Live and Let Die (4 page)

“What, like she was having a bad day?”

Jack shook his head and slumped back against the peeling vinyl seat, the material crackling under his movements. “No, that wasn’t it.” Jack took a deep breath. “Man, I’ve never told anyone about this.” He looked at Sondra.

“Like I said, we ran into each other and I asked if I could buy her a drink for old time’s sakes. We went to Ian’s, one of our old spots. She was real fidgety. Distracted.”

“Okay, Jack, to be fair, she was probably nervous because that was the first time you guys were seeing each other in a while.”

Jack leaned closer. “Sondra, I lived with Tracy for three and a half years. I knew her inside and out. Every mood, every expression. Every little quirk. Something was definitely off.”

Sondra pursed her lips. “Alright. Go on.”

“I asked her how she was. And she just looked at me, those big, beautiful eyes full of tears and said she was unhappy.”

“What did she mean by that? Unhappy about what?”

“That was all she said and as soon as it came out of her mouth, she said she was sorry, and that she had to go. She picked up her stuff and ran out.” Jack took a sip of coffee. “And that was the last time I saw her.”

Sondra sagged against her seat, shaking her head. “I wonder what it was.”

“I wanted to call her over the weekend, but, well… I felt like it wasn’t my place, you know since she was married and our history. And then… she was gone.”

Jack’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to take the call. Sondra remained seated at the table, still reeling from this bit of information.

“Sondra, I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta run. I’m in town until tomorrow if you want to try and have lunch or something.”

Sondra snapped back to what Jack was saying and stared at him for a moment before she shook her head. “Uh, no I can’t tomorrow, but send me an invitation to the opening of your new place.”

Jack nodded and looked down at the floor, his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes, I’ve felt responsible. You know, if I had married her instead, she might not have been out on the lakefront that night. Or even if I had called her that weekend, maybe she would have been on the phone with me instead of out jogging.” He shook his head. “Too many ‘if-only’s’.”

“I know,” Sondra whispered.

N
ew York had been under a gentle, misty rain for five days straight. The pitter-patter of raindrops against the window of her thirty-fifth floor apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side was comforting to Sondra on this Saturday morning. The drab weather outside matched the melancholy she felt inside; she even had on gray sweatpants and tank top.

Sondra sat at her kitchen table, one hand wrapped around her favorite chipped blue coffee mug, the other balancing a cigarette between two slender fingers. One foot rested on the chair underneath her. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Jack had said a few days ago. What could her sister have been unhappy about? From everything she’d seen and heard, Tracy’s life had been close to perfect.

The box was sitting in the living room, in plain sight, but Sondra wanted to ignore it for as long as she could. She had decreed today would be the day she went through everything, but now that today was here, she was afraid. Part of her sister’s life was in that box. Maybe even some clue as to what she was unhappy about. Sondra kneaded her forehead and looked out her picture windows at Central Park sliding down like a child’s messy watercolor. Sondra and Tracy had loved the rain as kids, doing what most do by running around trying to catch the drops on their tongues. It always tickled them to feel the cold little splashes against the warmth of their tongues. They would always try to one-up each other with each claiming they had caught more.

Sondra took long, slow drags and held them for a few extra moments, enjoying the acrid taste rolling around her mouth.

Okay. It was now or never. Sondra stubbed out her cigarette and picked up her coffee mug. She padded into her living room and set the mug down on the faded Oriental rug on the floor before she joined it. She pulled her long black hair up into a messy knot and took a few deep breaths. Sondra placed her hands on top of the box and held them there for a few moments.

With timid yet deliberate motions, she opened the flaps, as though something might jump out at her. She went through the contents, taking inventory. Photo albums, Tracy’s last two date books, greeting cards. Sondra picked up a small purple photo album and opened it. The first picture was of all of them at Christmas one year, a few years before Tracy got married. Tracy wore an elf hat, silky red pajamas, and a dazzling smile. Sondra had her usual sullen expression, her messy topknot hidden beneath the red Santa cap Tracy had slapped on her head at the last minute. Their parents beaming as usual.

Sondra continued to thumb through the album. More family photos, friends, some solo shots of Tracy at various parties or functions, a few of the two sisters together, including the night Sondra won her Oscar. Sondra didn’t spend near the amount of time on her appearance Tracy did; if her clothes were clean, that was good enough for her. Tracy on the other hand, was all about the looks: perfect nails, perfect hair and a designer wardrobe. Tracy spent months getting Sondra ready for the Oscars, calling stylists, looking for gowns, and scheduling all kinds of beauty treatments. Sondra had grumbled, but secretly, she kind of enjoyed it. No one was more surprised than Sondra at how incredible she looked that night. Tracy had laughed and said she cleaned up real good. In the end, she was glad for all the primping and preening; she would have hated to have accepted the Oscar in the kind of unholy mess she was likely to have worn without Tracy’s intervention.

There were three years between the sisters and they’d been exceptionally close their whole lives, managing to sidestep most of the bickering and sniping that plagued most siblings, a major feat, considering how different they were. Of the two sisters, Tracy was the social butterfly, while Sondra had many acquaintances, but only a few close friends; Sondra was goth before anyone knew what the hell goth was. Her father used to tease her by calling her his little ray of sunshine because she’d been in a perpetual bad mood since the age of four. Sunshine became Sonny and the name stuck. Tracy was the bubbly cheerleader and top-notch swimmer, pretty and popular with a non-stop stream of giggly girlfriends, hunky boyfriends, parties and fun. Sondra usually had her nose stuck in a book and a scowl on her face.

Sondra thumbed through Tracy’s last two datebooks, which were crammed full of lunches, dinners and parties. Sondra shook her head at her sister’s ability to hold down a job with the hurricane that was her life. Of course, Tracy moved a million miles a minute, so really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Even though she’d gone missing in late January, her new datebook still teemed with appointments and events well into the New Year.

Sondra picked up a larger white satin photo album and realized it was from Tracy’s wedding. With shaky hands, Sondra flipped through the pages. She stopped at a picture of Tracy and Phillip.

Sondra had only met Philip once before the wedding, when she’d come to town for the Chicago Film Festival. Tracy had managed to snag a reservation for the three of them at Frontera Grill and Sondra would later describe the evening to Mimi as awkward. Sondra could barely pull any personal information out of Phillip, much less have an enjoyable dinner conversation with him. Tracy was so outgoing and vibrant, and this guy was just so quiet and withdrawn. Tracy said once you got to know him, he was sweet and funny. Sondra wasn’t convinced, but kept her opinions to herself.

Sondra kept flipping through the pages, watching the story of the day unfold, feeling the flood of memories. Tracy had been giddy and Phillip’s eyes stayed glued to her the whole day and long into the night. The black and white photos revealed a blissful couple, deeply in love and eager to begin their new life together. Their first dance, the champagne toast, and many, many photos of them kissing. Sondra felt a small twinge at the love and affection that spilled from the pages.

Sondra set the album aside and reached into the box. She smiled when she spotted a small Tiffany’s box, already knowing what was in it. Sondra grinned as she held up the necklace, the small charm twisting and turning as she examined it. At the bottom of the box, Sondra found her sister’s diaries and started to flip through them. Sometimes the entries were daily and weekly; at other times she’d go months without writing anything, then either fill in the updates with blow-by-blow accounts or just jot down brief bullet points of what had been going on.

No matter the form, Tracy had recorded the details of her life from the time she was eight. Travis Collins, their twelve-year old neighbor and first major crush. Her first period; the silly dramas she and her immature girlfriends played out over boys, clothes and each other; Jimmy Byrd, her high school boyfriend and first lover; meeting Jack and later Phillip. Sondra skimmed much of the early books, but took no such liberties with the last few, hoping for a clue as to what may have been upsetting Tracy.

While Sondra had to laugh at Tracy’s Valley-girl vernacular, even as a grown woman, she was still enthralled by the descriptions of her relationship with Jack. There was no doubt they were in love, though Tracy’s growing disillusionment with his refusal to “shit or get off the fucking pot” leapt off the pages with stunning ferocity. Jack had shattered Tracy when he wouldn’t take that next step. She packed endless pages with her despair about never being able to get over Jack, calling him “the love of my life.”

And then there was Phillip, who came along to chase the hurt away with his kindness and patience. Tracy found herself charmed by this quiet and humble man.

“Had an amazing date last night with an incredible guy. His name is Phillip and he’s a pharmacist. Well, I guess I should back up. So after three years of ignoring my oral hygiene, I went to the dentist and turned out I had three cavities. Yikes. So they gave me a prescription for Vicodin, which hello, should be every dental patient’s best friend. Anyway, so I go get the prescription filled and the pharmacist, cute in a nerdy kind of way, very sincere, very earnest, takes a really long time explaining the ins and outs of Vicodin to me. Didn’t think anything of it until he called me two days later to see how I was doing and if he could take me out for an omelet. I have to say, I was both really surprised and charmed all at the same time. I hesitated, but decided what the hell; I hadn’t had a date since the big meltdown with Jack. So we met at this little diner over on Clark. He actually lives in Uptown, but said he would come to my ‘hood. He’s from Detroit and came here as a psychology major at the University of Chicago, but decided he didn’t want to go into that field after all and switched to pharmacy at UIC. Anyway, I had the best time; the best I’d had in a while. He was funny, charming, as I said, sweet and just NICE. I mean, he is a really nice guy and I mean that in a good way. A true gentleman. Afterwards, we went down to Diversey Harbor and talked about everything and nothing. I really like this guy. Different. We’re supposed to have dinner tonight, so we’ll see how things go. More to come!

The ensuing pages described Tracy and Phillip’s somewhat rapid relationship; their first kiss, meeting each other’s family, weekend trips they took, endearing and thoughtful gestures from Phillip to show Tracy how much she meant to him. She described mundane details such as Phillip bringing her breakfast in bed, warming up her car on cold mornings, sending her flowers for no reason and writing her romantic letters. The star attractions of this book were the endless blissful if boring ruminations on holy matrimony and how she couldn’t wait to start a family with Phillip.

Sondra finished the last entry, made about three months before Tracy died. The rest of the book was empty. Sondra dropped the book in her lap, frustrated. Nothing in here at all that would point to her being unhappy about anything. Unless she was too upset to write about it. Sondra shook her head and rubbed at the fatigue in her eyes. No, if something was wrong, it would have been here. Maybe Jack just heard what he wanted to hear because he was still in love with Tracy.

She plopped her face into her hands, exhausted. She went in search of her cigarettes and as she lit up, she stood in front of her picture windows. It was late afternoon and New York was still awash in rain. Sondra took long, slow inhalations, sadness filling her up with each breath.

“I
wondered how long you would hibernate in Gotham before you called me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I thought perhaps you get lost on the way back from your globe-trotting adventures. Your sense of direction is absurd.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Precisely.”

“Glad to see that after all these years, your biting wit is still intact.”

“So, will I be thanked in your next acceptance speech? I think it should become a tradition.”

“Maybe. If you’re nice to me.”

“Wasn’t I always?”

“Most of the time.”

It was Saturday night and unable to face being alone in her apartment with depressing memories of Tracy tugging at her brain, Sondra had called her ex-husband, Gary, and asked him to take her to dinner. The pot had been sweetened when she said they could go to Sardi’s, his favorite, helped in no small part by his longtime friendship with the owner. After a hearty dinner of a Cobb salad for Sondra and the sirloin for Gary, they were now lingering over her coffee and his single malt Scotch.

“Feeling better, love?”

Sondra pushed the empty sugar packets around on the linen tablecloth, the small white crystals creeping out to leave a grainy trail.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I must say, you could have fooled me. You still seem rather morose.”

Sondra laughed. “Gary, you’re the only person I know who drops ‘morose’ into casual conversation.”

“I refuse to capitulate to the incessant butchering of the English language to which our present society is so prone. I do have a reputation to maintain.”