All That Was Happy (9 page)

There was a pause, then an eerie quiet as
Scotia shut the tub jets off and handed Beckie a large, thick
towel.

“
Why?” Scotia finally said.

“
Why what?” Beckie said.

“
Why are you talking about killing your
husband? It scares me when you say that--I don’t know if you’re
speaking literally or just letting out your
frustrations.”

“
Let me put it this way,” Beckie said.
“Tomorrow we’re meeting at his lawyer’s office--I’ve made up my
mind. I’m walking in there and I’m going to blow him to
smithereens.”

“
You’re not kidding, are you?” Scotia
said.

“
Scotia,” Beckie said. “I’m absolutely
not kidding. I’m going out tonight with a new guy, and I’m going to
have one, final, really good meal with him at this great little
Mexican place I know of. It’ll be me and my new date and my best
friend Leah and her husband Ira. Then I’m going to get a good
night’s sleep, take the limo over to the lawyer’s office, wait
until we’re all seated at the conference table, and put four shots
straight into Bernie’s fat little heart.”

Scotia’s voice went high, urgent.
“Beckie?”

“
Look,” Beckie said. “I’ve tried to get
into the WE thing, and the sessions with Dr. Black and all, but I
just can’t do it. I’ve been married for twenty-nine years to the
same fat little businessman--that’s been my life. It’s probably a
life few women would envy. I haven’t learned to do anything
creative in all that time, haven’t explored myself, or ran
marathons, or raised kids--the only thing I’ve done is collect
little ceramic figurines--I’ve done that, maybe a bit too
much--I’ve got over a thousand of them in the vault at Bekins. But
that’s it. It’s too late for a woman like me to learn anything
about how she fits into the universe. I liked being married to
Bernie--I didn’t love him with the kind of passion I was supposed
to have, but in my own way I loved being with him. I liked being
financially secure. I was ready to finish it out to the end--what I
don’t like is being left alone, and having my husband making a baby
with his hot young Irish-Hispanic secretary. What I don’t like is
being left standing in my bathrobe at the corner of Wilshire and
Barrington without my car. What I don’t like is being summoned to
appear by my husband’s lawyers so they can lowball me and take
advantage of my disorientation and flimflam me into giving up
what’s rightfully mine. Believe me, Scotia--I’m deadly serious when
I say I’m going to send my husband to the afterlife
tomorrow.”

“
But you never loved him?” Scotia
said.

“
I respected him, and in my own way I
loved him,” Beckie said. “But that’s beside the point. In fact,
that may be the main reason I’m going to do it. You know, perhaps I
have discovered who I am after all--I’m a woman in a killing
rage--and let me tell you, right now it feels great. King Solomon
had it right--there’s a time to kill. I’ll do the weeping after
Bernie’s gone.”

“
I’m skipping your massage,” Scotia
said. “This is getting too weird for me--I can’t handle the way
you’re acting--you need to go straight in to Vito. Maybe he can do
something with you.”

Chapter
15

“
I should tell you,” Vito said. “That
dog of yours makes a pretty poor Chihuahua--we brought in a couple
of those chalupas from the Taco Bell down on Melrose and he
wouldn’t touch them--it appears his tastes are a good deal more
sophisticated--we finally got him to eat a couple of jumbo quail we
had left over from a party last night.”

“
There’s no accounting for taste,”
Beckie said. “I wish all my problems were as small as that
dog.”

“
When you’ve got a big problem,” Vito
said. “The first step is to admit there’s nothing you can do about
it.”

“
You mean just forget about solving
it?” Beckie said.

“
I mean, nobody ever solves a big
problem by solving the big problem. They do it by solving all the
small problems leading up to the big problem. When you solve the
small problems, one-by-one, by the time you get to the big problem,
it no longer exists, because big problems are just collections of
small problems in the first place.”

Beckie, sitting on a stool and draped with a
black sheet in the windowless, mirror-less, soundproof cutting
chamber, the top of her head the focus of a single spotlight
shining down on her from the ceiling, had become immersed in a
weighty, pre-cut discourse with Vito about her preparations for the
direct assassination of Bernie at the lawyer’s office on the
morrow.

“
I appreciate your trying to talk me
out of shooting Bernie,” Beckie said.

“
I’m not trying to do that,” Vito said.
“I don’t control where people’s lives flow--if you want to shoot
your hubby, then go ahead--but don’t do it without getting a good
cut first--after you spread his insides all over everybody in the
conference room, there will be a lot of reporters and TV
cameras--it’s going to come out that you were over here--I don’t
want them talking about your haircut and saying I didn’t do my
job.”

“
You’ve got to be kidding,” Beckie
said.

“
Hey, life is one big joke sometimes,”
Vito said. “What concerns me right now is, I’m wondering how you’ve
managed to even remain upright for more than ten minutes with that
monstrous, frizzed-out, over-bleached, over-conditioned dust-mop
weighing down your head?”

“
That’s it,” Beckie said, rising from
the stool. “We’re done. I didn’t come here to be
insulted.”

“
It’s too bad,” Vito said. “My desire
to sculpt you into a goddess has become overwhelming--but perhaps
you prefer to go around look like a worn out surf bunny. But don’t
blame me when, after you shoot your husband and the photographers
are through with you, your hair is at the top of the joke lineup on
Letterman every night for awhile. Go ahead--become the next Linda
Trip--at least you’ll know why she finally broke down and got
herself a decent cut.”

Beckie sat back down. “You’re a thug, Vito,”
she said. “But now I have to know--is it true what you’re saying
about my hair?”

“
Some people don’t like change,” Vito
said. “I sense you’re one of them. For many years now, your little
surfer girl thing worked for you--that’s why you liked to keep your
hair flowing. For you, your hair isn’t a style, but a magic
talisman--something good must have happened to you long ago when
you first wore your hair blonde and long, and you’ve kept your hair
hanging there from your scalp like a big, overstuffed blonde
rabbit’s foot ever since. But sister, I can tell you, whatever it
is you had going, it’s stopped flowing.”

“
I had this style before I was forced
to grow up,” she said. “And you’re right--I used to be one of those
little surfer bunnies who spent all their time at the beach. Did
you know I used to be a pretty fair surfer? I even appeared in the
movie, The Endless Summer--not in the water, but I was one of the
girls on the beach when Bruce Brown did the Mickey Dora footage in
Malibu. That was the best day of my life.”

“
That’s why you’ve kept your hair
long,” Vito said. “As a memorial to Mickey Dora.”

“
But after I married Bernie,” Beckie
said, “my surfing life just kind of evaporated. Bernie was really
kind of a geek--he never did any sports or hobbies--he preferred to
pour himself into the work ethic--he taught me that life wasn’t
just one big party--that a big part of growing up was being held
accountable for my actions. So I put away my surfboard and spent
the rest of my life working in the office. That’s why I’m going to
kill him tomorrow--I made our tool business what it is--it was me,
on the phone everyday to the suppliers, the shippers, and the
customers, arranging everything. Sure, Bernie took the good old
boys out to lunch and signed up the accounts, but after that, it
was my efforts to deliver the tools on time that made him look
good. And what was my reward? He just repossessed my
car!”

“
Getting four bullets in the chest is
probably the justice he deserves,” Vito said. “You’ll probably get
away with it--nowadays, it’s okay to shoot a guy fifty times just
because he’s reaching for his wallet in front of his home, but if
you ask me, the guys who really deserve the bullet are the guys who
rip everybody off by using lawyers and accountants to steal
everybody blind.”

“
What I should do is use a knife, or a
baseball bat,” Beckie said. “A jury won’t convict you if you
slaughter your spouse with a knife--look at what O.J. got away
with--he’s never missed a day of golf since--or look at Tanya
Harding--she had Nancy Kerrigan bashed and she had to do was cry a
few crocodile tears.”

“
Before you kill him,” Vito said, “no
matter which method you decide to use--you owe yourself an evening
and a morning of looking fabulous--can we get started on sculpting
a new you?”

“
What are you going to do?” Beckie
said.

“
Not me,” Vito said. “We--we’re going
to take it down past the bleach, the damage and the frizz--and then
we’ll sculpt you into a fantastic geometric cut--you’ve got a nice
mix of natural blonde and light gray--I don’t think we’ll even need
to add any highlights--If I’m right, it’ll come out a soft
platinum--but I’ll have to go all the way down.”

“
You’re going to cut off all my hair,”
Beckie said.

Vito unholstered the large shears and grabbed
a big hank of hair.

“
Say good-bye to Mickey Dora,” he
said.

Chapter
16

“
What is separation, anyway?” Beckie
said. “What do people mean when they say they’re separated? Does it
mean cooling off and then seeing how we feel? Or does it mean it’s
over? I just can’t see that there are any clear cut rules. My
husband left yesterday morning to go to work and he’s never coming
home--I don’t even know where he lives now. He’s erected a
barricade of lawyers between us. He even repossessed my
wheels.”

“
I’ve been separated for a year, now,”
Virginia said. “My parents still don’t know. They’re in Hong
Kong--I haven’t figured out what to tell them. They don’t even know
I had to go to work.”

Beckie and Virginia--the young lady from
Nordy’s--were reviewing Virginia’s choices of wardrobe which had
been selected entirely by Virginia and delivered to Vito’s, where
the entire collection was now spread out in a back room away from
the clamor which took place in the converted living room and which
was filled at present, with a half-dozen ladies having their wishes
fulfilled as regarded that which made them feminine--their hair,
face and nails--and which defined their essence as members of the
female sex and hopefully rendered them sufficiently engaging to the
males which inhabited their corner of the woods to assure everyone
involved in the ritual that life as it was known in Beverly Hills
would continue uninterrupted, at least for the rest of the day and
perhaps possibly the week, before another visit to Vito’s would
become, for many, an item, not of choice, but of necessity.

“
Do you get lonely?” Beckie
said.

“
At first,” Virginia said, “I was glad
when he left--I felt relieved. But later, I felt much lonelier than
I had anticipated--I began to miss him, no matter how badly we used
to argue.”

“
Right now all I’m feeling is anger,”
Beckie said. “I was prepared to go through all the crying, and
hand-wringing, and everything, and I’d started to do just that
until he repossessed my car and left me standing there in public in
my bathrobe--that’s when I switched to full-blown anger. Tomorrow,
when we meet at the lawyers, I’m going to put four bullets in his
chest.”

“
I understand that kind of anger,”
Virginia said. “When my husband first left me, I felt so much anger
that I set fire to my apartment. I tried to put it out with our
fire extinguisher, but it had no charge left. I finally called the
fire department, but before they got there, the whole living room
was destroyed--I just told them I’d fallen asleep smoking, but I
think the Inspector knows what I did--he tried to make me go out
with him so he wouldn’t tell.”

“
My husband didn’t take anything with
him,” Beckie said. “Not even a suitcase--I couldn’t believe it. It
was like he didn’t even want anything that we’d had together--he
wants everything in his new life to have no reminder of me. That’s
another reason his life ends tomorrow.”

“
I was going to suggest the lace skirt
with this port-colored silk cami,” Virginia said, showing her the
delicately embroidered skirt. “But with that incredible short
haircut, which, by the way, looks absolutely fantastic--no, it’s
beyond fantastic--you look like a Greek goddess or
something--anyway, with that incredible new look, I think we should
go with this.”

“
Wow,” Beckie said. “Strapless. I’ve
never worn anything like that before.”

The garment in question, a short, flowing
tube of white spandex covered in silver sequins, was presented to
Beckie, upon which she tried it on and stood before the full-length
mirror on the back of the door.

“
I’m wrestling with my feelings,”
Beckie said. “I wish I wasn’t carrying the extra twenty pounds--do
you think I can get away with it?”

“
It’s not something you’d wear to a PTA
meeting,” Virginia said. “But you can get away with it if you have
the right attitude--you’ll have to walk proud if you wear it--no
tiptoeing around.”