Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  She made it to L.A. by late afternoon, just in time to get stuck on the 405 Parking Lot. When she finally got off the freeway and made it home, she stopped off at Jessie's long enough to give her the vase and pick up Eye's Odd. She was unlocking the door to her apartment when she heard the phone ring. She left her suitcase on the porch and ran into the kitchen to answer it.

  "Hello...hello?"

  "Stephanie?"

  "Hal!"

  "Yeah, Steph. It didn't sound like you. Is everything okay?"

  "Everything's fine. I just got in."

  "How'd it go?"

  "Great. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Did you get in touch with Weasel?"

  "No. That's why I called. He and Colonel Willis went on a fishing trip up at Chatsworth Reservoir yesterday morning. They won't get back until late tonight."

  "Okay, that gives me a little more time then. I still have that appointment with Cindy Pennington this evening. By the way, Hal, did you try to call me at the airport when I was in San Francisco?"

  "No, why?"

  "Someone had me paged."

  "You don't know who it was?"

  "No. Whoever it was hung up right after I picked up the phone."

  "Then you are still getting those phone calls, aren't you?"

  "We can talk about it tomorrow. I really need to get ready."

  "Steph, is there something you're not telling me?"

  Stephanie hesitated. She knew Hal would only worry, but she felt she should tell someone.

  "Well, something did happen in Santa Rosa. I was staying at this seedy motel--which, incidentally, I'm going to talk to Melrose about--and the phone rang several times in the middle of the night. When I picked it up no one said anything. But that's not the weird part. The lady working the switchboard said I didn't get any calls the entire night."

  "Could you have been dreaming?"

  "No. I'm sure I was wide awake because I was mad...and a little scared. I don't know what to make of it. With the calls here the other night, and now with the ones at the motel and the airport, I'm starting to wonder if I'm being followed."

  "I think we should call the police."

  "No, I don't think that's necessary. Besides, what would they do? I haven't been threatened or anything."

  "Well, if it continues we're going to do something. In the meantime, you be careful."

  Stephanie went back out to get her suitcase and check her mail. She stood on the porch and sorted through the bills and flyers until she came to a bright red envelope. For her name and address, someone had cut letters and numbers from a magazine and pasted them on the front. There was no return address. She tore it open. Inside, on the single red page, the cut-out words read:

  Dear Bitch:

  You shouldn't be snooping around. If you know what's

  good for you, you won't show this letter to anyone.

  Just remember, I'm watching you.

  She stared at the page, reading each word again. Her door was still open, and she felt an uneasiness when she raised her head and gazed into her apartment.

  Eye's Odd walked onto the porch and rubbed up against her leg. She scooped him up and hurried inside.

  "How do you handle the pace of the emergency room?" Stephanie asked.

  "Valium." Cindy Pennington laughed. "I'm just kidding. ER can be really hectic at times. To survive, I try to think about how much I'm helping people. Sometimes even that doesn't work."

  "You must be drained by the end of the day. Does your social life suffer?"

  "I've never had great luck with men, but I can't blame that on my job. It seems like I always attract the kind of guys who borrow money or something and then take off."

  "I know the type," Stephanie said, smiling. "So where do you see yourself in five years, ten years?"

  "I really haven't thought that much about it. I guess I'll still be where I am. My mother is getting older and her health may start to fail one day. She's told me that if she ever gets sick she would like me to move back home. I guess I wouldn't have any choice."

  Cindy Pennington talked about her childhood and some of her experiences in school. After graduation her best friend hooked up with The Family, and Cindy joined soon after.

  "Tell me, Cindy, what are some of the images that come to mind when you think about The Family?"

  She answered with almost no hesitation. "Incredible happiness. Laughter, sharing, caring...children. I loved the kids. And then there was Mother Earth's crusade...climbing trees in logging camps, lying down in front of bulldozers, being hauled off to jail linked arm in arm. Back then I really felt that people could make a difference. And we did. I don't think that will ever happen again."

  "Why not?"

  "Times have changed, people have changed. There was a social consciousness that doesn't exist now. Back then we could identify a wrong, whether it was against minorities, the environment, or another country. And not only could we identify a wrong, we were willing to fight to make it right. I don't think you're old enough to know what was happening in the sixties."

  Stephanie smiled. "You're not the first one to tell me that." She glanced at her notes and checked the recorder to see how much tape she had left. "Cindy, it's common knowledge that Mother Earth's crusade, as you called it, took a tragic turn. Was it at all hard for you to adjust emotionally to what happened?"

  "Yes. Very. I was devastated. There was so much peace and love in The Family, and I had a hard time accepting that murder could be a part of it, too. There's a fine line between the willingness to give your own life for a cause and the willingness to take the life of someone else. We were so close, so much a part of each other, it's like we shared identities. I had to completely reassess my relationship with each and every one of those people. And I had to take a good look at myself, too, because if they were capable of doing such horrible things, was I? At what point does a person cross over that line?"

  Stephanie thought of Treva Billingsley. "I hope you don't mind my asking," she said in a softer voice, "but did you ever seek professional help? A counselor, psychiatrist, anyone like that?"

  Cindy nodded. "Before everything happened, a psychologist had come up to The Haven to talk to us. He was teaching at USC and doing research on communal life. Most of us really liked him. He told us to give him a call if we ever wanted to talk. After the murders I started having problems, so I looked him up. He had quit teaching and was in private practice."

  "When did you stop going to him?" Stephanie asked.

  "I haven't."

  Chapter 22

  "I've been talking with Melrose and Mr. Z while you were gone, Steph," Hal said as he searched his desk drawers for a pack of cigarettes. "They want the series to start next Monday. What do you think?"

  "Well, that gives me a week." Stephanie pushed back in the chair. "It's going to be tough. I'll be on the road until Friday and I'll still have to interview seven more people, plus have something ready for Monday."

  Hal pulled a cigarette from the pack he had found in his bottom drawer and tapped the end of it on his desk. "Well...Sunday, actually. Melrose and Mr. Z think we ought to have some sort of preview to kick off the series in the Sunday edition. They want everything covered, starting with background on the murders, especially Anne Stratford and William Drew. Don't hold anything back. Go ahead and give them all the grisly details. And get into their personal lives. You know, their films together, how they fell in love...theirs was one of the great Hollywood romances of all time. And you've got to mention the role their proposed theme park played in their murders. I already pulled the research files on The Family." Hal pointed to the three bulging accordion folders on his desk. "And on top is an outline of what Melrose and Mr. Z want you to cover for Sunday."

  "When did Melrose start making editorial decisions?" Stephanie asked. "Of all the stupid--"

  "Take it easy. No one's telling you what to write, just what to write about, and for Sunday only. Look, it was Melrose's idea, and this time I have to agre
e with him. We need the background to refresh people's memories. Remember, Steph, some of our readers weren't even alive back then." Hal patted the folders on his desk. "These will help. What time will you be back on Friday?"

  Stephanie paused to think of her schedule. "I have an eight o'clock appointment that morning with Mike D'Angelo," she said, "then I'll drive back here to meet with Colleen Dupre at one. I should be finished by around three."

  Hal nodded and looked at his calendar. "That should work out fine. In case you're interested, I've set up a four o'clock meeting with Mr. Z. I think the time is right to talk to him about a reunion. If we start on a Monday and run ten interviews, the last one will be on a Wednesday. If we get approval for the reunion we could shoot for the next weekend."

  "Why so soon?"

  "We'll want to go with it while it's really hot. We wouldn't have much time to put it together, though. If we get Mr. Z's approval on Friday you'll have to start on the reunion the same day." Hal arched his eyebrows. "You're really going to have to push yourself on this to get it all done. Do you think you handle it?"

  "Can Beverly Sills sing soprano?"

  "Great," Hal replied. "That's what I wanted to hear. And don't worry, you won't have to do much to set up the reunion. You and I can decide the best way to do it, with some input from Melrose and Mr. Z. Then you'll just need to call the people you interviewed and see if they're interested. I wouldn't limit it to the ones you're going to write about. Call everyone you talked to. I'll help you with all the arrangements. Then when it's all over you can write a wrap-up." Hal folded his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. "There's one other thing, Steph...try to catch up on your sleep."

  Stephanie picked up the folders. "You know, you and Mathers should form a comedy team."

  She walked back to her desk and put the folders down. In the clutter were three phone messages from Randy Ebert. She crumpled them and dropped them into the waste basket.

  By the end of the day Stephanie was worn out. She had sat at her desk with her headphones, listening again to the taped interviews with Barbara Moran and Rosalee Hartun. She knew she would use both of them. She had already ruled out Gerry Meharis and Treva Billingsley. She wanted to go with Eric Dolmire, even if she couldn't identify him as a state senator. She was also comfortable with the others--Dennis King, Angela Deerfield, and Cindy Pennington.

  Her next appointment was with Paula Fitch in Santa Barbara on Tuesday morning. She was a flight instructor for Oceanside Flying Services, a fixed-base operator at Santa Barbara Municipal Airport. She would then catch a flight to San Jose for a Tuesday evening meeting with Harper Leggett, a record producer and former bass player for The Undead, a rock group that had one hit on the national charts in the early seventies--Kill It Before It Dies. Stephanie would spend Tuesday night in San Jose, then drive to Stockton the next day. There she would meet with Alexis McGivens. From Stockton she would go to Sonora to see Dirk Yates. Her last three interviews were with Marney Lentz on Thursday, and Mike D'Angelo and Colleen Dupre on Friday.

  Stephanie picked up the phone and called Severman House. She had to wait several minutes until the person who answered was able to find Weasel.

  "Hi, Miss Stephanie," greeted the familiar voice.

  "I'm glad you were in, Weasel. How have you been?"

  "Real good, Miss Stephanie. I was wonderin' if you was ever gonna call me again."

  "You know better than that," she said. "I wanted to let you know I've already interviewed quite a few people from The Family, and--"

  "None of 'em mentioned Xeno, did they?" Weasel asked.

  "No, and I haven't brought up his name either, just like I promised. But as I was saying, the interviews are going really well. It looks like we just might be able to put together a Family reunion. We still need to get approval from some other people here." She waited for a reply but didn't get one. "Aren't you excited?"

  "Yeah, Miss Stephanie," Weasel said in even tones. "I am."

  "I'd like to see you in a little bit, if you're free. I have another surprise for you."

  "Okay, I guess. When do you want to meet?"

  "I'll pick you up in an hour. Our usual place?"

  "I'll be there, Miss Stephanie. Bye."

  Although Stephanie was ten minutes early Weasel was waiting for her. He was dressed in worn-out corduroys and a stained t-shirt. He was also wearing his Dodgers cap.

  "Hi, Miss Stephanie. How are you doin'?" Weasel's voice sounded thin as he climbed into the car.

  "I'm fine, Weasel." She waited for a cab to pass and then pulled out. "I didn't change any of your plans, did I?"

  "Nah."

  "Is something the matter?" she asked. "You seem a little down."

  Weasel paused before answering. "It's Xeno, Miss Stephanie," he said just above a whisper. "I think he's comin' after me."

  "Why do you say that? Have you heard from him?"

  "Not yet, but I got this gut feelin'." He thumped his stomach several times with his fingertips. "You ever get a feelin' in your bones that you just know somethin's gonna happen? I've got that feelin'."

  "What are you going to do? Why don't you stay with me for a few days, until Xeno chills out?"

  "I appreciate it, Miss Stephanie, but I couldn't do that. Even if I did, it wouldn't do no good. I couldn't stay there forever, and when I left I'd be in the same fix I'm in right now."

  Stephanie got on the Santa Monica Freeway and headed for Fox Hills Mall. As she drove she spent the time trying to cheer Weasel. It wasn't until she turned into the mall that he seemed to take notice of where they were going. They got out of the car and headed for one of the stores.

  "This is part one of your surprise," she said when they reached the entrance to O'Bannon Clothiers, a store where she had once bought a leather coat for her father.

  Weasel looked at her with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean, Miss Stephanie?"

  "I want to show my appreciation for all you've done for me. This series will be the biggest thing that's ever happened in my career, and none of it would have been possible without you."

  "But why are we goin' in here?" Weasel asked.

  "Because I want to buy you some new clothes."

  "You can't do that, Miss Stephanie." Weasel was blushing. "You don't owe me nothin'."

  "It's something I want to do. Please, Weasel, I insist." She took him by the arm and guided him through the door.

  They spent a few minutes picking out a white long-sleeve shirt, then they started looking at suits. The clerk who was waiting on them seemed reluctant to allow Weasel to try on anything at first. A glare from Stephanie quickly persuaded him to be a little more cooperative.

  "The gentleman looks rather dapper in this one," the clerk said to Stephanie when Weasel came out of the fitting room a third time. "Especially in that fine chapeau," he added, looking down his nose at Weasel's Dodgers cap. Stephanie ignored the remark and Weasel didn't seem to catch the sarcasm.

  "Do you like this one, Weasel?" Stephanie asked.

  Weasel stood before the mirror in a traditional navy wool blend suit, running his finger over one of the buttons on the sleeve. "Yeah, Miss Stephanie, but I can't let you buy this for me."

  "We'll take it," she said to the clerk.

  Next they went to look at ties. Stephanie had to tactfully talk Weasel out of a fish tie, and they finally settled on a diagonally-striped navy, gray, and red one. They bought socks and then stopped by another store to pick up shoes.

  "It's time for the second surprise," Stephanie said when they were once again in her car.

  "Miss Stephanie, you shouldn't be spendin' all this money on me."

  "The second surprise won't cost me a thing." She put her hand on his arm. "Weasel, if it happens, I want you to come to the reunion."

  His shoulders sagged at the same time his head lowered. "Now I know why you bought me those new clothes." He didn't say anything for a moment, and she could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
"I can't go, Miss Stephanie."

  "Of course you can, Weasel. Why can't you?"

  "Because I don't belong with them no more, that's why. It'd take a whole lot more than new clothes to make me fit in with the way they are now."

  Suddenly Stephanie felt as though she had made a terrible mistake. "Weasel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to think that you had to get all dressed up to be around them. I just wanted to do something nice for you, and everyone can use new clothes."

  "Don't apologize, Miss Stephanie. I don't mean nothin' toward you. That's the nicest thing anybody's ever done for me. I'm just talkin' about The Family. When I first met you at the shelter, I told you The Family still lives. It don't, Miss Stephanie. It died a long time ago. I guess I've been hangin' on to a memory for all these years because I haven't had nothin' else to hang on to. Truth is, those people would probably treat me like dirt now, just like everybody else does."

  "Weasel, don't you think you should at least give them a chance? Most of the ones I've talked to seem like really decent people. And you're wrong if you believe you're the only one who's been hanging on to memories. Nearly everyone I've talked with told me they often think about their days with The Family."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. Those days are still special to them, too. You need to remember that. Why do you think they agreed to talk to me? To show that at least the spirit of The Family, the good side, is still alive, that's why."

  "That makes me feel better, Miss Stephanie, but I still don't know about goin'. If I make up my mind to go, I'll let you know. If I don't go, I want you to take back these fancy clothes."

  "Nonsense, Weasel. They're yours no matter what you decide."