by Linda Palund
“But how did you manage to get away?” I asked.
“He finally started to kiss me, shoving his tongue down my throat, making me gag. At the same time, he pulled my skirt up so he could get his hand between my legs. He managed to get as far as my panties when I suddenly realized he was in the perfect position for me to get my knee up into his groin. That’s when I kneed him with all my might. You should have heard him scream! He actually screamed!”
“Fantastic,” I said.
“Then, I grabbed my purse and jumped out of the car before he could get his senses back. I shouted, ‘Die, you motherfucker!’ like I was in a Tarantino movie or something. I took my shoes off right away so I could run, and I ran like my life depended on it. All the way down that hill, all the way back here. Oh God, my feet are killing me!”
“Did he try to go after you?”
“I don’t think so. But I couldn’t be sure. I hid in the bushes if I heard a car coming, and his little Lotus is pretty loud. I would have recognized it. I think he just gave up and drove home.”
“I can’t believe you walked all the way here. Why didn’t you phone a taxi or something?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. And anyway, I don’t know any taxi numbers. I was just so afraid someone would see me and somehow my dad would find out. I can’t let him know. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m just so glad you were up. I was afraid to go home. Can I stay here for a while?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. I stood up and took Wendy’s hand and pulled her up from the sofa. “Let’s get you in the shower now. Look, your knees are all skinned too.”
“Oh yeah. I fell down a couple of times while I was running away.”
“You poor thing.”
I put Wendy in my shower. Fortunately, I had an en-suite bathroom, which was very cool for a teenager. It had a tub and shower. While Wendy let the water wash away her terror, I scrubbed her back as gently as I could.
Wendy had a wonderful dancer’s body, all muscle and toned skin, with powerful legs and firm buttocks. Her breasts were small and round, like dancer’s breasts often were, with the tiniest pink nipples right in the center of each one. She had a soft, round face, totally at odds with her slim, toned body.
Her mouth was small, and her lips were thin, but she had good teeth, like most kids in West LA, but her nose was kind of shapeless, not big enough to warrant a nose job, but not small enough to be cute. Her eyes were very blue, and when they weren’t swollen from crying, they were her most attractive feature. When she was made up and especially when she was dancing, she could look fabulous. She wasn’t my type physically, and while I was scrubbing her wounded back, I tried not to sexualize her. I knew she was in a vulnerable state. She’d been totally traumatized by her near rape.
After her shower, we put antiseptic and Band-Aids on all her wounds. Then I gave her some of my clothes to wear, just jeans and a sweatshirt. It was pretty late, so we walked down the hill to her house and snuck her through the screen on her back window, which fortunately was open a crack, so we could push it open the rest of the way easily. Jonny had been right about one thing: she would never tell her parents what had happened.
We crumpled up her torn dress and wrapped it in a grocery bag and threw it in a dumpster on the way to school the next day.
But then an amazing thing happened to Jonny. Just before the summer break, Jonny was on his way back to his home on Bellagio Road after one of his so-called dates. It was after midnight when he suddenly lost control of his precious Lotus and spun it off one of those high, sweeping curves on Bellagio. He crashed into the canyon below, and his car caught on fire. He managed to survive, but with more than 60 percent burns over his body and his face, as well as a lot of internal injuries. When he regained consciousness in the burn unit at the USC Hospital, he was raving about seeing Carmen in his rearview mirror just as he came into that turn. He claimed she was sitting in the backseat of his car, smiling her wicked smile.
I believed him.
CHAPTER 9
SUMMERTIME BLUES
I WAS still deep in the throes of pain and misery when school let out for the summer. I hadn’t really done anything but study since Carmen’s murder, so my grades were fantastic, but my heart was sick. I hadn’t been able to continue my tutoring of Wendy because I couldn’t bring myself to walk down there, and the thought of dancing made me nauseous. I did continue to visit Angela and James, as James had taken the semester off to be with his mom.
Oddly, since Carmen’s death, Angela had stopped drinking. Just like that. She was sober all the time now, so she was gracefully somber instead of charmingly loopy. The toothpaste advert smile was completely gone now, and she no longer looked like the mom from Leave It to Beaver, but she was still ever so sweet and hospitable. On an invitation from my mom, Angela had taken up bridge and was now part of a foursome playing cards with my mom every Thursday night and hosting a bridge luncheon every Sunday afternoon.
Even with all that, it was still pretty grim across the street. Neither of them could bring themselves to do anything with Carmen’s room. All they had managed so far was to shut the door. They hadn’t made any attempt to pack anything up and never bothered to lock it, so sometimes when I was over there and feeling particularly sorry for myself, I would go into Carmen’s room and lie on her bed and cry.
I began hanging out with James more and more, particularly on the weekends. He was living there like an adult son, mostly reading and studying for the exams he would be facing when he returned to the academy in the fall. He and I gradually started feeling less self-conscious with each other, and often we simply watched TV together over at his house or slipped off to Pip’s for cheesecake and coffee.
That was where I finally decided to ask him about the little black dress.
“Carmen never told you about the dress?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“No,” I answered. “And the one time I asked, she almost bit my head off, and I thought she would hate me forever.”
“Well. I can’t really explain this psychologically,” he continued, “but I can give you a little bit of history about it, which might help. In fact, I think it was the history of that dress that made it irresistible for her. I think she felt compelled to wear it.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, more mystified than ever.
“I’m surprised that my mother didn’t tell you about it either. You would think she would have made some attempt to explain.” And he looked down at his slice of cheesecake and picked up his fork. Then he paused for a moment. “Of course, my mom was drinking quite a bit then. Maybe she didn’t even notice.” He took a bite, savoring it for a second with his eyes closed, and then he opened them and looked across at me, his blue eyes shining. “That was the dress my mom wore to my dad’s funeral.”
“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, absolutely stunned. “The exact same dress?”
“Yup. After the funeral, Carmen just swiped it from my mom’s bedroom, hemmed it up that very night, and started wearing it the next day.”
“Wow,” I exclaimed, digesting this tidbit. “Didn’t you think that was a bit strange?”
“Well, of course I did. But I didn’t know what to make of it, and I didn’t want to make a big deal of it either. The whole business of my dad dying had been pretty shocking, and I didn’t want to say anything that would open any more wounds. So I just pretended not to notice. At first I thought, well, it’s a pretty dress, and she looks great in it, so what’s the harm? But then, when she started wearing it every single day, I thought, well, this is weird, but I still didn’t know what to do about it—and like you, I didn’t dare ask.”
“Okay, so she starts wearing her mom’s funeral dress,” I said after a while. “I think that explains a lot, but not everything. I am going to need a bit more information. There has to be a solid reason behind it somewhere.”
“Well, she had been pret
ty angry with my mother for staying with my dad after I left. So I knew that was an issue they hadn’t resolved. The more I think about it, the more I begin to think it was her way of always reminding my mother of his existence—like the elephant in the room—because my mother had allowed our father to exist in our house. Carmen hated him. You do know that, don’t you? And rightly so. I think she probably couldn’t forgive mom for staying with him, but because she loved our mother, she couldn’t do anything to really hurt her. I think she just kept wearing the dress to hurt her without deliberately hurting her…. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes. That makes a weird kind of sense. I can see that. And maybe she wanted to keep reminding herself that her dad was really dead?” I offered.
“Right. I never thought of that. But that’s good. You should be a psychologist!”
“My mom’s one, remember?” In truth, I had read a lot of the psychology books my mom kept in her office library, but that didn’t make me an expert. It did help me understand that no one could know exactly how another mind really worked, and it did give me a few insights into why our minds work the way they do.
“And,” I continued, “I think she must have considered it some form of armor to shield herself from the past, or maybe just for keeping other guys at a distance? What do you think?”
“That’s a good point too,” he said, and then he put his head in his hands and said one more thing. “If only it could have worked that way.”
I didn’t want to start crying in Pips, so I pretended to rearrange the sugar packets and changed the subject.
“My parents are taking me away this summer.”
“Oh really?” James asked, brightening up a bit. “Where are they taking you?”
“They’re taking the family on ‘The Grand Tour’: England, France, Switzerland, Italy, and Spain. It’s an expensive remedy that my mom cooked up to make me forget this year. My little brother gets to come on my dime. But that’s okay too.”
“That’s great! I think it will be fantastic. You’ll see all kinds of fabulous things, and you’ll love it.”
“Yup. And I get to share the experience with my parents and my little brother. Whoop-de-do!”
“Seriously, you’ll be glad you went—and you will have something else besides calculus to occupy your mind.”
But calculus and every other course I studied was just mental gymnastics to me. They didn’t occupy my mind at all. They took up only one little corner of it. The rest was filled with Carmen. There wasn’t room for anything or anyone else.
CHAPTER 10
MY SUMMER VACATION
WE WERE on the plane to Heathrow the day after school broke for the summer. Brand-new passports, brand-new luggage, same old heartache. The entire time I kept wishing Carmen could have been there with me. I had become so used to sharing every experience with her, and there were so many times I wanted to say, “Hey, look at that!” or “Did you read this?” or whatever, just wanting to share all the new things with her the way we used to.
Record stores were the worst. I kept finding these really neat specialty shops in all these amazing cities we visited throughout England and Europe, full of all kinds of interesting EPs and vinyl. But now I stalked the record stores and prowled the bookstores alone, with no one to share my discoveries while my indulgent parents and bored little brother waited for me in the local cafés. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a lovely experience, and there were at least a few minutes out of every day when I did not think about Carmen, but oh, if she had only been there with me….
It was when we arrived in Italy, halfway through our trip, that I began to experience the nightmares for the first time. Although they weren’t exactly nightmares—more like nighttime visions. I don’t know if it was because there were so many gorgeous dark-haired girls in Italy who resembled Carmen or what, but the visions began there and stayed with me for the remainder of the trip. Even my nightly Valium couldn’t make them go away.
They came on almost as soon as I shut my eyes and let myself fall into that first layer of sleep. Suddenly, there was Carmen. But this time she would be standing by her own graveside, her mourners all around her. She would be standing silently at the very edge of her own grave, staring straight at me with an expression so baleful and forlorn, it could break anyone’s heart.
Even in the daylight, I couldn’t shake the memory of that dream, that desolate look in her eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling she was trying to communicate with me, that she was imploring me to do something. That was when I knew I had to find her killers. She would never rest until I did.
CHAPTER 11
HOME AGAIN
MY FAMILY made it back to LA with everyone in one piece, except for me. I was still in pieces. Carmen hadn’t given me much rest on this vacation, and now I needed to find out if there had been any progress in the investigation into her murder while I’d been away. Just as soon as I rebounded from my jetlag, I went across the street to see how Carmen’s family was doing. James answered the door, and I was so happy to see he was still staying there, I gave him a great big hug. Angela was right behind him, and I gave her a big hug too. I guess I had missed them more than I realized.
With their usual Southern politeness, they wanted to know all about my European adventures, but all I wanted was to be updated on the police investigation.
“They’ve still got nothing,” James told me. “They’ve been back over here at least three times during the summer, asking the same questions. They still seem to think Carmen went willingly with those creeps.”
“Crap” was all I could say. “So there’s nothing new at all? When I left, they seemed to be checking out similar crimes in the state. They didn’t come up with anything?”
“No. Nothing.”
Angela had gone off to the kitchen to fetch some iced tea. I wanted to change the subject, so I asked James how his mom was doing.
“Actually, she seems a lot better,” he answered. “I think she’s going to recover. But it’s so weird now that she isn’t drinking. We can have real conversations again, and we watch TV together most nights without her nodding off.” He actually smiled then.
“That’s great to hear. So what about you? How are you doing?”
“Well, I’m ready to go back to the academy. I think Mom’s going to be okay now, but it would make me feel a lot better if I knew you would keep stopping by now and then.”
“No problem, of course I will. I can call you on your cell if there’s any news. I’ll keep you updated as much as I can.”
“So,” he said, and paused before going on. “How are you doing, Carmen-wise? Is it getting any better?”
“Well, I’m still taking Valium to get to sleep, but I’m not crying so much in the daytime anymore. And I think I can manage this last year of school. I’ve already been accepted to Santa Cruz, so I don’t have to worry too much about schoolwork anymore.”
“I thought you were planning to go back east for college, Columbia or something?”
“I was. But that was then. Now I don’t feel comfortable leaving the state until they catch Carmen’s killers. I just don’t feel like I can move that far away from here yet.” Meaning I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Carmen.
“Wow. What do your folks think about that?”
“Actually, my mom’s delighted. She’s happy to have me closer to home. My dad’s not too keen, but he’s still reeling from the disappointment that, with all my brains, I didn’t follow him into medicine. So they’ll adjust no matter what, and I can transfer wherever I like later. Right now, I just don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just going to coast along until my brain relaxes.”
Angela came back with the iced tea, and we sat around and made small talk about the benefits of world travel for the rest of the afternoon.
When I got back to my house, I called Wendy to tell her I was home. She came over later, and we went over our school schedules together. My senior year was about to start, but without any of the ex
citement I had expected when I entered high school as a freshman. I was resigned to facing my life the way it was going to be now, but I couldn’t get enthusiastic about it.
Wendy was no substitute for Carmen, but we had been friends since the seventh grade, when my dad had our house built on the corner of her street, and my family moved here from Brentwood. Now, after all that had happened this past year, it made sense to get closer to her again. We didn’t have much in common, but we’d always had a sort of symbiotic relationship. I helped her with her schoolwork, and she helped me navigate the intricate social life of the West LA teen scene.
The truth was, I had been a complete nerd up until I turned fifteen. Until then, I had been a little redheaded bookworm with lots of freckles and no sense of style. As I grew older, I only seemed to get more introverted, and then, two monumental things happened: first, I found out I was gay. And next, I discovered my mom’s ancient CD collection. It was full of eighties morbid-sounding music and the stuff they used to call “shoegazer” music. I began listening to bands like The Cure, The Smiths, and the Cocteau Twins. My iPod was full of music no one else would be caught dead listening to.
Then, somehow, during the summer before my fifteenth birthday, I grew four inches taller, and my body started taking on something close to an actual shape. My face began to rearrange itself in a surprising but not unpleasant way. My freckles faded, and my cheekbones became more prominent, while my eyes, which had always seemed small and colorless to me, suddenly turned out to be an amazing shade of green and weren’t so small after all. By the time the school year came around, I looked kind of cute.
My new cuteness wouldn’t help my position on the popularity scales in high school. It was too late for that. Once a nerd, always a nerd, and I had been branded one way back in junior high when Bobby Zuckerman asked me to dance at one of those junior Saturday-night dances. He totally threw me off-balance when he pulled me close to him for a slow dance. He pulled me so close I could feel every part of his body, and I didn’t like what I felt! I yelled, “Get off me!” and pushed him away and went running to the girls’ room.
