by C. S. Lakin
“Now, now, Ferrol, we’ve all taken a roasting. But, never forget the golden rule. She who has the gold, rules. And I have the gold.”
“Who cares? You dragged us down into the mud and now you want to rub our faces in it?” Della said.
“. . . And when you have gold, you have power. Power to destroy and power to heal.”
“Now you’re sounding like God. What’s your next act? Are you going to carve Ten Commandments for us? Part the Red Sea?” Dick asked.
Lila yanked on Millie’s sleeve. “Millie, speak up. You’re so quiet.” Millie slumped down into the couch. “Come now, in the past you always had gobs of advice for me. ‘Lila, try out for Thespians, you can do it.’ or ‘wear this outfit—that’ll get his attention.’ What do you think—should I tell Ida Ferrol about her wayward son? Should I encourage Matson to squeal to the police? Oh, the shame and disgrace. And what will your children think of dear Daddy then? But look at the bright side: you could have some peace and quiet for a few years while Dick serves out his jail sentence.”
“Lila, shut up,” Dick said. “You can’t threaten me.”
“Oh, but I can.”
Millie pleaded. “Please, Lila, can’t you just forget the past? Can’t we say we’re sorry and be done with it? What do you want from us?”
“Ah, Millie. So perceptive. Yes, there is something I want from you all, and I think you know what it is. Just a little thing. I’m talking about a matter of justice. Right now I know you all feel everything’s hopeless. That your lives have gone speedily down the toilet, so to speak. But all is not lost, really. I could change your luck in the wink of a lottery ticket. All I have to do is reverse this misfortune you seem to be having. Why Dick, instead of going to jail, you could be state senator. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You don’t think I can arrange it? You fuckin’ bet I can.”
Lila’s voice became commanding. She took center stage. “A few well-placed phone calls and the ball will start rolling. Miraculously, the charges of fraud and embezzlement will disappear. People will begin reciting your name and the word around town will be ‘Ferrol for Senate.’ And in no time at all, there’ll be an office with your name on it in gold letters. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’d give your front buck teeth for?”
Dick’s eyes glittered. Through the liquored fog of his mind, he envisioned himself on the Senate floor, giving a speech to the other movers and shakers of Washington State. He wanted it so badly he could almost taste it.
“And Della, poor thing. You have nowhere to go. I hate to think of you joining the ranks of the homeless. Eating out of trash cans. You’ve used up all your coupons; no one else will take you in. Or you might check into a rehab clinic and try to clean up your act and face the shambles of your life. But you know how that will turn out. You’ll just slit your wrists again, and end your pain forever. However, there is another alternative.”
Lila paced in the darkened room; the drunken group listened attentively, trying to follow her drift. “I know how much you love the sun. Wouldn’t you like to live somewhere tropical, let’s say, the Bahamas, in your own sprawling home, maids, servants at your command. Why, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger ever again. I’d provide a handsome escort at your side, an unlimited bank account at your disposal. Sound nice? And if you got bored, maybe even a real part on Broadway. Start your career again, this time on the right foot, with all the breaks. Della Roman, the star she always aspired to be.” Lila snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
Della lulled herself into imagining the picture Lila painted. It was such an easy, agonizing thing to do. Her oiled body under a hot sun. A beautiful man massaging her back. Never to go hungry or be frightened again.
“And you, dear Jonny, you could keep up the desperate act of trying to find work. The jobs getting fewer and fewer. Slowly slipping down the ladder back to episodes and finally the real dregs; to daytime, and the soaps. Getting fired over and over again because of your nasty disposition. You’ll eventually have to give up the house and the Mercedes, hock everything and leave town. What are you equipped to do? Sell vacuum cleaners or Encyclopedia Brittanicas? Or hey, why not get a job in a deli? Now, there’s an appropriate career for you. You have some experience in that field.”
Jonathan visibly shuddered at the mention of the deli. His childhood returned to his mind —his parents’ store with the everlasting smell of sour pickles, his mother and father screaming at one another. The endless sandwiches he made after school, month after month. His clothes smelling of pastrami. He would never do that again. Never. He would rather die.
Jonathan’s expression was not lost on Lila. She smiled like an angel bearing gifts. “Relax, Jonny. Your problem is the easiest of all to solve. One itty, bitty phone call away. The hottest agent in town dying to sign you on. Job offers pouring in. That elusive feature, yours at last. Jonny Levin, the most sought-after director in Hollywood. Money pouring down from the heavens. Maybe even an Oscar. You will remember me in your acceptance speech? Need I go on?”
Jonathan’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. Damn her. She could do it. Just one lousy phone call. Damn her! He tried to blot out the thoughts. Hearing his name called. Walking down the aisle as everyone grabbed at him, wanting to touch success. On stage, being handed that golden tribute to his talent. Oh, please . . . I want it . . .
Lila walked up to Millie and stroked her hair.
“Millie, you have a choice. Be an unhappy senator’s wife or don’t go back to him at all. How would you like to own your own boutique? Pick all the merchandise. Answer to nobody but little ol’ Mil. Be self-sufficient, finally free from your money-grubbing, lying husband. Have your own hairdresser, dietitian, and cook. Why, without all that aggravation, you’ll lose fifty pounds in no time. The men will be pounding down your door—handsome, considerate men. You’ll be your own woman. No more walking in Dick’s suffocating shadow.”
Millie tried to shut out Lila’s words, but they soaked in through every pore. Her head spun with exhaustion. Once more, Lila was manipulating them all again. First, they were coerced into playing that awful game in which no one could win. What was she up to? She pulled them all down and now she was making grandiose promises. But what would be the price this time? She shuddered to think.
Lila waited for a response. Nothing. She could hear the wheels turning. She chuckled. “To the right: life eternal. To the left: hellfire and brimstone. The choice is yours.”Jonathan looked at the others. “Watch out gang, she may only be showing us the pilot. Remember the joke?”
“Very clever, Jonny. But you won’t know till you pick, will you?”
Dick couldn’t stand it any longer. “So, what do you want? What could we possibly do for you? You have everything.”
Lila paced across the carpeting. Her back faced the hallway where Cynthia stood, transfixed.
“Not everything, Senator. I want Davis to make good his promise to me.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding,” Della said.
“All he needs a little persuading.”
“To do what?” Dick asked. “You can’t believe we can talk him into giving Cynthia up to marry you.”
Jonathan groaned. “Be reasonable, Lila.”
“What kind of marriage would that be?” Millie asked. “You can’t force someone into marrying someone they don’t want.”
Dick sneered. “Oh, no?”
A smile spread across Lila’s face and she nodded to Dick. “I rest my case.”
“It’s not possible,” Jonathan said.
Lila frowned. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You have until noon tomorrow. And don’t doubt for a minute that I mean business. I always keep my word, unlike that S.O.B. A great injustice has been committed and I want it rectified. Remember Oscar Wilde: ‘A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.’ God save you from the wrath of Lila!” She emitted a sinister laugh that reverberated off the stone walls. “Now, go.”
Cynthia ga
sped. Davis was right—even in his drunken stupor, he had recognized Lila’s obsession. She was crazy, dangerously crazy. Cynthia hurried to the front door and swung it open.
She screamed into the wind. “Davis, Davis, where are you?” She rushed out into the black night, tightening her scarf around her head. “Dammit, Davis, where are you?”
Inside, the others sat poised with tension. Lila looked at her watch. “Twelve hours, troops, to accomplish your mission, or turn back into rotting pumpkins. Happy hunting.” Lila walked toward the hall.
“Hey, where are you going?” Jonathan asked.
“To bed.”
“And that’s it?”
“My work’s done. Yours is just beginning. By the way, I lied when I said there was no way off the island. You may want to catch up with loverboy. It would be a shame if he really did get away. A damn shame.”
With that comment, Lila disappeared down the hall, heading for the stairs that led to her tower. She was aware of a deadly silence behind her, broken only by Millie’s soft crying. Slowly, Lila pushed herself up a stair at a time, grasping the railing. Her breath came in spurts and her hands shook, as in the aftermath of an accident, when it was safe to fall apart. This had been her finest performance, but it drained everything out of her. She desperately needed sleep. And she would find it easily, now that the wolves had been set loose.
Chapter 21
Millie hesitated at the drawbridge. The squall ripped through the pine trees, sending a cascade of needles crashing into her face. Not far ahead, Della and Jonathan argued. Intent on leading the way, Dick had been the first out and impervious to Millie’s pleas to stop. He even slammed the door in her face. But, what did she expect? That he would concede to Lila’s victory? Forgive the things she said to him? For the life of her, Millie couldn’t understand what this fury was all about. Lila’s fury. Dick’s fury. All of them. Why tear each other to pieces? Millie mulled the night’s events in her mind. Was Lila really serious? She couldn’t possibly think Davis would marry her. So, what was her point? To exercise her power? Make them all tremble? A bizarre image of circus dogs came to mind. And Lila dressed in a clown costume with a whip, making them jump through hoops at her command. Lila even had a flashlight for each one of them waiting by the door—as if she planned this very detail. Millie’s heart sank. Despite her great success, Lila had become bitter and cruel. She should be grateful for all she had. She should spend her energy and money helping people, not destroying them.
Another image entered Millie’s mind: Dick moping in a jail cell, ashamed and broken. She searched her heart for pity and found none. If he broke the law and got himself into this kind of trouble, then maybe he deserved it. It frightened her to think of being alone, on her own with her two girls, but what kind of husband and father had Dick been, anyway? Would she miss him? She had this image of dressing her little girls to visit their daddy in prison. How they would wail at the sight of him behind bars. How Dick would suffer at seeing them.
Stepping carefully over roots and branches, she edged her way through the woods until she could see the beach, dark and forbidding in the moonless night. She felt as if she were in some dream—no, nightmare. What was she doing in a forest, in the dark, on a remote island without her little babies? She envisioned them sleeping soundly in their beds; Dick’s mother perpetually straightening the now spotless house, everything in perfect order.
Millie’s head pounded hard, blurring her vision. She strained to pay attention to her footing. Up ahead, the three shapes ran along the shoreline, their flashlight beams intersecting on the sand. Della stumbled behind the two men. Millie was relieved when they stopped and searched the ground for footprints, giving her a chance to catch up. Her body ached for sleep.
“Hey,” she cried out, “wait up.”
Dick turned and saw Millie shuffling. He resumed running. Della and Jonathan followed feebly.
“I said, wait up.” Millie collapsed on the wet ground.
That was it, she quit. Her clothes were soaked and her feet were two knobs of pain. It would be just her luck to come down with pneumonia on top of everything.
Della came over and knelt beside her.
Millie panted hard. “What in God’s name are you all doing? Lila sends you on some fool chase, and you go? Is that it?”
“Speak for yourself.” Della sulked as the rain splattered off the brim of her hood. Fishing a cigarette out of her pocket, she lit it and took a long drag. She looked up the beach, where Jonathan and Dick continued arguing as they slogged along. “Hot shot thinks Davis went up there.” Della pointed to the crest of rocks. “I’m not climbing any mountains in the dark. That’d be suicide.”
“Maybe that’s what Lila wants—for us to all kill ourselves. Then she’ll be happy.”
“Oh, get off it, Mil. She just wants Davis.”
Millie shook her head, mostly from the cold. “What’s gotten into you?”
Della blurted out, “You heard her, Mil. She’s got us all by the shorts. We have to do what she says. We have to get Davis back.”
“And you really think you can persuade him to give up Cynthia and marry her?”
“Hey, he’s got the most to lose. You heard her—she owns him. She made him and now she’s going to ruin him. What choice does he have?”
“He could just say no. He did.”
“Well, he’s going to change his mind. And why not? He can get the marriage annulled right afterward—and then go home. Then Lila can’t do anything.”
“You think she’ll be satisfied with that? She’ll just keep at him—at all of us—ruining our lives forever, if that’s really her plan. We can’t keep running. We’ve got to band together and get some legal advice—”
“—And she’ll buy out whatever lawyer we’d find.”
“Oh, come on. She can’t bribe every lawyer in the country.”
Della clenched her teeth. “I hate that woman. I hate what she’s done to me. Why don’t I kill her? Then everyone would be relieved. She’d be out of our lives for good.”
Millie gasped. “Della!”
Della yanked on her arm. “Come on, Mil, we can’t quit now. Davis may have already found a way out of here.”
Millie pulled her arm back. Della shot her a vicious look.
“You don’t have anything to lose, do you? So what if Dick ends up in jail—you’d be better off without that S.O.B. Lila can’t hurt you.”
“You have nothing to lose, either,” Millie said.
“I don’t have a pot to piss in. Any time I get on my feet, Lila will pull the rug right out from under me.”
“You could go to the police.”
Della burst into laughter. “Right. And what do I say to them? That the rich and famous Lila Carmichael is blackmailing me and ruining all my chances for success? What a joke.”
“They’d believe us if we all went.”
Della sucked on her cigarette.
Millie continued. “You could . . . go to business school or learn a trade. You could find a way to support yourself. You could get some kind of job.”
“And maybe she’d make sure I’d lose that job, too. Millie, you’re so dense. Lila has money and power. You can control the world with the kind of power she has.”
“And you’re content to follow orders.”
“I have no choice. It’s my life on the line.” Della turned and started jogging down the beach, catching up to Dick and Jonathan. Millie stood and brushed the wet sand off the sequined gown. The hem was caked with mud. In her haste, she had forgotten to change her clothes. She yanked off the heels and began running in her stocking feet. She was probably destroying a thirty thousand-dollar dress, but what did that matter? Nothing mattered except stopping this madness.
The cold, stone “castle” was ominously quiet. Peter shuffled around the shambles of the living room, wondering where to start cleaning. He dimmed the lights; the bright glare only emphasized the enormity of the task before him. He knew he could leave it u
ntil Monday, but he imagined the look on the faces of the locals hired to come in and put everything back in order. He eyed a bottle on the buffet. Even though he’d avoided drinking the entire evening, through that horrific game, he deserved a drink. He cleared a space on one of the couches and slumped over his knees. Gin straight. A hideous taste, but it did the job. His gut instantly lit on fire.
Outside, branches rubbed and squeaked against the glass. Peter imagined himself in some Alfred Hitchcock movie, but worse. This was more melodrama than he wanted to experience in a lifetime. Collecting his thoughts, he vacillated from feeling anger to remorse to despair. Something inside him had shaken loose this evening and he felt more alone than he had in years. How could Lila go to sleep? He knew she was a master at manipulation and she certainly proved her ability tonight.
He recalled a fairy tale about a man who caught a magic fish that granted wishes. The wife was so greedy that she demanded more and more from the fish, first riches and splendor, then power. Finally she demanded to be queen of all the land, then, even God of the universe. Finally, the fish told her she had gone too far, and, in punishment, took everything away. She had gotten too greedy, and was returned to her former destitute state. That was Lila—up in her tower, demanding the power to rule the world.
Peter surveyed the room and clenched his teeth. It wasn’t his job to be a maid. And it wasn’t his destiny to be a slave, either. He would have it out with Lila—now. If she wanted to fire him, then fine. But he wasn’t going to pretend that nothing happened tonight. And those poor fool guests wandering in the storm because of her antics. Someone could get hurt out there. Yet, they chose to go out. They could have stayed and refused Lila. They could have gone to bed.
Peter looked at his empty glass. What in God’s name did she really want with these people? Maybe Lila drank herself to sleep, but he was going to wake her up. She had some talking to do, drunk or not.
