by Iris R. Dart
“Birthday?” Nina asked, clapping her perfect little hands together excitedly.
Bertie was unpacking the one suitcase she had packed for the two of them.
“Nobody’s birthday,” Bertie said, hanging the clothes, Nina’s tiny ones next to her long ones, in the cupboard of the bedroom that smelled strongly of mildew. “Just a party for Aunt Cee Cee’s friends.”
“Are we coming?” Nina asked, and looked sideways across the room at the lady with the frizzy hair, and the four-inch-high platform shoes, and the short shorts and the midriff blouse.
“You betcha,” Cee Cee said.
Nina had a look on her face that said she wasn’t so sure that being invited to this person’s party was such a good thing. She was a sweet-looking child, but she wasn’t as delicately pretty as Bertie, because she had inherited her father’s round face and too curly hair.
“Well, Nina, you’re gonna have to slip into the altogether, or at least a bikini, if you’re gonna stick around here,” Cee Cee said, wishing she had some idea how people were supposed to talk to six-year-olds. “But I guess since you come from Florida, you know the rules about bein’ at the beach.”
Nina just stared at her, not answering.
Bertie was looking at herself in the mirror over the unpainted chest of drawers, brushing her hair which was long and chestnut-colored, and free and unstyled. She looked more casual than Cee Cee had ever seen her.
“I feel lucky she’s not wearing a tweed suit,” Bertie said about her daughter. “And carrying a briefcase.”
Nina looked down at her Maryjanes and turned the toes of them in and then out, and then in again.
“I mean, I realize that compared to you I’m pretty straight,” Bertie said to Cee Cee. “But how did I ever give birth to an ultraconservative?” She spoke as if the child wasn’t in the room.
“Genes,” Cee Cee said.
“I would never wear jeans,” Nina spouted with such conviction that Cee Cee shrieked, outraged, and Bertie laughed in spite of herself.
“She doesn’t,” Bertie said. “Refuses to. Dresses, skirts, jumpers, an occasional culotte. No pants. And certainly not jeans. She plays in dresses, which makes it very tricky for her to hang on the monkey bars upside down by her feet,” she added as she walked over to where her daughter stood and ruffled the little girl’s hair.
“So I don’t,” Nina said, and she put her hand up to smoothe her hair where Bertie had ruffled it.
“Gonna go look at the ocean,” the child said, and walked out of the bedroom. Bertie shrugged, and Cee Cee shook her head.
“The kid is strange,” Bertie said. “Maybe it’s a phase. Anyway, it’s one reason I decided to take her traveling. So she could expand her little horizons.”
“You sure brought her to the right place for that,” Cee Cee said, lying back on the plaid bedspread of the headboardless twin bed. “The ramshackle Malibu house of the has-been movie star.”
“Oh, stop, Cee, you’re not a has-been,” Bertie said, plopping down on the other bed like a teenager at a pajama party. “You’re just…”
“In between projects is what I like to call it. In between my last two movies which were major disasters and my next movie—”
“Which will be what?” Bertie asked eagerly.
Cee Cee loved that best about Bertie. She was always interested.
“Don’t know.” She shrugged, and waited for that feeling to come over her. The feeling that had been awakening her in the middle of the night, filling her with worry about everything. That she was running out of money, that she was without a man and maybe she always would be, that she’d never had a child, and maybe she never would or could.
But the feeling didn’t come. In fact, she had a strong sense of well-being. Felt good. Even great. Must be because Bertie was with her, and here they were, sitting on beds and chatting, as if they’d just seen each other yesterday. And Cee Cee could tell Bertie things that she wouldn’t ever tell anyone else. Like how afraid she was that her career was over. And the proof was that people who used to fawn all over her weren’t even accepting or returning her phone calls. And how sometimes when she was singing, her voice sounded ordinary to her and maybe all these young new singers were better. And…
“Cee,” Bertie said, “you look splendid. You’re the thinnest I’ve ever seen you, and your skin looks pretty and your hair looks shiny. I think it agrees with you.”
“Malibu?” Cee Cee asked.
Bertie shook her head.
“Being a has-been,” she said, and they both laughed. It was the first time Cee Cee had laughed in a while.
THAT NIGHT, CEE CEE took Bertie and Nina to the Baja Cantina for dinner.
“What’s a taco?” Nina said from behind the menu she was holding. The menu was almost as big as she was.
Cee Cee described it. “Crunchy shell filled with meat, sauce, beans, lettuce, tomatoes…”
“Do you have to pick it up in your hand to eat it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have something else.”
“Hates to eat food with her hands,” Bertie said, smiling uncomfortably at Cee Cee.
“But that’s the best way,” Cee Cee said as Nina’s lips pursed.
“Not for me,” said the child.
The waitress, who looked like a surfer girl wearing a Mexican peasant’s dress, arrived at the table.
“Take your order,” she said, and smiled at Nina.
“Double margarita for me,” Cee Cee said, “and a number sixteen.”
“Will you have a cheese enchilada, honey?” Bertie asked Nina. “You can eat that with a fork.”
“Yes,” Nina replied, handing her menu to the waitress. “And a Shirley Temple from the bar, please.”
While Bertie gave her own order to the waitress, Cee Cee watched Nina take her napkin, unfold it and place it neatly on her lap, then fold her hands in front of her on the table.
“So, Nina,” Cee Cee said, “whaddya do for fun?”
“I go to school,” Nina replied. “We have arts and crafts, arithmetic, and reading groups and field trips.” Then she picked up her water glass, took a sip of water, placed the glass back on the table, and looked directly into Cee Cee’s eyes.
“And what do you do for fun?” she asked.
Cee Cee laughed in surprise, but she didn’t have an answer.
When the food arrived, Nina’s table manners were perfect. She didn’t slurp the Shirley Temple or even stick her finger in the glass to pull out the cherry.
“Don’tcha want the cherry?” Cee Cee asked when dinner was through.
Nina shook her head.
“And you call yourself a kid?” Cee Cee joked.
Nina’s soda had long been drained from the glass and the stem of the orangey-red cherry sat lodged between two ice cubes.
“Boy, I do,” Cee Cee said with a grin. “I love maraschinos,” and she put her hand into Nina’s glass and tugged on the stem, released the cherry and popped it into her mouth, but before she even finished chewing, she saw the horror on Nina’s face.
“She stuck her fingers in my glass,” Nina said to Bertie. “In my glass, Mommy, did you see?”
“Nina, you were finished with the drink,” Bertie said. “And I’ll order another one for—”
“But it was mine,” Nina said. “And she did that.”
“Nina…”
Nina put her hand over her mouth, looked as if she was thinking about throwing up, and Cee Cee held her breath. Kids. They were so weird. This one looked like she was gonna get sick to her stomach over a fuckin’ cherry.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Cee Cee said.
Nina glared at her.
“Dessert?” the waitress asked. Her arrival broke the moment. “And look who did such a good job cleaning her plate,” she said, grinning her surfer girl grin at Nina.
Nina acknowledged the recognition of her goodness with a nod. Cee Cee looked over at Nina’s empty plate. She couldn’t believe it. Nina’s
knife and fork were lying next to one another across the right hand side of the plate. Like one of those Amy Vanderbilt kind of ladies probably says you’re supposed to do. Bertie’s were the same on her plate. Cee Cee’s fork sat on the table and she had no idea where her knife was. She thought maybe she had bumped it onto the floor with her elbow when she was reaching past Bertie for the guacamole.
BERTIE TUCKED NINA IN by nine, and at ten Cee Cee watched her peek one more time into the guest bedroom to make sure her daughter was asleep.
“Sometimes I feel sorry for her,” Bertie said, in a kind of whisper, and Cee Cee could tell she was holding back tears.
The two friends walked down the stairs to the living room. The night was black and cloudy and there was no moon. The only light on the beach came from the spotlight on the deck of Cee Cee’s house, which lit the foamy white of each wave as it came crashing onto the sand.
“Why don’t we go sit outside?” Cee Cee said. “I’ll get some wine and bring it out.”
Bertie walked out to the deck and sat on the webbed deck chair, facing the water.
Cee Cee opened the refrigerator and was reaching inside for the bottle of wine when the phone rang. She grabbed it, hoping the sound hadn’t disturbed Nina.
“Yeah?”
“Cee Cee?” It was a man.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“You’ll be surprised,” the voice said.
Vaguely familiar, but long-ago familiar.
“I’m in town at the Beverly Hills Hotel for a few meetings, and I got your number through a friend at the Morris office. I thought maybe I could see you while I’m in L.A.”
Cee Cee searched her mind. Who the fuck…? There was something arrogant in the voice, detached, but she just couldn’t place it.
“Hey, let’s cut the guessing games,” she said. Maybe it was some crank call. Sometimes those perverted assholes who ended up asking you to mail them your underpants started off the call by pretending they knew you. “Tell me who this is or I’m hanging up.”
“Michael Barron.”
Cee Cee’s face filled with angry heat.
“What do you want?” she asked coldly. Christ. Maybe he knew that Bertie was here in L.A. with his kid. The kid that the filthy snake hadn’t ever seen. Maybe that was why he was calling.
“Well, I thought we could start with dinner,” he said almost mockingly. “I have a few of my associates in town with me. And they don’t believe that I know a big movie star like you,” he added. “Maybe they’d have a drink with us first.”
No. This wasn’t about Bertie or Nina. The son of a bitch had no idea they were here. He was lookin’ to get laid. And to get a little mileage with his friends for knowin’ a star. Putz, schmuck, low-life, no-good dog.
Cee Cee put her finger on the button and disconnected the line. When she listened and heard the dial tone, she put the receiver on the counter, opened the wine bottle, took two glasses from the cupboard and went outside.
“You’re not gonna believe who just called here,” she said.
“I hope it was Warren Beatty saying he’s coming to the party on Sunday,” Bertie joked.
“Warren’s in New York,” Cee Cee said, too seriously.
“Cee, I was just…” Bertie saw the look on Cee Cee’s face. “Who was it?”
“Michael.”
“Michael Barron? What did he say? Did you tell him I was—”
“He sounded a little bit drunk,” Cee Cee said, realizing, as she said it, that it was true. Like somebody else who was drunk, too, was makin’ him do it. “He’s a bad guy,” she added quickly because she saw a look in Bertie’s eyes that she didn’t want to see there. “Wanted to prove to his friends that he knew a star. He told me that, Bert. I mean, doesn’t that prove he’s the same schmuck he always was?”
“Where’s he staying?” Bertie asked, taking the bottle from Cee Cee, pouring herself a glass of wine and drinking, downing nearly all of it on the first taste.
“Don’t know,” Cee Cee said. “Don’t remember.” Cee Cee saw in Bertie’s eyes that Bertie didn’t believe her.
“Beverly Hills Hotel,” Cee Cee confessed, picking up the chilly wine bottle, pouring herself a glass of the white wine and refilling Bertie’s glass. Bertie immediately drank the contents and when the glass was empty she stood.
“I’ve got to—” she began.
“Bert, she’s fine. If she wakes up she’ll come looking for you.”
“Not Nina,” Bertie said. “Michael. I’ve got to call him. Talk to him. We never talk. Except through the lawyers. I want to talk to him. I mean I just want to see if he’ll…” She was nearly trembling.
“Bert, don’t do it.”
“I have to,” Bertie said, and she walked into the house and closed the door behind her.
Cee Cee watched her through the glass door. She walked slowly and shakily toward the counter where the phone was, put her hand on the phone and squeezed the receiver in her palm for a few moments, while she stood and thought, obviously rehearsing what she was going to say. Cee Cee shook her head and looked away. Maybe she ought to stop Bertie right now. Make her wait until her mind was clear. The margaritas and the wine would make her vulnerable. If she had to talk to him she ought to wait until tomorrow.
Far out on the water, Cee Cee could see the light of a small fishing boat anchored there. She stood, but as she did she realized Bertie had already dialed the phone. In fact, she was already talking to someone. The ocean’s noise drowned out Bertie’s voice, but Cee Cee could see from Bertie’s expression that the someone must be Michael. She was smiling, a big forced smile, as if she wanted the smile to sound like it was in her voice.
Cee Cee sat back down, this time on a lounge chair, and looked out at the ocean. She was glad she’d spent the money to rent this place. Every day here was like a vacation. Living on the oceanfront was like living with a twenty-four-hour-a-day show in your yard. The surfers and the planes and the helicopters and the boats and the joggers and the dogs and the lovers on picnics. Always something to see, to watch, to distract her.
The glass door opened and Bertie came out.
“He’s meeting me for breakfast tomorrow,” she said. “At some place in the hotel called the Polo Lounge.”
Cee Cee didn’t say a word, and Bertie’s face was filled with confusion when she spoke again.
“Let’s open another bottle of wine,” she said.
CEE CEE PULLED THE royal blue comforter over her face to shut out the morning light and all that noise that was coming from the kitchen. Then the warm smell of fresh coffee filled the bedroom. What time was it? Bertie must be awake.
She got slowly out of bed, threw on her green terry-cloth robe, and walked downstairs.
“Hi,” Bertie said as she dropped the saucepan she’d been holding while she tried to figure out where it was supposed to be stored.
“Over the stove,” Cee Cee said.
Bertie picked the pot up and stood on her toes in order to reach the cabinet over the stove.
“Cee, I asked him,” she said.
“Asked who?” Cee Cee said. “What?”
“Michael. To see Nina. I called him this morning, about an hour ago, and I said, ‘Listen, Michael, here we all are in Los Angeles. You, me, and Nina. None of us planned it, but we’re here. Doesn’t it seem to you as if it was predestined? Well, it does to me. And I thought it would be the best idea in the whole round world if I brought Nina to breakfast today and you could finally be with your daughter.’”
Cee Cee felt inside the pocket of her robe for a cigarette. She walked over to the stove, put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it on the flame of the gas burner.
“What’d he say?” she asked at the same time she inhaled.
“He said no,” Bertie answered. “And at first I got upset and tried to argue with him, but then I stopped, Cee. Do you know why? Because even though he said no, I heard a little maybe in his voice. And that’s a good sign, because that means
when I see him this morning I can talk him into it. I know I can. He wants to meet her. How could he not want to? She’s his daughter. And now she’s not a little crying infant anymore. Now she’s a person with ideas, and she’ll be able to charm him, don’t you think?”
“Bert, this guy is heartless. You keep forgetting that. You’re gonna get your hopes up and he’s gonna disappoint you.”
“He won’t, Cee. And Nina has to meet him. See that he exists. He has to let her, even if it’s just this once.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to shower. If Nina’s still asleep when I leave, please, when she wakes up, just tell her I needed to do some shopping this morning, and that I’ll be back a little after noon. Thanks, Cee.”
Before Cee Cee could respond, Bertie swept up the steps carrying her coffee mug with her. Cee Cee stood in the kitchen silently until she heard the bathroom door close and the shower start. Then she said out loud, “The fucking son of a bitch,” and poured herself a cup of coffee.
The smell of Bertie’s perfume called Opium still hung in the air long after she’d run nervously out the front door after asking Cee Cee, “How do I look? Do you think I look okay?” Cee Cee had reassured her that as always she looked better than anyone in the world.
A few minutes later, Cee Cee was sprawled on the deck outside surrounded by the newspaper, her coffee cup, and three scripts her agent had sent over for her to read. Jeez, little kids slept late. She’d always thought they woke up real early in the morning and bugged their parents. Not Nina, though. She was obviously still out like a friggin’ light.
An hour later, Cee Cee finished reading one of the scripts and hated it so much that she threw it across the deck. She was hungry. Maybe she’d wake up Nina and take her to lunch. To some place where they had forks. Hah! The kid was weird. There was no doubt about that. Cee Cee opened the door to the guest bedroom slowly, but Nina wasn’t in her bed.
“Nina,” Cee Cee called out. Must be in the guest bathroom. No. The door to the guest bathroom was open and Cee Cee looked inside. Bertie’s pretty flowered cosmetic bag sat on the sink.
“Nina?” No answer.