by Irene Zutell
There’s another moan. “Ohhhh. Ohhh, ohhhh!”
“Mommy, what should we do?”
I realize with the second burst of moans that it’s not a call of distress. The woman is having some great sex.
Gabby is panicked. “Mommy, we have to get to that castle right away. I think a wicked queen has trapped a beautiful princess in the tower and she wants us to rescue her.”
Ever since we’ve moved here, Gabby has been obsessed with this house. With its mishmash architecture featuring a turreted roof, stained-glass windows, Romanesque columns, and array of statues of lions and Greek gods, she’s convinced it’s a castle filled with princesses. Los Angelinos have a more derisive name for it: a Persian Palace.
There’s another really, really long moan. That’s when it hits me: I miss sex. I try to remember the last time I’ve had some. Hot tub night at least three months ago. I wonder if Alex was already doing Rose by then. Does Rose moan like this with Alex? Does he know she’s acting?
“No. I think everything’s okay,” I say. “It’s just . . . a TV.”
“No, Mommy! It could be Rapunzel. We have to go there now and rescue her.”
“Gabby, come on, it’s okay. We have to get to the party.”
“No! You’re mean.”
“I am not mean. That’s not a princess.”
“You just don’t think there are any such things as princesses,” Gabby shouts, her face turning red. “But there are. There’s princesses all over the place. You just don’t believe in anything anymore.”
My daughter’s face is balled up in anger. Her lips are pursed and her eyes blaze at me.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I want Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Where’s my daddy? Where’s my daddy? I want my daddy back. He’d believe. First you made the baby go away and then you made Daddy go away. I hate you. I wish you’d go back to work already.”
There’s another long moan. Thanks so much for flaunting your pleasure in my face. I am overwhelmed with fury at The Moaner. No one needs to be this loud. It’s like she’s mocking me.
“Hahahaha, I’m getting some while your life is falling apart.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t believe this is my life. A mom in the Valley whose husband has left her, whose daughter hates her, whose mother can’t speak to her, whose neighbor flaunts her sex life in front of her. I am a completely different person than I thought I was a few weeks ago, when I sat on the deck and contemplated my great life.
Yesterday while Gabby was at school, I met Judy for lunch at Ivy on the Shore. She asked me about some of my clients she was handling during my hiatus. Afterwards, she said she had a surprise for me. We drove in her silver BMW convertible to a high-rise along the Miracle Mile on Wilshire.
“Where are we going?”
“Just trust me.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
She pressed the button in the elevator to the penthouse apartment.
“Is this your shrink? Because I’m really not ready to see a shrink,” I said.
“It’s not my shrink,” Judy said. “But you really should think about seeing my shrink. She’s great.”
“Then who is it? You know, I’m totally not ready to date.”
“Trust me. I know. Besides, you look like hell.” She studied me and reached for a strand of my hair. She shook her head. “I should be taking you to my colorist.”
The elevator tinged open. Judy led me to the door of the only apartment on the floor.
“Why am I following you?”
“Trust me. It’s all good.”
A maid in a crisp white uniform opened the door to a stark white apartment with sunlight bursting through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Hello, Tina,” Judy said to her. “This is my friend Alice.”
“Hello, Miss Judy. Hello, Miss Alice. Faye’s expecting you.”
Tina rapped on a door and opened it without waiting for a response. A diminutive sixty-year-old woman dressed in a flowing white gown and a white turban on her head greeted us. She kissed Judy on both cheeks. Then she grabbed my hands and smiled wide. I looked into her eyes—they were watery and gray and kind.
“This must be Alice.”
“Yes,” Judy said. “I guess I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Why,” I asked. “Who are you?”
Faye laughed. “Naughty, naughty Judy. You didn’t tell her.”
“She would have resisted. Now that she’s here and she’s met you, she’ll be too polite to leave.”
“Maybe you should be the psychic,” Faye said, laughing.
“Psychic,” I said, horrified. “You’re a psychic?”
“Judy thought it might be good for you. And I can tell by looking at you that your life’s in turmoil.”
“You probably read about it in People magazine,” I said.
Faye huffed and closed her eyes, as if offended. “I don’t read the tabloids. Besides, most of those celebrities are my clients, so if it’s true, I know about it already.”
I snorted.
Judy tsked. “See Faye, I told you. She’s very cynical.”
I wondered if she could tell when I’m going to die. My eyes blazed at Judy. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Just try it. If you don’t like it, you can leave. But Faye is magic, I swear. She’s been a hundred percent accurate with me.” Judy studied me and smiled. “And don’t worry. She’s not going to tell you if you’re going to die.”
Faye laughed. “That’s right. If I see a car wreck, I’ll tell you to buckle up. If I see cancer, I’ll just tell you to get a body scan.”
Judy left the room. Faye took out a deck of cards and asked me to cut them. I negotiated for a few seconds. The way I cut those cards might strangely predict my future or give Faye a clue to my life that I don’t want her to have.
I cut the cards.
Faye told me, “I see a child lost. It is a child who didn’t follow the right path.”
I thought she was talking about Gabby. My heart thumped.
“Do you mean literally lost? Or do you mean lost, as in different? Because my daughter’s a big dreamer. And she’s headstrong. She doesn’t follow directions.”
I stopped myself. You’re not supposed to give psychics too much ammunition.
“No, this not your daughter. It is your son.”
I smiled. Haha, I thought. This woman is a quack. “I don’t have a son,” I said, sucking in my cheeks, while thinking, I won!
“This was a son you were to have, but it got lost. Maybe in your womb? Did you recently have a pregnancy?”
I narrowed my eyes at Faye. “Judy told you.”
“I never discuss my clients or potential clients with anyone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She stared hard at me. “You must learn to stop being so skeptical, so judgmental. It will cost you plenty in life.”
“I am not judgmental.”
She reached out from across her table and squeezed my hand. “Yes, you are. We are all judgmental to a degree, but you are exceptionally judgmental. You must learn to be less so, or you will miss out on many of life’s rich experiences.”
I thought about the woman in the Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt. Maybe I should call her up for a playdate. But a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt?
Then I thought, At least Faye’s not telling me to buckle up.
“This son went the wrong way. Maybe you miscarried? Anyway, there was too much turmoil in your house. The baby didn’t want to be born into a house of confusion, in a house of chaos.”
I don’t believe in this. How can a woman look at cards and see things? If I had cut the deck differently would she have told me I was going to run off with a Mambo King?
I suddenly saw an infant boy in a diaper floating around looking for a better house. I watched him flying over the mansions of Bel Air and Beverly Hills, searching for Rose Maris.
“Its soul went away for now. Does this make sense? Do you understan
d what I’m saying?”
“For now? What does that mean? Is it coming back?”
Faye breathed deeply. “I think it will be back. I don’t know when. I believe it is waiting for a time when things are less complicated for you. Do you understand what that means? It is a very considerate little boy. You knew him in your last life. But it was interrupted. Maybe one of you died young. I don’t know exactly. But in this life, I think the cycle will be complete and you will have this baby in your life. And it will be a very happy baby. You will be very happy. There is so much happiness, you will almost burst with it, but you must allow it to come in. You must accept certain things, move on, and then put aside your prejudices and let it in.”
Haha, I think. You are a quack. I will never be happy again for the rest of my life.
Will I?
I didn’t want to tell her anything more because that’s their trick, isn’t it? They come up with something that’s pretty general and you tell them how it fits into the puzzle of your life. Like those people who say they can talk to the dead and really you’re telling them everything they need to know about some dead relative. They repeat it to you and you’re convinced that Aunt Estelle is right in the room, yammering away about the pot roast recipe she wants you to have.
I didn’t mention Alex leaving me for Rose. I didn’t mention that there’s no way I could have a baby when I don’t have a man. But then something dawned on me. Maybe Alex was coming back. Maybe we would have a baby together. Maybe this was just a phase he was going through. All eventually would be forgiven.
She told me to accept certain things and move on.
I was about to ask her about Alex, but I was too afraid.
Faye studied me. Her tiny gray eyes darted back and forth over my face. She caught the smile on my face and nodded her head. Then she told me more.
I would have a job change. She said Gabby would say something that everyone would repeat. I asked her to explain what that meant, but she didn’t understand.
“That’s all I know. Maybe it’s a phrase that everyone picks up on. I’m not certain. She’s some kind of trendsetter.”
I tried not to laugh. I didn’t hear much more. All I kept thinking was that Alex and I would get back together. This was just a phase. A midlife crisis. Rose was probably doing Colin right now. Alex would beg for my forgiveness. I would be apprehensive. He would be persistent. And slowly, after months of wooing me, I’d take him back. We’d go to couple’s therapy. Our marriage would be stronger than ever. We’d have another baby. A considerate boy who had been waiting for the chaos to subside.
I forgot that about a half hour before, I didn’t believe in psychics.
Judy waited for me in the stark white living room. She was tapping away on her iPhone.
“You look happy,” she said.
“I’m okay.”
“What did she tell you?”
I didn’t say a word. Faye returned and walked us to the door. She kissed us on both cheeks. Then she stared at me hard. She grabbed my hands.
“Ally, make sure you buckle up, especially this Friday.”
My eyes bugged out. My heart beat fast. She and Judy burst out in laughter.
Faye smiled. “A joke. Just a joke.”
“Faye’s a comedian,” Judy said.
I laughed politely.
“No. Really. She’s probably the only psychic-slash-comedian in the world. She’s at the Improv on Wednesdays.”
Faye smiled. “I only go when I can predict a lot of laughter.”
“Ohhhhh, ohhhhh, ohhhhh.”
Another moan. But nothing from the guy. How can he be going for so long? Is it tantra? A threesome? A foursome? Maybe I just don’t remember how good sex can be.
Gabby stands there with her arms akimbo. A five-year-old who daydreams all the time and is obsessed with princesses has brought me back from the psychic’s high. Alex is gone. The baby is gone. It’s probably all my fault. Maybe I should have moaned louder. Maybe I never should have let him take Rose on as a client. That’s what Judy would have done. She would have said absolutely no and then gone to Frederick’s of Hollywood and spent a small fortune on sexy lingerie.
I am too weak to do anything, especially go to a kiddie party. So I head back to the house. When Gabby realizes we’re not going, she will cry and scream, so I don’t say a word. Instead, I think about a distraction. She was right the other day when she said I always tell her maybe when I really mean no. I’m always too busy, but what am I really doing? I head towards the pottery wheel that’s still in the box even though she got it five months ago. I unwrap it. Today we’ll talk Barbies, string beads, bake an Easy Bake cake, and mold clay into something that will somehow matter to Gabby.
6
Death in the Valley
There is a hearse in front of Hilda’s. I sit in my car and watch as a body covered with a sheet is wheeled out of the beige stucco ranch house. Hilda stands at the door, looming, like the Grim Reaper, a strange half-smile plastered on her face. I look at the gurney and try to decipher who it is. The Laugher? The Satellite? Hal? Dorothy? It’s impossible to tell. All old people become raisins of their former selves, except Jack LaLanne. I heard him on the news a while back saying that he can’t die because it would be bad for his image.
The body is packed into the hearse. The doors are slammed and the car slowly drives off. It’s a lonely sight, this hearse with no entourage, with no mourners gathered around, with no one but Hilda grimacing by the door. I nod to the driver, cross myself, and say a silent prayer for this anonymous person. I hope it’s not The Laugher. I don’t know what I’d do without her staccato guffaws every thirty seconds. A laugh track for this surreal place.
“It vas Hal,” Hilda yells across the lawn as I get out of my car. “He vas moving hiss bowels. He died, right on zee toilet. Most of my clients die on zee toilet. It iss too much. Zey have heart attack and die.”
A woman walking her dog pretends not to listen.
Hal, a big-time studio executive who worked with some of the hugest stars from the fifties, sixties, and seventies, died taking a crap.
When I approach the door, I give Hilda a quick smile, hoping that will be the end of our interaction. Instead she moves towards me. I smell bratwurst on her breath.
“Your mussa’s language has not improved. This morning she called Hal a filthy, filthy word. It upset him very much.”
She eyes me. Is she suggesting my mother killed Hal?
“It iss very disturbing to my clientele. I have tried to talk to her about it, but nothing iss working. You must figure something out or I vill have to ask you to find another place for her.”
I cringe. Finding this place took months and months of searching. I don’t want to put my mother in a nursing home, where they’ll just keep her in bed all day. In Los Angeles, board and cares are regular homes in residential neighborhoods with about six residents, all of whom can presumably still take care of themselves but need a little extra help. It’s kind of a way station between independence and incoherence. My mother is slipping into the next realm. She can’t shower, eat, or go to the bathroom without help. If Hilda kicks her out, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“I’ll work on it,” I say, having no idea what that means. How do you tell your mother to stop saying cocksucker and motherfucker?
“Where’s Trinity?”
Hilda shakes her head and frowns. “Vee had to let her go.”
“What?”
Trinity loved my mother. She fed and bathed her. She’d check on her during the night to make sure she hadn’t kicked off the covers. I don’t think Trinity ever really slept.
“Some complaints.”
“Complaints? Trinity was wonderful,” I say, annoyed. “I can’t believe you let her go.”
Hilda leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Vell, if you must know, she vas caught shoplifting at Sears.”
“Trinity?” I laugh. This is something I can’t imagine.
Hilda huffs
as if I’ve offended her. “I cannot allow a member of my staff to engage in illegal activities. It was zee only choice. I haff a group of highly recommended people interviewing for zee job. I vill fill her space by zee end of zee day. And with Hal gone, vee have one less body to worry about.”
How like Hilda to find the positive in death.
I sit with my mother. Dr. Phil is on the TV yammering away at some crying middle-aged women.
“Heave that baggage right out the window,” he lectures in his homespun Texas twang. “Heal those painful feelings and get closure, or you will pollute your life. Anger is toxic.”
The Laugher chortles. The Satellite orbits. Mom purrs and puts her head on my shoulder. I rub her hair. It is unkempt and greasy. When Trinity was here, she treated Mom like her very own Barbie doll. She’d put makeup and lipstick on my mother. She’d braid her hair. Now my mother looks frighteningly pale. Her hair is a swirl of white cotton candy atop her head.
“Cocksucker,” Mom growls. I cough, just in case Hilda’s eavesdropping.
Two years ago, I noticed it for the first time. Gabby and I had headed to New York to visit my mom. My Aunt Maddy said she’d been acting strange lately. Mrs. Marino, a next door neighbor, said my mom was becoming a recluse. She stopped gardening and going to church. She used to call me every day. Suddenly, she never called me. When I spoke to her, she barely said a word on the phone. I thought she was depressed since I had moved away. I wanted to convince her to move back with us. I imagined finding a cute little garden apartment on the lake in Calabasas for her. She could babysit Gabby. We’d take a yoga class together. Mom needed to exercise more.
Gabby and I took a cab to the house. I rang the doorbell. There was no answer. I rapped on the door; still nothing. Maybe Mom was visiting a neighbor? I had a spare key with me. I opened the door. Gabby ran in ahead of me.
“Gai-ma, Gai-ma,” she squealed, running into the living room.
I stared in horror at the mess in the hall. My mother, who scrubbed, vacuumed, and dusted daily, would never allow her house to look like this. My feet stuck to the hardwood floor.
