White Lies

by Alice Sabo

Asher sat on the bunk in the holding cell, lost in melancholy thought. They didn't put him in the little room this time; they took him right to a cell. How long had it been since he was last in jail? This time he didn't have a phalanx of professionals to barter his release, spin the media and hold his hand through the trial. This was going to be bad, really bad. He tugged on his hair, stifling a groan of pure frustration. Would George believe him when he said it wasn't his? Would Ellie?

  There were footsteps and the sound of keys.

  "We’re letting you go," Bledsoe said.

  Asher didn't even look up. "I never did crack."

  "I know."

  That made him look up. Bledsoe stood next to the officer who opened the cell. The detective didn't look angry. Asher had hoped to be able to trust the police. Maybe all that cooperation was finally paying off. "Where did you find it?"

  "Bathroom."

  Asher walked out of the cell, relief welling up. "I saw some kid on the front porch yesterday afternoon. Do you think he could have done it?"

  "Get a good look at him?"

  "No."

  Bledsoe escorted him back to the lobby. "That place is dangerous. You shouldn't go back."

  "It's my house. All my stuff is there."

  Bledsoe shook his head. "Hire somebody to get your stuff. Until we get this guy, you shouldn't go back."

  Chapter 37

  Asher got out of the cab a block away from the funeral home. He took the alley and ducked in the back door to avoid the small cluster of bored reporters watching the street. George had miraculously supplied him with black slacks, a gray shirt and black tie for the occasion. He wasn't sure where the clothes had come from, but they fit him perfectly. George was a good six inches shorter, so they weren't his. After rooting through a closet stuffed to bursting with party lost-and-found items, George returned a charcoal gray, suede jacket that Asher hadn't seen in years. George had also supplied him with a couple of behind the scenes photos from the movie they'd done when Val was alive. When he'd finished dressing and checked the mirror, he knew Sharon would have approved.

  Just inside the back door to the funeral home was a foyer with three doorways off a central corridor. He was just taking his bearings when an overweight man with a harassed look came lumbering down the hall making a shooing motion.

  "I told you people...." He hesitated as Asher took off his sunglasses. "Oh, it really is you."

  Asher nodded, his throat suddenly tight.

  The man ducked in a half nod, half bow. "Please come this way." He led Asher down the hall to a vestibule. "Would you care to sign the book?"

  Asher looked at the book laid out on a podium. There were only six names written in.

  "It goes to the family," the man said.

  He signed the book and followed the man into a viewing room. In the doorway, he froze at the sight of the open coffin. Not something he'd expected. Along the perimeter of the room was a massive display of flowers. He'd better warn Fred about that charge before it hit. Every color of the rainbow, every type of flower he could name, none of it took the edge off his guilt.

  There were about a dozen people in the room, talking in small groups. He suspected that the older folk were relatives. The girls with too much makeup and not enough clothing must be friends. They were all huddled away from the three rows of folding chairs that faced the coffin.

  "Oh my God, you came!" A busty woman took center stage, hand on hips, and looked him over. Her jeans were at least a size too small, squeezing her lumpy belly out over the waistband. The clingy, pink shirt she was wearing emphasized every hill and dale. The neckline was too low for the sagging breasts it displayed. Asher found the source for Sharon's taste in jewelry. She glittered and tinkled even more than her daughter had.

  Every eye in the room turned to him, but Asher ignored the audience.

  "You must be Mrs. Ladeen," he said softly as he offered his hand.

  She fluttered her eyelashes in a way that made him feel ill. "I was never Mrs. Ladeen, despite whatever that girl told you." She enveloped his hand and pulled him closer. "Call me Donna. It's sooo nice to finally meet you."

  A smell of stale cigarettes and overly sweet cologne swamped Asher. "I'm so sorry for your loss. She was a wonderful person."

  "She was a pain in the butt. We all knew she'd go like this." A burly man shouldered Donna aside and wrenched Asher's hand out of her clutching fingers. "I'm Pete, her uncle."

  Asher tightened his grip against the bruising Pete was giving him. He met the man's bloodshot eyes and saw a grudging acceptance.

  "She liked you." Pete said it as though it was a threat.

  Asher nodded. "I liked her, too." Pete's fingers tightened. "She was like a daughter to me." Asher clarified.

  Pete gave him a tight nod and released him. Donna moved back in, much too close. "You'll join us for lunch?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't," he said contritely. "I have commitments." He looked over her head at the coffin. "I'll just go pay my respects."

  As he had hoped, none of them followed him over. The funeral parlor had done Sharon's makeup. It was a good deal less than she normally wore. It made her look so young, barely out of high school young.

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled. His eyes burned with tears and he couldn't get any other words out of his mouth.

  "Asher?"

  He swallowed a groan and turned to see Robby standing off to one side. Another surprise. "What are you doing here?" The words came out a bit sharper than he'd meant.

  Robby offered his hand. "I wanted to give my condolences. I know she was important to you."

  Asher accepted the handshake. "Thanks." He steered Robby towards an unoccupied corner sensing a longer conversation coming.

  "And I wanted to apologize for my behavior."

  Asher shrugged. "Not a problem."

  "You've always been a nice guy about it. I wanted to tell you that I finally get it. And I wanted to thank you for your patience with me."

  Asher sucked in a shaky sigh of relief. A man moved over and stood very close to Robby.

  "This is Darren," Robby said.

  "My condolences," he said, shaking Asher's hand.

  Robby took a deep breath and let it out nervously. Eyes on the floor, the words tumbled out of him. "I started working at that burger joint because it was in your neighborhood. I was being all crazy and stalking you. And you were just being a normal guy." Darren squeezed his shoulder. "Then I met Darren. And things changed."

  They exchanged a glance, and Asher felt his heart lift a little.

  "I'm really happy for you, Robby."

  "Thank you. But that's not why I came. Ash, when I was watching you, I saw two other guys watching you, too."

  Asher's heart rate increased. He pulled out two photos and handed them to Robby. "Do you see them?"

  "This guy." Robby pointed to Scott. "I'm pretty sure. But, he's using. He looks a lot older."

  Asher watched as Robby scanned the next picture.

  "Him."

  "Really?" Asher looked at the photo. Robby had his finger on Denny.

  "I thought maybe he lived in the neighborhood because I saw him driving by all the time. But not with that car. He drives a really fancy car."

  Asher took the pictures back. "Thanks. That helps a lot."

  "She caught me," Robby said with a guilty smile. "She knew I was watching you. I think she thought I was spying on you for a reporter or something."

  Asher glanced at the coffin. "She was a little territorial."

  Robby snorted a laugh. "More than a little. She chased me for two blocks."

  A sudden conviction hit Asher that Robby wasn't the only one Sharon had confronted.

  "We should go," Robby said, eyes on the ground. Darren bumped shoulders with him and they joined hands. Robby looked up and looked Asher in the eye. With a curl of a smile touching his lips, he said, "I think I know the real you now. And you're right, you were never the Asher in my head."

  "I'm really glad to hear t
hat."

  After another round of handshakes and condolences, they left. The funeral director announced it was time to be seated for the service. Asher waited for everyone to settle before he took a seat. The small gathering filled only the first row. He sat alone, at the back.

  * * *

  The cemetery was hot and dusty, the grass browning in the brutal heat. Asher tried not to fidget as sweat crept down his back. Black was a bad color for summer in LA. A willowy woman in a long dress said a prayer, then the coffin was lowered into the ground. He didn't feel that anything momentous had been accomplished by watching a box be dropped into a hole, and yet it seemed to be required by some remnant of social responsibility. Someone approached. He turned to see George, somberly dressed.

  "Feel better?" George asked.

  Asher shrugged. "Should I apologize for taking her life away?"

  "You have no reason to apologize," George said sharply.

  Asher looked out over the cemetery, tombstones marching over the ground to mark the end of a life for those left behind. The few relatives who had followed to the cemetery were departing now, a couple with hopeful backward glances towards him. If they wanted entertainment, he couldn't possibly perform for them right now.

  George tugged him back toward the cars. Asher hesitated, looking to the grave. He felt that something more needed to be done. He had to rectify this massive mistake.

  "Ash, this isn't your fault," George said sternly.

  A car pulled up behind George's. Asher could see Ellie at the wheel. He looked at George. "What's up?"

  He extended a hand toward her. "I will let the lady explain."

  Ellie had Thomas by the hand. He walked solemnly at her side, big eyes taking in the jagged rows of grave markers.

  "Asher." She kissed his cheek and gave him a one-armed hug without releasing Thomas' hand. Her piercing blue eyes drilled into him making his knees feel decidedly loose.

  "Is everything OK?" he asked.

  She smiled and that wobbly feeling spread to other joints. "You've earned this, Ash. I want you to know that."

  His eyes flicked back to the open grave.

  "I know you feel responsible for that death." She took his hand and joined it with Thomas'. "I think you need to know you're responsible for this life."

  He sucked in a breath and despite the heat, goose bumps ran up his arms. His gaze fastened on the child. Thomas gave him a hesitant smile. Asher sought Ellie's eyes. "Mine?"

  She smiled and nodded. Asher went down on his knees and took Thomas' hands. "Hey buddy, I bet you're wondering what all this is about."

  The boy looked him boldly in the eye. "Mommy said you would buy me chocolate ice cream."

  Asher scooped him up in one arm, reaching for Ellie with the other. She slid into place against him like a missing puzzle piece.

  George grinned. "I never thought we'd get here."

  "You knew?"

  "Laurie was his godmother."

  He gave George a sad smile. "Thank you." Then he turned to Ellie. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

  "You're here now, body and soul, and that's what counts. That's what is important for a family."

  "But the police business isn't over."

  Ellie smoothed his hair and kissed his cheek. "I thought you needed a little more carrot and a little less stick."

  He squeezed them both tightly.

  Chapter 38

  After ice cream with Thomas and Ellie, Asher went back to the house. He made a list of cleaning supplies to get, grabbed a few more smoke-scented clothes to send to the laundry and returned to the hotel. Before he could think it through and maybe talk himself out of it, he called Denny. There were a lot of questions banging around in his brain. If a few of them had answers, maybe he wouldn't be as distracted and be able to make sense of things. The receptionist put him through to voicemail, which was probably for the best. Asher left a message asking if Denny would meet for a burger tonight.

  The hotel had a laundry service, which Ellie said wasn't cheating, under the circumstances. She kept telling him he didn't have to do it all on his own. At this point, laundry was the least of his worries. Checking the pockets of his pants turned up the little notebook in which he had jotted down notes on Pam's murder. He flipped through, hoping for a magical phrase to jump out and answer all the questions. The notes underscored every loose end bedeviling him. Who would benefit from his death?

  He turned another page and saw his note to find the present owner of White's Hotel. That might give him a lead on tracking down Scott. He called Fred and asked him to look into it. Insurance forms and errands kept him busy for the rest of the afternoon. There wasn't time for a swim, today. He showered and changed clothes then grabbed a cab, hoping that Denny would show.

  The Spot wasn't a place to go to be seen. He chose it for good food and good memories. Asher felt safe there. He nibbled on chips and salsa while he fiddled with the phone-gadget Ellie had given him. It was a good distraction as the minutes dragged and his doubts redoubled.

  "Ash?" Denny slid into the seat opposite him.

  Asher smiled. "You came."

  Scanning the room, Denny loosened his tie. "I can't stay long." He signaled the waitress and ordered a chocolate stout. His eyes lit on Asher's phone. "I'm impressed. Haven't been able to get my hands on one, yet."

  Asher snorted a chuckle. "Don’t be. I can't figure out how to make a call, yet."

  Denny gave him that sizing-up look. "Why buy it?"

  "Ellie gave it to me. Said I had a lot of catching up to do."

  "Oh." Denny's drink arrived. He fingered the bottle, staring at the label. "What happened to your hand?"

  "I reacted badly to the news of a friend's death."

  "My condolences. I heard you were at the funeral. There were a couple of long shots of you at the cemetery on the 'net. Media's gonna be dogging you now."

  With a groan, Asher nodded. "I'm trying to stay out of sight."

  Denny took another sip of beer. "Why am I here, Ash?"

  Asher pulled his coffee mug in front of him. He laced his fingers around it and searched the depths. "I need to ask you some questions."

  Denny shifted in his seat, turning in the chair as if he were about to bolt. "I don't think this is the best place for that."

  Asher looked up in surprise. "Whoa. Whatever you're thinking, it's wrong."

  Denny gave him a puzzled look. "Really?"

  Asher took a deep breath. The tumult of questions spun through his brain like the balls in a Bingo cage. The one that popped out first surprised him.

  "OK, here it is. I'm sober and I want to start over, right? So, I'm doing commercials and looking at auditions, but Denny, I gotta know, is it going to happen? Do I...." He had to take a couple of long breaths to get the words out. "Do I have any talent?"

  He looked at Denny hoping to gauge the response. His friend's forehead was wrinkled in a frown and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Asher thought that didn't bode well. The silence stretched a beat too long.

  "Well, I'm told no answer means no these days." Asher said.

  Denny took a long swig of beer. "Ash, you've changed." He huffed out a weak chuckle. "Wow, you've really changed."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "You should." Denny signaled the waitress for a menu. "I can't really answer your question. I'm not sure I know who you are right now. This new Asher might not have the same gift screwed-up Asher had. But the big problem is that new Asher doesn't have any history. I don't know who'd take a chance on you right now. The industry's changed a lot more than you realize."

  "I don't need promises, Denny. I just need to know if I'm speeding toward a brick wall."

  Denny shrugged. "It's always a crap shoot. Would you accept a good behavior clause?"

  Asher winced. "No one believes I'm clean."

  "Eh. Most of them don't care as long as you're reliable. A lot of people lost a lot of money when you went south. It's a business, Ash. You gotta prove y
ou're a lucrative product. If you fuck up and can't work..."

  "Business," Asher said thoughtfully. "That was never my forte."

  Denny opened the menu and beckoned to the waitress. It cheered Asher that Denny was willing to stay and eat. They placed their orders. She refilled Asher's coffee.

  Denny raised his beer. "This bother you?"

  Asher put cream in his coffee. "No. Not today."

  "You having trouble staying on the wagon?"

  Asher gave him a slow shrug. "Sometimes. But George said I can call him and now Ellie and Thomas." He looked over to see how Denny took that.

  "You're being honest."

  "I'm learning."

  Denny leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Ash, I gotta ask. Why did you, well, I mean did you try to kill yourself?"

  Asher's heart twinged at the vulnerable look on Denny's face. He couldn't lie. "I don't think so."

  "You don't know?" Denny's face tightened into anger. He deserved more.

  "You know how they say women don't remember the pain of childbirth?"Asher asked.

  The pinched skin on Denny's forehead migrated into a frown.

  "I think it's kind of like that. I know it was bad, but I can't really remember the emotion I was feeling. It's all kind of fuzzy and dislocated, like someone else told me about it. I can't find this clear thought of really wanting to die, and believe me, the shrinks have asked." He tried to shrug away a shiver. Looking back now, he couldn't understand the source of that sweating, heart-pounding, hide-in-the-closet terror that drove him to armor himself with layers of medicated disregard.

  "So, maybe it really was an accidental overdose?"

  There was a pleading tone to Denny's voice. Asher wanted to reassure him, but he stuck to the truth. "I can't tell you where I was or what I was doing for most of that year, Denny. Trying to figure out what I was feeling or wanting...." He shook his head. "It scares me that I've lost that much time. But it's all just a gray haze."

  The waitress arrived with their meals. Asher watched Denny to see how he was taking it, but couldn't read the pensive look on his friend's face. After the condiments had been fetched and water glasses refilled, silence settled between them.