“Excuse me, Officer. I’d like to report a missing person. She was last seen with a dastardly millionaire whom she was attempting to swindle for a large sum of money. Me? I’m her partner. While she woos the men, I break into their homes and steal their belongings. We’re also sort of dating. I guess you could say I’m madly in love with her, but I’m unsure of her feelings toward me. I know she enjoys the sex, but it might just be that. She’s a hard person to read, and I’m terrified of letting her know my true feelings because if they’re not reciprocated, I fear she’ll leave me, and I’m not sure my constitution could withstand such a revelation. I had an eccentric upbringing, you see, often left alone for long stretches. Didn’t seem odd at the time, children being so malleable, but as I age, I’ve come to understand that the insecurity of my youth may have had an adverse effect on me. I can’t trust authority, for one. Even talking to you, Officer, is a trial. But I also assume people will abandon me. The only people that ever cared for me are dead, you see. I’m not fishing for sympathy, just presenting the facts. Penny York, that’s the name of the missing person, is the only person who cares whether I live or die, and I’m honestly not even sure she does care, at that. At any rate, let me know if you find the poor girl. I’ll be at home, drinking far too heavily and waiting by the telephone, praying it will ring.”
It wouldn’t do.
It wasn’t until a week later, a week later, that he received a postcard from Penny, though it did nothing to lift his spirits.
Sorry I had to run off. Will explain everything later!
—P
The postmark was from Paris.
August felt some minor relief (at least she was alive), but his already tangled thoughts grew even more knotty and gray.
Paris? She was in Paris? That explained the suitcase, at least. But why? After some thought, August decided that Barreth had spirited Penny off to France to escape the influence of her fictional fiancé. That made sense.
Still, August was surprised Penny had gone. Why not keep Barreth in New York, hook some information out of him, let August make a robbery, and be done with the whole affair? An off-the-cuff sojourn to Paris seemed extreme.
Without Penny around to distract him, August spiraled. What was he doing with his life? He was somewhere around thirty and had nothing to show for himself. August envied his Willington classmates their predetermined destinies. The second those boys had gasped their first taste of oxygen, they’d had their entire lives mapped out. Career, family, legacy, all decided, a tree-lined path they could follow; someone else had already cut back the brush and planted the oaks. They even had the choice of rebellion! Stray from the path, break the mold, and mow down a dynasty. What fun!
August had none of that. He was a bastard born in a dressing room. There was but one soul on this earth who even knew he was alive, and she was inexplicably in Paris. He didn’t exist.
Why had he let himself fall for her? Hope is dangerous; August had learned that lesson countless times. But instead of growing from his past and bettering himself, he’d chosen to reside in a gossamer ice castle of fantasy. What had he expected? That he and Penny would get married? They were business partners. She was amused by August, certainly, but that was all. He was her dawdling affair to while away the hours.
But didn’t fate want them together? Penny was the girl with dark curly hair! At this point, she was the longest constant in his life. She was gone now, obviously, but he’d lost her before. Twice! And he’d found her again. Who’s to say he couldn’t do it again, that the third time wouldn’t be the charm? Maybe this next time she would stay.
No. No more of this. He was through with the fickleness of those he gave his heart to. August would never again allow this to happen; never again would he rely so heavily on someone. People leave. They die. So why bother? Everyone’s alone. Fight. Cheat. Steal. Survive.
When the phone rang about a week after the postcard had come, August hardly felt anything as he answered.
“Hello?”
“Oh good, you’re home,” Penny prattled, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t left. “I’m at the Barreth. The penthouse. Come over straightaway, I’ve got so much to tell you.”
And then she hung up.
The thing August hated the most about himself was that as soon as he set down the receiver, he realized he was going to go. He’d promised himself to forget Penny; his feelings for her had been a breach in good sense. No matter. Dust her off and be done with it. From this point onward, he’d operate alone.
But her voice . . .
Damn it! One phone call, and his resolve was shattered? How pathetic was he?
He’d go. But it would end tonight.
August was able to slip past the front desk and into the elevator, his stomach stone. The lift climbed up to the penthouse until, either finally or suddenly, it opened. He walked toward the door at the end of the hall, his feet sinking slightly into the plush carpet with each step.
Quicksand, he thought, quick and errant.
Was the door getting farther away? God, his arms were heavy; his throat was dry.
Any last words?
Why would he think that? His palms were clammy, his socks too tight.
Could one quit Penny? Willingly quit her?
The carpets were red, with a drop of nauseous pink mixed in. Why, tell me why, God, would anyone choose such a color for anything?
And there was the door, solid and imminent and inarguable. August knocked, and the knock was dread.
Quickened footsteps, the knob turning.
Penny.
Upon seeing her August felt every one of his feelings, equally and in unison, and it nearly tore him open.
“August!” Penny cried and threw her arms around him. “God, I’ve so much to tell you!” She dragged him inside and closed the door behind them.
The penthouse, as to be expected, was extraordinary. Penny pulled August straight to the master bedroom, but even in his brief, madcap tour, he could see that a family of six could comfortably live here with room to spare, though a family of ten could make do.
The master, with its own private sitting room and fireplace and probably bowling alley, was lovely, and Penny finally released August and perched herself on the edge of the bed, the open doors that led out to the balcony framing her like a woman in a Leighton painting. August was still in shock; here was Penny York, alive and in the flesh and so goddamned beautiful it made him sick. He stood, awkward and impotent, waiting.
“Where to start?” Penny giggled, oblivious to August’s groundlessness. Her eyes were full of a mischievous guilt as she thrust her arm forward, presenting her hand. August noted the large diamond ring on her finger.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I married him, August.”
He paled, shrank, dried up like the husk of a deserted chrysalis.
“You what?” he managed.
“I married Barreth.”
A hand to his chest, August sat on the edge of the bed. The end had come. The sun had finally abandoned its post, and now all would wither and die and rot.
Penny, finally aware of the pain her words were causing, tried to explain. “It won’t be for long. After a few months, I’ll divorce him and take half his income. It’s perfect! We’d never have gotten through the safes in here at any rate. They’re far beyond your skill level.”
“You’re a fool, Penny.”
“Call me Elizabeth when we’re here,” Penny said, looking over her shoulder as if someone might overhear them. “Elizabeth Barreth, actually.”
“Do you really think Barreth hasn’t taken precautions against a plan like yours? There’ll have been a prenuptial arrangement, or he’ll get the thing annulled. You won’t get a cent.”
Penny rolled her eyes. “I’ll take care of all that, August. I have a meeting with the lawyers next week, and I’ve been reading up on divorce law. Did you know that there’s several loopholes in most—”
But for the fi
rst time since meeting her, August wasn’t taken with her enthusiasm. “You’re a goddamned fool, Penny.”
She reddened. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I told you this was too big a job. From the very start I said it was too big!”
“Then why did you go along with it for so long, if it was such a terrible idea?”
August was seething, but his anger hadn’t boiled hot enough to let him expose himself fully. He changed the subject.
“How was Paris?”
Penny, not to be tossed by August’s twisting conversational tactics, answered, “It was lovely.”
“And the wedding? An intimate gathering or social event of the season?”
“Intimate. Just the two of us and some witnesses in a little cathedral.”
“And I’m sure once the deed was done, Quasimodo himself rang the goddamned bells!”
“Please, August, don’t be dramatic,” snapped Penny, ending the game in exasperation.
“Dramatic? I’m not the one who disappeared, leaving only a mysterious note like she’s a spy from a radio serial in—”
“August, please, we need money! This was the only way to get it!”
“Why? Why do we need money? We have enough! We don’t need all this,” August yelled, gesticulating wildly to the penthouse.
“So are we supposed to keep pinching wallets and cufflinks for the rest of our lives?”
“I don’t know! Maybe we stop stealing?”
“And do what? Open up a bookstore? A little café?”
“Better that than—” But August was drowning. Nothing to cling to in this argument. Change the subject. “Is he a good screw?”
“Jesus Christ. So I had sex with him. Who cares? I’ve done worse for less.”
“But you’re not going to get anything, Penny!”
“I’ve already got all this!” she exclaimed, borrowing August’s wild gesticulations from a few moments prior.
“But at what cost? God, you’re such an idiot! I can’t believe you did this!”
“Then why are you still here, if I’m so stupid?”
“Because I love you, which proves what a fool I am, I suppose.”
“I love you, too, you fucking idiot!”
“You what?”
“I love you!” Penny screamed.
“What’s going on here?” asked a third party, a voice at the door.
Mr. Barreth stood at the entrance to the bedroom. He didn’t look angry, just confused. Penny’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, her casual cleverness stripped away in her surprise.
August supposed he should’ve been frightened. His police record was far from clean, and Barreth had the wealth and power to throw him into prison for a very long time. But he felt no fear. Perhaps the revelation that Penny loved him buoyed him with courage, but the more likely truth is that August was still drunk with rage. The hot hush of anger he’d been aiming at Penny was now redirected at Barreth. Here was the man who’d stolen his home. Here was the man who robbed him of the adolescence he might’ve shared with Sir Reginald. Here was the man who was married to the woman he loved.
Inspiration kissed August, and, lowering his voice to its deepest, most resonant baritone, he began to bellow, “Barreth, you feckless waste! It is I, the Scarsenguard Spirit, here for vengeance!”
To say Barreth turned white as a sheet wouldn’t be a particularly apt simile, as the linens at the Barreth were a pleasant shade of mocha, but there was a considerable amount of paling, to be sure. August continued.
“I claim your soul, fetid chaff though it is. Now I take my due, Barreth, to the darkest caves of hell, where I’ll dance upon your bones and spit inside your memories!” For effect, August added some cobbled-together Latin he’d picked up at Willington. The closest possible translation follows: “Books are water, and there is a Jesus in your hair.”
Penny, master of reading a room, shrieked shrieks that could have shattered glass. In an unexpected display of gallantry, Barreth ran to her and held her tightly.
“Take the girl,” Barreth whimpered, using Penny as a human shield.
Already furious, August went blind with rage. He picked up a silver ashtray, heavy as a brick, and heaved it at Barreth’s head. Violent madness spoiled his aim, and truthfully, he’d never been very sporty to begin with. The ashtray missed its target and instead crashed into a lamp, shattering the bulb. The room was plunged into darkness.
Penny released some more screams, and Barreth let out a wavering moan of his own. August, still raving, joined in.
“Perish, Barreth! Asphyxiate upon your own mustache!”
The millionaire didn’t intend to die, however; he was on the run. August heard him bump into a desk across the room and bark out a swear word.
August screamed and charged through the dark.
Barreth yelped, then backed through the open balcony doors.
Outside, August lunged at Barreth, who feinted left and avoided the attack. The dodge proved to be a mistake, however, for the shift in weight caused Barreth to trip, stumble, and then plunge off the balcony into the open sky of New York City, his mouth a perfect rounded O of shock. Forty-eight famous floors later, Barreth ended his life atop a Chevrolet or a Chrysler or whatever the hell it was called.
Penny joined August on the balcony, both hands clutched over her mouth in horror. August stared at her in shocked silence. Finally she whispered, “What just happened?”
How to explain? After brief contemplation, August deduced it was impossible, but he hurriedly breathed out an abbreviated history of the Scarenguard Spirit. When it concluded, Penny said, “That makes no sense!”
“I know!” August replied.
“He thought you were a ghost?”
“Yes.”
“But how did you know he’d react like that?”
“I didn’t!”
“Then why did you pretend to be a ghost?”
“I don’t know! I thought it might buy me some time to clear the room.”
“But that makes no sense!”
“I know!”
They were desperately close to the cusp of hysteria. Had they committed murder? No. Had they intended to commit murder? Of course not. But Barreth was dead, and it was due to August’s bit of artistry, and they had intended to rob the man of half his fortune, so regardless of intent, they felt like they’d committed murder, and even though they hadn’t, they’d both just watched a man die, something neither was familiar with, so a brief dip into delirium was not at all an unorthodox reaction given the circumstances.
“You need to leave,” Penny said.
August took stock of the situation, and to an outsider’s eye, it did seem very likely that a jealous young lover had stormed into the penthouse of his beloved and thrown his competition out the window. And how could he honestly explain to the authorities that Barreth had accidentally died because he’d thought August to be a vengeful ghost of yesteryear?
August grabbed hold of her arms. “Penny, I—”
She interrupted him with a kiss. “Not now,” she said after they broke apart. “Go.”
Out of breath but on the streets, August ducked away as ambulance sirens pierced the air.
* * *
Penny hadn’t called for a week, but August wasn’t worried this time. To call would have been to arouse suspicion, and Penny, being the new wife of a recently deceased millionaire, was under enough suspicion already without throwing an attractive young lover into the mix.
He was nervous about whether or not they’d be implicated in the death, but August checked the papers every day and found no cause for concern. Other than the story covering Barreth’s death, nothing had been reported about suspicion of foul play.
So, though the week passed in tedium and a consistent nagging anxiety, August was feeling good. Excited, even. Penny had finally said she loved him! They could be together, and not just in the strange half-life they’d been sharing, but fully together. The fantasies he pain
ted in his mind were rich and elaborate. They’d buy a home somewhere in the mountains. Vermont? No, Colorado. A humble, simple place, nine or ten bedrooms. They’d live there for years, just the two of them and their dog, an impish but lovable St. Bernard named Toby. Every other month or so, August and Toby would have to rescue Penny from a bear she’d encountered while she was out picking wild berries. The sex after these rescues would be earth-shattering. Eventually they’d have enough children to populate their cabin, and the two lovers, after a rich and glorious life together, would perish at the very same instant, holding each other’s hands as they sat in their rocking chairs, watching the sun dip behind the mountains, a perfect punctuation to their beautiful union.
Or they’d live on a boat. Something fun.
When a knock came at his door, August leapt to answer, fully expecting to embrace Penny and start their new adventure together. When the knocker turned out to be a private messenger, August was disappointed but unalarmed. Penny was surely busy arranging funerals and meeting executors and whatnot. The letter would reveal all. He tipped the man handsomely and then snuggled up on his couch for a cozy read, detailing all Penny’s developments.
The postmark was from Paris.
August hated Paris.
He opened the letter.
A,
Firstly, everything’s fine. The police had hardly any questions. You were never mentioned. All is well.
B left me everything. Every cent. Your P is a millionaire. His mother is furious. I’ve already gifted her a great heap of money, tax-free, just to shut her up, but she can’t stand it. Luckily he had no children. Can you imagine?
Now to the difficult part. I don’t even know what to say, but I need to be away. What we did feels wrong. I know neither of us intended for it to end the way it did, but still, it feels too . . . too big, maybe? You were right, this wasn’t our kind of job. I see that now. But going about the way we were before would be impossible for me, and I think for you, too. It would feel disingenuous. Am I making sense?
Don’t think I’m trying to swindle you. You’ll get your cut. I can’t give it to you right off or there’ll be questions, but it will come to you.
The Astonishing Life of August March Page 20