Harlem Redux (32 page)

“It took a while for her to warm up to me, but eventually she did. I liked her very much. Lilian was a lovely woman. But she never toughened up. She was very gay during the times I saw her.

“We used to talk about Gem and wonder what she was up to in Paris. Lilian had a natural gift for mimicry. She used to do marvelous impersonations of Gem for me. I think she could sense how much I missed her sister. It didn’t seem to bother her. She was never jealous of my affection for Gem. I admired her for that. It was another difference between the two sisters, a difference that put a plus next to Lilian’s name. Gem would’ve never stood for being in second place. But Lilian was simply happy to have a place at all.

“I’ve often wondered why the two turned out so differently. Objectively speaking, Lilian was every bit as pretty as Gem. But she lacked something. Perhaps it was the self-love, that extra drop of poisonous narcissism that makes Gem so pitiless and yet so attractive to men and women alike.

“Lilian and I saw one another off and on for several months. I always invited her to my soirees. If Jameson was out of town, she would come. I told her the invitation included them both, but she merely laughed and said my parties were meant for her alone. Then the time between her visits lengthened.

“Nikki and I went to Europe last July. I tried to contact Gem during a long stopover in Paris, but I wasn’t successful. When we got back in September, I sent a note to Lilian but she didn’t respond. I was a bit concerned, but with one thing and another, I got busy and didn’t get around to trying again. Months went by. I started hearing from Lilian again in December. She came out to the house once, in January. She’d missed both my Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties. I couldn’t believe she’d done that, but she said Jameson had made other plans. Looking back, I remember thinking she didn’t look well. It was nothing specific, just a general sense that something was off. After that visit in January, she promised to come again. That was how things stood until a month ago.

“Late that Friday morning, Lilian called sounding confused and depressed. Jameson had left that day on a business trip and she was alone at home. She was incoherent. She claimed the place was haunted. She begged me to let her come out to Harding House. Of course, she could, I said. She asked if Nikki or I could go and get her. We couldn’t. Nikki was out with the car. She was quiet, and then she said she was sure she could get there on her own. She did arrive—hours later. I was horrified when I saw her. She was exhausted when she stepped out of her car. She looked like death warmed over. I know it’s a terrible choice of words, but you get my meaning. Her face was bloated and gray. Her clothes hung off her carelessly. She looked nothing like the exquisite Lilian I knew.

“I wasn’t quick enough to hide my shock. She didn’t say a word. Just grabbed her suitcase, ran into the house, and shut herself in our biggest guest room. I went upstairs to her. I was afraid she wouldn’t let me in, but she did. She was lying on the bed. I urged her to spend the weekend with us. I’ll never forget her answer.

‘“Whether I stay or not, I’m going to die, Nella. I’m going to die. But we’ve all got to die sometime, don’t we? Some of us just have a better notion of when.”’

Nella shivered.

“She was talking like a madwoman. Yet her tone of voice was absolutely sane, even sensible. Lilian seemed convinced that a ghost was haunting her house and would kill her.

“I offered to help her unpack. When she didn’t answer, I took it upon myself to start. But when I opened her suitcase, I found that she’d packed just one outfit, a cocktail dress, a bright red one with a glittery top. I couldn’t understand why. My husband and I hadn’t spoken of any party. We hadn’t planned on having one. The dress was totally inappropriate. And it was the only bit of clothing she’d brought. Otherwise, she had only what she needed for her hair and face.”

Nella pulled a Chesterfield out of a jeweled box on the table. She let David light it for her, and then stretched out. She stared at a large painting of Cape Cod on the wall opposite her.

“Lilian came down for dinner that evening. We served steak. She ate like someone starved. Said she was thrilled to have some real food, finally. Nikki and I exchanged glances. She consumed enormous amounts. I lost my appetite watching her.

“After dinner, she told us she had to go take her sleeping powder—I didn’t know she’d been taking any. She said she was going to bed, but then she asked me to sit and talk with her until the medicine took effect. I was quite willing. I hoped she’d tell me what had happened to change her so quickly. So, I went upstairs with her. I couldn’t believe how much sleeping powder she took. It was incredible. Suddenly, her mood changed. She said she wanted to be alone and sent me from the room.

“I went back downstairs. My husband and I talked for a while. Then we both went up at around ten. Her door was closed and there was no light shining from under it. We went to sleep thinking—hoping—all would be well. Then began a night I will never forget.

“I heard her screaming at around three that morning. She was shrieking out her own name. I ran down the hall and wrenched open her door. She was sitting stiffly upright in bed. Her eyes were wide and staring. Fixed on the window opposite the bed. Her hands were pressed over her ears. She was shaking her head from side to side. And she was babbling, imploring someone she thought was in the room. It wasn’t me; she wasn’t seeing me. I couldn’t make out her words. They were utter nonsense. But she was afraid. Scared out of her wits. She kept saying her own name. But it had turned into a terrified whimper. I ran to her and shook her. She fought me and God forgive me, I slapped her. That seemed to bring her out of it. She collapsed in my arms, weeping. And begged me to stay with her until daybreak. I sat with her for two hours. She refused to speak. She lay with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. I tried to talk to her, but she acted as though she hadn’t heard me. At one point, she closed her eyes. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but the moment I tried to leave her, she reached out a hand and grabbed me. She was as thin as a rail, but she had the strength of two men. At around half-past five, she finally fell asleep.

“I crept back to my own bed, exhausted. I slept late, but Nikki was up early. When I woke, he told me that Lilian had come downstairs, eaten a hearty breakfast, and then gone back to bed.

“Lilian spent most of Saturday in bed reading or in the bathroom soaking in the tub. That evening, she came downstairs with her bag packed and announced that she had a very important appointment. She didn’t say what it was. I can still see her. She went to the door, suddenly turned around and said: ‘I love you, Nella. You’re the only other one who lets me be me.’ I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. Before I could answer, she went out.

“Nikki and I didn’t know if she intended to come back or not, but she reappeared that evening, after about three hours. I heard a car drive up at around ten-thirty and went to my bedroom window. It was Lilian, getting out of a taxi.”

“A taxi?”

“There was no sign of her Packard. I ran downstairs to let her in. She was smiling and cheerful. She was all dressed up in her red dress and she seemed very energetic and decisive. She didn’t give me time to put questions, just kissed me lightly on the cheek and dashed up the stairs to her room. And then the night before was repeated. It was ghastly: the whole thing, at three a.m., the crying out of her own name. That night, she asked me to bring her water for more sleeping powder. I was afraid she’d kill herself if I did, but Nikki told me to go ahead and do it. She took another big dose, slept again.

“Nikki and I like to have a good Sunday brunch. Lilian ate well and with enthusiasm. She seemed to be her old self again. Afterward, she said she was tired. She went upstairs and when I checked on her later, I found her sound asleep. She slept around three hours. When she woke up, she said she felt better, so much better in fact that she wanted to go home. Jameson wasn’t back yet; I was afraid for her to be at home alone. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. She had firmly decided to go home. She said that a Dr. Hawthorne—I take it he was her therapist. Clearly, she must’ve been under treatment. Anyway, this Dr. Hawthorne had found a nurse for her and the woman would be at the house Monday morning. She also said she had a lot to do before Jameson got home. I agreed ... reluctantly. Nikki said he would drive her. They left at around six that evening.

“When Nikki got back hours later, he was very upset. Lilian had cried the whole way home. She’d talked about going back with him. Several times, he’d wondered whether he should turn the car around and bring her back. But when they drove up to the house, she’d suddenly become calm. She took out her keys and got out. She asked Nikki to go through the house with her, to make sure that no one was there. He did. The house was empty. But she didn’t believe him. She said that her sister was there, that she could smell her. She asked Nikki to check again. But again, he found no one. He left her standing by the parlor window, gazing out into the empty street. And that, dear David, was the last time either of us ever saw her.”

David closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head in his right hand. He suddenly wanted a cigarette badly. Never mind that he didn’t smoke. And he would have been happy to down one of Nella’s bizarre cocktails. He could almost believe that Lilian had killed herself, had seized a butcher knife from the kitchen cutting block, gone back to her bedroom, and systematically sliced down deep into her own flesh. He could almost envision it.

Almost.

Nella gave him a piercing look.

“You still don’t want to accept that Lilian killed herself. But you must. Forget about Sweet. Forget him. I’ll tell you something more: I was curious about where Lilian went that evening, so I contacted the taxi companies working the area near my house. Sure enough, a driver did remember bringing a young colored woman to Harding House. He had picked her up at a cheap hotel. The cabby gave me the name of the place. Only one word to describe it: squalid, absolutely irredeemably squalid. I don’t want to imagine what Lilian was doing there. I spotted her Packard in the parking lot. The keys were still in the ignition. Unbelievable. Anyone could’ve driven off with it. I think the proprietor had been using it himself. He was very reluctant to part with it. The car is in my driveway in the Hamptons. You can pick it up the next time you come out. The hotel owner also showed me the room in which Lilian spent three hours that evening. I found a letter. It isn’t addressed to anyone and it isn’t very coherent, but I can show it to you.”

Nella went to a small side table and slid out a narrow, shallow drawer. She withdrew a piece of folded blue paper and handed it to David. Other than the hotel’s moniker, the page was nondescript. It was covered in a small nervous scrawl. The handwriting was barely legible. It was difficult to recognize as Lilian’s.

It’s her fault. It’s her fault.

My sister, that sister of mine.

She’s trying to kill me, to slay me,

With her dead, blind eyes.

She chokes me with sadness.

Her plainness, her grayness,

Are a suffocating shroud.

But I am a bird that will survive.

I will fly, far away, high up on high.

She will see. I will destroy her.

I will survive.

David shuddered.

Nella nodded grimly. “Finally,” she said. “You understand.”

A little ways uptown, Sweet was handing Canfield a letter. They were sitting in Canfield’s study. Canfield read the missive, his expression deepening from curiosity to displeasure to fury. Finally, he looked up.

“Good God, is David out of his mind?”

Sweet took back the letter. “He would seem to be.”

Canfield regarded the missive
grimly. “The Movement will have to make a formal statement, cutting him off.”

Sweet looked pleased. “Were it up to me, I’d have him disbarred.”

Canfield looked up at him. “Just what
are
you going to do with this information?”

“I don’t want to destroy the McKay name, or damage the family. When it comes down to it, I
am
part of that family now. And I respect Augustus McKay’s memory, even if his own son doesn’t. So I wouldn’t want to harm it. But David McKay can’t be allowed to go on like this. And I won’t let him drive me out of the house.” Sweet tapped the letter against his palm. “For the moment, I’ll hold on to this for a little insurance. When the time’s right, David and I will have a talk. Right now, I have to go to Chicago to take more depositions. I can’t put the trip off and I’ll be gone about ten days.”