So lost were Mackenna and Eve in their own contentment, Deirdre and her girlfriend’s quiet merge into the group went unnoticed. It wasn’t normally Deirdre’s style to arrive anywhere unnoticed, but even Deirdre had to admit Frederick Georgio was a difficult act to upstage. It was also common knowledge he didn’t tolerate interruptions by anyone—or rudeness for that matter —without some fatal, cutting remark hurled in the direction of the foolish interloper. In addition to having a sincere respect for Frederick Georgio’s tongue, Deirdre was also an ardent fan of his work, and enjoyed his involved storytelling as much as anyone else.
It wasn’t until he excused himself to attend another party in The East Village, taking most of the group with him, that Deirdre’s presence was first noticed within the intimate gathering, which now conspicuously and awkwardly included only the four women: Mackenna, Eve, Deirdre and the Silent One.
They were left squared off—Mackenna and Eve side by side, standing directly across from Deirdre and the mysterious and silent girlfriend. Too close for comfort, Eve thought, as she fretted about how Mackenna would handle the uncomfortable situation in which they now found themselves. Mackenna cynically noted to herself that Deirdre was looking a little wild-eyed and edgy, and had what appeared to be a telltale smudge of white powder residue on her left nostril. Typical, Mackenna thought with mild disgust.
After several very awkward and speechless moments, Eve decided to introduce herself to Deirdre’s date. Since Deirdre was being remiss in her societal duties—again—Eve thought it was time to put a name to the lovely but silent face. As Eve stepped forward slightly and offered her hand to the mystery woman, Deirdre brashly interrupted her. Unable to keep silent for a second longer, Deirdre forcefully suspended Eve’s friendly overture and said loudly, almost accusingly, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
From the moment Frederick Georgio and entourage left them stranded with each other, Deirdre could not keep her eyes off Eve, and studied her intently as her curiosity grew. Taken aback by Deirdre’s abrupt question, Eve practically leapt back to her original position next to Mackenna. Her arm frozen in midair, she looked at Deirdre quizzically and stammered slightly, “I… I don’t think so, except for the film.”
“No, no…” insisted Deirdre, “I never forget a face. I know I know you from somewhere else,” then continued to stare wildly at Eve. Deirdre’s date frowned—clearly upset at either the missed opportunity to finally introduce herself to someone for the first time that evening, or over the obvious direction the conversation was headed. Eve merely shrugged a sorry-I-don’t-know-you shrug and smiled apologetically.
“What was your name again?” Deirdre demanded, her eyes blazing maniacally and her British accent sharp and peevish.
“Eve. Eve Magnusson. Come to think of it, Deirdre, you might’ve seen me in commercials, or maybe a television show,” Eve explained. “I’ve been kickin’ around the biz for about twenty years, so maybe that’s where you know me. Oh, and I know we were at the same party once a while back, but…”
Deirdre shook her head and rolled her eyes, almost with disdain at Eve’s suggestion, “I don’t pay attention to people at parties,” she sniffed. “Especially if they’re nobodies.”
The dig was not lost on Eve as she wondered why Deirdre was even bothering with her if she thought she was such a nobody. Bitch.
“Magnusson… Eve Magnusson,” Deirdre said, almost to herself.
“No… that’s not it.”
Eve began to answer but was interrupted by Deirdre. “Has it always been Eve Magnusson,” she asked, her British accent landing hard on been turning it into bean. “I mean, has it always been your name, or is it a stage name?”
Confused, and slightly shaken, Eve stuttered her response. “I… I… yes, I mean, it’s a… my married… I mean, I’m not… married… anymore, but —”
“Ah, I knew it,” Deirdre crowed. “I knew it wasn’t your real name.” She looked around the room for approval and then coldly stared at Eve. “So what is it, then? Your real name.”
“Um…” Eve felt slightly bullied and thought of telling Deirdre to go pound sand, but couldn’t afford to upset the star of the movie. “My birth name was Eve Hollywell,” she answered with resignation. “But I’ve never used it in my work—”
Mackenna opened her mouth to jump to Eve’s defense, but again, Deirdre managed to preempt the challenge by exclaiming loudly, attracting the attention of some of her guests, “Hollywell?” She looked quickly at Mackenna and then at Eve and smiled a slow, wicked smile. “Of course, I should have known. So… you’re the old girlfriend, aren’t you?” Deirdre said in her now familiar accusatory tone, then turned to Mackenna, raised her eyebrows and said coyly, “Broke your heart once, didn’t she? And now you’re back for more? That’s not very cricket, is it dear?” she sniped at Eve. “Though I must say, you look a lot better than you did way back when.” Deirdre emphasized “way back when” then reached across and flicked Eve’s hair with her long-nailed finger. “Short curls work so much better on you than that long wavy shit. And the blonde works, too—L’Oreal or Clairol?” Deirdre tossed her head back and laughed.
Bewildered at first by Deirdre’s ravings, the painful reality of what she was saying hit Mackenna right between the eyes—but Eve was simply lost. Mackenna visibly blanched. Eve stared first at Deirdre and then at Mackenna, wondering first how she got stuck in the middle of something so ugly; and second, what on earth could Deirdre be talking about.
Deirdre continued her sadistic baiting of Eve, smiled maniacally and said, “So what brought you back to Mackenna here, Eve dear? Failed to finish her off the first time? Or are you just taking pity on the poor tragic thing?” Deirdre looked at Mackenna with overwrought, yet, insincere disbelief written all over her face and said incredulously, “This isn’t a bona fide reconciliation, is it? Mackenna? Are you so desperate, dear?”
Mackenna was speechless, her face frozen in a stunned expression—the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
Deirdre ruthlessly continued, “You know, now that I see you in person, Eve darling, I just can’t really see what’s so goddamned special about you. I mean, to drop me for you, right? Well, I don’t deserve that now, do I? My god, look at me!” Deirdre struck a pose. She then opened her arms, gesturing toward Eve and said, her voice filled with pity, “Look at you!”
“I think that’s enough, Deirdre,” Mackenna said, her voice cold and even, as Eve’s face and neck reddened with uneven blotches. “You obviously don’t know what you’re talking about so perhaps you should stop now. Eve, I think we should leave now.”
“Well,” Eve began, her voice shaking, “I know I’ve heard enough of —”.
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll ever be enough when it comes to you!” Deirdre spat out, interrupting Eve. “For five wretched years all I heard from my lover was you, you, you!” she hissed, her voice low but angry.
“Imagine,” she continued, “trying to live up to a perfect fucking ex-lover—well, it can’t be done now can it. No, I think I know bloody well what I’m talking about, don’t I, Em—darling.”
Mackenna reeled from Deirdre’s accusations and felt faint, and slightly sick in her stomach. She couldn’t answer Deirdre’s charges—she didn’t know what to say. What could she say? What could she do? She wanted to escape but when she glanced around looking for a quick exit, all she saw were faces, faces, faces, and every one staring at her—The Liar. She looked at Eve, poor Eve who didn’t have a clue about what was going on and wondered how she was going to explain everything to her. Eve, the unwitting victim—the innocent—being pilloried by the sadistic and coked-up Deirdre who was unjustly crucifying her.
It didn’t matter, though, because Deirdre was again railing against Mackenna and Eve, her voice raised to an alarming and attention getting pitch; and, anyone who managed to ignore them thus far was certainly alerted now. Deirdre drained the glass of wine in her hand—ignored since she first joined the group—a
nd continued unrelenting with her tirade, shaking her wavering finger at Eve. She played to the room as if she were on stage, seemingly unconcerned that she was in the process of outing herself, Eve and Mackenna.
“Where the hell were you,” Deirdre raged, “when I was stuck listening to your ex-girlfriend’s non-stop whining about you and how fucking wonderful you were? Oh yeah, there’s a treat—something to build a bloody long-term relationship on, right? Real encouraging! I put up with it though, I did, for five bloody awful years, didn’t I—hoping to Christ she’d get the hell over you and look at me for a change. I just wanted her to see me. Bloody hell, I tell you. Toward the end, though, I thought I’d have to kill myself—I did. Day in and day out… I couldn’t do a damned thing right! No, no—not in my lifetime.
Deirdre looked at Mackenna and continued, “No, I was never good enough—I couldn’t love you enough, Mackenna. It was never enough—and I loved you, God knows I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. Oh, but it just wasn’t enough, was it. No, it was always, always, always… Alice this and Alice that…”
Alice… Alice? Deirdre stopped suddenly as she realized what she had just said. She looked crazily first at Eve, who looked like she’d just been punched in the stomach, and then at Mackenna who was completely drained of color. They all stood riveted for a very long time as a thick blanket of silent shock fell slow-motion over them.
Deirdre tried to say something—tried to apologize to Mackenna for what she wasn’t sure, but she knew immediately she was wrong—but once Deirdre’s words registered, Mackenna’s immediate response was to flee the scene. Overcome with tears, she dropped her glass of Evian and blindly pushed her way through astonished on-lookers, before finally stumbling out the main door of the suite and into the hallway. Deirdre was left staring at Eve, mouth hanging open, not knowing what to say. Her silent date remained mute, but a small and almost indecipherable smirk broke out on her face—a victory smirk of sorts.
Eve, too, was stunned, but for a completely different reason as certain things she hadn’t previously understood finally became suddenly and painfully clear to her. The clarity was startling. She felt an urgent need to go after Mackenna.
“I… I’m sorry, I…” Deirdre sputtered, trying to make sense of what just happened. God, she needed a hit. “I thought you were…” Deirdre squinted at Eve. “I thought you were Alice Hollywell—you look just like the pictures… well, except for the hair, but I… I thought…”
“It’s obvious what you thought,” Eve retorted angrily. “Maybe if you had done just that, and kept your thoughts to yourself…” And your big mouth shut, she thought.
Eve spun away from Deirdre and began to walk briskly toward the door when Deirdre stopped her. “Wait!” she called, her voice filled with desperation as Eve stopped mid-step, turning slowly to face Deirdre.
“There’s such a resemblance…” Deirdre continued, unnerved by Eve’s cold stare, but still maintaining a pompous, though slightly deflated air. “The name and all—I thought… I made an honest mistake, didn’t I?” Eve began to walk away. “You even related to her?” Deirdre asked, stopping Eve in her tracks, her voice filled with desperation. “Alice Hollywell, I mean… at all?”
All the malice and hatred evident in Deirdre’s face just a minute earlier completely dissipated as she searched Eve’s expressionless face for some type of response. Eve might as well have kicked Deirdre in the stomach for the answer she gave. Eve’s terse but revealing explanation, before she turned sharply and hurried out the door in search of Mackenna, left Deirdre dumbfounded and feeling unbelievably betrayed—and utterly confused.
She remained standing where Eve left her, stunned and defeated, oblivious to her surroundings. As the artificial interlude of silence quickly faded away, Deirdre was surrounded by a dull buzz of excited conversation. The only topic was the scandalous blowup everyone had just witnessed. It was a scene that would most likely not make it into the tabloids, despite Deirdre’s fame, but would be gossiped about in hushed whispers in the underground party circuit for years afterward, eventually making it to the general public in some form or other as bona fide movie star lore.
Deirdre stood for a long time in the wake of the vapor trail left by Mackenna and Eve’s heated exits, and stared in the direction of the door—now blocked from view by gossiping guests—while she tried to make sense of the five years she had spent with Mackenna. It was an impossible task to accomplish in only a few minutes, especially in her present state of mind and body; but, try as she might, none of it made sense.
“Let’s go, Mona,” she said finally to her heretofore unnamed and speechless date. Deirdre’s voice was heavy with weariness and filled with dejection, while still maintaining a slight manic edge. “It’ll be hours before these people go home, darling. Anyway, I promised I’d stop in at a party in The Village.” She sighed deeply. “Be a dear and get our things, would you? I don’t want to talk to anyone just now so I’ll just slip out—I’ll wait for you in the hallway.”
Mona nodded and dutifully began to walk toward the bedroom, but Deirdre grabbed her by the arm and whispered into her ear, “Get me a couple ’Ludes, would you, love? Gotta get the edge off.” Deirdre watched Mona disappear into the bedroom in search of Deirdre’s Quaaludes before heading for the door herself, saying again to herself as she stealthily wove her way through the now occupied guests, “Gotta get the edge off…” and continuing the mantra in her head until she found herself finally standing in the now deserted corridor. If it were even remotely possible for her to cry, she would have, but she couldn’t. It had been entirely too long since the last tear had graced her beautiful face.
The narrow room began to move. Deirdre pressed her back against the hallway wall to steady herself, practically clinging to it with her long nails. She was beginning to feel unsteady and jittery as the corridor came in and out of focus as if it were alive and breathing. She inhaled deeply, drawing stale air deep into her lungs in an effort to calm herself while she waited for Mona and the Quaaludes. As Deirdre clung to the wall for support, she cursed under her breath, “Damn you, Mackenna. Damn you.”
EIGHTEEN
Exit Stage
“What are you doing?” Eve asked with urgency.
“I’m packing—it was a mistake to come here,” Mackenna said coldly, carefully folding clothing into one of two travel bags lying open on the bed. “I’m going home. I’m sorry I ruined the party for you—I know it was important for you… and your career. I’ll go home before I cause anymore trouble for you.” Tears that had dried between the time Mackenna abruptly left the party and arrived in her room began to again slide down her cheeks.
Eve’s reply was sympathetic and gentle in tone, “What are you talking about? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” Eve pulled at Mackenna’s arm. “Wait—listen to me…” Mackenna wrested herself free of Eve’s grip and continued packing, but Eve persisted. “Mackenna, come on… stop this…”
“Eve, please,” Mackenna cried. “Just leave me alone, okay? I’m trying to pack…”
“Just listen to me…” Eve begged, trying to position herself in front of Mackenna who was doing her best to ignore Eve.
“There’s nothing you can say to me that’s going to change my mind,” Mackenna insisted stubbornly. She walked over to the closet and pulled several shirts violently from their wooden hangers which clunked against each other before falling onto the floor with a collective thud. She continued to talk as she removed four pair of slacks from their hangers, returning to the bed with her arms full. “It was wrong of me to come here. I knew it and I think you knew it as well.” She threw the clothing into a pile on the bed, wiped her eyes with her fingers and began to methodically fold a shirt.
“I know no such thing!” Eve protested. “Mackenna, I can’t believe you’re going to let what Deirdre said spoil our time here! Mackenna, you didn’t do anything!” Eve watched helplessly as Mackenna systematically folded her shirts, one by one, while sh
e scoured her brain for some argument to convince Mackenna to stay. “I can’t believe this.”
It was so painfully obvious to Eve that Mackenna was devastated by Deirdre’s callous and reckless remarks. Fat, round teardrops soiled each item of clothing Mackenna packed—testament to her immediate grief.
“I can’t stay here, Eve,” she cried softly. “It’s ruined. She ruined it—she ruined everything. I’m going home now and… that’s final.” Mackenna walked with determination into the bathroom where she noisily gathered up varied items of toiletry and cosmetics.
Agitated, Eve followed her into the bathroom. “Can’t we even talk about this?” Mackenna ignored Eve’s request and avoided any eye contact with her, but Eve persisted. “We can talk about it, can’t we?”
“No,” Mackenna said firmly. “We can’t.” Her arms full, she turned and swiftly walked back to the bed where she dumped everything into a smaller, overnight bag.
Eve followed her, dogging her every move, trying desperately to get Mackenna’s full attention. “I want to talk about it, Mackenna—about Alice.”
Mackenna stopped packing, bowing her head slightly. Eve moved in close and put her arm around Mackenna’s shoulder saying tenderly, “Don’t you think I, of all people, would understand why?”
Mackenna trembled at Eve’s touch but she could not begin to respond to whatever emotions surfaced at that moment regarding her feelings for Eve. She was destroyed, wounded by Deirdre’s cutting revelations about their life together—the big lie—and at the moment all Mackenna cared to do was escape. But she couldn’t escape if Eve was there to remind her and continue to dredge up the agonizing past—essentially finishing what Deirdre started. No, it wouldn’t do to let this begin, she thought. She was overwhelmed with humiliation and had to get away, and get away fast. She would deal with Eve some other day—perhaps—but for now she had to get away from everyone.
Mackenna gently pulled herself away from Eve. “I can’t talk about it and I won’t, all right Eve? So don’t bring it… her up anymore. The subject is off-limits, understand? I won’t talk about it,” she said with emphasis. She hurried to the bureau, forcefully opening drawers and furiously gathering clothing into her arms. She was focused on her task and tried her best to block out Eve who had finally stopped following her around the room. All Eve could do was stand in the middle of the room and try to make her case as Mackenna continued to pack. “Fine. Fine. That’s just fine, but don’t leave, okay?” Eve pleaded. “It’s not worth it—we were having so much fun and you seemed to be feeling… better. I… please… Mackenna, I don’t want you to leave… not upset. Not like this. I brought you along to have a good time, okay, and I’m really, really sorry about tonight.
Mackenna on the Edge Page 18