Shake Down the Stars (23 page)

“Sherry, really. I'll be fine.”

“This is what I want you to do. Are you listening?”

I nod.

“Hello?”

“I'm here.”

“I want you to go to the Thai place. Get us a table and order a few things.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Even better. More food for me. I haven't eaten lunch and I'm starving. Get one of those Thai iced teas for me, too.”

“Sherry, I promise I feel better. I'll figure things out.”

“I have no doubt that you will, baby, but I'm not getting off this phone until you are in my presence.” I hear a car door slam. “Give me the cross street. And order a soup for me, too.”

I nod again. I'm too busy crying to respond. Suddenly I don't want a drink at all.

“Piper?”

“I'm here. Thank you for coming, Sherry.”

“One day you'll do the same for someone else.”

“My mother hates me.”

“Your mother is caught up in her own stuff. You have to stop asking her for what she can't give you. She's not there yet. She might not ever get there. You have to stay on your side of the court.”

Stay on your own side of the court.
Meaning, when dealing with relationships, you can't play both sides. Meaning, worry about yourself. I understood the saying on one level, but after this last fight with Mom, I understand it even better.

I say quietly, “I need to take care of myself and stop looking to her for approval. She can't give it to me. I have to give it to myself.”

“That's right. And all that anger you feel toward her is hurting no one—”

“Except me. I know. I have to let her go.” I pause and stare out the window.

“You have to forgive her just like you're learning—”

“To forgive myself.” There's another saying in AA I'm starting to understand:
See everything.
Widen your view to
everything
around you, not just the negative. Mom was awful, for instance, but what about Sherry?

I get out of the car and take the bottle from the backseat, walk it over to the trash bin, and toss it inside. I stare up at the sky again, thinking of Jupiter and its sixty-six moons.

“Piper? Are you there?”

“I'm here. I just threw the bottle in the trash. I think I'm going to be okay.”

“Good. Maybe you'll have an appetite by the time I get there. Food is better with company.”

I head back to my car and pop the trunk. I take out my binoculars, the best tool for stargazing when a telescope isn't available. I hold the phone to my ear while I tilt my head back and search for Jupiter. It takes a minute, and I probably look crazy to anyone who happens to pass by, but I eventually find it. “Sherry?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I should be there any minute now; I'm already on Grand.”

“Come to the liquor store first. I'm still here.”

“You okay?”

“I'm fine. I have something to show you when you get here, and then we'll eat.” I keep my binoculars aimed at Jupiter, a stunning bright diamond floating in a blue sky.

M
y arms ache from working on the curve of the mirror blank for the Newtonian telescope I'm making. Mark's homemade telescope inspired me, and since school ended last week, and I'm officially on summer break, I've added yet another meeting to my roster. Every Friday I come to the Chabot Space and Science Center for the workshop on building a personal telescope. Participants pay for all the materials, a mirror blank, a grinding tool and the like, but Chabot provides the lessons and any device or instrument we need to help put it all together.

The room is the size of a small warehouse with six large worktables. There are fifteen of us in all, our ages ranging from as young as the high school kids who share a table near the back, to the twentysomething hipster couple listening to depressing industrial-sounding music, to the old man near the front who works in a kind of meditative trance.

“Hey, Diaper, look how buff I'm getting.” Clem flexes her arms, which look as thin and freckled as ever, but I go with it. She decided to take lessons with me. She's not all that interested in astronomy but is in a try-anything-once mode of late. Next weekend, for example, she will start taking a belly dancing class.

Mr. Yamamoto, a retired astronomer and lead volunteer, walks up to my table. “Very good, Miss Nelson. We'll have to discuss building your Dobsonian mount soon.” He gives my shoulder a pat that says, “Well done,” and moves on to Clem's table. He studies her mirror blank, which is half the size of everyone else's and lopsided. The class is more of an excuse to socialize for Clem, and she spends most of her time talking. Mr. Yamamoto stares as though he's going to say something, but he settles with, “Carry on, Miss Collier.”

Clem purses her lips when he moves to the next table. “He doesn't like me.”

“He doesn't like your mirror. Maybe if you'd stop goofing off, you'll actually finish.”

“Maybe if you'd stop goofing off, you'll actually finish,” she mimics in a nasal voice.

“You're worse than my students.”

Johnny Cash starts to sing from somewhere deep inside her purse. “Good Lord, I swear that man is going to drive me nuts.”

She's not referring to Johnny but rather to George, who's been hounding her since their first “date,” a word she refuses to use. “We had a cup of
coffee
! It wasn't a date!” Tomorrow they're having lunch, which I've been warned is also not a date.

She digs inside her purse as I sing, “George and Clem, sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
.”

“Oh you!” she snaps. “Leave me alone.” She answers her phone. “What? I'm busy. Yes. I don't know what I'm wearing.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Yes, that's fine. Okay. Good-bye.”

I pucker my lips and make a loud kissing sound.

“It's just lunch! We have a lot in common. He knows a few of the folks I know from back home. Nothin' more to it!”

“Okay. No need to get defensive.”

“Who says I'm being defensive? Now, will you help me with this godforsaken mirror? Maybe if the two of us work on it, I can get it in shape.”

I take the mount and start grinding the higher end. Not much later my own phone rings.

“Aunt P, Mom's hurt!” It's Sophia.

“What do you mean?”

Margot now: “Mom shot Curtis!”

My heartbeat shoots straight to panic mode. I see how terrified I must look when I catch Clem staring at me with her own worried expression.

“Okay. Try to calm down for me. What's going on?”

Margot says, “Curtis hit Mom, and Mom shot him!”

“What?”

“Curtis hit Mom, and Mom shot him!”

“Are you two okay?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Mom told us to stay in our rooms. We're in Sophia's room.”

“Okay. Where's your mother?”

“We don't know. We've been in my room.”

“Where's Hélène?”

“Mom sent everyone home,” Sophia says.

“Even Tru,” Margot adds. “She started yelling and kicked everyone out.”

“Listen, I want you to call 9-1-1.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

Margot says, “Mom doesn't want the press to know.”

“Mom says they won't go through with her show if the press finds out.”

I almost blurt,
Fuck her show!
But I figure an outburst isn't needed right now.

“Mom said not to call anyone,” says Sophia. “She made us promise.”

“Okay.” I check my watch. If I leave now, I can be in Lafayette in less than fifteen minutes. “Okay, sweeties. You guys are going to be okay. I want you to stay in Sophia's room and lock the door.”

“It
is
locked.”

“Good. Keep it locked. And don't let anyone inside except me or your mother, okay? I'll be there in a minute. Just sit real tight.”

“Okay.”

“Hurry, Auntie P.”

I immediately dial 9-1-1. I explain what's going on as best I can, then ask the dispatcher to send someone to have a look. Lafayette is so small and has such a low crime rate, I imagine the cops will be at Margot's in no time; the only thing that might slow them is the curvy hill she lives on.

“Honey, what is it?” Clem asks.

“It's the girls. I have to go.” I snatch off my apron.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Clean up my work area.”

“Of course. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

I don't respond. I'm already running out the door.

I have to cut my driving speed in half once I hit the windy road that leads to Margot's. She and Curtis live at the top of a hill, their humongous home nestled behind a grove of cedars and oaks. I park in between Curtis's Rolls and Margot's Mercedes. I've never seen the driveway so empty; the girls weren't exaggerating when they said Margot kicked everyone out. Friday traffic was worse than I thought, and it's been twenty-five minutes since their phone call. Just as troubling, there's not a cop or ambulance in sight.

I let myself in with my key. I listen closely for any sound of violence or turmoil, but the house is eerily silent.
“
Margot?” My voice echoes to the top of the living room's vaulted ceiling.
“Margot?”

A four-foot-tall oil painting of Curtis and Margot hangs above the fireplace mantel. Curtis stands behind Margot, wearing a gold crown and long white robe opened far enough to reveal his bare chest. Margot, also in a crown and white robe, sits in a gold chair with a leopard reclining at her feet. I usually roll my eyes at the painting, but now I only worry that my sister and the girls are not okay.
“Margot?!”

I continue to call her name as I race up the stairs. I give a knock on Sophia's door. “Sophia?”

She opens the door, and both girls rush into my arms. “Are you two okay?”

They nod.

“Where's your mother?”

“We don't know,” says Sophia.

Margot says, “We were, like, watching a movie, and we heard a loud noise.”

“Like a gunshot.”

“Mom came up and told us not to leave the room and not to call anyone.”

“Her eye looked really bad,” Sophia adds.

“I want you both to stay here while I look for her. Keep the door locked until I say it's okay to open it. Everything is going to be okay.”

I have to pry their arms from my waist, but they finally let me go.

I call out Margot's name as I make my way through the sprawling house. It's not until I reach Curtis's office, downstairs and closer to the kitchen, that I hear voices. “Margot?” I walk cautiously toward his office door.
“Margot?”

“I don't understand,” I hear her say. “If I could make some fucking sense out of this shit, maybe then I wouldn't be so upset. But I can't. I can't make sense of it.”

I step into Curtis's office without making a sound. The office is the size of a large living room, and neither Margot nor Curtis notices me. Margot stands with her back turned, her right hand pressed against her hip; in her left, she holds a gun. Curtis, clearly shaken, stands with his back pressed into the wall in between the TV and trophy shelf. The office itself is in shambles. Curtis's gold record, once framed and hanging above his trophies, is now shattered on the floor with a bullet hole in its center; a shattered crystal vase lies next to it. Furniture has been tipped over and the large engagement photo Curtis kept above his desk is also on the floor. A gunshot hole perforates his front teeth in the picture, leaving him with a creepy Howdy Doody smile.

Curtis holds his arm as if it's a separate appendage. When I step closer, I notice he's trying to stop blood oozing from a spot near his elbow.

“I thought you loved me,” Margot says.

“I do love you, baby. Now put the gun down.”

I take another step, feeling oddly out of body, as though I've stumbled onto a movie set. Is this part of
Margot and Me
? “Margot?
You okay?”

She turns abruptly, and that's when I see the crescent-shaped bruise under her left eye, green and mucky; a lighter bruise more red in color flanks her cheek.

I turn to Curtis.
“You hit my sister?”

“Hold on now,” he says, his eyes growing wide at the thought of having to deal with two pissed-off women. “Where did you come from?”

“The girls called.
You hit my sister?
”

“I can explain. It was self-defense. I swear! Your sister came at me with a knife! She cut me!” He holds up his arm and shows me the wound, a two-inch slice down the forearm, leaking enough blood to indicate that he might need stitches but not enough to indicate he'll lose his arm—too bad. “She cut me! If this affects my game, I assure you, we are all going to pay.” He looks at Margot and pleads, “What if I can't play no more, baby?”

“Who gives a shit.”

“You're gonna give a shit when my paycheck is cut in half. Baby, your immaturity in this matter is startling. You could ruin us both. Think about it. Tell her, Piper.”

“Tell her what?”

“Not to leave me!” He steps forward but, second-guessing himself, moves back into the wall. “Baby, I'm sorry. But we have to stay in this together. You and me. No matter what. We made a vow.” He turns his head in a way that gives me a clear view of the scratches on his cheek and neck. I can't help but think,
We are a family built on dysfunction.

“I don't know what's going on,” I say, “but the cops will be here any minute, so you two had better both calm down.”

“They've been here,” Margot says nonchalantly. “Been here and gone.” She keeps her eye on Curtis. “I told those girls not to call anyone. I can handle this asshole here. What I can't handle is bad press.”

“I can't believe all you care about is the press. He hit you!”

Curtis steps forward, but when Margot raises the gun, he steps back. “Damn straight I care about the press. I need my show! And Curtis, unless you forgot, we're supposed to be representing Christian values. I can't let people know you hit me!”

“It was an accident, baby!”

Dumbfounded, I ask, “Why did the cops leave?”

“I told them there was nothing to worry about,” Curtis says. “I told 'em I cut myself cooking. Gave 'em a couple of signed footballs and jerseys, and they were on their way.”

I move closer to Margot. “Are you okay?”

“No. I am
not
okay.”

“Are you hurt?”

“She's not hurt!” Curtis pleads. “
I'm
hurt! Hell, girl, why don't you tell Piper how you came at me with a knife? While I was sleeping! I got her in the eye, true, but it was an accident. I had no idea what I was doing. I was half asleep! And when I woke up, you would have thought she was going to slice my throat. As God is my witness.”

“What about the bruise on her cheek?”

“That was also an accident. I tried to get her off me, and she started screaming all hysterical and shit and clawing at me, so I slapped her to get her to shut up—calm her down like in the movies, and that's how she got that spot on her face. Tell her, Margot.”

Margot doesn't hide her boredom with his story. “What he says is true.”

“Still doesn't give you the right to hit her,” I snap. “You're, like, three times her size.”

“I know! It was an accident!”

“Now tell her what
you
did, Curtis,” says Margot. “Tell her why I came after you in the first place.”

“Baby, I messed up. I'll admit it. But I keep telling you, what I did was in the past. It happened before we got engaged. We both agreed that the ceremony was our new beginning. You can't punish me for what happened before I became committed to you—the second time, I mean. That's what we agreed.”

“Yeah, but you didn't tell me the whole truth. Tell Piper what you did, Curtis.” She raises the gun, aiming just below his navel. “Go on.”

He recoils and moves back toward the wall, using his hand to protect his groin. “I slept with Danielle,” he whispers. “But I swear it was an accident!”

“An accident,” Margot snorts. She looks at me askance, as if to say,
Can you believe the bull coming from this man?
“How can you stand there and tell me putting your penis inside my best friend's vagina was an accident? You must think I'm crazy.”

“No, baby, but I do think you're upset, and you have a right to be, but I'm tellin' you, it didn't mean anything. I promise, all that—all that womanizing is in the past. Danni was one in many!”

“Way to go,” I say. “I'm sure that makes her feel better.”

“My point being, I have not cheated since the engagement party. I swear. Baby, you know me,” he pleads, his eyes brimming with tears. “I have been your most humble king and you—you have been my most cherished queen. I wanted to show my love for you. I know moving the wedding date has been difficult, and I wanted to make it up to you.”