by Mary Leo
Ronzell unfolds a piece of white paper and asks Speck, “How did you feel after killing all those ladies?”
Speck looks up. No expression. Glass eyes. He shrugs and says, “Like I always felt…have no feelings…if you’re asking if I felt sorry…” He stares down at the floor for a moment, then looks back at the camera and calmly says, “No.”
My name is Pamela Wilkening.
I wanted to be a nurse for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid my favorite toy was a brand-new can of Band-Aids. My dolls served as patients and whenever I could get a friend or two to play with me, we always played ‘hospital’. I guess you could say I was obsessed.
My twenty-first birthday fell on August 2, a few days before our graduation. I couldn’t have been more pleased, except maybe if it fell exactly on the very day of graduation. What a way to turn twenty-one. Some people want to celebrate it at a bar. Not me. I wanted to walk up on stage at the Aerie Crown Theater and know that I was officially an RN. Nothing could have given me a better high.
Because graduation was close and I didn’t have to worry about it anymore, I finally agreed to go on a blind date with a boy named Mulehead. My friend, Sherry Finnigan, set it up. The four of us went to Riverview, an amusement park just outside of Chicago. We had the best time talking about cars, mostly. We must have gone on about a million rides and ate enough cotton candy to turn our stomachs bright pink. It felt great to get out with friends and have fun. I’d almost forgotten how.
Sherry and I used to have fun all the time until she got kicked out of our townhouse in March of 1966. She was a high-spirited kind of girl who never could adhere to the rules. I wanted to be more like her. Maybe that’s why we were such good friends, but I couldn’t risk some of the things she’d want me to do. Not that nursing didn’t mean a lot to Sherry, it did, she just had a different way of showing it.
Funny how things worked out. She looked at curfews and rules as obstacles to work around. I looked at them as guidelines that I had to adhere to if I was going to make a good nurse. Sherry had a way of sifting through the bull to get to the important stuff. I could never tell the difference.
I came home on time that night, in bed by curfew, like I did every night. Sherry drove off with her boyfriend and my blind date….
The next night, Richard Speck woke me around midnight, with a gun in my face, demanding money to go to New Orleans. I obeyed and gave him everything I had, but he tried to rape me. I spit in his face and told him I would pick him out of a lineup. That’s when he plunged his knife into my chest. I never got to graduate. Never saw my twenty-first birthday.
Sherry was accused of dating Speck, of bringing him into our townhouse. She never did. It was a lie, but the school expelled her anyway. Sherry never got to graduate, but she did get to keep her life.
Chapter Twenty-four
I sat between those bookcases until Speck stopped talking. Until the camera was turned off and taken away. Until the lights went out.
I sat between those bookcases hoping for the Captain to come back in and tell me the show was over. Tell me to go home. Tell me that everything would be good again.
I sat between those bookcases and waited. Waited to stop crying. Waited to stop shaking. Waited to stop feeling.
I sat between those bookcases while the earth kept spinning. While Speck kept breathing. While his evil heart kept beating and I stopped hating.
I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere during that time I let it all go. Pushed the hate out of my body, dumped it onto the floor and walked out into the cool night air. Just like that. Without decision.
I’ve been smiling ever since. Everything will be all right now. Everyone will know. Chicago will be outraged. They’ll want Speck dead. No more parole hearings. No brothers and sisters and classmates reliving the nightmare. It’s over. And it’s all captured on a thread of video tape.
On the drive back to the motel, I pull into a liquor store and buy a bottle of champagne, the kind that Mike likes to celebrate with after we close a big deal. I figure the guy ought to know. Deserves to know what he did. What I’m feeling. How after twenty years it’s all over.
I pass by a mall. Turn back around, park and run into Carson’s to buy a new outfit, complete with shoes, earrings, handbag and makeup. Tons of makeup: blushes and powders and red lipstick, bright red lipstick in five different shades. When I get back to my car I can hardly fit all the bags in the front seat. Hardly see through the rearview mirror, but I’m loving what little I can see. A new me.
• • •
“What’s the occasion?” Mike asks as I pour him a glass of Mumm’s and he sits down on my bed to get a better look. My hair’s all curly sweet, and I’m wearing a black dress that shows off every curve, earrings that dangle to my bare shoulders and heels that say ‘fuck me’ every time I cross a leg. The perfume, Opium. He can’t take his eyes off me. “Did we sign one of those Bible movies with a million extras or what?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just my way of paying you back for going into that room every day with Speck. I know how much it’s been bothering you and I owe you. After all, you were forced into it. And now that it’s over…it is over, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the Captain just has a few more questions he wants to ask Speck. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to wrap.”
“Good, then tomorrow I can start calling people. Maybe Carol Marine over at Channel Five, I like her…or Bill Kurtis at WBBM. One thing’s for sure, whoever gets that video, it’ll make their career.”
“Maybe no one will want it. It’s repulsive. That’s not even the word for it. It’s worse than repulsive. I don’t think I have the vocabulary to describe what I’ve witnessed in the last few days. You won’t be able to stand what he says and does. Maybe you shouldn’t even see it.”
I pour myself a glass of Mumm’s. “Good little Mike. Always playing my guardian angel. But I don’t need an angel any more. Already saw it. Today, up close, in the room. Couldn’t see you, though.”
He drinks down his glass of champagne and I pour another.
“What are you talking about? You were there?”
“Hiding like a little church mouse. Saw it all. That’s why I’m so happy.”
“He makes me sick and you’re happy? He’s a vile man.”
“Yep, and that’s good. Wonderful, actually. The more vile the better. In honor of the vile event, the release of the video, I’ve decided that we should celebrate. A sort of coming-out party for the truth.” Mike just sits there, staring so I continue. “You still don’t get it, do you? Poor, sweet, naive Mike.” I brush his hair away from his forehead. He pushes my hand away. Angry. “The world will finally know who that bastard is and they’ll have to take action. No more parole hearings. No more uncertainty as to who killed those nurses. No more trustees in a maximum-security facility. Everything’s right there in living color. Caught on videotape. All the answers to all the questions and you helped do it. You’re a hero. You and the Captain. Like you said, I owe you. Big-time. Besides I’ve decided that you’re right. It’s time for me to let Speck go and get on with my life. I can do it now…so,” I say, lingering on the word, teasing with my glance, “let me make it up to you. There must be some nice restaurant around here where the lights are low and the tables are set just for two. I’d like to buy you dinner. I’d like to buy you a million dinners.”
“That’ll do it. Dinner will wipe out the shit from my head.” He lets out a sigh. “Okay, where do you want to go?” he asks, plunking down his glass on the nightstand a little too hard. He gets up while looking down at himself. “I have to change. These clothes make me sick.”
“Great. I’ll make a reservation and meet you outside in, say, twenty minutes?”
Mike nods and leaves my room. So far, everything’s running on high speed. Couldn’t be better, even though Mike’s a little testy. He’ll get over it. Always does. Doesn’t like to pout. He’s really a good guy. And cute. Really cute.
I make a call to the front desk. A woman answers and tells me there’s a great restaurant about five miles from our motel called the Lamplight Inn. She’s eager to make the reservation for me. Probably thinks that I’ll take her to Hollywood just for making a phone call. Who am I to spoil her dream? I tell her to make the reservation for two, at eight o’clock. I figure by ten I ought to have Mike all wrapped up and under the covers. Looking forward to the excitement, I hang up the phone and take a peek in the dresser mirror, smiling a sugar sweet smile. All sunshine and innocence. What America loves. What Mike’s been waiting for. It’s all good times from now on.
• • •
The restaurant sits by itself behind a cluster of trees. Tiny white lights adorn the windows. The building is made out of stone with a huge iron lamp hanging from the peak of the roof over the front door. When we walk inside, I’m swept away by the romance of it: candlelight, soft jazz mingling with the whispers of lovers, tables separated by fountains or small trees, and flowers everywhere of every kind and shape. The back of the restaurant opens onto a garden with gazebo seating or seating under the stars. There’s an earthy fragrance to the place that heightens my sense of serenity, pumping into my veins like a drug. Everyone seems calm and smooth.
Mike takes my hand. I let him. All at once there’s a time warp. My mind plays a trick. I’ve jumped back to spring of 1966, with Speck erased, and I’ve spun forward to 1972. I’m twenty-one. I’m in love. The world is right. The eight nurses are alive somewhere working hard at their careers, enjoying their loved ones, laughing with friends and I’ve just stepped into one of my Beatles fantasies. Ringo has taken my hand for the night. We’re lovers, he and I, this Ringo-type character, all smiles and charm.
The maitre d’ escorts us to our table out in the garden. As we follow him through the restaurant, a sense of peace washes over me. I’ve never felt such tranquility.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Mike says once we’re seated at our table. “And calm. That video mean that much to you?”
“You could say it freed me, but let’s not talk about it any more. It’s over.”
He smiles, but it’s a different kind of smile. Almost distant and not meant for me.
Under a massive willow tree, a three-piece band plays Misty, an old Johnny Mathis tune from the sixties, or was it the fifties? I can’t remember exactly. It was Sharon’s parents’ favorite song. It makes me think of hot summer nights, nights when I dreamed of moments like this, when I longed for them while staring up at a white full moon in a black sky, praying for a true love, yearning for his touch.
“How’d our extras do? I was a little worried leaving you alone with Vivian for so many days. How’d it go?” Mike asks.
“We’re not getting much done. Our stars keep blowing the scene. Don’t know which actor, but the inmates sure love all the jokes that keep flying. Jim and Arnold are hot. They should be doing stand-up somewhere. Thanks for the concern. As you can see I’m marvelous. In fact, I had a great day, today. Listening to Speck and knowing that it was all caught on tape made all the difference. I made some decisions after that. Took a little drive. Did some shopping. Bought this dress.”
“And did I tell you, you look beautiful?”
“Ah-huh. So do you.”
And he does. Too beautiful. It’s one of those moments when a woman looks at a man and sees all that he is. It’s in that moment, that instant, when she falls in love.
“Let’s dance,” I announce. Mike agrees. We get up and make our way to the tiny dance floor. He takes me in his arms and I’m breathless.
The garden is lit with soft pastels. More white lights twinkle in the moonlight, like a thousand fireflies dancing to the music. I’m filled with emotion and decide to go with the moment. “I used to catch fireflies and hold them in my hand with just enough separation between my fingers to see their glow and feel their tickle, then I’d let them go and watch as they drifted back to their friends.”
“I’d have loved to know you then. Be your friend. Walk over to your house and call for you. ‘Can Carly come out and play?’ All starlight and curls,” Mike says as he reaches for my hand, and wraps his thin, long fingers around mine, encircling my fears. I feel myself letting go. Feel the tears blurring my vision. Will it be just for tonight or will this last? It’s supposed to last. Tonight, I can pretend. Like I used to.
I turn my head so that he can’t see my face, nestle down on his shoulder and say into his ear, “You were one sweet little boy. I bet every girl in school wanted your attention. Who was your very first love? Somebody with long golden hair no doubt, freckles and a dimple in each cheek. Did you ever kiss her?”
Mike hesitates for a moment, leans back and tenderly cups my chin. Stares into my eyes. “Yes…once. She had a face that I’d die for and a smile that colored my dreams.”
I’m beaming.
He continues, “She had tears in her eyes. I wiped them away with my sleeve.” He pulls down his sleeve and gently dabs under my eyes. “I kissed her,” he leans over. We kiss. I can feel myself blush with excitement. Can feel the heat. “And I told her, I love you, but she didn’t hear me.” He slips my hair away from my ear and whispers. “Can you hear me now? Tonight? I love you, Carly Rockett. Always have.”
“Me too,” I tell him. I’m so full of emotion, words don’t seem like enough. A girl up on stage sings something slow and bluesy. Mike pulls me in close. We stare at each other as if we’re each trying to understand what’s happening. Time passes. I want to tell him that I love him. Use the words. But I don’t. Maybe I won’t sound sincere. Won’t sound real.
Still staring at each other like the scene from Houseboat, Cary Grant, Sophia Loren, when they suddenly realize they’re in love. Is it the same song? Same kind of moment? Can’t really understand the words, can’t hear the music. My heart is beating too fast. But Sophia and Cary were fantasy. This is reality…isn’t it?
Chapter Twenty-five
We made love that night in my room, up against the dresser, wearing most of our clothes. Couldn’t wait. The kind of lovemaking that makes you crazy, makes you want to yell. Fast and intense. Where you’re going to die if you have to wait another second, another moment without that person on you, inside you.
That was the first time.
The second time we were on the bed, naked. We took it easy then, moving to a slower tune, lingering on a kiss, noticing each move, each sound of preference. Afterwards we slept, huddled together in contentment.
The third time was early in the morning, just as light sneaked in through the sides of the curtains. The fun kind of lovemaking, laughing at each awkward nuance, teasing with a look, taunting with a touch. Easy love. Joking about some funny thing you remember about the night before. The truly intimate kind. Lovemaking that you reflect on later during the day and shudder with pleasure over the memory of it. The dangerous kind, where it gets under your skin and you can’t forget it even when you need to, even when you have to or it will own you.
“We better get going,” I tell Mike as I jump out of bed naked and stretch like a cat while standing next to him. It’s the way I want him to think about me later. One last memory for him to take along, like a boxed lunch. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today. And once I get that video I have to get started on those phone calls. The reporters are going to jump through hoops to get their hands on it.”
While I walk into the bathroom, Mike sits up in bed. “I don’t know, Carly. This whole thing could explode. The Captain’s messing around with some pretty nasty characters. He told me they expect money out of this.”
“Wasn’t that what Speck and his boyfriend were playing with yesterday? Seemed like a lot of money.”
“I don’t know where that came from. They just had it. Brought it in with them. The Captain never said a word about it. And they had a shit-load of drugs, too.”
“So, I’ll get a TV station to pay for it. They’ll jump at the chance.”
“And then what?
You going to hand some gang lord a stack of hundred-dollar bills? How’s that work?”
“Not my problem. My job was to get the camera, tape Speck in action—which you did for me, thank you—and bring the videotape out. That will all be done today. Mission accomplished. The rest, as they say, is history. Tiffany give you any problem about keeping the camera so long?”
“No. She’s been too busy to even ask for it. Do you really want to go back there today? You’re calm now. Happy even. More happy than I’ve ever seen you in months. Years. Maybe ever. I like you happy. Happy is good. Let’s keep happy and throw away sad. Why not take some time off? Vivian and I have a thing going. We’re in tune. We can handle the rest of the shoot. Go home. I’ll get the tape out and when I get home we can celebrate some more. I like the celebration part. Helps get rid of all the hate.”
I peek around the corner of the doorway wearing a towel, still brushing the last little bit of toothpaste out of my mouth, trying to remain sweet and calm. “I know you’re concerned, but I’ll be fine. Really. I can’t leave while the videotape is still inside. Once it’s out, I’ll be able to loosen up. Not now. Anyway, you’ll be busy for the next few days and no matter what you think this morning, you know Vivian is worthless anytime she’s around Arnold. You need me. Besides, now that you and I are sharing the same bed why would you want to send me away? I thought we were a team, a couple, Fred and Ginger, Bogie and Bacall.”
He doesn’t answer, instead he gets out of bed and comes into the bathroom. Walking past me, he steps into the shower and turns the water on. Mike doesn’t like to wait for the water to heat up. Likes the cold rush of it, wakes him up. He talks over the hum of the shower, “Fine, but I hope you don’t have any other plans for me. No more murderers to question in secret little rooms. No more sick answers to listen to. I’m done with all that shit. I want to forget about it now. Pretend it didn’t happen. I’d like the next few days to pass without incident. I can’t take anymore crap.” He pauses. “I want to be as serene as we were last night and this morning. This morning was very serene.”
