Stars Screaming (35 page)

“For a while I didn’t answer. It felt strange to be holding a girl that age and talking about her body. Finally, she started to giggle. ‘That’s okay. I know my body’s pretty,’ she said. ‘You know why? Because my daddy tells me it is. Every night at home he comes into my room and rubs lotion all over me and tells me how soft my skin is. But his skin is not as soft as mine, and sometimes he tickles me too hard. I don’t like his whiskers either, especially on my bottom, and sometimes he whispers things that scare me.

“’One time my mom came in while he was rubbing me and she told him to stop. She said it in a really mean voice. He said I was as much his as hers, and they started shouting at each other. After school the next day she asked me if I wanted to meet Mickey Mouse. I said yes and we drove to the airport.’”

Burk closes his eyes and lets his forehead rest on the edge of the steering wheel. He feels Loretta take his hand and squeeze it in a familiar way as she slides across the seat. In silence he thinks about that Sunday, the shock of the little girl’s story and his clenched teeth at the end. Just before he speaks again, Loretta slips her arm around his shoulder and kisses him tenderly on the cheek.

He says, “The Philadelphia Phillies checked in later that morning. Usually the baseball and football teams stayed downtown, at the Biltmore, to be closer to the Coliseum where the games were played. But a convention of dentists had reserved all the rooms that weekend. We were filled too, mostly with foreign tourists and families. The Hollywood types stopped coming in the early fifties, except for Walter Winchell. He always stayed at the hotel for three weeks every
summer. He was there that Sunday, sitting in front of his cabana in his street clothes. I remember he was interviewing Coleen Gray.”

Loretta says, “Coleen Gray. I remember her. She was the girl John Wayne lets get away in the beginning of
Red River
.”

“She was a has-been in 1960. Either Winchell was screwing her or pumping her for gossip, or both. There was another actor in the pool that day,” Burk says. “The blond guy you liked in
Sometimes a Great Notion
.”

“Richard Jaeckel.”

“He was doing some bullshit teenage picture.
Platinum High School
or something. When I noticed him, that’s when I saw my mom. She was directly behind him, sitting with a couple of the Phillies. I recognized her voice first, then her smile. Her hair was different, though. It was cut short and dyed a dark red.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“No. Her eyes passed right over my face.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“Just watched her. She seemed to know all the players, but she was especially friendly to this older guy. I think he was the pitching coach. She was wearing his cap tilted back with the bill snapped up. Boy, it was really weird, Loretta, seeing your mom like that with a bunch of men. Seeing her, but her not seeing you.”

“How long had it been?”

“Four years.”

“You probably looked a lot different. Why didn’t you just go over and say something?”

Burk shakes his head. He is frowning. Telling the story makes him feel helpless. “She was with these guys,” he says. “Don’t you get it? A bunch of ballplayers. I saw what was going on. She wasn’t there to see me. That night I told Gene. He didn’t believe me. He said I was fucking crazy. Then I showed him the last postcard she sent us. It was from Bradenton, Florida, where the Phillies go to spring training.
It was postmarked the second of March. He still didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you, Ray.”

“I was off on Mondays,” Burk says. “On Tuesday and Wednesday the Phillies played the Dodgers in day games, and they checked out before their game on Thursday night. My mother never showed up by the pool again, and she wasn’t registered at the hotel because I checked. Under her real name, anyway. Just that one Sunday she was there, on the deck, drinking rum drinks and playing kneesies with that old man. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it,” Burk says, staring meditatively through the windshield. Then he starts the engine. “That was the last time I saw my mom, Loretta. Okay? End of story.”

Loretta says, “What about the blind girl? What happened to her?”

“I gave her two more lessons. By Friday she could do a width of the pool without my help. Before she left the following Sunday, her mother came down to the pool and gave me a fifty-dollar tip. She was wearing a Disneyland T-shirt. I asked her if Eden got to see Mickey Mouse. She said, ‘No, Eden can’t see. But she gave him a hug and he let her feel his ears. She said they were as soft as silk.’”

Nineteen

And the Stars Will Make You Blind

April 14
,
1983

Sandra Burk died in Los Angeles with puke and blood crusted around her lips in April 1983 in the middle of a cold rainy spring. For the last four years of her troubled life—a life that confounded Burk and was the source of endless guilt—she lived alone in a tiny apartment above a garage in West Hollywood. This property and several others in the predominantly gay neighborhood were owned by Eddie Cornell, Gene’s partner for one year back in the mid-sixties, when they worked undercover vice out of the Hollywood division.

“She drank herself to death,” Gene told Burk on the morning that her body was discovered. “At least that’s what Eddie thinks. He said there was no sign of any violence, just her cats and an empty half-gallon of cheap vodka. The coroner said she probably had been dead for three days.”

Burk was silent. He had the sensation of feeling both furious and relieved at the same time. When he was able to trust his voice he said, “This is hard to take in, all of a sudden.”

“I know. You’re in shock,” Gene said. He waited a moment. Then he brought up the question of funeral arrangements.

“I want her cremated,” Burk said. “I think she’d prefer that. I don’t know why, exactly. But I just do.” There was another silence, in which Burk could feel his tears start to come. “I gotta call Louie.”

“Ray?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

After he hung up the phone, Burk thought back to the last time he and Louie had seen Sandra. It was in San Francisco, in the summer of 1975. Warner Brothers was sneaking
Take Me Home
at the Coronet Theatre on Geary, and she arrived unexpectedly with Eli Cook, a skinny guitar player she’d met at Serenity Knolls, an alcoholic rehabilitation center in Petaluma.

“I saw your name in the ad and screamed. I had to be here,” she told Burk, when she found him in the corner of the lobby, smoking nervously, surrounded by friends and a steady stream of well-wishers. Cook was standing behind her, looking slightly dazed and uncomfortable. “Where’s Louie?”

“Inside. He and Timmy are sitting together.”

“Timmy is Ray’s best friend. They went to high school together,” Sandra told Cook, who tossed his rock-star hair behind his shoulders before he stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

Sandra said quickly, “Eli loved
Pledging My Love.
”

“Yeah. Cool flick.” Cook nodded and smiled dumbly, retreating a step with his eyes half closed.

It was obvious to Burk that Cook was stoned out of his mind, probably on downs or some extra-strong grass. But Sandra was standing straight and clear-eyed, dressed in a man’s white shirt that was tucked into tight bell-bottom jeans. “Why don’t you grab a seat?” Burk suggested. “We’ll talk after the show.”

Sandra started to walk away. After a few steps she stopped and looked over her shoulder, weighing the question she was about to ask. “Is she here?”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend. The one you met on the airplane.”

“We’re getting married in November.”

Sandra made no reply to this as she stared at Burk, allowing a silence to develop that lasted for several seconds. Finally she took Cook by the elbow and walked him inside the theater.

Just before the lights went down, Burk found his seat next to Barbara Nichols in a small roped-off section on the side aisle. Two rows ahead he could see Louie’s head bobbing up and down as he bounced nervously in his seat between Timmy and his girlfriend, Juliet.

Barbara reached down and squeezed Burk’s hand. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

This would be the second time Burk had seen
Take Me Home
, the first with a paying audience. Earlier that month, at the screening for the cast and crew in Los Angeles, the response was enthusiastic, but he was still bothered by a long talky section in the second act where everything seemed to sag. “It’ll get decent reviews,” Burk told Barbara when he phoned her that night. “I don’t know about the box office.”

“Was Gene there?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he think?”

“He liked it.”

“Well?”

“Barbara, he’s my brother.”

For the sneak in San Francisco, there was a new song by the Beach Boys and several scenes were either shortened or edited out, clarifying the story and vastly improving the film’s overall pace. Also, the audience seemed looser and less judgmental, laughing in all the right places. And as far as Burk could tell, the people who did walk out came back after buying popcorn or using the rest room.

When the movie ended and the people around them were applauding loudly over the closing credits, Burk whispered to Barbara that Sandra was in the audience. Barbara’s face, which a split-second earlier was glowing with excitement, now took on a look of blank disbelief.

Burk said, “You wouldn’t have enjoyed the movie if I told you before it started.”

Barbara shook her head. She was smiling, but her face expressed disgust. “I cannot believe this.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell her to leave?”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t do that. Besides, I had no idea she would show up.”

“So now what happens?”

“Nothing. She wants to say hello to Louie. That’s all. It’ll take five minutes.”

“I don’t want any part of this.”

“Why don’t you just say hello.”

“Oh, please.” Barbara stood up. “Get a ride home from Timmy.” Burk reached for her arm as she tried to work her way toward the aisle. “Don’t,” she said, twisting away but not looking at his face. “Don’t touch me.”

Barbara’s car was not parked in the driveway when Burk arrived home that evening. On the table in the dining room was an envelope with his name printed on the front. The short note inside said:

Ray
,

The movie was sweet and funny and moving. You’re a wonderful writer. I’m sorry I bailed out
,
but I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Sandra. I don’t know why I despise her so much
,
but I do. Maybe it’s because of Louie
,
because I’ve grown so very attached to him and don’t want to see him hurt. I’m going down to Big Sur for the rest of the weekend. I need some time to myself. I still . . .

Love you
,

Barbara

Once Louie was asleep, Burk called Gene, and with the sound of panic still in his voice he told his brother what had happened after the screening.

“The movie played great, much better than when you saw it. Big laughs, big applause at the end. Louie was sitting with Tim and Juliet. He was really proud and excited. Before I could get to him, this publicist from Warner’s grabbed me. She needed some information for my bio. She said it would just take a minute.

“Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sandra pushing her way through the crowd, bumping people aside. There was this strange,

almost desperate look on her face. I knew something was wrong, but I thought Timmy could handle it.”

Gene said, “That was your mistake. Right there.”

“I know. I fucked up. Timmy went to get the car, leaving Juliet alone with Louie. That’s when Sandra came up from behind and put her hands over his eyes. Juliet assumed she was the mother of a classmate or one of Barbara’s friends. She didn’t realize who she was until Louie spun around and she saw the startled expression on his face.

“Sandra said she had a lot of things to tell him. She grabbed him by the wrist and started to lead him up the street. Juliet could sense something was off. She grabbed Louie’s other wrist. Now there was a tug of war in the middle of the sidewalk. Sandra was screaming and cursing, losing it, punching Juliet in the face with her fist.”

Gene said, “This is unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“And all the time you were talking to this publicist.”

“Hey, I didn’t know what was going on. I thought Timmy had it covered. I told you, I fucked up.”

“What happened? Go on.”

“The theater manager called the police. By the time I made it outside, Sandra was already in the backseat of a black-and-white with her feet up, raging like a lunatic, trying to kick out the rear window. She kept screaming, ‘Let me talk to my son! Let me talk to my son!’ I swear to God she was actually foaming at the mouth. Finally, when I said I’d bail her out, she started to calm down.”

“Forget about bail. They’re gonna put her on a seventy-two-hour psych hold. The whole thing is really sad, Ray.”

“I know.”

“Did Louie talk to her at all?”

“No.”

“What a drag,” Gene said. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For you, I guess. For the way things turned out.”

“Things turned out okay. Hey, I think I got a hit movie,” Burk said, laughing, trying to sound lighthearted and confident. But when Gene remained silent, Burk felt suddenly ridiculous, because he realized then that his brother had been speaking about his marriage to Sandra, really about
her
life, a life filled with furious suffering, a life that went all wrong.

After they hung up Burk stayed awake, smoking, not really thinking about anything as he stared at the shadows on the ceiling. In the hallway he heard Louie’s familiar footsteps before he saw him standing in the doorway, pulling at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. Same here,” Burk said, and found a cigarette and lit it.

“You should quit smoking, Dad.”

“I know.”

Louie came forward and Burk pulled him down on the bed next to him. As he caressed his son’s back and shoulders, he thought of the many times he’d woken from a terrifying dream, his heart racing, wanting to be held, to be comforted. And once more he relived a memory from his childhood.

It’s the middle of the night. He’s twelve, Louie’s age, and he’s standing outside his father’s room, dizzy and disoriented in the deep silence. The door is open slightly and there are two bodies sleeping underneath the blanket. He knows the woman is not his mother, because he can see the silver Speidel watchband and red polish on her nails. His mother’s nails were colorless and she never wore a watch.

He does not move, not even when he feels his brother standing behind him in the darkness. At some point the woman sits up and takes a sip from a glass by the bed. She never sees him, or, if she does, she shows no interest in his hate-filled face.

Louie’s voice, worried but soft, nudged Burk out of the past. “Do you think Mom will be okay? Will they hurt her?”

“No.”

“People in jail get beat up all the time.”

“She’ll be okay, Louie.”

“Will you get her out?”

“I’m gonna try,” Burk said, and he ground out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray in his lap.

“Try your best.”

Louie’s flight left New York’s Kennedy Airport at 8
A.M
., which put him into Los Angeles a little before noon, Pacific Daylight Time. That gave him an hour to kill before his father’s plane from Oakland touched down at one.

The plan was to meet downstairs at the baggage claim, rent a car, and drive directly to the Hillside Cemetery, where Gene would be waiting with the rabbi. The funeral for his mother was scheduled to begin at 2
P.M.
and, as far as Louie knew, they would be the only mourners at the gravesite.

The choice was his to keep things small. “I don’t want people there who didn’t really know her,” Louie told Burk when they spoke over the weekend. “Does that make sense?”

“Sure.”

“But if you want to bring Barbara you can.”

“She doesn’t want to come.”

“What about Timmy?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Let’s make it just family.”

“Fine.”

“Did you talk to Grandpa?”

“He’s not feeling so hot. I think it would be too much of a strain.”

“I feel really sad.”

“So do I.”

“But I can’t cry.”

“You will.”

“I want to. I just can’t yet.”