Stars Screaming (37 page)

Louie’s eyes were hooded in thought. He was staring down the hill, where another, larger funeral was getting ready to begin.

“I bet that’s Buster’s funeral,” Iris said.

“I bet you’re right,” Lu Ann said. She glanced over at Burk. “Buster Crabbe died on Friday. That’s what’s goin’ on down there.
He was Kaspa the Lion Man in
King of the Jungle.
Iris worked with him in
Swamp Fire
in 1946. That’s where we met. I was doubling for Virginia Grey.”

“He was Flash Gordon too,” Louie said to Lu Ann, and she widened her eyes.

“Yes, that’s right,” Iris said.

“Growing up we saw him in a lot of stuff,” Burk said to Gene. “Remember? In the serials he was Billy the Kid. Then he became Bill Carson. He had a sidekick named Fuzzy and rode a horse called Falcon.”

“He was always dressed in black,” Gene said.

“And he was a world-class swimmer,” Iris said, tapping Burk on the shoulder with a bony finger.

“And your mother was a fine swimmer, too,” Lu Ann said to Louie. “There was a pool in our building that she used—but at odd hours, either very late at night or early in the morning. One time before the sun came up I looked outside and saw her swimming back and forth across the shallow end. Paddling next to her was a golden retriever with a bandaged paw. She was giving him physical therapy, she said.”

“That’s one of the reasons she got fired,” Wayne said. “You weren’t allowed to take the pets out of the building without permission.”

“But she didn’t give a damn,” said Lu Ann. “She knew that pup would feel better taking a swim. That’s all. And she did it. That’s the way she was.”

Louie was smiling, looking at his father as if he were remembering something from their shared past. “She liked to play music loud,” he said. “She liked the Beatles and the Stones, but her favorite song was ‘I Can Never Go Home Anymore’ by the Shangri-Las.”

Burk said, “She liked ‘Dream Lover’ by Bobby Darin, too.”

Gene caught Burk’s eye before he corrected him. “I think that was one of your favorites, Ray.”

“But she liked it.”

“I think we’re done here,” said the rabbi, as Iris and Lu Ann joined arms, clinging to each other now as they stepped slowly down the hill toward Buster Crabbe’s grave.

Wayne touched Louie lightly on the arm. “At breakfast all they talked about was the muscles in his back, the way they shined when they got all sweaty.”

Louie took a small step to his right, away from Wayne’s hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about him,” Wayne said, staring across the grass. “The guy who died. Tarzan.”

“The family would like a few moments of privacy,” the rabbi said to Wayne, looking at him carefully. “Would that be all right?”

Wayne clenched his jaw but didn’t move away. “Your mom liked sports,” he said, staring down at Sandra’s grave, “especially basketball. The Lakers were her favorite team, and her favorite player was Jerry West, even though he was retired. Zeke from Cabin Creek. That was his nickname. She used to say that over and over when she was drinking. I liked her. She was nice to me,” he said, with a sad shrug. Then, cautiously, he glanced up at Louie. Meeting his eyes, he said, “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

Louie stood silent, watching Wayne walk over to a dark green Toyota sedan that was parked nearby. After he got into the backseat and slammed the door shut, Gene said, “I’ve got every song that the Shangri-Las recorded. Anytime you want, you can come out and listen to them all.”

“She liked The Shirelles, too,” Burk said. “And Del Shannon.”

“‘Runaway,’” the rabbi said and smiled just slightly.

“I’ve got everything,” Gene said.

Louie raised his head and tears slid down his cheeks as he looked up at the sky. “It was raining the night she left. Remember, Dad?”

Burk nodded yes, he remembered, but did not look at his son.

“I was worried about her,” Louie said. “I always worried about her.”

The rabbi was standing next to Burk. She took his hand. At the same time, Louie felt Gene’s arm around his shoulder. Burk finally looked in Louie’s direction, and for a moment he saw a flicker of blame in his son’s eyes. “It wasn’t my fault, Louie. She was going to leave. I couldn’t stop her.”

“I know,” Louie said. “She ran away—just like the song.”

“There was something magical about Sandra,” the rabbi said. “I can hear it in all your voices. I can’t explain it exactly, but I can hear it.”

Louie turned away from the grave, unable to check the tears that came out of his eyes. “It’s okay,” Burk said, staring at his son’s back. “It’s okay to cry.”

“I don’t have that many nice memories,” Louie said, biting his lip. “And the things I do remember make me angry. I hated her sometimes. I can’t help it. I hated her for always picking me up late at nursery school, and all the times she was drunk. And for dancing naked in the house with the shades up so the guy next door could see her. I hated her for that. I hated her for leaving, for going to jail, and for all the times she said she’d visit me and never did.” Louie turned around and faced his father. “I hated her.”

“I know,” Burk said. “I hated her sometimes, too.”

“Sometimes I hated you both,” Louie said. “It wasn’t all her fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

Turning away again, Louie said, “You hit her. You hit her in the face.”

Burk nodded, finding it difficult to speak for a few moments. Then he said, “It was a terrible thing to do. I did a lot of terrible things. But my life is different now. It’s been different for a long time.”

“She was ready to die,” Louie said. “That’s all. She knew it was time and was just ready to die.” Burk came around the grave and embraced his son. “I’m scared,” Louie said. “I really am.”

“I know.”

“Even if I never saw her much.”

“She was still your mom and deep down you loved her.”

Louie’s arms dropped away from his father’s back and he took a step backward. Still crying, he said, “Maybe that’s what we’ll put on her marker.”

“What’s that?”

“She knew it was time.”

Sandra’s windowless studio apartment reeked with a rich warm odor of urine and spilled beer. An empty gallon of cheap vodka and a plate of rotten unidentifiable food were left on top of her filthy bedding, surrounded by a ring of tiny ants. Taped on the wall behind her headboard were pictures of pro basketball players scissored neatly from the pages of
Sports Illustrated.

A troop of roaches marched down another wall, crawling slowly across phone numbers that were scrawled in black ink. Books, mostly warped or with broken spines, were piled against the wall or under the bed; old racing forms were stacked on her nightstand, weighted
down by three browned apple cores and a cracked plaster statue of a horse.

“Jesus, this is terrible,” Burk said. He was standing in the smelly bathroom with a sick look on his face, staring at the yellowed toilet bowl and the torn linoleum. Gray water dripped from the showerhead and shaving soap streaked with blood was smeared on the mirror above the sink. “She was always so clean. I can’t believe she lived like this.”

Burk accidentally crushed a roach as he walked back into the bedroom. When he sat on the edge of the bed to pull the flattened insect off the bottom of his shoe, he saw Louie standing in the closet with his eyes closed, turning slowly, Sandra’s coats and dresses falling around his head and shoulders.

“I can smell her. I can smell her all over,” he said, moving deeper into the closet. Burk felt tearing pain that ripped through his chest, almost taking away his breath. “C’mon inside, Dad.”

“I’m okay, Louie.”

“No. C’mon. Try to smell her.”

Burk rose up slowly and walked into the closet. In the sparse light he could see Louie crouched in a corner, smiling up at him, his face half hidden by a pale pink negligee.

“Do you remember any of these clothes?” Louie said.

Burk ran his hands lightly over a few garments and shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“There’s an old peacoat in back here and some ratty sandals. Are those from college?”

“Not that I remember.”

Louie held up a black brassiere. “How about this?”

“That doesn’t look familiar either.”

“She’s got a portable hair dryer on the floor and a paper bag filled with curlers.”

“She didn’t use curlers,” Burk said, breathing in deeply, trying to find Sandra’s fragrance in the musty air. “She just washed her hair and brushed it out.”

“She had pretty hair,” Louie said. “I remember that. And I remember her shampoo. It had an apricot smell.”

“That’s right,” Burk said. He moved in a step and felt the sleeve of a white wool sweater brush against his beard. “I remember this crewneck,” he said, pulling the sweater off the hanger. “She used to
wear it with blue jeans and white tennies. She always dressed really simply.”

“There’s a couple of low-cut spangly things back there.”

“That wasn’t Sandra.”

“Maybe.”

“Simple and loose. That was your mom’s style.”

“She’s got a kimono. Red with a big black dragon on the back.”

“I can’t see her wearing a kimono. As a joke, maybe. But that’s all.”

“She probably had a bunch of secrets,” Louie said. When he stood up, there was a pair of black net stockings wrapped around his neck. “A lot of things we don’t know about. Things we’ll never know.”

“You’re probably right, Louie.”

“You know I am, Dad.”

After they checked into the hotel, Burk decided to take a nap while Louie put on his swimsuit and went down to the pool. He came back upstairs twice, the second time Burk was lying on the sofa by the window, rereading the term paper that he planned to hand-deliver to Frank Dunlop, his former high school history teacher, later that evening.

“What’s that?” Louie said as he switched on the TV. “New script?”

Burk shook his head. “Just something I wrote.”

“What?”

Burk glanced at Louie, then his eyes made an anxious circuit of the room, landing finally on the Devo video that was playing on MTV.

Before he could answer, Louie spoke first, taking him by surprise. “I already read it, Dad.”

Burk felt himself blushing, like a teenager who’d just been caught masturbating in his bedroom. “You did? When?”

“Earlier, while you were sleeping,” he said, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. “I was bored. Why did you write something like that?”

Burk looked into his son’s face, trying to rehearse in his head a satisfactory explanation, an explanation that was both amusing and original. But finally he just shrugged and told him the truth. When he was done speaking, Louie was quiet for a moment, his eyes looking somewhat confused.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Burk asked his son.

“Why?”

“For cheating. For copying something out of a book.”

“Everyone cheats.”

“Not everyone.”

“I cheated,” Louie said, casting a glance toward his father but not straight at him. “In high school some guys swiped the chemistry exam and sold the answers for two hundred dollars. Ten of us put up twenty apiece. And Steve Jacoby, this guy in my dorm, he told me that he took the SAT for one of his buddies. The guy’s dad paid him a thousand dollars. Now that’s
really
cheating.”

Burk said, “I never felt right about what I did. I wanted to straighten it out.”

“Did you ever cheat on a girl?” Louie said. He was looking directly at his father now.

“Maybe . . . yeah, I probably did.”

“How many times?”

Burk did not answer. He stood up and walked over to the closet. Remaining silent, he slipped a clean shirt off the hanger and found that his hands were shaking as he fastened the buttons. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure.”

“Did you cheat on Mom?”

Burk faced his son and nodded his head. “Yeah, I did.”

Louie stretched out on his bed while Burk went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he came back out, he stood for awhile, gazing abstractedly around the room. After a long silence he took a seat in the overstuffed armchair next to the fireplace.

Louie started to speak, checked himself, but the words came out anyway. “Did Mom know you cheated on her?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“That’s good.”

The muscles in Louie’s face softened, and they looked at each other for a brief moment while Burk patted his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and his car keys. “I gotta get going,” he said. “I’ll be back in awhile. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Burk got to his feet. After he took the manila envelope out of the suitcase, he crossed to the door and stood for a few moments,

watching his son and waiting for him to turn his eyes in his direction. When he opened the door, Louie said, “I love you, Dad.” “I love you too, Louie.”

“Good evening, young man,” Frank Dunlop said, smiling, and his sober gray eyes showed a twinkle of excitement as he led Burk inside his apartment. “You’re right on time.”

Dunlop’s living room was small and cramped, decorated with dark red wallpaper and antique wooden furniture that was furred with a thin layer of dust. Jazzy music from an invisible stereo oozed softly out of speakers concealed by tall plants. Next to the fireplace was a small red velvet pillow with gold trim; a dog’s silver choke chain was coiled on top.