by Joan Rivers
Katie asked, “Why?”
“Because she wanted to mix it all up with orange juice and make herself sick on one very fucked-up screwdriver.”
Dusty said, “Oh, good grief.”
I asked, “Can you drink hand soap?”
Cherish answered, “If you really need a drink, Max. If you are really freaking parched. That Purell. It has like twice as much alcohol as in regular liquor. And it doesn’t taste as bad as you’d think it would. I should know.” She winked at me, then sauntered out of the dining room.
20
Best Name-Dropper
After dinner, we all hurried back to our rooms, where we had only an hour before we were supposed to attend a 12-step meeting. We had much to do, as we had been given a huge homework assignment. We were asked to produce a collage, made out of clippings from magazines, that represented our lives. No, I’m not kidding. I wish I were.
Each of us had taken a stack of old magazines and a pair of scissors back to our room. So what would I find in a 2002 issue of House & Garden that could sum up my life? Hmm. I flipped the pages. A thousand-thread-count duvet cover? A Henredon settee?
I put down my magazine and went to my door. Outside in the hallway was a small desk, and at the desk sat a woman who was politely called the staff-on-duty. Yeah, the warden.
I walked down the hall, noticed her name badge, which said INGRID, and said hi.
“Oh, hi, Max,” she said, looking up. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Can you come back to my room?” I asked, bright and sunny.
“I’m not supposed to leave my post here. Is there something wrong?”
“I’m…lonely.” I wiped the bright smile off my face. “I miss my daughter. I thought maybe if you came into my room, we could talk, and…”
Ingrid nodded in sympathy. “Gee, I wish I could. But if you want to pull up a chair and sit with me right here…?”
It would have to do. I went back to my room and came clomping back with a side chair. “You have a daughter too,” I said, pointing to the picture in the plastic frame on the corner of her desk.
“Oh, no. My granddaughter,” she corrected, smiling. “My Christina.”
I looked utterly shocked. Really, I can be quite an actress when needed. “No! How can that be? You don’t look old enough to have such a big grandchild. How old is Christina?”
“Seventeen.” Ingrid beamed. “My pride and my joy. So I know the loneliness you speak about, Max. By the way, we haven’t really met yet. I’m Ingrid, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Ingrid.” I had clearly learned the required response.
She smiled. “My Christina, now she’s a singer. She’s my sång-fågel. Like a lark.”
“That’s wonderful. What a joy! You must be very proud.”
“Very proud,” said Ingrid, smiling.
“I was just saying to my good friend, Paula Abdul, there are so many gifted young people these days. All they need is a chance.”
Ingrid stopped smiling. Her body language changed entirely. “You know Paula Abdul?”
“Of course. We’re like sisters. She’s the older sister. And she and I were just saying to each other, after we had dinner at my house, that…” I watched Ingrid. She was hooked. “What is it?” I asked, faux-startled.
“I was just thinking what a miracle it would be if my Christina could ever meet Paula Abdul. And here it is, you come up to me tonight, and you actually know her.”
“Of course I do. We’re like Frick and Frack, Paula and I. How funny. Because I was just thinking, maybe your granddaughter might want to try out for American Idol someday.”
Ingrid grabbed my arm. “She does. She’s old enough now. She wants to try out.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. I wish her good luck.”
“If she could meet Ms. Abdul, I’m thinking…,” Ingrid said.
“That would be perfect. I could introduce her to Paula, if you’d like?”
“Would you? Could you do that?” Ingrid was so excited that I actually had half a moment’s regret. But it passed.
I stood up. “Come on down to my room. I have her phone number in my things. Of course, I can’t make a call to Paula myself. You know. No phone. But come to my room, and we’ll think of something to help Christina.”
Ingrid stood up, but I could tell she was having a hard time leaving her post.
“Come on,” I beckoned. “It will only take a minute.”
She followed me to the door of room 122. Inside, I said, “Sit down there on the extra bed, Ingrid. Take a little break for a minute. I’ll find Paula’s phone number.”
Ingrid sat. “This is so kind of you, Max. You haven’t even heard my Christina sing yet. She’s like ABBA. Not all the voices, just the good ones.”
I said, “We do these things for friends, don’t we?”
Ingrid smiled back at me.
I had my handbag out and was pretending to look for the number, but then I pulled out a piece of paper and sat down on the other bed. “Oh, no. Oh, dear.”
“What?” asked Ingrid, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just…” I looked at the paper. “It’s a note I found in my purse from Halsey Hamilton.”
Ingrid put her hands up to her mouth. “Oh, Halsey.”
“It’s okay, Ingrid. I know all about what happened to Halsey. I was actually interviewing her on the red carpet when she collapsed.”
“I know,” said Ingrid, suddenly subdued. “I was watching on TV. I always watch you and your daughter on the red carpet. I won’t watch anyone else.”
I loved this woman.
“But just after she came up to you on the carpet, your show was over. I never got to see what happened to that sweet soul. And I could tell something was wrong the minute she stepped on the hem of your gown, Max. I could see Halsey was in some sort of terrible trouble.”
Who couldn’t? Damn Will Beckerman, damn him to hell for cutting the live feed of my interview. All across America, my devoted fans were screaming at their screens, and it was all Will’s fault for halting my interview.
Ingrid said, “And I think I heard on the news that your daughter and Halsey were friends.” She shook her head. “Halsey and I spent a lot of time together, you know, here on the floor.” She looked around, too considerate to tell me that we were now sitting in Halsey’s former room. “Your daughter must be so upset.”
“She’s devastated. Absolutely devastated. And then there’s all the fuss about Burke.” I shook my head, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched to see if Burke’s name brought forth any reaction from Ingrid.
“Not Burke Norris?” she asked, surprised.
Bingo. “Yes. He used to come here to visit Halsey. That was so nice of him. Did you meet him?”
“Twice,” Ingrid said. “I don’t work on the weekends so I don’t know if he ever visited then. But I saw him with Halsey a couple of times. He’s a very handsome man.”
“Yes, he is,” I said through clenched teeth.
“He was a nice friend for Halsey.”
“Well,” I said slyly, “they were more than just ‘friends.’”
Ingrid looked up. “No. I don’t think so. Halsey and Burke Norris? I never got that impression.”
“Well,” I said, recovering, “they had been together at one time. He as much as told me that the other night.”
“Ah, maybe it was in the past,” said Ingrid, nodding. “It was that other guy who caused all the problems here. That DJ or whatever he calls himself, Rojo.”
I blinked. Rojo Bernstein? What other Rojo could she be referring to? My head spun. Rojo Bernstein was a martial arts instructor who had crossed over to rap stardom. He owned a new club in L.A. called Royt, the Yiddish word for “red,” which was currently so hot you couldn’t even get into the line to get into the club without knowing someone famous like Ashton Kutcher or Madonna’s kabbalah rabbi.
I had to make sure I understood correctly
. “Was Halsey taking kendo lessons from Rojo? Is that why he was here?”
“Oh, no. He was just here to cause trouble. Halsey thought it was hysterical. She’d help him sneak in. You know what kids are like. And when she didn’t show up for her twelve-steps, they’d send me to come looking for her.”
“Ah,” I said, fully getting the picture. And thought of the doors to the rooms. “No locks.”
“And no sex is allowed at Wonders. No sex. We tell this to each client, and they sign a promise. So this wasn’t fair, you see? Halsey needed to spend her time focusing on her recovery, not bouncing around on the bed…”
I followed Ingrid’s eyes to the bed I was sitting on. “Doing the deed?” I asked, just to make sure I was getting the story straight.
“I can’t talk about it,” said Ingrid, suddenly realizing how many beans she had just spilled.
“So Halsey was involved with Rojo. Well, they kept that one hidden. Who knows, maybe he would have been good for her.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Ingrid, shocked. “They were always fighting.”
“But I thought…” Hmm, Halsey was fighting with Rojo. “Weren’t you saying they were always, you know, boinking?”
“They would fight, then they would…” Ingrid waved a hand, searching for the right word.
“Boink?”
She smiled and settled on “…make up. But he would say very mean things. And they hurt her feelings.”
“Like what did he say?”
“Like one time I came to her door, but I didn’t want to barge in. I could hear raised voices inside. She knew she shouldn’t have visitors, but I just knocked on the door to allow her some privacy. Inside, I heard Halsey crying. She was begging him to keep it all a secret. Their relationship. She didn’t want her parents to find out about them yet. She pleaded, but he said he was sick of being her toy. He asked her, ‘What am I? Only good enough to…’”
I looked at Ingrid, waiting. “Boink?”
“Yes. But he was very angry, very loud. He said he was giving the story to the National Enquirer. And Halsey told him she would just deny it. No one would believe him. And he said she would never get the chance to do that. That he’d…”
I was sitting on the edge of the bed now. “Do what? Kill her?” Had I had the wrong guy in my sights? Was Rojo Bernstein the crazy man who went too far?
“I can’t say any more, Max. I realize you were a friend of Halsey, but this is her private business.”
“But, Ingrid, this story may have something to do with her death.”
“No, no. I saw her collapse, Max. On TV. Halsey was using again. They said so on the news this morning. You learn here in rehab that it’s always easier to blame someone else. But this time Halsey had to assume responsibility.”
Oh, great. More Wonders-speak. “But are you sure, Ingrid? Really sure?”
“After that fight, I heard them make up. Rojo said he loved Halsey, and the whole fight was over. When I entered the room, they were hugging and apologizing. No, it was just their way. Oh, mercy. Look at the time. We all need to be at the meeting. You just go down the hall and out past the pool. Follow the crowd.”
I thought about my old theory now that karate king/DJ/lover Rojo Bernstein had entered the picture. Now what? If Halsey was no longer involved with Burke, what then? Was it possible he actually had nothing to do with her death? After all my conniving and undercover cleverness, had I inadvertently succeeded in clearing the man I detested?
21
Best Calling Plan
Out in the hall, I bumped into rocker rehab chick, Magdalene, now wearing a skintight jumpsuit, the vivid-orange silk almost vibrating in contrast to her neon pink hair. And I had been worried about what I should pack for rehab. “You coming to the meeting, Max?”
“And miss the entire group singing ‘Kumbaya’?” I asked, shocked at the very notion.
She laughed. “I’ll walk you there. Say, have you, by any chance, seen an extra pair of scissors around?”
All of us were supposed to be working on our personal collages and had a big deadline to get them in by tomorrow.
“No. Now that you mention it, I couldn’t find the pair I took back to my room.”
“Funny. None of the girls in Butterfly could find our scissors tonight. I didn’t care. Hell, I’m in here for ninety. I got time. But it really pissed off Dusty. She’s working hard, you know, trying to do everything they ask her to do. She was worried she’d turn her collage in late. So I lent her the little cuticle scissors from my manicure set, so she doesn’t fall behind.”
“That’s very kind of you, Magdalene,” I said, as we walked to the main house.
“Your first night at Wonders. I hope you find what you’re looking for here,” she said, wishing me well, no doubt, on my mythical recovery, while I was frankly hoping only to uncover any secrets I could about Halsey. I bit my lip as she continued, “It’s cool you faced your demons. A person like you. Someone I really admire. I mean, you started your career back when there were very few women in power in Hollywood. You rock, Max. I’m glad you came.”
But the truth was, I should be going. I had no reason to remain at Wonders any longer. At dinner, the ladies from Butterfly Wing had told me everything they knew about Halsey during her stay here. It wasn’t much. None of them had seen Halsey with a man; no one had seen anyone from her family come to visit; and in her small-group sessions, I gathered she talked about nothing more personal than her dream of winning the Oscar and her fear of losing a role in a future Batman sequel, and her troubles with Johnnie Walker and pills.
In fact, the gals from Butterfly Wing had less idea of why Halsey might have started abusing drugs again than I did. Looking into the faces of Dusty and Katie and Magdalene at the end of dinner, I had to give up on any more questions. Each was so deeply shaken that one of their own had fallen so far so quickly that, when they thought about Halsey, all they could see were themselves.
At the main house, Magdalene and I merged with a gathering group of the inmates, both men and women.
“The boys from Dragonfly,” Magdalene said, nudging me. “This is a fun night.”
I looked her over, reassessing her ultratight outfit. “You here shopping?”
Magdalene laughed. “We get a speaker from Narc Anon on Tuesday nights, and they are real hard-core. You haven’t heard about ‘hitting bottom’ until you hear these guys tell it. They’ve got the stories.”
Tempting as that sounded, I had made my mind up. “It’s been a real pleasure to meet you, Magdalene. I’m sorry it wasn’t under…more social circumstances, but even so, I really wish you well.”
The tall rock musician looked down at me. “Are you bailing on us, Max?”
“Not so much bailing, as…well…leaving sooner than expected.”
“Rehab’s not that hard. You’ll see. At first, the whole thirty days seems so long, but, after a while, you get to like the routines. The staff is wonderful. And once you clean up, your body feels brand-new. Clear.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Maybe some other time.” I didn’t break down and sing a chorus of the Butterfly Wing anthem, but I did want to show a little sisterhood, even if we’d only shared a few hours together in stir. Women behind bars really do develop a bond. So I reached up and gave her a little hug. “And please say good-bye to the girls from Butterfly Wing if I don’t see them again.”
“Aw, Max,” she said in a soft voice. “I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. And I’m not even going to rag on you about the problems that brought you here. But you’re throwing away a shit-load of money.”
I looked up. “What?”
“The thirty-five grand you paid when you got here? You can walk out anytime, but, baby, they don’t give the moola back.”
“They keep it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I gulped. “All thirty-five?”
“You gotta read the fine print on those contracts.”
Oh, dear Gucci. When I hand
ed over my Visa card, I hadn’t been concerned. And how long would my little investigation take? One day? Two? Just as at the Four Seasons, I figured if you changed the length of your stay, you’d be charged, at most, for one extra night. “But I haven’t even been here eight hours,” I said, unable to keep a little whining tone from creeping into my voice.
“They play hardball,” Magdalene said. “They make you pay for the full month up front so you really commit to the program. No backing out.”
What had I done?
Magdalene said, “Look, since you’re already out thirty-five grand, don’t you think you should hang in there? What do you say? Give it a week.”
A week. Well…
What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t. Burke had been arrested, and Drew was freaking out about it all alone. Sir Ian, I would bet money on it, was at this very minute on his way across the ocean and an entire continent to come rescue me from my phantom addiction. Malulu was, I was sure, doing her best to hold down the fort, but I had network deals to make and interviews to grant. And who would throw the tennis ball to Killer just the way he liked it? Hell, I had to attend Halsey’s funeral, and that over-the-top event was scheduled for tomorrow.
I had come here for information on Halsey, and, even though I hadn’t been able to tie her death to Burke, I had learned a lot. I had learned that getting through everyday life takes strength and courage, one day at a time; that, no matter how thirsty you might be, you should keep a healthy distance from the Purell; and that a kung fu star named Rojo Bernstein had been a lot closer to Halsey Hamilton than anybody on earth knew except for Ingrid and me. And he’d been heard making threats.
It was time to get my personal belongings back and get the hell out of Dodge. Of course, I would lose a chunk of money. It hadn’t been the best investment. For roughly the price of a new Volvo, I had been frisked, given a nice dinner, and had eked out a few items of gossip. Not a bargain.
Most of Wonders’ patients and staff had already filed into the main meeting room, but I remained outside the door with Magdalene. “I just need to get my things,” I said.
