Innocent Little Crimes (10 page)

Jonathan realized he had been holding his
breath. He dropped to the bed, feeling as if he had just escaped
danger.

Chapter 12

“What are you doing? Going to bed?” Davis ran
his hand along the shiny metal suit of armor mounted in the corner
of the room.

Cynthia turned down the plush comforter,
exposing pink satin sheets. “I thought I’d read for a while. Is
that all right?”

“It’s so early.”

“I know.”

“Get a load of this. I wonder if it fits.” He
lifted the helmet and tried to force it over his head.

“Be careful—it might get stuck.”

Davis returned the helmet to its stand and
tried to pull the sword out of the scabbard but it wouldn’t budge.
Cynthia rummaged through her suitcase for a nightgown. “I don’t
feel much like socializing tonight. To be honest, I don’t feel
comfortable with your old friends. And Lila is so
antagonistic.”

Davis laughed. “She’s harmless. This is her
way, you know. She’s famous for her cynical reproaches.”

“Well, I’d rather be home. With just you and
a nice, cozy fire.” She slipped into her flannel nightgown and sat
on the edge of the bed. Davis knelt beside her and took her hands
in his.

“Cyn, this is kind of a kick for me, but I
want you to enjoy yourself, too. Anytime you’ve had enough, just
say the word and we’ll go, okay?”

Cynthia embraced him and stroked his
hair. “
If
we could find a way
off this island.”

“I’m sure Lila has a boat or plane hidden
somewhere. You really think she’d let herself be trapped here?”

Cynthia pulled back and took a long look at
him. “I can’t believe my luck—having found you. Just think, you
could have moved to Chicago with that other woman and I never would
have met you.”

Davis chuckled. “Anyone who picks Chicago
over San Fran is short a few marbles. Besides, Claire couldn’t hold
a candle to you.”

Davis was only partly telling the truth. The
stunning redhead from Mill Valley had captivated him two years
back. And she was classy—a top-notch executive in a San Francisco
firm, successful and charming. But just when he was about to
propose to her, a big job offer came along that she couldn’t
refuse. CEO for some huge corporation—the opportunity of a
lifetime. When Davis hedged about moving with her to Chicago, she
left—just like that. Davis was hurt, but she showed him what her
priorities were, didn’t she? She loved her work more than him,
although she made the same accusation of Davis. She dared him to
give up his boring job and boring California weather. He dared her
to stay. That was the end of that relationship.

The only other woman he had fallen for was an
aerobics instructor he met at his health club. He even lived with
Denise for three months. But just when they got settled, a
persuasive man at the club began taking an interest in her. He sent
her flowers and chocolates, called her night and day, despite
Davis’s protestations. At first, Denise teased Davis about him. The
man was old and eccentric, no harm in encouraging him. But one
morning, Davis awoke to a note on his night table. The old
eccentric had offered to take Denise on a cruise around the world
in a private yacht. How could she refuse?

By the time Davis met Cynthia, he had given
up his high expectations. But Cynthia renewed his hope and
determination. She more than met his standards. He would never let
her slip away like the other two.

“Look,” Davis said, “in the meantime, if you
don’t want to talk and mingle, feel free to wander around. Maybe
tomorrow the storm’ll blow over. Go for a walk. Explore the beach.
Let’s see how it is tomorrow, what do you say?”

Cynthia pulled Davis into her arms and gave
him a warm kiss. Davis began to explore her delicate body with his
hands. He pulled her into the bed and undressed her. Cynthia ran
her long, beautifully-manicured nails through his hair.

Davis moaned. “You don’t really want to read,
do you?”

Della thumbed through the scrapbook she
found on the coffee table in the living room. Everyone had either
gone to bed or was wandering around the “castle,” exploring the
curious rooms that Lila had decorated with a flourish. She downed
her fourth drink. She didn’t even recall what it was, just that it
worked to still her nerves. Her mind kept returning to her brother
and the life she left behind in New York. Despair welled up again.
She swallowed some Valium and sank into the couch. Clearly, coming
to this reunion was a stupid idea. She knew now it would be useless
to ask anything from Lila. How could Lila have embarrassed her like
that? Sure, she knew she looked like hell, but Lila spared no
barbs. But, she took jabs at everyone. Maybe, after being such a
cynical comic for so many years, that was her way of showing
affection, of rekindling friendships. Della laughed and took a big
sip from her glass. What would Lila want with
these
“friends”?

Much to Della’s surprise, Lila had kept
memorabilia from every show they did in college. Handbills from
Shaw’s “Major Barbara,” Deurrenmatt’s “The Deadly Game,” and
Wilder’s “Our Town.” Della reread her own name on one playbill
after another. She found it hard to remember all those plays she’d
starred in. Even harder to believe she had been the confident lead
in most of them. How naive she had been. Thinking that just because
she got resounding applause from an audience of pimple-faced
students that it meant she had talent. All those accolades amounted
to nothing in the real world.

She stared at a yellowed newspaper clipping
from the Cooper Point Journal. It showed Davis and Dick under the
stage lights, and Della in her smock dress and bouffant hair. The
caption read: “Thespian’s gala performance of ‘Picnic’ opens to
full house. Performers from left: Davis Gregory, Dick Ferrol, and
last-minute substitute, Della Roman, as Madge, in an outstanding
display of talent.”

Della scanned the article, which praised her
propensity for performing magic as a last-minute substitute. “It
was almost as if,” the article said, “ ‘Madge’ and ‘Hal’ were
really in love; with an uncanny electricity between the two actors.
The underlying tension and attraction was palpable.” The article
then mentioned that Lila Carmichael, originally cast in the lead,
proved unable to participate, giving no explanation.

Della remembered the interviewer asking about
Lila after the show, but she’d brushed him off. She was riding the
crest of excitement, distracted by adoring fans piling up
backstage. She knew she’d given a great performance—better than
Lila could have done. That part was hers from the beginning, until
it got snatched out of her hands. But she showed them all. Della
got what she wanted. Praise, attention, glory. And all of it so
short-lived.

Della tried hard to remember her last days at
Evergreen. She’d left her strict, suffocating Catholic background
in upper New York State to come to the West Coast, to bury herself
in college. And how did she spend that time? In meaningless
affairs, in acting. In pretending to be someone else, anyone else.
And then it all ended and there had been nowhere to go.

She sighed and lit a cigarette.

Lila spoke from behind the couch, startling
Della. “Those things will kill you, you know? But then, that’s
probably why you smoke them.”

Della fumbled for the cigarette she dropped
into her lap. How long had Lila been standing there?

“Like Andy Warhol said, everyone gets their
fifteen minutes of fame.” Della snapped the scrapbook shut as Lila
came around to sit on the couch beside her. “Here,” Lila said,
picking up the bottle of wine, “let me pour you another drink. You
need it.”

“Like a hole in the head.”

“Della, Della, look at you.” Lila pressed her
face close to Della’s. “You’ve become a shadow of your former self.
In fact you remind me of me—in college. Scared, self-conscious,
afraid of what everyone thinks. How the tables have turned.” Lila
poured herself a glass of wine and sipped in thoughtful silence.
“Ah, ’03 Chardonnay, Alexander Valley. Are you impressed? I don’t
know beans about wine, but I pretend I do. Now, what was I saying?
Oh, how the tables have turned. Don’t you find it amusing,
really?”

Della knew what Lila implied was true.
Although, back in school she would have never thought it possible.
Lila now displayed the confidence, the fearlessness that Della once
embodied and somehow, somewhere, had lost.

“You know, you used to talk a lot more, too.
Always had something clever to say to everyone. I remember when I
did stagecraft I’d hear you from the wings. Precious gems of wisdom
to all those swarming around you. And those big, black eyes.
Stopped ’em dead in their tracks. You were gorgeous then, a real
beauty. But then, you knew that, didn’t you?”

Lila squeezed Della’s arm with affection.
“Maybe this is life’s irony. Ugly, doormat Lila has the success and
stardom, and Della gets to see what it’s like on the floor.”

“Maybe . . .”

“You know, I bet you’re wondering what
happened that night. Why I blew my big chance at stardom on the
college stage. Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Lila
leaned close in conspiracy. “I brought you all here this weekend to
tell you the whole story. Not everyone from Thespians, but just
this cozy group. Because each of you played your own important
little part.”

Della tried hard to recall her last year at
Evergreen. How were all of them connected? Those days, fifteen
years ago, all blurred in Della’s mind. She felt Lila’s hand
gripping her arm a little too tightly, lifting her up from the
couch.

“Come on, Della-most-likely-to-succeed, it’s
time you went to bed.”

Della managed to stand. Despair welled in her
chest. Her stomach churned mercilessly. “Lila, I have to ask a
favor. I need to start over. I don’t know where to go . . .”

“There, there,” Lila said, leading her down
the hall to her room. “Like the wizard says: ‘The Great and
powerful Oz has every intention of granting your request.’ But, no
favors until Sunday, after the party’s over. And it’s not over
until the fat lady sings.”

Della looked at Lila through fogged eyes.
What did she just say?

Lila ushered her into her bedroom, then
lowered her down on the bed. She picked up Della’s purse and
rummaged through it. “Nice assortment in here. Daniel must have
kept the local druggists happy with all these prescriptions.”

“Daniel?” Della fought off an engulfing
stupor.

“Daniel. Your shrink. Ex-shrink, now. Here,”
Lila said, handing her two small white pills. “Take two and call me
in the morning.”

Della felt Lila press something into the palm
of her hand. As she dropped the pills into her mouth, she heard the
door close. Something tugged at the back of her mind.

How did Lila know about Daniel? No one, not
even her brother, knew about him.

Her thought drifted off, out of reach, as she
fell into a hard sleep on top of the lace coverlet.

Dick paced the room while Millie rummaged
through the dresser drawer.

“What a layout. What a hell of a place. Like
something you’d see on a movie set. Damn, but that fat lady has
class.”

“More like a prison than a castle. All this
heavy furniture and those velvet drapes.” Millie took out her
pajamas and started getting undressed.

“It’s still early. What are you turning in
for?”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I know I
can fall asleep.”

“Well, I’m not tired. My first vacation in
years and I’m not gonna go to bed with the chickens.”

“You don’t have to, but I’m exhausted.” She
climbed the little step-ladder in front of the ponderous bed and
slipped under the quilt. The thick goose-down comforter felt
luxurious and dispelled the chill in the room.

“Go ahead, sleep your life away. I’m going to
find the others.”

Dick left. Millie wondered how her
little girls were doing with their stern grandmother. How she
missed them. An ache sat heavy in her gut. She had bad feelings
about this weekend.
Really
bad feelings.

Dick hurried down the long, dark corridor
until he reached the living room. The large room was empty. All the
lights were out except for one small table lamp. Outside, the wind
moaned and whistled through cracks in the front door. Dick’s spirit
sunk, like a kid whose mechanical toy wound down too soon. He
turned, and not knowing what else to do with himself, started back
to his dreary wife.

Jonathan, reading on his bed reading, turned
the last page over and closed the script. He’d read it dozens of
times before, yet it still held him. No, gripped him. It was
fantastic. Lila would be crazy not to want to do it. Actors would
kill for a part like this. She’d play a psycho who killed all her
lovers after sex. Maybe she’d have to drop a little weight to make
the role believable, but, hey, she’d do it for her art. This script
was his ticket to ride.

Maybe he should get some shut-eye. As he
undressed, he pictured all the great sex he and Melodie could have
had in this kinky bed. He hoped she had a hell of a time getting
back to L.A. Maybe some trucker picked her up on the highway and
raped her. She deserved it for deserting him.

Lila found Peter in the kitchen sipping a
cappuccino.

“All the little babes sweetly nestled in
their beds?” he asked.

“Snug as little bugs in a rug.”

“Chickens waiting to be plucked.”

“Flies caught in the spider’s web.”

They both laughed at their silly word
games.

“They’re all exactly how you described them,
Li. As motley a crew as ever lived.”