All That Was Happy (6 page)

“
I’m rich,” he said.

“
Of course you are,” she said.
“Everybody knows all the waiters at Chillers are
millionaires.”

“
No, it’s true,” he said. “And another
thing--I’m a lot older than I look--I’m thirty-seven, but because
I’m blond and lanky, most people think I’m twenty-five.”

“
How did you acquire your fortune?”
Beckie said.

“
Easy,” he said. “--after I graduated
from UCLA, my dad, in a misguided attempt to prevent me from doing
something Kerouac-esque, shipped me off to Harvard B-School. When I
got out of there, I went to work for Goldman Sachs in New York for
ten years and I made a pile on the trading floor.”

“
Even if that were true,” she said,
“money doesn’t impress me--I’m part owner of a very successful tool
importing company, and I’m worth many millions. So don’t expect me
to simply swoon on the altar of your financial ego.”

“
I only mention money to show you that
I can be taken seriously,” he said. “--that I’m not just another
flake.”

“
Show me your license,” she said. “If
you just lied to me--if it doesn’t match your age, it’s all
over.”

“
Not yet,” he said. “If I show it to
you, and I’m thirty-seven like I said, will you agree to start
seeing me within the context of starting a serious
relationship?”

“
There’s no way you’re thirty-seven,”
Beckie said. “But if you are, I’ll agree for my part to keep
listening.”

Huntington whipped out his license.

“
Oh wow,” Beckie said. “You are
thirty-seven. I can’t believe it. At least that much is true about
you, although I’m sure you’re not really a wealthy ex-investment
banker. I can’t believe you look so young! You’ve got apple
cheeks!”

“
I’m of Polish descent,” he said. “The
apple cheeks run in the family. So we have a date for tomorrow,
then?”

“
Not so fast,” Beckie said. “I only
agreed I’d keep listening to you for awhile. You know I’m in the
middle of a huge emotional conundrum--are you sure you want to take
that on?”

Huntington stepped close to her and suddenly
the room felt close with heat.

“
I’ll take it on,” he said.

“
Last question,” she said. “If we’re
going to see each other even one more time, I must insist that we
start off by being totally honest with each other. So I want you to
tell me the truth about your past and why you’re working at
Chillers or it’s no deal. I won’t refuse to see you tomorrow night
if you’ll tell me the truth--just admit you lied to impress me or
whatever and we’ll let it go.”

“
Everything I told you is true,” he
said. “There was just one thing I didn’t tell you.”

“
Spill it,” she said.

“
I own Chillers,” he said.

Chapter
9

“
If the problems in your life seem
overwhelming,” Scotia said, “that’s the exact moment when you
should try to give yourself a little pleasure--Vito can see you at
1:30. We’re down on Doheny a couple of blocks south of Sunset--you
can’t miss it, it’s a cute little Tudor job with a sign out front
that says Vito’s Of Beverly Hills.”

“
I’ll see you after lunch, then,”
Beckie said.

She’d awoken to a chill, gray, joyless
mid-morning which promised her shocked emotions little relief. Upon
reflection of last night’s events, especially as they concerned the
possibility of keeping some sort of sporadic company with
Huntington, the younger man she’d entertained the night before, and
after having given herself an unusually harsh appraisal in the
morning mirror, upon said sober reflection, she’d decided to spend
the afternoon immersing herself in a marathon round of beauty
treatments at the day spa where Scotia worked and where, she’d
learned from the waif, there was a hairdresser named Vito, a man
with just one name--a tactic which ostensibly kept the man’s
reputation on a height with, and in close keeping with other
Hollywood legends who also adhered to the one-name practice, such
as Madonna, and Cher--or if his singular name did not exactly keep
Vito at their nosebleed heights, it at least kept him high enough
to be considered a hairstylist of legendary renown north of Melrose
and south of Sunset, in an area which bordered 90210, where a
reputation for doing good hair was a considerable feat in the
fast-paced and ever-changing world of hairstylists, at least as far
as the Hollywood crowd was concerned, among whom were numbered, as
Scotia had informed her, such fiery, sanguine and ethereal beauties
such as Halle Berry and Jeri Ryan, and once, although only for a
fast nail repair--the great Liz Taylor herself.

The phone rang--Leah.

“
Leah, I can’t talk,” Beckie said. “I’m
hurrying to get ready--I’ve got an appointment with Doctor Black in
twenty-five minutes, after which I’ll just have time to grab a bite
before my 1:30 at this new day spa I learned about last night. I’ll
probably be at the spa until at least 5, but after that, I wondered
if you and Ira would like to join a friend and myself for dinner
someplace around here.”

“
A friend?” Leah asked.

“
I’ll explain later--why don’t you set
something up at a nice place around here--no, wait--let’s drive out
to the Valley--I’m hungry for some real Mexican food. I’ll meet you
and Ira at Taxco, the one in Van Nuys, at 7.”

“
I saw Bernie last night,” Leah said.
“He wants to make a time for us all to get together at his lawyer’s
office tomorrow. What’ll I tell him?”

“
You know, Leah,” Beckie said.
“Someday, maybe a few hundred years after The Big One,
archeologists are going to be digging in the rubble around here,
looking for artifacts. You know what they’re going to find, along
with all that broken pottery? They’re going to find my broken heart
lying in the ruins of this living room--why did you have to call me
about Bernie and his stupid meeting? I was just getting up enough
nerve to get past the bogged-down feeling that I woke up with, and
now you’ve sent me straight back to the bottom. I’m popping an
extra Tofranil even as we speak.”

“
I’m so sorry, Beckie,” Leah said. “You
don’t deserve this--you’re such a good, amazing lady--the more
people I meet in this life, I realize you are simply the best one
of them all. I tell you, Bernie never deserved you--I always told
him that over the years you two were together--now it’s come true.
If he wasn’t my brother-in-law, I’d disown him.”

“
It’s just that the sound of his name
is so crushing to me right now,” Beckie said. “And as far as
meeting with him and his lawyer tomorrow--well, all I can tell you
is, I’ll have to let you know. Just tell Mr. Cradle-Snatcher that
you’ll let him know after you see me tonight. That’s the best I can
do right now.”

“
I understand, sweetie,” Leah
said.

“
I know you do, doll,” Beckie said.
“I’m just hanging on, right now. I’m only now starting to realize
that ultimately, I’m going to have to start my life all over
again--and I have no idea where to even begin.”

“
We’ll see you tonight,” Leah
said.

Beckie consulted a card in her purse and
dialed Dr. Black’s exchange. “This is Beckie,” she said. “I’m
feeling suicidal again. I started out okay this morning, and even
made a hair appointment, but all of a sudden, I’m back to square
one. The Tofranil isn’t holding.”

“
Hold please,” the operator
said.

“
Beckie?” Dr. Black’s rich, firm
voice.

“
I’m sorry to bug you, Dr. Black,”
Beckie said. “I just had another strong desire to use the gun on
myself again--I thought I’d better call--I don’t think I’m up for
my appointment this morning.”

“
You know, Beckie,” Dr. Black said.
“You’re on the verge of living a rich full life--are you going to
choose to get off your butt and get to work, or are you going to
cry in the corner and say good-bye to all your dreams?”

“
Dr. Black,” Beckie said.
“I--”

“
Here is what you are going to do,
Beckie,” Dr. Black said. “You are going to get in your car right
now, exactly the way you are, dressed or not, and hightail it over
to my office immediately, do you hear me!”

“
I’m still in my nightgown,” Beckie
said.

“
Throw on a robe,” Black said. “I’ll
expect you here in ten minutes, and not a minute more.”

“
I can’t,” Beckie said.

“
You can overcome whatever obstacles
you think you have in your life,” Black said. “The first step is to
get in the car and get over here--once you’re here, if you still
want to stuff that gun in your mouth, I’ll march you into the
Ladies’ Room and help you pull the trigger myself!”

The phone went dead in Beckie’s hand. The
doctor’s harsh words had extinguished her emotional inferno,
leaving her flat on her back in the ashes of her soul. There was no
strength flowing anywhere in her body.

I cannot go on, Beckie thought.

Yet somehow, she did, as was attested to by
the stares of the parking lot attendant, along with the various and
sundry persons in the hallways and elevators she passed on her way
to Black’s office, rational persons who stared at the loony lady in
the tattered bathrobe clutching a large straw beach bag--from the
top of which protruded the head of a tiny dog--as she shuffled past
them on her way to a place where, hopefully, she would be able to
draw from some source of natural power and replenish whatever had
been taken from her by the singularly evil actions of Bernie.

Chapter
10

“
I know when Bernie’s affair started,”
Beckie said. “It was over Christmas--that’s when he gave me the
roadster for an early Christmas present--he had it waiting in the
driveway for me one morning wrapped with a big red bow. It was a
guilt offering--he must have just started seeing Nolene and was
trying to salve his conscience.”

“
People are like plants,” Dr. Black
said. “They come in a wide variety of emotional colors, sizes and
heights. Some are quite easy to dig up, because they have shallow
roots. That’s how I see you, Beckie, with your beautiful face and
figure, driving your exotic, fast car. You’re like a plant which
presents a beautiful flower, but you’re roots are shallow. Bernie’s
really not the issue here--what’s at stake is who you are and what
you’re going to become.”

“
That’s a tad blunt,” Beckie said. “But
you may be right--I’m a neophyte as regards knowing myself. I guess
for most of my life, I’ve just wanted to be safe--even during the
‘60’s, I was never into doing drugs or trying new religions or any
of that. What I was after was security--I’ve always liked knowing
where everything is and where it would be tomorrow. That’s what
Bernie provided me for twenty-nine years. Bernie provided
security.”

“
I’m not saying there isn’t some value
in a life spent just sitting around watching the paint dry on your
soul,” Black said. “But where did it leave you? When Bernie pulled
the rug out, you went into a free-fall. The problem is, you have
nothing to catch you--no religion, no inner reserves, no sense of
how to deal with evil, or bring meaning to that evil.”

“
I guess it’s time to face the fact
that Cinderella, after her triumphant wedding to the prince, just
got kicked out of the castle,” Beckie said. “All my life, I thought
it was enough to simply have plenty of money and be a California
blonde with a good tan.”

“
Is that why you want to kill
yourself?” Black said. “Because you think you’re not enough
anymore?”

“
There’s so many reasons,” Beckie said.
“Part of it is to punish Bernie, part of it is feeling sorry for
myself, part of it is running away from the pain, part of it is
having no hope--the list seems endless. Or maybe it’s my way of
crying out for help.”

“
No,” Black said. “That’s not why you
want to kill yourself--you want to kill yourself so you can remain
in control of Bernie’s life. You’re killing yourself --not because
you can’t face life anymore--but to boost your own ego. You know
that if you kill yourself, it will tie you to Bernie’s soul
forever, and destroy any chance he might have of living a happy
life without you. Your act of taking your own life is supremely
selfish--you are, in effect, a spoiled brat--you married Bernie
because you wanted security instead of love--for the past
twenty-nine years, you’ve never truly loved Bernie--he’s just been
someone you’ve used your beauty to imprison--like an insect--stuck
through with a pin to a cardboard while still alive. You have lived
a life of total, ruthless, manipulative selfishness, and now
Bernie’s finally called your number, and you have the nerve to make
him out to be the monster.”

“
Dr. Black!”

“
If you had any kind of compassion,”
Black continued, “you’d feel sorry for Bernie--do you really think
a man his age wants to take up with a younger woman, and go through
all that again? Can you imagine the guilt and remorse he feels for
abandoning you? His life is ruined. But he had to get out from your
smothering selfishness--you trapped him in his youth with your
fiery beauty, but after that, for the rest of his life, you never
gave him anything but lukewarm love--yet you demanded everything
from him. Bernie’s the victim here. You know what’s killing you?
Terminal selfishness, that’s what.”