Not Without You (40 page)

All I wanted was someone to come, someone to help me. A friend. But no one came. So then it became a blur, and by the time they put the pads on my temples I almost welcomed it. I was mad by then. I was three people, me, Rose me, Eve me. Which one was I? I knew what they were doing, and I hoped that perhaps it would stop everything, make it clearer which was which. Because there was no one else around, no one. And that’s when I realised I had to help myself. And as I tried to remember the things that hadn’t been shocked out of me, I remembered the panel at the back of the wardrobe.

The electric shocks left burn marks where the electrodes had been. There was one every day, but I don’t know how many days. Still today, when I touch my temples, I can feel the memory of it, the bone moving under the singed skin.

Two months after the night of the Oscars, it was mid-June, and they told me I could come out of the clinic, and go home. It happened because people stopped taking notice of me, because I stopped screaming and drawing attention to myself, and other people arrived who were screaming, and I finally got my head back enough to remember what I’d learned before: if you just make no noise and fade into the background then you’re not a threat any more. I should have remembered earlier. Perhaps I wasn’t the actress I thought I’d been.

A car came to pick me up, and I didn’t know who the driver was, or where it was from, but I got in it anyway, because I knew if I didn’t they might change their minds and I’d been waiting for him now for two days. I was slow at walking – I was still sore from my baby’s birth. And the burns made me confused; the sunlight was unexpected. The gates were painted black, very ornate, higher than the tallest ladder. There were palm trees lining the drive. A lady in a white hat was crossing the lawn behind me as we drove away, pushing a man in a wheelchair. She jabbed him sharply on the shoulder, and he sat upright as she said something to him. Yes, I was right, the ocean was below us, and we were high up.

The driver was friendly, I thought. He smiled at me, but I didn’t know if I could trust him or not so I stayed hunched in the back. I didn’t ask him where we were going. But he took me home. We sat in the drive and I looked at my house, at the blue shutters and the creeping jasmine.

‘Here you are,’ he said.

I didn’t know what came next and I sat there, biting my fingers, while I tried to think.

‘Could you wait here five minutes, please?’ And I got out and went inside.

I knew Victoria of course, but she stared at me as though she didn’t know who I was. Perhaps it was my hair; it had been shaved off at one point so I wouldn’t pull at it, and now it was short and tufty like a boy’s. She stared and then she cried. But though I didn’t remember much, I remembered she had turned away and left me with Gilbert, the night I lost the baby. Her tears were crocodile’s. It was strange, being back there. The house smelled different: flowers of summer out everywhere, a different kind of cleaning polish perhaps. I didn’t know what it was. Anyway, I didn’t have time.

I’d been keeping a list in a special code since they told me two days before that I was going home again. My actress’s brain could remember scripts, still, no matter what was done to it, and I clung to that tiny bit of evidence that I might be able to save myself. I had memorised where everything was in my room. Nothing had changed. The clothes were beautifully pressed and evenly spaced out. The crystal scent bottles and my hairbrush set were polished and sparkling as if I might use them at any time. I didn’t stop to look, though; I murmured the list under my breath, methodically putting the items I’d planned into a bag. Then I reached into the back of the wardrobe, where the wood came away from the beam holding it together. I took out the two letters from England, and I reread them. I understood now. Then I took out the purse. I’d stuffed it with money over the years, at first just dollar bills in case I ever needed change, then lately bigger notes that I’d saved up and exchanged, at the studio, at the bar, at a gas station.
Do you have a fifty for this change? I’ve got so many darned bills it’s driving me crazy! Oh, thank you, thank you so much.
I knew I had to have something kept by. That went in the top and then I came back out again.

‘Miss – where you going?’

I had the scarf tied over my head, the big sunny sunglasses that made me look like Eve. Who was Eve now, though? I smiled at Victoria. ‘Mr Travers wants to take me to lunch.’ I raised the bag. ‘I have to bring him a couple of things. I’ll see you later, Victoria.’

She looked nervously at me, and her eyes had tears in them. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss Eve.’

I couldn’t talk about the baby, not think about it, not think about it at all, otherwise I would lose myself completely. I thought about the sea, the horizon, the sky.

‘Thank you. I’ll see you later, Victoria.’ I repeated it like a parrot.

She stepped forward, her pretty face full of concern. ‘Oh, Miss Eve—’

‘That’s not me any more,’ I said, loudly, in case anyone else was listening, and I swung the bag into the car. The driver was still there. I shut my eyes tight tight tight tight as we left the house. I didn’t want to have any last sight of it, I didn’t ever want to see it again.

‘Just drive around for a while, would you?’ I called tentatively into the front.

As we went down the winding roads and then onto Hollywood Boulevard, I looked out about me. There was Grauman’s Chinese Theater, where my handprints were preserved for ever, next to Joan Crawford’s: ‘
Luck and love, Eve Noel x
’. There were the stars on the pavements. My star was somewhere, I think outside a pizzeria. There were tourists peering at the ground, their huge cameras around their necks, families laughing in the sun. They couldn’t see me. A little boy shuddered in excitement and opened his hands, then watched in slow-motion display as his ice-cream cone fell on to the ground,
splat
, like Tom and Jerry. His mouth opened wide and he screamed. I was glad I couldn’t hear it. The car kept on going.

After a while, I said, ‘We’re going to the airport, please.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the driver said.

I saw him as his eyes snagged on mine in the mirror.

‘Who paid you to collect me?’ I asked him. ‘Who do you work for?’

He hesitated. ‘I work for Monumental Pictures, Miss Noel. I drove you a few times for
Lanterns Over Mandalay
. You won’t remember.’

I shook my head; I couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember anything much about it, even what happened in it. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been away and my memory is not good any more. What’s your name?’

‘My name’s Jack, Miss Noel.’

‘Who’s the – what did they want you to do with me?’ I asked curiously. ‘They sent you to pick me up?’

‘Yes, ma’am. To take you home. Make sure you got home. Not take you anywhere else.’

‘Oh,’ I said. We were heading towards the freeway, the afternoon sun hanging yellow over Venice Beach. ‘So – why are you doing this for me, then?’

There was a long silence.

‘Because …’ Jack paused. He looked in the mirror and I met his eye for the first time. He glanced at me for a fleeting second, then back to the road. ‘I like your films,’ he said. ‘My wife and I, you see … First time I ever laid eyes on her was outside the movie palace, waiting to go in to
Helen of Troy
. We was set up on a blind date. And we ended up seeing that film four times!’ He laughed.

I laughed too. ‘Even I haven’t seen it four times.’

‘Well, it’s worth it, I tell you. Alice loves you, Miss Noel.
A Girl Named Rose
– well, she says it’s just a crying shame you didn’t win that Academy Award. And … well, we’ve been worried about you. You know, I knew you was having that baby … we knew you was having a tough time. You hear things on the studio lot, rumours, you know. And you can’t trust people these days.’

I didn’t say anything, just gave a tiny nod.

‘But I didn’t believe it. Me and Alice, we always thought you were the best. We always said if we had a daughter, we’d call her Helen! And we did!’

‘Really?’ I smiled. ‘How old is she?’

‘She’s two, Miss Noel.’

He cleared his throat, as though he was suddenly embarrassed, and then he said, ‘When I was driving you, you were real nice. Polite. You always said, “Good morning, Jack”, “Good afternoon, Jack”, “Thank you very much”. A lot of stars … they treat you like dirt. Make you feel like you’re beneath them. So when they asked me to come today, I reckoned – if I can help her in any way, I will. After all, she helped me to find Alice. So that’s what it is.’

I met his glance in the mirror. At last, a friend was here, someone to help me, and I didn’t even know him.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Well, we’re nearly there, miss. What you going to do when you get to the airport? Got a flight going somewhere exciting?’

My fingers stroked the roll of bills in my bag. ‘I’ll wait for one,’ I said. ‘I’m leaving today, no matter what happens.’

Jack didn’t question me beyond saying, ‘Where will you go?’

‘I’m going home,’ I said. I clutched the bag close to me. ‘And I’m never coming back here.’

We were almost at the ocean. I could see the Santa Monica Pier, the ferris wheel, the sandy beach, and then the horizon, blank and empty and waiting for me.

‘HOW DID YOU know?’ Rose asks.

We are in the dark, warm kitchen, a kettle boiling on the hob. The room is tidy and clean but decrepit: damp on the walls, and ivy inside the windows. I stare at the two women standing in front of me.

How did I know?
There’s no simple answer. Just that something has been propelling me here, pushing me towards the two of them and their secret.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. I look at Eve. ‘I’ve always been interested in you. Because we come from the same part of the world, and I live – I live in your house.’

‘You live where?’

‘In your old house. In Los Angeles. Casa Benita.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She watches me, still as an owl, and suddenly I see that her dark eyes are swimming with tears. I feel like a fraud, an imposter. I have to make them trust me. I can’t hurt her.

‘I don’t know why I put two and two together. I’ve been wondering more and more about you the last few months. I love everything you’ve been in – it’s so cheesy but it’s true, I really do. You were interested in meeting us, then changed your mind. And it sounds crazy but when we came before, I could feel there was someone else, close by. It suddenly came into my head, on the way here today. Eve, Rose … There might be two of you.’

‘You were right about that day.’ Rose appraises me frankly. ‘I was in the next room. I wanted you to come in.’

‘You did?’ I glance from one sister to the other, trying to work out the role each plays here. Eve steps behind her, concealing her face, but Rose moves away and says, almost impatiently, ‘I was the one who rang Melanie Hexham. I wanted Eve to do the film, you see. Melanie has never met her, so she doesn’t know her voice on the phone. It’s been so long now.’ I watch Eve, to see how she is reacting. She’s staring at her sister’s back, eyes on the fabric of her black dress, as if she’s somewhere else entirely, head in another place. My heart twists with sadness. I can’t believe it’s her.

‘I’ve always wondered what happened to you,’ I say, raising my voice slightly and addressing her. ‘You know, plenty of people do.’

‘Do they?’ Rose asks. ‘I’m never sure. We hear very little, tucked away here. We have the radio, and an ancient television, though we don’t watch anything but old films on it. Really we’ve been here now so long, sometimes …’ She falters, then gathers herself with a smile. ‘It’s hard to imagine what the rest of the world is like.’

The kettle screeches into the quiet house. Eve starts bustling around purposefully with cups and teabags. I shift on my seat, looking at them both. There’s so much I want to know. Why are they here? Who else knows? What do they do? What will they tell me?

‘Can I ask you a question?’ I say. ‘Does anyone else know you’re here?’

‘Only one other person,’ Rose says. She looks at her sister, then at me. ‘Just one.’

‘Who?’ But they both shake their heads instantly. I try another tack, all the time thinking of Jimmy and Gavin outside, ready to come in and whisk me away.

‘But – who … How – do you go to the shops? Go out together?’

‘We take it in turns. No one can tell the difference. People don’t look at little old ladies,’ Eve says. ‘We wear the same clothes, we look so similar, our hair. Easy for me to pretend to be her, you see. We use the bank account in Rose’s name, all the bills are in Rose’s name.’ She chews the inside of her mouth, as if she’s having difficulty explaining, remembering it all. ‘Apart from my royalty cheques and I transfer them straight into Rose’s account. They pay for everything. Every time they show
A Girl Named Rose
on the television, or re-release the DVD, I receive a residual payment. I do for all of my films,’ she adds. ‘Of course. But that one is the one that keeps us afloat.’

‘More than afloat,’ says Rose. ‘If it weren’t for that film things would be very tight.’

‘It’s my favourite film,’ I say, almost shyly. ‘You must hear that all the time. I’ve seen it about a hundred times. It’s just wonderful.’

Eve inclines her head slightly, her intelligent dark eyes resting on me. ‘I don’t hear that, not any more.’ She gives me a faraway smile. ‘It is a wonderful film. I was very happy, you know, when I made it.’

‘Were you in love with Conrad Joyce?’ I ask impetuously. She’s here, in front of me, and I have to ask her. I’ve always wondered. ‘Is that why you were so sad? Because he killed himself?’

But she bats me away with her hand and her eyes cloud over and she’s vague, uncertain again. ‘Oh, no,’ she says. ‘He was a fairy. He liked boys. I loved him, but then … then he betrayed us.’ She shakes her head. ‘You know, I can’t quite recall it all, but I think I killed him really. As sure as if I’d pulled the trigger.’ She looks up at her sister. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

Rose frowns. ‘That’s what you told me. But you didn’t kill him, dearest. He killed himself.’