Lady Vanishes

by Carol Lea Benjamin

  “That’s true. I am trying to help Venus. And I think you can help me do that, Homer.”

  He looked at those polished shoes of his, the laces even, tied just so, as if by paying careful attention to the minutia, that and going to meetings, you could keep your life from falling to pieces.

  “I never mean to—”

  “But it happens, right? You’re cleaning, and you hear someone on the phone, or you hear an argument. The way you saw me snooping today, by happenstance.”

  He nodded.

  “You see, this here building, it was a seaman’s hotel originally, before Mr. Dietrich bought it, got it fixed up so it would be right for the kids. It was meant for short-term visits, people staying here by themselves, not a place for lots of families, thick floors and walls you can’t hear through. Voices carry here. Mostly, it’s a helpful thing. The princess, she cries a lot at night, but she doesn’t get up and call me. From anywhere except the kitchen I can hear her, or any of them that needs me. I know to go to her, make things better. That’s my job. That’s what Venus hired me to do. She said I could understand them, because I’d been down. She said no one would ever wish to be where I spent a major chunk of my life, no one would ever choose to be a drunk and a failure, no one would ever think any good could come of it.” Homer’s eyes filled again. “‘But in this job,’ she said, ‘you could consider it an advantage.’”

  Dashiell got up and put his head on Homer’s knee.

  “But sometimes what I hear,” he continued, “it’s got nothing to do with what I was hired for. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I do.”

  “Sometimes I find out things in other ways,” he said.

  “A piece of paper in the trash.”

  Homer nodded a little too enthusiastically.

  “Hey, you’re human, right? You’re curious.”

  “I never go through the files or nothing. Just sometimes there’s something right on top of the desk when I’m cleaning up. It’s hard not to look.”

  “I figure you know about as much as anyone,” I told him.

  “Some would think that.”

  “Before I came today, Homer, did you hear anything yourself? From the big powwow in the dining room?”

  “Seemed like the sister wasn’t too happy. Those spoiled kids of hers either. Mr. Dietrich wasn’t like that. You could see he was rich all right. But he was a regular guy, too. He wasn’t a showoff, like them.”

  “What were they miffed about?”

  “That Bailey thinks it’s going to be him doing Mr. Dietrich’s job, managing investments, and making financial decisions for Harbor View. I always thought Nathan was preparing himself for that, with his MBA degree and all that fund-raising he does. Maybe he thought Mr. Dietrich would move down to Florida, get hisself a boat, take it easy for a change. If anyone could afford to do that, he could. But it’s too late for that now.”

  “What about Samuel? If Nathan thought he’d take over for Mr. Dietrich, did Samuel think he’d take over for his father one day?”

  “You can’t take care of the kids with singing and dancing, Rachel. These poor souls have serious problems. They need medical care.

  “Oh, it’s not that Sammy didn’t try. There’s nothing he would a liked better’n that, as devoted as he is.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The story I heard was that he was in medical school, and pffft. Couldn’t cut it. Had the brains for it, but not the stomach.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Molly did. She’s known them boys forever. She was their nanny before she came here.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Cross my heart,” he said. And he did.

  “So Samuel. He was in medical school, but he flunked out?”

  “Oh, Mr. Samuel is a smart one. Don’t kid yourself. He’s always reading something, that one, wouldn’t step on the subway without a book. And listening to his music, the classics and opera. He didn’t flunk out. He passed out. Fainted at his first autopsy, first year in.”

  “But lots of people do that and get by the squeamishness and go on to be fine—”

  Or go on to be psychiatrists, I thought, doctors who can’t stand the sight of blood.

  “Not this one. He’s here late, he wants a snack, Molly leaves the tomato sauce off his pasta, gives him a little oil and garlic instead. Someone gets cut, or falls, it’s not Samuel you call. It’s Dr. Eli or me or Molly, that tough old bird. He’s always been like that, squeamish. Not Molly. You should see what that woman can handle, and the strength of her, at her age. She can lift some of them, grown-ups, nearly her own size, as if they were babes in arms. Gets them to take their pills, go to bed on time, bathe when they don’t want to—she can handle anything. A find, that’s what she is for a place like this. But so is Samuel, in his own way. Couldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps, the way he wanted to, but he does a world of good here with his little classes every night, a world of good.”

  “What about the poster family for overindulgence? Have they ever done anything here? And what about the wives?”

  “What wives?”

  “Harry’s wife, before she got sick? And Eli’s?”

  “Eli’s wife died when the boys were young. That’s why they had Molly. She lived with them, in Brooklyn, while the boys were growing up.”

  “And now?”

  “She lives here, Rachel. I thought you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t.” But I hadn’t seen where anyone could either. I assumed when Venus stayed, she slept on the couch in her office. But where would Molly sleep? I asked Homer.

  “Up top. Southeast corner, nice and quiet, overlooking the garden. Small, but she don’t seem to mind.”

  “Do you live here, too?”

  “Not me, Rachel. Venus offered. But I’ve had my place for thirty-three years now, and the rent’s cheap. I got my own troubles without being with theirs every hour around the clock. You’re here, your work hours get flexible, you see what I’m saying? Molly don’t mind that, or so she says. I do. I got to get to my meetings regular and have some peace and quiet, too. And I need a phone, so’s I can call my sponsor when I have to. Like tonight.” He looked toward the phone on Harry’s desk. “We’re not supposed to use the phones here, unless it’s for them, the kids, an accident or something. Like we ain’t got no needs ourselves.”

  I patted his hand.

  “He told me to hold on, my sponsor.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I told him, I’m trying, aren’t I? It’s why I’m calling, I said.” He nodded. I did, too.

  “Homer, you never told me about Harry’s wife. Marilyn. Did she come here, work with the kids, or help Harry out?”

  “Met her twice, is all. This was Harry’s work, not hers. The sister’s the same way, I can tell you. The one was here today? That Bailey Poole, her son, he was saying he’d be overlooking the finances. That’s what I heard him say, overlooking the finances. Never set foot in the place more’n once a year before now. But that sister woman, when they got here after the services, she was looking the place over, as if now that Mr. Dietrich is gone, it’s hers. Can you just imagine what that crew would do to this place if it were theirs? Turn it into a shopping mall, I guess.” He looked at his hands, gnarled with work, the fingers stained a yellowish brown. “Never worked a day in their lives, the pack of them. You can see it by their hands, even the boy. Good-for-nothings, I say. Dr. Eli, he was telling them they were jumping the gun. They had to wait and see.”

  He looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

  “Until they got to see the will,” I told him, “see what Harry spelled out for Harbor View. I guess everyone is expecting what they want, as if Harry were Santa Claus.”

  “I’m sure he did what’s right for them,” he said, pointing up.

  “You don’t think he would have been concerned about his relatives’ feelings? After all, Arlene was his wife’s sister, and he has no other family that I know of.”

  “Don’
t matter,” Homer said. “This is what mattered to him. These people here, the twins and Jackson, Willy and Richard and the princess, Charlotte, David, and all of them, this was Harry’s family. This is where his heart was. You’ll see.”

  I nodded. “You okay now, Homer?”

  “I’m better. It’s good to have a friend.”

  I reached over and patted his hand, dry from cleaning products, rough from hard work.

  “I better finish my bed checks. You done in here?” he asked me, the suspicion coming back into his eyes.

  “Yeah, I was just looking for you,” I told him. “To tell you I couldn’t wait for our cup of tea. I want to get over to the hospital, see how Venus is doing.”

  Homer nodded. “You tell her I said—”

  Then he remembered.

  “I will, Homer. No point me sitting with her and keeping my thoughts to myself. I figure, maybe she hears me, so I talk a blue streak. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “You tell her Homer’s keeping her seat for her. She’ll know.”

  He got up and went to the door, holding it ajar for me.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. Anything you hear, you let me know.”

  He nodded.

  Dashiell and I headed for the door, then turned back.

  “Homer, were you here when Harry got hit by the bicycle?”

  “I wasn’t. I went to the six o’clock meeting, got here about seven-thirty, couldn’t get in right off, because they were looking for clues out front. Never saw so many police in all my days.”

  “What about the night before? Did you hear anything then, anything unusual?”

  “Sorry, Rachel, I didn’t. I don’t know anything about Mr. Dietrich’s accident.”

  I walked back to where he was standing.

  “You might, Homer, but you might not know that what you saw or heard has any significance. So if something comes up, if you remember some little detail, no matter how unimportant it seems, you let me know, okay?”

  “Okay, Rachel. I knew I was right about you trying to help Venus.”

  “You bet I am. And now you are, too. We’re a team.”

  It was a fifteen-minute walk to St. Vincent’s, and I was hoping, at least for that short amount of time, I’d be able to let my mind go blank. There wasn’t much hope it would get rest in the normal way that night. After checking in on Venus, I was planning to go back to her apartment and spend the rest of the night reading her correspondence with Harry, hoping for something, anything, that would point me in the right direction.

  Digging my hands into my pockets, because it was late enough that I was chilly now, I felt Venus’s necklace and wondered if part of seeing what I had to would mean seeing through David’s eyes.

  Or Jackson’s.

  And then I wondered if I was up to it.

  Sure, sometimes I could see like a dog, I could understand what should be unfathomable. But this was different, David and Jackson were of my own species, yet more baffling than anything I’d run across.

  Still, I couldn’t help feeling that part of what I was seeking lay hidden there, with David, Jackson, and Charlotte, maybe with Cora, too—people who were unable to see the world as I needed it seen because they were infinitely more lost and confused than I now felt.

  CHAPTER 28

  I Whispered Her Name

  Except for the sound of machines doing the work some people’s bodies had refused to do, and the occasional squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the tile floors, there hadn’t been a sound in the ICU since I’d quietly moved a chair closer and sat next to Venus’s bed. Even the receptionist downstairs had only nodded when I came in, maybe figuring if I was here so late, there must be a good reason for it. The night nurse, too, had merely looked up as I passed her, as if making rounds with a pit bull was a normal part of hospital procedure.

  For a while I sat still, not wanting to disturb the quiet. Then I reached for Venus’s hand, sliding mine under it, hers lying limp on mine, palm up. I watched her breathing for a while before I realized she was off the ventilator, doing it on her own. My heart did a little dance in my chest, enough excitement to get Dashiell up from where he’d wedged himself, head and shoulders under the bed, trunk, rump, and tail sticking out, legs straight back in the frog position. First he looked at me, then at Venus. Head up, nose moving, he began to test the air, going closer to the bed until he had no choice, he had to get up there to get what he was after, and with a quick turn behind me to make sure the curtain was closed, I let him, watched him climb up and stand over Venus, his tail moving slowly from side to side, then suddenly dip his big head and begin vigorously to lick her face. I moved my hand to her wrist to protect the place where the IV needle had been inserted to give her fluids and hoped like hell the nurse wouldn’t pick this particular time to do a bed check.

  I had a powerful faith in the wisdom of a sound dog, having seen and heard enough miracles to know that animals sensed things that were beyond human knowledge. So as odd as this scene would have appeared to most of the rest of the human race and probably all of the hospital personnel, I sat there with a wait-and-see attitude when anyone else would have kicked the dog off the bed in no time flat.

  Dashiell kept licking, and the speed of his tail revved up, enough so that I had to move a bit to avoid getting hit in the face.

  And then I felt it: Venus’s fingers moved, as if she were trying to close her hand.

  I felt a flutter in my chest again, but then I thought, who said they didn’t move before? Did a twitch mean anything? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to ask the nurse, but now even I thought it was time to get Dashiell off the bed. It’s not that he was doing any harm. It’s just that I wanted to get a better look at Venus, and he was in the way.

  Off, I whispered, not wanting to hear the nurse’s shoes squealing as she came running.

  Dashiell backed up and got off the bed, standing next to my chair, his tail still going like a runaway metronome.

  Now Venus’s eyes were moving, the lids still closed, the way Dashiell’s do when he’s dreaming.

  I took her hand. I whispered her name. Venus opened her eyes.

  I knew I should have called the nurse right away, but I didn’t. I waited to hear what Venus would have to say. She looked at me for what seemed like ages. I thought for a moment she might need time to focus after being out for so long. But her face didn’t look confused. It just looked blank. And then her mouth moved, and Venus whispered something, so softly that I couldn’t make it out.

  “Say it again,” I said, getting up and getting closer, bending over her so that I could hear the word Venus had mouthed. And then I did.

  “Pain,” she said.

  And then her eyes fluttered closed, and her head moved slightly away from me.

  I sat a moment longer, my heart pounding, then went out to the desk to tell the nurse what had happened.

  CHAPTER 29

  Is This Yours? She Asked

  It was the middle of the night by the time I left St. Vincent’s. I had wanted to go to Venus’s apartment and read the rest of her letters to and from Harry, but after what had happened, it seemed a ridiculous plan. For one thing, it would take hours and hours to do that. No way could I stay awake that long if I were sitting still and reading. My head ached, my stomach felt hollow, I was punchy with exhaustion. Whatever the nurse had given Venus, injecting something into the IV drip, I should have asked for some myself. But even more pressing than my need for sleep was my need to tell someone about what had happened, someone who knew Venus and would care.

  For some reason I can’t explain, halfway back to Harbor View, I changed my mind again. I had been hoping to talk to Homer, maybe have that cup of tea with him and tell him that Venus was breathing on her own, that she’d awakened, even if it was only for half a minute, and only to say she was hurting.

  But as I passed the little park at Abingdon Square, empty now, all the old people from the Village Nursing Home snug in their beds, no one else around,
not even the pigeons that swoop in and clean the park of dropped food, I decided there was someone else I ought to tell my story to. Even at this late hour, or maybe especially at this late hour, talking about something as emotional as Venus’s “accident” and what looked to me like the beginning of her recovery might open up other topics, might just give me the piece of the puzzle that would allow me to understand the now confusing picture. It could make sense of the jumble of seemingly unrelated facts, like when after a long litany of complaints, a dog owner used to tell me the thing I should have heard first. He was taken from his mother at four weeks of age, they’d say, an aside that had no real significance to them but explained all the aberrant behavior that had led to me being hired.

  If only.

  She opened her door on the third knock, looking puffy-faced and confused when the light from the hallway hit her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, squinting as she pulled her robe closed around her and tied the belt. She had her slippers on, too, I noticed, ready to go forth and do battle if need be.

  “I have to talk to you,” I told her, watching her expression change. She was looking at me now as if I were crazy. “Can I come in?”

  “What time would it be?” she asked.

  “Two-something,” I told her without looking. “I’ve just come from seeing Venus.”

  Molly reached for my hand and pulled me into her dark room, leaving the door open behind us. In the little bit of light that filtered in from the hallway we made our way to her bed and sat, Molly still holding my hand.

  “How is she, that poor child?”

  “She spoke,” I said. “And she’s breathing on her own.” And then before I could elaborate, I began to cry. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, making my eyes feel as if they were full of sand, making my shoulders sag and ache, my feet feel too big for my shoes, my mouth feel dry and sour. As if she knew all that, Molly reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and handed it to me. Then she slipped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close.