Claire Voyant (22 page)

“Oh. Um. I'm not really a flower person…. They're all nice.”

“Then a favorite song.”

“Much better. I love music.”

“I love music myself. How about ‘My Sky'?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It's one of my favorites. If it's okay with you, I'd like that to be our song.”

“And I'm thinking, shouldn't it be one we both like?”

“Soon it will be.”

“Well, wait. What was the name of it again?”

“‘My Sky.'”

“Who sings it?”

“I do.”

 

The summer between my junior and senior years in college, I backpacked through Europe with two of my sorority sisters. After the first month, we would often wake up in the morning, clueless as to
where we'd slept. Venice? No, that was Monday. Barcelona? Possibly.

That's how it felt when I awoke from a deep slumber in Drew's room and checked out my surroundings. I needed time to remember why I was in his bed. All I knew was that what woke me was a sudden thud, which oddly felt like a gymnast's dismount from the balance beam. Fortunately, there were no judges commenting on my nice extension or holding flash cards stating my score.

It was an even greater relief that I wasn't being judged for a beauty contest, for my hair was greasy, my clothes were rumpled, and my b.o. smelled like eau de gross. And yet I felt a lightness of being, as if my feet could touch the ground but keep me afloat at the same time. The image in the mirror shouted, “Do something with yourself,” yet my skin had an angelic glow, and my eyes shone.

What really struck me as odd was the time. How could it be only three
P.M.
? I felt so well rested, surely I'd been out for more than a half an hour. Either this was one great bed, or Delia had used the same “tea” as that I had for Grams.

Except that something was nagging at me. Something I wanted to recall, but what? Maybe it would come to me when I jumped in the shower. For whatever reason, everything usually came to me in the shower—Oh right. How could I forget? The last thing that came to me in the shower nearly killed me.

Better not take chances, I thought. I'd clean myself up and hopefully find bread crumbs leading to the kitchen. I was positively famished and just wanted to sneak downstairs to throw some lunch together without running into a dagger-throwing Delia.

As I tip-toed through the empty hallways, praying that I didn't inadvertently end up in the lion's den, I suddenly forgot what ailed me. I was too preoccupied checking out the unusual floor plan.

Honestly, who lived like this? Whose house had a circular staircase leading to an indoor garden, which led to a meditation room with a large balcony overlooking an atrium, which was situated next to a media center and a glass enclosed gym? It didn't even seem like a house. More like one of those full service, business hotels that offered an array of facilities that sounded perfect in the brochure.
Hopefully I would run into the concierge, who could direct me to the kitchen.

Fortunately, my own global positioning ability was working, for as I turned down the next hallway, eureka!, I found the kitchen. At least I think it was the kitchen. I had never seen one that was two stories high, sporting a balcony and an ocean view. And was that a café on the second floor? It looked like a mini-Starbucks, with comfy couches, magazine racks, tables and chairs, and a magnificent oak coffee bar.

I could just imagine waking up every morning, shuffling down the hall in my pj's, and being greeted by a perky young boy who was standing by with my latte and a newspaper. Maybe Ben wasn't kidding when he made that remark about Shari having one butler for regular, and another for decaf.

As I explored the sea of cabinets, and a refrigerator the size of my entire kitchen back in L.A., it dawned on me that it had been weeks since I'd eaten a real meal. I just hoped that Shari wouldn't think badly of me if I stole the leftover sushi.

I was in the middle of devouring eel when a housekeeper walked by with a laundry basket. By virtue of the fact that she did not ask what I was doing there, I assumed she knew I was the sick guest in Drew's room.

What I did get out of her was that the Mrs. was outside. Sure enough, when I peered through the glass wall facing the back of the house, there was Shari, perfectly posed, practicing what looked like pranayama yogic breathing with her trainer. Talk about being breathless. He was stunning.

Had I not been enjoying my lunch, I might have asked to join them, but then the phone rang. Having no idea if anyone was home, or if there was a secretary on staff who took messages, I didn't answer. But by the third ring, I figured it was the least an appreciative guest could do.

Bad move. Very bad move. If only I hadn't picked up.

“O
H MY GOD.”
I
HUNG UP THE PHONE AND STOOD SOLDIER-STILL.

“Claire.” Shari clapped. “Welcome back to civilization. How are you feeling?”

I turned to see her and Handsome Yoga Man prance through the sliding doors, rolled mats and towels in hand. “I didn't know you came down.” She hugged me.

“I can't believe it.” I sank into a kitchen chair. “She hung up on me.”

“Who did? If it was Delia, don't give it a second thought.” She wiped her sweaty brow. “She is so rude with that call waiting. Honestly, she doesn't even bother saying good-bye.”

“It wasn't Delia. It was Penny. And she hung up on me.”

“Oh, I'm sure you're mistaken, because lately we've been getting so many wrong numbers.”

“No, it was her. It's right here on the caller ID…P. Nichol. And it's a 323 area code, which is L.A. I'm telling you, it was her, and she hung up on me.”

“Now, why would she do that? Did you have…words?”

“What words? All I said was hello, and then she said, ‘Delia?' Puff of smoke. ‘It's Aunt Pen. Mom home?' So I said, ‘No. Hi. It's not Delia, it's Claire.' And then she hung up on me.”

“Oh.”

“Why doesn't she want to talk to me?” I burst into tears. “What
have I ever done to this woman other than be born? I'm the one who should be hanging up on her, not the other way around. I mean, it's one thing to decide you don't want a baby at nineteen, but grow up already—the cat's out of the bag. I'm her flesh and blood. How do you hang up on your only child?”

“I guess this isn't a good time.” Yoga man rubbed Shari's shoulder. “And I really have to run.”

“No, wait.” She reached for his hand. “I wanted you to meet my niece, Claire. Claire, this is my yogi, Ron.”

Why do I always look like crap when I meet the hottest men?
“Hi. Nice to meet you, Ron.” I extended my tear-soaked hand.

“Nice to meet you, too, Claire. Hey, look. I'm sure you'll be okay with Shari helping you figure things out. She's great.” He kissed her smack on the lips far longer than any teacher ever kissed me.

So Viktor was right again. Shari kept a stable of lovers, and this one must have been the flavor of the month. Maybe instead of her leftover sushi, I should go for her leftover men.

“Have a good weekend.” Ron patted my head. “See you Monday morning?” He winked at Shari.

“A good weekend?” I repeated. “It's only Tuesday.”

“Actually, it's Friday.” Shari wiped her sweaty brow.

“No way. I just took a quick nap. I slept, what? An hour tops.”

“No.” She laughed. “You've been asleep for three days.”

“Three days? How is that possible? I can't even hold a job for that long.”

“Well, you did wake up every once in a while, and we'd tried to get some food into you, but you always fell right back, and Dr. Zhivago said to just let you do what your body was telling you.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Zhivago. From your neurology team at the hospital.”

“I'm sorry. I have a doctor named after a movie? Who's his partner? Dr. No?”

“To be honest,” she whispered, “I doubt that's his real name, but who really knows?”

“Whatever.” I slumped into the chair. “What am I going to do?”

“There is nothing you can do. Just try to relax, compose yourself, take long, deep breaths.”

“Shari, my life is getting sadder by the day. I don't think proper breathing techniques are going to solve much.”

“I suppose you're right.” She grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. “I just thought if you could find a calm center, you could think more clearly. How about we start by getting you back on schedule with your medications? I'd like to have you in the best possible shape for your doctor's appointment Monday, and then, of course, Ben is taking you over to meet the attorney handling Abe's estate.”

“I just don't get it. Why couldn't she at least say, ‘Hello, Claire? How are you feeling? What are your plans?' How do you just say nothing and hang up?”

“I'm not one to defend her, believe me. Over the years we've had our differences. I just think this all happened so fast—”

“Fast? She's had thirty years to think about it.”

“She's overwhelmed right now.”

“What should I say?”

“I've known her for many years. She's not the easiest person to deal with.”

“SHE'S MY MOTHER!”

“Just give her some time. I'm sure she'll come to her senses, although she can be beyond stubborn. One time we asked her to fly in for an awards dinner honoring Abe, and I don't know, it was something with a trunk show in Milan, there was a conflict, and she told Ben to change the date of the dinner, but he said no, this was planned a year in advance, and they'd already sold sixty tables. Do you know that she still wouldn't change her plans? It was a mess…Abe was so disappointed. So you see, it's not you. She's just difficult—Oh. There's the garage door. Delia's back.”

“Great.” I gulped. “Did she happen to mention anything about me?”

“Well, yes, of course. She's been very concerned.”

“No, I mean did she say anything to you about a conversation we had?”

“Hey.” Delia walked in, armed with shopping bags and dry cleaning. “Look who's up. How's it going?”

“Much better, thanks.”
I wonder what it's like to have nothing to do all day but spend Daddy's money and pick up clean clothes.
“How about you?”

“Same shit, different day.” She threw everything down on the counter and opened the fridge. “Hey! Where's the sushi from last night? I'm like dying for it.”

“It's there,” Shari said. “Check the second shelf.”

“Um, no, it's not. I'm really sorry, Delia. I was starving, and it looked so good…”

“Okay. Whatever. I'll just call and order more. No biggie.”

No biggie? Did I miss something here? First you wanted to kill me, now you're being nice?

“So do you like want to do something?” Delia downed some black olives.

“Who? You mean me?”

“Oh, no. Delia. That's really not a good idea. Claire is very weak now. She needs—”

“I'd love to.” I jumped up. “I don't care what, as long as it feels normal. Dinner. A movie….”

“Too boring. I thought we'd go hang out in SoBe.”

“Sounds great. What is it?”

“Duh. Like where have you been? It's South Beach. Like you know, SoHo? I thought I'd show you my dad's new place. It's very cool. It's called By the C, right next to the Ritz-Carlton? Then we could go hit the bars…woo-hoo…”

“But, Delia. It's four in the afternoon,” Shari whined.

“Exactly. By the time we get done looking around, it'll be Happy Hour.”

“Happy Hour?” I clapped. “I love Happy Hour. It sounds great. Thank you, Delia.” I hugged her. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, wait, Claire. Do you really think this is such a good idea? Mixing alcohol with prescription medications?”

“I'll be fine, I swear. I haven't taken anything yet. And tomorrow I
promise I'll be the world's most perfect patient…. Just give me ten minutes to jump in the shower.”

“Take twenty.” Delia guzzled a Diet Coke. “We've got nothing else to do.”

“Nothing crazy, Delia,” Shari warned. “I don't need you bringing Claire back here completely hung over. She's in a very vulnerable state right now.”

“That's exactly why she should drink, Mother.”

You got that right, sister,
I thought as I ran out. “Can somebody please tell me how to get back to my room?”

 

Up until the day I slipped in my grandmother's shower, then fell into a coma in Drew's bed, I'd had no encounters with near-death experiences. But after riding shotgun with Delia Fabrikant in her little Mercedes coupe, I was now three for three.

Apparently the girl thought that red lights were only suggestions and that speed limits were strictly for tourists. She maneuvered through the streets of Miami as if her steering wheel were hooked up to a PlayStation, and her goal was to beat her high score at “Need for Speed.”

As I grabbed the armrest, it hit me that the only reason she'd been so keen on taking me out was so that she could literally take me out. Death by driving. The perfect crime. What jury would convict a girl with no priors?

Of course,
I
would know her motive. Revenge for ignoring her grandfather and lying to her family. But I would be dead, so who would I tell? Honestly, how could I have been so stupid to fall for such a cheap, manipulative trick? Had I learned nothing from watching
Law and Order
?

But then, miraculously, Delia pulled into a VIP parking spot at By the C, put the top up, and announced that the celebrating had officially begun. “Party time, here we come!” She wiggled her ass.

“What exactly are we celebrating? Arriving in one piece?”

“No, silly. We're celebrating that you came back from the dead.”

“So then why did you just try to kill me? You drive like shit!”

“Oh chill. I'm on these roads my whole life. I could drive them if I was blind.”

“You mean you're not?”

“Would you stop? I'm trying to show you a good time and you're ruining it.”

“Sorry. You're right. We made it here without a single head injury.”

“I can't believe you're not even going to ask me something,” Delia interrupted.

“Ask you what?”

“About why I'm being so nice to you. Don't you think it's weird? Or did you forget that I was ready to kill you before you like blacked out?”

“No, I didn't forget. And yes, I am curious. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I realized the other night when you had your little meltdown that you're right. Your life is so screwed up. I mean, I still hate what you did, but it's like you're so pathetic. What's the point of making you feel even shittier?”

“Thanks?”

“And then I was thinking about my Pops. He loved family. We were the only thing that mattered to him. You had to see how crazy he'd get if like me and Drew were fighting, or I was yelling at my dad. He used to say, ‘Delia, never give up on family. They're the heartbeat of your journey. The keepers of your soul.' So like now that you're family, I was thinking how pissed he'd be if I wasn't nice to you.”

“Wait. What did you just say?”

“I don't know. A bunch of things.”

“No. I mean about what Abe used to say to you about family. About the journey.”

“He had a lot of sappy sayings.” She shrugged. “After a while they all sounded alike.”

“No, the thing about the keepers of your soul…. It's so strange. I think I've heard that somewhere before. I just can't think of where.”

“Whatever…. Anyway, I decided he'd be proud of me if I didn't
tell your dirty little secrets. So I'm letting you off the hook. But no more bullshit lies, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh. And then before we go in, there's one other thing I have to tell you. It's one of those good news/bad news deals.”

“Great. Love those.” I winced.

Delia leaned in and signaled that I should do the same. “I'm pretty sure it's over with Marly.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Drew's coming back from Bermuda tonight. But not with her.”

“Oh my God. Why?”

“I don't know. My dad talked to him this morning, and he said he was packing it in, and that he and Marly were taking different flights back.”

“Delia, that's not just good news, that's great news! But wait. I'm sorry. Aren't you and Marly friends?”

“Are you kidding? I hate the stupid bitch.”

“You do?”

“It's a long story. I knew her before Drew did. We used to hang out in high school.”

“Oh. So wait. What happened? How come you're happy about them splitting?”

“'Cause she's a freakin' mess. She used to go down on everybody's boyfriends, she lied about everything. One time I got this Gucci wallet from my dad, which she ripped off from my pocketbook, and then told everyone her uncle brought it back from Italy.”

“Seriously? Did Drew know?”

“Yeah, but he said those were in her wannabe days. That she's not like that anymore.”

“So what do you think happened now? Did they have a fight?”

“Who the hell cares? All I know is, now I won't have to be in their stupid bridal party and wear some shitty pink dress that she thought was so amazing.”

“You are so lucky. I wish I could get out of my bridal party
obligation…. I've tried everything, but this friend, Elyce, she just won't take no for an answer…. Anyway. What's the bad news?”

“Oh yeah. Well, um…Drew's coming home tonight, but he mentioned something to my dad about this chick Nicole. She's one of our bartenders. They hooked up a few years ago, and then Marly came along. He asked if she's on tomorrow.”

“Oh. Uh-huh. Well, I'm sure he's hurting right now. Old friends are good for times like that.”

“I hate her fucking guts. She is so two-faced. I hope to God she doesn't hear about Drew and Marly, 'cause she'll rip off her clothes and hump him right on the bar…. He is like so pathetic. He could have anybody, but he keeps picking these loser bitches.”

“Why are you telling me this, Delia?”

“'Cause if you love him, you gotta tell him. I want you to tell him.”

“Why? I'm obviously not his type, and let's not forget a basic fact here. We're first cousins.”

“Yeah, but my father isn't his real father. I mean, he adopted him and everything. But it's not like your kids would have three heads.”