Too Little, Too Late

by Marta Tandori

  Eve whispered in her mother’s ear, “They’re good for each other, aren’t they?”

  “They seem to have a close bond, although the other two have only recently moved to here to the nursing lodge,” Kate told her. “It’s going to be hard on them when Esther’s memory eventually fades away.” She cleared her throat, overcome by emotion. “How’s my favorite granddaughter?”

  Eve looked pained. “Still up in arms about Brooke.”

  Kate looked at her daughter shrewdly. “How are you dealing with the whole Brooke business?”

  “Eric and I have been over for a long time. I just have to get Karen to accept it.”

  “Some men’s lives become more complicated as they get older,” Kate remarked sadly.

  “Some men also become increasingly foolish in their old age,” Eve added, her expression grim. “I just hope Eric knows what he’s getting himself into.” She pointedly cleared her throat. “Speaking of getting into things, why haven’t you been returning Paul Wagner’s phone calls?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Hmm.” Eve looked at the heightened color staining her mother’s cheeks. “It seems to me like you’re avoiding him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Kate looked mildly annoyed. “I listened to his voicemails. I know what he wants.”

  Eve stopped walking and took her mother’s arm. “The same thing you wanted when you went after his listing. Seems pretty reasonable from where I’m standing unless it’s something else you’re afraid of.”

  Kate looked away, unable to meet her daughter’s gaze. “We’d better get inside otherwise they’ll start the movie without us.”

  ***

  Karen Devane parked at the 7th Street/Metro Center before carefully locking her car and heading for the Metro where she took the red line to Hollywood. Not exactly her preferred mode of transport but it wasn’t like she could just show up driving her Beemer in front of her Holly friends. It wouldn’t gel with them, especially since Laurie, her best friend from Hollywood High, rode the bus for over an hour just to get to school every day. Not that Laurie actually went to class. She was usually too wasted to give a shit, one way or the other.

  Her mother hated Laurie; thought that she was a bad influence on Karen. If only her mother knew the half of it! Her mom thought she’d been smart to transfer Karen to Killenby, an exclusive college preparatory school on L.A.’s west side, but hadn’t realized that mere geography wasn’t going to keep Karen from seeing her friends, especially since her dad had splurged on the Beemer for her sixteenth birthday. Part of the extravagance was due to her old man’s guilt trip about the divorce and the other part had to do with the fact that he knew the expensive car would piss off her mother. Karen was at the point where she didn’t give a crap what her parents did. If they wanted to self-destruct, that was their problem.

  Not that they weren’t civil to each other – they were nauseatingly civil, especially in front of her. And although Karen blamed her mother’s anal work habits for their split, her dad was partly to blame, too. He had been really pissed when her mom had gotten her real estate license and had gone into business with her grandmother. Apparently, he had wanted a stay-at-home wife like his first wife. His first wife had been one of those Park Avenue Princess types who had always wanted him around but with her dad still in med school at the time and him spending long hours at the hospital, he hadn’t been there much. In retaliation, his wife had become anorexic and had eventually starved herself to death. (Much of this was second-hand info from her half-sister, Caro, who lived in New York.)

  And while she was certainly bitter about being transferred to Killenby against her will, that’s not to say life there was all bad because it wasn’t. Life was just different. Most of the parents of her friends at Killenby, like Ashley’s parents, were in the entertainment industry and had more money than they knew what to do with. From the time she had turned ten, Ashley had had a personal trainer, a counselor, a nutritionist and a driver; pretty heavy stuff for anyone, let alone a young kid. According to Ashley’s parents, these people were supposed to make Ashley a better-rounded person. She lived in a fancy mansion in Holmby Hills, went on great vacations and ate only at the best restaurants. She lost her virginity at thirteen and had known she was going to get her first car, a Mercedes, at sixteen. For girls like Ashley, it wasn’t like “If I’m good, I’ll get a new car”, or “If I get good grades, I’ll get a car.” Nope. Ashley and Laurie were definitely worlds apart and would probably hate each other on sight, yet Karen liked them both. They were like her Ying and Yang and she always hung with one or the other, depending on her mood.

  Karen got off at Hollywood and Highland and checked out the action on the street. The usual groups congested Hollywood Boulevard while Virgin provided the background beats. She crossed over to the other side of the Boulevard, hitting the coffee shop at a run. Laurie and Spic were already there, in their usual booth.

  “Hey,” said Karen, settling into the cracked vinyl. She automatically reached for a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit up. “What gives?”

  “Not much,” replied Laurie, picking at a scab on her face. Her face looked worse than usual. “I think I need a little somethin’, somethin’.”

  “Yeah,” offered Spic. “About ten hours of zzz’s.”

  “Fuck you,” said Laurie mildly. She lit a new cigarette with the butt of her old one. “Try getting on a bus at five in the morning after you’ve been out all night.”

  “Did you ditch first?” asked Karen, draining the rest of her friend’s coffee.

  “That, plus third and fourth.”

  “So, you should’ve been good to go by fifth. What happened?”

  “I started tweaking,” admitted Laurie.

  “On what?”

  “Pink Champagne.”

  “Holy shit!” Karen shook her head in disgust. “No wonder your face looks like crap.”

  “I came into some stuff, okay?” Laurie became defensive. “You know how it is.”

  “Where’d you get the speed?”

  “From me,” admitted Spic.

  Her real name was Frederica Dwyer and her father was Kieran Dwyer, one of Hollywood’s most prolific agents. Equally well-known throughout the industry were his legendary “pharm parties” where the contents of every guest’s medicine cabinet ended up in big glass bowls throughout his house. Guests could help themselves to a buffet of uppers, downers, speed and everything in between. Needless to say, Spic got her nickname after she’d started cleaning out all of the pill bowls, bringing the leftovers to school to share with her friends.

  “Enough talk.” Laurie threw some bills on the table before getting up unsteadily. “Let’s go find us a wino!”

  The three girls marched onto Hollywood Boulevard, Karen suddenly ducking behind an awning to light a joint. She took a deep drag, letting it fill her lungs before exhaling. The immediate rush felt good. Taking another deep pull on her joint, she handed the roach to Spic. Laurie was pressed against the wall, waiting eagerly. Karen’s pupils dilated as they fixed on Laurie’s parted lips. Their lips came together with only the slightest pressure. Karen released the sweet smoke in a gentle stream into Laurie’s mouth, feeling her friend shudder. Karen’s senses exploded again in a second rush. It definitely felt good, just like the taste of Laurie’s lips.

  CHAPTER 13

  Liz’s small one-bedroom apartment in Hollywood was her pride and joy, not to mention most of her monthly income. Situated just north of Hollywood Boulevard, on La Brea, her building represented some of the glamour of old Hollywood, from the pink stucco on the exterior walls, to the tall stately palms gracing the canopied entranceway. Her apartment was the size of a shoebox but it had nice hardwood floors, newer appliances, two decent-sized closets, central air and a wonderful balcony. Best of all, it was just minutes from the Farmer’s Market, the freeway, Sunset Strip and Hollywood and Highland. It was also the first real home Liz had ever known.

  She had sp
ent months decorating her apartment, going to swap meets and yard sales to find just the right pieces to suit her taste. She always joked that her decorating style was “swap meet chic” since the most expensive furniture in her apartment was her dining room set which had set her back $150.00. The balcony was a myriad of colors and scents with a small, wrought-iron table and two chairs occupying one corner.

  Her mother seemed impervious to her surroundings as Liz gently led her inside the front door. Once inside, Liz automatically went to turn on the music, but checked her impulse. She wasn’t sure how her mother would react to it and watched silently as Maria went around the apartment, fingering the various knickknacks displayed on the shelves.

  “See you, see me,” Maria muttered as she stared at her reflection in the large mirror in the hallway. “No good!”

  Earlier this morning, when Liz had found her outside of Grauman’s, she had been silent and uncommunicative. Later, when she’d managed to coax her mother into a walk-in clinic, Maria had become hysterical when the doctor had tried examining her feet and had to be lulled into submission with a chocolate bar. Glancing at her watch, Liz noted it was almost lunchtime. She wanted to give her mother some lunch followed by the antibiotics the doctor had prescribed. Luckily, the doctor had taken pity on Liz and had written the prescription in her name which meant that her drug plan covered it.

  Liz had just taken a carton of eggs from the fridge to make scrambled eggs for their lunch when Maria began wailing at the top of her lungs. Glancing in the living room, she was startled to find her mother sitting on the floor, alternating between trying to rip the bandages from her feet and smashing her head against the wall when she couldn’t get them off.

  Liz rushed over to her. “Mom, stop it!” Sitting down behind Maria, she cradled her mother’s head against her chest. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “Take socks off!” Maria was surprisingly strong as she tried to free herself from Liz’s grip.

  “They’re not socks on your feet, they’re bandages.” With shaking fingers, she checked the ugly scratches above her mother’s ankles where Maria had been ripping at her skin.

  “Off!” Without warning, she lunged backwards, hitting Liz directly in the face.

  The impact sent excruciating pain shooting through her nasal cavity and caused her eyes to tear. “Stop it!”

  “Off!” Maria’s fingers continued to rip at her bandages.

  “No!”

  Maria’s second body blow came immediately after that, forcing Liz to angle her body in such a way that her arm took the impact of the onslaught. It lasted for several minutes. When her mother finally went limp with exhaustion, Liz made up her mind and removed the bandages.

  “You can’t keep hurting yourself every time you want something,” she told Maria angrily.

  Her mother stood up carefully, tottering as if she were in high heels, before clutching the wall for support. Sitting down again, she immediately picked at the scab on the sole of her left foot.

  Liz was quick to intervene. “Don’t do that, Mom, or I’ll have to put your socks back on.” She reached for the discarded bandage, only to have her mother rip it out of her hands.

  “No sock, Lizzie!” Huge tears pooled in Maria’s eyes before sliding down her lined cheeks.

  Liz immediately became ashamed of herself. “Okay, it’s a deal. No sock for now, okay?” She turned on the television to a cartoon, planted her mother in front of it and then went to the bathroom to assess the damage to her face. The cheek under her right eye looked a little tender, her nose was bleeding and there was drying blood along the front of her T-shirt. She looked like she’d just gone ten rounds with Tyson, but all in all, she would live. Glancing in the living room on her way back to the kitchen, Liz saw her mother staring mutely at the television screen, momentarily distracted from the task of picking at her scabs.

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down as she automatically broke eggs into a bowl for the scrambled eggs. Every now and then, she would glance into the living room but her mother remained exactly as she had left her. It was only after turning from the stove with two plates of steaming eggs and toast that Liz noted her mother was no longer watching TV. She rushed through the living room into the bathroom with mounting alarm, but Maria was nowhere to be found. Racing to the balcony, she involuntarily glanced over the side rail to the tropical garden, two floors below. There was no sign of her mother anywhere.

  Back inside, Liz mentally reviewed a short list of all the possible places her mother might have gone off to when she noticed the closet door slightly ajar and heard the muffled snores. Liz peeked inside to find Maria curled up against a pair of rubber boots, sound asleep. With a sigh of relief, she realized she’d been given a temporary reprieve. Gently covering her with a crocheted blanket, Liz decided to have a quick shower while her mother slept.

  Stepping under the cold spray, she gingerly washed around her sore face, feeling utterly spent. Just one lousy episode with her mother and she was already bruised and battered. Nothing had changed with Maria; nothing ever did. If something made her mother angry, she became violent, striking out at herself and anyone else in her path. Maria needed care but deep down, Liz wasn’t sure if she was capable of providing it. You can always have her committed, a little voice reminded her. Just as quickly, her conscience discounted the idea. Her mother had been locked up almost all her life and Liz wasn’t about to have her committed again. She had some vacation time coming and would use it to look after her. Her mother would just have to get used to living with her and that was all there was to it. Feeling better once her decision had been made, she got out of the shower and quickly dried off.

  Just as she was about to blow dry her hair, Liz heard a noise from the other room. Rushing from the bathroom, she found the front door wide open and the closet empty. Maria’s shoes were exactly where she’d left them but Maria and Liz’s backpack were both gone. Running out into the hallway, she saw that it was deserted. With mounting dread, Liz scrambled back inside and threw on some clothes before taking the stairs, two at a time, down to the lobby. Out on La Brea, she scanned the empty street. Her mother was long gone.

  By the time Liz Farrell turned ten, she had lived in eight different foster homes in and around the Los Angeles area. Quiet and unassuming, she was a good student but in her home life, Liz didn’t fare as well. Fiercely private and mostly uncommunicative, she preferred her own company to that of her foster siblings which made her a prime target for their taunts and the butt of their many jokes.

  When she was seven and living in an apartment complex in Canoga Park, one of Liz’s foster siblings, a twelve-year-old bully named Shane, and three of his best friends, molested her underneath the seldom-used stairwell leading to the boiler room.

  At thirteen, Liz had pushed one of her foster sisters from a tree after the other girl made fun of her unflattering haircut. Once back from Emergency, her foster sister sported a cast and a deep-seated hate for Liz. A few days later, Liz came home from school to find her foster mother and Liz’s social worker having a cup of coffee in the kitchen and Liz had hidden outside the door and shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation.

  “I wish you’d reconsider and let Liz stay,” said the social worker. “I’ll have a word with her to see if we can’t straighten everything out.”

  “No,” said her foster mother adamantly. “There’s a rift in the family and it’s that girl’s fault. She just flies off the handle and does these awful things like pushing my Tina out of a tree!”

  The social worker consulted the open file in front of her. “Maybe Liz has inherited some of her mother’s genetic traits.”

  “I don’t care what she’s inherited from that lunatic,” said her foster mother stubbornly. “I know this sounds terrible but I don’t want that girl living in my house anymore. Maybe she should be locked up with her mother.”

  The rest of their conversation was lost on Liz as her head reeled in disbelief.
It sounded as though her mother was alive!

  After that, Liz tried to learn more about her mother from her social worker but the other woman steadfastly refused to discuss the matter. Frustrated and unable to get anywhere, Liz reluctantly let the matter drop.

  She ended up going to a group home for troubled teens where Liz stayed until she turned eighteen. She hated it at Hailey House. Most of the girls there were tough and many had juvenile records for stealing and assault. As with all of the other places where she’d lived, Liz stuck mostly to herself and befriended no one except for one of her schoolmates, Alice Kinkirk. When Liz found out that Alice’s mother was a reporter for the Southern California Free Press Gazette, she became Alice’s new best friend and it wasn’t long before Liz became a regular fixture at Alice’s house on weekends.

  One Sunday morning, Alice’s mother poured herself a mug of coffee and joined the girls as they finished their breakfast.

  “Is everything all right with your food, Liz?” she asked kindly.

  Liz nodded enthusiastically. “I love the way you make your hotcakes, Mrs. K. They always taste amazing.”

  Alice’s mother beamed. “You’re welcome to stay with us any time you want.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Mrs. Kinkirk cleared her throat. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when you leave Hailey House?”

  “I’m going to get a job,” she replied, “and maybe go to night school. I was thinking of getting a degree in business.”

  “Do you have any family that can help you out?”

  “I think my mom’s alive but she’s locked up somewhere and can’t help.”

  “Locked up?”

  Liz nodded. “That’s what my social worker told my foster mother before I got sent to Hailey House.”

  Alice’s mother tactfully changed the subject and the rest of Liz’s visit passed without incident. Six weeks later, Liz celebrated her eighteenth birthday with Alice’s family. Liz was genuinely touched by the chocolate cake, her favorite, as well as by the gifts from Alice and her parents. Later on, while Alice was getting some help from her father with her homework, Mrs. Kinkirk suggested that Liz help her with the dishes.