by Fauna Hodel
“Patta, how could you leave me?” Jimmie said in a whispery voice, “I’ve been so sick with this cancer. It’s eating away at me more every day. I ain’t got much time to live. I’d like to see you just one last time before I die. You got to come back to Reno to let me die in peace.”
Fauna’s body sank, humbled by her conscious. Her momma sounded so frail, a woman who would scrap with anyone and come out on top, was now fragile and weak. Without forethought, Fauna left Yvette with Billy and drove the car from San Diego to Sparks. She worried that she might be too late. She couldn’t let her momma die—there was nothing worse.
When she arrived at the house, only Roxy was there, sitting at the kitchen table with a drink in her hand. “Pat, what are you doin’ here? I thought you moved to San Diego.”
“Where’s Momma?” she asked.
“She’s in the john takin’ a pee, where you think she is?”
“Is she all right?”
“Honey, that woman’s never been all right!” Roxy paused and took a sip from her drink, “Know where she dragged me off to today?”
Fauna shook her head and sat down, “What do you mean?”
“We went to a funeral parlor,” Roxy began to laugh wildly, “She walked in there just as if she owned the place; started telling the undertaker that his caskets were cheap looking.”
“Why? What for?”
“I got no idea. Then she tells him that she wants the best and prettiest box he’s got. The man thought she’d just lost her husband or her mother or something. I thought she’d lost her mind!” she took another sip from her glass and giggled again.
“Tell me. Tell me, what did she want?” Fauna said, waiting for Roxy to put down her drink.
“He takes us to another room with these high-priced caskets, you know, and she spots one, real fancy with all white satin and lace all around the inside, and brass handles, and two doors, and a real fluffy pillow. Her eyes lit up when she saw that one!
“Well, the man started leading her the other way, but she acted like he wasn’t even in the room. I’m following the guy, cause I don’t know what’s going on, and she. . . .” Roxy snorted, tears filled her eyes, and she then hammered her hand lightly on the table, and then continues, “she climbs in to the casket and lays down on this fluffy pillow, fixes her dress and folds her arms as if she’s dead.” Roxy then sipped her drink and said, “Aha—but she got this big, shit-eatin’ grin a mile wide. And then she says, ‘How’d I look? Is this box pretty enough for me?’”
Jimmie came out from the bathroom; Fauna’s back was to her.
“Hey guys, what’s you all giggling at?”
Fauna turned and startled Jimmie, who smirked and then got serious. “Patta, when did you get here?”
“Just now,” Fauna said, “I thought you were dying.”
“I recovered.”
“In twelve hours?”
“Yeah, you know. It was one a those twenty-four-hour things, but I guess it only went halfway.”
Roxy hammered the table again laughing loudly. Jimmie did her best to hold in her amusement, but Roxy’s laugh was contagious.
Fauna’s eyes pierced through their silliness.
“But I was sick . . .” Jimmie said, “real sick. That’s why I tried out the coffin.” She started to snicker, knowing Fauna was furious. Roxy held both hands over her mouth and put her head between her legs in a foolish attempt at disguising her giggling.
“Momma. You ain’t gonna die.”
“I know that now, but I didn’t know it before.”
“Then why did you make me come all the way up here? Don’t you realize what I had to do to get here? I stopped everything just for you, because I thought you were dying. I left Yvette, the apartment, Billy—I was in a panic.”
“I was dyin’—didn’t you hear me?” Jimmie said.
Roxy could no longer contain herself, and neither could Fauna. She spent the night and returned to San Diego the following morning.
Billy and Fauna worked hard to forge a higher standard of living. Business opportunities seemed to appear out of nowhere. A magnanimous offer to work overseas quickly became suspiciously realistic. For months there was persistent pressure from business associates to move to Saudi Arabia. Although Fauna didn’t understand the details, she knew that a move would leave Jimmie behind. They felt their lives were being scrutinized—little things that you couldn’t put your finger on: a clicking sound on the telephone, the same car parked near their house, or their work, or near a store with a man sitting behind the wheel. Billy and Fauna began to pay closer attention to their private lives.
At the same time, Jimmie begged Fauna to return to Sparks. She threatened, cajoled, cried, cursed, and encouraged Fauna’s guilt for what she believed was her abandonment. The more Fauna tried to explain that she had to live her own life, the less Jimmie wanted to hear.
A few days later, Rosie called and said that Jimmie had been rushed to the hospital. Fauna packed a bag and flew to Sparks with Yvette. Rosie met them at the hospital.
“What happened?” Fauna asked.
“Oh, child, it’s the same thing,” Rosie said, “only this time she overdid it. Roxy called an ambulance when she found Jimmie rolled up in a ball on the bathroom floor.” Rosie motioned for them to follow her to the ward where Jimmie was resting. “A normal person would have just asked for help, but not your momma. She started cussing and fighting with Roxy, but Roxy paid no attention and got her brought over here.”
As they entered the ward, Jimmie’s now gravelly voice could be heard barking at one of the nurse’s aides.
“She’d been on a steady diet of gin for a month,” Rosie whispered, “and it don’t look good, least that’s what her doctor said.”
“Hi, Momma, how you feeling?”
Jimmie’s demeanor shifted quickly when she heard her daughter’s voice. “Oh, Patta, is that you?” she moaned, “They been doing such god-awful things to me, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought I was gonna leave this earthly place without seeing you one last time.”
Rosie rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Well, she’s all yours now, I got lots to do today.”
“They been poking and prying and shoving pills down my throat and giving needles,” Jimmie said in a weakened voice, “now that you’re here, you can get them to stop.”
“Momma, I don’t want them to stop. You need to get treatment for this stuff,” Fauna said.
“But, Patta, I’m dying. I don’t want to die with all these tubes and bottles. I wants to die in my own bed,” Jimmie said, “with you at my side. I don’t want you to leave me.”
Her acting skills remained intact while Fauna was there, playing the dying victim for an audience of one. To everyone else, Jimmie appeared belligerent. It took a week before Fauna discovered the pattern in Jimmie’s behavior that was being used in an attempt to separate her from Billy. Jimmie’s condition eventually improved and Yvette was out of school far too long and Fauna had to get back to her life in San Diego.
A few weeks later, Fauna treated Yvette to some of the sights in Sea World. Afterward they had lunch at a restaurant near the waterfront. While they were eating, ogling the expansive harbor stocked with elegant yachts parading in and out, Fauna noticed two men, an Asian and a Caucasian, both eyeing her. She nervously tried to ignore their intermittent stares. When Yvette finished eating, she begged her mother to look over the yachts up close. As they walked across the street and headed casually toward their car, Fauna noticed a limousine parked just ahead. From the distance it looked like the same Asian was standing near the car. Without alarming Yvette, she slowed her pace to an easy stroll, and then stopped in front of a large sailboat to give her time to think about the next move. “Oh, look Yvette. Look at how big this one is. Isn’t it beautiful!” She stopped and glanced back at the limo for only a moment.
“I like this one better,” Yvette said, pointing to the one right next to it.
“Oh yeah, that one’s even bette
r.”
Suddenly, the Asian opened the limo door, and out stepped a tall man, thin, and fastidiously dressed in a white suit. Fauna held tightly to Yvette’s hand as she watched him slowly walked toward them with a confident stride. Fauna tried to ignore him but he was staring directly at her. He stopped only a few feet in front of them, and just stood there, watching. She stared back into his eyes. His mustache was thin, his white hair neatly layered over a golden tanned face. This elegant image scratched onto her memory. Then just as suddenly, he turned and walked back to the limo where the Asian held the rear door open for him, and they drove off. She watched as they sped by, hoping to see if anyone else was in the car, but the windows were darkened.
Later, over dinner, she told Billy about it.
“Well, who was he?” Billy asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Didn’t you ask?”
“No. It’s not the first time I felt like I was being watched. It’s happened before.” She thought for a second. “In fact, it reminded me of a time a few years ago when I went to Aunt Lucille’s funeral. There was a man in a car. I saw him three or four times over the next few days while I was in Los Angeles. And before I went to Hawaii, too, now that I think about it.”
“Was it the same man?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know, I never got to see him up close, but there was just something that made me think of that again,” Fauna said.
“You mean someone’s spying on you.”
“I think so. And I noticed someone else, just last week, when I dropped Yvette off at school. I saw the same car three times during the day.”
“It’s probably just a coincidence. Why would anyone follow you?”
She looked at Billy and could easily tell that his concern was genuine, and that he had no idea who this man could be or why he wanted to take a good look at her.
Deborah, Fauna’s half-sister, married a soldier who was being transferred from Hawaii. She called Fauna and asked if it was all right if she spent some time with her in San Diego while he got things settled at his new base in Kentucky. Fauna happily agreed, and picked Deborah up at the airport and drove back to the house, where she made her new guest feel comfortable. They sat down in the living room with some iced tea. Deborah wore shorts and a tropical print top and sat up straight, confidently. Her legs crossed right over left, and she balanced the napkin-wrapped, cold glass delicately on her knee.
“Where’s your son, Starr?” Fauna asked.
“Oh, he’s gone on with my husband to get things going at our new home. I thought it would be a good idea just for the two of us to be together,” Deborah said.
“I’m glad you called me,” Fauna said, “even though I don’t know much about you or Tamar. I felt when we met in Hawaii you were following a different path and were more grounded than Tamar. It was such a trip for me; I was in shock for most of the time.”
“I know what you mean,” Deborah said, “I grew up with all of that stuff, so I was very used to it and it doesn’t bother me anymore. I can’t be caught up in someone else’s drama, even my mother’s. I’ve got my own life to live.”
“Still, it’s a nice place to grow up in, right there on the beach. . . .” Fauna started to say.
“Wait, we weren’t always on the beach. That house you were in belonged to a friend of my mother’s, excuse me, our mother, Tamar. In fact, since you’ve been gone, she already moved to another place. We were always changing houses, changing schools,” Deborah said.
Fauna could not help but notice the eloquent mannerisms of her half-sister. She was poised, articulate, straightforward, and she really was half-black, everything Fauna struggled to be in her own life.
“But I thought the family was very wealthy? I met Dorothy in San Francisco, and she told me about this illustrious heritage. . . .” Fauna said, but Deborah cut her off.
“Wait, there may be some heritage, but we never saw any of it. It probably went to the other side of the family. We were all born and raised in California. When Tamar moved us to Hawaii, she only had a knapsack and $140, and no place to live. She gets by on her wits, and with the help of some friends, always new, and always on the outermost fringe of society.”
“I guess I was mistaken about Doris Day,” Fauna said.
“You mean the old actress? Who said anything about her?”
“Oh, nothing. It was just something I was thinking of,” Fauna said.
They meshed as if they were on the same oar, rowing across their history together. Deborah filled in much of the lost years, mostly with stories of Tamar, not all kind, and Fauna had no reason to doubt her. She began to understand why.
A few days after Deborah’s arrival, she asked Fauna if she would like to meet the rest of her long-lost family. Elated at the prospect of getting yet another point of view, Fauna quickly agreed. That weekend, they drove to Venice to spend the night with Tamar’s brother, Kelly. Fauna was not happy at Kelly’s beach apartment, but notably impressed with her very fine-looking uncle. He wore his golden brown hair shoulder length and dressed the part of a stylish hippie, appropriate for the times and place. He wasn’t very tall, only about five eight or nine. His sociable persona and bright smile made up for the unconventional accommodations.
The following day, Fauna was nervous and uncomfortable at the thought of having brunch and meeting more of the Hodel clan. Knowing Tamar, Dorothy, and George, she was on guard and ready for almost anything. They went to a more elegant condominium in Santa Monica that was owned by George’s ex-wife, Dorothy. Deborah, who everyone referred to as Fauna II, introduced Fauna to Steve, a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department, and much taller and distinguished looking than Kelly. He was medium in build and dressed conservatively in a sport jacket. The third brother was Michael, more studious looking than the other two and quieter. Dorothy, an attractive woman in her late fifties, spoke first, “Fauna, you’re finally here. Welcome back into our lives.”
She was surprised at the warm greeting and said, “Thank you. What do you mean ‘back into your lives’?”
“Well, you’ve been gone for such a long time. Since when, well, in fact, since you were born. I’m surprised Jimmie didn’t tell you . . . on second thought, it was made very clear to Jimmie not to say anything—that is, until you were older,” Dorothy said.
“Tell me what? What is it that everyone seems to know but me?” Fauna asked.
“I was with George around the time you were born,” Dorothy continued. “In fact, I was married to him. I tried to keep in touch with Jimmie, sending her letters, explaining things and the like, making sure everything was okay for George. He always wanted to know what was going on—very curious.”
“Wait a minute. Is that how Momma used to know so much about my grandfather, I mean George?” Fauna said.
“He is your grandfather, of course,” Dorothy said.
“She used to tell me all the time that whenever she wanted to get hold of him, she’d just have to pick up the phone and call Dorarro,” Fauna said.
“Yes, I’m Dorarro!”
“Dorarro? I thought my sister said you were Dorothy.”
“Well, yes, that’s true. But before I married your grandfather, I was married to a man named John Huston. . . .”
“That name sounds familiar,” Fauna said.
“Yes . . . he’s well-known. He gave me the name Dorarro, which is Spanish for Dorothy. I used it for a long time. Later on, when I left John to marry George, he called me Dorarro, too, so as not to confuse me with Dorothy, your real grandmother.
“John and George were very close friends during those days, partying and playing all over Hollywood, Mexico, and San Francisco. That is before George got arrested for the incident with Tamar. After that, John didn’t want to be associated with the publicity. It would have been a disaster for his film career. So he couldn’t take a chance. In those days, any bad publicity would stop an actor or director in mid-stride, adversely affecting his films. George tried
to disappear, which he did. I, in turn, kept in touch with Jimmie to make sure that everything was all right with you. But then, early on, she somehow seemed to have disappeared, vanished. I guess you were only about two or three at the time.”
“When I was in Hawaii, Tamar told me who you were, but I didn’t put it all together until now,” Fauna said.
“That’s right,” Michael interrupted, “Wait, you met with Tamar. What did you think of her?”
“That’s exactly the same thing George asked me!” said Fauna.
“You spoke with George?” Kelly asked.
“Yeah, Tamar just picked up the phone while I was there and called him. She passed the phone to me, and he asked me what I thought of Tamar, too. Why? Is that unusual?”
“Unusual! That’s putting it very mildly,” said Kelly, “George is not an easy person to get hold of. He’s very mysterious.”
“And extremely private,” Steve added.
“Yeah,” agreed Kelly, “usually you have to make an appointment just to call him, and if he doesn’t want to talk with you there’s nothing you can do.”
“The last time he was here—in fact, each time he comes here, it’s usually for medical reasons,” said Steve. “He doesn’t trust any foreign hospitals or doctors. That’s the only time we see him.
“He always makes an appointment for us to see him. He doesn’t just drop in like most fathers,” Steve continued mimicking loftiness, “No, not the mysterious Dr. Hodel. He’ll meet us, all together, at the most posh restaurant, in one of their private dining rooms.”
“Yeah,” said Kelly, “and he always travels with his entourage.”
“What are you talking about?” Fauna asked, now on the edge of her seat.
Kelly said, “George is exceedingly rich. He’s never without his bodyguards, and chauffeur, and a bevy of beautiful women—some Asian, some black—all beautiful, and dressed in the most fantastic clothes and jewelry. It’s unbelievable!”
“We only get to see him for about two hours over these dinners. No one ever gets close to him. But he’s always been like that,” said Steve.