“I got on a subway and rode to one of the last stops in the Bronx, staring at the floor the whole way. One of the first things I saw climbing up the steps of the station was a used-car lot filled with the biggest automobiles I’d ever seen. Oldsmobiles, Pontiacs, Buick Rivieras. My memory is that they were all gold and purple and sea-foam green, like rides at an amusement park. Maybe I was totally out of it, but these cars seemed gigantic. I guess my perspective on things was so off-kilter… Anyway, I went over in wonder, just to have a look before setting out wherever I was going. But the moment I got there, this wonderful black man in a sharkskin suit and yellow tie came out of a little office to the side of the lot like a magical character. He said, ‘I know I got what you’re looking for!’ I put down my bag and said, ‘Maybe so, but what’ve you got for me under five hundred dollars?’ He clapped his hands together and looked at the sky like deliverance had arrived. ‘Lady, I’ll answer that question with a statement: I got cars here you could drive to, through, and back from World War Three in.’ I laughed and wanted to hug him and buy any car he had to sell. Instead, I said I’d been going through the worst period of my entire life and was at the end end end. If I bought a car now, I needed it to take me a million miles from New York and not break down, because I didn’t have any more to spend on it. He gestured for me to follow and we walked way to the back of the lot. Wedged behind all those big balloon cars like the runt of the litter was a tooth-colored Opel Kadett station wagon. He said he’d sell it to me for three hundred and fifty dollars even though it was worth twice that. He’d checked it out personally, and far as he could see, it was sound. I asked if that meant it was good and he said, ‘It’s tinny, but it’ll take you out of hell.’ There was no one left to trust and he’d made me smile when I needed it, so I pulled out my money and the deal was done in half an hour.
“I drove a few blocks down the street but pulled over when I came to a sign for the entrance to the turnpike out of town. Where was I going? How about north to Boston? New Orleans? Chicago? But if I was going to follow that kind of spontaneous yellow brick road, I wanted to start from the real beginning, which was back in old Glenside. Besides, even though I no longer had my mother, much less a home, if I really was going to leave this part of the country for good, I wanted to see the old stomping grounds one last time. Our house, the places where I used to hang out, my high school. So I made up my first destination of that trip—Glenside, Pennsylvania.
“You can get there from New York in a few hours, even driving slowly. I was in no hurry. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there. Take a last look, smell the air a little, get my bearings back… whatever. There was a radio in the car and I sang along with it the whole way down. Things felt good. There really is a lot to be said for traveling light. Dropping whatever you have in your hands and movin’ out. One of the games I played while driving was trying to remember what I’d actually packed in the bag. There wasn’t much.”
“You’re the second woman I’ve known who’s run away from her man. The other said when she opened her bag later most of what was in there was underwear.”
“Underwear, exactly! The same with me. What does that say about girls on the run? With me it’s not hard to figure out—being clean again. Taking a shower, then putting on fresh underpants and a bra is always a total psychic lift. Sounds silly, but it never fails to make me feel new again. And I definitely needed to feel new after what’d been going on those last weeks.
“I drove into Glenside about nine that night. First thing I did was cruise by our house, but no lights were on and no car was in the driveway. It brought me way down. If only the place had been lit up like it was when I was young. Walking home in the winter after volleyball practice when you were tired and cold, you’d come over the hill at Teresa Schueller’s house and there was your home, lit up and warm-looking, the yellow porch lights on in front, maybe smoke coming out of the chimney. Mom would be in the living room reading her book till you came in, we’d kiss, and she’d go to the kitchen to finish cooking dinner now that everyone was home…
“She was dead and my father was probably down at the Masonic Hall with his buddies or with a dull woman who was as sad and stupid as him. Driving there, I thought I’d had no expectations other than to see the place and then move on to wherever the rest of my life would happen. But there was our house and it was dark, smaller than I remembered, and the bushes in front had been cut down so low they had no more shape. Those stumpy bushes started me crying, and I peeled out of there like a kid in a drag race.
“I drove to a bar in town and was there about fifteen minutes when a guy named Mark Elsen came up and said hi. Mark was one of those sweet guys from high school who are kind of drippy but have a crush on you. Most of them go into the Army after graduation, but eventually end up back in town afterward running the family appliance store. In school I knew he liked me and would come over to talk whenever he got up the nerve. He was actually rather good-looking and nice, but dull as an empty cardboard box.
“On the other hand, who was I to talk? There I was at the bar, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Lily Vincent, half a day away from a marvelous life as a burnt-out, doped-up loser who’d spent last night in a stranger’s bed as baksheesh for a drug deal, most likely.
“Mark was probably both the best and the worst person I could have bumped into that night on the face of the earth. He was so delighted to see me, so happy I’d come home and we’d bumped into each other. I felt adored.”
“Wasn’t that good for your ego?”
“Yes, for about an hour, but then reality came back, and no matter what he thought, I knew who I was and how close the demons were.
“To make matters worse, I did the most pathetic thing and could not stop myself. He kept asking what I was up to in ‘the Big Apple.’ He kept referring to it like that, like he was hip too ‘cause he knew the nickname. Which only made him more heartbreaking. ‘So what’s going on with you up in the Big Apple? Acting school, huh? Got a Hollywood contract yet?’ Not an ounce of cynicism in the way he said it. He assumed I was already a great success and would be out in L.A. knocking ‘em dead in no time. Know what I did? Started lying. Told him the most outrageous whoppers and fantasies. Like I was in this elite acting class at NYU taught by Dustin Hoffman. I was going to be in an Andy Warhol film soon, and I hung around the Factory with Lou Reed… It embarrasses me even now to think about it. Later he admitted he didn’t know half the people I’d mentioned, but it sounded tremendous. That was his word: tremendous. Whatever I said, he’d say, ‘Tremendous, Lily. That’s tremendous.’ He bought me drinks and a steak sandwich while I slung the bullshit. He kept shaking his head and saying ‘tremendous,’ like he couldn’t get over my magnificence. Such a nice guy. I didn’t have to do that. He thought I was great without any fluff. I could just as easily have cried on his shoulder and told him what was really happening. He would’ve been sympathetic.”
“You said those lies for yourself, not him. You wanted life to be the way you described it. It was a performance. For him, you were the actor in the Warhol film, the girl who knocked them dead in New York. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, nothing wrong. Sad. End-of-the-line sad. It got so bad that he was asking me what Warren Beatty was like. I sat there with a cigarette in my hand, looking off into deep space like I was seriously considering his question, and said, ‘I like him, but I know people who don’t.’ ”
That made me laugh. Lily joined in and it was as if a wave of relief flooded over us both in the dark nervous bedroom. I knew what was coming, knew we were moving toward it like the top of a long staircase, but this laughter now let us stop and catch our breath before the last push.
“It is funny, isn’t it? We talked for another couple of hours and got a little drunk. Not much, but enough to make him more impressed and me more daring. I was the one who suggested we go out and take a drive somewhere. Out in the parking lot, he asked if I’d like to go in his car. When I said yes, he p
ointed to a brand-new Camaro Z-28. A really beautiful, souped-up thing that sounded like a jet plane when he started it. I remember ‘Z-28’ because it sounded so technical and dangerous, like a weapon, but when I asked Mark what it meant, he didn’t know.
“We drove around and he told me more about what’d been going on in town since I’d left: who married who, who moved away, what stores had changed, small-town news. You think you don’t care about that once you’ve left and are out in the big world, but when you hear it you’re fascinated.
“We ended up at Dairy Queen eating banana splits. Mark kept asking about different famous people he was sure I knew. Oh, the tales I told! How he ate them up. You’re right, it was a performance and I loved it. I remember him listening so intently that he held a spoonful of ice cream in front of his face for minutes, not eating it because he was too enthralled with what I was saying. That handsome face, his mouth hanging open like a kid’s, chocolate sauce dripping onto the table.” She went silent, sighed, cleared her throat. “I put my hand over his and said I wanted to fuck him.”
“You didn’t! That’s bad.”
“Sssh. Let me talk. I thought: What the hell, I’m going to act this out to its total end both for me and for him. We got back in his car and I told him to drive to the parking lot behind the high school. There were famous town rumors and jokes about people doing it back there, but you knew none of them were true, because it was too dangerous; the police patrolled the area about five times a night. They followed no fixed schedule, so no one ever knew when they’d come next. Mark knew what I was getting at and got scared. He didn’t want to go, but I said either there or no place, deal’s off. If he’d said no, and was more scared of the cops than hot to have me, it would’ve been the crowning blow to my ego. As it was, he hesitated a long time before turning the car around and going back. But that was the whole point of telling him to go there! It had to be dangerous, there had to be risk involved. Who’d remember just another fuck at the end of a dark country road? I wanted it to be a solid-gold memory. One that’d make him chuckle and shake his head when he was fifty-eight and sitting on a porch with arthritis and not much else. How many of those do we have?”
“I’ve noticed something. You keep using the word ‘fuck.’ That’s not a ‘you’ word. Plus, you make it sound like you’re trying to club something with it. ‘Who’d remember just another fuck—’ Why are you talking like that?”
“Because that’s what this was—fucking. Fuck—hard, fast, get to the point and then get off. Men like to fuck. Fuck and come. That’s what I wanted to do with Mark—fuck him like he’d never had it before, and then disappear in a puff of smoke. A dream come true and gone a moment later before any of its glitter fell. Let him remember me that way. This one night in the back seat of his new car behind the school when he finally got to fuck Lily Vincent and she was a firecracker deluxe.”
“Were you a firecracker?”
“More! As soon as we got there, I straddled him and took my clothes off as sexily as I knew how. When he reached out to touch me, I wouldn’t let him, because I wanted him like corn in hot oil. Know how it sizzles and dances around in the pan right before it explodes into popcorn? I wanted him scrinching around in the seat and going crazy with sex for me. I wanted someone to want me! And he did.”
“Were you wonderful?”
“I was.”
“Were you turned on?”
“A little toward the end. But no, not much. It was too much like gymnastics. I was working too hard to make him hot and think he was driving me crazy.”
“I’m jealous.”
I heard her turn. Her voice was high and excited when she spoke. “Really? Why? It was so long ago and I was faking the whole thing.”
“Because jealousy is greed. I want it all and don’t want to share any of it ever. Sometimes when I think about it, I’m jealous of the men in your past and what they did with you. I’d like to go back and take all of the kisses and fucks away from them and keep them for myself.”
“That’s nice, Max. I never thought of it that way.”
“I do. Go on, firecracker.”
“Well, we did it a couple of times and I think I was satisfying. You asked before if it was good and I said a little, but that’s untrue. It was good because I threw myself into it totally. I licked him and kissed him and hugged and groaned. At first, I was thinking: What else will make him hot, what else’ll make him howl at the moon? But you get caught up in it, even when it’s a performance. I liked it and it was good.
“When we were totally exhausted and done, we got dressed and sat there not speaking. After counting slowly to a hundred, I said I wanted him to go now and leave me here. I wanted to walk back through town alone to my car. He was flabbergasted. Go away? How could I say such a thing after what had happened? I started growing impatient, wanting to be out of his car and alone again. He said he loved me, and besides, how could I have done it so wonderfully if I didn’t feel anything for him? I didn’t answer, but began to resent him although the whole spiel had been my doing. He got desperate and asked, was it a time thing? It had happened so quickly and spontaneously, was it just that I needed some time alone to sort out what’d happened? Luckily he supplied that excuse to escape, because I was in no mood or shape to cook one up. Yes, you’re right, Mark, I am confused and want to be alone to think. That calmed him. Ever since then I’ve wondered what would have happened if he had said no. Just been strong and absolutely insisted I stay with him the rest of the night. But old sweetie Mark Elson didn’t do it. Instead, he got out of the car and raced around to open my door. We kissed goodbye. He pulled me close and out in the middle of that big empty parking lot whispered, ‘What’s going on, Lily?’ Which was a bull’s-eye question, because I hadn’t the slightest idea, and had come today hoping to find a way home. Or else I did know what was going on: me breaking apart, faster than the speed of light. I pushed him away and started running in the opposite direction. He called me, but when I didn’t stop, he yelled out, ‘I’ll be at the store tomorrow, if you need me!’ I needed him, all right. I needed everyone in the whole world holding one of those giant firemen’s nets people fall into when they jump from a burning building. But it was too late.”
“Why? Why was it too late?”
“Because by then I was so far gone, I was jumping from every corner of the building, not just one. They wouldn’t have had enough nets to catch me.
“Running felt good. As I moved, for half an instant I considered going home and asking Dad to let me spend the night. What a laugh! Home, Sweet, Dark Home.
“I could feel Mark’s warm sperm begin to run down the inside of my leg. I thought of babies. All those Mark-babies that would never be. No babies would ever come out of me. The sickness and the scars had put an end to that. Another possibility down, how many more to go? It had been so long since I’d thought of children. This was the town where I’d been a child, but I was running from it now, running from my life, running out of life, and knowing there was nothing to run to. I would never be able to create life. It hit me so hard then.
“I ran and ran. It was about three miles from school back to the bar but I got there fast. Gasping, I hopped into the car and started it up. It bucked backward into a retaining wall because I’d forgotten to take it out of gear when I turned it off. That lurch scared me into clearness a little. I put my hands on my face and rubbed up and down till it got hot. Then I started the motor again and drove slowly out of the lot.
“It was still dark when I left, but morning birds were singing. I started crying as I passed by different places in town. I said goodbye to them. Bye, library, Beaver College, Marilyn Zodda’s house. Some were important, others only part of my life’s map. They were all about to disappear forever. I knew I’d never go back there, so this was it. Bye-bye, Howard Johnson’s. I actually rolled down the window and waved at that stupid restaurant! Bye, fried clams and cigarettes after school there with Marilyn and Lynda Jones in our favorite booth.
Bones Jones. Goodbye goodbye goodbye. Boom—end of Glenside days. I rolled out on that highway and drove.
“Until the car died an hour later. Smoke began pouring out from under the hood and, poof, it stopped. I was calm, rolled it onto the shoulder and turned it off. It was a beautiful morning. I got out and stood beside the car while the sun came up over those hazy blue fields. Not many cars drove by but that was okay because I didn’t feel like flagging one down yet. I assumed the Opel was a goner, which meant I’d have to start out again some other way. The idea left me blank.
“A truck driver pulled over and took me to the next town. I got a mechanic at a gas station to come back and look. Amazingly, it was only a broken fan belt, a nine-dollar repair. Plus, the man had the part with him in his van. I should’ve been ecstatic, but when he told me, I had nothing to say. He must have thought I was a zombie. A zombie who was suddenly hungry. While he worked on the car, I asked if there was a good place to get breakfast in town. He recommended the Garamond Grill.”
“Garamond? Garamond, Pennsylvania?” This was it: Brendan Wade Meier was kidnapped there.
“Do you know the town?”
“No, but I know what you did there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Garamond. I mean Anwen and Gregory Meier and their son Brendan, age about nine and a half now. Last seen in a baby carriage outside a store at the Garamond Shopping Plaza. I know what you did, Lily, I know you kidnapped him.” I turned on the light next to the bed and lay back down. Closing my eyes, I told her how I’d gone through the house after her bizarre and suspicious behavior when Lincoln was in the hospital. How I’d found her newspaper clippings about the Meiers and hired the detective to investigate. Then about my trip East, meeting the desolate couple, being shot at on the New Jersey Turnpike.
After Silence Page 16
