Chapter 10

Why had I come to L.A? Was it love? Was it responsibility? Or just plain curiosity? I can't tell you, really. But I can tell you one thing: I could not stay away.

Irene had left two weeks before Christmas, half a year ago. They were the worst holidays ever. Kindly enough, it rained most of the time.

I stayed at home.

The lights, the throngs and everything that makes New York such a wonderful place during the Christmas season seemed to conspire against me. A conspiracy to hurt me. To kick me in the guts and laugh at me.

I often relived the horrible goodbye we had at the airport. What on earth had made me fuck that up so gloriously? Why did I have to return all the time to the subject of the child and who the father might be? Well, the answer was easy, I guess. It just hurt too much.

Nevertheless, I went there to tell her I loved her.

It had taken me a sleepless night to crawl around my ego and admit it. Her short, cold message about leaving town had shocked me into a new and clear realization. I still loved her! Sincerely and truly loved her. It would always be easier for me to be with her than without her.

She may have betrayed me. She may have succumbed to the biggest asshole I know and torn the heart out of her best friend. She may even be pregnant with his child.

But my love for her didn't seem to care. It had dug into me and had grown so many tentacles that tearing it out would have torn out my heart as well.

Who can live without a heart?

So I hurried to the airport to tell her that and ended up whining about the damn child.

The child was beside the point. It was an accident. If she would not have gotten pregnant, I might eventually have forgiven her.

Might have.

'Cause I did not believe that she'd been fucking the asshole for months. She had not done it to spite me, or humiliate me. I did not believe what the bastard wrote in his crazy letter. And I did not believe that she had had a longtime sexual relationship with Mary.

I believed, though, that she had fucked Phil gladly.

She had allowed herself to be swept away by her desire. She had enjoyed it, maybe more than she had ever enjoyed it with me. Certainly more than she'd ever tell me. Oh yes. She had done it all and I am certain her body has often prompted her to do it again.

But she hasn't. I believe that.

Then again, she betrayed me twice. She did it again with her decision to keep me in the dark. She guarded her true self against me in order not to betray herself. She robbed me of her intimate self. I felt no love in her sex after what happened at that poolside. There was a lot of very intense sex, but the love seemed to have slipped through my groping fingers.

I am no fool — I knew it. I just hadn't been able to believe it.

When Mary at last told me, I already knew that Irene was pregnant. The shock and pain of discovering her infidelity linked those two facts forever. The one added to the pain of the other. Until they could not be separated anymore.

I was trapped. We were trapped. And damn, yes, I could not destroy my love for her.

Elaine. Of course there was Elaine's ghost hovering over all of this. It gloated on the ruins of my love. I could almost hear her chuckle, "Run, little guy, run again. You ran away from me straight into the greedy arms of a new slut. We are all sluts, Eric. Didn't you know, stupid boy? All of us."

Maybe. But Irene is no Elaine.

Irene never planned her tryst. And Irene went into panic mode afterwards. She had to find a way to keep it from me. Maybe to keep me from hurting. Mostly to protect herself, no doubt. (As I said, I am no fool, not anymore.) When she found out she was pregnant, she was as trapped as I was.

Elaine never saw a need for consequences. Irene accepted them all. She left all that was dear to her. She invited punishment. L.A. was her penitence. So was the decision to keep the baby.

My love for her made me feverishly search for reasons to keep us together. In the end I leaned on the scales and made them balance in favor of my love.

But at our goodbyes, I could not hold on to that. I just couldn't seem to stop nursing my big, stupid ego.

A week after Irene left, Mary called me. She told me Phil had died. She was very cool about it. I gave her my condolences. She laughed out loud.

"Come on, Eric! Let's not embarrass the bastard posthumously with a flood of crocodile tears."

I was stunned. I asked her what had happened. She said she wanted to see me. I thought it would have been rude to refuse. So I invited her to a small restaurant.

Her new look shocked me.

I am sure all eyes in the restaurant turned in her direction when she entered. At first I did not even recognize her. The stark white face, the dark straight hair. The pitch-black, painted eyes, the blood red mouth. Her sinewy body was wrapped in tight black shining vinyl and stretched lycra. She seemed almost tall in her high-heeled boots. She was Count Dracula's wet dream.

And she grinned.

"Eric darling! How are you now?"

Her voice sounded hushed, she almost crooned. I stood and she kissed me on the mouth. I turned away. She chuckled.

"No need for that, honey! Aren't we both free people now?"

We sat and she wrapped her clawlike fingers over my hand. Her eyes were wide, her smile too.

"How are you, Eric?"

"I'd better ask you, Mary. What happened? An accident?"

"His heart," she said and smiled at the young waiter.

We ordered.

"His heart? He was as strong as a bull."

"Appearances can fool us, honey. They so often do."

She nibbled on a piece of bread, looking around the place.

"You seem very, eh... composed, Mary, considering," I said rather lamely. Her attitude puzzled me.

"Don't bullshit me, Eric. You hated the bastard. So did I."

I tasted the red wine the waiter brought. When her glass was filled, she took a huge gulp. A tiny drop ran from the corner of her mouth.

"We had our reasons to hate him, Mary. But he was your husband."

She giggled.

"At last, he is," she crowed. "He'll never betray me again."

Her voice sent icy spider feet down my spine. What had happened to the Mary I knew? The petite cute girl, the sweet and patient friend?

"The asshole died in my arms, you know," she continued. "I guess I wore him out, but I won't brag."

The same gruesome giggle again.

"But!" she cried and sat straight. "This really should be about you, Eric. My problems are solved, what about yours?"

I just stared at her. A thought crawled into my skull. It made me shudder.

"Did you kill him, Mary?"

She never blinked.

"He died, Eric. He is dead and gone. What is it to you?"

I took a sip, just to do something. Here I sat with a crazy murderess. I felt her cool hand tap mine.

"How about the slut, Eric? What are you going to do about her?"

Her voice was almost a whisper. Her eyes bored into mine from their deep dark niches. I took away my hand.

"You scare me, Mary. You really do. It hurt me to see what he and Irene did to you. The cruel way he treated you, but..."

My voice drowned in her laughter.

"Oh yes, Eric, darling! I remember how you were there with me. A shoulder to cry on. All the time consoling me. Helping me through it. Bravely struggling with me against the awful fate that had struck us."

She was crazy. But she was right. I had been so very busy feeling sorry for myself that I had not even thought about her. Not ever.

I reached out, resting a hand on her wrist.

"I am so sorry, Mary. I should have, you are right. But I was drowned in my own pain. I could not see yours. Please forgive me."

She grinned.

"Never worry, honey. Aren't we all human? Well, some maybe more than others, but what the hell. Cheers, Eric! To all the sorry wimps of the earth!"

And she emptied her glass.

"I am not a wimp!" I started.

She shhhhh-ed me with a sweet little smile.

"Of course not, darling Eric. You are just a lovable man. The most lovable man I know who laid himself down twice in front of a steam roller and let himself get run all over. Twice!"

She giggled, enjoying her joke.

"But who am I to condemn you, Eric? I never stopped loving Phil, whatever he did to me. And he did it all, believe me. But he is my own sweet baby now..."

She ran her red nailed fingers over her black shining belly.

"My own sweet baby," she murmured, eyes closed.

Cold sweat burst from my pores. I wanted to run, but could not move.

"M-Mary," I tried. Her eyes flew open. "I have no intention of hurting Irene."

The eyes flared. Her mouth turned into a blood red line.

"But I do!" she hissed.

That triggered me into action.

I grabbed both her hands. I almost screamed.

"You won't!! Stay away from her, you crazy bitch! Don't even think about it. I'll kill you first!"

I was amazed by the vehemence of my threat. So was she and half the restaurant. A blush tried to struggle its way through her chalky make up. Her mouth trembled.

"Then kill me," she whispered. "The whore won't have his child. The child that should have been mine — my child."

We just glared at each other. Our stares seemed glued together with deep emotion. The world had vanished, there were only eyes. Hateful eyes.

My voice came from afar. It might not even have been mine at all.

"Listen to me carefully, Mary. If you ever get near Irene, I'll know. And I'll come after you. You may think I am a weak wimp. But I warn you, don't try to find out..."

I let go of her wrists. My fingers had left fiery prints on her skin. Her eyes never blinked.

I rose and threw down some money.

Her insane snicker followed me to the door.

It was the second week of January that I got a text message from Irene. It consisted only of a phone number. It took me a day to muster the courage to phone. I was almost relieved when she did not pick it up.

I left a message that I had called.

Her voice shocked me. A voice cuts deeper than a picture, even deeper than a moving image. I can't explain why, but her voice penetrated all the walls of grief and anger that I had erected. It went straight for my heart.

"Hi... how... how are you?" was all I could say.

"I am fine. So is the baby."

The baby. The child. The silence grew.

"Good," I said at last. "Really good to hear."

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Eh, yes. Are things going well, job and things?"

I felt quite the moron by now.

A tinny chuckle crept through the little cell phone.

"That why you called me, Eric?"

How could I tell her about Mary and not scare her? I should have given it more thought before calling her.

"Is all, ehm... safe and well? No problems? Could I do something to, ehm, help, maybe?"

There was a silence.

"Eric..." Her voice was soft. "I am so sorry I made life so miserable for you. You seem not yourself at all."

My ears caught fire. Goddammit, it was she who cheated on me and I was the one shattered. Stop this, Eric!

I cleared my throat.

"I worry about your safety, Irene. Maybe I shouldn't. Why should I, indeed? But I do."

Silence.

"I am quite safe, Eric. Please don't worry."

Her voice was soft.

"Phil is dead, Irene. Did you know?"

I heard a gasp. So she didn't.

"What happened?"

"Mary told me his heart failed."

"But he is... he was quite young yet. And strong."

"Yes." She should know.

Silence.

"He died in Mary's arms."

Silence.

"Irene? I think she killed him."

"Nooooo..."

"Yes."

"Oh God, Eric. Because of what I did?"

"The child, Irene. I think it is because he gave you the child she could not have."

There was sobbing at the other end. I waited.

"Irene? I am afraid she might come for you."

A sharp intake of breath.

"For me? Here? Why?"

"Because of the child. She said she'd kill you before you'd have it. She told me, Irene."

I hated myself for telling her. Or did I?

"What can I do, Eric? Oh God, I am so sorry for this mess. And now I am scared. Eric?"

I did not know what to say.

"Eric?"

"I can't protect you, Irene. Not as long as you are in Los Angeles and I am here."

"I love you, Eric."

Bile was rising up my throat. I had to cough.

"Why tell me now, Irene?"

The silence was deafening.

"I... I am so afraid, Eric."

"Don't be, Irene. She is in town. I keep an eye on her. Last week I saw her leaving her offices."

"I am so alone, Eric. No one to help me. No one here to talk to. No one!"

"I am sorry for that, Irene." Was I? I guess so.

"What can I do, Eric?"

"Stay there. Stay low. Maybe move from where you're living now. I'll see to Mary."

"I love you, Eric. I am so scared."

I ended the call.

The PI found where she lived in no time. It was a brownstone in Harlem. I went to see it. The street had been recently renovated. It looked pretty.

I waited in my car, but after two hours the futility of it became clear to me. I drove off, then returned with a little package. I rang the bell of her apartment. It was on the first floor. No one answered, so I went to the second floor. An elderly woman told me that her neighbor wasn't home often. I asked her if she could give her the package. She agreed and I let her sign a fake paper.