Beaches (31 page)

“Good heavens.”

“Holy shit.”

The Mediterranean-style villa sat out on a cliff. Below it, the frothy white California waves crashed against the rocks. Close by the shore on the jagged rocks, lazy harbor seals were sprawled, watching the orange sun slip inch by inch toward the horizon.

“Hey, I think I like this guy a lot for you, Bert,” Cee Cee said, stopping the car and rolling down all the windows so they could breathe the glorious ocean air. They sat silently until the sun was gone, then Cee Cee turned the car up the driveway toward the Malcolm mansion. The door opened, and a house man in a white coat stood there to greet them. He took Bertie’s bag from the back seat and didn’t flinch when Cee Cee opened the trunk piled with all her things. Just asked, “All of this inside?” When Cee Cee nodded, he proceeded to pick up their belongings and head toward the house. They followed him through a high-ceilinged foyer out through a glass door and past the pool, where Cee Cee whispered, “See how Hearst fucked up. He should have picked this place. It’s closer to the ocean.” And then they were in the guest cottage. Cozy, Mexican tiled floors, brightly colored fabrics, every touch perfect down to the tiniest detail.

By the time Bertie had thanked the man, who said his name was Victor, and he had told her that he could be reached by pressing button number four on the com line, and that, please, Mr. Malcolm wanted them to make themselves at home, Cee Cee’s side of the bedroom was already a mess. Clothes on the bed and the floor. Cassette player and cassettes everywhere. Bertie took a deep breath

and thought about the nicest possible way to say it, and was just about to try, “Gee, can I help you hang some of your things up?” when the phone rang.

It was David. Bertie was so thrilled at the sound of his voice that she almost couldn’t hear what he said. Calling to make sure they were comfortable. Comfortable? What an understatement. “Don’t hesitate to ask Victor for anything,” he went on. “He’ll bring breakfast whenever you call. There’s a wonderful wine cellar. Please help yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Bertie kept saying. Was there no end, please God, to this man’s graciousness?

“Bert,” he said, finally, huskily, seriously, “I can’t wait to be with you.”

Bertie closed her eyes. “I can’t wait for that either, David,” she said.

Friday was a gorgeous May day, and Bertie and Cee Cee spent the morning on the Seventeen Mile Drive and went to the wharf at Monterey for lunch, had their picture taken in Victorian costumes on Cannery Row and finally, at four o’clock, went back to the Malcolm guest cottage to get Cee Gee’s things so she could pick them up and return the car.

“Maybe I shouldn’t leave,” Cee Cee teased. “Maybe I should hide in the airport and just sneak a peek at this hot shot when he gets off the plane.” Bertie grinned. She felt like a child on her way to Disneyland.

Bertie went to the magazine stand and Cee Cee went to the Hertz counter to return the car. There was a line at the Hertz counter, and Cee Cee pulled her hat down a little lower onto her face. The two men in front of her, both wearing suits, businessmen, were talking very seriously. Cee Cee wondered if David Malcolm was a serious type like these guys.

“Rolled over on its side,” one of the guys said to the other.

“They say it was the worst one ever,” the other one

answered. Cee Cee hated lines, and this one wasn’t even moving. The holdup seemed to be a man at the counter who couldn’t find his credit cards.

“They say takeoffs and landings are when you have to worry most,” the first one said. “Once you’re up there, I guess there’s not much you can hit.” The other man laughed. They were talking about airplane crashes. Thanks, boys, Cee Cee thought. I hate goddamn flying to begin with and now I got to listen to this? Gimme a break.

“There were reporters and photographers all over
LAX
,” one of the men said.

The man at the front of the line found his credit cards in his briefcase and was laughing with relief.

“Hey,” Cee Cee said, tapping one of the men on the shoulder, “mind if I ask what you’re talking about?”

Both men turned. Neither of them looked as if they recognized her.

“Big plane wreck in Chicago. American Airlines. Chicago to L.A. A DC-10. Looks like everyone in the plane bought the farm, if you get my meaning,”

Cee Cee held on to the man’s arm for an instant for support, then turned toward the magazine store from which the beautiful smiling Bertie had just emerged, carrying a paper bag filled with the magazines she was planning to read while she waited for David Malcolm to arrive.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm,

I was a friend of David’s and I wanted to

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm,

Although I only recently met your son I wanted to write and tell you how impressed I was by

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm,

Your son was a fine man. Please accept my deepest sympathies on his passing.

Roberta Barren

Carmel, California, 1983

Cee Cee stood on the steps, leaned against the wall, and stared at the door of the bedroom. Finally, it creaked open and Janice Games emerged. She was silent for a moment, as if she were trying to form in her mind exactly what to say.

“Cee Cee,” the woman said. There was something too sweet in her voice that made Cee Cee wince inside. “I’m from the volunteer hospice program in Monterey.”

The what?

“Roberta contacted us earlier this year because she’s very ill, and she wanted to die here in Carmel. And not in a hospital. People from our program come here to tend to her daily needs. So this morning when she called you, it was because she …”

Cee Cee slowly sank and sat down on one of the steps.

“Are you all right?” Janice Games asked. “Cee Cee?”

All right? How could she be all right? There was a look on the woman’s face that said, don’t worry. I’m strong.

I can handle anything, so if you want to scream and yell and fall apart go right ahead, because I can handle it.

“Yeah,” Cee Cee said, “I’m all right.” But she felt weak and small and afraid, and she didn’t want to ask the question that came next: “What does she … I mean, what’s wrong with her?”

“She has ovarian cancer.”

“And how much … I mean, how long?”

“Two or three months at best.”

Oh, God. No. Please. Stop. Take it away, Cee Cee thought. But when Janice Games just stood looking long into her eyes, Cee Cee finally forced herself into a standing position, and somehow managed to place her left foot on the next step up, and then put her right foot on the next step, and when she reached the top of the stairs, she moved to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

God, help me so I don’t show how scared I am. How bad she looks. Real bad. Not as bad as she did when she was asleep. But real bad.

Bertie was sitting up, wearing a blue flannel robe. Her hair looked very neat, almost too stylish, and when she saw Cee Cee, a huge smile flashed across her face.

“Thanks for coming, Gee,” she said, like they were just about to sit down to tea or something.

“So big fuckin’ deal,” Cee Cee said. “You’re dyin’. You couldn’t maybe think of somethin’ original to do?”

Bertie chuckled.

“I already had my friend Peter Sellers die, my pal Freddy Prinze die. Hey, I mean, Bert, you asshole, dying is really a cliche.”

Bertie was laughing now.

“Tell the truth,” Cee Cee went on. “Do you really want to be in the same category as Esther Garfield, Sam Weinstein, and Abie Levine?”

“I don’t know,” Bertie said through a giggle. “Who are they?”

“They’re friends of my mother’s who died. I mean,

Bert, dying is so gauche. Even my mother did it. Do you want to follow in Leona’s footsteps? I mean, if you want to, far be it from me to try and change your mind but…”

The sob that was rising in Cee Cee’s throat stopped her next line, and Bertie reached out her long thin arms for Cee Cee to come to her. Cee Cee couldn’t speak but she sat on the edge of the bed and hugged her friend, feeling Bertie’s frail bony body through the blue flannel robe. Finally Cee Cee swallowed and spoke again. This time her voice was hoarse.

“Bert,” she said, “I’m rich. I got millions. I’m not gonna let you die. I’m gonna get the best doctors in the world and fly ‘em all here to save you. I know people with their own airplanes, even people who know the president, Bert, and I’ll spend everything I’ve got. You’re not gonna die so fast there, kid, and I’m gonna see to it.” She sat back to look at Bertie. Bertie was still smiling, but there were very dark deep circles around her eyes.

“Gee,” she said, and for that fleeting second she looked to Cee Cee like the little lost girl she’d met on the beach so long ago in Atlantic City. “Here’s the thing. You see, I really want to be like Esther Garfield and Sam Weinstein and Arnie Levine.”

“Abie Levine,” Cee Cee corrected her. “Arnie is Abie’s brother. His smarter brother, Bert, because he’s still alive.” They both laughed, a little laugh.

Bertie continued to smile her tired smile as she went on. “I want to die, and money doesn’t matter, because I know doctors too. Good ones. More doctors than I ever thought there were in the world. The best ones. And it doesn’t matter. Because I’m ready. Even if it means following in Leona’s footsteps.” Her smile grew brighter.

“But why, you asshole?” Cee Cee asked.

“Well, the big reason is so I’ll never ever have to hear you call me that again,” she said, and they both laughed. “And the other reason is because I’m sure that it’s my time.” And then they both cried.

When the crying subsided, Cee Cee handed Bertie a Kleenex, took one for herself, and they blotted their eyes. “I needed you to be here, Gee,” Bertie said, “because I knew if you were, at least I would die laughing.” And that made them both grin, and Bertie lay back on the pillow, looking as if the laughing had exhausted her. “And I picked Carmel because I fell in love with it that time you and I came here … to see … to be with . . .”

“David,” they said at the same time. And Bertie nodded and then said the only thing she ever did when David Malcolm’s name came up.

“Wasn’t that sad? So very sad. God, that was too bad.”

Cee Cee said nothing because she knew there was more coming. The part about a lovely man. And what a loss.

“What a loss,” Bertie said. “Because he was a truly lovely man.”

Cee Cee said what she always did at that point in the conversation.

“Yeah. Lovely.”

Bertie closed her eyes.

“Listen, maybe I could go out and get us some food and stuff,” Cee Cee said. “I’m starving. You allowed to eat?”

“I don’t really want anything,” Bertie said, “but you go ahead. You might find some food downstairs in the fridge.”

“I’ll fix us both somethin’,” Cee Cee said, and stood. “Now don’t go dyin’ or anything while I’m out of the room, okay?”

Bertie grinned. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

Cee Cee grinned, too, and walked out of the room with the grin plastered on her face, but when she’d pulled the door shut, she closed her eyes for a minute, then went into the bathroom, pulled the door closed behind her, turned on the faucet full blast, and threw up. Bertie.

Good God. Dying. And wanting to die. Looking as if she were already dead. With gray skin and those dark circles under her eyes and that hair. But her hair wasn’t the color Cee Cee remembered, and it was thicker and had those kind of funny finger waves like … oh, Christ, it was a wig-had to be. And she hadn’t been wearing it when Cee Cee first peeked in and looked at her there on the bed. A wig because she must have lost her hair from those radiation treatments people had to get when they had . . .

Cee Cee flushed the toilet and washed her hands and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. This was more than she could take. She would make Bertie a sandwich, have a bite herself, sit and talk with her for a while, and then split for L.A. Oh, she’d make a big fuss. Leave some money for Janice, that hospice lady, to get some more help in, and head out on some night flight back home. She was in trouble with everybody down there as it was for leaving in the middle of rehearsing her own show. She couldn’t hold up a whole production staff for more than a day. It could ruin her, for chrissakes. She rinsed her face with cold water, and while her face was still dripping wet, she put some toothpaste on her finger and spread it around on her teeth, rinsed out her mouth, dried her face and hands, and sighed. Poor Bertie, she thought, and felt sad. Thank God it’s not me, she thought, and felt guilty.

Downstairs Janice Games was in the kitchen.

“How’s she doing?” she asked Cee Cee. “I heard you two laughing together, and I was glad.”

“Yeah,” Cee Cee said, “we laughed.” Jesus. This woman looked at people who were on the croak every day. How did she stand it?

“Listen,” Cee Cee said, “I’m gonna fix Bert some food and some for me, and visit for a while-and then I gotta call the airlines-‘cause I really should get back down to L.A. by tonight. I got a show I ran out on and all kinds of stuff.”

Janice Games was still smiling.

“Dinner’s all ready,” she said. “I sometimes eat with her, just to keep her company, so I made two portions, but you’re here, so I’m sure she’d prefer to have you eating with her.”

“Yeah, great, but right after dinner I’ve got to call the airlines and-”

“If your flight doesn’t leave right away, maybe you’ll meet Jessica.”

“Who’s that?” Cee Cee asked, watching Janice take two dishes out of the oven with something in them that looked like chicken pot pie. Cee Cee’s stomach growled.

“She’s the nurse Roberta hired. And tomorrow she’s going to hire another one as well, for her day care.”

“What about you?” Cee Cee asked.

“Oh, I’m not a nurse,” Janice said. “I’m what the program calls a homernaker. I’m trained to come in and take care of her personal needs. Meals, laundry, that kind of thing. But soon she’ll need more than that. She can still get herself to the bathroom now. Even come down here, which she does from time to time for dinner. Or she’ll sit out on the patio. You can see the ocean from there, and more than anything she loves the beach.”