“I’ll tell Mrs. Lafayette that you’re here.” He had seen apartments like this only in movies. The wide terrace outside the windows, spotted with plants and dwarf trees, was like a miniature garden in the sky. There were two photographs in silver frames on the white baby grand. One was a headshot of a good-looking young black man his lips parted in a warm smile. There was something familiar about him and although the detective couldn’t place him he knew that he had seen the man before. The other photograph was of a boy, about ten years old, standing with a gray-haired woman in front of a small white wooden house.
He didn’t hear the footsteps in the soft white rug. “Mr. Millstein.”
He kept the surprise from his face when, turning around, he saw that she was black. She was tall and he immediately sensed the strength in her. Suddenly the name rang a bell. He knew now who the young man in the photograph was.
“Mrs. Lafayette.” He gestured to the photograph. “Your husband?”
“Yes. That’s my son and my mother in the other photo.”
“My daughter has some of your husband’s albums. Even I like the way he sings. He doesn’t drive me up the wall the way some of them do.”
“Fred sings pretty but that isn’t why you wanted to see me, is it? You said you had some news about Jane Randolph for me.”
This was a woman who came right to the point. “You’re a friend of Jane’s?” she asked.
He nodded, then seeing the expression on her face, he said, “You doubt it?”
“It’s hard for me to believe that a policeman would be her friend. Especially one who comes all the way from California trying to get a line on her.”
He took her letter from his pocket and gave it to her without speaking.
She read it quickly, then looked up. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Briefly he told her what he knew, including how he had gotten her name from the clerk at night court as the person who put up bail the first time she had been arrested.
There was a strange softness in the black woman’s eyes. “What happens to her now?”
“I don’t know. The doctor told me that she comes up for re-evaluation in two weeks. They are considering letting her out but he’s concerned about how she will handle herself after she gets out.”
“Shit, poor JeriLee.”
“JeriLee?”
“That’s her real name. Didn’t you know that?”
“The only JeriLee she mentioned she said was her sister.”
“She never had a sister. Her name is JeriLee Randall. I was the one who gave her the name Jane Randolph when she began dancing. She didn’t want people in the business to know what she was doing. She was afraid if the word got out that she was dancing topless they’d never take her seriously as a writer or an actress after that.”
“Was she any good?”
“I’m no judge,” she said. “But I know she once won a Tony as an actress on Broadway and another time she had a play produced, although it never got to Broadway. So she had to have something. She was always writing. That’s why she worked as a dancer. It gave her the days to write.”
“Did she ever talk about a family?”
“She has a mother. But they’re on the outs. Her mother never believed in the same things she did.”
“Do you have her mother’s address?”
“Some small town on the Island. My husband knows it. I can get it from him.”
“That would help.”
“I’ll have it for you tonight then. My husband’s on his way to Miami for an engagement.”
“Did you ever see Jane after that time you put up bail for her?”
“I took her to lunch the same day. I offered to help her but she turned me down. She said when she had the money she would repay the bail I had laid out. I told her I thought she was being a fool doing what she was and that I would give her the money to let her write and there wouldn’t be any strings attached. But she turned me down flat out.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Because we were lovers once. And maybe she didn’t believe me when I said ‘No strings.’”
“Was she a lesbian?”
“No. I am. She’s not. It would have been easier for all of us if she had been. She’s bi. It took me a long time to understand that her reaction to our sex was purely physical. It never was like that for me at all. I really loved her.”
“Would you still be willing to help her if she wanted it?”
“Yes, but she won’t take it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I know her. She has this crazy idea about freedom and independence. She won’t take from anyone—man or woman. She left a rich husband for the same reason. She wants to do it all herself, and to be recognized for it.”
He was silent.
“Listen, she knew where I was, a phone call would have brought me anytime, but look at the trip she took rather than pick up that phone.”
“She called you once before. Maybe she will again.”
“Twice before,” she said, a distant look in her large dark eyes. “There won’t be a third time.”
***
For the first time since coming East he felt better. Maybe it was being on the road in a rented car. The Long Island Expressway might have been a freeway in California except for the white fields of snow stretching out on either side. He turned off at the Port Clare exit sign.
It was comfortable-looking and the neighborhood was a good one—well-established middle class. The one thing that distinguished the Randall house from others around it was that the shades were drawn and the driveway and front walk were covered with snow. It looked empty.
He got out of the car and made his way through the snow to the front door. He pressed the bell and heard the echoing sound in the house but there was no answer. He turned around at the sound of a car in the street behind him.
A police car had pulled up behind his. A young patrolman stuck his head out the car window. “What are you doing up there, mister?”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Randall.”
“She’s not home.”
Millstein began to pick his way through the snow back to the sidewalk. “I can see that. Do you have any idea of where I could reach her?”
“Nope.”
“You were here within two minutes of the time I was. You must have a pretty good system out here.”
“This is a small town. One of the neighbors reported you the minute you stopped your car.”
“Maybe you can help me.” Millstein took his wallet out of his pocket and showed the patrolman his badge.
“Yes, sir,” the policeman said respectfully.
“It’s very important that I locate Mrs. Randall.”
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck, sir. She got married again about two months ago and she and her new husband went off on one of them long world cruises. They won’t be back until the summer.”
“Oh.”
“Is there anything else I can do, sir?”
“No, thanks, Officer.”
***
The detective closed his small black notebook and put it back in his pocket. “That’s it, Dr. Sloan. You got it all.”
“I never bought her story about her sister.”
“Neither did I.”
“She wasn’t trying to kill herself. What she really wanted to do was kill her dreams. Somehow she began to feel that whatever talent she had made it impossible for her to live in the same world as other people. Society tried to force her into its mold and she couldn’t make it. The only thing left for her to do was to kill JeriLee. Then she would be all right.”
“You’ve passed me, Doc,” Millstein said. “What happens to her now?”
“She’ll get out,” he said somberly. “We have no real reason to hold her anymore; she’s no danger to anyone. She’s off drugs, which was why she was sent here. We’ve done all we can. We’re not equipped to give her what she need
s now.”
“What if she falls back?”
“Then she’ll be back here.”
“But she could kill herself this time.”
“It’s possible. But like I said, there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s too bad that there isn’t anyone who cares enough to keep an eye on her. She needs friends more than anything else. But she’s cut herself off from everyone.” He was silent for a moment looking at the detective. “Except you.”
Millstein felt himself flush. “What do you expect me to do about it?” he demanded almost belligerently. “I scarcely know the girl.”
“That was last week. This week you probably know more about her than she does herself.”
“I still don’t know what I can do,” the detective said stubbornly.
“You might make the difference between life and death for her.”
Millstein was silent.
“It won’t take much. Just give her a secure base where she can find herself again.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Not so crazy. There has to be something between the two of you. She wrote you. And you came. You didn’t have to. You could have sent a letter or done nothing at all. Right now you’re probably the one person in the world she completely trusts.”
“Doctor, I’m beginning to think one of us should be committed.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head. “Or maybe both.”
Chapter 24
Millstein came into the house after his four o’clock tour of duty. He paused in the small hallway listening for the familiar sound of the clicking typewriter. Hearing nothing, he went into the living room, where his daughter was reading a book. “Where’s JeriLee?” he asked.
“At the shrink’s.”
He looked puzzled. “I thought it was Tuesdays and Fridays.”
“This is something special.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, Daddy. Something good. She heard from the attorney in New York that the shrink suggested she send her novel to. He has a publisher interested in the book and they went to send her the car to come in and talk to them about it.”
“Hmph,” her father growled. “I know about those New York shysters. I better run a check on him. What’s his name?”
Susan laughed. “Paul Gitlin. And stop being so overprotective, Daddy. She told me he only represents biggies, like Irving Wallace and Gay Talese.”
“I’m not being overprotective. It’s only six months since she’s been out of the hospital.”
“And look what she’s done in that six months. A month after she was here she got a job nights as an operator at the answering service so that she could write and see her shrink during the day. She’s written two original screen stories, one of which Universal bought, and now she’s almost completely finished with a novel. You got to give her some credit, Daddy.”
“I’m not taking anything away from her. I just don’t want her to run herself down.”
“She’s fine, Daddy. She’s not the same woman you brought home. She’s beautiful, Daddy. Inside and out.”
“You really like her?”
Susan nodded.
“I’m glad. I was worried about how you would feel.”
“I have to admit I was jealous at first. But then I saw how much she needed us. Like a child needing approval. Then before my eyes I watched her grow. I watched the woman emerge. It blew my mind. It was like one of those stop motion films where the rose buds and opens in a few seconds. She’s a very special lady, Daddy. And you’re a very special man to have seen that in her.”
“I could use a drink.”
“I’ll fix it for you.” In a moment she was back with a whiskey on the rocks.
“That helps.”
“Rough day?”
“The usual. Just long.”
She watched him sink into his favorite chair. “You know she’s going to leave soon, don’t you, Daddy?” she asked softly.
He nodded without speaking.
“You did what you said you’d do. You gave her back herself. She’s strong now. She’s learned to walk. Now she wants to fly. You can support a child walking, but flying is something they must do on their own. You’ll have to get used to the idea, Daddy. Someday it will be my turn.”
“I know that,” he said, his voice husky.
“You love her, don’t you, Daddy?”
“I guess so.”
“Strange. I felt that the moment you told me you were flying East to see her. You know she loves you too, Daddy. But not the same way.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” There were tears in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know if it will help but there’s something I think you should understand. JeriLee isn’t like the rest of us. She’s very special and apart. She’ll never be able to love the same way we do. She has her eye on another star. But for her it’s something inside herself, while the rest of us may look for it in another person.”
She was kneeling on the floor in front of his chair and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “What makes you so smart, Daughter?” he whispered.
“I’m not so smart, Daddy. Maybe it’s just because I’m a woman.”
***
Sunlight filtered to a soft glow by bamboo drapes warmed the yellows, oranges and browns of the office. The two women sat in comfortable easy chairs near the window, a triangular table between them. The doctor’s chair had a small writing arm not unlike the old schoolroom chairs.
“Excited?” Dr. Martinez asked.
“Yes. Very. But I’m also afraid.”
The doctor was silent.
“I didn’t do so well the last time I went back East,” JeriLee said.
“Circumstances were different then.”
“Yes. I suppose so. But what about me? Was I different too?”
“Yes and no. What you have to remember is that you were living under different pressures then. Those pressures are no longer valid. In that respect, you are different.”
“But I’m still me.”
“You are more you now than you were then. And that’s good. As you learn to accept yourself, you grow stronger.”
“I called my mother. She wants me to come and stay with her while I’m working on the book. She wants me to see her new husband. I’ve never met him.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“You know how I feel about my mother. She’s okay in small doses. But after a while we go at each other like cats and dogs.”
“And you think it will be like that this time?”
“I don’t know. She’s usually okay if I’m not laying any problems on her.”
“It could be that you’re both more mature now. Maybe she’s learned just as you have.”
“Then you think I should stay with her?”
“I think you should think about it. It could be a very important part of your coming to terms with yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“How long do you think you’ll be there finishing the book?”
“At least three months. Maybe more. That’s another thing that’s been troubling me. I won’t have you to talk to.”
“I can refer you to a couple of good doctors there.”
“Men?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“I know it shouldn’t. But it does. Both doctors I went to before I came to you seemed to treat me as if I were a child to be cajoled into being reasonable and behaving myself. I could be wrong but I think sex had a lot to do with it.”
“I’m not clear what you mean.”
“If I were a housewife with the kind of problems they’re used to hearing they could probably deal with me. But I’m not. When I tell them I don’t want to marry or have children, that what I really want is to be able to take care of myself without having to depend on anyone, they just don’t understand. I don’t want to settle for a second-place existence. I want to make my own choices.”
“There’s nothing wrong w
ith that. Theoretically we all have that right.”
“Theoretically. But you know better, and so do I. One of the doctors told me jokingly that a good fuck would straighten me out. Only I had the feeling that he wasn’t joking. If I’d given him any encouragement I think he would have volunteered his services. The other kept trying to convince me that what he called the old-fashioned virtues were best—marriage, home and family. According to him that is the true purpose of women.”
“You’ll find many women who go along with that.”
“Okay. But that’s their bag. They made their choice. I want to make mine. I don’t suppose I’ve said anything you haven’t heard before.”
“I’ve heard similar things.”
“I even have it in business. I almost sold my second screen original until I met the producer. Somehow things got mixed up in his head and he thought the purchase price included me. When I told him a fuck wasn’t included in the sale of a story he said he liked and wanted, he dropped the whole thing. That never would have happened if a man had written it.”
“I know of one woman you would like,” she said. “It would all depend on how busy she is. She’s an active feminist and I think she would like you too.”
“I’d like to see her if I can.”
“When you have a departure date let me know and I’ll try to arrange it.”
“Thank you. There’s one other thing I want to talk to you about.”
“Yes?”
“It’s Al. Detective Millstein. I owe him a lot. Much more than money. I don’t know how to tell him that I’ll be leaving.”
“Don’t you think he knows?”
“I think he knew I’d be going sometime. I just think he never thought it would be this soon. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“He’s in love with you?”
“Yes, but he’s never said anything. Never made a move toward me.”
“How do you feel about him?”
“Grateful. Loving. As if he were my father or my brother.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“We never really talked about it.”
“Then tell him. I’m sure he’d prefer to hear your true feelings rather than any polite evasions. At least this way he will know that you really do care about him.”
***
The Lonely Lady Page 40
