Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  Now I trembled in the corner, while gagging into a washcloth. Grams was wrong. I would be exactly like those kids who scoured the country in search of their true identity. It reminded me of that adorable book I made her read me every night. The one about the little baby duck who fell from the tree and didn’t know who his mother was. What was the name of it? Duh, Claire! Are You My Mother? How freaky that a story I loved so much as a child would turn out to be MY story, too.

  He could not fly, but he could walk. “Now I will go and find my mother,” he said.

  He did not know what his mother looked like. He went right by her. He did not see her.

  He came to a kitten. “Are you my mother?” he said to the kitten.

  I had visions of tapping women on the shoulder at nail salons. “Excuse me. By any chance are you my mother?” Or at the gym. “Hi. You wouldn’t happen to be my mother?” It made me feel so lost and alone.

  Furthermore, if a virtual stranger, Lillian the Lover, could be privy to my E! True Hollywood Story, who else knew the truth? Adam and Lindsey? All my aunts, uncles, and cousins (were they still even related to me)? Family friends? My orthodontist? Everyone but me?

  “Well, thanks for your two cents, Lil,” Grams spit. “Is that how much you get to kiss mens’ pee-pees?”

  “Why, I never!” Lillian gasped.

  “That’s not what I hear!”

  “This is the thanks I get for trying to be a good neighbor!” The lady in black stormed out.

  “You wanna be a good neighbor?” Grams yelled. “Open your door and close your legs!”

  “Who the hell needs that meshugina tellin’ me what’s good for you?” Grams walked into the bedroom and stood over me, hands over hips, just like when I was four and banished to the corner for drawing on her living room walls. “Damn right we’re your family. Nothing changes that.”

  “I can’t believe the happy hooker knew before I did.” I gagged on my tears. “That’s what you do all day? Talk about your pitiful granddaughter with the deep, dark secret?”

  “This is Florida.” Grams shrugged. “It’s a right-to-talk state.”

  “You don’t know how stupid I feel.” Tears were free-falling on my lap. “How did I not figure this out myself? I never looked like them…never related to them…. I can’t believe they kept this from me all these years.”

  “Ach! What do they ever agree on? Nothing! Was it a good time? A bad time? Were you too young? Too old? Too tall, too short? Too this, too that?”

  “But if they’d just told me when I was little, I’d be over it by now!”

  “That’s what I said.” She threw up her arms.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” I took a deep breath. “Are Adam and Lindsey adopted, too?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh my God,” I screamed. “You know what this means, Grams? It means my entire life has been one huge, fucking lie. Nothing that happened, happened to me. Do you understand? The whole time I was someone else. This person who was being betrayed.”

  “Baloney! You don’t know nothin’!” She rammed her hands in her apron pockets and walked out. “Nothin’ at all!”

  “Oh, believe me, I know all I need to know!” I cried.

  I might have sat sobbing in the corner for days if not for four precipitously timed calls. It made me wonder if their synchronization had somehow been orchestrated by a higher power.

  At first it took me a moment to realize my cell was even ringing. Then I was in too much of a fog to remember to look at the caller ID. Pity, I could have avoided another isn’t-this-so-exciting call from Elyce, the 24/7 fiancée.

  Thank God she was finally able to reach me, she said. And did I get her other messages? She wasn’t sure because sometimes when you’re out of town, the voice mails don’t go through, and there was so much she had to tell me, and she hoped that I absolutely loved the dress she’d chosen for me, and not to worry, she wasn’t going to make us all look like cookie-cutter bridesmaids.

  “Elyce. Wait. Hold on,” I butted in. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” (I was still crying, so the tears weren’t fake.) There’s been a terrible tragedy. A death in the family. My real family. So this isn’t a good time. In fact, now I’m not even sure if I’m coming back to New York. Ever. I’m really sorry. I don’t want to ruin your big day, but I think you should probably ask someone else.”

  But no, of course she wouldn’t dream of asking anyone else. She was sorry for my loss, but certainly by a year from November I’d be fine, and not to worry, she’d have Kleinfeld’s put a hold on the dress until I got back, and please, if there was anything she could do to help, I should let her know, because as her oldest and dearest friend, she wanted me to know that I was like family to her.

  Great. Now I was like family to everyone.

  Just as I wondered how to beg off, the doorbell saved the day. “Elyce, I really have to go, hon. The police are arresting my grandmother for illegal possession of a firearm.”

  A normal person would concede that this was an emergency situation, but not the ever-helpful Elyce. She wouldn’t hang up until informing me that Ira’s uncle was a big trial lawyer in Boca, and to let her know if we needed representation.

  “We’re fine,” Grams said to the cops when I walked in. “But if you want to crack a really big case”—she loved her Ed Sullivan voice—“check out next door. Action like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Sorry for the false alarm, Officers,” I sniffed. “I’m the one who screamed before. We just received word about a death in the family…my grandfather.”

  Naturally they were trained to be respectful of my loss, but from the way the two high-testosterone cops ogled me in my running gear, the only thing they looked sorry about was not being able to cuff me and turn me into a squeeze toy in the back of the squad car.

  It took several minutes to satisfy their curiosity about the furnitureless apartment and to snoop around under the guise of doing a thorough investigation. Thankfully they weren’t all that thorough, as they didn’t think to check a laundry hamper for an unlicensed weapon.

  I had never been so grateful to see two people leave. Finally I could jump in the shower and have my much-deserved meltdown. And not a moment too soon, as I so reeked of puke; my body odor offended even me. But then there were further delays, like on a smog alert day at LAX.

  God help me, but of all times for Pablo to call and ask if I’d made a decision about coming to work for them…Given my mental state, frankly I’d forgotten we’d even met, let alone discussed employment opportunities. But before I could answer, he wanted to remind me of a few things.

  One, he had seniority over me; two, he got first crack at the comp tickets to any premieres; and three, if I hadn’t guessed, he was in a loving, committed relationship with Raphael that he did not want to have fucked up by some petty coworker who had jealous fits over the preferential treatment.

  “I’ll be honest, Pablo.” I blew into a tissue. “I’ve just received some very shocking news about my family, and I haven’t had time to think about this.”

  “Well, what’s to think about, sweet stuff? It’s a great job, great pay, great people…”

  “It’s none of those things, and you know it.”

  “True. But we were hoping you’d look past that.”

  “To be honest, I don’t think I’d like working down here.”

  “Oh pish-tish. Who doesn’t want to work in the Sunshine State? We’ve got the greatest beaches, the hottest clubs, no snow. And here’s a real attention-getter. No state income tax.”

  Oooh. Big plus. I worry constantly about my tax bracket. “That’s all great, but I’m freaked out at the moment…not a good time to be working for Photographer Barbie.”

  “He’s really a wonderful person, Claire. And think of the possibilities. Sometimes we’re the first to know which producers are casting for what roles. It could give you a real leg up.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Of course it’s true
. Pablo doesn’t lie. Well, maybe a little fib now and then, but I swear on my cutie petutie, you could be in the heart of the action working here. Variety has nothin’ on us!”

  “Okay,” I sighed.

  “Okay as in, yes, I’ll do it, or okay as in, I’ll think about it some more?”

  “Okay as in, I’m about to have a meltdown. Why not get paid while I’m losing my mind?”

  “Oh, that’s marvy! Raphael will be just tickled when I tell him. Be here at ten tomorrow.”

  “No. Sorry. I need the day off. For Abe Fabrikant’s funeral.” My grandfather’s funeral.

  “No, no, no. Uh-uh, darling. No vacation days for the first two months.”

  “Bullshit. You can’t count it as a vacation day if I didn’t even start yet. I’ll come in for a few days next week, see if I like the job, then decide if it’s worth it to go get my stuff in New York.”

  “Oh, fine. But I may have to note this little postponement in your permanent record.”

  “You do that, Pablo. Then take your little pen and shove it up your cutie petutie.”

  I was two steps from the bathroom when my cell rang again. Of all people, it was Marly Becker. Seems Viktor was needed at the airport, so she had volunteered to shop for me. The dear girl knew every inch of designer selling space in Miami, and was actually calling from the Versace boutique to ask my style preferences. And was I sure I wore a size six, because Drew had happened to mention that I was a rather large girl.

  My ass he said that, I thought. But, of course, it would be impolite to kick a gift card in the mouth. (Versace? Oh my God, I adored Versace). And why be petty and tell her that Drew alluded to the fact that she was lazy, manipulative, and felt entitled to everything served on a Tiffany platter?

  I frankly don’t know how I had the wherewithal to hold a girl-type conversation, but somehow I managed to sound not only polite, but coherent. Then I actually heard myself say how much I appreciated her help, and I was sure whatever she picked out would be perfect, and to please have Viktor leave any packages with the doorman because I was taking my grandmother to the doctor.

  Finally I could get into the shower. Then I heard my cell ring yet again. Was I stupid enough to run back out in a small bath towel? No, that’s why God invented voice mail.

  On the other hand, what if it was someone I wanted to talk to? Someone to whom I could unburden myself, confide my devastating secret? It would certainly calm my nerves to hear a compassionate, sensitive voice on the other end. Someone who could reassure me that the rest of my life was not doomed. Someone like Sydney. Or Drew.

  Oops. Don’t get ahead of yourself there, I thought. He’ll probably turn out to be like the rest of his species. Amazing at first impressions, lousy at sustaining the charm. A great listener at the beginning, altogether deaf by the end. Then there was that little matter of his being engaged. And yet I ran for that phone like it was my last free minutes forever.

  “Hi,” Drew said. “Did I get you at a bad time?”

  Yes! I was hoping it was you. “Well, I’m kind of standing here in a towel. I was just about to jump in the shower.” Oooh. Bad move. Poor guy will get blue balls from the mental image. Go on. Tell him how bad you smell.

  But being the gentleman Drew was, he let it go. “Should I call you back?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I was just thinking of creative ways to end my life. “How are you doing?”

  “We’ve been really busy with all the arrangements. Not much time to think, which I guess is good…. Look, I only have a minute, but I wanted to find out if maybe you and your grandmother could come to my dad’s for dinner tonight. Everyone wants to meet you.”

  “Dinner?” Excellent. Another occasion for which I have absolutely nothing to wear.

  “Nothing fancy. The owner of the Rascal House is sending over some platters.”

  “Thanks for thinking of us, but I’m afraid we can’t. My grandmother’s not feeling well. In fact, my parents…” I hesitated. I’d said the p word a million times, but now it sounded vulgar and inappropriate. “They’re flying down as we speak.”

  “Oh. Well, what if they watch her and you come by yourself? Viktor could pick you up.”

  “Drew, it’s just not a good time right now…weird stuff going on with my family.” And yours!

  “Okay. Well, look, I wasn’t supposed to say anything…. You have to promise not to repeat this…but I told my Aunt Penny the whole story about you, how you tried to save Pops’ life, and that you’re a struggling actress, and, well…she wants to do something to repay your kindness.”

  “She does?” Are we talking cash reward, or valuable introductions?

  “Yeah. But she really wants to tell you herself.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, screw it. What’s the difference who tells you?”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “See, she might be producing her first feature film next year. Part of a two-picture deal with Universal starring her, Meryl Streep, and I think Nick Nolte. No, wait. Maybe it was Nick Cage. Whatever. She’ll tell you.”

  “UH-HUH…”

  “Anyway, she’s going to be casting for the part of her daughter, and I happened to mention that I thought you’d be perfect for the role because you two even look alike. So she said she would talk to you, maybe have you do a cold reading if you were interested.”

  “Interested? Oh my God. Of course I’m interested. I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s why I wanted you to come for dinner. It’ll be totally nuts after the funeral. And you know how crazy shiva calls get. At least tonight you’d get a chance—”

  “What time?” I cut him off.

  “Six? Six-thirty?” Drew laughed. “Now do you think you can make it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But pretend you had no idea, okay? Be cool. Aunt Penny is very big on dramatic gestures.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t let on that you know. She likes to ride in on her white horse…. Are you even listening to me? Claire…I seem to be losing you.”

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry…I…um…dropped my towel.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said. Though he didn’t say why. “See you tonight.”

  Be careful what you wish for. Isn’t that what they say?

  You know how desperately I wanted to get a film offer. And now, equally important, a shower. Just five minutes of solitude with steamy water rushing down my back so that I could collect myself. Prepare for the most important meeting of my life. Decide what to say to my so-called parents before telling them I doubted I would ever forgive them for deceiving me.

  That was the plan. Cleanse. Rejuvenate. Prepare for battle. Passing out in the shower was not on the agenda. But as the tension began to dissipate under the hot spray and I could fantasize about the stimulating chat I would have with Penny Nichol, a bone-chilling thought occurred to me. One that would turn an already eerie series of events into a grim, terrifying reality.

  It began as a random stream of consciousness about the strange circumstances surrounding Abe Fabrikant’s final moments. If it had been a Hollywood script whipped up by the wacky Coen brothers, the reviews would have said, “Clever, but unrealistic. This could never happen.”

  But it had happened, and I couldn’t stop focusing on the absurdity of it. There I was on a plane, reading some stupid article about Penny Nichol’s fiftieth birthday celebration, while unbeknownst to me her father was seated to my left and in the middle of having a fatal heart attack. But wait, wait, wait…how could he be HER father, and MY grandfather…unless…I was HER daughter? Impossible! Grams told me the name of the girl was Penelope. Yes, that’s right. She said Abe’s daughter was Penelope Fabrikant. Penelope refused to talk to her parents about having an abortion because their whole thing was saving people, not killing them…. But wait. Wasn’t Abe supposedly this great humanitarian?…And hadn’t Grams said the reason Penelope didn’t want to keep the baby was because she was more interested in becoming an actress?<
br />
  Do the math, I thought. You’ve got a fifty-year-old star, minus something that happened thirty years ago. That equals twenty. The age Penelope was when she had her baby. People were always saying how much I looked like Penny. It’s just something about your eyes…”

  Penny…. Penelope…such similar names. How could they both be Abe’s daughters? Unless…OH MY GOD…

  Then the little duck came to a beautiful actress who pulled in $23 million for her last two pictures, and just got a producing deal with a major studio.

  “ARE YOU MY MOTHER?” the little duck said to the actress.

  “You know who I am?” she said to her baby.

  “You are a Hollywood star who is adored by late-night talk show hosts. You are my mother…. And now you want to check me out to see if I could play your daughter in a film.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “How funny is that? If you had been a decent human being, and not a goddamn Long Island duck, I could have played your daughter for the past thirty years.”

  After that little imaginary scene, I screamed to the high heavens, then grabbed hold of the faded blue plastic shower curtain. So Grams was right. She said I would faint when I heard the miserable truth about my past, and I did. But let’s see how long it would take her to go down for the count after I told her I thought I knew what happened to that awful Penelope Fabrikant.

  Chapter 12

  HAD THIS PARTICULAR PREDICAMENT NOT HAPPENED TO ME, I WOULD have found it hilarious. Right out of sitcom land. A pretty girl faints in a running shower and gets dragged to safety by two EMS guys who thought they won the lottery. According to the dispatcher, a call had come in about resuscitating an old woman who fell in the tub. Instead they found a naked model. Ka-ching!