Authors: Nancy Frederick
I was in shock. Eventually Gus drove me home in Bart
’
s Rolls and I sat alone in the back remembering all the times I had shared that seat with Bart, who would never sit there again. He would never hold my hand, or hug me, or help me with a tough decision. He would never make love to me or tell me another joke or applaud my success. Bart was gone and I was alone.
My house was quiet and empty like a huge cave where I sat alone in the dark for a long, long time. Eventually the phone rang, so that meant it was morning. Harold was calling to inform me of the funeral plans and that there would be a reading of Bart
’
s will afterward. I wrote everything down but I had a terrible sense of fear. Bart
’
s children would be there, and I had never met them. Imagine what they would think of me
—
a cheap little nobody who had been their beloved father
’
s plaything. They probably thought I was some kind of hustler who was out to get his money. And look at all the money he had given me already
—
the trust that he set up so that I could buy my house
—
all that was part of the will, and now they would probably come along and contest it and try to take it all away from me. But it wasn
’
t the money that mattered, because I was solid financially. I could always keep my house by selling a few investments and changing my finances around a little. It was the humiliation of seeing myself through their eyes. Surely there was no place for me at either the funeral or the reading of the will, and it was kinder to have a private farewell at Bart
’
s grave in Forest Lawn after the whole thing was officially over. But Harold called again and told me that he would be sending Gus to pick me up, that he knew that Bart would have wanted that and so I realized that there was nothing to do but to go and be scorned by the respectable people in Bart
’
s life.
We sat in the huge chapel, filled with people I mostly had never seen and listed to Bart
’
s life being summed up. My mind floated in and out of focus as I remembered the times we
’
d shared, which never again would we do, and I submerged myself in grief. Harold sat with me, his hand holding my arm. Across the way were two people who obviously were Bart
’
s children
—
they looked too much like him to be anything else.
After the burial, we walked back from the gravesite and Harold steered me over toward Brandon and Shelley, Bart
’
s children, saying,
“
The children wanted to meet you.
”
I knew it. I gasped in fear and wanted to sink a thousand feet into the earth before they could say to me the things I
’
d already said to myself. What was there to do but get it over with, the nasty confrontation and the ensuing legal battle? The money didn
’
t matter, they could have it all, and in fact, I
’
d tell them that when they accused me of being a gold digger. I might look like a cheap whore from Vegas, and maybe I am nothing at all that special, but Bart was and even I knew it. I braced myself and walked with Harold toward Bart
’
s son and daughter.
Brandon
had Bart
’
s blue eye, and as I gazed into them with apprehension, I noticed something. There was no hate there at all, only pain akin to what was in my own eyes just then.
Brandon
reached out his hands and took one of mine, holding it between his own warmly while Shelley smiled at me.
“
Fauna, it
’
s so nice to meet you at last. Dad talked about you all the time.
”
Brandon
was warm and open, just like Bart.
“
We were so glad that Dad had someone here to make him happy,
”
Shelley said.
My heart fell to my knees and I thought that I would die right then and there. Bart
’
s children were wonderful, just like their father and I had nothing to fear or worry about. They accepted me as a positive part of their father
’
s life. As someone special. Bart had talked to them about me. I wasn
’
t some kind of dirty little secret after all.
So it all worked out. Nobody challenged anything about the will. My trust fund remained in tact and so did my ego, whatever of it there was. Bart had set up a separate trust for Gus and Emma, asking that the money be used to pay their salaries and maintain his limo, if I would agree to have them come to work for me. That way, even if I couldn
’
t take care of them properly, the trust would pay their wages and also for their retirement in ten years. And most of all, they could take care of me. That was what Bart wanted, and I was more than happy to oblige. The children were to get the house, to sell it and the furnishings or keep it as they chose. And the various details of the rest of his estate were laid out just as fairly and logically. It was all finished and tied up in a neat little package with only my sorrow to remain as a loose end left behind.
Within a week, Gus and Emma were settled into the servant
’
s quarters above my garage, quarters I had never filled because it seemed pointless to have a staff to take care of only me. The house had always been maintained by an outside service who sent a team of people in twice a week. I cooked for myself or ate out when Bart wasn
’
t with me. It was simple enough. But now I had Emma to plan meals and make them if I wanted and Bart would oversee the running of the house and the care of the cars.
I looked in my garage, and it was almost a comical sight. There was my VW Beetle, the car I owned in Vegas and drove here to
L.A.
. Next to it was the Lamborghini that Bart had given me for my birthday in March. And beyond that was the Rolls Limo. It looked like an illustration for good, better, best. I laughed at the sight and enjoyed an instant
’
s release from the grief in which I was suffused like a shroud of doom. Then I crawled into the backseat of the limo and just sat there remembering everything and feeling safer than I did anywhere else. Bart
’
s car wasn
’
t all that I had left of him, but in it I felt closer to him than I did anywhere else.
Sometimes I would just sit in there thinking about everything and other times I
’
d bring my laptop and work on business or make calls on my cellular phone. It became like an extension of my office, like an extension of my relationship with Bart, a safe cocoon where I could feel protected.
Ace stopped by every day, even offering to have me come and stay at his house, but he had recently started living with someone and besides he had his sister and her kid there, so it seemed too much of a burden. Besides, I wanted to be alone. Ace tried to invite me to all the holiday festivities at his house, but it seemed like too much work to try to fit in with his family, something that clearly would be awkward. Eventually Christmas was over and the strain of the holidays seemed to be passing. I was numb with grief but no longer in a state of shock.
By December thirtieth, Ace had persuaded me to go out to lunch with him, at least to get me out of the house. We went to Cutters in
Santa Monica
, a cute little place with an outside terrace, where Ace and I sat eating our salads. He hesitated to tell me about Delilah, the girl he was in love with, because he knew I was suffering over Bart
’
s death, but he had that glow all new lovers have and the inability to put her out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time. I was glad to hear about his romance and his girl, glad he was happy, glad someone was happy.
On the way out we noticed a bunch of flyers for some singles
’
networking thing, and he picked one up, saying,
“
Hey
—
look at this
—
there
’
s some kind of singles
’
networking group here in
L.A.
. I
’
m going to give this to Liana
—
maybe she can meet a decent guy at one of their events instead of the weirdoes she usually gets involved with. Maybe you should go to one of their events
—
you could dance and take your mind off Bart for an evening.
”
I took the flyer out of his hand with a weak smile, and put it in my handbag, knowing I would never go. To appease Ace and to let him think that his suggestion was helping me, I said,
“
Thanks, pal, maybe I will.
”
He just put his arm around me and led me to his Porsche for the ride home.
“
Look at this,
”
he said,
“
There
’
s a New Year
’
s Eve bash here at Cutters tomorrow night. Of course that can
’
t compare with our
Gone With The Wind
fest. You know you
’
re invited.
”
“
Thanks, Ace, I
’
ve already seen
Gone With The Wind
, twice I think.
”
“
Geez, Fauna, everybody
’
s seen it twice. Violet
’
s only twelve, but she
’
s seen it at least five time. It a great New Year
’
s Eve movie. You know…
‘
As God is my witness, I
’
ll never get drunk again….
’”
I laughed and he laughed and the next evening I thought about going to his New Year
’
s movie party but I got drunk instead, much drunker than Clark Gable did when he carried Vivien Leigh up the stairs that night. I sat in the silk robe that I kept in the house for Bart to wear when he came over and drank a bottle of champagne by myself without even the television for company.
Eventually I walked to the closet I hardly ever open and looked at my stripper clothes. There they hung as the useless evidence of a past that no longer mattered to me. Unfortunately my whole life was in the past now. The champagne bubbles were fizzing in my brain, and although I could walk and talk quite normally, I couldn
’
t think straight at all. I threw off the robe, pulled on a skin tight tube top and leather skirt, my highest heels, and looked in the mirror. There was Fauna, the toast of
Las Vegas
. All she needed was a little makeup, which my hands, as steady as any surgeon
’
s, applied efficiently. Then I went out to get into Bart
’
s car, to sit in the back seat as I always did.
But Gus saw me walking toward the car, and assuming that I was going out for New Year
’
s, he seated me and turned on the ignition, waiting patiently for me to instruct him as to our whereabouts. The singles flyer was in my bag, and their party seemed as likely a destination as any other, so I had him drive me to Cutter
’
s, where I got out and told him to go home.
I looked around at the crowd and noticed two things
—
I was beginning to sober up, and the closer to sober I got, the more nervous I felt. Social situations still always make me ill at ease. There was plenty more champagne available, and it was a good antidote to sobriety . The place was filled with people, most of them looking happy or tying to, and I bet all of them were more naturally at east than I was even after enough champagne to christen a ship. There were men in suits and girls in dress up dresses, but there wasn
’
t anyone in micro-mini leather and spandex, and it was almost like a return to my old days where my go-to solution to awkwardness was just to flaunt my body. That old familiar heat rose up inside me and I began looking around the room for a man, a man who could make me come. For the first time in more than a month, Bart
’
s name wasn
’
t an echo that filled my mind like a never-ending mantra.
I walked around the floor, looking at the guys and enjoying having them looking at me. Then I spotted Liana. I tried to avoid her, realizing that she would probably be appalled when she saw the getup I was wearing, but she spotted me, and I had to go over. I waited for her disapproval, but all she said was,
“
Fauna, it
’
s good to see you. How are you getting along?
”
He glance was filled with sympathy and understanding, and she put her hand on my shoulder as if to comfort me.
I looked at her and smiled, and wished we could be friends, but she was so intimidating to me the thought of opening up to her seemed beyond my abilities. She seemed so perfect and capable and was so pretty and poised, all the things I wished to be and knew would never happen. Liana was wearing the most beautiful silk dress, charmeuse, I guess it was, fluid and beautifully cut in its understated elegance and a string of pearls that looked like they had been handed down as a family treasure. She had so much class I was surprised that she was willing to be seen in my company, even when I was dressed respectably, but especially now.