There was a lot to be happy about. I was in a dorm called Liz Waters and it was right by Lake Mendota. Was I really going to live in downtown Madison, by the lake, on my own? This, I realized, was my chance to reinvent myself. I could become anyone. Just like the dream I’d had at the start of junior high school, I had it again, only this time I was older, wiser, and more disciplined.
I am going to be normal. Hell, I’m going to be Better than Normal!
People will like me. People Really Will!
I am going to make it happen. Did you hear that? Yes! I heard that! I am Going To Make It Happen!
I got so excited that I was practically marching. I looked around me and turned it down a notch. I didn’t know that every single freshman on the entire campus had the same dream. Truly, anything felt possible as I walked along the path by the lake, watching sailboats and feeling the warm late-summer wind against my face.
There were only a few things I had to do to fit in, I decided. First, I could not flunk out of school or the whole plan would have been for nothing. My mother had warned me so many times about flunking out that it was starting to seem like circumstances beyond my control, before classes had even started. Step two was to find a boyfriend. No one gross, because he would represent to others who I was. Someone like Alex Wescott would be good. Part three was that I needed to look like I had been popular in my old life. This was, perhaps, the most important step of all, and I already had it covered.
I had spent a fair amount of time my senior year collecting pictures of the popular students. The girls in particular were happy to throw their senior pictures to any stray dog. They carried little plastic boxes with clear plastic lids that they all had the habit of snapping open and closed. If you asked for a picture they would cheerfully spread out four, five, six poses on the table in front of them. There was always one close-up with a class ring adorned hand pressed to a thoughtful, poreless face, and another close-up with a beautiful gleaming smile. Next were the full body pictures, as evidence of being beautiful from a distance as well as from inches away. One would show her standing by a tree, or on a flowery hill. Finally there were the ones taken with a best friend or boyfriend, and the occasional wildcard picture. Different outfits for each was a MUST. They would steer the losers like me toward their least favorite pose, but it was still a vast improvement from four years earlier when they wouldn’t talk to anyone but the most worthy few.
So because of my patience and endurance, I had a thick stack of pictures that I had already plastered to my bulletin board. Hopefully my roommate was back in our room, noticing them all and realizing what a formidable opponent I was.
When I got back to the room she was there, lying on her bed. I gasped when I saw her and then tried to disguise it as a cough. She had to weigh at least four hundred pounds.
“Hi Sara. Nice to meet you,” I said, sticking out my hand, trying to redeem myself.
“Nice to meet you too. My parents just left…” She began to cry. I looked around the room a little and saw she had started to unpack. On her bulletin board were two 8 x 10 portraits. One of a white sheepdog and the other of the world’s cutest, happiest, biggest couple.
“Are these your parents?” I asked, pointing to the picture. She nodded. I felt terrible that she was crying.
“Want to take a walk?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
She reached into a purse on her bed and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Will you get me some ice cream?”
“Okay. What flavor?”
“Butter pecan.”
I had never met anyone younger than my parents who liked butter pecan ice cream. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I told her.
I didn’t have any idea where I was going to buy ice cream. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already being taken advantage of. Here I was on an ice cream run for someone I had just met five minutes ago. Why did this kind of thing always happen to me?
“Can I get you anything?” chirped the recording of myself in my head. That was my problem, I realized. “Stop asking questions you don’t want answered,” I told myself. It’s a lesson no one ever learns.
It didn’t take me long to stumble upon a small grocery store on State Street. I bought a family sized tub of what Valencia and Van used to refer to as “Nursing Home Special” and carried it back to our room. By the time I got there, the bucket was slippery and the ice cream was slopping around inside. I handed it to Sara, who was already waiting with a serving spoon in her hand. I was prepared to have to share a bowl with her, to be social, but the opportunity didn’t present itself. She peeled back the lid and stuck the spoon in, starting with the soft, runny edges. She didn’t say a word to me, just ate. I started to feel embarrassed, so I turned on my computer and played solitaire. Minutes turned into an hour before I heard the bucket’s lid snap back into place. She set the empty container by her bed and lay down to take a nap.
I took to hanging out in common areas most of the time. Our room smelled like popcorn, salsa, angel food cake, and chicken McNuggets, all rolled into one stench. Sara was in there constantly eating and studying. I was still invisible, never able to grasp the art of being important. I tried jumping into other people’s conversations, tried just sitting around reading, hoping I looked approachable. I struck up conversations with other people who looked lonely. No one wanted anything to do with me. I stopped wearing Valencia’s ring for a while, after some people made fun of me, thinking it was my high school class ring. But then I missed the way it felt and put it back on, even if it meant I looked uncool. I watched life happen around me, as I always had.
People walked past with peace signs drawn on their notebooks and love beads around their necks, but this was just a fashion statement. Their goodwill and acceptance were theoretical, at best. I kept my grades at about a C average since even this was better than going back to Hudson.
Chapter 53
Frisky was so happy to see us that it almost made me like him. He lounged around with either Adrian or me for the next couple days, as we avoided each other.
Three days after the fake romantic getaway, Adrian was in his studio working and I was in the backyard reading a book when I heard Frisky going crazy, barking and growling in the front yard. Adrian and I met each other at the front door, both of us checking to see what was the matter. Standing at our front gate were two men, both wearing plain black suits. They showed us their badges.
“I’m Detective Stoller and this is Detective Heinz. May we have a word with you?”
Frisky lunged at them through the gate.
“Yes,” said Adrian, “but you’ll have to let us put our dog in the house.”
“Do you both need to do that?” asked Detective Heinz.
“Well, sometimes it takes both of us, but no, I can do it on my own today,” joked Adrian.
I waited until they were inside and let the men in the gate.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Mind if we sit down?” asked Detective Heinz, settling onto a wicker chair on our front porch.
“May I offer y’all some tea?” I asked, trying to distract them with some Southern hospitality.
“No thank you, Mrs. Corbis,” said Detective Stoller. “This is not a social call.”
I primly sat down, breathing as evenly as possible. I felt a tickling trickle of sweat moving down my temple along my hairline, and I couldn’t stop myself from brushing at it.
Detective Stoller sat down and then Adrian took the final place on the loveseat beside me.
Detective Heinz started right in. “Are you familiar with anyone by the name of Jeb Wilde?” he asked.
“I am,” I said immediately, afraid that Adrian would spin some elaborate tale if I didn’t take over.
“How do you know Jeb Wilde?” asked Detective Stoller.
“I hired him. To look into some questions I had about my family. Is there something wrong wi
th Jeb?”
“Well, he went missing,” said Detective Heinz, “and it seems that he was looking into an assignment for you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was doing this,” I said to Adrian. “It’s just, I thought that you would stop me.” Then I turned back to the detectives, “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Jeb, but he stopped answering my calls. I think he might have skipped town. I paid him a lot of money and he’s just some guy I found on the Internet. Maybe he’s not even a real private investigator.”
“How much did you pay him?” asked Adrian.
“Honey…”
“Do your wives spend like mine does?” he asked the detectives. “She spends it faster than I can make it!”
“I hear you,” chuckled Detective Heinz.
“Well, he’s not licensed,” said Detective Stoller, “but he was working on your case. He told his ladyfriend he was going to Minneapolis and when she didn’t hear from him, she found this note where he wrote down some names. Your name was first on the list. Do you mind if I ask what you were having him try to figure out for you?”
“I had some questions about my sister and brother who were in a car accident when I was a little girl.” I began crying. “I’d rather not go into that, please.”
“Okay, sorry to have upset you, ma’am,” said Detective Heinz.
“Do any of these names mean anything to you?” asked Detective Stoller, reading my mother’s maiden name, the name of the man who turned out to be Valencia and Van’s real father, and then the name John Spade.
“Patricia is my mother,” I said, jumping on that and not letting go. “Please don’t involve her in this! She’ll be so upset. It’s taken her years to get over it. I mean, really, she still isn’t over it.”
“Please,” said Adrian, “I hate to have you upsetting my wife in the condition she’s in.”
“I am… with child,” I whispered through my tears.
“We’re sorry to upset you,” said Detective Heinz, his voice softening.
“Please don’t involve my mother in this,” I repeated. “I only got in touch with Jeb because I’ve been thinking so much about family now that we’re expecting. You gentlemen must understand.”
The detectives nodded appreciatively.
“I don’t know what’s become of Jeb, but Adrian and I will let you know anything we find out,” I promised. “Just please don’t go upsetting my mother over any of this.”
“No, no. There’s no need to get her involved,” said Detective Stoller. “Well, you’ve been helpful. Let us know if you hear from Mr. Wilde,” he said, handing Adrian a card. Then he scratched his head and said, “Hey, you’re that artist I read about in the paper, aren’t you?”
“That’s me,” said Adrian.
“Love your work. I hear Salma Hayek has your paintings in her living room. Did you ever meet her?”
“Just a couple times. She’s really down-to-earth.”
“I could drink that woman’s bathwater.”
Adrian nodded and winked, man-to-man, while I dabbed at my face with the back of my hand.
“We’ll let you folks get back to your day off now. Thanks, y’all,” said Detective Heinz.
We waved goodbye.
“Why, if you work at home, does everyone always assume you have the day off?” asked Adrian, as they drove away.
“That’s great that you’re finding this so amusing,” I said, straightening the porch furniture.
“You handled it all quite calmly yourself. It was a great performance. I’m… with… child…” he mocked.
“You’re the one who told them about my condition.”
“I was going for the sympathy vote.”
“You think you can charm your way out of anything, but sometimes, Adrian, charm isn’t enough. That’s really fabulous that this little encounter has left you feeling so confident, but I’m not. Not at all. I’m… rattled.”
“Relax,” he said, reaching out to embrace me.
I marched inside, slamming the door behind me. He followed behind me, reaching for me, but I jerked my shoulder out of his reach. I stomped over to Shabby Chic for Modern Homes and shook it out on the kitchen table. I grabbed the contents and edged them up into a reasonably tidy pile, holding the letters and photos to my chest. I felt a little crazy.
“What do you have there?” asked Adrian.
“Uh uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Stay away from me.” I lit a candle and began by burning the photo of Jeb. Next I took the envelopes, first removing the photos, and lit them all on fire. They made an enormous flame which I held as long as possible before tossing them in the kitchen sink and dousing them with water.
I threw down the pictures of Adrian with the mystery woman. “Who is this?” I asked. “Not that it really matters. Not that something like a minor infidelity even matters anymore, but tell me, who is she?”
He picked up one of the photos and squinted a little. “A woman named Jane Gilligan. She owns a gallery in Charleston and I met with her last winter. It’s just a picture meant as a… threat, I suppose. I already told you I got mail like this. So you’ve been opening everything and hiding it from me? Why would you do this when I already told you I was getting things like this?”
“Because by the time you told me that, I knew it wasn’t just some stupid stalker. How could you have gone to the police? What happened to ‘the police aren’t God, don’t get the police involved.’ Huh? What happened to that?”
“I thought this was something else back then,” he said.
“We need to tell each other what we know, Adrian. Because it’s obvious you knew who John Spade was, and I want to know how.”
“I didn’t know him.”
“How is the handwriting and postmark on the letter with you and this woman the same as the letter with Jeb’s picture?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Adrian, please! We are in serious trouble.”
“Everything is going to be fine.”
“This handwriting is totally recognizable, and the police have it on letters you gave them. You don’t think they’re going to see the same writing in John Spade’s apartment and put two and two together? You don’t think they’re going to come back?”
“So what does it prove? That he was harassing us?”
“Adrian, there’s just too many loose ends! How can you be so calm?”
“Just relax. You’re pregnant, remember? You have to relax.”
Next I showed him the pictures of Valencia. “Explain these. How are you involved? Where is she?”
When he saw those, all color drained from his face.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, pulling it from my fingers.
“It came in the mail. From John Spade.”
He looked at it, and then leaned his head back, defeated. Then he picked up the piece of paper that had been wrapped around them.
ADRIAN CORBIS, The past ALWAYS catches up with you. It’s only fair…
“Tell me how you’re connected to this,” I said.
He didn’t speak.
“Talk to me!”
“How could you have kept this from me?” he asked, setting the photos down on the table. His green eyes were nearly black with anger.
“You’re mad at me? You’ve got to be joking.”
“So these came in the mail and you didn’t even think to tell me? We’re lucky to be alive. Do you realize that? You saw these, yet you said nothing? You don’t make any sense sometimes.” He looked at the postmark on the envelope. “These pictures came all the way back in June! And there we were, asleep with the windows open, no fence, no dog. Jesus Christ!”
“Adrian, how dare you turn this around on me! I almost turned you in to the police. What was I supposed to think? Tell me why this letter came for you.”
He walked out of the kitchen, into the hallway, into the living room. I followed him, waiting for him to say something. He sat down on the chair in the living room and put hi
s head in his hands.
“How are you involved in this, Adrian?”
“I didn’t hurt her,” he said weakly, looking at me with tears in his eyes.
“Were you there?”
Again, he was silent.
“I mean, you weren’t seriously involved in this. Right?”
He exhaled and it sounded like something deflating.
“I need to know what happened,” I said.
“I got involved in something I shouldn’t have. I would never have hurt your sister. You know that. Tell me you know that.”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Baby,” he said, reaching for me, but I took a step backward.
“She’s dead, of course. Right?” I whispered.
“Listen,” he said. “Please listen…” But he trailed off.
“Did you rape her?”
“God no!”
“She’s all taped up. Why did you do that?” My voice was small and faraway.
“I didn’t do that. Let me explain.”
“Okay. Explain.”
“My family was staying at my aunt’s in Red Wing, and I decided to go out for a drink to get a little space. I ran into John Spade at the bar. I knew him because we both worked at the same landscaping company the summer before I went to college. He was my supervisor. It was just bad luck that I ran into him. He was nuts, just kind of a freak, and I knew that. I didn’t know he was… you know, crazy.
“We started drinking and then we started driving around in his truck. It was late, probably close to midnight, and he saw a little car with a guy and a pretty girl in it.
“John started to drive really close behind them. It was raining, well, sleeting really, and it was really slippery out. His truck had one of those row bars on it and he turned the lights on. It lit up the whole road. I think he was just trying to mess with them, but they lost control. They started fishtailing and everything was really bright, and we were up in that truck, just watching it happening.
Surviving Valencia Page 22