The Beautiful People (22 page)

            “When?” Then
after a long pause, “Shit!” Another pause. “No, I’ll tell her.” He hung up the
phone and continued to sit there for a few minutes with his back to me. The
silence was killing me.

            “Dom, what
is it?”

            “I don’t
know how to tell you this…”

            “Tell me
what? Is Grant okay?”

            “Yes,
Grant’s fine. It’s Brittany,” he turned to face me and grab my hand. “She’s
dead.”

            “What!” I
pulled my hand away from his and sat up. “How…what…when did she die?”

            “She hung
herself. Grant went by to check on her this afternoon after nobody had seen or
heard from her in a few days.” I sat in stunned silence. Just hours ago I had
made the decision to live; maybe right around the same time Brittany had
decided to die.

            “Oh my God,”
I choked out as grief consumed me. Dom moved over to sit behind me and I leaned
back against him. He let me cry.

It was a long, quiet
ride back to the city. Dom held my hand as he steered with the other and let me
be. A million thoughts were competing for attention in my head and I had to
sort through them to try to make sense of Brittany’s death.
Why didn’t she
ask me for help? Hadn’t I done enough to reach out to her? Didn’t she know that
things would get better?
I should have never let her move out of the condo
when clearly she wasn’t ready to live alone.
Did I betray her by beginning
to move forward without her?

As we crossed the Walt
Whitman Bridge and the skyline loomed ahead, Dom broke the silence. “Baby, how
are you doing over there?” He massaged the side of my hand with his thumb when
he asked.  

            “I’m just
trying to make sense of it, you know? Why would she do that? She had options. I
should have made more of an effort to be there for her.”

            “Nat, this
is not your fault, please do not blame yourself. Brittany had a lot of issues
before…well, you know. Her coping skills weren’t there.”

            “Yeah, but
I should have known something was wrong when she didn’t return my calls.”

            “Babe,
maybe she needed some distance. You know, to sort things out.”

            “Yeah, she
sorted things out alright.” For some inexplicable reason I was angry at
Brittany. I had heard people say that suicide is a selfish act, now I
understood. What Brittany did was selfish and left me feeling guilty for being
able to pick up the pieces of my life. Of course, I wasn’t gang raped at
gunpoint, so I shouldn’t be angry. This shitstorm of emotions sent me into
silence again. Dom left me alone as he concentrated on navigating through the
inner city traffic.

When we pulled up in
front of our building I was surprised to see a familiar sedan sitting in the
visitor parking area. The FBI was back. I hadn’t seen them tailing me since our
initial encounter, so I assumed that I was no longer of interest. Yet, there
they sat.
Fabulous.
The dark cloud that had been looming over my head
grew darker. Dominic felt me tense up.

            “What is
it?”

            “See that
sedan over there?” I tilted my chin in the right direction.

            “Yeah.”

            “My FBI
friends are back.”

            “Hmm.
That’s interesting.”

            “More like
annoying. I hate being watched.” The valet opened the door for me and as I
stepped out I waved at the occupants in the sedan and then walked through the
lobby doors.

I leaned my head
against the elevator wall and closed my eyes. I was exhausted. We had been
going non-stop since Dom received the call about Brittany, immediately packing
up our belongings and checking out of the hotel. Dominic was busy talking to
Grant on his cell phone and getting the latest details about Brittany’s death.
I tuned him out, not able to hear anymore.

The next few days
passed in a daze. I was actually looking forward to going to work, just to be
busy. I hadn’t been to Crimson since Brittany’s death and should have known
that work was not going to take my mind off of it. Everyone was sullen and
Allegra kept bursting into tears and running for the employee lounge. Not many
people knew about what Brittany and I had been through and rumors were flying
around about why she did it. Many thought she had just gone off the deep end
and the party lifestyle got the best of her. Others speculated that this was a
hit disguised as a suicide. Please! Even I knew that a mob hit was made to look
like a hit every time – that was part of the message.

I mainly kept to myself
and Grant, Dominic and Miranda were quick to shelter me. Miranda had me on the
schedule to work the gun check for the next two weeks. Less interaction with my
co-workers would be good. There were too many reminders of Brittany in the main
part of the club, being sequestered into gun check was a blessing.

The funeral was held on
a Tuesday, a week and two days after Brittany was discovered hanging from the
ceiling fan in her living room. The coroner said that had Brittany weighed
fifteen pounds more, the ceiling fan wouldn’t have been able to support her.
Despite suicide being considered a sin and the fact that Brittany was raised
Roman Catholic, the funeral was still held at the Saint Monica’s Church in
South Philly. The church was a colossal, stone structure that dominated the
corner it was built on. Brittany’s mother, a single mom like mine, sat in the
front and was consumed with grief. Family and friends filled the first ten pews
and even with the hundred or so that had gathered, the church seemed empty.

The priest began the
service and his voice echoed off the walls, bouncing around the vaulted
ceilings. Several people went up to read and speak about Brittany. They touched
on her zest for living and how tragic her death was. How could someone so full of
life and energy take such drastic measures to end it so suddenly? I knew the
answer.

I wept openly and
Dominic kept his arm wrapped around my shoulders through the service. I managed
to glance around the audience and was stunned to see Marco sitting in the back.
He had some nerve showing his face here.

            “…let’s
hope that this free spirit, who felt trapped here on Earth, has finally found
her freedom and most importantly, she has found Peace,” the priest spoke his
closing sentence.

After the service, the
funeral procession drove to Woodlands Cemetery where Brittany was to be laid to
rest. Dominic and I followed Grant and Miranda to the cemetery. The early
October day was bright and sunny and it seemed odd to be attending a funeral on
such a nice day. Wasn’t it supposed to be raining and dreary?

            “I can’t
believe Marco was there,” I blurted out.

            “At the
funeral?” Dom asked, trying to make sense of my random statement.

            “Yeah, if
anyone is responsible for Brit’s death, it’s him,” I spat out bitterly. “He let
her get abused and raped; he in no way made any attempt to intervene!”

            “You’re
right, he let it happen. Maybe he was trying to make amends. That whole
Catholic guilt thing is hard to shake.”

            “Don’t make
excuses for him. It was disrespectful for him to show up today,” I snapped.

            “He
couldn’t not show up, Nat, Brit was an employee of Crimson and therefore Marco’s
employee. He needed to be there.” I crossed my arms in front of me and sulked
the rest of the way. That would explain Marco’s presence at the funeral. He was
just keeping up appearances – being a concerned former boss. I was still pissed
that he had shown up.

To add insult to injury
when we arrived at the cemetery and made our way over to the plot, I saw Marco
standing off to the side. He didn’t have to attend the burial service too. Didn’t
he know enough was enough? I was incensed; he had gone too far. I broke free of
Dom’s hand and stormed towards Marco. He saw me coming and pretended to ignore
me.

When I reached him I
grabbed his arm and yanked him to face me. “You have got some nerve showing up
here,” I hissed.

            “Remember
who you’re talking to Ms. Ross.” His cold, dark eyes seared into mine.

            “You’re
responsible for Brittany’s death and I hope that haunts you until you die.”

            “Brittany
was expendable. I’ll find another whore to replace her in no time. Are you
interested in the position?” He cocked his eyebrow and smirked.

Without thinking I
slapped him. All the rage, hurt and fear I had felt since my assault gathered
behind my hand and he actually flinched. I reached back to strike again and was
stopped. Dominic had caught up to me and held me back. Grant stood beside me
and Marco addressed him.

            “You better
get your sister under control Grant. I’ll let it slide this time, but the next
time she tries
anything
like this again…” He didn’t have to complete the
sentence to convey his message. He turned and walked off towards his black
Cadillac. Dominic continued to hold me back until his uncle was inside the car.
I was trembling with the adrenaline surge - it had felt so good to slap that
son of a bitch.

            “Natalie,
what the hell were you thinking?” Grant demanded.

            “He had no
business being here. Brittany needs to be left in peace.”

            “Nat, that
was not a smart move,” Dom chimed in on Grant’s side.

            “I’m not
sorry. He deserves many more slaps.”

            “Please Nat,
don’t push it with my uncle. You know how dangerous he is.”

            “Fine,” I
agreed. The rational part of me was returning as the adrenaline surge quieted
down and I realized how lucky I was that Marco let me off easy. I turned and
spotted Miranda on the edge of the crowd watching us nervously. No one else
seemed aware of the exchange. We walked back together to join her. When
Brittany was lowered into the ground, except for the sounds of grief, the
cemetery was quiet as if nature paused to pay its respects too.

Dominic and I attended
the small gathering at Brittany’s mother’s home. She lived in a small row home
on Fitzwater St. The home was too small for all of the casseroles, lasagnas,
stuffed shells, cookies and pound cakes let alone the fifty or so people
stuffed into the living room and dining room. I made my way through the crowd
to pay my condolences to Brittany’s mother. She sat on a faded blue loveseat
and looked up at me with red, puffy eyes.

            “Do I know
you, dear?” she asked, trying to recognize my face.

            “No - we
never met. I worked with Brittany at Crimson. My name’s Natalie.” I held out my
hand.

            “Oh, you’re
Natalie!” she exclaimed and her eyes started to tear up again. I hadn’t
expected this reaction. “Brit mentioned you in her – in her suicide note,” she
said the last part softly as if the words themselves inflicted physical pain.

            “She did?”
I asked my eyebrows lifted with surprise.

            “Yes. Here
sit down, dear.” She gestured for me to sit next to her and took my hand in
hers. She was as small as Brittany, but more frail with her graying hair and
deep creases framing her mouth. I eased down onto the cushion next to her. “She
didn’t say much, her note said – ‘please tell Natalie that I’m sorry’ and that
was it. Do you know what she meant by that?”

I lowered my head and
tried to compose myself before looking back at the grief-stricken woman. “I
think so. I tried to help her through a rough patch recently. But, she shut me
out over a week ago,” I responded with a half answer. It was close enough to
the truth.

            “Oh,”
Brit’s mom looked slightly disappointed as if she was banking on me to tell her
why her daughter had ended her own life. I wanted to tell her the truth about
her daughter’s rape, but it would be cruel to burden this woman further with
more turmoil, plus it was too dangerous to reveal.

            “I am so
sorry for your loss. I only knew Brittany briefly, but long enough to know how
special she was.” I hugged Brittany’s mom and she clung to me, sobbing heavily
against my shoulder. I held her until she was ready to pull away, handing her a
tissue from a box on the coffee table in front of us.

            “Thank
you,” she sniffed as she dabbed her eyes. “And thank you for your kind words.
Brittany may have been a handful at times, but her fearlessness is what I loved
the most about her.”

            “Brit will
be missed,” I added as I stood up. Someone else was waiting to pay their
respects.

Dominic was standing
across the room talking to a couple of waitresses from Crimson; his eyes met
mine as I crossed the room.

            “Ready to
go?” I asked when I finally reached him.

            “Ready when
you are.”

I held his hand as he
led us through the cramped room and I welcomed the fresh air when we stepped
out on to the front stoop. I hadn’t realized how claustrophobic the small home
was. I needed a drink, badly, but refused to give into the craving. If I was
going to get through this, I needed to be sober.