Fallow Park Today

by Joseph Glenn

  “Yes,” Meredith said. There was no question about Sybil’s trustworthiness. But even if she were to share the secret with anyone, what harm could it do? In another day’s time what difference would it make if anyone, or everyone, knew?

  “Thought so,” Sybil retorted. “He and I have become friends you know.”

  “I didn’t know.” Strange, she thought, that Tyler had never mentioned it. It seemed to her too interesting a detail to have slipped his mind. Perhaps, she considered, he had not wanted her to know that Sybil had been transferred to Fallow Park. Some memories belong in the past, and who better than Tyler knew how poorly she and Sybil had got on back in the day? Still, once Sybil’s presence at the park was established to her on Monday, why had he not mentioned his friendship with her? She reflected before continuing, “Did he say anything?”

  “No,” she vigorously answered. “No, he wouldn’t. But he didn’t have to. He introduced himself to me some months ago, when I was transferred here. I remembered him straight off. He’s so shy and unassuming, for a hairdresser I mean. You remember such people; they’re such anomalies in this business. I realized he’s not that that much older than you were when we did that crappy show. He looks a lot like you at that age. Kinda surprised no one else has put it together. Makes me feel like I’ve solved a big puzzle by myself. I feel pretty smart.” She added after a moment of Meredith’s wide-eyed silence, “Tyler does my hair.”

  That explained it! Sybil, who never cared about her hair, or any other aspect of her appearance, unless she was in character, looked like a Park Avenue socialite because she permitted Tyler to exert his better judgment on her.

  Sybil recognized the look of pride a mother would have in a son’s accomplishment. “Yeah,” she said, “looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” She leaned forward suddenly, so close Meredith smelled the wine on her breath. “You’re here to spring ‘em, aren’t you?”

  It dawned on Meredith that Sybil’s request was going to be a very big one.

  “Spring them?” she repeated when she realized Sybil was waiting for some kind of response from her. “What is this, a Jimmy Cagney movie?”

  “C’mon Merry, don’t beat around the bush with me. You’ve taken jobs to pay the bills—everyone in the business does. I’ve seen you on television doing bread and butter junk—hosting a beauty pageant, emceeing a tango contest. I don’t doubt you’ve opened your share of shopping malls over the years. You used to sell adjustable beds in those dreadful half-hour infomercials. But you would never allow yourself, or even permit your name, to be attached to a project like this. Frankly, it’s beneath you. You are here for reasons not related to your career. I think what’s really going on is that this show, the documentary, including the thing tomorrow night, all of it turns out to be the perfect cover.”

  Meredith saw no reason not to be candid. “Alright, yes,” she said.

  “I knew it!” Sybil shouted, too pleased, Meredith surmised, to exert caution or discretion. “How are you gonna do it?”

  “After the show tomorrow night. Bill, my assistant, is helping me. We’re going to appropriate one of the television crew’s vans. The guards have been routinely waving them in and out all week.”

  “Yeah,” Sybil said with an aggressive nod, “that’s good.”

  “It’s a straight shot to the border at International Falls.”

  “Fake I.D.s?” Meredith could tell Sybil’s mind was in overdrive, mentally playing out the scenario. Her pretense of a fragile senior evaporated. “Can’t get anyone—especially gay people—past the U.S. borders without ‘em.”

  “Yes, taken care of, for all five of us.”

  “Five? You,” she said with a raised finger as she began to tick off names, “Carl, Tyler, and Bill, the assistant. Who’s the fifth?”

  “A friend of Bill.”

  “An alcoholic?”

  “Not that kind of friend of Bill. Actually, you met him this evening at the rehearsal—the skinny guy who only talks when he’s addressed, but then will go on and on. He was serving time for a minor offense when I met him. To put it in James Cagney movie style, I sprang him from Fallow Park’s hoosegow. That’s my term for your prison within the prison.”

  Sybil waved this subplot aside. It was clear she intended to focus on the details of Meredith’s plan. It was also becoming clear to Meredith that she was thoroughly delighted with this new dimension to Meredith’s agenda. Maybe it was because she was pleased with herself for ferreting out the truth of Meredith’s participation in the movie. It was possible she was relieved to confirm that Meredith had zero investment in the documentary, and she was turning out to be something of a non-conformist, or perhaps, better yet by Sybil’s standards, she was part of a great big illegal operation.

  “How’d you arrange the photos—for the I.D.s?”

  “We took care of a big part of that in advance. We just need to add the photos. Carl took care of that this afternoon; he was a professional photographer before he came here. We just had to bring him a camera.”

  “And the paper work? Only a top forger—”

  “I’ve been working with one,” Meredith told her.

  “Won’t you be missed?”

  “People will assume Bill and I have come back to this apartment to pack after the performance. I figure we might have as much as thirty minutes. Actually, it’s the disappearance of the van that will be noticed first. But we only need fifteen minutes to get to the border—or a head start of about five minutes.”

  “Take me with you,” Sybil begged. And here was the purpose of Sybil’s visit, laid before her as Meredith had come to realize it would be.

  “I can’t.” She was firm; she wanted Sybil to understand at once there would be no getting around her. “Honestly, I wish I could. I wish I had known you were here; but it’s too late to make arrangements for you. We’ve got four male I.D.s and one female. We could take your picture, but we don’t have the rest of the document. Even if I could talk someone into staying here—and possibly getting arrested for his participation—”

  “A first offense?” Sybil asked. “Five years max. Probably out in eighteen months.”

  “Really?” Meredith was surprised. She contemplated how tolerable such a punishment would be, but kept the thought to herself. The fear of being caught had colored her movements all of these four days she had been at the park. It went against her nature to now minimize what she had been carefully trained to fear the most. “But there’s no one I can ask to stay behind. Bill’s friend is not in good shape emotionally. He needs to get out—and that’s been promised to him. Obviously, I’m here for Tyler. He must leave; his health demands it. And he won’t leave without Carl.”

  “How attached are you to your assistant, this Bill fellow?”

  “He’s essential,” Meredith quickly responded. “He’s planned the route. He’s driving the van. He’s convinced we can get to the border in approximately fifteen minutes.”

  “I can drive a van,” she offered with an engaging, infectious delivery. “I think I could make it there in as little as fifteen minutes, maybe even as little as twelve. Just let me take a look at the route.” As though Meredith were already on board with her plan, she looked about, “Have you got it here? Pull it out. Won’t take me but a minute to learn it cold. I should tell you, I was wide awake when they brought me here, and it was during the day. I think I know the immediate surroundings pretty well.”

  “Bill can’t stay behind,” Meredith flatly told her. “It wouldn’t be safe for him. And he’d be looking at a lot more than eighteen months in prison.”

  “A straight man? Presumably a first offense? White to boot? Who’s he pissed off?”

  “Bill has had some legal difficulties in the past,” Meredith offered tentatively, considering whether this was explanation enough. She added: “You might say he’s something of a wanted man, a fugitive from justice.” With a touch of intrigue, for she felt it suited the moment, she ventured further: “He’s something of
a legendary figure.”

  Sybil leaned back at this, and she appeared to consider what mystery Meredith was talking around. She slowly nodded her head. Meredith suspected she knew what was coming next, but the statement had to be made. Less than full disclosure left the conversation incomplete. “He’s Jack Harbour.”

  “Jack Harbour,” Sybil repeated in a tone approaching reverence. She looked away; it was as if the name itself was too sacred to speak without taking a pause. “Jack Harbour,” she said again before letting out a slow whistle. “That’s a pretty secret you’ve been sitting on, Missy Miss. Hmm.” As she processed the information, her voice gained even more power; her presentation as a delicate old lady was completely abandoned.

  “Now,” Meredith thought, “when discretion is imperative, she’s going to talk in her big, stadium, Shakespeare-in-the-park voice?” She used both her hands to shush her down.

  “Yes! Yes, you’re right,” Sybil exclaimed, but then proceeded in a loud whisper: “you’ve got to get him out of here. But what about his friend? Or Carl? With Jack Harbour in the picture, they gotta realize they’ll get out eventually.”

  “It wouldn’t work Sybil. What good would it do if any of the men gave up his place? They all have male passports. We can’t change the wording—”

  “I could pass.”

  Meredith wanted to laugh, but she knew the woman was serious. “No,” she said definitively and discouragingly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sybil, but no one is going take you for a man.”

  “No, I guess you’re right.” Sybil changed the subject: “What are your plans after Canada?” Intentionally or not, it was more gut wrenching to Meredith than a guilt trip or the injured, pleading tone Sybil was assuredly suppressing. It was as if this poor little, white-haired woman believed she deserved her unfortunate fate; or, at the very least, did not want to be pitied. It was false bravado, and quite possibly the best performance of it she had ever witnessed. Sybil was good.

  “France. Paris, probably.”

  “That’ll be nice. You’ll be happy there. My favorite restaurant in the world is in Montparnasse. I wonder if it’s still there.”

  A silence fell upon them. Was Sybil thinking of Montparnasse? Meredith resisted drawing her out on her memories of Paris.

  “And for income?” Sybil asked after some time had passed.

  “Well the boys will work, once Tyler gets his health back. At least, that’s my hope. My career here in the US. will be finished—”

  “You got that right, sister,” Sybil agreed. “You won’t be able to come back, even if you want to. But you’ll be considered something of a hero in many parts of the world. Play your cards right and you just might experience a renaissance. Mature actress embraces what some would call a hopeless cause, experiences major career lift. It’s happened before. They’ll call you a saint—the patron saint of prisoners.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I expect I’ll have enough of a reputation to be able to find some kind of work. And I’ve moved all my money to an off-shore account; we can live off that indefinitely.”

  “It’s a good plan. I think it’ll work. I certainly hope so.” She offered this last part with optimism and something else, something Meredith could not put a finger on. Wisdom, she wondered. Sybil was adopting the character of the kindly sage. She was now very much My-time-is-over, but-let-me-share-my-experiences-with-you.

  “I really am sorry, Sybil.” It was an inadequate response; Meredith trusted that the lack of adequacy served to underscore how hopeless she, too, found the situation to be.

  “Don’t be,” she insisted. “Not your fault. Hell, it’s not like I have that much more to endure. It’s the young ones I feel sorry for, the ones who are likely to be here fifty years or more. Me, I can handle just about anything. Of course, it’s certainly gonna be one dry birthday this year.”

  Meredith’s heart went out to her. Lord, the woman knew how to play her. “Listen,” she said, “I am going to make arrangements to keep you better supplied with the—how best to put it?—the creature comforts. I will certainly become a persona non grata—and an enemy of the state—when it all hits the fan, and there’s no way I’ll be able to send anything directly to you, but I’ll find a friend who will get you regular care packages. You won’t have to make do with just two bottles of mean-spirited wine a year.”

  Sybil dropped her brave face, with what Meredith surmised required significant effort, and said, “I’d appreciate that.” She said it as though it were a concession, and even if the role of the wounded party was not one of her best, it was painful hearing her say these words. Sybil playing a part badly only underscored her mental status and her complete sense of defeat.

  Sybil pulled her scarf up from the inner depths of her coat and secured it about her neck. She vigorously nodded twice when anyone else would have said, “Look at the hour; clearly I’ve overstayed my welcome. I really must be going.” At the door the women embraced each other for the first and only time in their lives.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The left shoe joined the right, leaving an identical black smudge on the baseboard, before settling on its side. Meredith had kicked them both off with defiance, as if declaring she would never wear them again. Now stretched out over Jack Harbour’s unmade bed, Meredith closed her eyes. She wanted to stop thinking. Sybil had just left her, and Meredith had scampered across the hall to Jack’s room as soon as she was off the floor.

  “And you told her no,” Jack demanded.

  It was all she could do to process the question.

  “Meredith!” he shouted intrusively, forcing her to pay attention. “You told her no, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I told her no. I told her there was no way we could make that happen. I explained about the passports and the other people already guaranteed a spot in the van. She understands.”

  She opened her eyes to watch him as he grew visibly calmer. He sat on the edge of the bed, clad only in boxers and a white undershirt.

  “I feel bad, but good God, I don’t owe that woman any favors. You wouldn’t believe the way she treated me back in the day—and none of it was provoked. It used to piss me off how thoughtless she could be. She was worse than thoughtless; she was outright rude. I wish I could reclaim all the time I’ve wasted trying to figure out just what I’d done to incur her wrath. Now she needs a favor, a favor I’m in no position to grant. So why should I feel guilty?”

  “Probably you’ve both changed,” he said. “She must have; everyone I knew here was altered by the experience.”

  “She cuts a pretty sad figure. Resigned to her fate. A broken woman.” Meredith picked at some lint on the bed sheet until she noticed a blond curly hair. She supposed she should have been revolted, but she was too tired to even go through the motions. Did he sleep in the nude, she wondered. “It’s a good thing they didn’t have any reason to strip search you,” she said, producing the incriminating hair. “I thought you dyed everything.” She handed it to him.

  He shrugged without concern and the let the matter, and the hair, drop.

  “I could use a cigarette and something stronger than tap water from the bathroom,” she observed, but clearly with the expectation of a response.

  He pulled the bottle of brandy out of the closet. This had been part of the welcome basket from the beginning of the week—Meredith’s basket, of course, but she had re-gifted it to him. He unwrapped a couple of plastic cups from the daily supply housekeeping left him.

  “Cigarettes are in my bag,” she said as she watched him.

  “Ms. St. Claire,” he said as he poured out a generous serving of brandy, “please try to remember that I don’t actually work for you.”

  She laughed at this. “I know. It’s surprising how easily one gets used to barking out orders, though. If I could ever get on board with the wholesale oppression of an entire class, I’d apply for Makepeace’s job. I could get used to his way of life. He has no incentive to change, that’s for sure. But I
apologize. I don’t mean to boss you around. Let’s pretend I’m just trying to stay in character.”

  “It’s alright,” he said. “I suppose I’ve got an obligation as host to try to make you comfortable, though I should point out I’m not accustomed to guests at this hour. And if you’re going to crawl into my bed, you’ll have to be prepared to share it with whatever parts of me I’ve left in it.”

  “I am sorry about the hour; I just didn’t know what to do. I needed to talk to someone. Reassure me; tell me I had no choice.”

  “You’re reassured,” he mechanically obeyed. “You had no choice. You did the right thing. I’m just worried about whether this Germaine person can be trusted.”

  “Sybil? There’s no subterfuge about her. It’s not her style. And even if she were a vindictive person, which she isn’t, I don’t think she blames me—or you. She understands the situation.”

  The Situation. Meredith rested her eyes. It was late. Tomorrow—technically today—was another early morning—the last—but it was another day that required her to be alert. “Poor Sybil,” she thought. If they had not detested each other twenty years ago, it could at least be said that no love was lost. Ironic that they should form a bond so many years later. It was the unexpected wrinkle in all of this. She should be focused on tomorrow’s challenges, but found it impossible to put Sybil out of her thoughts. Again she found herself asking why she should feel guilty. It was just as she had told Jack: She owed the woman no favors. Still, if she were honest with herself, and it was too late for anything but candor, she would admit she had come over to Jack’s room because he would reject the idea of saving Sybil. Last minute changes and surprises could lead to mistakes, to unexpected obstacles. There was no way he would permit Meredith to risk the operation. And it was, after all, his operation; he was calling the shots. As soon as he had shot down the possibility of including Sybil, Meredith knew she would be able to sleep with a clear conscience. If she could be absolved of any role in denying Sybil’s request, she could set aside any sense of responsibility she had for her life. At least Sybil knew her hopeless situation was no fault of Meredith’s. And Meredith had been able to impress upon her that if she were able to help her, she would. It was unfortunate that Sybil was aware of the escape. Even if she had not pieced it together herself, she would have understood after the fact how close to the action she had been. In either scenario, there would be inevitable frustration for her, being so close to it, of being so keenly aware of it, yet being unable to participate in it.