Keeper of the Keys

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  Of course, there was a problem. Leigh’s father, James Hubbel, didn’t like Tommy. Vain and poor, he called actors in general. Not marriage material, he would advise Leigh in private, away from Tom.

  “I do it for fun,” Tom said once at a family dinner with the Hubbels, oblivious to Mr. Hubbel at the head of the table, shaking his head with dismay. “What I really want is to go to Fiji or the Marquesas, find some peaceful spot, and set up a farm.”

  “How practical,” Mr. Hubbel said. He was smiling, not in a good way.

  Tom said, “No, Jim”-another provocation-“I’ve looked into this. You pay the government to lease lagoon space, hire a guy who knows how to seed the oysters, and you’ve got pearls. A whole world market. Or you could grow vanilla beans.”

  For a long time, Leigh thought Tom said these things to be provocative, and only as time went along did she pick up that, yes, he meant every word.

  “What if I don’t want to go to live on an island?” Leigh and Tom were swinging on the front porch glider at his apartment house on Balboa. They had just finished eating barbecue, and were preparing themselves for a walk on the beach by drinking beer. Kat sat on the steps painting her toenails.

  Tom kissed Leigh, then nuzzled her hair, saying, “That’s okay. There’s always a plan B.”

  “What is it?”

  “No idea. Whatever you want.”

  “You don’t even have a savings account.”

  “Money goes and flows too fast these days.” He waved toward the glowing sunset. “We’re doing all right, aren’t we?”

  But they weren’t. Leigh tired of the parties and Tom’s erratic, and to her, aimless existence. Between jobs, between auditions, he played volleyball on the beach or visited with his buddies while she slogged away, installing cabinets on construction jobs, the only steady paycheck.

  Leigh confided in Kat, “I can’t stand the way he just hangs around! He offered to get a real job the other day, but I know how that would go. He’d hate me in the end.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Kat had replied. “Oh, Leigh, I wish you had never hooked up with him. He’s so crazy about you. He’ll do anything you want, just so he has you.”

  “I don’t think Tommy knows what it means to be grown up,” Leigh had said, screwing in some private final screw.

  “You liked that about him.”

  “I turn thirty next month,” she said.

  Then she had met Ray Jackson. Leigh moved back to her folks’ house and dated both of them for a month. She told Kat she was breaking up with Tom before she told Tom. “Ray’s solid, creative, smart, driven. He’s like me. We’re both productive people. Creative.”

  “You said that as if Tommy isn’t?”

  Leigh flung a look at her full of heartache, angst, and decision. “Tom’s adorable, but he doesn’t care enough about what really matters. He’s not for me. Ray’s serious about life and so am I.”

  “Tom loves you!”

  “So does Ray.”

  “But-” But what could Kat say? “Don’t hurt him.”

  But the talk-or argument, whatever you wanted to call it-didn’t go well. Leigh told Kat some of the things she had to say when Tommy wouldn’t understand. They were cruel things, Kat thought.

  Kat worried, but she thought her brother would move on to another pretty girl as he always had in the past.

  But Tom did not.

  Acting like a man who had been hit by a truck and left to die on the road, Tom begged Leigh to come back to him and staged progressively more desperate scenes until Leigh demanded that he go permanently away.

  And so he did. Leigh and Kat had a fight the next day. Things were said, more cruel things, this time brought on by grief and guilt.

  And Kat thought, I have to stop now, stop thinking anymore about Tommy, about what I did to Tommy.

  She dropped off her notes at the office and got back on the freeway, heading north now, embracing the rush hour like a penance.

  Almost thirty minutes after Kat had arrived at the Jackson house in Topanga Canyon, at about five-thirty, a Porsche Boxster drove up, blue, waxed, carapace gleaming like a huge tropical beetle’s in the sun, windows shadowy. Rather than pull into the garage, the car pulled up beside Kat’s. A man got out.

  Tall, taut. Probably six feet two. Dark, groomed, no recession marring a noble brow.

  These fine details etched themselves on her mind. A veteran dater, she noticed his clothes, faded jeans topped with a designer shirt, quite formal, silk.

  And wow. Very good-looking behind the shades. He and Leigh would make a pretty pair. Kat was disappointed to see that he was alone.

  Ray Jackson did not appear happy. He stood by her car like a highway patrolman getting ready to ask for her license. She rolled her window down.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  “Hi. I’m-uh-an old friend of Leigh’s.”

  “You are?” He considered her, but not for long. The heat made his silk shirt wilt. “Oh, yeah, the one that’s been calling. And calling.”

  “But you never answer.”

  “We have caller ID. I answer calls from people I know. It’s hot. You should come in.” He turned abruptly, heading for the front door.

  She rolled up her window, adjusted a silver shade over the dashboard to fend off the fading sun, and followed him.

  They introduced themselves, and she walked behind him through the security routine into the marble entryway.

  She looked around. “Will she be home soon?”

  “That would be nice,” Jackson said. He took off the sunglasses, folded them carefully, placed them on the polished table. “You should have mentioned you’d be stopping by.”

  “I tried to. I would have, if you had ever answered your phone.” He waited for her next move, and she really didn’t have one.

  “I knew Leigh for years,” she said. She didn’t say, You stole her from my brother. Did Ray Jackson know that? Maybe not.

  “Apparently not so much recently.”

  “No.”

  “Why have you been calling? Why are you here at my house all of a sudden?”

  She felt herself blushing and did not have an easy answer. “My sister saw an article about a project you’re working on and we got to wondering about Leigh. I just want to see her. Am I completely out of luck tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I’m sorry.” He was relaxing a little.

  “Can I leave her a note?”

  “If you want.”

  “I just wanted to get it over with. Jacki talks me into these things-”

  “Get what over with?”

  Startled, she realized she had spoken out loud. “Seeing Leigh. We have old business between us. I decided to deal with it in an adult fashion, by confronting my demons.”

  “You calling my wife a demon?”

  “What? Oh.” Of course he was teasing, although he didn’t look especially amused.

  “What is it?” Jackson tilted window blinds on the main wall that overlooked the Pacific Ocean so that the raging sunset didn’t make it impossible to see. “Your business with Leigh?”

  “Unfinished business?”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “It’s complicated.” But she always tired of discretion fast. Blurting was her style. Another Buddhist precept said: Guard your mouth. No idle talk.

  “We were best friends.”

  “She mentioned you,” he said. A halo of orange-gold sunset silhouetted him between the blind’s slats.

  “She did?”

  “Said sometimes you’re too close to someone to stay friends. What do you think she meant by that?”

  “She knew I thought I was fat and that I stuck a finger down my throat if I ate too much for a while when I was fifteen,” Kat said, rattled. “I knew she fed the dog her oatmeal in the morning even though it gave him the runs, which made her parents insane. Her mom was really house proud.” She set her bag down on the marble dem
i-lune table, trying to imagine Leigh living like this, so pristinely. The Leigh she knew flung things and thrived on creative disorder.

  “I don’t think you’re fat,” he said.

  “Uh, thanks,” she said. He didn’t flirt exactly, but all this guy had to do was flash that straight line of perfect orthodontia and any girl might feel the wind unbuttoning her blouse. She slumped, letting her chest cave in just slightly, not wanting to give him-or herself-any ideas.

  “So you’re Kat. Leigh told me you’d dropped out of her life,” he said. “She told me she missed you. Called you her dark secret. What do you think she meant, saying that?”

  “No idea,” Kat lied.

  “How long since you last spoke with her?”

  “Six years.”

  “That’s a long time. Nothing more recent?”

  “No.” She couldn’t tell if he looked relieved or disappointed.

  “That’s how long we’ve been together,” he went on. He moved toward a wall, then pushed a button. A mahogany panel lifted, revealing a mirrored bar.

  “Nice,” Kat said. “Modern. I heard about you, before Leigh and I lost touch.”

  “Really? What?”

  She didn’t want to talk about Tom. She never liked talking about Tom. She liked holding him close to her heart. “Leigh was just getting to know you, in love.” It came out sounding accusatory, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  He nodded. “I fell hard for her, too,” he said. “Listen, I’m thirsty. Long commute. Can I get you anything?”

  “Got anything diet?”

  She followed him to the stainless-steel kitchen, to the fridge with its massive doors. He held up some cans and she chose one.

  While he filled a tall glass with ice and poured her drink, Kat let her eyes case the great room beyond. No sign of Leigh. The decor did not suggest a woman lived here. She took the glass he offered her.

  “When did you meet Leigh?” Ray asked.

  “She lived across from me in Whittier when we were growing up. We stuck together all through high school, and for years after college. Leigh was a kick, one of those people who say unpredictable things, plus she didn’t give a damn about current fads. She liked comics, and so did I. She liked fantasy rags, ditto. She liked me because-because”-she paused-“my family appeared normal, maybe. I had a sister and brother, and she had neither. Maybe she was a little lonely, stuck with doting parents.”

  “You lived in Whittier? Where?”

  “Near uptown, not far from Penn Park. Franklin Street? We spent all our time hanging around at the park, learning to braid lanyards out of plastic strands and tease the boys. Leigh called that hill where all the young lovers went ‘Smoochers’ Hill.’”

  He nodded. “I lived in East Whittier, once when I was young and then later, from the time I was twelve until I graduated from high school. My mother still lives there. You know I met Leigh at the shopping center in East Whittier? Whitwood?”

  “Eating ice cream, no doubt.” Without being fully aware of it, Kat had sat down on the white sectional that faced an expensive hill view darkening as night came on. Ray Jackson sat down opposite her, nursing his own iced soda.

  “I lived in a two-story frame house, nothing fancy,” Kat said. “Leigh lived in a huge Spanish mansion across the street. Her father was a policeman.”

  “He still is.”

  Talking about the Hubbels led them into talking about good old Whittier, California. Ray had gone to the same big high school as Kat, Leigh, and Tom, but he was three years older than Leigh. Well, Jacki would approve, Kat thought, looking around. Ray Jackson had also gotten the hell out of Whittier. He could probably see all the way across the hills and into her cramped place in Hermosa Beach through those wide windows.

  He seemed nice enough, although the look in his eyes was not exactly friendly. He was polite, too curious to throw her out, although she sensed that she should keep this visit short.

  Leigh was not here and wouldn’t be coming home tonight, that was clear. As for the rest of it, it was none of Kat’s business. She was beginning to suspect that Leigh had pulled another Leigh, dumped this nice guy and went off with another one. No mystery there.

  “So, I ask again, what got you here today? I mean, it’s been years, so you say.”

  Kat trotted out her excuse, explained about Leigh’s unpaid receptionist. “Unless Leigh wants to close up shop, you better pay that young lady.”

  He appeared relieved. “Sure, of course. Leigh’s taking a little time off. She must have lost track.”

  “The girl said that’s not like her.” But Kat remembered, in fact, how Leigh abandoned things. How she abandoned people.

  The room was getting darker, but he didn’t turn on any lights. He asked her about her work, where she lived, where she’d gone to college. Kat found herself admitting she lived alone and met men on the Internet. She knew she told too many people about these things in her life; she knew she did it so that she would appear bold and self-possessed.

  Men often reacted to these bald-faced admissions like wasps, swarming in close. Ray Jackson moved slightly closer, then drew back.

  So, he had become aware of the charged atmosphere and had the sense to avoid it.

  She knew from bitter experience that animal attraction between two strangers did not mean a man didn’t love his wife and wouldn’t continue to love her. Closing her eyes for one brief moment, she wished again she had better control over her body and her thoughts.

  She stood up, took her pen out of her bag, dashed a note off to Leigh, basically just begging her to call, then she shook Ray Jackson’s hand, made excuses, mumbled some more nonsense, and fled.

  7

  B ut her home in Hermosa would have to wait. The cell phone made its “ A1A Beachfront Avenue!” shoutout. “Jacki needs you to come over for dinner,” Raoul told her. So she kept going, starting to feel pretty beat up now, her back melding with the Echo’s seat as the miles in the car piled up. The moon hung like a gibbous pumpkin over the freeway. At least the traffic had cleared.

  Raoul answered the door. His glasses were crooked and her mother’s pear apron, well-splattered, was tied around his waist over a pair of canvas shorts. A fan whirred on the floor. “The a/c’s out. Jacki’s in the bedroom. See if you can do something for her. She won’t talk to me.” He padded behind the kitchen counter to stir tomato sauce.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Spaghetti cheers her up.”

  “Me, too.” She kicked off her shoes, and, going barefoot to the bedroom door, pushed it open.

  “Get lost,” said the voice within.

  Drapes darkened the room. Two fans blew toward the bed. Kat’s eyes adjusted and landed on her sister, who lay curled on one side on the mussed-up king-sized bed, face splotched with tears. “What’s the matter?”

  “I am a whale preparing to give birth to a whale. The only thing missing is the part where you float in water, weightless, and all’s well.”

  “Can’t get comfortable?”

  “My liver has merged with my stomach. My kidneys are squished between two sharp bones in my back. My heart is constricted to walnut-size. Food squirts up in acid form in my throat. On this, the hottest night of the year, our air-conditioning has quit.”

  “We should call your doctor.”

  “I did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “What she always says. It’s normal.”

  Kat took two pillows from the head of the bed. She tucked one under Jacki’s back, and another under her stomach. “Better?”

  “Kat, remember that time Ma asked you to stop at the store and buy some meat and instead you spent the money on a bouquet of daisies?”

  “I thought we needed them more.”

  “Well, this is like that. I need to give birth, and you bring me pillows. Still, it’s a kindness and better than Raoul could manage.”

  “He knew to call me, didn’t he? He does his best, Jacki,” Kat said.

&nb
sp; Which set off another spate of tears. “Of course he does. He’s great. Fantastic. I don’t deserve him!”

  Kat got up and went to the bathroom for a washrag. She soaked it in cold water, folded it over, and returned to place it on her sister’s forehead. “You rest. We’ll call you when the food’s ready.”

  “He’s messing up my kitchen in there.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Jacki groaned and closed her eyes.

  Kat went into the kitchen to help Raoul, which primarily consisted of wiping up after him.

  “Will she go back to work when the baby’s born?” Kat asked.

  “She says no,” Raoul answered.

  “Do they know she plans to quit?”

  “She says she’s got three months paid maternity leave and just wants to keep her options open.”

  “In other words, no.”

  Handing her four forks, he said, “Who knows? After a few months at home, she might beg them to take her back.”

  Kat pulled out place mats from the drawer and started to put them around, crowding the three into a corner of the large dining room table. “Set for four,” Raoul said. “Jacki insists she’s going to get up, and we have another guest.”

  Kat found another mat. “Who’s coming?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “You both know I hate surprises.”

  “Somebody Jacki dredged up. I mean, invited.”

  “Leigh?”

  “No, no. I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Tell me or I’m out of here.”

  Raoul untied the apron, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Setting candles on the table, he said, “It’s a guy I work with who she wants you to meet.”

  “My God, she’s crying all day, wailing all night, and she plans to roll out of bed just to set me up? Call him and cancel. She’s in no shape-”

  “She wanted to, Kat.”

  “Don’t tell me she enlisted you in this latest campaign to get me settled down.”