Authors: Thomas Tryon
“Don’t count on it.”
“On being around? Oh, I do, I do.”
“
You’ll be sorry if you do.
And so will she….”
There was real menace in her tone and I froze. I waited for Frank to answer, and when he didn’t I realized he’d walked away from her. I picked up the phone and checked my service, raising my voice so Faun would hear me and know I’d heard her with Frank, but when I hung up and went outside, her chaise was empty and she was gone.
An isolated incident. At the end of the week she went away again; no goodbyes, she was just—“gone.” It was Belinda’s birthday, too, and Faun had clearly made a point of not being there. Maude said she’d gone to Santa Fe; I supposed the Colorado was embracing her again with its white waters.
With her film chores over, Belinda could relax once more. She’d been under a heavy strain, plagued with sleeplessness and loss of appetite, and was inclined to be sharp with people. More than once her temper got the better of her, but then it was gone and she’d come and apologized. I knew what she needed was to get away, but she wouldn’t do that: she didn’t want to leave Frank, who was tied up at his office. He did take five days and they went down to Palm Springs, where they hid themselves away behind the walls of Frank’s white villa, blazing in the desert sun. From Sunday to Friday morning they played together, swam together, rode some of Frank’s new horses, slept together, and returned more in love than ever. It was another high point in their relationship, but with a snap of the fingers everything suddenly turned bad again.
The following weekend it was my turn to party. Some of Angie’s rich Palm Springs friends were throwing a bash aboard their boat and had invited twenty of their nearest and dearest to spend the weekend aboard. A Catalina weekend, not one of my favorite things to do, but I went. Left Friday afternoon, 4:00 p.m., returned Sunday at 7:00. Ordinarily I’d have used the front entrance, but because I had my hands full with my bags, I entered by the side door. Bones was nowhere to be found, and I surmised he must be up with Maude. I kicked off my shoes, made myself a sandwich, and turned on the TV. After a while I heard a bark outside and then Bones was begging to be let in. When I opened the front door, a folded note fell onto the flagging.
“Come at once. Boy does not cry wolf, no fooling. Trouble abounds.” It was initialed by Maude Antrim. Leaving Bones behind, I dashed up the stairs. “Trouble abounds?” What had our favorite young woman pulled this time? Had she tried to burn down the house again or had she stabbed Ling with the fish knife? Panting, I reached the top step and raced along the pool toward the house. The place was all lit up, and I could see figures moving through the rooms inside. I ran in through the living room to the place where I was sure I’d find Maude—the Snuggery—only I was wrong, she wasn’t there. I bumped into Ling in the doorway.
“Missy Maw’ upstair. You come, mistah?”
“What is it, Ling? What’s happened?” I panted.
“Missy Blindy ver’ sick, say. She plenny bad off.”
“Sick? What kind of sick?”
He lowered his eyes discreetly.
“
What is it
,
Ling
?”
His shrug was barely perceptible. “Missy Maw’ tell you. Missy Blindy maybe have little sauce.”
“Sauce? You mean she’s been drinking?”
“I ’fraid so, Mistah Cholly.”
I fled upstairs, running along the hall, where I encountered Maude coming out of Belinda’s room. As she came toward me she faltered and I reached to support her. “No, no, let me go,” she said, pulling away. “I’m quite all right.”
But she wasn’t; I could see it right away. I let her guide me along the hall to her room, and when she sank into a chair and her face came into the light of the floor lamp I could see how white it had gone and how taxed she was. Despite her attempts to disguise it, I noted her trembling hand.
“Have you a cigarette?” she asked, to my surprise. “That’s right, you don’t smoke.” She gestured wearily for me to pull the bellcord in the corner; then as I sat again she eased herself against the back cushion of the chair. I said nothing, waiting for her to collect herself. When Ling appeared, she asked him, “Are there some cigarettes anywhere in the house? I would like one if there are. And please bring me one or two ounces of that good Napoleon brandy.” When Ling had gone, she turned to me. “Bit done in this evening, I’m afraid,” she apologized. “I’m awfully glad you’re back, I’ve missed you. I didn’t want you to go into Blindy’s room until I’d had a chance to talk to you. She’s all right now—you can see her in a little while.”
“But what happened?” I asked.
“What a mess!” she exclaimed, and as she finally began explaining, her voice broke several times. I could see how deeply she’d been affected.
It was one more scene from a Monogram cheapie. Friday night Belinda and Faun had had yet another quarrel—over the Goon, with whom Faun claimed she’d patched things up and whom she’d dragged home while she changed clothes. “He’s my closest best friend in the world; I can’t not see him, can I?”
Belinda, however, forbade him ever to enter the house, which provoked Faun to threaten—again—to leave
forever
! Belinda said that would be fine with her, it would probably be best in the long run. Faun had stormed out, dragging Bobby after her, and later Belinda and Maude had had dinner on tables in front of the TV and watched one of Maude’s favorite shows.
Maude was sleepy; Belinda kissed her and said good night. She seemed in perfect control, though Maude sensed she was brooding over the scene with Faun. Sometime later Maude awakened, thinking she heard voices. There was the sound of a glass breaking, then a piece of furniture being overturned. She was about to investigate when a lengthy silence suggested there was no need, so she lay back on her pillow and dropped off to sleep again. When she awoke Sunday morning, all seemed serene. Belinda wasn’t down yet but there were no signs of breakage or disturbance in the studio. The minute Ling came in, she questioned him. Yes, he’d found a stool overturned, a broken glass as well.
“And, Missy Maw’, some blood, too.”
“Blood? A lot?”
“Little bit, Missy.”
“Whose blood?”
Ling showed helpless hands. “
May
be… Missy Blindy?” He ventured the name with the greatest delicacy.
Maude was instantly on the alert.
“Why Miss Belinda? Why not Faun?”
“No, no, Missy Maw’, Missy Fonn no come home. No home aw’ night.”
Maude went to knock on Belinda’s door. No answer. She tried the knob. The door was locked. She spoke through the linenfold paneling. No response. After persisting for a while, she gave it up. She went to her own room, where she remained through the morning, intermittently attempting to rouse Belinda. Still no reply. At lunchtime Viola Ueberroth drove up as arranged to take her to the Bel Air Hotel for lunch, but Maude was fearful and wouldn’t leave the house, so Vi came in and stayed with her.
They were sitting by the pool, talking quietly, when there was a loud crash from inside the studio and, looking in, they saw Belinda at the bar, with bottle and glass. She’d tipped over another stool. Her hair was half over her eyes and she was staggering badly. Suddenly spying the two women outside, she whooped, threw up her glass in a
skoal
gesture, and with outflung arms lurched toward the door.
“No! Belinda, wait!” Viola screamed as Belinda rushed forward, bottle and drink held high. Maude later told me she was actually running by the time she hit one of the sliding glass doors. There was a terrible shattering sound as she crashed through and the pane fell in hundreds of pieces around her.
“It was terrible,” Maude said, her head trembling until she hid it in her hands. Belinda had suffered forty separate cuts and lesions, on her face, neck, shoulders, arms, breasts, thighs, and legs. Over a hundred stitches had been taken, many across her forehead.
I could see the headlines:
BELINDA CARROLL SCARRED FOR LIFE IN DRUNKEN FALL
We spoke about it as such disasters are spoken of, going through and under and around, saying the same things over and over, and the question we repeated the oftenest in the next two hours was, Where had she got the bottle from?
There hung the burning question, and now, as we sat together in her bedroom, Maude showed herself at a loss to answer. I was thinking hard, trying to assimilate it all. What had happened to pop Belinda off on a drunk? Upset her enough to push her off the wagon, then provide the wherewithal? Yes, indeed, someone had set the stage, and very cleverly, too, then shoved the unsuspecting Belinda onstage in front of the footlights to play out her scene. But who? I damn well knew who got my vote. And clearly Maude was thinking the same thing. I walked over to her, pressed her shoulder. She rose and we started downstairs.
“Maude?” I said as we went down in the elevator.
“Yes, quickly, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Where’s the bottle? I want to see it.”
“Good! I
thought
you would. I’ve saved it. Come along.”
She took me to the butler’s pantry and there on the sideboard sat the empty bottle, which had escaped the crash and the fall onto the tiles. I stared at the label, though I’d already recognized it from a distance. It was a bottle of Zubrovka vodka, the Polish brand with the blade of buffalo grass in it, one of Belinda’s old favorites. Where had it come from?
I walked to the wall where a calendar hung, with the telephone number of the liquor store the household generally used. I dialed the number and got a girl; I asked if she could tell me if anyone had purchased a bottle of Polish vodka in the past twenty-four hours. Oh yes, she said, several people! Was one a blonde woman in her fifties? Oh, she thought—no, she couldn’t remember any blonde of fifty, but there had been a young dark-haired woman of twenty-five or so. Was she alone? No, the girl said, she was with a male companion, a hippie type with long red hair….
“What did they say?” Maude asked when I hung up. “Was it—?”
I nodded. Who else? After her quarrel with Belinda, Faun had hopped down to the liquor store and bought the stuff. Then what? How had she worked the thing, how had she insinuated the bottle into the house so the servants wouldn’t notice but Belinda would? Most important, how had Faun known her mother was ready to start drinking?
Maude, poor lady, was exhausted, and she began weeping softly. I looked at her and shook my head. “Go to bed, Maude,” I told her, “we can’t do anything tonight.”
“I want to be up when Faun comes home.”
“No you don’t. Not tonight. If she does come, it’s not the time for a showdown. Wait. Wait until tomorrow; bad things can always keep.”
“You’re right, of course. I’ll go.” She paused just in front of me and suddenly my arms went around her. She needed my help, and I was glad to be the one she needed. At that instant I was in love with her, Maude Antrim. There are people you’ll gladly die for; she was one.
She reached up and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, my dear; I really don’t know what we’d do around here without you.” I wanted to cry, honest to God. I held the swinging door for her and escorted her to the stairs. Then I went and sat in the Snuggery. I heard the clock strike the half hour, but I didn’t know which half, I’d lost track of the time. I turned on the TV and realized it was ten-thirty. I shut off the set, and crossed the hallway. Just then headlights flashed as a car circled the drive. I sat down in the hall and waited. Presently I heard voices, then a key in the lock, the door opened, and there was Faun, accompanied by Jojo the Dog-Faced Boy.
“
Well
,” she exclaimed indignantly, as if I had no business in her house.
“Well,” I repeated, hardly an answer.
“My, don’t we look glum,” she said. “What’s the matter, did your elephant run away?”
I took her arm. “Come in here, I want to talk to you.” As I pulled her along toward the Snuggery, she yelped, then wriggled free of my hand.
“Get you, man. Who was your slave last year? I’m starving. We’re going to make sandwiches.”
“
You’re
not going to do
anything
until we’ve talked,” I said, “so get your ass in there and just shut up.” True, I wasn’t operating in a very adult way, but in my anger I’d lost track of the niceties.
“You don’t have any rights over me. You’re not my father.”
“A blessing for which I’ll be eternally grateful.”
Bobby tittered and I whipped around at him. “Look, you little creep, do you think everything’s funny? For two cents I’d paste you one.”
“Leave him out of this,” Faun said.
“I’m afraid I can’t. And if you won’t come in there where we can talk, we can have this thing out right here where we stand.”
“What thing?”
I tried to sound offhand. “I’d just like to get your side of things before I call the police.”
That did something. “The police? Whatever for?” She tried to laugh; miserable failure.
“Guess.”
She pretended not to have a clue. Her heels rapped on the marble as she tottered about, glancing here and there. “What’s happened? Where is everyone?” She moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up. “Where’s Mummy? Has something happened to her?”
“Look, pussycat, don’t start with that holy innocent crap,” I said, “I’m not in any mood.” I grabbed her arm again and swung her around, then gave her a shove toward the Snuggery doorway.
“Hey, man, lay off.” Bobby started toward me with a menacing look. I struck out and knocked him back against the wall.
Faun cried out, and then marched on me in fury. “I’ll have you charged with assault.”
“Fine. You just go right ahead and do that, cutie, because in a very short while I’m having you charged with murder.”
“Murder!” She paled and shrank back from me, squeezing her arm in that characteristic gesture of hers.
“You heard me,” I said. “Murder. Both of you.”
“Yeah?” said Bobby. “Who are we supposed to have murdered?”
Ignoring him, I looked hard at Faun. “Just your mother.”
I walked into the Snuggery, sure that this ploy would finally get her in there. Leaving Bobby in the hall, she came trotting in, already sobbing.