Tigers in Red Weather (22 page)

What was she up to now? Avery wouldn’t let them take her away. She mustn’t get upset.

“Well, we can talk about it when I get home. What did the school say? Oh, for heaven’s sakes. It’s just boy antics. You’re too hard on him. Yes, you are. The poor boy was waiting and waiting for someone to pick him up for the holiday and no one came. It’s enough to make anyone want to cause a little trouble.”

Ed, her baby. She was talking about Ed. What holiday? The school holiday. Something about a plane ticket. A plane ticket for Ed. To come home. Was it Thanksgiving already? Oh, she had failed again. How could she be so stupid? But Ed had been cruel to her. He had abandoned her. He had. But it wasn’t his fault. He was her child and she had failed him. It was because of what he had seen. The dead girl. No, that wasn’t right. The dead girl came after. She wanted her pills. Why wouldn’t the Bitch give her another pill?

“Bill’s having a party.” Avery was sitting on the floor of his office, promotional stills of young actresses spread out in front of him. “A party for some very important people. And you know how beautiful Bill thinks you are. So he was wondering whether you might adorn his party. And, well, he’d pay.”

“What do you mean? What does that mean, Avery?” Helena felt very cold.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that,” Avery said, catching her expression. He got up and put his arm around her shoulder. “He just wants you to be there, have a glass of champagne, talk to some of the people. Don’t you know how stunning you are? Don’t you know people would pay just to look at you?”

“I don’t believe that.”

Avery laughed. “You don’t understand Hollywood, my sweet. But that’s what I love about you. Almost fifteen years, and you’re still pure and new.” He put his mouth to hers.

“Mother?”

Helena turned to see her son standing in the doorway. His body almost filled the frame of the low door. When had he gotten so tall? Avery pushed Helena away and looked at her accusingly. “Why is he always looking at us? Why does he have to skulk around doorways?”

“Avery.”

“Ed, what goes on between a man and a woman, two people who are in love, is private. Do you understand that? It is not for you to look at and watch like some Peeping Tom.”

“Avery.” Helena said again, sharply. “Don’t.” She turned to Ed. “I’m sorry, dearest, I hadn’t gotten around to asking him. Avery, Ed wanted me to ask you if he could help with your work. He’s almost thirteen and he wants to help. He knows how hard you work.”

“I’m not a Peeping Tom,” Ed said. “I’m doing research, like you.”

Avery looked hard at Ed. Then he slowly nodded his head as if he had decided something. “All right. You’re turning into a man, I can see that. A man has the right to work and be free and create. I believe that.”

Helena had an unsettled feeling in her stomach. “Avery, I don’t want you showing him the pictures of you-know-what. Please. And Ed, you must also do your schoolwork. I don’t want you locked up in some dark room all day.”

“No, Mouse. If Ed’s a man then I will treat him like one. He’s
becoming
.”

Ed stood there looking at his father, but Helena couldn’t read his expression. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea, she thought, looking at the two of them and then the room, with its yellowing posters and the disintegrating clothing.

She didn’t want her son to see those gruesome crime-scene photos. But she wanted them to spend more time together, that was true. They had never been close; Avery had always treated their son like he was some kind of irritating appendage of Helena’s. She decided then that she would take Ed to Tiger House again that summer, get him away for a while, away from Avery, let him play tennis and run around with Daisy, so things didn’t get out of hand.

“Now, son, I want to speak to your mother privately,” Avery said. “And don’t think I won’t know if you’re listening.”

When Ed had left, and Avery had waited to make sure he was really gone, he turned to Helena.

“So you’ll go to Bill’s party?”

“Yes. As long as it’s not anything … I don’t know. Anything strange.”

“Unless men wanting to look at a beautiful mouse is strange.”

“Avery …”

“Listen. I want to talk to you about something else, too. Dr. Hofmann called. He said you hadn’t renewed any of your prescriptions lately. He’s worried, and so am I.”

“It’s just, they make me so tired. And Ed’s not a baby anymore. I can’t send him off to play or keep him in his room. He might need me for something. And the pills, it’s like my head doesn’t work right.”

“Ed’s a man now, my love. What was that whole conversation we just had? We both need you rested and well. I’ll take care of Ed.”

“Dearest, I don’t really want to take them anymore. I don’t think I need them. Remember when I was pregnant and afterward? I wasn’t taking them, and I was fine.”

“You’re free to do whatever you want, Helena. You’ve always known that. Just promise me you’ll be on good behavior for that party. If you’re not rested, it will show in your face and Bill will be disappointed. Just think about it.”

Helena nodded. She would take one, maybe, but just for the party. After that she wasn’t taking them anymore. They didn’t make her
sleep now anyway, unless she took a lot. And then she felt sick. While she’d known for some time that it was bad, it hadn’t seemed to matter. But now her hands shook and her heart raced in a way that frightened her. And sometimes she couldn’t remember things. She definitely wouldn’t take any when she was at Tiger House. She knew Nick would disapprove, and it would be harder to hide if they were all living under the same roof. If she felt unwell, she would have a whiskey, like everyone else in her family.

“Well, well,” Bill Fox said later that evening, as he opened the heavy, carved door to the villa. “I thought it might be you. So I said to myself: ‘Why don’t I open the door myself and make our Jane Russell feel welcome?’ Nothing like a personal greeting, is there, honey?”

“Hello, Bill.” Helena hated the Producer. He was always promising things to Avery and then changing the terms. But the Demerol was going some way to making her feel less spiteful toward him.

“Now, isn’t that a lovely dress. Hits you in all the right places, of which there are so many.” He winked. “Come on in.”

Helena was wearing a fitted teal sharkskin dress she had made from a pattern book Nick had sent her for Christmas. Her heels echoed on the Batchelder tile as she followed Bill through the vaulted hall out to the terrace.

Men in white tails were serving flutes of champagne on silver trays to the guests—a few actresses Helena had seen with Bill before and a group of older men, who she assumed worked in the business in some capacity or other.

The sun was setting, red behind the hills, and Helena leaned against the wrought-iron rail and breathed in the night air. It was different up here, at the villa. Lighter, airier. So far away from the cramped guesthouse and its drawn curtains, and yet just up the hill. She could smell the perfume from the orchard below. The Anna apples, the Eureka and sweet lemon trees, the Valencia and blood orange.

“Have a glass of champagne, honey,” Bill Fox said, motioning to a
waiter. “It is beautiful up here, isn’t it?” He followed Helena’s gaze onto the orchard. “My first wife. She loved fruit trees.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Bill Fox leaned in close, his hand fluttering on her thigh. “Do you love fruit trees, too?”

Helena remembered one night, when she and Avery had been drunk, they had snuck out and stolen some of the fruit. It was only a couple of apples, which hadn’t been ripe anyway. But she remembered wishing Nick was there. It was exactly the kind of escapade Nick would have loved.

“Yes, I like them.” Helena moved a few inches away.

“Well, well. You’re not shy, are you, honey?”

“Bill, why would I be shy? We’ve known each other a long time.”

“That’s right. We’re like family. You and me and Avery. And let’s not forget our dear, departed Ruby. She’s one of the family, too.”

Helena saw one of the young actresses, Vicky or Kiki, or something, staring at them.

“Is that your girlfriend?” She pushed her elbow in Bill Fox’s side.

The Producer turned and looked at the young woman. “My girlfriend? Oh, I think I’m a little old for girlfriends these days. Couldn’t keep track. Besides, the girls keep getting skinnier and skinnier. I like them more like, well, like you, honey. Round, soft.”

Helena reached for another glass of champagne. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go powder my nose.”

In the bathroom she washed down another pill with the water glass left out for guests. She wished Avery were with her. She had only been to Bill Fox’s house a handful of times over the years, and never without her husband. She wondered how much Bill Fox was paying him. She hoped it was a lot. She couldn’t believe he had wanted her there. He had always been free with his hands, but never more so with her than anyone else. And he was old now. He had already seemed old when she had first met him, in Ciro’s, with his silver hair. Now he had liver
spots on his cheeks and hands like a crone. She shivered. She just had to look pretty and be pleasant and then go home and sleep.

Much later, she found herself alone with Bill Fox on the terrace. Everyone had left, without her noticing, somehow. She had been in conversation with one of the actresses, who was complaining about the casting couch. Her main objection, it seemed, wasn’t about the sex part, but about the fact that she never got dinner afterward. Helena had been nodding and drinking, and drinking some more. Then the girl floated away and it was just her and Bill Fox on the terrace. She knew what the Producer wanted. She had known all night. It didn’t take a genius. He was leaning against the frame of the French doors, smiling at her.

On the way to the guesthouse, Helena tripped on one of the steps and twisted her ankle. Bill Fox caught her elbow.

“Careful, honey,” he whispered.

“Why are we going to my house?” She couldn’t remember.

“You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“Avery,” she said.

“He’s gone out, honey. He’s working, remember?”

She didn’t remember.

In the bedroom, he wanted the light on.

“I want to look at you. I want to see what I’m paying for. I haven’t had to pay since I was sixteen.” He chuckled.

Helena joined in, although she knew the joke wasn’t for her.

The Producer was moving over her, grunting. He was out of breath. He was old. Helena wanted to laugh at the old man who needed a nurse more than a roll in the hay. But she knew he would be angry, and then they wouldn’t get their money. So instead she let him rasp away, while she watched the wall.

“You really are a slut,” he coughed in her ear. “I always knew it.”

He was getting close now, she could tell.

“Mother?”

Helena’s body went stiff as a board. The sound of the Producer and the light and the bed, all swirled like a pool of water going down a drain. No, it wasn’t possible.

“Mother?”

Ed. How could she have forgotten about her son? She pushed the Producer off her, so hard that he fell off the side of the bed, panting and coughing. Helena sat up, covering her breasts with her arm.

Ed was standing in the doorway in his pajamas. She wondered how she could have thought he looked tall. He was just a boy, but his eyes were flat, hard. He looked at her, more as if he was curious than afraid or angry.

“Ed,” she said, but found she had nothing else to say.

Ed looked at the Producer, who was peeking over the side of the mattress now. His clothes were too far away for him to get to without exposing himself.

“Now, son,” he started.

“I’m not your son,” Ed said, impassively. “You shouldn’t be here. My mother isn’t well.”

“I was just … Well, well.” The Producer, too, seemed at a loss.

But Ed didn’t move. He stood there, stock-still, until the old man made a dash for it, grabbing up his clothes and fleeing. Helena would have laughed at his cowardice in the face of a young boy if her heart wasn’t breaking.

“Ed, dearest,” she began, when the Producer was gone. She had covered herself in the bedsheet. She wanted to hold her hand out to him, as some kind of peace offering, but the gesture, just the idea of it, seemed somehow grotesque. “Your father, dearest. He’s been working so hard for so long …” She stopped. She couldn’t explain this to her son.

“I understand,” Ed said. “Research.”

And with that, he left her alone in the lit room.

*  *  *

Helena awoke to the sound of a radio.

“A bus carrying a group of young civil rights activists bound for Birmingham, Alabama, was attacked Tuesday afternoon outside Anniston.”

Her nerves felt like glass, her head was throbbing. But she no longer felt sick to her stomach and she found she could sit up without feeling dizzy. She reached for the pitcher and poured herself some water. It tasted sweet and lemony, and she gulped it down before pouring herself another.

“Helena?”

Helena looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“My head hurts.”

“Oh, darling, you’re back with us. In the land of the living.” She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t speak for days. I was wondering if we were ever going to hear your voice again.”

Nick tried to take Helena’s hand but she pulled it away.

“What is it?”

“I want to see Avery,” Helena said.

“I see.” Nick looked down, fidgeting with a corner of the sheet. “I don’t think Avery will be coming, darling.”

“You mean you won’t let him come. Does he even know where I am?”

“No, I don’t think he does.” She saw Nick’s face, a mask of soft pity.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity; I want to talk to my husband.”

“Darling, we’re going home. You haven’t been well. We need to get you well and we want you back with us, Hughes and I. I’ve missed you and I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

Helena laughed, a hot, shallow shuddering through her lungs. “You’ve missed me?”