Too Little, Too Late

by Marta Tandori

  “If you’re going to ask me to be a stupid flower girl or something, you can forget it. I’m too old and I’m not doing it.”

  Eric cleared his throat nervously. “We were hoping you’d be a big sister.”

  Karen eyed her father suspiciously. “To who?”

  “To the baby Brooke and I are going to have.”

  For almost a full minute, there was silence as Karen’s brain processed his announcement. Then came the explosion. “You got her knocked up?” she shouted in disgust, oblivious to the stares around her.

  Brooke tried to explain, “Karen, you have it all wrong.”

  “No, I think I definitely have it right,” Karen shot back angrily. “I don’t freaking believe you guys!”

  “Dammit, Karen!” Eric gripped the sides of their table in an obvious attempt to keep his temper in check. “I want you to apologize to Brooke right now.”

  “It’s okay, Eric—”

  “—and they say kids screw up their lives!” Karen bolted from their booth, needing to escape before the waterworks started. “Fuck lunch. I’m outta here!”

  Eric tried to block her path but Karen charged past him out of the restaurant. Jumping in her car, she tore down La Cienega, eager to put as much distance as she could between her and her father. What the hell had he been thinking? Before Brooke, her father had gone out with a string of big-breasted Playmate rejects, but none of them had lasted. This thing with Brooke was a whole new ballgame since marriage and a new kid changed everything. Once the stupid kid was born, her father would have absolutely shit-all time for her. She might as well pack her bags and head for fucking Siberia!

  ***

  It was a little after four o’clock, unusual for her mother to be home so early. Karen watched from behind dark glasses as she slid open the sliding glass door before coming outside. In her late thirties, Eve Stanton still had the enviable figure of someone in her twenties as she gracefully walked across the lawn towards the pool. Karen flipped face down on the air mattress and pretended to ignore her.

  “Hi.” When Karen didn’t respond, her mother bent down and lightly splashed her to get her attention.

  Karen removed one of her ear buds and looked at her. “Hey.”

  “When did you get home?”

  “A while ago.” Karen flipped over onto her back again before re-inserting her ear bud.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Lunch with your dad today.”

  “Figures, he’d call you,” Karen remarked bitterly. “Anyway, there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Eve undid her jacket. “What did you think of Brooke?”

  “Stupid question, Mom!”

  “Why?”

  Karen yanked out both of her ear buds this time and glared at her mother. “Do you really want to know what I thought about her? I thought she was amazing looking and that Dad’s robbing the fucking cradle!”

  “Don’t swear,” Eve automatically admonished her. “Exactly how young is she?”

  “How should I know?” Karen sat up, her full breasts straining against the confines of her bikini. “Like Caro’s age, or even younger.”

  Eve swallowed hard.

  “And do you know what the worst part of it is?” she continued indignantly. “Brooke’s freaking knocked up!”

  “I see.”

  Karen looked at her accusingly. “You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

  She shrugged. “Your father already shared that piece of news with me when he called me earlier.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” asked Eve. “That I think your father’s ruining his life by marrying Brooke? That she’s looking for a rich meal ticket?” She shook her head helplessly. “I can’t say any of those things because I never even met the woman.”

  “Thanks for the support,” Karen muttered miserably. “I knew you don’t give a shit.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then do something!”

  “Like what?” Eve chose her words carefully. “Look, honey. Your dad’s making some choices which may not agree with you. They may even piss you off.”

  “Gee, you think?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “But your dad’s got a right to live his life,” she continued firmly, “and if Brooke makes him happy, then there’s not much we can do about it.”

  “What kind of crap is that?” Karen began paddling furiously towards the other end of the pool. “I swear, I just don’t frigging get you sometimes, Mom.”

  “Well, what would you like me to say,” asked Eve, following her, “that he can’t marry her?”

  “That’s exactly what I want you to say.” Karen got out and grabbed the beach towel lying on the patio table. “Tell Dad you made a shitty mistake, you won’t work so much, you actually give a crap about him and that you don’t want him to marry this Brooke chick.” There was a pregnant pause and when she spoke again, her words were barely audible. “And tell Dad to come home.”

  “I’m sorry.” Eve looked at her somber reflection in the water. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not that simple anymore.”

  “You’re full of shit, Mom!” Karen threw the towel back on the table. “All you care about is yourself and your stupid career.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Then why won’t you tell Dad to come home?”

  “Because he’s having a baby with someone else!”

  “So what?” she retorted. “They can get rid of it.”

  “Come on, Karen.” Eve tried taking her daughter in her arms. “You’re not being reasonable.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Karen bit out angrily.

  “I don’t want to continue this discussion if you’re going to act like this.”

  “Sure,” Karen taunted her, “avoid confrontation like you always do!” Karen stomped towards the house, pulling up short at the sight of her grandmother standing on the patio watching them. “Grams!” She gave Kate Stanton a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought take-out,” replied her grandmother, giving her a shrewd look, “and some moral support in case you needed it.”

  Eve walked up to them slowly. “Thanks, Mom, but I think your moral support’s a little misplaced today.”

  Karen glared at Eve before giving her grandmother a final peck on the cheek. “Grams, maybe you can talk some sense into Mom because she refuses to listen to me!” With that, she stormed into the house without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER 11

  There had been no clap of thunder or other ominous sign to forewarn him of her sudden arrival on his doorstep, spouting little more than a litany of barely coherent gibberish.

  “Trade for tit milk! Tit milk for April.”

  “What is she saying, Señor?” his housekeeper asked, cowering just inside the doorway.

  “How the bloody hell should I know?” Leo Bauer made no effort to mask his irritation at being called away from his dinner guests to deal with something he paid his housekeeper to handle.

  “Maria trade,” the woman announced, “priteee picture.” The dirty hand hidden inside her pocket now thrust a worn photograph at him.

  The name “Maria” made Leo’s blood run cold. He furtively searched the derelict’s face for some modicum of her former beauty but there was nothing in her features to suggest she had any connection to the woman who had consumed his every conscious thought for most of his adult life.

  “I call the police,” his housekeeper announced.

  “No!” His voice was little more than a strangled command. “No police. I’ll deal with her.” Leo waited a beat as he struggled for composure. “Go tell my guests I’ll be with them momentarily.”

  The housekeeper scurried off. Only then did he turn his attention back to the woman. With a trembling hand, he carefully took the proffered photograph from her. Reaching for the reading glasses in his br
east pocket, Leo perched them onto his nose before looking at it closely. Despite the creases having worn deep grooves into the photograph, the image was unmistakable.

  “Why did you come back?” he demanded hoarsely. “Why now?”

  “Maria here!”

  The gravity of those two coherent words shocked his brain. A multitude of possibilities for her reappearance came to mind but only one made sense. The photograph proved it. Maria was coming back to him! Her reappearance was divine providence in his darkest hour; a sign that everything would be all right in his world. Gut-wrenching need made him reach clumsily for her arm but she easily twisted out of his grasp. “Why are you acting like this?” Leo’s eyes were tormented. “I would never hurt you, you know that.”

  Despite his reassurances, Maria backed away from him, clearly wary of his actions.

  “I just want to talk to you.” This time Leo lunged at her but missed completely. “Maria – please!”

  With a muffled cry, she ran from him, stumbling down the driveway. His first instinct was to run after her, but then Leo remembered his dinner guests. With unsteady fingers, he carefully folded the photograph and put it in his pocket, bleakly realizing that he had let Maria get away from him a third time, a mistake he vowed never to again repeat.

  ***

  It was two in the morning but Hollywood Boulevard still teemed with life, from the sausage vendors littering the sidewalk, the sounds of their sizzling meat electrifying the humid night air to the winos solemnly nursing their bottles of elixir hidden inside of dirty paper bags. Adding to the congestion on the Boulevard were the scam artists who scuttled along the sidewalks like frenzied beetles, hoping to score a quick buck off the late-night tourist trade. Leo’s shoulders were hunched and his hands thrust into his pockets as he cut a wide swath around the festering sea of humanity. He forced himself to remain calm.

  Maria had disappeared as abruptly as she had come. He had asked around, dutifully checking all the locations in around Hollywood and Highland that had been eagerly divulged for the price of a ten dollar bill, yet none had yielded Maria. Ditto for the block around Frederick’s of Hollywood. Every head of matted hair was cause for a second glance, but the past four hours had been an exercise in utter futility. Some sixth sense told Leo she wasn’t far; that it was just a matter of him being able to find her as she had found him earlier tonight.

  The laden shopping cart came out of nowhere, careening into Leo’s side with a painful jolt which pulled him from his revelry. The force of the impact scattered the pile of bags from the cart around the sidewalk at his feet. The owner of the cart muttered something guttural under her breath as she stooped to pick them up. The glint in her blue eyes was unmistakable. They were taunting him. She was no better than the trash in her cart and yet the scathing look she showered upon him was a testament to his ineptitude. His jaw clenched imperceptibly as she turned her cart around and loped down the alley behind a tired-looking pawn shop.

  Leo closed his eyes, trying to forget the derelict’s face. His father would never have allowed her to act with such disdain in his presence. With slow, measured steps, he followed her into the alley. It was strewn to overflowing with trash cans and garbage bags ripped open by stray animals as well as the usual assortment of discarded bottles and decomposing food, a veritable smorgasbord for the rats scurrying about under his feet. She was bent over a dirty cardboard box and didn’t hear him approach.

  He felt unaccountably aroused inhaling the stench of her unwashed body and his even breathing slowly turned to ragged gasps as he watched her every move. A rushing sound filled his head, impeding his ability to think. Closing his eyes, he waited for the noise in his head to subside but it didn’t. It only got louder.

  She must die!

  “No, Father,” he whispered. “She’ll be my salvation.”

  Hearing his voice, the woman gave a start, stumbling backwards until she hit the ground. Leo fell on top of her, her scream muffled by his hand as it closed over her mouth. He felt some of her rotting teeth give way under the pressure of his hand. Her strong odor permeated his senses, exciting him, as he lifted the layer of rags to reveal painfully thin thighs marked by scars, the apex of which bore a few sparse pubic hairs. The rushing noise in his head became louder still.

  She’s not Maria.

  “Don’t worry, Father, I’ll find her.”

  Prying her legs apart with his knees, he unzipped his pants, all the while watching the derelict’s eyes. Suddenly, they were Maria’s eyes and they no longer mocked him. They were now beckoning to him. He knew what he had to do.

  After all, he was his father’s son.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Happy birthday, Esther.” Kate Stanton smiled at the tiny old woman in the wheelchair, her pale blue rinse complimented by the white corsage pinned to the lapel of her dress.

  “Everyone’s acting as though I’ve reached a milestone.” Esther Solomon shrugged pragmatically. “I go to sleep and some days, I want to wake up. Not much of an accomplishment.”

  “It is when you’re 94,” Eve retorted. She gave the old woman’s frail shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

  “Let me tell you young girls something.” Esther shifted to a more comfortable position. “It’s no fun growing old, especially when you’re left alone.”

  Kate smiled at her reference to them being “young girls”.

  It didn’t go unnoticed by Esther as she pointed an arthritic finger at both of them. “Laugh all you want, but from where I’m sitting, the other side of seventy is practically puberty.”

  Kate and Eve had been coming to the Entertainment Foundation for more than ten years to visit Esther. Esther was Eve’s godmother and she was like an extended member of their family. After Esther’s husband, Frank, had died, Esther’s health had slowly begun to decline. Ten years ago, it got to the point where she couldn’t look after herself any longer and had made the decision to move here. The Foundation provided a variety of services to those who had served in the entertainment industry and Kate had been a tireless ambassador and campaigner for the Foundation for a number of years. Her most recent brainchild was an auction to be followed by a black tie benefit to raise money for two new physiotherapy pools. Considering that a huge percentage of L.A.’s population was somehow connected with the entertainment industry, there was no shortage of deep pockets for Kate to target and she went after all of them with an energy, enthusiasm and good humor which made her hard to resist.

  Surprisingly strong fingers took hold of Eve’s hand. “Did your mother tell you that my husband, Frank, was in the recording business?”

  Recognizing that the Alzheimer’s had a hold on Esther’s memory today, Eve pretended to look surprised. “Your husband was Frank Stromboli, the record producer?”

  Esther smiled complacently, happy to have a receptive audience. “The one and only.”

  Eve smiled in encouragement. “So your husband was the one who discovered my parents?”

  “Louis B. Mayer wasn’t the only one with a nose for new talent,” Esther sniffed.

  “You must’ve been very proud of him,” Eve remarked.

  “Old Louis may not have had the only nose for talent,” cackled one of the Foundation’s newer residents, an elderly man sitting next to Esther, “but he certainly acted like he did, the obnoxious a-hole!”

  “Oh hush up, Dickie!” cried Esther. “You had it in for L.B. ever since you defected to Warner Brothers.”

  “Dickie had no choice when MGM started laying off its Foley artists,” explained a lovely octogenarian with a tube of oxygen running into her nose.

  “What’s a Foley artist?” asked one of the nurses who was checking Dickie’s blood pressure.

  “A Foley artist works with a sound engineer after a movie’s been shot to create sound effects like logs falling and bones crunching,” Dickie explained.

  Esther added loyally, “And Dickie was MGM’s best, wasn’t he, Sigi?”

  “He certainly was,” Esthe
r’s friend agreed before reaching out to stroke her husband’s shoulder affectionately.

  “Anyway,” continued Esther, going back to the topic of Eve’s parents, “your parents’ group was one of the most popular folk groups of the sixties, second only to Simon and that other hippie fellow.”

  “Garfunkel,” supplied Eve automatically. “And to think they gave it all up, just to have me.”

  “A crying shame was what my Frank called it.”

  Kate, who’d been quiet up until now, was quick to pipe in, “I think it’s time we got this birthday party on the road.” Without further ado, she went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a tray of tiny Faberge-like cakes she and Eve had made for the occasion, much to the delight of everyone in the room. Kate had also baked a small slab cake to which she and Eve added two candles in the shape of a “9” and “4”. Amid the clapping, countless photographs and singing, Esther blew out her candles.

  “Today, I’m very glad I woke up,” she announced happily. Her eyes misted over as she looked at mother and daughter. “Thank you for the lovely cakes.”

  “I have one more surprise for you,” Kate announced happily. “As today also happens to be the anniversary of The Czar’s Wife, a comedy you had starred in back in 1934, I’ve arranged for a special screening starting in a few minutes.”

  Everyone clapped in excitement.

  “It’s nice to have friends who care just when you think everybody’s forgotten,” said Esther happily.

  “Would you lovely ladies allow me to escort you to the screening room?” Dickie held out one arm to Esther and the other to his wife.

  Esther gave her friend a hopeful look. “What do you say, honey?”

  Sigi looked at Dickie with an intensity that excluded everyone else. “Esther and I would be delighted to have you escort us.”

  Dickie’s face was a picture of pure bliss. Although it was an awkward little procession with Esther in a wheelchair, none of them seemed to notice as they slowly made their way into the screening room. Kate and Eve followed behind them at a distance.