At some of the stadium shows in the eighties and nineties with Hero Ground Zero, there would be a similar moment. Patty would stand poised, her tambourine fluttering rapidly in the air, the music silent, the breeze blowing her dress. The tambourine sounded like a rattling hiss. The audience were hanging. Patty was like a sparrow hawk that had spotted a field mouse. And when she finally brought it down to her side, and the rest of us in the band took off, the energy and tension in the audience would be released in what felt like a spiritual ascendance.
Really, you have to be a musician in a big band at a huge concert to know how that feels.
And when the four of us were together again at Hyde Park, performing Walter and Harry Watts’s soundscapes, when we were done there was nowhere else to go. Floss’s lost daughter Molly had been found. She had been in our midst all along. Walter took up his position and when he finally began to wail his heart-wrenching harmonica solo, we all ascended.
This time when the music ended there was applause, and it was gratefully acknowledged.
We heard the band walk off.
We heard the technicians leave their posts.
Soon the audience was gone, and the cordoned area in Hyde Park began to clear.
An hour later it was all over.
This time the silence was appropriate, delightful, and free of tension and expectation.
The show was over.
Selena looked at me with love and a little lust in her amazing blue-green eyes; was it possible she really saw me as an attractive older man? Was this extraordinary young woman really going to take me on?
I lowered my head and she seemed intuitively to know what I was thinking. Shame flitted over my face.
Selena hugged my arm and gave me one of her knowing looks. I knew then that if she didn’t betray me, if she stayed with me, I knew there was no doubt that I would love her until the day I died. She laughed at me in a relaxed, natural way. Was the psychic in her off duty for now?
I am Louis Doxtader. Dealer in Outsider Art. After the wonderful concert we all gathered backstage in the hospitality tent. I didn’t tell Selena what Floss had told Walter before the show, the rape, the drugs, the mystery of who the father might have been. Of course the last thing I wanted to do was encourage any more discussion of what might have happened at that wedding.
But I was aware that Walter was giving Selena very dirty looks.
Maud was standing with her arm around Molly, who really did have many of Floss’s features. Could Molly really be MY daughter? I had always thought at the height of my heroin use that I probably had no sperm. I could hardly get an erection back then.
Around the tent, laughter was breaking out as it does on such occasions after a performance. It always feels too loud, too raucous, the sound of people who want to let go at last and have fun; the sound of musicians and technicians, managers and agents who are relieved the show is over, everyone is safe, and the ship may sail again. Glasses clinked, corks popped. From somewhere in the marquee the smell of very strong marijuana wafted over. It was now my turn to keep a firm grip on Selena. I wanted to kill her as much as I wanted to fuck her. Then suddenly she pulled herself free of me and began jumping up and down in very small leaps, fists clenched.
“I have to tell them,” she said.
“Tell them what?” I was starting to panic all over again.
“What you did,” she said, looking at me with her brow furrowed.
I looked her directly in the eyes in order to plead with her, my hands gripping her forearms so tightly she grimaced.
“Everything that’s wrong with you now,” she spluttered, “is all because of this. Set yourself free.”
I was terrified. I could feel the urgency of the moment in her, see it rising in her eyes. I knew if I didn’t stop her, she would move quickly. She had to win. I had always been a manipulator and had interfered in the lives of others, but I knew by now I had met my match. Selena was the arch-manipulator.
I protested: “I’m Walter’s godfather. It was years ago. For fuck’s sake,” I snapped, “it sounds to me as though you were the only one who was conscious!”
But this threw Selena into a fit of rage. “No, Louis!” she cried and everyone in the tent looked over at us.
I tried to pull her closer to me, so she would speak more quietly. She hissed, “I saw you and Floss together. I saw her pull you down onto her. I saw her kissing you hungrily. She was not innocent.”
As Floss and Walter looked at each other wondering exactly what was going on, Selena grabbed my hair angrily, pulling my head from side to side. She started sobbing.
“Please”—my voice sounded pleading now, pathetic and whining—“if you know, you’ve known for so long. Why must you break the news now, when everyone has been through so much? Let this be our secret.”
Selena seemed to quieten down for a few beats. Then she smiled that slightly crazy, conspiratorial grin of hers; her blue-green Irish eyes shone, her all-seeing third eye blinked at me, and her angelic witchery caught fire.
“But it’s no secret, Louis,” she whispered, laughing. “Soon after the wedding I told Siobhan. And there are other secrets you should know, secrets about your wife and daughter.”
“I’m not ashamed,” I said loudly, “that Rain lived with Siobhan. I don’t mind that they were lovers.”
She laughed. “Siobhan was fucking your wife,” she said in a piercing tone. “Not your daughter. That’s why you could never track her down, never find her.”
Everyone within earshot at the party was looking at us again. Could they hear? I thought probably not. Siobhan was standing with Pamela and Rain by a long table at the far end of the room. Its white tablecloth was covered with bottles, glasses, and buckets of ice. I felt like the clumsy, possibly evil, fool I knew I was in Selena’s eyes. I realized how stupid the notion had been: Pamela, the ginger-headed sex machine, would never have survived for a month as a nun. For some reason, this made me smile: good old Pamela. As I grinned, the guests who had been watching me all turned back to their conversations, assuming that whatever had blown up had blown away.
Perhaps aware of the attention we had been attracting, Selena suddenly broke away and bolted toward the restrooms; as she ran she looked as if she were trying to wave invisible mosquitoes out of her hair.
She left me standing alone in the throng. Walter, I saw, was talking to Molly and she was obviously thrilled to have him in her family, even as a stepfather. There was an older couple with her, and from their uneasiness I guessed they must be her adoptive parents.
It took me a few minutes to work through the questions to which I needed answers. Had Pamela really told Rain that I was a rapist? Was that conceivable? If so, how could she have left me to look after Rain?
Had Rain ever told Floss?
Floss had never given any hint of knowing…
I stood there, still alone in the middle of the tent. Selena reappeared and stood at some distance looking at me sternly, a bright lamp shining up to the roof framing her hair in a halo. Dreams were converging again in my head. Again I thought I might go mad.
Selena must have seen my terror and moved to my side and impulsively wound her arm through my own. She locked me down.
“I saw you carry her to the sofa,” she said. “We were all tucked away in that arbor in the garden.”
An icy hand grasped my heart. She was simply picking up where she left off. I could hardly breathe.
“I heard Floss say you were a very attractive older man, then she pulled you down to kiss her. Not entirely your fault given the circumstances. I didn’t want to watch. I left you both to get on with it.”
I was shaking, overcome with a mixture of nausea and anxiety so powerful that I knew if heroin had been available to me at that instant I would have taken it.
“Attractive older man!” She was scoffing now, teasing me, but held my arm tightly to her bosom even so.
“You got it up all right, Louis,” she whispered closely in my
ear. “You made her pregnant.”
It wasn’t possible. That’s all I could think. I couldn’t speak. I felt lost in a deluge of shame and misery. Then the atmosphere was broken. Walter was about to make a speech.
“Friends!” He shouted at first, then one of the crew gave him a microphone. The rabble in the tent all calmed down and focused. He continued.
“Many wonderful things happened to me tonight. I have been back onstage with my old friends from the Stand.”
There was a loud cheer.
“Together we have performed the most difficult piece of music, something none of us ever thought we could ever do. And the images and inspiration came directly from the audience, my soundscapes, that you all—and especially my dad, Harry—brought to life.”
Another huge cheer. Harry and Sally were holding on to each other as though they were on a sinking ship but still smiling. Sally kept looking at me, and I thought I saw her shaking her head slightly.
Walter went on: “And then Floss and I had the most incredible piece of luck when the daughter she gave away for adoption when she was nineteen years old turned out to be our Molly from Dingwalls!”
There was then an immense roar of delight from all the assembled VIP fans who had attended as special guests, and the friends, family, and crew members in particular joined in. Molly had always been popular.
Frank Lovelace gave Molly a hug, no doubt taking credit for starting her career as a lighting engineer. Walter and Floss brought Molly in between them as their friends all started to take pictures.
Then there was a shout.
“So who was the father, Floss?” It was Selena.
She had stepped forward, toward the center of the tent. So perhaps her machinations, her subterfuges, were not all about me? Did she still hate the idea of Floss having married Walter, the man who had always been her number one?
“Do you even know?” Selena demanded furiously.
Everyone in the marquee went quiet. I froze with fear. There was a ripple of muttered outrage; everyone was clearly bitterly angry with Selena. Some people started to berate her loudly.
“Selena!” Siobhan shouted. “Just stop! Stop this now!”
Frank rushed over and started to manhandle her out of the tent. I interceded.
“No, Frank,” I insisted. “Let me handle this.”
I put my hand in the air and walked over to Walter and took the microphone from him.
I was about to confess. I hadn’t really thought it through, but the impulse to say something was very powerful. As I took a deep breath and the people in the tent began to turn to me, I noticed Ronnie approaching me. Usually so handsome and powerful-looking, he seemed shriveled, his skin pallid, his gait uneven, his skin not bronzed but yellow. Did he have AIDS? Cancer? What could possibly be wrong with him? He reached me, gently took the microphone from my hand, and turned to the audience.
“I am this young woman’s father, I believe.” Ronnie was laughing now. He looked relieved and happy, tottering on his high heels, his face covered in thick makeup; he wore black mascara, blush on his cheeks, bright red lipstick, and his hair was clipped up with a pink clasp. He pulled Molly to his side and stood next to her. “Look at her. She’s totally beautiful. And she’s probably gay, bless her. I’m her father.”
I almost collapsed. I was literally seeing stars; my vision was flashing and I felt unsteady. Had I been saved?
Molly was a tomboy. Ronnie had recently emerged as a cross-dresser. Man, woman, woman, man. Both of them looking exactly as they felt they should, as they felt they were deep inside. Ronnie took it all with aplomb. They met somewhere in the middle. Their faces were almost identical. Was Ronnie right? A DNA test might prove it. A frisson of latent violence suddenly gripped the room as Walter advanced toward Ronnie. Crow went to stop him but Walter turned on Crow and made to throw a punch. Frank stepped in and, to everyone’s astonishment, held Crow and Walter apart by their collars like squabbling kids in a playground. Walter tore himself away abruptly and lunged at Ronnie, throwing a meaty punch that knocked his victim to his knees.
This time Frank and Crow leapt in together to contain Walter, but Ronnie was actually laughing, blood pouring from a cut on his lip. Now two huge gymed-up security guards stepped in and tried to take control. They pulled everyone apart.
Molly seemed moved to have Floss for a mother and maybe gay Ronnie for a father. She was beaming like one of her own follow-spots and light was streaming around the two of them, mother and daughter.
Despite the postconcert gaiety that had prevailed earlier, despite the aura of light surrounding Molly, poor pale-faced Ronnie, bruised and battered, was being circled by some of the guests, chiding him. Some were still very angry. But Molly put herself between them and the fighting was over. I could see Floss was clearly not happy about what Ronnie was admitting; Walter still looked edgy, still ready to fight. He brushed himself down after the fracas. He had recently been disabused of his notion that his wife and her business partner had been conducting a relationship for years, and now here was Ronnie—that very partner—almost bragging about having impregnated Floss when they were both using hard drugs laid on by me, his godfather. Albeit many years before, it was not something he felt deserved such an outburst of flip levity among the backstage guests. As for a violent outburst, if anyone should be angry and get out of line, it should be him.
“Oh, darling,” said Ronnie. He was lying in a heap on the floor and holding his face. “Forgive me, sweetheart. Really.” He turned to Walter. “And Walter, I’m sorry, my friend. I’m all carried away.”
From his position on the floor, Ronnie put his arms out to Floss; he looked like a spurned child reaching out to his mother after some minor misdemeanor. Maud took pity on him and knelt by his side.
“Darling Floss,” Ronnie croaked. “You won’t remember us having sex. It was rape. I’m so sorry. You were completely out of it, but you did enjoy it, I’m sure of that. Not sure I did.”
He started cackling again, like a music-hall queen. He tried to get to his feet but was clearly still dizzy. Then he lay back gracefully into Maud’s arms like La Dame aux Camélias. No one in the room seemed to want to listen to him. Everyone turned away.
Ronnie addressed Walter. “Dammit, Walter,” he said, shifting his sore jaw from side to side and managing to rise onto one elbow. “I’m such a dork. I should have kept this back until a quieter time, but I’m so excited to be a daddy.”
He laughed again, and Walter attempted to laugh with him, but he still looked angry.
“Walter,” pleaded Ronnie, “forgive me, will you? Floss was the only girl I ever had sex with. We love each other. We always have since school, but we have only ever touched each other that once. And that shit Louis gave us was so powerful I really don’t think it should count.”
This justification energized him, and he got to his feet.
He turned to Floss. “You!” He threw up his hands, and with his high heels he must have been at least six feet four inches in height. Wobbling slightly, “Floss, you never told me you had become pregnant.” He was trying to look downcast, but he couldn’t hide his joy for very long. He turned to Molly and hugged her. “I would have been glad to be a father to this beautiful young woman.”
“Ronnie,” chided Floss, “I couldn’t have told you. I didn’t know who had had sex with me. I swear. I wasn’t even sure I’d had sex until I realized I was pregnant.”
I didn’t feel much like staying with the festivities. It was time for me to leave.
Looking back, I can only say that Selena must have cast some kind of spell over me. Every time I looked at her, she behaved as though she had simply been playing some kind of mad, mischievous game. The truth is probably that the pheromones were pouring from her all over again. All I could think about was that my life hadn’t been destroyed and instead this eccentric and extraordinary woman was still by my side.
We were moving to leave, and no one tried to persuade us to stay. The fraud
ulent spell Selena had attempted to cast had failed, and she took my arm, held her head high, and with her free hand made little waves to anyone who caught her eye before walking out in a stately way, like a deposed French princess being led to the guillotine.
We walked through the park with some stragglers from the audience. When we got to the gates at Hyde Park Corner, we hailed a black taxi and snuggled into the seat. My head was still reeling. I was relieved but didn’t know whether to be angry or happy. As Selena sat back, her belly seemed swollen; she’d either eaten too many cakes or drunk too much bubbly or was again carrying too many angelic spirits. Now she embraced her tummy and looked sideways at me. Fuck, she was so lovely. I hated her then, but she was still so lovely. She saw me looking at her belly.
“I have an angel here, that’s what I am pregnant with—a beautiful angelic force. I will protect you.”
“Protect me!” I practically spat the retort. “You’ve attempted to destroy me.”
“The entities occupying your body are already leaving,” she said. “Can’t you feel that?”
I thought about what she was saying. I had to admit that something was indeed happening to me, something strange. I felt in that instant as if the waking dreams I had been experiencing for the past few months were beginning to recede. My body felt calmer. I started to get a warm feeling. Not the “Little Mother” of heroin, but something almost as good.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I know you have healing powers, Selena. I just wish you weren’t so fucking wicked.”
Chapter 23
Selena truly was a healer, the real thing. It was then that Selena properly captured me, ensnaring me, and she would hold me forever.
The wine I had been drinking in the tent may also have contributed to what made me feel better, but she had been right. The whole time she’d been speaking to me, bringing me down, now building me up, she had held my right arm close to her bosom.
The Age of Anxiety Page 23