by Melody Mayer
First, she arranged for X to pick Billy up at his home in Mar Vista, and to have a thermos of martinis in the car in case Billy's lips were parched—X was driving, so he was on a strict Vitamin Water diet. There'd be no frustration dealing with the traffic, and Billy could just relax. Second, X would drop him off here, at Royce Hall on the UCLA campus, where Billy would no doubt do an extended double take at the marquee's double booking: Chick Corea and Béla Fleck. These were two of Billy's favorite jazz musicians in a one-night-only, very special performance. Billy might even think this was some sort of a hoax.
But it would get even better. There would be a theater employee outside the box office who would hold up a discreet sign that read BILLY MARTIN and would request appropriate ID. And when Billy handed over his driver's license, he would be shocked by the front-row ticket presented to him …a ticket for a seat right next to the resplendent, gracious, and exceedingly hot, ever-humble Lydia Chandler.
After the concert, well, there were a myriad of possibilities. The best ended up in her guesthouse at Kat's estate. Without Anya in the picture, who could possibly object?
Now, all the lucky SOB had to do was show up. Where the hell was he?
The ushers cycled the lobby lights so that everyone would take their seats; the concert was about to begin. Lydia had come dressed in a lavender knee-length Ella Moss Havana dress that she borrowed from Anya's half-emptied closet. And she didn't care if the queen of the gulag would be pissed that it was gone.
Billy still hadn't shown up when the house lights dimmed and the audience applauded Fleck and Corea's entrance. She had to figure out what was going on. She shimmied past the other patrons in her row, and then up the aisle. Where was he? Maybe the ticket dude had abandoned his post. She was ready to kill him.
But no. The guy was still at his post. Huh. Lydia started to worry. Maybe they'd been in a horrible traffic accident. She took out her cell to call X, then cursed loudly and repeatedly. The battery was dead.
What to do, what to do? She couldn't even call X; she had no idea what his number was, she always just speed-dialed. Same thing with Billy. Maybe Billy's number was listed. She stepped out of the theater into the warm, jasmine-scented night air, with the thought that maybe she could find a pay phone.
Pay dirt. There was one about a hundred feet away. She started across the asphalt toward it, then stopped.
A familiar pair of silhouetted shoulders was slumped on a bench just ahead, directly beneath an old-fashioned gaslit lamppost.
“Billy! Why aren't you inside?”
No response, not even a look. Bad sign. Why?
Lydia was careful to keep her voice even. “The concert just started. Are you okay?”
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what? These tickets?” Lydia plopped down on the bench with him. He didn't move to take her hand or put an arm around her. Bad sign number two.
“You know what I mean. Why did you lie? About Luis, about sleeping with him, about everything?”
She instinctively tried to cover. “Did that crazy boy try to contact you? We already went over this. There was never anything between us. He's just jealous. Whatever you heard from him was just the sound of his ego—or something—deflating, and—”
“Don't lie again. Not this time. Please? Isn't it enough that I know the truth? I just want to hear it from you.” Now, for the first time, he turned to look at her. His eyes weren't really that angry. What were they? Ah. They were sad. Lydia had seen the facial expression before, in the jungle, when her father was forced to treat an Ama man suffering from a particularly dangerous snakebite. Her father knew, and the man knew, that the bite would ultimately be fatal.
Just like this encounter could be.
“It's a simple question. What happened between you and Luis?”
Lydia could feel her eyes welling up. She wouldn't cry. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Billy sighed. “Fine. Since you won't answer, I'll answer for you. You lied about being a virgin, you lied about sleeping with Luis, and you're lying right now.” He stood. “I don't care about the bullshit you lied about. But I do care that you lied. Being honest isn't that hard. But you know who I had to hear this from? Jimmy.”
Jimmy? How would he—
He must have overheard her talking on the phone to Luis that night when he'd called Kat's house. No wonder he'd been acting so strange.
“Yeah, Jimmy. Think about that, Lydia. And if that makes you feel like shit … good.”
Billy turned, jammed his hands in his pockets, and left.
There were a million things she could have said—that she was just trying to protect what they had, that she was embarrassed by her mistake. But she couldn't even bring herself to call after him. The problem was, he was right. And she did feel like shit. All she could do was watch his silhouette disappear into the night.
An hour later, despondent Lydia was on the same bench when the attendant from the theater came running out to her.
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
“There is a young man waiting for you in the parking lot. He has a black Beemer. He says his name is X. He called the box office and asked me to look for you.”
“Thank you.” Lydia pressed some crumpled bills into his hand. “Thank you very much.”
The ride home with X was silent; he offered no words of encouragement, Lydia offered no words of explanation. All she wanted was to get back to her guesthouse without running into anyone, especially her mother. If she kept herself in this trance she could make it to bed. Tomorrow would be another day. She'd work something out. She always did.
He dropped her in front of the main house, and she decided not to go through it. Instead, she cut around the back, past the pool and the hot tub, past the tennis court, where there'd be less chance that she'd encounter anyone with a pulse.
No such luck. There was someone in the hot tub. Her mother.
“Hey, sweet pea! The water's amazing—come on in!”
Shit. But she couldn't very well say no. So after some perfunctory greetings that she hoped her mother would mistake for plain tiredness, she stripped and climbed in. Being naked in the water with her mother was nothing new. They used to swim together in the Rio Negro all the time. At first, they'd worn bathing suits, but the Amas looked at them as though they were nuts. A week or two later, they'd gone native.
It was a strange comfort to be once again skinny-dipping with her mom, even though it was now in the lap of luxury instead of the warm waters of Amazonia. She sank into one corner of the enormous redwood tub, which was embedded in the Pernambuco deck. It gave her a little comfort to know that the wood, at least, had been harvested in Brazil.
They soaked in silence for a time. More than once, Lydia was about to confess that she'd been dumped, that it was all her fault, and that it hurt to breathe. But what came out was “Um, pretty nice night, huh?”
Lydia remembered her first day at Aunt Kat's mansion: lounging in the sun by the swimming pool without a care in the world; the fundamentals of human survival in the jungle banished from her mind. The novelty of it all had worn off faster than Lydia could have predicted.
“Yes. It's beautiful.”
“It's amazing how fast you get used to it.” Lydia arched her neck against the redwood and stared into the heavens.
“Honestly, I doubt I'll have the time. I'm flying back to Manaus as soon as Kat comes back from the U.S. Open. That's right after Labor Day.”
Lydia felt a pang of sorrow. Billy had kicked her to the curb. She needed her mom more than ever.
She couldn't help it. A tear rolled down her face.
“Don't worry, sweetie,” her mother assured her. “You can always write, and I'll call you whenever I'm in Manaus. And we've got FedEx now. So tell your mom what's going on.”
Lydia did. Right from the start. With her and Billy. Her and Luis. Her and Billy. “Billy dumped me tonight, and he was right because it was my fault.”
&
nbsp; “You can always, always come back if you want.”
“To the Amazon? God no!” Lydia blanched.
Her mother laughed. “Good. We both know why you're here. Don't give it up without a fight.”
There was an ice-filled caddy attached to the hot tub; inside were bottles of water, juice, and beer. Lydia opened an Anchor Steam; her mother just smiled.
“Want one?” Lydia asked. “I don't think the Amas are making these.”
Karen shook her head. “I haven't had a beer since we moved to the jungle. No reason to start now.”
Lydia took a contemplative swallow. “You didn't have to go there, you know.”
“Maybe not. You know, Lydia, I don't think I've ever told you this. Even though it was your dad who came up with the idea to move us to the Amazon, I'm the one who made the final decision. I wanted to go.”
“What?”
This was shocking news. Lydia put her beer can down on the edge of the tub. Maybe she should switch to something stronger. Not vodka—maybe something radioactive.
“I always thought you hated it there as much as I did.”
“Well, I didn't want you to hold it against me. If it helps, I did hate it. At least at first. I missed my friends in Texas. I made your father angry when I didn't know what I was doing with a patient. I'd get the Amas angry when I wouldn't eat anaconda or monkey meat. Like that.”
“Been there, done that,” Lydia commiserated. “I remember when the Ama kids used to make fun of me because I wanted to wear shoes.”
“Right, sorry. The point is, all those failures are now fond memories. Does that make any sense?”
“Not really. I still feel like shit. And Billy still hates my guts.” Lydia drained her beer. Then she cracked open another as her mother climbed out of the pool and wrapped a soft black towel around herself.
“You could try apologizing to him,” her mom said as she dried her hair with another towel.
“I think it's too late,” Lydia said sadly.
Her mom put a finger under Lydia's chin and tipped her daughter's head so that she could look into her eyes. “Okay, so you made a mistake, sweet pea. You live and you learn. I'm proud because of who you are. Growing up in the rain forest— that's made you unique. You're one of the strongest people I know.”
Lydia felt an unfamiliar ache at the back of her heart. “Thanks, Mom. I mean it.”
She closed her eyes and sank into the hot water. She didn't feel strong right now, but she knew she could be strong. As strong as her mother thought. Maybe stronger.
She'd screwed up. But she was alive. In the rain forest, she'd learned that as long as you were alive, you still had a chance. Fine. A chance was all she wanted. A chance was all she needed.
When she woke up on Tuesday morning, Kiley was almost as nervous about Platinum's testimony planned for that day as she had been about her own. She envisioned some sort of Courtney Love–style meltdown—a string of expletives so rude, crude, and socially unacceptable that Judge Terhune might put her in jail for the longest contempt-of-court sentence in the history of Western jurisprudence.
“All rise, the honorable Judge Terhune presiding.”
The bailiff's voice snapped Kiley into the moment. She was in the courtroom gallery again, with Serenity on her left and Sid on her right. Since her testimony the day before, the kids had barely spoken to her. They were that furious over her “betrayal.” She had tried in vain to explain why she had told the truth; their reply was that she must hate their mother, and how much was the colonel paying her under the table?
Judge Terhune strode in and sat. Everyone else sat too, with the usual murmurs of anticipation. The star witness was about to be called to testify. This was going to be great. But the judge surveyed the courtroom before he allowed any witnesses to be called.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this morning I met with representatives from the Los Angeles Police Department,” he intoned. “Apparently, there has been some sort of problem in the evidence room at the police station downtown. Last night, all of the evidence in this case went missing. All of it. Whether it was lost, misplaced, pilfered, or sold on eBay, our friends at the LAPD can't explain it.”
The reaction from the courtroom drowned out Judge Terhune's gavel. Cell phones came out and people started shouting, despite the judge's repeated pleas for quiet. Kiley saw Platinum conferring intently with her lawyer, while Sid and Serenity high-fived each other so hard that they momentarily forgot their animus toward Kiley.
“What's this mean?” Serenity said over and over. “What does this mean?”
“I don't know!” Kiley's answer was honest.
Finally, Terhune was able to restore order, though he practically had to wear out his gavel to do it. “I want to strongly state that in my mind there is no question about the guilt or innocence of the defendant. Were I a member of the jury, I would vote for her guilt.”
Kiley took in the members of the jury. They were nodding in unison like twelve bobbleheads.
“That said, with the actual physical evidence no longer in the possession of the police, I am bound by precedent and statute to dismiss this case with prejudice, even if it is against my better judgment.” He rapped his gavel one more time. “Case dismissed!”
It was over. The courtroom erupted into bedlam. Platinum charged toward her younger children and scooped one into each arm for a bear hug. The colonel stormed the prosecutor's table and berated him at the top of his lungs for botching an open-and-shut case. Kiley stayed in her seat and just took it all in.
She felt a rush of … what? Relief ? Confusion? Sure, the case was over. But she couldn't help but dread her own present and future. After all, she had told the truth when she testified. The kids hated her. No doubt Platinum did, too.
Then, something unexpected happened. Something so unbelievable, in fact, that Kiley briefly considered the possibility that she was having a hallucination brought on by stress—a strange form of panic attack that she'd never experienced before. Platinum had one hand on Sid's shoulder and one on her daughter as she talked with her lawyer. Then, she spun toward Kiley and beckoned for her to join them. Kiley did, with some trepidation. She expected Platinum to rip her a new orifice.
Quite the opposite. “Kids, you guys owe Kiley a goddamn apology,” Platinum demanded.
“What?” Serenity was aghast.
“She's the one who should be apologizing to us. And to you! She's the one who trashed you to the court,” Sid protested. “We didn't do anything wrong.”
“Oh, come on. You two are full of shit,” Platinum responded coolly, if profanely. The court officers looked aghast. But there was nothing they could do.
Sid was livid. “This is bullshit. She was gonna put you in jail, Mom! She got up there and told them all those stories that made you look like a bad parent. She's a bitch. You should fire her.”
“Have you kids been brainwashed by my brother-in-law? She's the only thing that's kept you guys sane since I was away. Come on! What the hell is wrong with you?”
All that Kiley wished was that she could whip out her cell phone and record this for Esme and Lydia.
The rock star nudged Sid in the back. “Do it.”
Sid cleared his throat. “I'm sorry, Kiley. I guess we haven't been very nice to you lately.”
“Serenity?” Platinum prompted.
“Me too. I—”
Platinum cut off her own daughter. “That's enough. No need to go fucking overboard.”
“I accept,” Kiley said, with mock solemnity, since she caught a glimpse of the colonel and Susan. They were standing side by side in the gallery, observing the proceedings in stony silence.
“All right, now let's get the hell outta here. I can't wait to get home.” Platinum put an arm around Kiley. “I've had the Lotus parked in a garage around the corner, waiting for my acquittal. This is just as good. Come on, Kiley. You're riding with me.”
Platinum pulled her red Lotus through the security gate, then up the dri
veway to her estate. She screeched to a halt in front of the garage, where a film crew from MTV awaited her.
“What the … ?” Kiley was aghast. How had they possibly gotten to the house so quickly? Who had let them in?
Platinum grinned. “No worries, I called them. A little bird told my lawyer what was going to go down in court this morning, so I thought I'd make a couple of calls and prepare myself a proper homecoming.”
“But … but … you looked so shocked when the judge made his announcement.”
“Honey, haven't you heard? I'm not just a singer, I'm an actress.” Platinum unfolded her endless legs from the Lotus and waved to the cameras. “Goddamn holy shit, it feels good to be home!”
“So tell us, Platinum. Were you afraid you might end up in jail?” Kiley recognized the reporter from MTV News.
“Are you kidding? I'm as innocent as a virgin in a nunnery on a remote Pacific island. I knew justice would be served, I just had to wait it out, you know?”
She gestured for the crew to follow her into the house's grand foyer, which featured floor-to-ceiling mirrors on opposite walls, white-on-white decor, and a plush white faux-fur rug. The kids, the colonel, and Susan hadn't yet arrived. Or else the colonel had made a snap decision to take them all away to San Diego.
“So how do you feel now, seeing your home again?”
“I'm just glad to be with my kids,” Platinum demurred. “And, you know, to have my pool, and my wardrobe, and food prepared by my a-ma-zing chef, Mrs. Cleveland! Mrs. Cleveland, take a bow!”
The cook, who had poked her head around a corner to glance at the new arrivals, took an awkward bow and then scuttled back to the kitchen. Platinum turned back to the reporter. “Of course, you simply must join us for dinner. There's nothing like a good old-fashioned family meal at my house! But let me give you the tour first.”
A half hour later, after a Cribs-style tour of the white-on-white master bedroom, the kids' rooms, the home studio, the gym, and the lavish gardens filled with gardenias, jasmine, and other fragrant white flowers, Platinum made good on her offer. She ushered the charmed MTV crew into the dining room—same white-on-white design—where an enormous buffet table groaned under the weight of a welcome-home feast worthy of, well, an international celebrity. Bruce, Serenity, and Sid were there now too, and Platinum made the appropriate introductions.