Night Vision (13 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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“And that would be?”
“You're punishing me because I quit my job. You're making a big deal out of the fact that you're working and I'm not.”
“That's not fair.”
“Jo, do you realize how quickly I could get another job in landscaping? They're a dime a dozen. What I have in mind for this place will double its value. I'm not going to be sitting around on my thumbs, doing nothing.”
“I know that. I'm not punishing you. That never even entered my mind.”
He turned to face her. “You know, on second thought, maybe I won't come back here with sandwiches. It would save me a bunch of time if I just ate at the restaurant, then took off for the valley.”
She could tell he was angry. “Whatever you want. What time will you be back?”
“Late,” he said. “Don't wait up.”
“Gordon?”
He drank his water, set the glass in the sink, then left through the back door without another word.
 
 
The equipment arrived just before three. Joanna signed all the necessary paperwork, then hopped in her car and drove into Beverly Hills. She wanted the works—facial, nails, full-body massage, a new haircut, anything and everything that would make her feel beautiful and desirable. When Gordon got home tonight, however late it was, she'd be there waiting for him, ready to show him how much she really did love him. All relationships were a negotiation. They'd jumped into this thing pretty fast, before they'd had a chance to really get to know each other. She expected their first few months together would be rocky. But tonight, when they slipped between the silk sheets, they could forget about what they did together badly and concentrate on what they did together well.
By eleven, Joanna was sick of waiting. Gordon still wasn't home and she was losing patience. On a whim, she grabbed the phone and dialed David's number in Atlanta. She didn't expect them to be there. They had another whole week of vacation, so she assumed they'd decided to spend it somewhere else.
But Diego picked up after the third ring. “Hello?”
“Diego, it's Joanna.”
Silence. Then Diego shouted, “David, it's your sister. You wanna talk to her?”
Joanna heard the response. It was a no. “Tell him I have to talk to him. If you hang up, I'll just call right back. And I'll keep calling.”
“David,” yelled Diego. “I think you better take this.”
While she waited for her brother to come to the phone, she said, “Why did you and David leave like that? You never even said good-bye.”
“We don't stay where we're not wanted,” said Diego.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Before he could answer, David came on the line. “What? Make it fast.”
“How come you left without saying good-bye?”
“Gee, did I hurt your feelings? I'll say good-bye now.
Good-bye
.”
“David, don't hang up!”
“Look, this hasn't been a stellar couple days in my life. You're entitled to your opinions and I'm entitled to tell you to go to hell.”
“Stop! You need to explain. What opinions?”
“Oh, come on. Don't play ignorant. You're too big a coward to tell Diego and me how you really feel, so you send your pool boy.”
“David, listen to me. I have no idea what you're talking about.
None
.”
“I'm talking about Luberman.”
“What about him?”
“You are so goddamn manipulative. Are you trying to tell me you didn't send him down to the bungalow before the birthday party with that lovely message?”
She was exhausted trying to drag this out of him. “No, I didn't send Gordon to talk to you.”
“You're saying it was all his idea?”
“That's what I'm saying, yes.”
A long pause. “This is the truth, Jo? He wasn't your messenger boy?”
“How many times do I have to repeat it. No!”
“Okay, but that still makes sense. He did it on his own, but you wanted him to do it. Just because you didn't actually order him to talk to us—”
“About what?” she shouted.
“He said you two had talked about how uneasy you were with our ‘lifestyle.' That you never really wanted us to visit but couldn't bring yourself to say no.”
“That's ridiculous!”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
“Then where did Gordon get it?”
Joanna sat down on the floor in front of the couch. “David, this is very important. I want to know exactly—word for word—what he told you.”
She could hear him light up a cigarette.
“Well, okay,” he said, his voice losing some of its stiffness. “I'll play along. In fact I'd love to tell you. Maybe then you'll understand why this will probably be our last conversation this side of the grave.”
“Just say it.”
“All right. Gordo came down to the bungalow around eleven yesterday morning. He asked us to sit down in the living room, said he had something he needed to talk to us about. And then he let fly. Said that you were not only disgusted by faggots, as he was, but that it was all you could do to look me in the face. He said that you were a great actor, and that's why we didn't already know. He assured me that you loved me, but you'd never wanted me and Diego
to come visit. It just happened before you had the guts to tell us the truth. You were too kindhearted and blah blah blah. He said he believed in cosmic retribution and that if we didn't stop what we were doing, we'd be punished. He said you agreed, in principle, but in your case, you felt sorry for me, for the trashy way I'd chosen to live my life. He explained that
he'd
never believed that being gay or straight wasn't a choice, that Diego and I could be straight if we wanted—and that you basically agreed. He also said that our parents asked you if I was gay and you told them I was. That it nearly killed Dad, and that Mom was inconsolable.” David's voice had grown husky, as if he was forcing himself not to cry. “Is that true? Did you tell Mom and Dad?”
Joanna was so shocked that it took her a moment to catch her breath. “Never, David. You asked me not to and I promised I wouldn't. I'd never go back on a promise. You know me better than that, or at least I thought you did. I figured you'd tell them at some point, but then the car accident happened right before you and Diego got together, so it wasn't possible. No, I never told them a thing.”
“Let me get this straight,” said David. “You're telling me that everything Gordon said to us was a lie?”
“Yes—except for his personal comments about how he sees being gay. That was probably true.”
“He told us that we should leave and never come stay at the bungalow again. That
that's
what you wanted. If we decided to call or send cards or letters, that was one thing. But staying at your place was like rubbing your nose in our deviant behavior. Before he left, he said that it was your wish that we continue with the birthday celebration. That if we loved you, we wouldn't let any of this sour your big day. By then, I didn't give a rip about your big day. But Diego and I talked about it. Just because you behaved like a hateful shit didn't mean we had to. We tried our best to get through it. Our best, I guess, was to get drunk. And then, as Gordon suggested, we left this afternoon.”
She shook her head and kept shaking it. “David, I'm dumbfounded. I never said any of that. We've never even talked about you.” She stopped. “No, that's wrong. Gordon asked me yesterday morning if you guys were friends. I told him you were gay. That was it. That was all I said.”
“So you don't—”
“David, I don't give a rat's ass if you're gay, straight, bi, pink, blue, or
purple. You're my brother and I love you. Do you think I'm so intolerant, so narrow-minded and stupid that I don't see being gay for what it is—a variation. Like left-handedness. Like color blindness. It's no freaking big deal to me and it never has been!”
David didn't speak for almost a minute. Finally, he said, “Joanna, you gotta get rid of that guy. Do it now. Change your locks. Tell him you never want to see him again. He's poison.”
She could feel a deep fury building inside her. “Don't worry. When Gordon gets home tonight, he's in for one big surprise.”
J
ane returned with Nolan from Eagle Ridge around five. After he dropped her back at the Linden Building, she hopped in her Mini and drove straight to her office at the Xanadu Club. She wanted to get all her business ducks in a row so she could feel comfortable taking the next two weeks off.
It was the peak of dinner madness when she finally headed down to the kitchen about an hour later. She noticed immediately that there was an edge, an urgency to the bedlam tonight. She found her executive chef walking around shouting orders. He stopped long enough to inform her that one of the line cooks had just taken off because her daughter had been brought to the emergency room with a broken arm. He and the sous-chef were in the process of trying to figure out how to cover it.
Thursday was one of the busiest nights of the week at the Xanadu, so this was bad news. Jane ran back up to her office and changed into her chef's whites, pulled her hair up into a bun, grabbed her hat, and returned to the kitchen, where she spent the next two and a half hours working the grill. Everything there was to know about how the food should be cooked, seasoned, and plated was already in her head.
By ten, orders had slacked off enough for Jane to call it a night. As she returned upstairs to the dining room, she felt her cell phone vibrate inside her pants pocket. She'd felt it several times earlier in the evening but couldn't stop to answer. Checking the number, she saw that it was David.
“Hey, kiddo,” she said, trekking up the stairs to her second-floor office. He'd never returned the message she'd left him earlier in the day.
“Where are you?” he asked.
She could hear traffic in the background. “The club,” she said, unlocking her office door and flipping on the light.
“Stay there. I'll be over in a few minutes. I was hoping we could talk.”
“Great. When you get here, have one of the bartenders point you to my office.”
Since she had only a few minutes, she decided not to change her clothes. She wanted to call Kenzie but didn't want the conversation to be rushed. Instead, she turned on her computer. She brought up Google and tapped in the word “stalker.” In an instant, the search engine delivered twenty-two million Web sites. She still had questions, even after Nolan's brief tutorial.
Scrolling through the sites, she came across one that talked about women stalkers—the main question Jane had that Nolan hadn't touched on. On Pshcho-MED, she read:
Female stalkers are classified as intimacy seekers. Their stalking generally arises from a desire to form a close relationship with the victim. Contrary to popular opinion, female stalkers are no less likely than males to threaten their victims or use violence. They feel they have a right to be part of their victim's life.
“Just peachy,” Jane muttered, clicking on the next site. The woman journalist they'd run into at the airport yesterday leaped to
mind. She was so clearly gaga over Joanna, although Joanna probably got reactions like that all the time. Seeing fame from this angle made it seem far less appealing. Roses truly did have thorns.
Next, Jane found a site that talked about celebrity stalking.
Dr. Edwin R. Sontag, a psychologist at Northwestern's School of Medicine, has done extensive research on celebrity staking. In a recent article in the
North American Journal of Psychology,
he states that interest in celebrities runs the gamut, from
Tonight Show
junkies all the way to John Hinckley. On the innocuous side of the equation are people who join fan clubs or web groups, or those who buy lousy records out of loyalty.
Jane was surprised to note that Dr. Sontag included one in five people in this category.
The next rung of the ladder is characterized by stronger, and perhaps stranger, feelings. These are the celebrity worshippers, people who see a specific celebrity as their soul mate. These highly intense fans are often men and women whose lives have gone off the rails for one reason or another. Personal trauma. The death of a significant loved one. The loss of a job. The celebrity worshippers are drawn to celebrity out of loneliness or emptiness in their own lives. Very often these people develop the delusion that they are having a love affair with the celebrity.
Jane kept moving through the Web sites. She was so interested in what she was reading that when she finally looked at her watch and saw that it was eleven-fifteen, she was surprised. And worried. David
had said he'd be right over. So where was he? She picked up the phone and tapped in his cell number, but after his voice mail answered, she dropped the phone back on the hook.
By twelve-thirty, she was sitting at the bar, nursing a vodka martini, still waiting. She'd left four messages for him. She didn't know what to think, although her mood was growing less charitable by the minute. The club closed its doors at two. If he wasn't here by then, she figured she'd start calling emergency rooms.
Swiveling on the bar stool so she could focus her attention on the front door, she felt like she was waiting for water to boil. She watched an endless stream of customers come and go. At five to one, she was about to give up when David pushed through into the bar. Wearing new jeans, a brown suede jacket, and a clean white T-shirt, he looked much better than he had two nights ago. He nodded at her, motioning for her to follow him into the darkened dining room.
“What happened?” she demanded, hot on his heels. “I left you a bunch of messages. It's almost one in the morning. Do you realize you called me three hours ago?”
He seemed a little unsteady as he approached one of the tables, drew out a chair, and dropped down on it.
“Have you been drinking?”
He rested both elbows on the table and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.
“David?”
“Needed a little Irish courage before I spilled my guts to Hurricane Jane.” It was a name he used to call her when he was mad at her.
“What's going on?”
He sat there, face hidden by his hands, for almost a minute. When he finally removed his hands, he slumped back and sighed. “I'm hungry. You got anything to eat around this joint?”
“You make me wait all this time and all you can say is you're
hungry
?”
“Yeah. I even amaze myself sometimes.”
She dragged him down to the kitchen and ordered him to sit at one of the prep tables. “What do you want?”
“I don't know. Whaddaya got?”
“Don't be fatuous. This is a commercial kitchen.”
“Okay, then.” He gave her a sunny smile. “I'll have two eggs over easy, three slices of bacon, and a couple pieces of wheat toast.”
She glared at him.
“Fry the eggs in butter, please.” He put his head down on the table and closed his eyes.
Jane was glad she wasn't standing near a chef's knife. While David slept, or rested, or whatever the hell he was doing, she prepared the meal. It smelled so good that she doubled the amount. She figured she might as well join him.
When she finally set the food on the prep table a few minutes later, he opened his eyes and sat up. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “This looks fabulous.”
“Jam?”
“What kind?”
“We don't do breakfasts, so it will have to be lingonberry. We use that for the pork roast.”
He turned up his nose.
Like, at this moment, she cared? “You'll love it.”
She'd also made some coffee. She brought two steaming mugs to the table and pulled up a stool. “So talk,” she said, taking a bite of bacon.
“Not now. Not yet. Let's just sit here the way we used to, just kinda let things flow.”
She stared deep into his bloodshot eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. She decided it was best not to push. “Okay.”
“For instance, how's everything going with that new woman in your life—can't remember her name.”
“Kenzie.”
“Right. The professor. You always went for the brainy type.”
“I did?”
“She pretty?”
“I think she's gorgeous. She isn't Hollywood beautiful, but she has a quality. I'm not sure how to describe it.”
“Try sexy.”
“Well there's that, yes.” She couldn't help but grin. “It's partly in the way she moves. She's athletic but not in the team sports way. She doesn't go to the gym. She rides horses. She's very lean and has long, incredible legs. But also, and I know this may sound hokey, but I love the way she thinks. Just wait, you'll meet her and then you'll get it.”
“You dykes and your mind loving. Hot sex is what it's all about. Take it from a fag who knows.”
Laughing, she said, “Right. That's why you've been with Diego all these years. It's just a sex thing.”
He wiped a napkin across his mouth. “Okay, okay. So I know what you mean about the mind stuff. But, you know, it's more than that. Diego … he has a beautiful soul.” He looked suddenly sad. “God, but I miss him.”
“Then why are you here? Why don't you fly back to Atlanta?”
“Because,” he said, pulling a leather flask out of his back pocket and setting it down next to his plate, “I've got to make sure your house is repaired properly. Can't leave in the middle of a mess I created now can I?”
They both knew he'd just skirted the question.
As David tucked back into his food, he added, “In case you're wondering, the floors in the kitchen, dining room, living room, and part of the back hallway all need to be replaced. I've sent your Orientals out to be washed. None of the furniture was damaged, except in the basement. Most of the water ended up down there. The carpeting in the rec room was removed today. I'd like to send the furniture to Goodwill and buy you something new.”
“You don't like my taste?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You call that
taste
? It looks like leftovers from a flophouse yard sale.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“If you'll let me, I'd like to redesign that entire section of the basement. The laundry room is fine, and so is the storage and furnace room, but, in my humble opinion, the rec room was a disaster before I came along and trashed it.”
“I really don't know what to say, David. I could have contacted my insurance company.”
“It's on me, babe. The least I can do.”
“How long will it take?”
“A week to ten days, give or take.”
“Seriously? That's all?”
“If I stay, I can ride herd on the contractors I've hired. That way, I know it will get done quickly and right.”
“Okay, then think about this.” Since they'd been discussing Kenzie, and because Jane was officially supposed to be on vacation and was dying to see her, an idea struck her. “Let's fly down to Nebraska on Saturday.”
“Are you kidding?”
She quickly explained about the small plane her father had bought last fall.
“And you can fly it?” said David, taking a sip of coffee.
“Got my pilot's license months ago.”
He seemed to hesitate. “What about Joanna? We can't just leave her in the lurch.”
“Nolan's got it covered. I know I said I'd help, and I will, but how often do you make it up here? We'd only be gone one night.”
Screwing off the flask's cap, he took a couple of swallows. “I don't know.”
“Come on, David. Don't you want to meet her?”
“Well, sure. But—”
“Then let's do it. I'll make all the arrangements.”
He still hesitated. “What if she doesn't like me?”
“Impossible.”
“Yeah, I
am
pretty wonderful.”
She balled up her napkin and threw it at him.
“Oh, all right. As long as you outfit me with a good parachute and lots of Dramamine.”
“Believe it or not, I'm a good pilot.”
“Sounds like you. You don't do things halfway.” He tipped the flask back and took another couple of hits. “You want some?”
“No. And I think you should slow down.”
He picked up his fork, then put it back down. “Jane, I just … I can't do it.”
“Go to Nebraska?”
“No. I can't … I mean I don't—” His food was only half eaten, but he pushed the plate away. Pressing a fist against his mouth, he gave himself a couple of seconds, then said, “Look, I got a lot of stuff going on in my head right now, you know?”

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