Texas Sunrise (30 page)

“Be happy, Val,” Cary said huskily.

“You too.”

Sam suddenly barreled to the front door, her huge paws slapping at the painted wood.

“Susan must be home,” Cary said sourly.

Val's eyebrows shot upward. She called the dog, who immediately came to sit at her feet.

“I've always heard dogs are better judges of people than people themselves. Let's see what Sam thinks of Susan,” Cary said sotto voce.

“I'm home,” Susan trilled, closing the door behind her with her rump. She stopped in mid-stride when she saw Val and Sam. She set the grocery bag she'd been carrying on the end table. “What have we here?” She motioned to the dog, who was growling deep in her throat.

“Susan, this is Samantha, Sam for short. My new roommate. I came up to say good-bye. As a matter of fact I was just leaving. You look well, Susan,” Val said with a bite in her voice.

“That's because I am well. I don't think I've ever been
more well
in my life.” Her eyes slid from Cary to Val and back to Cary.

“For heaven's sake, I almost didn't recognize you in that
getup.”
Susan looked down at her own pricey outfit, clearly a Billie original. “Are those
sneakers
I see on your feet?” She made the word sound obscene.

Val smirked. “I own stock in L.A. Gear. I'm wearing Jockey underwear. The jeans are Levi's, the shirt is Greenpeace. As you can see, Sam's collar and leash are Gucci. It's a question of priorities.”

Cary chuckled and then guffawed. Sam ran to him, barking happily at the strange sound of his laughter. He tussled with the big dog, laughing as he did so. Val thought it a wonderful sound. Not so Susan.

“I don't like dogs. They breed germs, they shed, and they make messes, plus you have to walk them and feed them. They slobber all over the place.”

“That's too bad, Susan, because I'm getting one,” Cary said. “Val said she'd take care of it for me. I expect they'll deliver. . . . Do they deliver dogs, Val?”

“You bet. I'll take care of those other things we discussed too if you want.”

“I do,” Cary said.

“What other things?” Susan asked suspiciously.
“What other things?”

“A live-in housekeeper, a male companion to help Cary over the rough spots until the foundation can set things up for him. And, of course, the dog.”

“Cary doesn't need any of those things. I'm here. I cook for him, I take care of him. Everything is working out just fine. Cary, tell her you don't want or need other people. That's why I'm here, why I stayed on. Caryyyyy, tell her,” Susan whined.

“Val's right, Susan. I have to start getting on with things,” Cary said firmly. “I'm going to ... to learn Braille. I'm going to get out on my own. I'm going to learn to take care of myself.”

“They're not going to care about you the way I do. They'll take advantage of you. You're
handicapped,
for heaven's sake,” Susan said shakily.

“I don't like that word, Susan,” Cary shouted.

Sam barked sharply, her ears flattening against her silky head. She continued to bark.

“Guess that answers our question,” Cary said. “It was nice of you to stop by, Val. Stay in touch. I'm going to take a shower and go for a walk. See you around, lady,” he said smoothly, ruffling Sam's sleek back.

“Wait a minute, I'll get you a towel and soap,” Susan said. “We aren't scheduled for a walk until after dinner. Cary, you can't upset our routine like this.”

“I know where the goddamn towels and soap are. I can open and close the shower door myself, and I want to go for a walk now,” Cary said, feeling his way into the room.

“I'll lay out your clothes,” Susan bleated.

“I can do that myself,” Cary snorted.

“But they won't match,” Susan whined.

“Who cares? When those people from the foundation come, they'll show me how to arrange my clothes so I do match. I read about that once. So long, Val. I keep saying that, don't I?”

Sam ran over to Cary, a whirlwind of motion, and nuzzled his leg.
“I love Paris in the spring,”
Cary bellowed. “That was Amelia's favorite song,” he called over his shoulder.

“What are you trying to do?” Susan snarled at Val. “What
did
you do? You've spoiled everything. You ruined Maggie's life and now you want to ruin mine. You're jealous. You've always been jealous. I know all about Rand and Maggie. If it wasn't for you, Rand would still be alive.”

“All you do, Susan, is breathe air other people need to live. It's not what I did, it's what you did. You took Cary's life and made it yours. You can't function on your own. You need to be an extension of someone else. You've been feeding off Cary. You need to grow up, Susan. I won't even bother to dignify your last statement.”

“Bitch!” Susan seethed.

Sam tensed and growled, her teeth showing. Val never felt more protected in her life. From deep within the apartment she could hear the sounds of the shower. Val jerked her hand in the direction of the hallway. “Guess Cary was right. He can take a shower by himself. Bet he even found the soap and towel.”

“Eat shit, Val,” Susan spat.

Val laughed as she made her way out to the elevator. “I can't believe she said that. Miss Holier-Than-Thou. It just goes to prove, Sam, first instincts are usually right. I had Susan pegged from the first. It looks like we have more work to do,” she said, fondling the dog's ears. “If the phone company is on schedule and the phone's been turned off, we'll have to fall back and regroup.”

Back in her apartment, Val headed for the phone, praying for a dial tone. Dead. “Nuts,” she muttered. “Okay, we'll go to the garage and call Ivy. Come on, girl, we're splitting this place.”

She didn't look back and felt no regrets when she locked the door behind her. This part of her life was history now.

In the garage, Val settled Sam in the car and rolled down the window. “Stay,” she said, her voice ringing with authority. Sam stayed. “Cheeseburgers within the hour,” she promised.

Ivy answered the phone on the second ring. Val explained her visit to Cary's apartment and her encounter with Susan.

“You didn't!” Ivy squealed.

“I did. My phone's off, so will you make good on the promises I made to Cary? I'd really appreciate it.”

“What are friends for? I'll get right on it. And Val, take care of yourself and call me once in a while, okay?”

“Of course. Right now I have to pick up some cheeseburgers. 'Bye, Ivy,”

“ 'Bye, Val.”

“We're free as the breeze,” Val said, climbing into the Range Rover. She studied the map and the route she'd marked with a felt-tipped pen. When she had it firmly in her mind, she started the engine, slid a Carly Simon tape into the tape deck, ruffled the dog's ears, and drove down the ramp of the garage to the outside world.

“Six cheeseburgers coming up, complete with pickles, ketchup, and mustard. Helloooo world!”

 

Susan sat with her head in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. Damn Valentine Mitchell, damn her to hell, she thought. Always sticking her nose into my business. Cary was hers. She'd devoted so much time to him, done everything for him, anticipated his every need, put him ahead of herself. A sob escaped from her throat.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, a brilliant cherry-red towel wrapped around his middle. She tried to square her shoulders, tried to gather her dignity, but it seemed a hopeless task. Then she remembered Cary couldn't see her. She stood, her knees wobbly.

“Guess I screwed up again,” she said pitifully. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know. I'm not blameless here,” Cary said from the doorway. “It was easy for me to let you do everything. The plain truth is that I acted and you reacted, or vice versa. I appreciated everything you did, but Val is right and we both know it. I need to do for myself. Can we leave it that if I need you, I'll call you?”

Susan gulped. “Story of my life, Cary. Sure. Well, guess I'll be going. The groceries are on the table. Do you think you can put them away, or do you want me to do it?”

“Hey, I'll just dump them on the counter and work from there. If you brought cold cuts, I'll be fine. I've been making baloney sandwiches for years now. I can wash a piece of celery as good as the next guy. Apples are good. Cheese is okay. Finger foods. Don't worry about me, Susan. And I don't want to have to worry about you.”

“Can I still call you?” Susan whimpered.

“Hell yes. Are you giving up Billie Limited? Maggie could probably use some sisterly intervention about now.”

“Is that another way of saying hit the road?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” Cary said quietly. “You need direction, Susan, and I'm not the right person for that. I have so many problems and hang-ups of my own, I can't give sound advice. Think about a therapist or a . . . someone who can be impartial.”

His voice was so kind, Susan started to cry all over again. “What you're saying without saying it is that you think I need a shrink, that I'm not stable.”

Cary, holding on to the walls, made his way into the kitchen, where he fumbled around in the utility closet till he found the broom. Using it as a cane, he swept his way back to the living room and advanced to where Susan was sitting. “What I'm saying, Susan, is you need to talk to someone other than me. I've been a sounding board, nothing more.”

“I was falling in love with you, Cary.”

Cary shook his head. “No, you were feeling sorry for me, just the way you feel sorry for yourself. You saw in me an extension of yourself. We'd exist, flounder around, and be miserable. Amelia was and still is the only woman I'll ever love.”

“You betrayed her, you had an affair with Thad's niece Julie. Don't stand there and tell me she's the only woman in the world for you!” Susan snarled.

“That was a low blow, Susan, but I guess I deserve it. But knowing Amelia forgave me makes it a tad easier to live with.

“I've been wallowing, and Amelia
wouldn't
like that. She would approve of every single one of Val's suggestions. Amelia liked Val, just as I do. Val's real. She doesn't make excuses. And there isn't a mean bone in her body. You owe her a lot, Susan.”

“She was paid,” Susan said bitterly.

“There are some things money can't buy. Just look what she did for me in the space of fifteen minutes. Jesus, I feel alive, all charged up. I can't wait to get dressed and mess around in the kitchen. So what if I look like a nightmare, so what if I live in squalor until I get it down to a science? So what, Susan?”

When Susan let herself out the door, she could hear Cary singing “Pretty Woman” at the top of his lungs. She slammed the door so hard that one of the brass plaques fell to the floor. “So hang the damn thing up yourself. See if you can find the nail and the hammer. See if I care.”

 

In the Coleman condo, Susan looked around. No one lived here. It was for visiting guests or for family to stay over when they didn't want to make the trek home. Spartan, hotel-suite decor. Susan flopped down on a long sofa that was covered in a scratchy nubby material the color of sand. The whole apartment was done in bland earth tones. It was depressing. She got up, jerked at the draperies to blot out the sun. She turned on the television, then turned it off. Tea. She looked at the box. Celestial Seasonings. It sounded, she thought, like something that would give you an orgasm. She pitched it in the general direction of the sink and was rewarded with fine bits of herbal tea showering all over the kitchen.

She was homeless. Literally homeless. Unless she wanted to go back to Minnesota and live in the house she'd once shared with Ferris. She could take it off the market. Or go to England. She hated England and its dreary weather. Homeless. At forty-eight.

In a fit of rage she grappled for the phone on the table next to the nubby couch. She dropped it twice before she managed to punch out her mother's telephone number. When Thad's voice came over the wire, Susan said, “I want to talk to my mother and I want to talk to her now. If you don't put her on the phone, I'm taking the next plane to Vermont. If you take her away, I swear to God I'll track you down. Now, get her!”

Thad's stinging voice hummed over the wire. “I will not allow you to upset your mother. Tell me what the problem is, and I'll decide if Billie is up to taking your call.”

“You'll decide!” Susan screeched. “God is going to strike you dead for what you're doing. I told you I need to talk to her. This is all her fault. Everytime I need her, she's never around or she's too damn busy. She's so damn busy dying, she can't talk to me, is that it?” Susan heard the click. She stared at the phone in her hand. “You son of a bitch!” she dialed again and got a busy signal. “You bastard, you took the phone off the hook!”

Her rage was uncontrollable. She stomped about the apartment looking for a weapon of sorts, and found a cast-iron meat mallet in the kitchen drawer. She smashed everything in sight, all the mirrored walls, the sliding glass drawers, the porcelain sink in the bathroom, the tile on the wall. In the kitchen, she banged and pounded at the appliances until they were dented to her satisfaction. From the same drawer where she got the mallet, she picked up a huge carving knife. She ripped and gouged, sending fiberfill in all directions. Exhausted with the destruction she had caused, she slumped to the floor, but not before she threw a china vase at the television screen.