The Gilded Life of Matilda Duplaine

by Alex Brunkhorst

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s in school,” I said to keep matters murky.

  “What is she studying?”

  “A lot of different things.”

  “A lot of different things,” Willa repeated. Her speech was slurred. “That sounds dangerous, or nebulous, or lazy. I don’t know which. Probably the latter.”

  I put down two one-hundred-dollar bills and turned to leave.

  Willa, with a slight wobble to her step, followed me. Outside she caught up with me quickly. She grabbed my arm with undue strength and forced me to turn around to look at her.

  “Who is this girl who studies a lot of different things? And who are you that you carry all hundreds now?”

  I turned away quickly, shaking her arm off me. I had had too much to drink, too, and I hated the fact that one of us or both had dragged innocent Matilda into this. It was early evening Los Angeles time, and she was probably bowling a few frames in her lonely basement, eating pretzels and drinking Arrowhead water. She didn’t deserve this.

  “Where are you going?” Willa shouted when I had walked a half block ahead of her.

  “Did you expect me to remain faithful to you? Huh?” I raised my voice, which I never had—not to my parents, not to a teacher, not to a boss and certainly not to a girlfriend. “You were a dead thing to me. A corpse. That was how I got through it all. I told myself you were lying in a cemetery in New Jersey, somewhere in between your dead grandparents.”

  She was crying now. It empowered me, the way those Wall Street guys were empowered by their trades, their money and fucking that girl.

  “You never cared about that winter, Willa. I wasn’t even worth a phone call. I wasn’t even worth a ‘How are you? How you holding up, Thomas?’” I paused, needing to inhale. “For me that winter nearly ruined my life. For you it was merely a season when you had to field a few questions.”

  She had caught up with me and was crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It was like that. It was exactly like that,” I said. I hadn’t realized it, but I had been squeezing Willa’s left wrist with my right hand so tight I was sure it would leave a red ring the next day. She was wearing gold bracelets in the shape of serpents and they dug into my palm. “It was like that, and I wish you had stayed dead for me.”

  I loosened my grip, and her arm dropped to her side like a doll’s. I looked at her one last time. The street lamps cast their light on her little emerald earrings. Willa had been right the first time. She had never deserved them.

  Nineteen

  I arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel at a quarter of ten. I halfheartedly expected to see David waiting for me instead of Lily, telling me that I was banned from his life and Matilda’s, and that I best be staying in Manhattan, because there was nothing in Los Angeles for me to go back to.

  Instead, in the corner of the dining room, among the spotlighted trees and leaded glass casement windows, I saw Lily. She had chosen the darkest table there, as if she was waiting for something illicit to happen. In front of her was a clear drink; in front of my seat was a gimlet.

  “Thomas, my love. How was your evening?” Lily asked when I sat down. I must’ve looked worse for the wear, but in atypical fashion Lily refrained from commenting.

  “Not good,” I said, sipping—more like gulping—the drink. The Four Seasons was one of the most venerable hotels in New York, and even its gimlets tasted of better stock.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,” Lily said, but she seemed unflustered by it.

  “Yours?”

  “David and I went to the auction and then had dinner,” Lily said. “Which was when he told me the unfortunate news.”

  “What did he tell you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. It was clear by this point all secrets that were David’s were Lily’s, too. They were as close as siblings.

  “That you’ve been sneaking on his house and seeing Matilda.”

  “I didn’t mean to betray David,” I said. “But more important, I would never go behind your back. You know that. I know you’ve been ridiculously generous with me.”

  “I have been ridiculously generous with you. And you did go behind my back,” Lily responded with an expression difficult to read, but she didn’t seem particularly angry.

  “Not initially, though. I met her the evening of the governor’s party—when I went to the wrong house. And I know you blatantly asked me if someone was at David’s house.”

  “And you blatantly lied.”

  “I didn’t tell you because she asked me not to. And it seemed a harmless lie, because I honestly didn’t think I’d see her again. It was only later I realized that what I was doing was somehow...” I stopped there, because I didn’t know the word. Was it wrong?

  Lily gazed at the vast branches of a tree, the spotlight casting shadows on its golden leaves.

  “And so what now?” Lily asked.

  I’d had all day to think about it, and I knew the answer. I didn’t hesitate, because I got the impression in their world you needed to know what you wanted, and reach out and grab it. After all, if I hadn’t hoisted myself up on the branches of the oak tree I wouldn’t have discovered Matilda.

  “I need a favor,” I said. I felt silly even asking it, since here was a woman who had showered me with favors over the past few months. “I want to take her away.”

  It was quiet for a moment, as Lily contemplated what I had just said. The ice in Lily’s drink was stuck together, and she rattled the cubes free.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she finally remarked.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “For more reasons than you realize.”

  She was right, of course. But despite the risks, I had determined I was going to run away with Matilda, even though there were infinite reasons to do just the opposite.

  “Who is she, Lily?” I asked.

  “I can’t comment on that. It’s a very complex situation,” Lily said. “One thing Los Angeles doesn’t lack is pretty girls. Perhaps you should cast your net wider.”

  “So are you suggesting I walk away?”

  “It seems you haven’t much choice. Besides, the older you get, the more you realize that things that are too difficult are not usually worth doing.”

  “That’s an interesting perspective coming from you, in light of our conversation last evening. What if you were Matilda, would you want me to walk away from her? Is that what you wanted your fiancé to do?”

  There was a pause then, long enough to give me hope that I had hit one of Lily’s well-bred nerves.

  “My father had a little house in Hawaii,” Lily said. “David will never think you’ll take her there. Even I would have forgotten about it if the estate attorneys hadn’t called to ask if I wanted to put it on the market. When you return to Los Angeles, Kurt will be waiting at my house with a key and two tickets to Honolulu.”

  “What about my job?”

  “As you may have surmised by now, Phil and I are close friends. I’ll request you take a month-long sabbatical to do a project for me and I’m certain he’ll acquiesce. I’ll throw a few exclusives his way. Phil’s an easy fish to catch.”

  I stared through the wavy glass windows. The street lamps resembled sparkling diamonds.

  “Now you’re betraying David.” My voice was little stronger than a whisper.

  “I will deny we ever had this conversation. In fact, I’m going to stay here tonight, so David doesn’t suspect our collusion. When he informed me that you’ve been sneaking onto the estate to see Matilda, I told him I was horrified by your actions. I have been nothing but gracious to you, Thomas, and look what you’ve done in
return.” She said it sarcastically, mimicking the tone she must have given David.

  “What if Matilda won’t leave with me?”

  “It’ll mean the end of the affair. David will never allow you back.”

  “And if I threaten to tell the world David has a hidden daughter?”

  “Then I’m certain David will find a way to make sure you never work in the news business again. It will make what happened at the Journal seem uneventful. And if he doesn’t ruin your career, I will.”

  Lily’s green eyes turned glassy, devoid of emotion. I suddenly realized that her bad side was not a place I wanted to be on.

  “I plan to leave on the eleven o’clock,” I said, to change the subject back to our plan. “I have an early breakfast meeting and I’ll fly out after.”

  “David and I are leaving at two,” Lily said. “That gives you three hours to do what you need to do.”

  “And what about Hector? Was he fired for what we did?”

  “Hector has worked for the family for over forty years. He’ll be very well taken care of—I can assure you of that. But I’ll tell him you asked after him. And apologized.”

  I stood up, leaving half of my drink on the table, despite its caliber.

  “Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for Hawaii. And talking to Rubenstein. Come to think of it, thank you doesn’t seem sufficient.”

  “It is, and you’re welcome. Kurt will call you in the morning and coordinate arrangements. Enjoy your trip.”

  I walked through the grand lobby of the hotel and thought of my conversation with Lily. Lily hadn’t given anything away, but she had been flustered during our conversation. When I had asked for a comment, Lily had deliberately avoided the question. I had always believed there was a story behind Matilda Duplaine, but now I thought it may have been bigger than I even realized.

  I got into the backseat of my cab and took the short trip back to Carole’s brownstone. I was beginning to think I had a story here—a big story. But then I remembered Professor Grandy, who always advised us against leaping to conclusions, and I thought of his esteemed Rule Number Four:

  Be careful of No Comment. It sounds important, but it may mean nothing at all.

  * * *

  When I returned to Los Angeles, so did the rain. I landed in the early afternoon, among heavy storm clouds. I marveled again at the vast sprawl that was Los Angeles. I still wasn’t accustomed to it, but it was finally feeling more like home.

  I headed to my apartment first, throwing a few belongings into a duffel. I had been running on fumes since the flight to New York, and it was only now that the gravity of what I was about to do struck. I closed the door behind me, and I contemplated what kind of man I would be the next time I opened it. I didn’t know the answer to that, but I knew it would be a man much changed.

  I drove across town, taking the now-familiar route to Lily’s house. When I arrived I weeded through flowers to find the buzzer. Kurt must have been expecting me, for the gate opened instantly. Before the gates had fully closed behind me, Kurt was standing in the doorway.

  I didn’t even put my car in Park, such was the efficiency at which Kurt moved. The key marked Honolulu and an envelope with the tickets were slipped into my carry-on. A Louis Vuitton suitcase with a tag with Lily’s name and Hawaiian address was placed on the passenger seat. The whole thing took no longer than sixty seconds.

  I drove the few blocks to David’s property and parked beside the garden. I jogged toward the oak tree and caught a firm grasp of its lowest branch. Unlike the last time, I had worn appropriate clothing for this sort of thing, and the climb went more quickly.

  Once I was perched in the tree, I surveyed my surroundings. David probably assumed I was still in New York, so there were no guards. Sure, there were video cameras, but by the time David watched them it would be too late.

  I hopped onto the canopy of the tennis viewing area and then onto the court. I walked along the edge of the property, narrowly missing the gaze of two tree trimmers and a gentleman who polished horseshoes, and then I slipped through the back door of the kitchen, which I knew was generally kept open for the staff.

  The kitchen was empty, save for a heaping plate of blueberry pancakes and soft scrambled eggs that sat alone on a counter. It must have been Matilda’s breakfast, and it had gone untouched.

  I crept through room after room. The dining room seated no one and its candelabra was unlit. The formal living room had two crackling fires, but no one to enjoy them. The conservatory was quiet; there was no music.

  The first floor was vacant—no Matilda. I sneaked around the back, thinking she might have been bowling. The alley was empty. A single bowling ball sat on the rack, three holes pointed at the ceiling, in the exact position for Matilda’s fingers to slip into them seamlessly.

  I didn’t consult my watch, but I suspected I was running out of time. I had two options: I could head upstairs or to the screening room. I opted for the latter.

  I opened a formidable door as heavy as a bank vault and descended the stairs. It smelled of buttery popcorn, and at the bottom of the stairwell I could see the spray of a black-and-white grainy light. I heard an aristocratic voice that I recognized as belonging to Audrey Hepburn. When I reached the bottom of the stairs I saw Matilda’s bare feet first—crossed on the back of a deep blue sofa. She had elegant, high-arched feet—the feet of a ballerina.

  In the age of digital everything, most screening room owners had abandoned the old-fashioned projector, but David had kept his. Like everything in David’s world, screenings were spectacular events. The theater seated thirty, but Matilda and I were always its only ticket-holders. It was a rich and decadent place with plush velvet sofas and curtains.

  “Matilda, are you here?” I asked.

  There was no answer, so I approached slowly.

  Matilda lay on her back, munching absently on a Red Vines and watching the movie with an equal indifference. She was almost unrecognizable as the girl I had fallen in love with. She wore no makeup, and she had eschewed her froufrou style in favor of a sweat suit. Her eyes were hollow and sad.

  It took me a moment to realize the movie was Roman Holiday, a film about a reporter who falls in love with a princess and allows her to experience, for only a brief time, the real world.

  “Dad found out about us,” Matilda said. “Hector’s been fired, and any minute now I’m sure they’ll find you and send you away—for good.”

  She seemed oddly calm, considering the urgency of the situation.

  I approached, and I squeezed her left hand in mine.

  “We’re going to leave,” I said. “I have everything packed. A friend is lending me her house in Hawaii for a month. We have to go, this second. We don’t have much time before your father comes home.”

  She didn’t respond and let the silence settle between us. Then, finally:

  “Did you see a girl in New York?” she asked.

  It took me a minute to piece it together. The car waiting on our block. David must have had me followed and known I had dinner with Willa. I had loaded my own barrel; all he had to do was pull the trigger.

  “Yes.”

  “Who was she?”

  “My ex-girlfriend. Nothing happened.”

  “You just told me you saw her.”

  “I did, but that doesn’t mean anything happened.”

  “What’s your exact definition of ‘happened’?” Matilda asked.

  What did “happened” mean? I wondered to myself. Did it mean “have sex with her”? Is that how I had justified the whole thing? Because I hadn’t slept with Willa?

  “It would seem to me that dinner is a happening,” Matilda said, tracing the ridges in her licorice.

  “You’re right. It was a happening. But it wasn’t significant.”

  �
�Who is she?” Matilda asked.

  “She’s someone I loved before I loved you.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the littlest bit?”

  “No.”

  “Not even during a particularly sunny day, when the winds are right and the wine is sweet and Lou Reed is playing and she’s wearing a pretty dress?” Matilda asked.

  “Not even then,” I said.

  “Does love ever go away?” Matilda inquired.

  “I haven’t loved a lot of people in my life, so I’m not sure,” I said. “In the case of her—Willa is her name—it took a long time for it to disappear.”

  “I think that love is like a cancer,” Matilda said. “It can go into remission and you can think you have it licked, but there’s a part of it that always stays inside you. Even if it’s so small a microscope can’t detect it, and even if it doesn’t make you sick anymore—it’s there.”

  “That’s a sad way of thinking about it.”

  “Or it’s a beautiful way of thinking about it.”

  Matilda paused for a moment and then inhaled deeply, the way her father often did.

  I was worried, at that moment, that she might break up with me because she believed there was a little bit of Willa inside of me, dark and malignant, ready to begin eating away at me. But then I wondered if Matilda even knew what breaking up with someone meant. She knew what goodbye meant, and it was pretty much the same thing.

  “Matilda, there isn’t anyone else—and there won’t be. But our relationship will have to end if you don’t run away with me. And if we don’t leave now you’ll never see me again. Because your dad won’t let me come back, but also because I can’t be complicit in this anymore. I can’t keep you in captivity just because he does. And maybe someday there will be someone else who manages to sneak through, climb over your walls. You’ll take him through the sculpture garden and tell him who John McCracken is, you’ll beat him six-love in tennis and maybe you’ll even live together here for a while and watch movies like this.” I pointed to the screen. “But that, too, will fail. I’ll assure you of it. Because love doesn’t work like that.”