by Play Dead
Laura lowered her eyes and turned away.
GLORIA stood in the corner, her hands fluttering nervously about her face. She looked across the room at her sister. Why does something like this happen to someone like David and Laura? Gloria had spent her life taunting death, teasing him, dangling her life within his grasp. For some reason, he had never snatched it; she was never worth the effort. It was the good he wanted, those who mattered, those like David. Death did not have time for the insignificant.
She turned toward the bar her father had set up for the mourners. For the first time since Laura had dragged her to the clinic, Gloria really craved a drink, a toke, a snort, anything artificial that would deaden her nerves. Her father realized it. He and Dr. Jennifer Harris, Gloria’s shrink, had not left her alone, and she was grateful for that.
Gloria was getting stronger. Most were amazed at how far she had come. But she had a long way to go. By now she was well enough to know that she was far from fully recovered, that her progress and indeed the substance of her life were still fragile.
So she did not mind her father’s watchful eye, which was on her even now as he spoke with Timmy Daniels, one of David’s teammates. It felt nice. She smiled at him and turned back toward where her sister was sitting.
Gloria’s whole body quivered. She bit her lip. One little toke. One little snort. That was all she needed. Then she would be fine. Then she could make it through the rest of the day. Then she would be able to sleep until tomorrow.
And what about tomorrow? Maybe two tokes, two snorts? And then what? She knew. She would start tumbling, tumbling until she didn’t care if she woke up in the morning, tumbling until she once again crashed at the bottom. And this time she would never find the strength to climb out.
A finger tapped her shoulder. She quickly spun. The man who had tapped her was very handsome and she recognized the face, if not the man, right away.
His voice was soft. “Excuse me for intruding. If you want to be alone …”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You must be Gloria.”
She nodded.
“My name is Stan Baskin. I’m David’s brother.”
“I’m so sorry about your brother. I loved him very much. He was a wonderful person.”
Stan lowered his head in a nod. “I loved him, too, Gloria.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I … I just can’t believe my brother is really dead. I keep asking why this happened, if I did something …”
“You?”
“The truth is we fought a lot the past few years. You can’t imagine how much I regret the past. I wonder if I had been a better brother …”
“You shouldn’t torture yourself.”
“I never had a chance to say I was sorry,” he continued, “to tell him how much I loved him.” Stan took her hand then, his wet eyes finding hers. As much as she did not want to think such a thing right now, Gloria couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He was very handsome with looks that were similar to David’s. And the way he had opened up to her, the way he had not been afraid to be emotional in front of her … just like David.
She could see now that he was on the verge of tears again. She reached out to hold him but he drew away. “I’m sorry to be troubling you, Gloria.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“You’re so beautiful and you’ve been so kind to me. I hope we can see each other again soon.”
“I hope so, too.”
“I’m a stranger in Boston, and I feel comfortable with you and your sister. I … I hope you don’t mind if I call you once in a while.”
Why did her heart leap so when he spoke? “I’d like that, Stan. I’d like that very much.”
STAN turned away from Gloria and began to walk away.
Did you see that body? I thought ol’ Stan, my man, was going to pass out! A roller coaster doesn’t have that many curves. And Gloria digs me, no doubt about that. I can always tell—
Bam!
Somebody bumped into Stan with a significant amount of power. The blow knocked Stan out of his daydream. When he focused, he saw a face he had not seen in almost a decade.
T.C. glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed.
Stan quickly recovered. “Why, it’s little Terry Conroy. Long time no see. You’ve put on a few pounds, old buddy.”
“I asked you a question.”
“Can’t a man mourn the death of his only brother?”
“A man, yes. A piece of shit like you, no.”
“Big talk from the city cop. You are a policeman now, aren’t you, T.C.?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Is this an official interrogation?”
“Call it what you want.”
“How about none of your business?”
“How about I smash your head through a window?”
“Good idea, T.C. Why don’t you make a big scene in front of everyone and disturb their mourning? How does that sound?”
“If you dare bother anyone—”
“Please, T.C., would I do something like that?”
“Get the hell out of here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was under the impression this was the Ayarses’ house. I never realized it was yours. The Boston Police Department must pay very well.”
“What are you doing in Boston anyway?”
“Paying a condolence call to my lovely sister-in-law.”
“Let me warn you, shithead, that if you harm her in any way—”
“T.C., can’t you see I’ve changed? I’m a new man.”
“Shit doesn’t change its stink. It only breaks down into nothing.”
“Colorfully put. I must remember that. Anyway, as much as I’ve enjoyed this conversation, I really must be going now.”
“Back to Michigan?”
“Not yet. I thought I might hang around Boston for a while.”
“I wouldn’t advise it, Stan. This city can be awfully tough on strangers.”
“A threat? How nice. If you’ll excuse me …”
T.C. grabbed his arm. “I’m warning you, Stan. Don’t try to pull any of your shit. I remember what you did to David.”
For the first time, Stan’s eyes grew angry. “You know nothing about what happened between David and me.” He pulled away but T.C. hung on. He pulled harder. “Let go of me now, you tub of shit,” he half whispered, half yelled. “I happen to be his brother. I’m part of his family. You, on the other hand, are just another in a long line of people who sucked up to my brother for personal gain.”
T.C. let go. “Get out, Stan. Get out now.”
Stan pulled away, said his good-byes, and left. As he headed for the door, he wiped away a tear, curious as to why it was so easy for him to get into the role of grieving for a brother he had hated so.
THAT night, Judy Simmons went back to the hotel by herself. She felt drained, exhausted from the events of the day. She sat on the bed and took her wallet out of her pocketbook. Her fingers reached behind her license and plucked out a thirty-year-old photograph.
Judy lifted the picture into view, her eyes entranced by the black-and-white images from nineteen sixty. She lay back and held the wrinkled photograph in the air above her head. She stared at the picture of the pretty, hopeful college coed and the handsome older man.
Why torture yourself ?
But the truth was that her past did torture her. It had tortured them all, still tortured them, would continue to torture.
Not necessarily. I could tell the truth.
But what good would it do? Would it stop the torment? Release her guilt? Not really. Better to keep it a secret. Better to hope that all would be okay. Besides, she wasn’t sure what had really happened in Australia. It might have been just like they said. It might have been just an accident. A sad, tragic accident.
But it wasn’t.
She sat up and put the picture on the night table. And what if it wasn’t an accident? What if … ? She pu
shed the thought away. David was dead. Judy’s beautiful, wonderful niece was crushed. Nothing could change that. It was in the past. The truth could not work as a time machine, allowing her to go back and make everything work out okay. The truth could not bring David back to life.
She glanced at the clock and picked up her suitcase. The truth. The only thing the truth could do now …
… was kill.
5
LAURA finally managed to get out of the bed again.
Three weeks had achingly passed—three torturous weeks during which Laura had done little but sulk away the days in Serita’s spare bedroom. And God, how she hated to sulk, how she hated lying in bed and feeling sorry for herself.
She pulled back the covers. Her hair was disheveled, her usually dark skin turning gray, her eyes swollen and black. Yes, three weeks had passed, but as far as the pain was concerned, it felt like one agonizing second. The pain, the anguish of knowing her David was dead had not lessened, had not loosened its grip for even the briefest of moments.
She had visitors. Gloria was always with her, and in many ways, she was the best comfort, not because her words or company was particularly comforting, but because Laura’s worrying about her sister was an effective means of escaping from her own torment. The way Gloria’s body shook and quaked reminded Laura of the painful days of withdrawal when she first found Gloria’s naked body with the needle tracks in her arms.
Stan was also a true support and a sad example of lost opportunity. He visited every day, often at the same time as Gloria. Laura noticed that Gloria had something of a crush on Stan. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, but so far Stan had not done more than be kind to her. That was probably good. At this stage, a bad relationship with a member of the opposite sex would be catastrophic for Gloria.
There were others. Earl was here a lot. So were Clip Arnstein and Timmy Daniels, the backcourt player who had always thought of David as an older brother.
Laura put on a fabulous act when these visitors came to the door. She pretended to be strong and told them all she was doing just fine, that she was taking walks outside every day, that there was no reason to worry. In other words, she lied. She was not sure it was working, but anything was better than allowing people to stare at you with eyes filled with pity. That was something Laura could not handle.
“Whoa, will miracles never cease?”
Laura turned toward Serita. “Excuse me?”
“The fans are on their feet! Laura is finally out of bed! And, oh, my, would you look at that? She’s actually putting on something besides a nightgown and bathrobe.”
“Funny.”
“Are you going back to work? Say yes.”
“No.”
“Then where are you going?”
“To the house.”
Serita paused. “Nah, let’s do something else. Let’s drive down by the Combat Zone and whistle at guys.”
“I’m going to the house.”
“Honey, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“But why?”
“I have to clean up a few things.”
“It can wait.”
“No,” Laura replied, “I don’t think it can.”
“Then I’ll go with you. I can be very helpful.”
“With cleaning? Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m very good at supervising.”
“You have to go to work, Serita. You have that big spread for International Health Spas today.”
“It can wait.”
“With the money they’re paying you for those TV ads?”
“I said it can wait.”
“Let me be somewhat less subtle,” Laura said. “I want to go alone.”
“Well, fuck you, too.”
Laura chuckled sadly. “You’re a good friend.”
“The best.”
“But I’m taking advantage. I should move out.”
“No way. I need you here. You’re my excuse to Earl.”
“You love him, you know.”
Serita put her hands on her hips. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“I know, I know. He’s just a good lay.”
“You got it. But he loves the spa commercials. He says seeing me all sweaty on Nautilus machines makes him hot.”
“I’m happy for you both.”
“Fuck you, too.”
Laura kissed her friend’s cheek and left. She got into her car. As she drove, she tried to keep her mind blank, tried to concentrate on the road in front of her. But her mind would not do as she commanded. It kept coming back to David, always back to David, to the way he walked, to the way he held her as they slept, to the feel of his unshaven face against her skin when he kissed her.
David had changed her in so many ways, and yet now that he was gone, she knew that many of those changes would soon dissolve. She remembered how wonderful it had been to discover each other, to learn of love together. It had taken a while. Love and trust did not come easily to either one of them.
During the second month of their relationship, Laura felt herself finally begin to let down her defenses and open up to him. Before that, she had been afraid of exposing herself to the devastating weapon of love, of being hurt in a way from which she could never recover. But on this cold December night, Laura realized that she and David were destined to be together. True, they had made no commitment to each other, made no pledges. But Laura knew. And now that she did, she wanted to see David, couldn’t wait to be with him so that she could at long last tell him how she felt. But would she have the courage? Would she finally be able to say and hear words she had always dreamed about but never allowed herself to hope for? Probably not. Probably she was not ready. But then again, if you don’t try …
She had been sitting at her desk, her leg shaking as it usually did. A happy, goofy smile, the smile of a woman starting to fall heavily for a man, kept inadvertently leaping upon her face. Laura psyched herself up, working up the nerve to go through with it. Finally, she reached for the phone, called David at the Garden, and invited him over for dinner this Friday.
“Are you cooking?” David asked.
“Of course.”
“Let me see if my Blue Cross is paid up.”
“Stop being a creep.”
He paused. “I’d love to but …”
“But?”
“I can’t on Friday. Can I take a rain check?”
Disappointment gushed through her. “Sure,” she managed.
“I have to go to this fund-raiser.”
Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She mentally chastised herself for her behavior, for hoping that he would invite her to go with him to the fund-raiser. It was just that she wanted to see him so much.
“Listen,” he continued, “I have to get back to practice. I’ll speak to you later.”
Laura heard the phone click. She waited for the dial tone to return, and then the annoying noise that tells you that your phone is off the hook followed. After another minute or two passed, she put the receiver back into its cradle.
He had not asked her to go with him.
Sleep became an infrequent visitor for Laura that Friday night. Why hadn’t David invited her to the fundraiser? Didn’t he need to see her, too? Or was she rushing this whole thing too fast? After all, they had only been seeing each other for two months. Maybe he was not ready to make any commitments. Maybe he did not feel the same way she did.
Laura showered and dressed early Saturday morning. Needing something to take her mind off David, she headed into the office and started to wade through the previous month’s financial statements. Earnings were up almost ten percent from the previous year, which was a full four percent better than Laura had anticipated. Content with that, she sat back and grabbed the Boston Globe. When she hit the society page, she found a photograph of David at the fund-raiser.
With another woman.
Laura felt a hand reach into her chest and grab her heart. The mystery w
oman was a stunning, older blonde whom the Globe identified as Jennifer Van Delft. Ms. Van Delft had her arm locked around a tuxedo-clad David, who was smiling like a lottery winner and was described by the paper as Jennifer’s “escort.”
Escort. That son of a bitch.
Tears began to work their way into her eyes. She continued to stare at the picture. Why was she crying? What the hell was she getting so upset about? Had she really been stupid enough to think that there was something special between them, that David cared for her more than his other girlfriends?
There was a knock on the door. Laura moved quickly. She folded the newspaper, wiped away her tears, smoothed her Svengali business suit, and regained her composure. “Come in.”
David came through the door with a smile, not unlike that in the photograph, smeared across his handsome face. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hello,” she said coldly.
David crossed the room to kiss her but she turned away, leaving him only room to buss her cheek. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m just busy that’s all. You should have called first.”
“I thought maybe we could grab some lunch together.”
Laura shook her head. “Too much work.”
Puzzled, David watched her go back to work as though he weren’t there. “You sure nothing is wrong?”
“Positive.”
As he shrugged, David noticed the Boston Globe sitting on her desk. A knowing smile came to him. “Does that upset you?” he asked, pointing at the newspaper.
She looked up at the headline. “What? The fire in South Boston?”
“I’m talking about the picture of me inside.”
“Why on earth would that upset me?” she asked. “I don’t own you. You’re free to do as you please.”
He chuckled lightly. “I see.”
“But I do think we should mellow out for a while,” she continued.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask why?”
“This relationship is getting way out of hand.”
David sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “So you want something a little more relaxed—one of those flexible relationships.”