A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA (19 page)

“You are obviously not the man I thought you were—and as for this…this
creature
, you call your wife—I just can’t believe any of it. It’s too grotesque.”

Turning on her heel, she rushed toward the door.

“Mrs. Hastings,” Fellows panted, trying to block the exit. “I beg you, please do not leave in such haste—I can explain everything.”

“No explanation you could give me about what I have just witnessed—and I may add, have long suspected—could deter me from leaving this house of horrors. Stand aside,
Mr
. Fellows—I no longer require your services. Good-day.”

She pushed past him, wrenched the door open and stumbled outside. Ignoring Fellows’ entreaties that she stay, Patricia hurried to her car and drove away. Fellows stood in the doorway watching the Mercedes burn rubber down his driveway, then with murder in his heart, he turned to face his wife.

Christina returned his look of fury with a satisfied smirk. “Told ya I’d get rid of her, didn’t I?”

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Patricia was still in a state of shock as she entered her home in Newport Beach. How could that man bear to be around that horrendous drunken Jezebel? She had pondered this for the umpteenth time since she’d driven away from the Fellows’ house. How could a so-called man of the cloth ignore what was going on under his very nose? And to try to pretend the woman was not well…did he take me for an idiot? The only thing wrong with that woman was a lack of abstinence! What a disgusting person—and such vile language.

Nancy, her housekeeper, came into the living room at that moment. “D’you need anything, Mrs. Hastings?” she enquired.

“Just some hot tea, please.”

“You look a bit shaken.” Nancy peered at her. “Is everything all right?”

“No it is
not
.” Patricia felt very close to tears at that moment, but she was not about to discuss what had just happened with the help. It would be all over the neighborhood before the day was out. Patricia had never been the type of woman who could confide easily with others—not even with her sister—and in this particular situation the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

Nancy was now frowning at her.

“Just the tea please, Nancy.” She turned away and walked to the windows to look out onto the lush gardens that surrounded her home. She sighed with relief as she heard the housekeeper leave, heading for the kitchen. Nancy had only been with her for six months and already the woman was getting on her nerves. Patricia had never been able to keep household staff very long. When her husband was alive and the children all at home, she’d had a live-in housekeeper, a cook, a gardener and various handymen around the place. Over the years, the turnover in staff had been prodigious and the rehiring time consuming. But now that she was alone in this big house, she’d shut up several of the rooms and made do with Nancy who arrived at nine and left at five. She’d kept on the gardener, although she liked to tend some of the flowering shrubs and bushes herself. It gave her something to do—helped ease the loneliness…

She glanced at the answering machine and sighed as she saw the message light blinking. “Anthony,” she murmured, pressing the play button. Her son called her every single day. It still pained her to listen to his voice, especially when he would sign off with, “I love you, Mom—please return my call.” She had not returned any of his calls—ever. Often she had wanted to, but she knew the conversation would go badly. As long as Anthony lived with Justin and
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indulged in that sinful choice of lifestyle there would be no reconciliation between mother and son. True, she felt the estrangement from her son more sharply than that from her daughters—they were after all, the cause of her unhappiness. Poor Anthony had been seduced by the evil charm of a man who had pulled him into a life of licentiousness and depravity. She would still forgive him, if he would only renounce his sinful ways and come home to her.

“You have two new messages,” the electronic voice intoned. Sure enough the first message was from Anthony and as she listened to his young and earnest voice, Patricia felt a pang of sadness that what had happened could not somehow be resolved. She looked up as she suddenly realized Nancy was standing watching her, a tea tray in her hands. From the look on her face she had obviously overheard Anthony’s message. Patricia turned off the machine. “Just put it here, thank you.”

Nancy put the tray down on the side-table with a clatter and Patricia glanced at her, annoyed by her carelessness. “Take better care, please—that is very expensive china.”

“It’s a pity you care more about your damned china than you do your own kids.”

“I beg your pardon?” Patricia glared at the housekeeper who was staring at her with a defiant expression.

“You heard me. What kind of a mother turns her back on her kids when they need her love and support? I watched that Olivia Winters show and listened to your son say he still loves you, despite the fact that you threw him and his sister out of their home…”

“This is none of your business…”

“You’re right. But I just wanted to let you know, before I quit, what I think of you. You’re a heartless, cold, unfeeling old cow…”

“How
dare
you.” Patricia sprang to her feet. “Get out of my house immediately!”

“It’ll be a pleasure, Mrs. Hastings, I can assure you.” Nancy turned to go, then paused for a moment. “You know you should try and get some help.
Mental
help I mean. There must be something very wrong with a mother who can’t love her own kids. That boy of yours—so personable and well spoken…So he’s gay—so what? He loves you—heaven knows why.”

“I said, get out of here!” Patricia screamed.

“I’m going, don’t worry,” Nancy said. “You’d better find another employ-ment agency, by the way. I’m going to spread the word about what a heartless
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bitch you are. No one’s going to want to work for you when I’m finished, believe me.” With that, she turned and left the room.

For a long moment Patricia stood stock still, almost unable to breathe.

What on earth is happening all around me? she thought. Has everyone gone completely mad? Her orderly and tractable way of life was suddenly being turned upside down. People’s ignorance and vileness were being thrown into her face no matter which way she turned. She sat down and tried to lift her cup of tea to her lips, but her hand was trembling too much. I am surrounded by treachery, she told herself. Was there no one out there who could understand she was only obeying God’s commands? Why did everyone take sides against her when all she was doing was taking a stand against sinners? Why was she being vilified, rather than being praised for trying to do God’s work and uphold the standards of decency and morality?

As she sank back into the soft cushions of her chair she heard the front door slam, signaling Nancy’s departure. The silence that then filled the house seemed heavy and oppressive. Patricia shuddered as an unexpected feeling of loneliness and depression swept over her. Perhaps she should return Anthony’s call…She glanced at the phone and noticed that the message light was still flashing. Of course, she thought, there had been two messages. She pressed the play button and listened to an unfamiliar voice:

“Hi, Mrs. Hastings—my name is Brenda Shapiro and I represent Olivia Winters, the host of the Olivia Winters’ Hour. I don’t know if you are familiar with the television talk show, but recently your estranged son and daughter were guests of Miss Winters…”

Patricia’s eyes bulged and she gasped with anger as she listened to the message.

“…Anyway, Miss Winters feels that there are always two sides to a story, and wanted to give you a chance to repudiate the charges made against you by your kids. If you are interested in being interviewed by Miss Winters, please contact me at the number I shall leave at the end of this message. I will arrange a meeting with you so we can go over the content of the interview and determine whether it is suitable for airing. Please understand, this would be a completely unbiased and fair-minded discussion and, of course, would only be aired with your complete approval and cooperation. If you have any questions please call me at…”

Patricia pressed the stop button and lurched angrily to her feet. Was there to be no end to this? Was she always to be surrounded by fools and charlatans ready to bring her down? Did those dreadful television people think for one
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moment that she would entertain such foolishness—to go before thousands of people and bare her soul for their enjoyment?

And yet, what if she could actually reach them with her message of moral values and integrity? What if they could be made to see the crassness and superficiality of mainstream television entertainment? She could beat Olivia Winters at her own game—she could turn the tide of popular opinion and destroy the woman’s position as a credible and unbiased interviewer. She would make everyone see just what a dangerous person Olivia Winters really is—someone who worshipped at the altar of false gods and prophets and toad-ied to left-wing extremists.

Yes! She could do all of that by simply accepting the challenge of facing Olivia Winters and sending out her message of truth and righteousness. With a determined step she returned to the answering machine and pressed ‘replay’.

“Tell me again how I let you talk me into this.” Jeff was leaning against the marble wall by the elevator that was about to take him and Peter up to Olivia’s penthouse apartment. He fixed his partner with a not altogether friendly look as Peter shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“I whined a lot,” he said, “and you finally said; ‘Okay, okay, I give in. Stop whining.’ That’s how it happened.”

Jeff shook his head, the corner of his wide mouth lifted in the beginning of a smile. “You just say ‘Jump’ and expect me to say ‘How high’—right?”

“I promise I’ll make this up to you,” Peter said, looking contrite. “She just pushed so hard about taking us out for dinner and I ran out of excuses. Even my creativity was running low in the end.”

Jeff chuckled and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “She must feel she owes us this—after the crap she threw at us at my birthday bash. Why then, do I get the feeling that we’re the ones having to do penance?”

“I know what you mean,” Peter said as the elevator doors slid open and they stepped in. “Press two—that’s Winifred’s floor. At least this part of the evening will be fun.”

Peter had promised the aging screen actress that he’d bring Jeff by the next time he was at Olivia’s and he’d phoned her to let her know of his and Jeff ’s dinner date. Winifred had been delighted and had insisted they come early so she could spend a little more time with them both. “I’ll mix you some of my famous martoonis,” she’d told Peter, with obvious pleasure.

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Winifred opened her door at their knock, her face beaming with a welcoming smile. “Come on in,” she exclaimed. “It’s great to finally meet you, Jeff. Boy, you look even better in person.”

“Thank you,” Jeff chuckled.

“You two,” she sighed, gazing up at them. “Gosh, the dames would have gone crazy for you if you’d been in the movies.” She pulled them into the living room and clapped her hands together. “So what’s it to be? Name your poison, boys.”

“What happened to Winifred’s famous martinis?” Peter teased her.

“Well, they’re pretty lethal…”

“Maybe a Scotch and water then,” Jeff said. “Light—we don’t want to arrive at Olivia’s hammered.”

Winifred giggled at the idea. “Peter?”

“I’ll play it safe too, thanks. Scotch and water sounds good.”

As Winifred made the drinks, Jeff looked around at the myriad of photographs that covered the walls of her apartment. Peter pointed out the one of Winifred with Rob Francis.

“I’ve seen him on late-night television,” Jeff remarked. “He must have made a bunch of westerns.”

“He did,” Winifred said. “And he did all his own stunts in ’em.” She brought their drinks over. “Here you go, boys.” She nodded in the direction of the photograph. “They did a bio of Rob on A&E the other night. It was so great to see him brought back to life—so handsome and vital.”

“Winifred and Rob were an item,” Peter told Jeff.

Winifred slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t go giving away my secrets now, naughty boy,” she reproved him, with a wink. “But, I have to tell you, he was the best—in all things. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” Peter chuckled.

“Well, you know what I mean…The so-called stars of today—they’re like bums some of them. I guess women don’t like gentlemen anymore. Me—I always liked to have doors opened and men to stand up when I came into a room.”

“I’m sure they did,” Jeff murmured.

“And I’m sure
you
would.” Winifred smiled up at him. “I get the feeling you two are very good to one another.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, laughing. “Jeff is always standing up when I enter the room.”

“
Peter
…” Jeff threw him a reproving look while Winifred laughed aloud.

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“Oh, you boys…I really miss having a good laugh like this. Some of the guys I knew in the old days could always be relied on for a good comment or two.

Don’t worry Jeff, it takes a lot to shock me.”

“Peter loses his sense of decorum sometimes,” Jeff said, not letting his friend off the hook too easily. “I think he needs a tad more discipline.”

“Ooh,” Winifred squeaked. “Do you sell tickets? Come on, let me show you around. You think there’s a lot of stuff out here—wait till you see the den.” She led them into the hall and then into a paneled room the walls of which were covered in more photographs, plaques, framed letters and autographs. “One of these days I gotta sell some of this junk,” she said almost to herself. “Some of it’s just gotta go.”

Peter peered into a glass case that housed a Colt ’45. “Is that real or just a prop?” he asked.

“Oh it’s real, honey.” Winifred raised the glass and picked up the gun.

“Heavy mother,” she muttered. “It was Rob’s. He had quite a collection, but I thought this was the most beautiful. I bought it when his estate went to auc-tion.” She handed it to Jeff. “You probably know all about guns, being a cop.”