“Lila? How did this get in here?” I asked again, still maintaining my upbeat, non-accusatory tone.
“I—”
“You . . . what?”
“Remember when Kim came over and spent the night and you went out?”
I did remember. It had been the week before when I’d left them alone while I went out with the scheduling coordinator for a mediation group. “Yes.”
“Well,” she went on, “we were in your room… trying on your shoes and stuff…”
“You’re not supposed to be doing that.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Why do you say you’re sorry when you’re not at all sorry?” I said, then stopped myself from going further. “Forget it. Go on.”
“OK, so she was sitting on the floor and she saw this box under your bed and she asked me what it was so, I, like, looked under the bed and I didn’t know what it was, so… so then we pulled it out and opened it.”
“And—”
“And then we found that.”
I scanned her face. She appeared to be telling the truth. “OK,” I said. “So how did it get into your room? Why didn’t you just leave it in the box?”
“Well, because we knew what it was and we wanted to see how it worked. So we brought it in here and just turned it on and off…you know? Watching it.”
Sounds semi-believable.
She had propped herself up on a couple of pillows encased in linens featuring intertwined cats and dogs and wasn’t looking at me. I was sure there was something she was leaving out. “You just turned it on and off.”
“Yeah. And we laughed.”
“You laughed.”
“It was funny.”
I glanced at the purple vibrator with the little rabbit face and little rabbit ears and fake pearls around the middle. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
I sat down on the bed and placed my hand on one of her legs, both of which were tucked under the duvet. “Did you try it?” I asked.
Her face contorted into one of total disgust. “Ewww, nooo. . . ,” she squealed.
“It’s OK if you did,” I said calmly. “You’re a little young, but it’s not weird or anything.”
“Are-you-kidding-me? That thing is huge! And it’s gross. Totally, totally gross. Look at it. Oh-my-god, oh-my-god.”
Still holding the Rabbit, I tried to assess it with a fourteen-year-old’s eyes. It was odd-looking, particularly for a girl growing up an only child of a single mother who didn’t have many opportunities to see a real penis, but it didn’t look that huge. At that point Stipple jumped up onto the bed and licked the Rabbit.
“Stipple, that's nasty,” said Lila, laughing as I shooed the cat away. “No, Mom. I definitely did not try it. And neither did Kim. We turned it on and off and watched it wiggle and stuff, but I mean, really? No. That thing is just plain scary-gross. I don’t think I’m ever going to have sex. How can you stick it inside you?”
How was I to give an honest answer to this question? I’m not one to sugar coat the truth for anyone. “Well, honey, it’s like you said in the car the other day—grown-ups have sex. I guess when they don’t have sex, this is sort of a safe substitute.”
“Why do you, like, even want a substitute?” She was staring at me open-mouthed, clearly appalled.
“We don’t need to talk about this anymore,” I said, patting her leg. “I just thought that since it was in your drawer maybe there was something you might want to tell me.”
“Nothing. Really, Mom. I’m serious.”
“Because even if there’s nothing you want to tell me right now, there may be something you want to tell me soon and I want you to feel you can talk to me.”
“I know. I do. I’m just sleepy now.”
“You’re just at that age when . . .”
She shook her head vehemently. “There’s nothing to tell. I'm serious. I’ll tell you when there is, Mom. Promise. And I’m sorry I took that thing. I really am. I just forgot to put it back.”
“OK,” I said. What more was there to say at that point? She and I had a good relationship, I thought, for mom and adolescent, hormone-riddled daughter. I wanted to believe her. But even if she were telling the truth, there would always be secrets and always be issues—like the incident with the Social Studies teacher, Mr. Rodriguez. I leaned down to kiss her goodnight.
“Sleep tight,” I said standing up, Rabbit in hand.
I was about to turn off the poodle lamp on the bedside table when she asked, “Hey, what happened to that guy you were talking to on the phone? Wasn’t he going to come for a visit or something?”
She’d finally asked me about Udi and for some reason I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
“Yes.”
“So . . . did he?”
“Yes. He did.”
“And—?”
“And we had a nice time together.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess,” she said, making an effort. “Is he still here? You know, in California?”
“No. No, he’s not.” We were getting dangerously close to my having to decide if I should continue with the truth.
“Is he coming back? You seemed to really like him. Where’s he from again?”
“He’s from Israel and, um, no honey—I’m pretty sure he won’t be coming back.” I felt my throat tighten, surprising myself that I’d get choked up at this point. I sat back down on the bed.
“Why not?” She yawned, trying to hide it.
“Well—” I looked into her eyes, drooping but filled with concern, and I couldn’t think of a lie that wouldn’t come back to haunt me in one way or another; nor could I tell her the whole truth. So I deflected.
OK, so maybe I was being a little overprotective. But the day was right around the corner when I would no longer be able to shield her from life’s cruel realities. This was one I didn’t have to share. She was going to be fifteen in two months and that was plenty soon enough to warn her about the possibility of a guy dying on her during sex. Come to think of it, I’ll most likely delay that indefinitely.
She yawned again. “So why isn’t he coming back?”
“Family commitments and government regulations and that kind of thing,” I told her.
“Ohhh.” Her eyes were just slits by this point, her head deep into the pillow.
“Yeah, so that’s kind of sad, but maybe it’s for the best. He wasn’t geographically desirable anyway.”
“Oh,” she yawned and turned on her side.
No, poor Udi certainly wasn’t geographically desirable any more.
I could tell by the sound of her breathing that Lila had fallen asleep, stuffed poodle under her arm and Stipple, purring blissfully, at the foot of her bed.
Chapter 31
“Why are you so interested in whether Nissim is still an assassin?” Berggren asked the day of her dinner party, as together we secured the large round table top and dressed it with a black tablecloth and white napkins.
“I’m not so interested. I’m just asking.” Clearly I wasn’t doing a great job of covering my curiosity.
“Well, I can tell you, ZsaZsi simply would not marry a working killer. Trust me on that. He’s completely committed to real estate.”
“But if he were still a Mossad assassin, like you said he once was, that wouldn’t exactly be something one goes around advertising, now would it?” I tried to keep the tone conversational so as not to alert her to my ulterior motive. “Nor is it something one easily gives up. You think the Jackal or any other hired killer walks away from that kind of work and lives? Too many skeletons.”
She shrugged. “Ask him.”
Finished with that topic, she walked to the laminated sideboard, picked up a black and white wire sculpture featuring those terminally happy and sad Commedia Del Arte characters, and placed it in the center of the table. She stood back to admire it and I thought I saw her face go from happy to sad to happy in the course of a second and a half.
Turning to me she said, “I’m
waiting for a call from Toni Collette’s agent. Can you man the phones while I’m in the shower?”
“They’re going to call on a Saturday?”
“These people are insane. They never stop working. Just tell him I’m talking to Jude Law on the other line and that I’ll have to call him back.” Then she turned toward her bedroom.
“Hey, wait!” Jude Law was one movie star I’d really like to talk to—actually, more than talk to. “Have you really spoken to Jude Law?”
She smiled lasciviously, starting to undress. “I’ve seen him naked.”
“Really? Berggren, your life is just too shockingly rich. He’s gorgeous!”
“You should see his body. He’s a god.” She raised her eyebrows as she cocked her head, suggesting that she had a slough of stories she could share if so inclined. Not many of my friends got to see nude male movie stars, but given her work with celebrities, Berggren was one who could.
Then she turned on her heel once more, saying, “It was in a play but so what?”
“Berggren!” I said, disappointed. I was annoyed because she’d destroyed my vicarious thrill as fast as she’d created it.
“I take my excitement wherever I can get it, Doll. His body was worth the Broadway ticket price, I’ll tell you that. He walked down this long stairway really, really slowly so everyone could get a real… good… look.” We sighed in unison then she winked and disappeared behind the door to her suite, leaving me to sigh alone.
I’d gone to Berggren’s early on the pretext of helping her get ready. I would have helped her anyway, but the real reason was that I needed to find Nissim’s and/or ZsaZsi’s physical address so I could alert Cullen. I’d decided that not telling Jelicka was the way to go, but she’d remembered that Berggren was having her party that night and had been bothering me to get the address. I planned on avoiding her calls for as long as I could, then telling her I couldn’t find it.
I’d brought Lila along because I couldn’t get a babysitter and Lila’s dad was busy with a Republican fundraiser—his politics being one of the many issues in our marriage that I’d found to be an obstacle to maintaining intimacy. Fortunately, Lila and Berggren’s identical twins, Sadie and Mavis—often reduced to Say and May,were all friends and only a year apart, Sadie and Mavis being the younger.
When Berggren went off to shower, the three girls were playing Canadian doubles badminton on the ten-foot by ten-foot patch of grass that Berggren referred to as the back forty inches. Through the sliding glass doors that ran along one side of the living room, I watched the shuttlecock hurtling back and forth while appreciating the view— that poquito Mar Vista of the ocean. Berggren had instructed the girls to take the net down and put it away, but clearly that hadn’t happened yet. I moved toward the glass doors to remind them, but before I got there, Berggren’s voice boomed out from her remodeled bathroom window, “Say-May—that net needs to come down!”
“OK, Mom. We heard you the first ten times,” one of them yelled back.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you ten times.” Berggren said this sentence as if she often had to say it. I could relate. If there’s one thing about mothering that I don’t like, it’s feeling like a nag. Why is it necessary to say, “Please remove your dirty sneakers from the counter” more than once?
“All right, I’ll take it down—geez!” Sadie stomped around the yard. She was as dramatic as her mother, while Mavis, a math geek, said, “Told you,” to her sister.
By this point, I was outside and facing a partially-naked Berggren through the open bathroom window. “Take a shower,” I said. “I’ll deal with it.”
“They never listen.”
The window slammed shut and I turned to the girls and said, as firmly as I could while still smiling, “Ladies, this is the first and only time I’m going to say this. Pack it up and put it away and I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Thus came my opportunity to find Nissim and ZsaZsi’s address. I walked back into the house casually but with purpose and, once inside, I dashed into Berggren’s office and woke up her computer. Staring at me was Berggren’s open contact database and probably more than I wanted to know about Toni Collette and her agent.
Moving toward the door, I listened for approaching steps—nothing. Where was the mighty Thor? Where was newbie Nestor? I didn't have time to wonder. I could faintly make out the sounds of the shower and teenage voices. Returning to the computer I typed “ZsaZsi” and, faster than you can say "badminton net down," up popped ZsaZsi Sullivan and Nissim Ben Gurvitz. It was in the hills—2561 Lookout Lane, Hollywood, along with more phone numbers than one couple should have.
Then there was a noise—a door? I quickly noted the information on an envelope rescued from the recycling bin and stuffed it in my tiny front pants pocket. Coming out of the office as casually as I could, I almost collided with Mavis, who looked past me into the empty office.
“Hi,” I said. “All set?”
Mavis shrugged. “It’s put away if that’s what you’re asking.”
Lila and Sadie stepped up beside her. “I told you Berggren was a little weird,” said Lila.
“She’s not weird. She asked the girls to do something and was upset when it didn’t happen. You know how I get when I have to repeat myself.”
“You’re a nag.”
“That’s right. I’m a nag and I don’t like being a nag and Berggren doesn’t either.”
“She’s still weird,” Mavis said. “She's weird and crazy. Probably borderline neurotic.”
If Sadie had said it, I would wonder if she really knew what she was saying but Mavis, I suspected, knew what it meant.
“She’s just being Mom,” said Sadie practically.
“I think it's just that your mom is having a dinner party and she wanted the yard clear of obstacles so people could be out there. Which reminds me, the guests will be getting here very soon. What are you three going to do? Can I set you up with a movie in the den?”
Lila looked at me, then at Sadie and Mavis, then back at me. “Say and May have some friends and one of them has an older sister and they’re all going to the Westside Pavilion. Can I go?” Lila pleaded.
“What are you going to do there?” I asked, like any concerned parent would.
“Just walk around and stuff.”
It was the stuff that worried me. The Westside Pavilion is one of those huge lifestyle shopping malls, one of several in greater LA filled with mostly expensive stores, where teens like to congregate to look at each other and at each others’ clothes, bags, iPods and G4 mobile devices. Such expeditions often resulted in these same teens returning home with an urgent need to go shopping.
I didn’t like the idea of Lila hanging out with so little constructive purpose other than to possibly stimulate sales in a down economy, but I was of the mind that if I prohibited something, the backlash could well be worse. When I was growing up, the closest mall was forty-five minutes away and there was no way my parents would drop me off to hang out with my friends. But times had definitely changed, and after the vibrator-in-the-drawer incident, I wasn’t sure which way to lean.
“Hailey’s sister is seventeen and she’s really smart in school,” offered Sadie. “She’ll watch out for us.”
“She’s sort of smart,” agreed Mavis.
I nodded, doing my best to remain open-minded yet non-committal as I considered whether a young woman’s smarts could ever put a stop to any of the more horrible events I could envision. “And Hailey’s sister’s name is—”
“Georgia. We’ve gone with them before,” said Sadie. “Nothing’s ever happened.”
It was coming back to me. Berggren had told me a few days ago that the girls might have a chance to go out. I guess I hadn’t paid enough attention.
“Well, that’s certainly a plus,” I said.
“Our mom is totally cool with it,” said Sadie. “Go ask her.”
“So now your mom is cool? A minute ago she was weird and neurotic.”
They stared back at me. I think they missed the sarcasm but I couldn’t be sure. Plus they wanted something from me.
“She’s only neurotic when she has dinner parties,” said Mavis.
Which we've established was often. “All right,” I said, acquiescing.
“Yeah! Thank you. Woo-hoo!” They squealed, grabbing each other’s forearms and jumping up and down in unison. One would have thought they’d made it to Hollywood week on American Idol, the way they were carrying on.
“But please be careful and make sure you bring your cell phones. Also—and this I’m also saying only once—all of you must be back by ten.”
They nodded vigorously.
I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake, but I was always fighting my overprotective streak and, at some point, I was going to have to let it go. After all, it was only the mall. They might have wanted to go to a club on Sunset Boulevard. Shit, why did that have to enter my mind? Now I’d worry even more.
“And stay together,” I blurted. “Close . . . together.”
“We will. We’ll stay really close together. Don’t worry,” Lila said, giving me a hug. “Thanks, Mom.” She was still just a wisp of girl but in that hug, I felt her love and gratitude, which gave me some assurance that she appreciated the permission, maybe even trust, I’d given her, and she wouldn’t abuse it.
“Hey,” said Sadie. “Let’s go put on some makeup.”
“Oh, yeah, we are!” Lila agreed, in the way kids do that sounds grammatically incorrect.
Mavis pursed her lips. She wasn’t one for makeup.
The doorbell rang and they sprinted toward the bedrooms, leaving me to answer it. I glanced at my watch. It was too early for the dinner party crowd.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” I said to anyone within earshot. Walking the length of the hallway to the front door, I opened it to Sadie and Mavis’s friend and her older sister—both preternaturally tall blondes. I was pleased to see that neither appeared to be the type who might drag my daughter into the gutter.
“You must be Hailey and Georgia.”
“Yes,” said the older one. “You’re Lila’s mom?”
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