have to give? His debts? His guilt? His bad habits? His overwhelming remorse for killing the one woman he loved … he was certain they would never understand that.
“I've been thinking about the girls, Sam.” Arthur cleared his throat, praying that Sam wouldn't fight him. “I'd like to sell all of Solange's jewelry so that they have a little money to fall back on, and you're going to need quite a lot for attorney's fees, particularly if I can convince you to get another attorney. In my case, all we have to do is satisfy the firm for my time. I don't want anything out of it personally or directly.” The last thing he wanted was to make money for defending Sam. But he still didn't want to do it at all. Sam had killed the only woman he had ever loved and admired, in fact almost worshiped, and no matter how close they were, or how great the bond, it was going to be almost impossible for Arthur to defend him. He had tried to explain that to him, but Sam didn't want to hear it.
“What do you think about selling the jewelry?” He looked down at Sam, who turned to him with a deathly pale face covered with beard stubble.
“Fine. If it'll help the girls, get rid of it. Do you want the keys to the safe deposit box at the bank?”
“I already found them. Solange kept everything in remarkably good order.”
Sam only nodded, unable to answer him. It was hardly surprising that she had. She was a very remarkable woman. But they both knew that. And it didn't matter now … she was gone … in the box Arthur had watched them lower into the ground only hours before. The thought of it was still with him, and like the aura of sorrow around him, Sam could feel it.
“I'll take care of it this week.” He wanted as much money as possible on hand, for the girls, and Sam's defense fund.
The trial had been set for the following June, which was still months away, and Arthur wanted to be sure that there was no problem for the girls. And they were going to need money too for extensive psychiatric evaluations of Sam, Arthur was going to plead temporary insanity, which was the only possible defense, given the circumstances and his confession.
It was an endless period of time. The nurse they had was not particularly pleasant to them, Solange had never selected her nurses with great care because she was around all the time anyway, and it was she who took care of the girls whenever possible, so the charm and skill of the nurse was never very important. Christmas itself was a ghastly day. With both parents gone, the children already seemed like little orphans.
Arthur took Alexandra and Hilary out to lunch on Christmas Day, but it was more depressing than joyful. And Alexandra saw it. Her eyes moved seriously back and forth between the two of them and then she looked up at Hilary with sorrow and confusion.
“Why are you mad at Uncle Arthur?”
“I'm not.” Hilary kept her eyes on her plate and then glared briefly at her little sister.
“Yes, you are. You took your hand away when he tried to hold it.”
“Eat your turkey, Axie.”
Hilary seemed oblivious to the Christmas songs played by the violins in the Palm Court at the Plaza. She was lost in her own thoughts, and Arthur was sorry Marjorie hadn't come with him. She was having lunch at the Colony Club instead with another woman lawyer. And he had begged her to come, but she had flatly refused.
“I'm not interested in those children, and you shouldn't be takin
g them out either. You're not their family, they just have to adjust to the reality of their situation.”
“At eight and five years of age? It's Christmas, for God's sake. The least we can do is …”
“I don't want to hear it. If you want to play noble savior, don't drag me into it.” And with that, she'd left the room so he had come alone, with Hilary and Alexandra.
In fact Marjorie's adamant stance vis-à-vis the girls was only an extension of her dislike for the Walkers generally, and more specifically her disapproval over his frequent lunches with Solange. It wasn't that she was jealous. It was more that she disapproved of her fawning French ways, and the fact that Sam was an actor, no matter how successful.
Sam had no contact whatsoever with the girls that Christmas. He was not allowed to call them, and wouldn't have anyway, he was too depressed to think of anyone, except Solange and why he had killed her. He couldn't even bear thinking of the children.
Arthur had tried bringing photographs of them to Sam, but he was totally withdrawn these days, talking only of Solange and the past, and chronicling his sins and mistakes and transgressions endlessly. He was like an old man, whose entire life was behind him. And Arthur was having a hard time getting him interested in the case. He seemed to have no excitement about his defense, and often said that he deserved to be punished, which was hardly encouraging for Arthur.
The rest of the winter slid by agonizingly. Hilary seemed to be running the household more than adequately, and the younger children were doing well, although Hilary had a constant look of pain and anguish around her eyes, which frightened Arthur. But she wanted no comfort from him, in fact, since her mother's death she hadn't come near him. He reminded her that he was her godfather and that he loved her very much, but she stood politely listening, and never responded. She was an odd, distant girl, unusually quiet now that Solange was gone, and she spoke of her father as though she no longer knew him, as though he had died years before her mother. It was obvious that she was deeply affected by what had happened, and it was difficult to remind oneself that she was only nine years old. She seemed so marked by tragedy and it was painful to realize how much it had aged her.
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