Innocent Monsters (8 page)

“You all right?” She asked.

“Sure, why d’you ask?”

“I don’t know, you’re looking at me funny.”

“Must be the vodka getting to me.”

He gulped down the last of his drink and she expected him to resume the conversation, tell her something about Blaise she didn’t already know, instead he contemplated the bottles of liqueurs behind the bar in silence.

“You’re a strange man Roger, anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah. Anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Yes,” she conceded. “How long have you known him, anyway?”

“Known who?”

“William Blaise.”

“Jessica,” he sneered. “Who the fuck is this William Blaise?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Who-the-fuck-is-William-Blaise?”

“You mean...”

“I mean, who the fuck is he? Which word do you have a problem with?”

Her turn to stare wide-eyed. “I thought you...”

“You thought I knew this guy? You thought wrong. You better get that drink down your neck quick, now. You’ve got somewhere to be.” Roger looked at his watch. “And so have I, as a matter of fact. You’ll be ok? Want me to get you a taxi?” She shook her head. “Then I’ll speak to you in a coupla weeks. Enjoy the signing.”

Roger left her sitting on her own, confused and speechless.

WHAT SHE really wished she could do once back home was to call Kaitlyn, tell her about the signing session, about how things had gone, about how surprisingly beautiful she thought she looked on that picture behind her as she sat down at the desk, about all the smiling faces who had bought a copy of her novel to have it autographed, about how good it had all made her feel, about the clean cut man who had held her hand in both hands and nodded knowingly, about the tears of joy she had shed in the toilet when it had all ended.
Isn’t it unbelievable Kaitlyn? I made it. I make people cry, I make them laugh, I make them feel.
She wished she could hear her sister’s voice, she wished she could tell her, talk to her the way she had always done. Before. But she couldn’t and she felt lonely.

Jessica switched on the light in the kitchen, opened the fridge and winced at the sad looking salad leaves on one of the two shelves, the dried tuna forgotten in its opened can, a pot of yogurt she could not remember buying, surely inedible by now. There had to be some crackers somewhere in a cupboard she could eat.

The clock on the wall in front of her stroked nine. She contemplated calling Lisa but couldn’t bear the thought of Bobby answering the phone. Fucking Bobby. And Christ, only two people she could think of calling, only two in the whole wide world, one of which was dead. How the hell had this happened? How had she managed to create such a ludicrous situation for herself?

Except.

There was someone else she wanted to speak to.

A few times during her journey back home she had thought about William Blaise and the way he had lied about knowing her editor. She had fantasised about calling him demanding an explanation. Now she felt like she definitely deserved one.

She opened her bag to look for his card and found the copy of the San Francisco Post she had bought before boarding the cable car, folded in half. She pulled it out and opened it on page twelve, where Elysa was smiling wickedly, showing her teeth. She kept hoping that reading the strip would give her an insight into the mind of her mysterious creator, but it really didn’t. Elysa seemed a cynical little girl with big eyes and a messy bob who apparently lived on the streets of New York, in a society made up solely of grown ups. What was that meant to tell her about the cartoonist she felt strangely attracted to?

She took William’s card from the inside pocket of the bag and dialed the number before even checking the one message flashing on her answering machine. The phone rang on the other side, once, twice, three times before he answered.

“Hello?”

...Yes, I was just wondering...

“Hello? Who is this?”

...It’s me...

“Hello... Jessica?”

She put the phone down without saying a word and she wasn’t sure why. Jessica breathed in deeply, feeling foolish for what she had just done, wondering if she should call him back and apologise, but she didn’t. Instead she waited a few minutes, motionless, hoping he would not call her back. When she felt enough time had passed, she pressed the play button on the answering machine.

“Jessica, it’s detective Brown. I’m just calling to let you know that... Well, I’ve had a look through the Filofax you gave me and found a phone number which didn’t seem to belong to any of your sister’s friends I have interviewed. Unfortunately it seems to be disconnected at the moment. All we know is that it’s a San Francisco’s number... I don’t know... It’s possible... There is something I am missing, I am positive about that. Anyway. I will keep you posted.”

A disconnected phone number and nothing else. Was there actually anyone out there Brown should have been looking for? Was he ever going to find him? How long was it going to take him? Should he be looking for anyone at all?

Jessica stood by the phone, the box of crackers she thought she would have for dinner laid empty next to it.

17 November 2000

LISA WAS a simple woman, always had been, insecure and unassuming. She had never been particularly pretty or particularly slim, but she knew how to make the most of what she had. She hadn’t changed physically since the marriage, but something inside her had died, got lost. It was hard to know if it had been Bobby, or the loss of her unborn child, or the fact that two years had gone by without any more talk of little feet pattering around the house. Not even a pet. The room destined to a sunny nursery was now a dark dumping ground for all sorts of things, from gym equipment nobody ever used, to old bed frames and broken furniture. Unopened boxes from their last move were piled up high in every corner.

Everywhere else her house was tidy but without personality, the way Bobby liked it. No flowers on the tables, no plants on the windowsills, no curtains but venetian blinds, grey carpets, bare magnolia walls, empty beer cans on the furniture instead of ornaments, movie posters on the walls instead of art. Bobby lived in every corner of the house, everywhere except the loft. Lisa had kept this room to herself, expressed herself in it, saved space for her femininity. Up here she dressed, put her make up on, listened to the music she liked, escaped from the man who controlled her because she wasn’t strong enough to do things the way she liked them, not even to know what she really liked.

The sky outside looked clear through the dirty glass of the only window on the slanted roof, but it was cold. The loft was always cold in winter.

They were curled up without shoes on the large green sofa that stood alone away from the walls. Lisa had brought up some blankets and a large bowl of popcorn. Bobby was away and everything was silent, still, almost perfect. Almost, except for a strange feeling of vacuity, something missing. Someone. It felt like a completely different space.

Jessica knew the wall behind her would still be the same if only she turned to look at it, she knew it was completely covered by a painting Kaitlyn had done for her friend as a wedding present and she couldn’t look, she couldn’t turn her head. But she could see it anyway with the eyes of her mind, the woman coming out of the rippling blue water of a lake, arms outstretched, dark hair against a clear sky, an immense sun above her, fairy wings over her shoulders and drops, millions of drops of water on her naked body. And she could see Kaitlyn painting it, standing then crouched on the floor and up on a ladder, a lamp pointing at the wall, the self-congratulatory smirk on her face while Lisa complimented her work, how beautiful it was, how good she was, erotic, sexy, innocent at the same time,
how the hell do you do that?

“So, tell me again about this place?” Lisa asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn. Her makeup was on as usual, even if she was going to spend the whole day indoors.

“It’s just an apartment. It’s not very big but not the smallest you’ve ever seen either.” She started drawing a map for her on a notepad Lisa had brought up with a pencil. “So you see, here’s the kitchen. Big enough to have a table in a corner here, so I won’t need a separate dining room.”

“Not with the amount of entertaining you do anyway.”

Jessica gave her a sideway glance. “Very funny. I’ve got a store room right here for all my junk, and that would mean that I could have my dream study, right here,” she pointed at the room where William’s piano had been when she visited. “Picture this: bookshelves from top to bottom, an armchair, reading light, a small sofa and a desk for my computer... Well, maybe a table. I’m not particularly fond of desks myself.” She looked up at her friend beaming. “What could be nicer? Surrounded by all the books I’ve got stuffed into boxes.” Lisa was staring at the diagram she had just drawn, she didn’t seem as excited as she would have liked her to be. “What’s the matter? You don’t like the bookshelves idea?”

“I like the bookshelves. They’re very
you
. It’s just... you’re serious about this aren’t you?”

“Yes I’m serious. I told you I wanted to move by the end of the month, if possible. I like the place.”

“Yes, I can see that. But so soon. Can’t you at least stay for the holidays?”

The holidays?
Why even think about this? Christmas wasn’t going to have any meaning for her this year, might as well be packing her stuff away instead of presents.

“Liz... You weren’t expecting me to stay with you this year, I hope.”

Lisa played with the popcorn in the bowl without eating. “Kaitlyn always stopped by.”

“And so did I before you married Bobby.”

“There’s no need for this right now.”

“Well, no, I guess not.” There was never going to be any need for it because Lisa just wouldn’t talk about it, just kept sticking her head in the sand that was taking over her life. “But I’m not going to pretend it would be a fantastic idea to spend the holidays here, just the three of us. I’m sorry, but you know I don’t like him, and he sure as hell doesn’t like me. You see how he speaks to me, right?”

Jessica looked at her, her lips pressed tight together, her eyebrow raised. She felt like a teacher staring at a stupid pupil, trying really hard not to smack her face, make her turn around and acknowledge that she had at least heard what she’d said. But Lisa sat in silence looking away, clutching the bowl of popcorn with both hands, the blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Jesus Christ. I am moving on, I am doing what Kaitlyn would have wanted me to do, isn’t that what you suggested the other day?”

“I s’ppose. I’m gonna miss you, that’s all. I like thinking of you around the corner.”

Yes, her house was a couple of blocks away, but in all the time she had lived there, not once had Lisa stopped by for a coffee and a chat, not without Kaitlyn there. So what difference would it possibly make now? It wasn’t Jessica the person she was going to miss, but someone who was already gone.

“Let’s face it, you probably wouldn’t come down anymore anyway, now Kaitlyn’s not around. Might as well move further away.” She wasn’t trying to be hurtful, just pragmatic.

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true. When was the last time you and me had a drink on our own before...
this
? I can’t really remember. And please, don’t think I’ve been hurt by it. You used me, just like I used you.”

“I
used
you? What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessica shook her head sneering. “C’mon. I told you, I’m not hurt so let’s just be frank. You have lost your best friend and you’re using me to get over it, to feel better. I get it. You’re thinking, if you and me are still good friends, the loss doesn’t seem so tragic.”

The expression on Lisa’s face changed and Jessica instantly wished she could take back what she had just said, but it was too late.

“Is that what you think we are doing here?”

“You mean to tell me you and her were not closer than you and me? Look Liz, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. I recognise that if you and Kaitlyn were not so close, me and you probably wouldn’t be friends. That’s all. I don’t have a problem with that and you shouldn’t make a big drama out of it. I don’t really care.”

“Obviously not.”

Jessica stared at her for a long time, but Lisa wasn’t looking back. And again she felt like smacking her face, slapping her really hard.

“For Christ sake.” She stood up dropping her blanket on the sofa.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Jessy, please.”

“Y’know what? I really don’t have much to tell you anymore. I told you about the apartment, I don’t really want to talk about Kaitlyn again, you don’t really want to talk about anything that involves being truthful and honest with each other so, I can’t think of another single topic of conversation. I don’t particularly want to sit here eating popcorn in silence while you get away with behaving like a child. So I think it’s best if I go home.”

She started for the stairs without turning to look at her, and as she went down the first few steps she heard Lisa whisper, “Will you come to see me?” But she decided to pretend she hadn’t.

IT WAS early evening when Jessica reached home. Jessica had gone for a long walk along Geneva Avenue trying to come back from the dip Lisa had pushed her into that afternoon. Walking usually made her feel better; she didn’t really know how it worked but it was as if the motion of her feet could somehow erase the bad mood from her brain. But this time it didn’t prove that easy. The feeling of frustration she had carried down the stairs leaving the loft had grown into a ball of fury.

She had struggled along Crocker Amazon’s main strip hating the sight of the tired buildings, the shop fronts in desperate need of a lift, barbers offering cheap haircuts, greasy burger and pizza joints, the Christmas lights reflecting against the grey exteriors making everything appear bleaker instead of cheerful.  She hated each and every one of the smiley faces strolling along with shopping bags stuffed full of cheap presents from the dollar stores. What the hell was everyone so happy about in this shit hole? Fuck these idiots. Fuck this place. Fuck this life. She needed to escape, to better her existence. She had to create a new life for herself, grab the chance that she had been given with both hands and hold on tight.

Jessica threw her jacket on the sofa and picked up the phone. He answered almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hi, William? It’s Jessica.”

“Jessica, hey! How are you?”

“Yes, good, thanks. You?”

“Not bad, not bad. How can I help you?”

“I was just calling to tell you know that I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided to take the apartment.”

A little triumphant chuckle came through the receiver. “That’s great news! You’ve just made a young man very happy. You will like it here.”

“Yes, I think you are right. I’m excited.”

“Good. When do you think you’ll be able to meet me and, you know, sign a contract and all that?”

“The contract I can sign anytime, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to move in. I’ve got a few things to organise here, I need to take care of... Quite a lot of stuff actually.”

“Well, that’s not really a problem. As you know, I have already moved out. Let me think...” A short pause. “How about you meet me at the apartment on Thursday, give me the deposit, I give you the keys and I’ll just assume that the place is yours from December. You can have a few days on me to sort yourself out. How does that sound?”

“Very understanding. Where’s the catch?”

He laughed. “There is no catch. I just like you Jessica, that’s all. So, deal?”

“Deal, sure. What time on Thursday?”

”Should we say ten o’clock?”

“Let’s do ten thirty if you don’t mind, then I definitely won’t have problems with the rush hour... William?”

“Yes?”

“Just one more thing,”
how did you know it was me last night?
“Last time I spoke to Roger... He told me the strangest thing... He has no idea who you are.”

“Really?”

A long silence followed, so long Jessica thought the line had dropped.

“William, are you still there?”

“Yes, sorry. I really don’t know what to tell you. I guess it makes me look like an idiot, doesn’t it? Maybe he was just trying to be funny... Or maybe he just doesn’t remember me... How embarrassing is that! I am
that
memorable. Christ.”