Chapter Five

It was two o’clock in the morning by the time Hilton had completely repaired the Web site. The graveyard D.J. in the next studio waved as he walked past with a cup of coffee. Anne had worked out two complete opening monologues for the show. They looked at each other with bleary eyes.

“Okay, that was fun,” Anne said facetiously. She straightened up her notes. She tried to crack her neck, which felt permanently cricked. Actually, the night had been rather pleasant as they chat-ted about Anne’s ideas for the show and Hilton gave Anne a quick lesson on computer programming. Most of it was way over her head, but Anne enjoyed seeing Hilton thoroughly enthused about something. Anne realized she missed the closeness of having someone to exchange ideas with. It was times like these that she missed Gerald. They had spent evenings in like fashion.

“I think we’ll pass on breakfast,” Hilton said, rubbing her eyes.

She got up and stretched.

Shannon barked in apparent protest.

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“The McDonald’s drive-through closed at one-thirty, as if I needed to remind you.”

Shannon slumped down and let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sure we can go out to breakfast with Anne some other time,” Hilton told Shannon.

“We will. I swear,” Anne said, holding up her three fingers in a Girl Scout pledge.

Shannon turned her head away.

“That was rude. Now, you go and apologize,” Hilton reprimanded.

Shannon looked guilty. She got up and licked Anne’s hand.

“That’s better.”

“Come on, let’s get you two home,” Anne said, searching for her car keys.

Hilton picked them up from beside the computer. “I’m going to get you one those electronic key finders for Christmas.”

“What a lovely idea,” Anne said. She slipped her car keys in her blazer pocket.

They left the building and woke up the security guard on the way out. He had been noticeably absent on their way in, Anne noted. She made a mental note to mention this fact to Veronica, who would look into the habits of the security guard with the tenacity of the former KGB.

“Did you want anything?”

“You mean to steal?” Hilton asked, apparently taken aback.

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe something of Veronica’s.” Hilton smiled mischievously.

“Hilton!” Anne said. She opened the big glass doors of the building. The street lamps shone dimly, making white circles over the courtyard.

“She hurt my feelings with her comments on my attire. I actually started to question myself.”

Anne put her arm around Hilton’s shoulders. “Don’t give her a second thought. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Hilton blushed. “Thanks.”

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Shannon jumped in the backseat and sighed contentedly.

“I’m not getting you a Hummer,” Hilton told her.

“How do you know she wants a Hummer?” Anne asked as she got in the driver’s seat. She had yet to figure out the language that Hilton and Shannon used but they appeared to communicate better than most people did.

“Every time we walk past one or sit in traffic next to one, she gazes at it longingly and then gives me a look indicating that her current mode of transportation is completely inadequate due to her size.”

“You should be a pet psychologist. I’ve never known anyone who could read animals like you do.” Anne started the car and they made their way out onto the empty city streets. It had started to rain and everything was shiny as if covered in a thin coat of veneer.

“It would be a great job, except that you have to put up with owners. I’m not much for people, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Anne stopped at the light and then looked over at Hilton.

“Now, let me get this straight. You live with three other women.

You have two girlfriends and you like talk radio, which is all about people, but you don’t like people.” She studied Hilton’s face.

This was as close to personal as she had gotten with Hilton.

Despite being secretly curious about her, Anne hadn’t managed to infiltrate her interior world. She kept her life, as Anne’s father would say, close to the vest. This made her all the more intriguing.

“It doesn’t mean I like people. One can be surrounded and yet remain remote.”

Anne turned onto Elm Street. “Why remote?”

“You suffer less collateral damage that way.”

“That’s true.” Anne saw the flashing red and blue lights at the end of the street. “That wouldn’t happen to be your house, would it?”

“I think it is.” Hilton screwed her face up in obvious consternation.

“Is this the logical end of every party?”

“No. Tonight is special.”

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“I have a really nice guest room. It’s perfect for two.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Hilton, you wouldn’t be imposing. Look, you need some sleep and I owe you breakfast. It’ll be perfect.”

Hilton was staring out the window. There were three police cars, and a crowd of women stood on the front lawn. Several of the neighbors had their lights on.

“Sounds wonderful. I really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.”

“Good.” Anne turned the corner and they left the crime scene behind them.

They didn’t speak until they pulled up in front of Anne’s one-story bungalow. Hilton gave Shannon the look, the kind Anne had seen mothers give their children before they went to a picky relative’s house. “No hopping on the furniture, excessive tail wagging or muddy paw prints on the windowsills. Got it?”

Shannon barked.

“All right, let’s go,” Hilton said.

Anne opened the front door. “She’ll be fine, really.”

They walked inside. Shannon stood close to Hilton. “This is nice.”

“Courtesy of my gay ex-husband. Always be suspicious of a man who can decorate, cook and do laundry better than you can. I should have known something wasn’t right.”

Anne watched as Hilton looked around. She tried to imagine what Hilton would think of it. It was tastefully decorated in dark brown leather furniture and lined with mahogany bookcases that contained leatherbound books grouped in sets and small brass trin-kets placed throughout in order to accentuate the embossed gold titles of the books. On one wall was a large fireplace with a heavy, ornately carved mantel. She remembered the afternoon Gerald came home, his face flushed with excitement at having found the mantel at an estate sale. It had been horribly abused, but Gerald 59

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had restored it to its former condition, aside from a few irreparable nicks and scratches that he’d disguised as best he could. A thick Oriental rug finished off the room. He had spent months looking for that rug, making certain that the colors and the pattern went perfectly with the room. The windows had burgundy velvet curtains that were pulled back with gold cords.

Shannon looked up at Hilton as if looking for a clue to her next move.

“Let’s get a beer,” Anne said. She led them back to the kitchen, thinking that Shannon might be more comfortable there.

“Sure, I’m still kind of wired. I guess I’m worried about what’s going on at the house, but at the same time I don’t want to know.

You see, remote is better. There’s a crisis in my world but I’m not part of it.”

Shannon lay down on the tile in the kitchen and let out what sounded to Anne like a sigh of relief.

The kitchen had a huge island in the middle of it and Hilton took a seat on one of the tall chairs. Shannon got up and went to look out the French doors. Hilton went with her.

“Oh, how nice. I like the deck,” Hilton said. “Do you need to go out?” she asked Shannon. Apparently not, as Shannon lay down on the braided rug in front of the doors and seemed content.

“That’s a good spot,” Anne said. She never thought she’d be concerned about a dog guest but she was now. She pulled two Amstel Light beers from the rounded, retro, turquoise fridge. All the appliances in the kitchen were art deco colors and the walls were painted a light yellow.

“I didn’t think they made this kind of stuff anymore,” Hilton said, indicating the appliances.

“Neither did I, but Gerald found a company that makes all this stuff in southern California, so here we are in his dream kitchen.”

“Is he like an interior designer or something?”

“Not yet but he’ll probably end up being one. He works in marketing at the moment. It’s kind of a progression—being straight, getting married and then deciding he liked boys.” Anne took a sip of beer. She had yet to share any of this with anyone else.

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She was just as guilty as Hilton when it came to playing it close to the vest. She didn’t like people knowing too much about the things she truly held precious. Her pain was one of them. It was the one great failure of her life and it still burned even though a year and a half had passed. A first-year psych student could tell her that this was a bad plan and she probably did need some counseling, but to what end? She could pay someone to sit and listen in an office somewhere. She would use copious amounts of Kleenex while she told some bespectacled stranger that she was still angry and hurt.

Instead, she told her pickle-heiress new friend and employee the worst story of her life.

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up. It’s not like you can hope to compete.”

Anne laughed. “Not unless I miraculously sprouted a penis in the middle of the night.”

“Like those sea monkey things that kids grow.”

“What are those things exactly?” Anne asked.

“They’re tiny brine shrimp. Have you been to therapy?” Hilton asked out of the blue.

“No. I mean, what’s the point?” Anne was taken aback. They’d gone from shrimp to shrinks. “He’s got his life and I’ve got mine.”

“My father sent me to therapy for years. I don’t think it accomplished much. I did a lot of coloring and we played games but that was about it.” Hilton finished her beer.

“You want another one?”

“Sure.”

“After your mother died?” Anne finished her beer and got them both another.

“Yeah, I guess they thought the trauma of seeing my mother dead on the beach was too much for a six-year-old. They never knew I helped her. We strapped the diving weights on together.

She kissed me good-bye and then went off into the Sound. I knew she wasn’t coming back. She was so unhappy except for that day.

That day she was happy. I missed her but I can’t help thinking she was better off.”

Anne tried to imagine Hilton as a child standing there watching 61

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the whole thing—the disconnect must have begun at that very moment. Attempting to lighten the mood, knowing almost intrinsically that if she didn’t she’d lose Hilton again to that remote place, she said, “So basically, you’re saying therapy is stupid.”

Hilton laughed. “Not exactly. We all need some psychic tweaking now and then. Therapists tell you what you already know but refuse to admit to yourself. So if you can get yourself to cowboy up you’ll save yourself a ton of cash and keep a lot of tissue out of the landfill.”

“Okay, I’ll cowboy up. I’m pissed off that the love of my life dumped me. There, I said it.”

“Do you feel better?”

“No.”

“But you didn’t waste a hundred bucks finding that out.” Hilton took another swig of beer. Shannon rolled on her side and promptly fell asleep.

“Is that how much they charge?”

“A good one.”

“Let’s go sit in the living room. It’s more comfortable. I think I’d take my hundred dollars and buy a nice shirt and a box of really expensive chocolates and that’s how I’d feel better.”

Hilton laughed again.

“What?” Anne asked. They both plopped down on the couch.

Anne grabbed the remote and clicked on the gas fireplace.

“Sometimes you remind me so much of the woman who should be my girlfriend.”

“Who’s that?”

“My roommate Liz, the woman who brought you upstairs.

She’s all the things I admire and respect.”

Anne kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet under her. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“No.”

Anne was momentarily stunned.

“I’m kidding. Shoot.”

“What exactly is the deal with you and Natalie?”

“Boy, you had me freaked for a minute there. I thought you 62

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were going to ask something serious.” Hilton took off her sneakers, and Anne thought she might be starting to relax. She had the impression that Hilton didn’t relax well. Hilton continued, “That’s more like public information. Nat is basically a bitch-cunt-whore and I’m perfect.”

Anne nearly choked on her beer.

This really made Hilton laugh. “No, really, we are each other’s first loves and it’s gone bad. We probably should call it quits, but we grew up together and it’s hard to let go. Nat got thrown out of her house when she was fourteen and she came to live with Gran and me.”

Anne put her beer down on the end table, being careful to use a coaster. It was one of Gerald’s pet peeves and it still stuck with her.

She positioned a pillow behind her head. Her neck was killing her.

She needed to go to the chiropractor. She had one more question.

It was one Gerald couldn’t answer or wouldn’t answer.

“You can ask it.” Hilton met her gaze.

“Ask what?” Anne made a semi-gallant attempt, just for the sake of appearances, to look innocent. It failed. She could tell by the look of Hilton’s face.

“It’s the question every straight woman eventually asks a lesbian. How does it work? What happens to make you cross that line?”

“All right, I admit it. Gerald gave some lame excuse about how it just happened and one day he was in love with another man. I don’t buy that.”

“He’s not completely off base. I think deep down we all have an inkling that something isn’t quite right in the House of Straight.

We play along for as long as we can until one day the right person with the right spark comes along and burns down the house. I just remember being sixteen and late one night Nat plants this kiss on me and tells me she’s in love. Next thing I know all those weird feelings I had at soccer practice and those other intense strange friendships all make sense. I knew then that I liked women, but it took Nat’s rash bravado to bring it all to the surface.”

“What did your grandmother think about all this?”

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“We never told her. I was twenty-four when she died and I never had a boyfriend. She knew.” Hilton shrugged. “I don’t think she really cared. She wasn’t that fond of men herself. When she got sick I started to try and explain things but she stopped me. She said there were two things I must do—be happy, and if I ever did get married make damn sure the bastard signed a prenuptial agreement.”

“Smart lady. So it really does just happen.”

“If there’s a seed …” Hilton yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“We better be done. Let’s go get you and Shannon set up. Does she need a bowl of water?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Anne got a bowl of water and they collected Shannon.

“You know she’s going to sleep on the bed,” Hilton said as they entered the guest room. Hilton stared at the tall rows of bookcases filled with tattered paperbacks that took up one wall of the room.

“And it’s quite all right,” Anne said.

She turned back to look at Anne. “The books in the living room were Gerald’s and these are yours, correct?”

“You got it. I love mystery novels.”

“It’s quite a collection,” Hilton said.

Anne pulled down the quilt and fluffed up the pillows. “Sleep tight, Hilton.”

“You too.”

Anne went to her own room and got undressed. She was glad she’d talked about Gerald tonight. Maybe she was healing. It was starting to feel like it wasn’t her fault after all. Hilton was right—she couldn’t have competed. And what sort of marriage would it have been if Gerald had persisted in living a lie? She lay down and adjusted the pillow so her neck didn’t throb.

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Date: 2015-04-20; view: 721