Chapter 18
The following morning, Tuesday, at 6:30 A.M., Rickie awoke and placed the jackstraws of her jumbled consciousness into a neat pile before breaking what should have been the rule of a lifetime and phoning Hirschfeld. "Come and pick me up," she said, and hung up. Hirschfeld was there inside thirty minutes to find his wife standing on the sidewalk, wearing only her terry robe, from the big left pocket of which protruded the head of a kitten. He opened the passenger side door of the Rolls Silver Seraph and she got in. Without speaking, he followed Ocean Avenue, beside the fog-shrouded bluff, all the way to San Vicente before turning right and heading towards Sunset. The traffic was still light, with a few people out jogging down the park-like median, figures moving in the fog like spiritualized beings descended, for the moment, to enjoy a brief taste of the richer-than-heaven atmosphere of Brentwood.
"I'm not sure I'm following the script, here," he finally said.
"I can't leave you. I know a lot of women have sucked up the courage and joined support groups and worked through their issues, but I can't climb that mountain. I don't have the strength. The plain fact is, it's too late for us to change. We are what we are ... but it's not too late for our son. I simply realized this morning I'm simply too tired to change. I don't have enough faith and I don't have the courage. I can't change me and I can't change you. I've realized you are, at some point, going to kill me. I've accepted it. It's easier for me to accept it than to try and change it. The only desire I have left is to do right by my son before it's too late."
"Babe, you're talking crazy. I'll never lay an angry hand on you again. If you're tired, we'll take some time off. In fact, I was simply thinking we might pack a few things and spend a few days at the cabin."
"Don't, please. I don't need your empty promises. You're going to kill me. We simply don't know when. Until that day comes, we're going to spend our time helping our son. I simply want to make sure he comes out ahead, that my sacrifice isn't wasted. I realized last night I don't have the strength to fight you. Maybe I could have once. Not anymore. I'm simply too tired."
"Is this some kind of a trap?" Hirschfeld said. He sniffed the air suspiciously and looked well around him, as though a top level surveillance operation were in progress.
"Stop being paranoid. It doesn't become you. I'd rather we went on together as we were. It'll be better this way. At least this way, I know I'm living on borrowed time. Perhaps the gods will sense this, and throw me a few breaks. In spite of your cruelty, I still have some love left for you. At least I think it's love, in its own twisted way."
A long silence followed before Hirschfeld said, "Thank you. By the way, what's with the cat? You never liked cats before, and that one's surely the runt of the litter. Got to give it credit, though, it doesn't try to crawl all over the place."
"She has no hind legs."
"No hind legs? Ferhevvensakes!"
"I kissed Shank."
Hirschfeld sucked in a quick sharp breath. "Wow. That smarts. Okay. Okay, I deserve that one. I deserve the punishment for what happened to you. Okay. You kissed him. Is there anything else I need to know?"
"He didn't kiss me back."
Hirschfeld rubbed his forehead. "Then he's stupid. And smart. He's smart and stupid at the same time. Smart because if he'd kissed you back I'd have killed him. Stupid because you're worth the risk. Rickie, regardless of what's happened, I love you. We've had good times, you and me."
"I'm not coming back with the intention of making our marriage work again. I'm coming back because I can't see any other way out. The marriage can never truly work again, but I promise you I won't be cold to you. Even if I feel like it at first, I won't be cold. I won't try and make you grovel, or make a fool out of you, or deny you anything."
"Judy won't understand."
"She'll get over it. She predicted I'd do this. She's gotten over it before."
Arriving at the estate in Beverly Hills, the car waited until the electronic gates opened before it slid effortlessly up the steep, winding drive, past the gatehouse to the main house, the place rising up ghostly through the trees in the morning fog. Rickie surveyed The Dell before opening the car door. Hirschfeld caught her arm.
"Are you sure?"
"An hour ago, I took four painkillers. I'm as sure as I can be. What's for breakfast?"
Hirschfeld let go with a sob. His jaw clacked together a few times, but no words came out. Rickie took his hand. It was warm and damp. She thought about the night she'd simply spent, with its jumbled dreams and fitful night sweats, lying there in the darkness, looking for a way out and finding none. Hirschfeld gripped her hand tight and continued to blubber out his sorrows, which were many. She realized the sorrows needed drowning.
"Forget breakfast for now. Let's go inside and have a drink."
"A drink? This early?"
"We need to do something. We need to put some distance between yesterday and today. We need to get to a better place. A good strong drink is the best way to travel between here and there."
She looked at his face. It was pale and contrite. Together, they walked up the steps and through the front door.
Rickie stopped in the vast marble entryway and sniffed. The place was silent and air was stale, as though they'd walked into a morgue where the mortician favored cigars while he worked.
"Where's Juana? It smells like this place hasn't been cleaned for weeks."
"I gave her a couple of weeks off. Last night, she rode with me downtown to the shoot and took the Greyhound for Calexico. The place was a zoo. They were trying to cram fifteen thousand people into about three buses. I bought her two tickets so she didn't have to sit next to a drunk or a psycho. I gave the bus driver a C-note to let her sit up front where he could keep an eye on her."
"Then I'll have to have Judy stay over. I'm going to need help for the next few weeks."
"It's been awhile since we've kissed."
"Never mind that," she said. "First things first. I'm going upstairs and draw a bath and call Judy. It'll take me awhile because the stairs are nearly going to kill me. While I'm doing that, you can make us a pitcher of Bloody Mary's."
"Done," he said, heading down the hall to the bar.
"Then call the florist," she yelled, "and have them send over some flowers post haste. Something fragrant. This place smells like mouse piss. Also, call one of your flunkies and have them deliver some cat food and a litter box and a bunch of cat toys."
Rickie was back.
With a short sigh, she started slowly up the staircase, while at the same time extracting Just Plain Dot from the pocket of her robe.
"I'm glad you're only a crippled cat," she said. "I simply don't think I could bear it if you were a dog. I really don't think I could stand it if you jumped around and barked for joy."