Being Audrey Hepburn

by Mitchell Kriegman

  “Now, if you boys don’t mind explaining, what’s a good hand again?” I asked. ZK raised an eyebrow, as the boys interrupted each other trying to tell me how to play the game.

  An hour later, I had won four hands in a row, although I had to split the pot on a game of seven-card high-low. Brad had dropped twenty or twenty-five thousand, and ZK and I were up about seventeen thousand. My Nan knew how to hold ’em and fold ’em, and she taught me well. The trust-fund boys were no longer laughing.

  “Darlings, you have been too kind to me,” I said. “Thank you for showing me the game. Apologies for my beginner’s luck, but I’m quite exhausted. So if you’ll permit me, I’ll retire for the evening.”

  ZK scooped up our winnings with a satisfied grin. There was lots of mumbling around the table until Brad grew more vocal.

  “Come on, ZK,” he said, “she has to give us a chance to win our money back.”

  “You should be glad she’s quitting now,” ZK said. “If she stays at the table, you might just leave here tonight in a different tax bracket.” He slid his arm around my waist, which sent a shiver down my back, and escorted me from the table.

  46

  We walked outside to the terrace and leaned on the marble banisters, glancing out over the city.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, smoothly removing his jacket and placing it over my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It almost goes with your dress.”

  I laughed and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.

  “Where did you learn to play like that?” he asked.

  “My Nan.” I smiled, thinking that she’d love to hear all about my poker-playing prowess. “She’s a debutante card shark. I’m just a good student.”

  He slid out the wad of bills in his pocket and handed it to me.

  “No, I couldn’t—it was your money,” I said, trying to be cool about it, although I hadn’t picked up a paycheck in weeks. Tabitha said he didn’t have any real money. So what kind of money did he have? Just a couple thousand in pocket change for poker?

  “You should keep the winnings.”

  He peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills.

  “This covers my stake; the rest is yours.”

  “Thank you, but we did say fifty-fifty, right?” I cut the wad of money by half and handed it back. He hesitated for a second. “If you don’t take it, I won’t be your good-luck charm next time,” I added.

  “Yeah, well, you’ve got way more than luck going on,” he said and pocketed the cash. I stuffed the remaining $8,500 in my tiny cocktail purse as though it was a common occurrence.

  In that half-empty moment I secretly observed ZK. Although he was standing right beside me, a blank expression crossed his eyes, and he seemed like a forlorn little boy.

  I thought back to all the times I had seen him since that evening at the Met when I was outside the fishbowl looking in, a mere onlooker. I remembered even then, there was a moment where he was alone and detached as the cameras flashed around him. I remembered other moments like that; those tiny instances where he let his guard down, where his fabulousness evaporated and he was more boy than man, as if he were just hoping to find a way from one empty moment to the next. I knew that feeling. His solitude made me want to hold him, care for him, and love him more.

  We stood there, the city a twinkling galaxy of lights. Our legs touched innocently, but I didn’t move, and neither did he. It seemed to snap him out of his moment.

  “Come on, let’s toast your success,” ZK said.

  “As long as it’s not a pink martini, you’re on,” I replied. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, but I wondered if he was aware what went on in the penthouse upstairs.

  We headed to the bar. ZK snatched a bottle of Macallan 18 and two glasses, ignoring the bartender’s annoyed look. He poured us each a single malt, dropping one cube in both glasses and swirling it around.

  “Here’s to the mysterious Lisbeth Dulac,” he said. “You know, I’ve never met a woman like you.” I felt suddenly shy as we clinked glasses.

  “You’ll be coming to the Hamptons with Tabitha, won’t you?” he asked.

  “It depends, I guess.” Apparently the Hamptons was on everyone’s agenda.

  “Well, I’ll be there,” he said. “Somehow I can’t imagine not seeing you for the rest of the summer.”

  The terrace was dotted with plants and small trees in terracotta containers. I dropped down onto the cushy outdoor sofa, sipping my whiskey, and ZK sat next to me, his knee touching mine. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. I put my arms around his neck, aching for the warmth of his body, inhaling his scent, listening to the sound of his breathing. He gazed into my eyes, moving toward me a millimeter at a time until, at last, his lips, soft and strong, touched mine.

  In that moment there was nothing but ZK and me, the lights of the city, and the dark abyss of the night. I couldn’t help thinking that this was where I was meant to be.

  47

  On the PATH train back to Jersey, I squeezed in among the shopping-bag-toting, Starbucks-sipping, iPod-listening masses, grateful for a little downtime.

  Thumbing the keyboard on my phone, I lined up five new entries promoting Designer X’s new line of “secret dresses” and hinted at big news to come. I had downloaded the app that allowed me to post to my blog from anywhere, and now I could shoot pictures on the fly anytime I saw something I liked and post them immediately. When I logged on to my Tumblr, I was blown away that there were so many followers. I featured pictures of last night’s Designer X masterpiece on my blog, including close-ups of the lyrical embroidery. Isak commented almost immediately, raising the count of my followers numerically.

  “When do we get to meet Designer X!” he demanded in a later comment, and literally 237 followers cheered him on in a chorus. “X! X! X! X! X! X! X!” one person chanted, and then others repeated and reblogged, driving up traffic on the Web site exponentially.

  I hugged my pocketbook and vagabond bag close to me. I wasn’t about to let that $8,500 slip out of my grasp—$8,555 to be exact. I had big plans for that money, and I wanted to get started on them.

  I guided the Purple Beast from the PATH station’s commuter parking lot directly home. I had a text from Courtney saying she was dropping out of school next semester. That bummed me out because I knew Ryan hadn’t finished his year of middle school. None of us were staying in school, which would definitely pain Mom if she knew.

  I hadn’t heard much from Courtney about Mom’s condition for a while, so I was surprised when I walked in the screen door and saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, and sorting through the bills just as before. I was relieved that things were back to normal until I realized it wasn’t Mom. It was Courtney.

  Shoulders slumped, Courtney looked so much like Mom it was unnerving. I felt terrible for her. Her biggest nightmare was true—she was becoming mom.

  As I put down my bags, she gazed up at me, her face pained and worried, as if she knew what I was thinking. She still wore the sweatpants and oversize T tied at the waist. I don’t think she had changed in days. She tapped her cigarette in the ashtray the same way Mom used to and arranged the bills in rows as Mom used to do; Jersey Power and Light, Comcast Cable, Montclair Propane and Gas, and all the others.

  Like a fly caught on flypaper whose fate was sealed, she seemed caught up in something bigger, unable to stop it all from happening.

  “Do you know how many fucking bills we can’t afford to pay?” she asked.

  Ryan was playing Warcrack in the living room, and I could hear the computer-generated cries of creatures being vaporized and destroyed. The place was a wreck. Some things never changed. I sat down beside her.

  “I’m going to go back to work for Harris, at the bar,” she said, rearranging the bills on the table. “Luckily Mom’s got coverage at the hospital as long as they keep her there. But I don’t know how she’s going to make any money when
she gets out.” She tilted back in the chair on just two chair legs just like Mom used to and gave me a helpless look.

  “Mom just can’t take care of us anymore, Lizzy,” she said, tearing up as the chair legs came down again. “We’re on our own.” She was going to cry. Me too. We hugged.

  “I’ve checked the bank accounts,” Courtney said through the tears. “There’s hardly any money for these bills. And if I start working at the bar again, what’s going to happen to Ryan?”

  We looked across to the living room, both of us thinking about Ryan, even though he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “He’s already a head case,” she said. “There’s this letter from the school district. He’s supposed to go to summer school if he wants to move up to the next grade. He could get sent to juvie if he doesn’t.”

  After we exhausted our tears, we sat for a little while in silence.

  “Well, I’ve got a plan,” I said. She looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Yeah sure,” she said and reverted to her standard “you don’t know shit” expression she has given me since the day I was born.

  “You’ll see,” I said. “This is going to work out. It’s bad now, but a lot of times good comes out…”

  “… When bad things happen,” she said before I could. “I know that BS from Nan, and it’s for suckers…” She stopped herself because that was what Mom would have said. “I’m sorry, Lizzy, you’re the only one who thinks things can change. You’re the only one in the family who still believes in hope. I just don’t think it’s going to happen.” Courtney took another drag on her cigarette and let out the smoke in one long weary breath.

  “What did they say about Mom?” I asked.

  “They don’t know. She was going through really bad withdrawal symptoms. I don’t think they’re DTs, but they have her sedated. She was shaking and all that shit. I think there are some hopeful signs on the liver tests, but the cold-turkey is killing her.”

  “The drinking is killing her,” I said.

  “When do you start college?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in on me.

  “I’m not going,” I said and waited for the look of alarm on her face. When it registered, I though she might throw something at me.

  “Don’t even say that,” she said, astonished. “Mom will freak.”

  “I have another plan,” I said.

  “The Hole?” she asked with astonishment. “Word is you’re toast there. Have you even been to work for the last week? I have no idea how you pay for all the stuff you do.”

  “I’m getting a job in fashion.”

  “How are you qualified for that? Something with your dyke friend?”

  “That’s not your problem. I’m going to figure it out.” I’d wilt if she lit into me, so I slipped ten crisp one hundred dollar bills from my purse and placed them on the table. I thought she was going to fall out of her chair.

  “Did you rob an ATM?”

  “Hopefully this is enough to cover the bills for now. Let’s figure out how we’re going to get Ryan to summer school, but first things first,” I said and headed for the kitchen cupboards.

  In the cupboard above the stove, I found four half-gallon bottles of Gordon’s. Checking the cabinet below the silverware, I found three more. Then I went to the freezer and found three bottles of some other generic vodka I’d never heard of and put those on the table.

  “What are you doing?” Courtney asked.

  “Help me,” I said. Courtney thought a second, put out her cigarette, and got up and went right for Mom’s stash in the laundry room—four bottles of Captain Morgan’s rum and a bottle of Southern Comfort.

  “What are you guys doing?” Ryan asked. He must have heard the bottles clanking, and it was the one thing that made him stop playing his game.

  “Come on, Ryan, help us,” I said.

  In a few moments, we were all combing the house for Mom’s booze like some perverse treasure hunt. The bottles were everywhere—in the garage behind the paint cans, forgotten bottles under Mom’s bed, an unopened case in her closet, half empties under the La-Z-Boy, and another shoved way back behind the towels in the bathroom cabinet. I think it was kind of blowing Ryan’s mind, because he knew Mom drank a lot, but this was totally off the charts.

  We gathered them from the kitchen table, all thirty-one of them, and started taking them outside, lining them up in the driveway.

  “Now what?” Ryan asked as he placed the last three bottles in a row.

  I walked over to the first half gallon of Gordon’s, picked it up, and threw it down as hard as I could against the cement by the garage door, smashing the bottle to pieces, the vodka pouring out, running down the driveway. I picked up another bottle and smashed that one, too.

  Ryan and Courtney looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Then Courtney picked up a couple of bottles and slammed them against the sidewalk so hard we all had to jump out of the way to avoid the glass.

  The three of us took turns screaming as we decimated the bottles that had wrecked our mom and our lives. The running rum, vodka, and Southern Comfort mixed together made a sickly alcohol smell like sugar and wood stain as it rose up from the pavement. As grim as it was, we all started to laugh.

  I’ve never loved my sister and brother as much as I did that very moment—the three of us standing in a pile of glass, the stench of alcohol running down the driveway and into the gutter. If the neighbors were watching, they would have thought we were insane.

  Courtney got a couple of brooms, and we swept the glass into a garbage can while Ry sprayed down the driveway with the garden hose. Hundreds of dollars of alcohol down the gutter.

  We all sat on the curb and watched as the sun began to set.

  “That was fun and everything,” Courtney said, calming down, “but what the fuck are we going to do about all the other shit?”

  “Like I said, I have a plan.” I got up and walked back inside. “Let’s take a look at those bills for a starter.”

  Courtney and I began tallying up everything, and it was clear that, as she became sick, Mom had stopped keeping it together. All that ammonia in her blood, I guessed. Some bills hadn’t been paid in three months. Ryan ran into the room, interrupting us.

  “Hey, there’s a taxi outside,” Ryan said, running into the room. “And some old lady is getting out.” Just then, the screen door opened.

  “Sorry I’m late, Lisbeth. I hadn’t realized it would be such an ordeal to check myself out of the old-biddy home,” Nan said as she entered, dropping her overnight bag on a chair.

  She was as bright and vibrant as I’d ever seen her. “Betty nearly had a heart attack. I thought they’d have to finally institutionalize her.”

  Courtney regarded Nan with bewilderment.

  “Hello, Courtney,” Nan said and threw open her arms.

  “Hi, Nan,” Courtney said sheepishly. She seemed like she might cry, but instead went running to get one of those special heart-melding Nan hugs.

  “Ry, say hi to Nan,” I said. He had already retreated to the living room, where he was thumbing the controller of his game.

  “Just a minute, I’m in the middle of a raid,” he said.

  “Excuse me, young man?” Nan walked over to the television set.

  “Oh hi,” Ryan finally said and went back to his game. Nan walked around to the other side of the television set.

  “Hmm. Let’s see how this works.” She ducked down and ripped the television cord out of the wall.

  “Hey, that’s my game!” Ry was in shock.

  “Well perhaps you can play some more after we get this house in shape. Let’s start with your mother’s room so I have a place to sleep tonight.” Nan grabbed Ryan by the wrist with her iron grip and led him to the stairway. Courtney’s eyes widened and turned to me, stunned. I shrugged.

  “Hey, Nan,” she said, “can I give you a hand?”

  “Why certainly, dear.” Nan gave me a wink as they all started up the stairs. I began to follow, but she s
topped me.

  “You go along to the hospital, dear,” she said. “I know you have some important things to attend to.”

  48

  The hospital was quiet that evening when I arrived. They had moved Mom to a different unit, so it took a little while to find her. But even the volunteer at the information desk seemed to know that I was Ella Wachowicz’s daughter, so they took me back as soon as they could.

  As I passed the nurse’s station, all the nurses and the orderlies and doctors were watching me. A few nodded hello.

  When I reached Mom’s room, Nurse Brynner was coming out the door.

  “Your mom is going to be so happy to see you,” she said in her gravelly voice.

  “How is she?” I asked.

  “I have to let Doctor Newton give you the update,” she said. “But he’s off duty at the moment.”

  “I meant, how is she doing? You know…”

  “I know. I’ve quit now, too,” she said. She held her hand up to show me. It was trembling. “Maybe it’s just all the coffee I’m drinking so I don’t feel it. But I promised her she wouldn’t have to do this alone. It’s not as bad for me; I’ve still got a husband at home.”

  God, I was determined not to cry.

  “That’s okay, dear. You go and make your mother happy,” she said, managing a grin. “I’ll be back in a little while to give her a sedative.” As she left, I took a deep breath and walked in. Mom was sitting up; all the catheters and monitors had been removed and she was reading the newspaper.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. She gave me a glare as if she had never seen me before. I knew that look. It wasn’t good. I sat down quietly and waited. She didn’t say anything for the first few moments. Already her face seemed less bloated and the splotchy redness was gone, but she appeared gray and weary.

  “So what’s the story with college?”

  I closed my eyes, summoning my courage. “I’m not going,” I said.