The Year Everything Changed (27 page)

Christina wasn’t at the table. She was at the bar, talking to a guy with dark, shoulder-length hair—a guy with a cute girl at his side.

Christina had an envelope in her hand.
The restraining order
. What the . . . and then it hit her. The friend had lied. Randy hadn’t left. Christina tried to give him the envelope. Suspicious, he looked down at her outstretched hand. He must have realized what she was trying to do because he jerked back and threw his hands up in the air. His face contorted in anger, he said something to Christina and began backing toward the door. She went after him, slapping the envelope against his chest. He grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. She aimed a kick, missed, and tried again, the second time connecting with his shin.

A blinding protective instinct hit Elizabeth with the force of a mother defending her child. “Let go of her, you son of a bitch,” she roared. She dug into her purse for the pepper spray as she flung herself across the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man who’d been flirting with them earlier leap up from his bar stool.

Randy had a friend and he was coming after her
. She had to get to Christina.

Elizabeth brought the pepper spray up and pointed it at the friend’s face. Somehow the instructions Sam had made her memorize cut through the Cosmo fog and she managed to get off a shot. But not in the direction she’d intended. A woman beside her screamed and fell. Elizabeth ignored the woman writhing on the floor and tried to get off another shot, but nothing happened. She did the only thing she could think to do next—hit him with the can. Hard. He swore, brought his hand up to touch the wound, and glared at her.

“What the fuck?” he moaned.

Blood poured down the side of his face. The sober corner of Elizabeth’s mind reassured her it wasn’t serious. Any mother of sons knew even small head wounds bleed a lot.

Without warning, something hit the backs of her knees and she dropped to the floor in a heap. The man looked down at her, dripping blood on her blouse, a mixture of concern, anger, and something she couldn’t identify on his face. “Get away from me,” she shouted. Or at least she thought she shouted.

She still had the pepper spray in her hand and brought it up, pointed it at him, and this time managed to get off a shot in the right direction.

He howled and grabbed her arm. “Jesus, lady—you’re crazy.”

“Elizabeth?” Christina pushed the man out of the way. “What happened? Are you all right? What’s going on?”

“That man”—Elizabeth pointed to the man desperately wiping his eyes and spreading blood all over his face—“that man—” Again the sober part of her mind spoke up, this time sending a warning. She was going to be sick. She tried to get up but only made it to her knees. Disgusting sounds came from her, followed by disgusted sounds from everyone around her. Oh, God—she would never ever eat peanuts again. And she would never drink again. Not ever. Not even at her children’s weddings.

With Christina’s help, she managed to stand, but when she tried to walk it felt like her legs had flesh but no bones. Christina clamped her hands around Elizabeth’s arm to keep her from falling. “Did he hurt you?” Elizabeth asked, determined to fulfill the role she’d come to play.

She saw Christina’s lips moving but couldn’t hear the answer. The room started spinning, then turned into a shrinking circle that grew smaller and smaller. She blinked. The circle disappeared. It was the last thing she remembered.

Later, when she woke up in a hospital room and opened her eyes, it felt like knives of light were being shot into her pupils. She immediately closed them again. She had an Academy Award–winning headache, a runaway contender in a field that included sinus and migraines.

“It’s about time,” Christina said.

“What am I doing here?” she asked, moving her lips and jaw as little as possible.

“Waiting for lab results to see if someone slipped something into your drink before the police officially arrest you for assault and battery,” she said casually. “The officer said something about charging you with drunk and disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace, but I think they’re going to drop those and concentrate on the charge that carries the longest jail term, assault and battery.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Impossible. There can’t be anything left.”

“I’m serious.” Elizabeth sat up, her hand over her mouth. Christina handed her a kidney-shaped plastic container. Elizabeth gagged, her stomach heaved, nothing came up.

“I told you, you’re empty,” Christina said.

“Ohmygod,” Elizabeth groaned. The evening was coming back to her in horrifying snatches. “Please tell me I didn’t do what I think I did.”

Christina dragged the chair she’d been sitting in over to the bed. “You don’t know the half of it. The man you assaulted? Sam hired him. He’s a private detective.”

It took several seconds to absorb this latest bit of news. “A private detective?” she repeated, incredulous. “Why?”

“To protect us. He was on our tail the whole way.”

And then it hit her. “Sam knows what happened?”

“Every detail.”

Elizabeth groaned again. “I need to be sick.” Christina reached for the plastic container. “Not that kind of sick, the kind that will keep me in Oregon until he misses me more than he’s mad at me.”

“I think the cops might take care of that for you.”

“Am I really going to be charged with all those things?” People went to prison for assault. She tried to picture herself behind bars, confined in a cell with a toilet attached to the wall, sleeping on a hard narrow bed, Sam taking time off work to visit, her children humiliated.

“Don’t you dare cry,” Christina threatened. “I’ve been through enough histrionics in the past couple of hours to last a lifetime. By the way, nice shot with the pepper spray. That was Randy’s girlfriend.”

“I was aiming for the detective.”

“I figured as much. But not to worry, you got him, too.”

The scream and string of profanity that followed the misdirected shot came back to her in horrifying detail. “Is she all right?”

“They brought her in and cleaned her up, and according to Randy, she’s back to her good old double-D-cup self.” Christina propped her feet on the railing under the bed. “I thought Randy had better taste in women. How could he go from me to her?”

“Did you at least get him served?” Elizabeth was looking for a bright spot in the fiasco.

“Yeah, but I changed my mind. Seeing him made me realize I want my freedom more than I want my movie. I have a hundred movies ahead of me—fighting for this one isn’t worth being connected to him again.”

“So after all of this you just gave it to him?”

“Pretty much.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Good. You’re awake. I’ll let the officer know.”

“I need a lawyer,” Elizabeth said when the nurse was gone. “Do you suppose Lucy knows anyone up here?” She thought about trying to explain to Lucy what she’d done and groaned. “This is so embarrassing.”

Christina responded with a half-ass grin. “I guess you’ve suffered enough. I might as well tell you, the detective isn’t pressing charges. Neither is the bar—not after I told them you’d pay for the damages.”

“What damages?”

“Some broken glasses, a couple of broken chairs. You created a panic when you let loose with that spray.”

“What about Randy’s girlfriend?”

“She’s taken care of, too.”

“And the detective?”

“I think Sam must have offered him something, because he was really happy when he left. He said we weren’t to worry about anything, that it was all taken care of.”

“How did you get Randy to—” But then she knew. Her heart sunk. “That’s the real reason you gave him the movie.”

“That’s why he
thinks
I gave him the movie. I told you the real reason.”

“So he gets away with both the movie and breaking your jaw? It’s not fair.”

“We’ll cross paths again someday. I can wait.”

A uniformed police officer came to the door. “How are you feeling?” he asked Elizabeth.

“Like an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“I’m really sorry about the mess I caused.”

“Looks like everyone’s willing to forgive you. But I’d leave the pepper spray home next time.”

“Does that mean she’s free to go?” Christina asked.

“As long as you don’t travel outside the area.” At her stunned expression he grinned. “Just kidding. You can leave whenever you want.”

“A cop with a sense of humor,” Christina said.

Being careful not to move her head too quickly, Elizabeth sat up. “That lets him out of an airport job.”

“Cute.”

“Do you know what shape my clothes are in?”

“I brought clean.” She went to the closet and retrieved Elizabeth’s suitcase.

Elizabeth looked at her. “I owe you an apology. A big one.”

“No, you don’t. You were only trying to help.”

“You needed that kind of help like a drowning man needs an anchor.”

“You were willing to risk life and limb to protect me. Besides, turns out you’re a pretty cheap drunk. What more could a girl ask for in a sister?” Christina smiled and added a wink.

The action jolted Elizabeth. “Dad used to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Wink when he smiled.”

“I don’t do that,” Christina said. “Do I?”

“You just did.”

“Show me.”

Elizabeth did, then saw by Christina’s stunned expression that the wink held memories for her, too. “I wonder if we’ll ever be able to truly forgive him.”

“I just want to understand,” Christina said softly.

Chapter Forty-three
Rachel

“It’s my birthday,” Rachel announced.

“Today?” Ginger took the P Street off ramp, dropping them off the elevated freeway onto Sacramento surface streets. “You should have said something. I know Lucy would have let us change the meeting date.”

“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” Rachel didn’t understand why she was telling Ginger. She never talked about her birthday, not even to Jeff. “I never have.”

“Never? Not even when you were a kid?”

“When you’re a kid, you need a mother who remembers. Mine never did. I don’t think the day I was born was one of her better days.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up the way you did.”

“Did you ever move and have to change schools?”

“Once.”

“Do you remember how lost you felt?”

“Like it was yesterday. It was Mrs. Springer’s fifth-grade class. I was terrified that everyone would make fun of me and that I’d never make friends.”

“I was that new kid in class twenty-three times. I almost didn’t take my last promotion because it meant Cassidy would have to change schools, but then Jeff convinced me she was young enough that it wouldn’t bother her.”

“This is leading up to something, isn’t it?”

Rachel laughed. “You know it’s spooky the way we connect sometimes, almost as if we really were sisters.”

“Aren’t we?”

“Sisters with history. If biology mattered, I would have felt a connection with my mother.”

“Does she know about Jessie and the money?”

“My mother’s dead,” Rachel said.

Ginger gasped. “When?”

“I was a senior in high school—prom night.” The theme was “Romance Under the Stars,” and Rachel had been excused from class the entire day to help with the decorations. “We were living in an old two-story house that had a beautiful curving staircase.” They’d been there almost nine months, longer than they’d ever stayed anywhere. Rachel had promised her mother she would move out the day she graduated and give Anna her long-desired freedom—if she would let her finish high school in Portland.

What came next she said in a flat, expressionless voice. “I was at the prom when she tied a rope around her neck and stepped over the railing. I came home, kissed my date good-night at the door, and went inside to find her hanging there.”

“Jesus. What a rotten thing to do to you. You must have been devastated.”

“She didn’t leave a letter, so I don’t know why she picked that night. Years later my therapist tried to convince me it had nothing to do with me being at the prom, that Anna chose the time she did because she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. He said most suicides manage to convince themselves they are doing a favor for those they leave behind. And, in a way, he may have been right. I thought we were broke and that I’d have to work my way through college. When I went through her things, I found statements that totaled over a hundred thousand dollars scattered over half a dozen bank accounts. I always figured the money must have come from one of the married men she’d been with who’d bought her off. Now I’m pretty sure it was Jessie.”

“If Jessie gave Anna that money, it was because of you. Why would he do that and never try to see you? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know. I was furious when I got the letter from Lucy saying Jessie wanted to see me. I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Now I’m furious because he died so soon. There are a hundred things I wish I could ask him.”

“Maybe some of the answers are on the tapes.” They were less than half a block from Jessie’s house. Ginger pulled over and stopped. “You were about to say something before we got distracted.”

Rachel smiled. “Jeff and I are going away for a couple of days.”

“But that’s good news—isn’t it?”

Now Rachel laughed. “You thought it was something bad just because I led up to it with my mother’s suicide?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“We’re going up the coast to a bed-and-breakfast in Gualala. If it works out, I’m going to move back in.”

Ginger stretched across the seat to give her a hug. “That’s the best news yet. Have you told Cassidy and John?”

“We don’t want to get their hopes up.”

“Can I watch the kids?”

Ginger’s enthusiasm was like a beautifully wrapped present. “You don’t even know which weekend.”

“I don’t care. Besides, it’s not as if I’ve got anything else to do.”

“There’s someone out there for you. Someone special.”

Ginger waved her off. “I’ve decided to learn to live single and love it.” She glanced in the rearview mirror, but instead of heading for Jessie’s, made a U-turn.

“Where are you going?”

“We passed a bakery a couple of blocks back. I’m going to get you a birthday cake—whether you want one or not.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Ginger affectionately patted Rachel’s knee. “Better come up with another wish because you’re not getting that one.”

The cake was chocolate with blue roses and tasted awful. “I guess it’s the thought that counts.” Christina put her plate on the coffee table and picked up her coffee.

“I should have chosen the carrot cake,” Ginger said.

“I have a great recipe for carrot cake,” Elizabeth contributed.

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Christina tucked her legs under her and settled deeper into the sofa.

Elizabeth ignored her. “Whose birthday is next?”

Christina and Ginger looked at each other. “I’m August,” Christina said.

“February,” Ginger said. “But we won’t be meeting anymore by then.”

A strained silence followed that wasn’t broken until Elizabeth said hesitantly, “There’s nothing to keep us from getting together for birthdays. It would only be four times a year. Or we could combine them and meet twice a year.”

Christina’s immediate reaction was to reject the possibility. She was anxious to put the past year behind her. She had places to go, people to meet, a life to get on with. But she was curious to hear what “the twins” had to say before she jumped in with her opinion.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ginger said. “If I do move, it will give me a reason to come back.”

No surprise there. Ginger had pep rally leader written all over her. Christina waited for Rachel.

“Count me in,” Rachel said.

Three pairs of eyes focused on Christina. “I suppose I could make it if I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“She’s not as hard-nosed as she sounds,” Elizabeth assured the other two.

“Hear that, Christina? Elizabeth’s got your number. So do I, by the way,” Rachel said.

“Me, too,” Ginger added. “So you might as well forget trying to impress us with how tough you are.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me. None of you. If you think—” What was she doing? And why? “Okay, I’ll give you that sometimes I come off a little strong, and I don’t always mean things the way they sound. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking to fill my shopping cart with sisters.”

“She’ll come around,” Elizabeth said confidently.

Christina sent her a hostile look. She grabbed the envelope of tapes, dumped them on the table, and put the tape marked number one in the player, then hit the play button. “I should have let them put you in jail.”

“Hold on,” Ginger said, hitting the stop button. “What’s this about jail?”

“Later,” Elizabeth answered for her.

Ginger clapped her hands. “My God, you’re actually blushing. This has got to be good.”

This time Elizabeth hit the play button. Jessie’s deep voice and soft Oklahoma drawl brought them up short and reminded them why they were there.

“Later,” Elizabeth repeated.

Jessie’s Story

We managed to keep our star out of jail on the exposure charge—everyone in L.A. has a script to sell, including, in this case, the boy’s father. All parties agreed it was an unfortunate misunderstanding, but the press wasn’t buying it. We were front-page news for two days—until Jayne Mansfield’s limousine hit a truck. Her story came with better photographs, which moved us to an inside page. A day later we were old news and out of the papers entirely.

We talked ourselves into believing we’d squeaked through and that good reviews would overcome bad publicity and build momentum. We just had to hang on and ride it out. For my part, I was doing everything I could to put a good face on something that made me sick to my stomach. There were big parties every weekend and smaller ones in the middle of the week. I went to them all.

At one of them I met a young woman, Anna Kaplan. She was pretty in the Hollywood way, flashy clothes, too much makeup, eyes filled with promise. She said her date had taken off without her and she needed a ride home. We were in the car when she admitted she didn’t actually have a home and would I mind putting her up for the night. She stayed six months. When she left she was pregnant, something I didn’t find out about until ten years later when a photograph of a nine-year-old girl in pigtails and a letter asking for money arrived from her lawyer. Anna was in New Orleans at the time. I flew there and arranged to meet her in a hotel coffee shop.

She spotted me right away but took her time crossing the room, giving me opportunity to notice she was still as soft and round as Monroe in her prime. She bent to kiss my cheek before she slid into the chair next to mine.

“You haven’t changed,” she said in a new, thick southern accent.

“Neither have you,” I said because I knew it was what she wanted to hear.

“Did you bring the money?”

“That’s it? No, how have you been, what are you doing?”

“You’ve been fine, and you’re doing better than I thought you’d ever do again or I wouldn’t have left you. I read all about your strawberry business in the
Wall Street Journal
and your Mexican wife and baby in some business magazine at the doctor’s office.” She crossed her legs and leaned in close. “Let’s not pretend this means anything to either of us. I was young and dumb, you were old and horny—we made a kid.”

“You were never dumb.”

She gave me a slow smile. “Please tell me you’re not thinkin’ ’bout making this hard on little old me. Wait, make that young me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She reached in her purse and took out her birth certificate. “Check the date, Jessie. Do the math.”

I did, twice, just to be sure I hadn’t made a mistake. There was no way around it—I’d had sex with a sixteen-year-old.

“Now, I realize you can afford some pretty good lawyers, but it won’t matter. How long do you think you can keep that strawberry business of yours going if you have to operate it from prison?”

She was bluffing. She’d researched everything else, she had to know there was a statute of limitations on statutory rape. I looked at her, trying to decide if she was conniving or desperate and decided it was probably some of both. “I want to see Rachel.”

She handed me a photograph. I wanted to look, but needed to make a point, so gave it back without even glancing at it. “The real thing.”

“Are you questioning the blood tests?”

“I want to see that she’s all right.”

She was instantly furious. “What? You think I don’t take good care of her?”

“She’s my daughter. I want—”

“I knew you would try something like this.” She stood and glared at me. “My friend warned me about you. She said you’d pretend to be nice and that you’d try to sweet-talk me into trusting you. And then if I let you see Rachel you’d take her and run away and I’d never see her again. Well, you’re not getting her. You can keep your fuckin’ money.” She was screaming now. “I don’t need it.”

I went to her lawyer’s office and told him what had happened. He said Anna was a little high-strung at times and that she had occasional spells where she heard voices and believed there were people out to get her, but that she came around eventually. He wouldn’t give me her address, so I looked for her on my own. I found where she and Rachel had been staying, but by then they’d packed up and were gone.

I hung around talking to her friends and the teachers at Rachel’s school. The stories they told were different, but with a common theme. Anna ran because there was someone chasing her. She was good at running, better at hiding.

I went home and mailed the check to the lawyer’s office. It was cashed a couple of months later at a bank in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I never saw or heard from Anna again.

Years later I was talking to a friend about his schizophrenic brother and realized that Anna likely suffered from the same thing. By then Rachel was a grown woman, and there was nothing I could do to help. I’m ashamed to admit I was relieved that I hadn’t found out about Anna earlier. I had nothing to recommend me as a father, and Rachel had no reason to trust me.

The first tape ended.