Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “Fine.” My mother agreed. “Then we’ll drive down to South Beach and have a nice lunch.”

  “What’s the matter?” My father sneered. “Afraid of missing a meal?”

  “No. Afraid of thinking of someone other than yourself? Claire hasn’t eaten all day.”

  “Oh. Right. Sure. Yeah. Fine. Let’s go for lunch. But I’m not schlepping all the way down to the beach to pay twelve dollars for a lousy chicken Caesar salad that’s got three little pieces of chicken.”

  “Ha! Since when do you order a salad? You’ll get a cheeseburger deluxe platter like always.”

  Just keep breathing, Claire. In. Out. In. Out. “Can we please go back to Grams’ now?”

  “Don’t you want to stop for a bite?” My mother pleaded. “You really have to start taking better care of yourself.”

  “This had nothing to do with how I take care of myself, Mommy.” I choked on the M word.

  “Yeah,” Grams said. “It’s because the son-of-bitch cleaning girl made the tub so slippery. Every week I tell her, rinse it good. You want me to fall and break my neck? And see what happened?”

  “So you’ll find a new girl.” My father shrugged, as if the answer to all his mother-in-law’s problems were a better class of household help.

  “Can we please leave now?” I said. “I have something to do later, and I need to get ready.”

  “Where are you rushing?” my mother whined. “You just got out of the hospital.”

  “No, I just got out of the ER. It’s not the same thing…and I have a business meeting.”

  “What kind of business meeting?” My father looked at his watch again. “You don’t even have a job. Which reminds me. I do have a job…and Marvin is probably tearing his hair out trying to juggle my appointments and his. I’d better call the office…. Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here…. I can’t even make a lousy cell phone callin this place.”

  “Nobody can,” I sniffed. “It’s a hospital…hello?”

  “Well, whatever…. Hey. This will cheer you up, Claire. I picked up a convertible at the airport. I had to pay through the nose, but I figured, what the hell? How often do you get to ride with the top down?”

  “Yeah, because nobody drives a convertible in California.”

  “Well, you don’t live there anymore…. I just thought—”

  “Cut the crapola, missy.” Grams gave me the eye.

  “That was very sweet of you,” I sighed. “Nothing better than a convertible ride.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t tell them you told me,” I whispered to Grams as we walked through the parking lot. “’Cause I am not ready to deal with any of this shit right now. You got it?”

  “What do you mean, me tell ’em? You should be the one to tell ’em.”

  “Me? Why should I do it? You’re the one who opened this whole can of worms.”

  “What are you girls whispering about?” My mother caught up to us. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I replied. “Never been better. You?”

  But before I could say another word, my father was demanding details on this so-called business meeting I was attending. What was so important that I had to drop everything and run? If he had to cancel all his appointments, the least I could do was stick around to explain what the hell was going on with Grams’ apartment and the gun.

  And what about my plane ride? I thought. Don’t you want to hear all about my Close Encounter of the Third Grandfather? After all, he was the real reason you two rushed down here.

  “I’ll explain everything in the car.” I resisted the urge to get nasty. “But I’m leaving at five.”

  “Well, if you ask me, I think you should cancel,” Grams said when we reached the car. “Whadaya gotta go and start trouble for?”

  “I’m not starting trouble, and nobody asked you.”

  “Oy. You call this an automobile?” Grams suddenly focused on the silver convertible. “How we all gonna fit in there? It looks like one of them little cars at the circus. The ones the midgets go in.”

  “There’s plenty of room, Gert,” my father snapped. “It’s a five-passenger vehicle.”

  “Yeah, but have you looked in the mirror lately? You and Roberta got so fat, you’re like two people each.”

  “WE’LL ALL FIT, GERT!” He enunciated each word. “Get in!”

  “Ma. Enough already. You sit in front. I’ll go in the back with Claire.”

  Just keep breathing, Claire. In. Out. In. Out.

  Grams belted herself in, then gave me her famous look. The one that meant, Don’t say nothin’ about nothin’, you hear? Then she barked an order at my father. “Watch your speed, sonny boy. My luck, you’ll hit a tree and I’ll fly out.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Then maybe we should switch.”

  Wow, wow, wow. Say what you would about Marly having been born Couture, Princess of Entitlement. The girl could shop! I gasped when the doorman handed me three large shopping bags and a note that said, Hope you love everything. See you tonight. She signed her name starting with a big, loopy M, and ended with a chain of X’s and O’s.

  When I peeked inside, there was an assortment of T-shirts, skirts, slacks, a jacket, and the most amazing black patent mules I’d ever seen. Good Lord. How much had she spent? Easily a few thousand dollars. And was she suggesting it was all mine to keep? I swear, if I didn’t know all too well the repercussions of fainting, I would have passed out again.

  “What is all that chazeray?” My father saw the Versace logo on one of the bags and immediately assumed that the contents had somehow cost him.

  “A friend did me a favor,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “What friend? You’ve been here less than two days. And besides, you don’t know anyone down here.”

  “Lenny, stop badgering her,” my mother yelled. “If she says she has friends, she has friends. Why do you always have to question her? Not everything is your business.”

  “Yeah!” he snorted. “Until she needs money. Then it’s suddenly my business!”

  I frankly thought I’d done a decent job preparing them for seeing Grams’ empty apartment. In fact, I know I had specifically said that all the furniture was gone, and that there were packed boxes everywhere. And yet, from the way they reacted when they walked through the door, you would have thought it was coming as a complete surprise.

  My mother shrieked, my father cursed, and Grams started yelling at both of them to keep their goddamn voices down before nosy-neighbor Lillian called the cops again.

  “You’ve done it, Gert. You’ve completely lost your mind!” My father’s temples pulsed.

  “Mother, this is so insulting. How could you get rid of all your good pieces and not even ask me if I wanted any of them? You know how much Iris loved your dressing table, and I would have gladly taken the dining room set.”

  “Mommy, stop it,” I said. “This is not about you.” This is a recording.

  “Exactly,” my father agreed. “It’s not about you, Roberta…. But no matter what, Gert, you have to get it all back. Call José, or Jesús, or whoever the hell you gave it to, and tell him you made a big mistake, and you need everything back right away.”

  “No!” Grams cried. “I can’t do that. He don’t live around here.”

  “Well, how far away could he live? He didn’t ship the stuff to Cuba! He probably strapped it to the back of a pickup and drove it somewhere. So call him up and tell him to get the hell back here.”

  “Lives near Stewart someplace….”

  “Perfect.” He clapped. “It’s straight up 95. He could make it back in two hours without traffic.”

  “I don’t ever want it back, see, ’cause I don’t want to live here no more. I don’t care for the building.”

  “What the hell is wrong with the building?” he argued. “I noticed some nice new plantings out front. And the carpeting in the hallway looked very clean this time.”

  “Everyone is dead, Dad,” I said. “She’s trying to tell yo
u it’s depressing here. She has no friends left. She has to depend on strange people to take her everywhere, and I do mean strange. The only neighbor who still drives is Rose down the hall, and she forgets to put on her pants.”

  “Oh. So, fine. We’ll help her find another place. But she’s still going to need her furniture.”

  “No, I won’t,” Grams said. “Claire found me a place that’s already got furniture.”

  “What are you talking about?” My father looked bewildered. “How could Claire find you a place, Gert? She’s only been here two days, and one of those days was spent in an emergency room.”

  “A friend of Claire’s knew about it.”

  “Again with the friends!” My father threw up his hands. “Claire, is this by chance the same friend who did your shopping, or a different friend? ’Cause I’m wondering where all these people are coming from. Roberta, were you aware that your daughter was so popular in Miami?”

  “How should I know? She tells me bupkas!”

  “It’s because of what happened on the plane,” Gert said quietly. “It’s…the dead man’s place.”

  Oh God. The San Andreas fault has just ruptured. No way to stop the tremors now.

  “The dead man’s place?” My father’s face reddened.

  “Claire, let me make you a bite to eat.” My mother headed to the kitchen. “Maybe a nice tuna fish sandwich. Ma, you got fresh bread for a change?”

  “’Course I got fresh bread. It’s in the freezer. You just gotta let it sit on the counter awhile.”

  “Wait. Hold on there, Gert.” His pitch registered an octave higher. “This man who died…didn’t we agree we were going to have nothing to do with the family? I mean, he was a complete stranger, of course,” he said for my benefit.

  “You can stop your tap-dancing, Lenny,” Grams yelled. “I told Claire everything this morning. The whole stinkin’ story about her and Gary and Penelope—”

  “Oh my God.” My mother grabbed hold of my father’s arm. “You did what?”

  “For Christ’s sake, Gert!” he screamed. “How could you be so irresponsible? Claire, honey. You know your grandmother. Does she ever get a story straight? Never!”

  But like voyeurs surveying a wreck, they glanced at me out of the corners of their terrified eyes.

  “If you hadn’t noticed, she’s a grown-up now,” Grams practically spit. “Old enough to know the truth. Claire, tell ’em what I told you.”

  Tell them what? Every regrettable word of a story I should have heard twenty years ago? They already knew the facts inside out. Why should I repeat them? So that they could be let off the hook from having to explain their god-awful decisions in their own pitiful words?

  As the seconds ticked away, the tension mounted, and I knew they were expecting me to say or do something. But what? Go on a deadly rampage with the gun? Fall into a pitiful, crying heap like Little Sally Saucer? Scream and kick like that time at Toys “R” Us when they wouldn’t buy me a bike?

  If a tantrum didn’t require so much work, I might have gone that route. But I was feeling so incapacitated, the only thing I could muster the strength to do was bend over, pick up my pocketbook and my shopping bags, and head toward the door.

  “Wait. Claire. Where are you going?” My father followed me.

  “I can’t do this.” I choked back tears. “I can’t talk to you right now. I can’t even look at you…. I don’t understand anything, other than I am exhausted and heartbroken. I just know I don’t want to be in the same room as you.”

  “I hear ya, but you have to believe us. We thought—”

  “Spare me, Dad! I’m not interested in your side of the story right now. In fact, I wouldn’t give a shit if I ever heard what you had to say. The only thing I know for sure is that there is someplace else I’d rather be.”

  “Well, fine. Where do you have to go?” He tried to stop me. “I’ll take you there.”

  “No.”

  “Then how will you get there? You don’t have a car.”

  “I’ve got a ride.” I opened the door.

  “What time will you be back?” My mother ran over. “We can go out for a nice dinner. Anywhere you like. We’ll talk. We’ll tell you everything. Anything you want to know.” She grabbed hold of me. “We’re sorry. Very, very sorry, Claire.” She began to cry. “I wanted to tell you, believe me. For years I pleaded with your father. But you know him, Mr. Know-it-all, always thinks he’s the smart one…. Please. Don’t walk out the door angry…. Lenny, stop her.”

  “No,” he said in his indignant, how-dare-you-question-me tone he always used when he was losing an argument. “Let her go, Roberta. Obviously she needs to go sulk in a corner somewhere.”

  “Excuse me.” I glared. “But I’m not going anywhere to sulk. I’m going over to my friend’s house…to meet my real family.”

  Chapter 14

  AH, GENETICS! DREW HAD BASICALLY JUST TOLD ME THAT “AUNT Penny” was very big on dramatic gestures and didn’t like having her thunder stolen. So maybe there really was something to that whole like-mother-like-daughter thing. It seemed I’d inherited her ability to make sweeping statements and grand exits. For after dropping that little bombshell on my parents and grandmother about going to meet my new family, never had I seen three mouths opened wider.

  But then, typical of me, once the big climactic scene was over, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Grab a cab and head to the airport? I swear I could hear L.A. calling my name. And what I wouldn’t give to be back with my friends.

  Oh, and this time I would be sure to find work. Pablo had gotten me thinking that I could get an office job, maybe even for one of the film studios. At least until I was back on my acting feet.

  Meanwhile, I would crash at Sydney’s. Or, wait, wait, wait—I could ask my newly discovered mother if I could move in with her. What do you bet she lived in a fabulous McMansion in Malibu or Benedict Canyon? Surely she had an extra guest house she could spare. And how cool would this be? We’d hang out together. Make up for all the lost years. Really bond….

  On the other hand, maybe the fall in the shower had done some serious brain damage, for clearly I’d lost touch with reality. Why would Ms. Nichol ever jeopardize her stellar reputation by admitting to having abandoned her tiny infant? She didn’t need Peggy Siegal, the PR maven, to tell her to deny any connection between us. In fact, I could just see the interview with Diane Sawyer now.

  Penny would tell all of America that I was your typical low-rent extortionist. A money-grubbing loser who thought that this little scheme was my only shot at cashing in on hush money, or getting my fifteen minutes of fame. “Ms. Greene is Tanya Harding without the hammer,” she’d sniff.

  Oh God. What if that was true? Not the part about me looking for fame and fortune. What if there wasn’t actually a biological link between us? At the moment I had no tangible proof. No smoking-gun birth certificate that said, This woman is definitely your mother. Just a string of assumptions based on all these odd coincidences, and a smattering of circumstantial evidence.

  So I had better be open to the idea of mistaken identity, that there might be another Penelope Fabrikant running around with nary a thought of her out-of-wedlock baby. My luck, she would probably be this strung-out alcoholic who lived in a trailer park with her boyfriend and a dog.

  I was so sad and confused, I didn’t realize I’d taken the elevator down, walked out the front door, and was now standing in front of a Greek coffee shop that was easily a half mile from Grams’ building. Ah, but the smell of food was so tantalizing. And come to think of it, I was famished. Maybe I would feel better after some nourishment. A home-cooked meal served without a helping of guilt or a side of aggravation.

  Unfortunately, the dark-haired man behind the cash register seemed more interested in reading the sports page than in feeding a hungry patron. Talk about southern hospitality! When I cleared my throat to announce my presence, he shoved a menu in my direction. “We’re outa lamb,” he grunted. />
  But not flies. I swatted two off my arm. And was it warm in here, or was I just flushed from all the craziness? Whatever. My coffee was fresh, and the Greek salad delicious, just the way my father liked it. Huge and cheap. But oops. Scratch that. Who cared what he liked anymore?

  Point being, it was the first time in two days that I remembered what normal and calm felt like. Although that little bubble burst the instant my cell rang.

  Funny thing about being an actress. We hear a ringing phone, and our hearts jump. Could this be the big break we’ve been waiting for? So there’s almost never a time when we don’t answer, unfortunately.

  “What is it, Mother?” I didn’t have to act annoyed. I was annoyed.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting so crazy about. Didn’t we give you a good home, a fine education, nice vacations, a nose job for your sixteenth birthday, which may I remind you came out much better than Jennifer Zucker’s because at least your father knew how to pick a decent surgeon?”

  “Oh, I agree. It was a wonderful life…. You gave me everything but the truth.”

  “Grams had no right to say anything to you.”

  “That’s right. You should have.”

  “Fine. But that other family? Awful people, Claire. Trust me. Don’t get involved.”

  “Nope. Can’t trust you. I may never trust you. And please don’t call me again. I won’t pick up.”

  “You’re being foolish.”

  “Foolish?” I yelled, glad that at this in-between hour in the afternoon, I was the only customer. For now my raised voice was only disturbing a disinterested owner and a bunch of flies. “What you and Daddy did was disgraceful.”

  I heard a muffled sound. “Claire, this is your father.” His tone was gruff, as if I were still ten and easily intimidated. “You have no right to speak to us this way. We didn’t raise you to be rude…. And you have no idea what we’ve been through all these years. How difficult it’s been for us.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How much do I owe you? I’ll send you a check for your time and trouble.”