by Tess Little
“And she doesn’t leave their sides, not even to hunt. So she wastes away, turns a pale gray. Her skin grows lesions, like the male, as she watches over her eggs. That’s for around maybe half a year. And when they hatch, she blows them right out into the ocean. Shortly after that, or sometimes even while blowing the hatchlings free, she’ll float away from the den and stop breathing.”
The aquarium had grown oddly silent—perhaps it was closing time. Of course, with my countless hours of research, I already knew everything Monice was telling us. But listening to the fate of this gentle, vibrant creature, as her limbs danced before me, felt too poignant, too unfair.
I could see that Lillie was getting upset as well. I placed a hand on her shoulder. Squeezed.
“That’s just how it is,” Monice said gently. “That’s their natural life cycle. But you know, even without breeding, Persephone wouldn’t live much past the age of five, and that’s long for an octopus, really long. And because you, and your late father, have kindly donated her and the funds, we can look after Persephone. We can try to fertilize her eggs, and her DNA will live on. I think that’s kind of beautiful.”
Persephone inflated, deflated her siphon, from one side to the other.
* * *
—
“Lift your head, look over here.”
I was so cold.
“I said, lift your head.”
And my neck was aching. It was taking every ounce of energy to hold the position without trembling.
“Lift your head. Your head.” Richard raised his voice. “Come on, we’re all waiting.”
The first day of filming, there were only three lines to master, spoken while sitting at a bar. But on the second day I was immediately plunged into my most important scene. I knew the lines well: They had been my audition piece. It was the positioning, my interactions with the co-star, Tyler, that I kept getting wrong. I was sitting on the floor in my underwear when he walked into the scene, and as he began to speak, I needed to turn around—just so. This was the fourth take, and I could not get it right. It was impossible.
Richard had paused filming to position me exactly as he wanted.
“No, your chin, upward. Please, Elspeth, for god’s sake, listen.” He walked toward me, hissed into my face. “You can hear me? You can understand basic English? So follow the fucking instructions. Lift.”
My cheeks seared. My neck was aching.
He pinched my chin.
“Like this.”
Threw it upward.
“Can you feel?”
I did not dare answer him. Did not dare move.
“Can you feel? Like this.”
He pushed it back to its original position, then up. Repeated the action, again and again.
“Will you remember it this time?”
He threw my head back.
“Will you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Everyone watched. I knew what they were thinking. I had seen it in their eyes when I messed up the third take. I was the silly little girlfriend. Arm candy. I had no idea what I was doing. They asked themselves how I had won the role. They knew how I had won the role.
“Good girl,” said Richard, walking away. “Take it from the top.”
“Roll sound,” called someone.
“Rolling.” “Sound speeds.”
“Roll cameras.”
“Camera speeds.” “Rolling.”
“Action.”
I tried not to flinch at the clack of the slate.
Tyler slammed the door behind him. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I turned my head, sharp. Richard did not cut. I tried not to celebrate this success.
“I said”—Tyler grabbed my hair, pulled it back—“where the fuck have you been?”
“I was here, Brent, I—”
“Tell me the truth, Cassie. Don’t I deserve the truth?” He pulled my hair tighter. It was only supposed to be a stunt—we were meant to move in synchronization. Me before him so the pull would not hurt. But now he was tugging harder and the tears in my eyes were real. His spittle hit my face. “Answer me, slut.”
* * *
—
Our car turned from the aquarium directly into rush-hour traffic.
I wondered whether to turn on the radio—let it mask our silence as it had on the drive down—but my finger hesitated over the button. The verdict might have been read by now, and I had no idea whether it could warrant a flash bulletin, hit us without warning. Lillie and I could wait. Seek out the news from the privacy of her home.
“Persephone seemed content,” I said.
There was no response from Lillie, staring out the window, legs folded on the seat. I didn’t blame her. My comment was banal, entirely without basis. Who was I to say whether the octopus was content in captivity, with only death before it?
The car in front rolled to a standstill. I sighed. It was a dull stretch of the freeway—utility poles, grass strip. I pulled the sunglasses over my eyes. The world was blue again.
“He never should have kept her in the first place,” I said. Then bit my lip. “Sorry, I don’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Lillie said, looking straight ahead, to the road. “I always told him I hated seeing her imprisoned like that.”
Her chin was delicate and hard. This was, perhaps, the very first time I had heard her criticize Richard.
My gold bracelet graced her forearm, hung loose where it clung to my own. I had not noticed it earlier; she hadn’t asked to borrow it.
“Did he ever show you those videos of Persephone?” I asked.
“Which videos?”
“She used to escape,” I explained, “from the filter. She would unscrew the flap that covered it and slip through. Every night. Then she’d crawl back when she couldn’t breathe. We watched the videos. They’re such intelligent creatures.”
Lillie frowned. “He never told me that. He said she liked the tank. He said it was spacious.”
She reached for the gold band, ran a finger beneath it.
“Probably because he knew you’d have hated it,” I said.
“And then he would have had to give her away. I would’ve complained till he caved in.”
“He never could say no to you.”
“The ear-piercing,” said Lillie.
I shook my head, laughed. “The ear-piercing.”
The driver ahead rolled forward a few inches. I pulled up behind.
“And Dad filmed it?” Lillie asked. “Persephone escaping?”
I nodded.
“Of course he did,” she said.
I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
There was a pause, like Lillie was considering whether to say something. She did: “You know that email address Jerry gave you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you hear back? Who was it—a manager? A casting director?”
The traffic was finally flowing—we were off.
“Neither,” she said. “He’s on the faculty at USC. Before Dad—before everything, I was thinking about film school, and Jerry said he had a friend who could answer some questions. I didn’t really enjoy it, you know, the acting. It was talking to Dad about what he was doing, that’s what I liked more. I haven’t looked for any roles since Dominus.”
She paused. Then added, “I haven’t sent the email, not yet. But I’m going to.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lillie said, “Honey was telling me that—”
She stopped herself, perhaps embarrassed at having brought him up. Before the silence could suffocate us once more, I decided to take my chance.
“Do you understand why I was so concerned about your friendship with Honey? It wasn’t about him, it was—I wouldn’t have w
anted you to spend time with any of them.”
“Yeah,” she said, deliberately picking each word. “I get that, I do.” There was an air of something else—skepticism at my claim, I thought, until she added, “I think I wanted to ignore it because I didn’t want to recognize the possibility that he could have done it. When they arrested Tommo, I was so relieved. I don’t think I realized until then that I’d been holding my breath. The question was always there, at the back of my mind. I never really thought it was Honey, but the question was there.”
“Did you ever question me?”
“Never,” she said emphatically.
Until that moment, I hadn’t wanted to admit to myself that this question had been sitting, quietly unacknowledged, between us.
“I never knew,” I said, “that Honey was such a big part of your life, growing up.”
“You never wanted to hear about it,” said Lillie. “When I was younger, every time I spoke to you about Dad, about my visits to him, you stopped listening. I could see it in your face—you just didn’t want to know. So I learned to keep everything separate. I thought that was what you wanted?”
I let that stay unanswered.
Our half-truths and silences always seemed to lead back to Richard and me. The things I had never told our daughter, the lies, the cold silences that had taken their place. Would I have to explain everything eventually?
“I never knew you felt like that,” I told her. “I would never want you to have to hide things from me. But yes”—I took a turn off the freeway—“yes, you know, it probably was painful to hear about your father. And I’m sorry you were stifled by that.”
My words were more clipped and defensive than I had intended them to sound. I was falling back into that old role—chastising, hardening to cover the hurt.
This time it was Lillie who spoke before the opportunity slipped away.
“I lied to you,” she said.
It was quiet, I could have missed it. I waited for her to continue.
“I lied to you about Dad’s party.”
“I know,” I said. “Your father told me. He said you canceled because something had come up and that he’d asked you not to tell me, so that I wouldn’t cancel as well.”
“No,” she said. “I lied about ever going. I lied from the beginning. Some of it was true. It was true that I didn’t want to go to the party and see Honey and Dad back together again.”
“You said you needed my support.”
“I wanted to see you,” she said. “So I didn’t think there would be any harm. I wanted you to stay with me.”
“Lillie,” I said, “you never need a reason to ask me to visit. I would have come just to see you—I would have booked a ticket the minute you asked. In fact, I did. That’s what I did.”
“I didn’t know that. We weren’t talking much. I thought you disapproved of me moving. I mean”—she narrowed her eyes—“you never told me about Julian.”
“Sure, I didn’t think moving was the best idea. I thought you were too young. That’s not why we lost touch, though. I didn’t want to intrude on your independence. And you always seemed so busy when I called.”
“You moved when you were my age.”
So we were back to our old arguments.
“Yes,” I stressed. “And that’s exactly why I thought you were too young. But,” I said slowly, reeling us back from the precipice, “I’ll admit I was wrong. You’ve been doing well since you moved.”
“None of that matters anymore,” she said, empty.
I thought of the verdict, the news awaiting us at her house.
“Well, I would have come to stay, party or not. But is that the only reason you lied?”
Lillie studied her hands. “Dad and I were arguing about Honey,” she explained. “I didn’t like that they were back together, and I didn’t understand why Dad had forgiven him. I guess I was being protective. I said I wouldn’t put up with it. I wasn’t going to be civil to Honey and pretend everything was fine at Dad’s party, because it wasn’t. Dad got really upset. He said he was heartbroken, but he understood.
“And”—she took a deep breath, then continued—“and he told me he was also disappointed because he was hoping I would bring you. He had this idea of a big reconciliation. So he asked if I could persuade you to attend anyway. It would be a birthday present from me to him, and that’s all he wanted—to apologize to you. To reconcile with you. I always wanted you two to get along. I felt terrible about lying to you, but Dad said you would forgive me because you’d have a good time and you’d see your old friends.
“Still, though, I couldn’t get rid of that guilt and, you know, after I picked you up from the airport that day, I called Dad to tell him I would come along. Lying to you, missing the party, just because of an argument between Honey and Dad that was now resolved—it felt petty and ridiculous and I regretted all of it. But Dad said I couldn’t. He was so weird about it. He refused. He said it was too late—he’d planned out everything for the people who were coming, and he couldn’t fit in anyone else. I wish I hadn’t listened to him. Who knows what would have happened if I’d been there that night?” She looked up at me. “I’m sorry, though, Mom. I am. I know I shouldn’t have lied.”
“I understand,” I said, although in that instant I didn’t wholly. It was difficult to untangle everything—to fit her explanation to Richard’s lies. But I was certain of one thing: This was all my ex-husband’s fault. Lillie could not be blamed for her father’s manipulation. It broke my heart to think of the guilt he had piled upon her—making her responsible for our reconciliation. And now this guilt too.
“All this time, you’ve been carrying that around, haven’t you?” I said. “But if you had gone to the party, your father would have probably turned you away. Come on, you know that. You know how stubborn he can—he could be. I know it’s easier said than done, but you cannot blame yourself.”
Lillie didn’t answer, so I said, “The ear-piercing?”
And then she smiled—a little distant, a little sad, but it was there. “The ear-piercing.”
She hugged her knees to her chest, rested her chin on them.
“Hey, Mom,” Lillie said after a while. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
And it should have been a beautiful moment, but that was the ugly paradox I had constructed for myself. The more honesty between us, the bigger my lies. The closer we grew, the further I felt. The more I realized I would need to tell Lillie the truth about her father, the more certain I became that I could not.
And onward we drove—to the house, to the verdict.
* * *
—
I whimpered.
Tyler let go. I rubbed my scalp without thinking, realized a moment too late. But that was fine, that was realistic. I went on with the scene. Lifted my head, slow. Watched him circle the room.
“I’ve been hearing stories about you from the guys at the club. They say—”
“It’s not true, Brent.” I knelt up, like Richard had told me. Held on to Tyler’s leg.
He kicked me down. That was not in the script, not in the walkthrough. My head smacked the floor. I tried to sit up again. His boot on my chest. The cameras were rolling.
“You’ll listen when I’m talking.”
I had a line to speak, but I was struggling with the pressure from his boot. I choked out a sound. What was happening? Where was Richard? Why had nobody stopped the cameras?
Tyler removed his boot. Paced the room again. I sat up, gasped for air. Followed his movements with fear in my eyes.
“Carl told me,” he said. “He told me, and I couldn’t believe it. Because why would you do that to me? It wouldn’t make sense. None of it. Doesn’t fucking make sense.”
He hit his fist against the sink. Shook his head. Looked at me in the mir
ror. Looked away.
“Fuck,” he said. There were tears in his eyes. “Why the fuck did you have to go and do that?”
He hung his head. Shoulders shuddering with the sobs.
And then a sniff: That was my cue. I pushed myself up from the floor and moved slowly toward him.
“Brent,” I said softly. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Please, baby—”
He whipped his body around, grabbed me by the wrists.
“No,” Tyler roared. He trembled with fury, neck veins throbbing. “No. You listen to me. Listen to me.”
He threw me onto the bed.
“You think I’m fucking around?” He pulled out his prop pistol. “Does it look like I’m fucking around?”
“No, Brent, it doesn’t, I’ll—”
Tyler fell on top of me, crushed my face in his free hand to break off my words. His elbow was digging, hard, into my ribs. I could smell the donuts and coffee on his breath. He was heavy.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he said.
The tears, hot, trickled down my face.
“I asked you to shut the fuck up when I talk.”
He took the pistol. Traced it across my cheek. It was metal; I flinched with the cold. Down my neck, my body. And then I felt it, cold, against my thigh, and he was using it to push my underwear to the side and the cameras were rolling and Richard was watching and this was not scripted, none of it, not where it was, not there, not in there.
* * *
—
As we wound up the road to Lillie’s home, I could feel our nerves mounting. Lillie kept hugging her legs. The car was slowing—whether because I was lessening my pressure on the pedal or because gravity was dragging us back down the hill, I didn’t know. But we were slowing and slowing, like the tires were submerged in water. At one point I asked myself if we would ever get back. If we could remain ignorant forever instead.