Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “Too boring. I thought we’d go hang out in SoBe.”

  “Sounds great. What is it?”

  “Duh. Like where have you been? It’s South Beach. Like you know, SoHo? I thought I’d show you my dad’s new place. It’s very cool. It’s called By the C, right next to the Ritz-Carlton? Then we could go hit the bars…woo-hoo…”

  “But, Delia. It’s four in the afternoon,” Shari whined.

  “Exactly. By the time we get done looking around, it’ll be Happy Hour.”

  “Happy Hour?” I clapped. “I love Happy Hour. It sounds great. Thank you, Delia.” I hugged her. “Thank you so much.”

  “Well, wait, Claire. Do you really think this is such a good idea? Mixing alcohol with prescription medications?”

  “I’ll be fine, I swear. I haven’t taken anything yet. And tomorrow I promise I’ll be the world’s most perfect patient…. Just give me ten minutes to jump in the shower.”

  “Take twenty.” Delia guzzled a Diet Coke. “We’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “Nothing crazy, Delia,” Shari warned. “I don’t need you bringing Claire back here completely hung over. She’s in a very vulnerable state right now.”

  “That’s exactly why she should drink, Mother.”

  You got that right, sister, I thought as I ran out. “Can somebody please tell me how to get back to my room?”

  Up until the day I slipped in my grandmother’s shower, then fell into a coma in Drew’s bed, I’d had no encounters with near-death experiences. But after riding shotgun with Delia Fabrikant in her little Mercedes coupe, I was now three for three.

  Apparently the girl thought that red lights were only suggestions and that speed limits were strictly for tourists. She maneuvered through the streets of Miami as if her steering wheel were hooked up to a PlayStation, and her goal was to beat her high score at “Need for Speed.”

  As I grabbed the armrest, it hit me that the only reason she’d been so keen on taking me out was so that she could literally take me out. Death by driving. The perfect crime. What jury would convict a girl with no priors?

  Of course, I would know her motive. Revenge for ignoring her grandfather and lying to her family. But I would be dead, so who would I tell? Honestly, how could I have been so stupid to fall for such a cheap, manipulative trick? Had I learned nothing from watching Law and Order?

  But then, miraculously, Delia pulled into a VIP parking spot at By the C, put the top up, and announced that the celebrating had officially begun. “Party time, here we come!” She wiggled her ass.

  “What exactly are we celebrating? Arriving in one piece?”

  “No, silly. We’re celebrating that you came back from the dead.”

  “So then why did you just try to kill me? You drive like shit!”

  “Oh chill. I’m on these roads my whole life. I could drive them if I was blind.”

  “You mean you’re not?”

  “Would you stop? I’m trying to show you a good time and you’re ruining it.”

  “Sorry. You’re right. We made it here without a single head injury.”

  “I can’t believe you’re not even going to ask me something,” Delia interrupted.

  “Ask you what?”

  “About why I’m being so nice to you. Don’t you think it’s weird? Or did you forget that I was ready to kill you before you like blacked out?”

  “No, I didn’t forget. And yes, I am curious. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because I realized the other night when you had your little meltdown that you’re right. Your life is so screwed up. I mean, I still hate what you did, but it’s like you’re so pathetic. What’s the point of making you feel even shittier?”

  “Thanks?”

  “And then I was thinking about my Pops. He loved family. We were the only thing that mattered to him. You had to see how crazy he’d get if like me and Drew were fighting, or I was yelling at my dad. He used to say, ‘Delia, never give up on family. They’re the heartbeat of your journey. The keepers of your soul.’ So like now that you’re family, I was thinking how pissed he’d be if I wasn’t nice to you.”

  “Wait. What did you just say?”

  “I don’t know. A bunch of things.”

  “No. I mean about what Abe used to say to you about family. About the journey.”

  “He had a lot of sappy sayings.” She shrugged. “After a while they all sounded alike.”

  “No, the thing about the keepers of your soul…. It’s so strange. I think I’ve heard that somewhere before. I just can’t think of where.”

  “Whatever…. Anyway, I decided he’d be proud of me if I didn’t tell your dirty little secrets. So I’m letting you off the hook. But no more bullshit lies, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh. And then before we go in, there’s one other thing I have to tell you. It’s one of those good news/bad news deals.”

  “Great. Love those.” I winced.

  Delia leaned in and signaled that I should do the same. “I’m pretty sure it’s over with Marly.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Drew’s coming back from Bermuda tonight. But not with her.”

  “Oh my God. Why?”

  “I don’t know. My dad talked to him this morning, and he said he was packing it in, and that he and Marly were taking different flights back.”

  “Delia, that’s not just good news, that’s great news! But wait. I’m sorry. Aren’t you and Marly friends?”

  “Are you kidding? I hate the stupid bitch.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s a long story. I knew her before Drew did. We used to hang out in high school.”

  “Oh. So wait. What happened? How come you’re happy about them splitting?”

  “’Cause she’s a freakin’ mess. She used to go down on everybody’s boyfriends, she lied about everything. One time I got this Gucci wallet from my dad, which she ripped off from my pocketbook, and then told everyone her uncle brought it back from Italy.”

  “Seriously? Did Drew know?”

  “Yeah, but he said those were in her wannabe days. That she’s not like that anymore.”

  “So what do you think happened now? Did they have a fight?”

  “Who the hell cares? All I know is, now I won’t have to be in their stupid bridal party and wear some shitty pink dress that she thought was so amazing.”

  “You are so lucky. I wish I could get out of my bridal party obligation…. I’ve tried everything, but this friend, Elyce, she just won’t take no for an answer…. Anyway. What’s the bad news?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, um…Drew’s coming home tonight, but he mentioned something to my dad about this chick Nicole. She’s one of our bartenders. They hooked up a few years ago, and then Marly came along. He asked if she’s on tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Uh-huh. Well, I’m sure he’s hurting right now. Old friends are good for times like that.”

  “I hate her fucking guts. She is so two-faced. I hope to God she doesn’t hear about Drew and Marly, ’cause she’ll rip off her clothes and hump him right on the bar…. He is like so pathetic. He could have anybody, but he keeps picking these loser bitches.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Delia?”

  “’Cause if you love him, you gotta tell him. I want you to tell him.”

  “Why? I’m obviously not his type, and let’s not forget a basic fact here. We’re first cousins.”

  “Yeah, but my father isn’t his real father. I mean, he adopted him and everything. But it’s not like your kids would have three heads.”

  “I don’t know. It seems kind of gross…. People would talk.”

  “So? Who gives a shit? You told me before you really loved him. Did you change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Then you have to tell him, because I think if he knew, he might…give it a chance.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re rooting for me. You just told me I’m pathetic.”

  “I know.
But it’s not your fault. It’s just because of all this shit that’s happened you. Other than that, I guess you’re okay. I mean, anyone who would go bare-ass naked in front of Marly is a rip.”

  “Oh God. Drew told you?”

  “No, she did. She was like in shock. It was so great. I wish I could have seen her little face all scrunched up.”

  “It was pretty funny, actually. But what difference does it make? I don’t want to be anyone’s rebound girl. I’ve been there too many times before, and it never works out.”

  “Just leave it to me, okay? If you want my brother, I’ll make sure he doesn’t screw this up.”

  I know a lot of crazy, let-loose, give-the-dog-a-beer kind of people. But after partying in Hollywood for six years, mingling with celebrities, eventual celebrities, used-to-be celebrities, and my-shit-doesn’t-stink-because-I work-for-celebrities, I thought I had seen just about every form of aberrant behavior there was.

  So when I tell you that Delia Fabrikant turned out to be a sweet kid, but a total wack job, I think I speak with some authority. I mean, Sydney had an unpredictable, lunatic side to her, too. Enough that I used to worry about one day getting a call from the police saying that she was standing on a thirty-six-story ledge, just to find out who her friends were. But compared to Delia’s let-loose antics, Sydney looked like an honor roll student at Encino Valley Middle School.

  From the minute we set foot into By the C, Delia morphed into a younger, hipper Norm on Cheers. She was greeted by every customer, waiter, bartender, and manager, and before I could even adjust my eyes to the darkened room, she was off table-hopping, tongue-kissing, drinking, snorting, and dancing. At five-thirty in the afternoon. With her father working upstairs in his office.

  After watching Delia’s signature greeting to men—sticking her hand down the front of their Pavlovian pants—I realized how lucky I was to have been raised by Mr. Don’t You Dare, a shrewd accountant who made me accountable for every decision I ever made.

  Which made me think. If my dad had ever gotten wind of the fact that I was the neighborhood Bianca Jagger, he would have made me write a letter of apology to anyone I might have offended, and then grounded me for life.

  He never would have tolerated such infantile antics. He never would have allowed me to discredit my good name. He never would have let me do anything that would disparage my reputation or make me feel unworthy.

  And for that I had to raise my glass to Lenny Greene.

  Chapter 24

  YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT GETTING WHAT YOU WISH FOR. I WAS thrilled when Delia invited me out for a night of fun. I finally got to wear one of those amazing Versace outfits. Met some cute guys. Pretended that it was just another night in SoBe to enjoy the heat and the beat.

  So imagine my disappointment when the evening turned into a raucous booze cruise on land, and I realized that my sole function was to serve as Delia’s personal hair holder when she vomited. If only I could be back at the Fabrikants’, curled in Drew’s bed.

  It made me wonder how long I could exist in this surreal holding pattern. Unlike my formerly frenetic life, when I ran from shit job to even bigger shit job, from sea salt manicures to human hair extensions, from cocktails in Santa Monica to beach parties in Malibu, now I had no reason to get up, no place to go, no immediate plans for the future. The only thing on my “To Do” list was checking in with Grams to see how she was managing in her new place. Or so I thought.

  When I headed down to the kitchen the next morning (a much easier feat the second time), instead of finding Shari, I saw Drew standing over the sink with a bagel in one hand and the newspaper in the other. How adorable he looked in his white pressed T-shirt and khaki shorts. How well behaved, too, making sure his crumbs didn’t touch the floor.

  It was hard to believe that he and Delia were raised by the same people. Oh no. I also realized that this would be my first face-to-face with Drew since Delia heard my confession. She had promised not to tell, but what if she’d let it slip? And what about his breakup with Marly? Did I know about that, or was I supposed to play dumb? It was too much for my still-fragile brain to handle. Better to tiptoe back to my/his room, call Delia’s cell, and find out what I could and could not say.

  “Claire!” He turned around. “Hi, there. I was hoping you’d come down so we could talk. I almost gave up on you.”

  Don’t ever give up on me. “Drew? Oh wow. What a surprise to see you here. I mean, not that this isn’t still your house, it’s just that no one was expecting you until tomorrow.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “How are you?”

  “Good.” He kissed my cheek. “But you look great. Amazing, actually.”

  “That’s not saying much. If you recall, last time you saw me, I was headed to Psycho U on full scholarship.”

  “No, you weren’t.” He laughed. “You were just overwhelmed and—”

  “Can I ask you something? ’Cause I really need to know. Are you mad at me?”

  “Why do you always ask me that?” He hoisted himself up on to the counter. “Do you have this kind of complex with everyone? No, I’m not mad at you. In fact, I’m very happy to see you.”

  “Just checking. So…um…how was Bermuda? I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

  “You can lay off the fancy footwork. Delia told me she told you about me and Marly.”

  “Oh…well, then, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re as happy as everyone else.”

  “Fine. I cannot tell a lie.” Ha! “I am a little happy. Now I can throw out my Marly voodoo doll.”

  “You hate her that much?”

  “It’s not important. Um, by any chance did Delia happen to say anything else about me?”

  “Yeah. She said you’re staying in my room.”

  Is that all? “I know, and I am really sorry. I had this big fight with my parents before they went back to New York, and I had nowhere else to go, so your parents invited me to stay here, which was really nice, but then I was afraid to stay down in the villas alone, so your dad said it was okay to stay in your room, but I’ll go get my things and move out now. I don’t want to invade your—”

  “No, no. You don’t have to do that. Stay as long as you like…. Are those my clothes?”

  I looked down at my boxers and Miami Marlins T-shirt. “Uh-oh.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just feel like Papa Bear. Someone’s been sleeping in my bed and wearing my boxers and looking better in them than me.” He spoke in a baritone. “And I hope she’s hot.”

  “Oh, she’s hot, all right. Especially when she’s running a fever.” I laughed. “But oh my God, Drew. Your bed is so comfortable, I slept for three straight days. In fact, the whole room is great. I feel safe in there.”

  “That’s funny, because I always felt safe in there myself. Probably because it was the only normal room in the entire house.”

  “Are you serious? You didn’t like growing up here?”

  “What’s not to love? I was the only kid on the block with a Little Tykes Rolls-Royce.”

  “That must have impressed the little girls.”

  “Nah. They were so rich, their piggybanks had vice presidents.”

  It was so wonderful to laugh again, and to feel relaxed. And excited. I hadn’t just been imagining that Drew was wonderful. He was wonderful. Now the question was not how long could I stay in his room, but how long could I stay in his room before I begged him to join me? Just inhaling his soap scent and looking at his lean, muscular body made me weak.

  But even better than getting to look at him over coffee was getting to talk to him. Most men presume that they should be the focus of conversation, but Drew was more concerned with my frame of mind and my relationship with my parents. He talked about how angry he was with Delia for wasting her life. Anything, apparently, to avoid discussing his feelings about Marly, because I did try to go there, and the door to that subject was closed.

  On the other hand, you should have se
en his eyes sparkle when I asked about Abe. It didn’t even faze him when I used the collective, “our grandfather.” He just smiled and shared stories about the great man’s passions. And all the while I was thinking that any guy who could write song lyrics and who could share the pain of his loss was someone I could spend the rest of my life with.

  It was in the midst of listening to the tales that I heard Drew say something about a poem that Pops loved so well, he’d made a copy and tucked it into his wallet. He often forgot to walk around with money, but he never left home without his tattered copy of “My Sky.”

  “Wait. I think of I’ve heard of it,” I said. “But it’s a song, not a poem. Right?”

  “No. It’s a poem. From the Holocaust. It was written in a concentration camp.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’s a song…. I just don’t know why I know that.”

  “I guess the title sounds like a song, but trust me, it’s a poem. It’s in this book he gave me when I was like eight or nine. He was the only grandfather I knew who didn’t read fairy tales to his grandchildren. Instead he read us stories from the Holocaust, which wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you should do before putting a little kid to sleep. But that was my Pops. He drilled it into our heads that life was precious, and we couldn’t ever forget the six million who died.”

  “Do you remember the name of the book?”

  “Yeah. Absolutely. It was called Reason to Believe.”

  “Oh. Now, that’s weird. I had that book, too. I think someone gave it to me for Chanukah one year, and it was like, oh wow. Thanks so much. It’s just what I wanted.”

  “Yeah, well for a while he was reading it to me every night. Then my mother made him stop because she was sure it would turn me into some kind of psycho revenge killer or something. Did you ever read it?”

  “I doubt it. And yet for some reason, the name ‘My Sky’ rings a bell. It’s like ever since Abe died, things keep coming to me that I have no way of knowing, and I have no idea why.”

  “Me either. But maybe your dad was right. We need to call in the local exorcist.”