Don was somehow cast in the role of debating coach and nodded fuzzily.
«Do you honestly think,» said Marilyn, «that I walked around that crash site — and don't try telling me you don't remember it, because I know you do — amnesia my ass — and saw those body parts and shoes and wristwatches and dinner trays piled up and charbroiled like so much pepper steak on the grill at Benihana's — that I could walk through all of that and wish my own girl dead? That I would say to myself,Hey Marilyn, your ship's finally come in but hey, too bad about the kid? » Marilyn walked over to the sink where Don put the rum and the chocolate milk, and she poured herself a drink and took a slug. The rest of the drink soon vanished. «I wouldn't wish that crash on anybody, not even my worst enemy. But I don't even have a worst enemy because I don't even have any friends . What do I have? Really? I have Don and I have you, and I don't really even have you. Yes, I almost made a shitload of money from your disappearance, wher ever you went to, but let me say here for the record,you disappeared.You vanished. It was torture, never having a true ending. All the money I made over the past year is mine. I didn't earn it, and maybe I didn't even deserve it, but I'm not ashamed of it.»
Outside on the street, through the kitchen window's sheers, Susan saw a network van, and some guy beside it switching on a rumbling generator. «I wonder what those people out on the street think we're doing in here right now,» she said.
«Oh, hugging, or some sort of crap like that,» said Marilyn.
Susan thought of Eugene and Eugene Junior. A small wave of possible forgiveness lapped over her. «Mom, have you ever once, even for a fleeting moment, felt sorry for stealing my life the way you did?»
«Stealing your life?» Marilyn plunked her glass down on the counter. «Give me a break. I made you what you are .»
«What I am?» A small pin of hope pricked Susan's skin. Maybe she'd right now find out what it was she'd become. «You've got my full attention, Mom.Please, go ahead and tell me what I am.»
«You're my daughter and you're tough as nails.»
This useless reply dashed Susan's brief hope. «What a sack of crap.»
«If it weren't for me you'd be driving a minivan full of brats to a soccer game in small-town Oregon.»
«That sounds bloody marvelous. I might have wanted that.»
«Bullcrap you would have. You were made for bigger stuff. Look at you now. And look outside the window. You're getting more coverage now than an embassy bombing.»
«Is that all you care about? Coverage? What if I did have a bunch of kids, Mom. What if I did have a whole goddam Chevy Lumina vanload of squalling brats, and all of them looked just like you.»
Marilyn paused a fraction before saying,«Kids ?»
«And what if I never let you see them. Ever. What if I told them you were dead and they'd never know their grandma?»
«You wouldn't do that.»
«Wouldn't I?»
Don cut in, «Guys, maybe we should take a break — »
«Shut up, Donald,» said Marilyn. «Go ahead, Susan. Tell me more. What would you do to hurt me?»
Susan, suddenly aware of how well Marilyn could read her, pulled back. «All I'm saying is that I'm not over it, Mom. The money. The lawyers. Those scenes we had. The everything. You know that, right?»
Marilyn's index finger clickety-clicked the rim of her empty glass. «Fair enough.»
«You own the house?» Susan asked.
«The bank.»
«You're going to have to sell it now. And all those chichi outfits I can just imagine you pigging out on and buying in New York.»
«Yeah, we probably will. Make you happy?»
«It does. I lived on bulk yogurt and three-day-old vegetables for years after the show ended. Larry didn't foot the bills. He dumped me pretty quick. I don't know what would have happened if the Chris gig hadn't come up. Everybody was laughing at me behind my back, and it was you who put me through all that.»
Marilyn looked at her coldly. «Been practicing that one a long time, dear?»
Susan decided to cut it off there. «I'm going to leave,» Susan said. «The airline's going to fly me to Los Angeles.»
Susan paused and looked at Don with a question that came to her just then. «Did you ever meet Chris?»
«He's an asshole.»
Susan laughed. «Yeah, well, you're pretty well right on that score. But there's nobody can trash a hotel room as well as he can.»
Susan blew Don a kiss and then paused in front of Marilyn. She shrugged, turned around and left. It hadn't been the triumphant touché fest she'd hoped for, but not much in life ever was.
Three hours later she was back in Los Angeles; four hours later she was in Chris's house, alone; Chris was in South America. The house on Prestwick had been emptied after the crash, her things sold or given away.
In just a year, the city Susan had known was gone. Larry Mortimer had quit managing Steel Mountain weeks after Susan's crash. He'd divorced Jenna and was living with Amber in Pasadena, producing CD-ROM games for preteens. She called and left a message that she was back, and he drove over to visit her, cutting through the gaggle of press people on the street.
«Sue? Sue! It's me, Larry — open up.»
«Larry …» Susan opened the door and was stilled as always by Larry's resemblance to Eugene. But this time she'd known Eugene the man, and Larry was a pale match for Eugene's quirky, arty crustiness. Larry was … just another Hollywood manager unit. Susan found herself trying to mask the flood of emotion she was feeling for Eugene. Larry mistook this for Susan's pleasure at seeing him and came toward her in a slightly seductive manner. Susan in turn gave him the most sisterly of hugs. He asked how she was feeling and they exchanged small talk.
«How's Amber?»
«Pregnant. The show dropped her because they didn't want to fit it into the script.»
«Well, congratulations. You finally left Jenna, huh?»
«Oh, you know.»
«No, I don't know. Forget it. How's the band? Chris?»
«The band ,» replied Larry, «is in physical, moral, creative and financial chaos. But then I've moved away from rock-and-roll management. Too many aneurysms every day.» Susan and Larry had migrated to the kitchen, where Larry poked around the fridge for something to eat. Neither was hungry, but it was a ritual they'd developed years before to squelch awkward moments. They talked some more about the comings and goings of various old acquaintances.
«I checked, but there's no hope in hell of you getting any, how shall we say, “back wages,” from the Steel Mountain Corporation. There's nothing there to pay you with. And by the way, you'll have to do a photo-op with Chris and sign some divorce papers. I can make it a one-stop deal. He's back from Caracas on Monday.»
«Adam Norwitz is supposed to be managing my life these days.»
«Adam's become a bigger fish since you were here. Two pilots he was connected with got picked up.»
«Life's so rich, isn't it, Larry?»
«Snippy, snippy.» Larry found a can of house-brand cola. He looked at it, paused, and asked Susan, «Can this stuff go bad?»
Susan shrugged and said, «Go nuts. Live dangerously.»
Larry opened it, poured two glasses, they toasted her return and he soon left. An hour later Dreama came over. She was deeply lonely, without a focus and was only too eager to enter the new family fold. She was given instructions to meet Randy and Eugene Junior at the airport. Randy by then had officially changed his name from Montarelli to Hexum. He and the baby moved in with Dreama that night, and would hunt for a Brady Bunch house the next day. It was all Susan could do not to abandon all her plans, run to Dreama's and inhale Eugene Junior's sweet baby smell.