Something in her tone stopped him. He paused in the doorway and turned around. He saw her standing there in the middle of her vast, overblown room and it was as though a veil had lifted. He saw her for what she was: Not just a spoiled dilettante craving illicit attention, but a lonely figure surrounded by the cold baubles of wealth. He understood her frantic partying, drinking, and socializing with blacks: Like him, like Gem, she was trying to escape her demons by taking flight into an alternate reality. He also knew the answer to his earlier question: Nikki had indeed been away too long, and if he guessed right, that was often the case.
David slowly recrossed the room. They stood for a moment, facing one another. Then he took her by her shoulders and a little light of hope entered her eyes. He drew her to him and then kissed her very gently––on her forehead.
“Good night,” he said. “And sweet dreams.”
She leaned against him and moaned. But when he pulled away, she didn’t try to stop him. At the door, he turned back once more and gave her a little smile. This time, he tipped his hat and said:
“When Nikki comes back, would you tell him something for me?”
She looked at him, a little sad, a little surprised. “Yeah. What’s that?”
“That I said you’re a hell of a woman ... and that he’s a fool.” He thought of Rachel. “He can take it from me: It takes one to know one.”
21. The Lost Weekend
On Wednesday morning, Annie knocked on Sweet’s office door. “Mr. Jameson, this here letter just come for you.”
He nodded, giving her permission to approach. He still hadn’t made up his mind what to do about her. She moved about the house with the familiarity of a family member. Her presence was pervasive. He’d realized early on that if not handled properly, she could be a threat. He’d hoped to make her closeness to Lilian work to his advantage. He’d even rehired the old woman after she had been fired. Now, Annie would be loyal to him too, he’d thought. She’d seen how sick her mistress was. She could testify to Lilian’s mental state as having deteriorated to a dangerous level. Should the need arise, she could also testify to his husbandly devotion. Who’d be a better character witness than the woman whose dedication to Lilian was long-proven?
Of course, he’d only need such a witness if questions were raised. But why should anyone doubt that Lilian had committed suicide? Lilian’s own behavior made her suicide likely. Lilian was a witness against herself.
He’d been shocked when Annie found David’s address and he’d never anticipated David’s tenacity. Worst of all—and he could’ve kicked himself for this—he’d never foreseen David’s attachment to the house.
In hindsight, it seemed obvious. Once Annie found that address, the battle for the house was inevitable.
Sweet told himself that he really wouldn’t have any trouble if the matter went to court. His legal claim was straight and clear. But he would—naturally—prefer to avoid court if he could.
Sweet took the letter, thinking that this could be the answer. He dismissed Annie with a curt nod, watched her leave, then ripped the envelope open. It was a response from the operative in Philadelphia. He leaned forward into the light and read the opening lines.
They were good. He smiled. Very good.
Charlie Epps seemed to be out of town. He was certainly never home. It was Thursday. David had been by Epps’s house three times now—morning, noon, and night—and never gotten an answer.
He’d been back to the Renaissance Pharmacy, too, but the drug analysis still wasn’t ready. In the meantime, he’d had another couple of nasty run-ins with Sweet and he’d received the distinct impression that Sweet was up to something. He was tempted to simply have someone come, pack Sweet’s things, and move them to a hotel room. But as inviting as the idea might be, it would be only a temporary solution. He needed something permanent. That led his thoughts back to Lilian ... and Gem. He telephoned Nella and she agreed to see him late that evening.
“Let’s make a new deal,” he said at her apartment. “You think you’ve found a story in me—but your story doesn’t have a context and it doesn’t have an ending. I’ll give you both. I’ll talk to you, if you talk to me.”
“So you are willing to sell yourself.”
“To sell my history, yes. But not my name.”
She reflected. “All right, but there’s one thing you should learn about me. I have ears everywhere. So don’t try to hold out on me.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“I heard about your meeting with Adrian,” she went on, “and I know what was said. I also know that you went to Newark to check Sweet’s whereabouts the night Lilian died, and that you’re having a druggist test the medicine Sweet gave her. One plus one equals two, my boy: You’ve got it in for Jameson Sweet.”
He refused to give her the pleasure of showing either surprise or dismay. Instead, he asked: “Did you suspect what Snyder told me?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It surprised the hell out of me. The little bitch lied to me—and I believed her.”
“You still know Gem better than anyone else—even better than Snyder. Can you figure out why she left him? Snyder loved her. He’s attractive, urbane, witty. He has money and position—”
“But he would’ve never gained acceptance among Harlem’s elite—”
“All the more reason. Gem is a rebel and she loves mavericks. Why did she reject him? And why did she insist that the breakup be so public?”
“I really couldn’t say—but even if I could, I wouldn’t tell you, not until you tell me what’s going on inside that handsome head of yours. What have you got against Sweet and how did you get it?”
“I believe Sweet killed Lilian. His motives: greed for Lilian’s money and love for Gem; his method: an as-yet-unidentified poison; and his opportunity: one lonely weekend when everyone, including his victim, thought he was away at a Movement conference.”
“Your proof?”
He glanced away. “I don’t have any. Not yet.”
“So you have nothing but bitter suspicions.”
He looked back. “Suspicion, supposition: Without them, no investigation would ever begin.”
“Listen to me. Lilian is dead. You can’t bring her back. You want to prove she was murdered and you want to blame Sweet. That’s all very well, but if you’re honest, you’ll admit that there’s more evidence—hard evidence—for suicide than for murder. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that Lilian was murdered. Do you really want to dredge up the whole thing? It would mean a lot of unpleasant publicity. How do you think the Movement would feel about having one of its most talented attorneys accused of such a miserable crime? Given your history, do you think Harlem would stand by you or stand by him? Then take Sweet. He’s a dirty player. If I could find out about you, so could he. Is that what you want? What would it do to that proud family name of yours? Lilian’s death would be forgotten in the scandal over your crime.”
“I have to get at the truth.”
“The truth? Don’t disappoint me by turning into a hypocrite. People who live in glass houses should never throw stones.”
“Are you really telling me that I should let him get away with it?”
“I told you: I’m your friend. I only want to make sure you know what you might be getting into.”
“I do know.”
“I don’t think so.”
There seemed to be no point in staying longer. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. He took up his hat and coat and thanked her for her time. He was almost out the door when she asked: “Do you like bedtime stories? I’m good at them.”
He turned around; she chuckled wickedly at his expression.
“Don’t worry. I’ve lost interest in you. You’re no good to a live woman, anyway. You’re too busy with the dead. Sit down. Over there.” She waved imperiously toward the divan across the room. “If you won’t let me tuck you in, at least let me give you something to dream about.”
David glan
ced at the divan, then at Nella. Slowly, he crossed the room and sat down.
“Listen carefully. What I’m about to tell you could save you a lot of trouble.”
She lit herself a fresh Chesterfield and played with her lighter.
“After Gem left, I became curious about Lilian and her husband. I invited them to dinner. Gem had told me that she and Lilian were identical twins, so I should have been prepared. I wasn’t. I was shocked and intrigued. I’m afraid my manners weren’t very good. I stared at Lilian the whole evening. At first, it was as though Gem were there, but of course, she wasn’t. She was thousands of miles away, across the sea. It didn’t take long to see the differences. As Gem said, it was mainly a matter of personality. Lilian was shy and diffident. She let her husband speak first and never contradicted him. A couple of times, she opened her mouth to comment and he silenced her. It took no more than a glance and she would simmer down. It was terrible. I could have hated him myself—almost. But I have a weakness for good-looking men. And when they can be disarmingly charming, well then ...”
Nella flicked a bit of ash from her dress.
“Anyway, Nikki invited Sweet to sit by the fire and enjoy a coffee. Lilian and I retired to another room. I hoped that she would open up when we were alone. But she was even more reticent, if that’s possible. She answered my questions with monosyllables and wouldn’t look me straight in the eye. I decided there must be something seriously wrong. I told her that if there was anything I could ever do for her, she should call me right away. She nodded but said nothing. I left it at that.
“I was surprised to hear from her about two months later. It was in May, I believe. Remembering my promise, I asked her if anything was wrong. No, she said, there wasn’t. She sounded quite gay, actually. She asked if she could come out and visit. I was thrilled and very curious. I told her I was giving a party in Amagansett that evening. She was welcome, of course. Given what Gem had told me about Lilian—and what I’d seen myself that evening—I didn’t think she’d come. You can’t imagine my surprise when she did. She was dressed beautifully. Her style was entirely different from Gem’s, but it was every bit as effective. She had a touching innocence that made one want to protect her. In her own way, Lilian could be as devastatingly manipulative as Gem. It was a wonderful discovery.
“It took a while for her to warm up to me, but eventually she did. I liked her very much. Lilian was a lovely woman. But she never toughened up. She was very gay during the times I saw her.
“We used to talk about Gem and wonder what she was up to in Paris. Lilian had a natural gift for mimicry. She used to do marvelous impersonations of Gem for me. I think she could sense how much I missed her sister. It didn’t seem to bother her. She was never jealous of my affection for Gem. I admired her for that. It was another difference between the two sisters, a difference that put a plus next to Lilian’s name. Gem would’ve never stood for being in second place. But Lilian was simply happy to have a place at all.
“I’ve often wondered why the two turned out so differently. Objectively speaking, Lilian was every bit as pretty as Gem. But she lacked something. Perhaps it was the self-love, that extra drop of poisonous narcissism that makes Gem so pitiless and yet so attractive to men and women alike.
“Lilian and I saw one another off and on for several months. I always invited her to my soirees. If Jameson was out of town, she would come. I told her the invitation included them both, but she merely laughed and said my parties were meant for her alone. Then the time between her visits lengthened.
“Nikki and I went to Europe last July. I tried to contact Gem during a long stopover in Paris, but I wasn’t successful. When we got back in September, I sent a note to Lilian but she didn’t respond. I was a bit concerned, but with one thing and another, I got busy and didn’t get around to trying again. Months went by. I started hearing from Lilian again in December. She came out to the house once, in January. She’d missed both my Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties. I couldn’t believe she’d done that, but she said Jameson had made other plans. Looking back, I remember thinking she didn’t look well. It was nothing specific, just a general sense that something was off. After that visit in January, she promised to come again. That was how things stood until a month ago.
“Late that Friday morning, Lilian called sounding confused and depressed. Jameson had left that day on a business trip and she was alone at home. She was incoherent. She claimed the place was haunted. She begged me to let her come out to Harding House. Of course, she could, I said. She asked if Nikki or I could go and get her. We couldn’t. Nikki was out with the car. She was quiet, and then she said she was sure she could get there on her own. She did arrive—hours later. I was horrified when I saw her. She was exhausted when she stepped out of her car. She looked like death warmed over. I know it’s a terrible choice of words, but you get my meaning. Her face was bloated and gray. Her clothes hung off her carelessly. She looked nothing like the exquisite Lilian I knew.
“I wasn’t quick enough to hide my shock. She didn’t say a word. Just grabbed her suitcase, ran into the house, and shut herself in our biggest guest room. I went upstairs to her. I was afraid she wouldn’t let me in, but she did. She was lying on the bed. I urged her to spend the weekend with us. I’ll never forget her answer.
‘“Whether I stay or not, I’m going to die, Nella. I’m going to die. But we’ve all got to die sometime, don’t we? Some of us just have a better notion of when.”’
Nella shivered.
“She was talking like a madwoman. Yet her tone of voice was absolutely sane, even sensible. Lilian seemed convinced that a ghost was haunting her house and would kill her.
“I offered to help her unpack. When she didn’t answer, I took it upon myself to start. But when I opened her suitcase, I found that she’d packed just one outfit, a cocktail dress, a bright red one with a glittery top. I couldn’t understand why. My husband and I hadn’t spoken of any party. We hadn’t planned on having one. The dress was totally inappropriate. And it was the only bit of clothing she’d brought. Otherwise, she had only what she needed for her hair and face.”
Nella pulled a Chesterfield out of a jeweled box on the table. She let David light it for her, and then stretched out. She stared at a large painting of Cape Cod on the wall opposite her.
“Lilian came down for dinner that evening. We served steak. She ate like someone starved. Said she was thrilled to have some real food, finally. Nikki and I exchanged glances. She consumed enormous amounts. I lost my appetite watching her.
“After dinner, she told us she had to go take her sleeping powder—I didn’t know she’d been taking any. She said she was going to bed, but then she asked me to sit and talk with her until the medicine took effect. I was quite willing. I hoped she’d tell me what had happened to change her so quickly. So, I went upstairs with her. I couldn’t believe how much sleeping powder she took. It was incredible. Suddenly, her mood changed. She said she wanted to be alone and sent me from the room.
“I went back downstairs. My husband and I talked for a while. Then we both went up at around ten. Her door was closed and there was no light shining from under it. We went to sleep thinking—hoping—all would be well. Then began a night I will never forget.
“I heard her screaming at around three that morning. She was shrieking out her own name. I ran down the hall and wrenched open her door. She was sitting stiffly upright in bed. Her eyes were wide and staring. Fixed on the window opposite the bed. Her hands were pressed over her ears. She was shaking her head from side to side. And she was babbling, imploring someone she thought was in the room. It wasn’t me; she wasn’t seeing me. I couldn’t make out her words. They were utter nonsense. But she was afraid. Scared out of her wits. She kept saying her own name. But it had turned into a terrified whimper. I ran to her and shook her. She fought me and God forgive me, I slapped her. That seemed to bring her out of it. She collapsed in my arms, weeping. And begged me to stay with her until daybreak.
I sat with her for two hours. She refused to speak. She lay with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. I tried to talk to her, but she acted as though she hadn’t heard me. At one point, she closed her eyes. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but the moment I tried to leave her, she reached out a hand and grabbed me. She was as thin as a rail, but she had the strength of two men. At around half-past five, she finally fell asleep.
“I crept back to my own bed, exhausted. I slept late, but Nikki was up early. When I woke, he told me that Lilian had come downstairs, eaten a hearty breakfast, and then gone back to bed.
“Lilian spent most of Saturday in bed reading or in the bathroom soaking in the tub. That evening, she came downstairs with her bag packed and announced that she had a very important appointment. She didn’t say what it was. I can still see her. She went to the door, suddenly turned around and said: ‘I love you, Nella. You’re the only other one who lets me be me.’ I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. Before I could answer, she went out.
“Nikki and I didn’t know if she intended to come back or not, but she reappeared that evening, after about three hours. I heard a car drive up at around ten-thirty and went to my bedroom window. It was Lilian, getting out of a taxi.”
“A taxi?”
“There was no sign of her Packard. I ran downstairs to let her in. She was smiling and cheerful. She was all dressed up in her red dress and she seemed very energetic and decisive. She didn’t give me time to put questions, just kissed me lightly on the cheek and dashed up the stairs to her room. And then the night before was repeated. It was ghastly: the whole thing, at three a.m., the crying out of her own name. That night, she asked me to bring her water for more sleeping powder. I was afraid she’d kill herself if I did, but Nikki told me to go ahead and do it. She took another big dose, slept again.
“Nikki and I like to have a good Sunday brunch. Lilian ate well and with enthusiasm. She seemed to be her old self again. Afterward, she said she was tired. She went upstairs and when I checked on her later, I found her sound asleep. She slept around three hours. When she woke up, she said she felt better, so much better in fact that she wanted to go home. Jameson wasn’t back yet; I was afraid for her to be at home alone. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. She had firmly decided to go home. She said that a Dr. Hawthorne—I take it he was her therapist. Clearly, she must’ve been under treatment. Anyway, this Dr. Hawthorne had found a nurse for her and the woman would be at the house Monday morning. She also said she had a lot to do before Jameson got home. I agreed ... reluctantly. Nikki said he would drive her. They left at around six that evening.
Harlem Redux Page 20
