Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss (19 page)

Then again…as I scrutinized the details I saw that her hand was actually on Kane’s knee and, if the wrinkles in his pant-leg were any indication, she was squeezing it hard.

So these were the three pictures Kane chose to put on the dresser. One of him and his mom, a scenic photo of a park, and a picture of him standing in front of SF State. That seemed significant to me, especially considering that I hadn’t noted any other photos displayed around the house. There were no pictures of friends or the grandparents who had apparently loved him enough to bequeath this house to him, and not a single photo of his father, whom I was supposed to summon from the grave. What was up with that?

I fingered the knob for the top drawer of the dresser and tried to decide if I was up for the trauma of going through Kane’s underwear on the off chance that there was something of interest hidden among his briefs, but before I could work up my nerve something else caught my attention. What at first glance I had taken for a bench underneath Kane’s bedroom window wasn’t a normal bench at all, but an antique hope chest. So much more promising than an underwear drawer.

I crossed to it immediately, and was gratified to find it was unlocked. But what really made my day was what lay inside. Stacks and stacks of photo albums and scrapbooks. A huge grin spread across my face. There would be something in here that could convince Kane that I had been talking to the dead. Lots of things. How could there not be?

With greedy hands I snatched up the album on top only to replace it quickly when I found that it was filled with nothing but shots of various landscapes. Apparently Kane had a hobby.

The next album was more promising. There were pictures of Kane as a child, usually in the arms of his mother. A few of them were at the beach, and, in the photos from Kane’s later elementary-school years, there were pictures of him and his mom at Sutro Heights.

I made a mental note of this.
Your mom spoke to me,
I imagined myself saying.
She liked the beach and parks.
This was about as convincing as the horoscopes included in the Sunday paper, but it was a start. I continued to flip through the pages, memorizing some of his mother’s outfits and her various hairstyles through the years. Oscar must have been the designated family photographer because he wasn’t in any of the shots. At least that was my assumption, until I got to the second last page. This one was taken at the San Francisco Zoo. Oscar, Kane and his mother were standing in front of the polar bear exhibits. Oscar was standing behind both mother and son, one hand on each of their shoulders. It would have been a typical family photo except for one small problem. Oscar only had half of a face. Someone had scratched out the other half from the picture.

I ran my index finger over the destruction. Had Kane done this? Maybe his mom? Even if it had been his mom, certainly Kane hadn’t fully disapproved of her actions, otherwise he wouldn’t have kept the ruined picture, would he?

Carefully, I closed the album and with a little trepidation picked up the next one. When I opened it up my heart plummeted down into my stomach.

These weren’t pictures of Kane’s family.

They were pictures of mine.

16

When I wanted to lose weight I forced myself to go skydiving, handle dangerous animals and walk the inner city at night. Terror is a wonderful appetite suppressant.

—The Lighter Side of Death

THERE I WAS AT TEN, THROWING A FRISBEE WITH MY DAD AT SUTRO
Heights. There was another of Leah at eight holding both my mom’s and dad’s hands as they led her across the street toward the studio that held her dance classes. There was another of my dad, taken from a far distance…so far that even I had to hold the photo close to ensure it was really him. In this one, he was standing by a car that had been parked on the street. It looked like there might have been glass by his feet, but that could have been a trick of the light playing off a puddle or something. What was clear was that he was staring in the direction of the photographer, and, while it was hard to make out, that his hands were in fists by his side. He had always done that when he was struggling to control his temper. I did it, too.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to turn the page. There he was again, this time looking perfectly content. He was standing in his office, his beard and mustache neatly trimmed, his arm loosely thrown around the shoulders of Kane’s mom—Kane’s mom, who in this photo, unlike all the rest of them, looked totally and completely happy.

I dropped the photo album and backed away from the chest. There was a pounding in my head and I pressed my fingers to my temples in an effort to make it stop. But there was another pounding, too. Footsteps coming toward the room. I turned around just in time to see Marcus throw open the door.

“Kane and Scott are here!” he announced between labored breaths. “I saw them outside from the window, and they have a horrible beast with them! It may be a dog, but it’s entirely possible that it’s
el Chupacabras!
”

“Do we have time to get out of here before they come in?”

But the sound of the front door opening and then slamming closed answered that question.

‘“Gemma? Gemma are you here?” Kane called. Then I heard Scott’s voice, too low for me to make out the words, but it didn’t really matter what they were saying. I had fifty million questions swirling around in my head, but one thing I was clear on was that this situation was very, very bad.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

“Plenty,” Marcus whispered. “Many involve strangling you, but for now I think we should just hide.”

“Follow me,” I heard Kane say, his voice much closer this time. “I have the papers in my room and there’s a painting I would like to show you.”

Marcus’s brows shot up. “Come up to my room, I have a painting to show you?” he whispered. “Is Kane making the moves on Scott?” But before I could respond he shook his head hard enough to make his locks act as little whips against his scalp. “Doesn’t matter, we still need to hide. We need to hide
NOW.
”

There was a big part of me that didn’t want to run. Who did this asshole think he was anyway? What gave him the right to store pictures of my dad! Particularly pictures of my dad with his skanky mom! I had half a mind to confront him on the spot, but for once in my life the logical part of my brain won over. I had no real proof that Kane had committed any crimes, but he would have no such problem if he discovered me snooping around his house uninvited.

Marcus was looking around the room, frantically trying to find a place that would conceal us. He opened a door that I had assumed led to a closet. The room was actually a bathroom and without a word Marcus grabbed my hand and yanked me inside. After silently shutting the door behind us, he pulled back the shower curtain and lay down flat in the bathtub, pulling me on top of him. I struggled to close the curtain from my position and only achieved success as I heard Kane and Scott enter his bedroom.

“Interesting painting,” I heard Scott say. “Where’d you pick it up?”

“It’s the work of my mother,” Kane replied. “She made it for a man she loved. He never did see it.”

“Huh. Your mom was a talented lady. What’s it called?”

“Love in Death.”

“Yeah?” This time Scott’s voice sounded a bit more uncertain. “Well, that’s um…creative. What kinda paints did she use? Are those all oil colors?”

“Mostly. Except for the red. It’s magnificent, isn’t it? It’s the red of life, or death, if you prefer.”

“I don’t think I follow you.”

“It’s my mother’s blood. She slit her throat right over this painting. This was her last work.”

Marcus slapped his hand over my mouth just in time to stifle the sound of my dry heaving.

From the bedroom there was a long silence followed by the sound of Scott clearing his throat. “Can I use your bathroom?”

That was followed by a shorter pause before Kane reluctantly replied, “It’s right through that door.”

A second later the bathroom door was opened and closed and I heard Scott whisper, “What the fuck!” At first I was afraid that he had somehow discovered Marcus and me, but then I remembered Scott’s tendency to talk to himself and there was certainly another WTF situation going on at the moment that had nothing to do with me or the guy I was lying on top of. The sound of the faucet filled the bathroom and I knew that Scott was in the process of splashing water on his face. I felt a slight tickle on my wrist. Crawling up my arm and toward my sleeve was a large brown spider. Reflectively I flicked my wrist to get it off and accidentally touched the shower curtain. The curtain didn’t move much, only a slight jiggle, but when the faucet was abruptly turned off I knew we were in trouble. Marcus stopped breathing and so did I. The curtain was jerked back and there was Scott, staring down at us, his mouth slightly open and slack.

He squatted by the side of the tub. “What the fuck?” he said again.

“There’s a very good explanation for this,” I said in a tiny whisper.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “I find that highly unlikely.”

Marcus smiled apologetically, unwilling to add his own voice to our conversation.

Scott shook his head, and for once I really had no idea what he was thinking or what he planned to do.

“Scott…” I started.

“Tell me later,” he said. And before I could react he pulled the curtain back closed. I heard the bathroom door open and close again and then Scott’s muffled voice talking to Kane. “You know,” he said, “Venus recently bought a painting at auction that I think you’ll appreciate. It’s titled
Destruction of Everything.
It’s way up your alley. Why don’t we go see it now?”

“I’m not up to seeing Venus today,” Kane said, his voice filled with sarcasm. “I’m out of antacids.”

“I hear ya,” Scott said. I could hear the forced joviality in his voice, but perhaps Kane couldn’t. Few people knew Scott’s tones as well as I did. “She’s not going to be home for a few hours, though. So you won’t have to deal with her. Or maybe we should take the…um…dog for a walk.”

“The whole reason I put Avernus in the backyard is so I could avoid a walk. It’s pouring outside.”

“Hey, I love the rain. It’s good for the sinuses.”

“No, it’s not,” Kane countered. “Rain brings mold. That’s horrible for sinuses, and you hate my dog.”

“I don’t hate animals, Kane,” Scott said flatly. “And how can someone who loves the paranormal as much as you do not appreciate a dark and stormy night?”

“It’s early afternoon.”

“What’s the deal? Does everything have to be perfect for you? Let’s just take the dog for a walk!”

“The painting makes you uncomfortable.”

“Well, what did you expect?” I heard Scott say, echoing my thoughts. “Your mother killed herself, bled all over a canvas. Not only did you keep the canvas, but you hung it on your fucking wall! Kane, you know I like you, man. But that’s seriously messed up.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” Kane said slowly. “But if you think about it, this painting is a part of my mother, literally and figuratively. I’ll never lose her as long as I have this.”

“Yeah, that’s great. Can we get out of here? I have houses to show and you have a hotel to check into so—”

“I canceled my reservation.”

Marcus’s eyes went back into his head. If Kane had nowhere to go what was to keep him from hanging out here for the rest of the day? How long before he discovered us?

“Why’d you do that?” Scott asked. “I thought you couldn’t stand the smell of varnish.”

“I’ve decided that it’s a matter of control. The smell will only bother me if I let it bother me, you know?”

“No, but that’s me. Well, then, if you’re not going to a hotel and you won’t go on a walk then can we at least have this meeting downstairs?”

“You need to learn about control, too,” Kane said. “You can’t let your fear of a picture determine where you feel comfortable.”

“I’ll work on it, but not now, all right?”

“Fine, but first…”

Kane let his sentence hang there unfinished and I heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing. “This is why I called you here today. You may sit in the study while you read it over if you like.”

“Great, let’s do that—wait a minute, what is this? You’re rewriting the terms of Sophie’s escrow?”

I gasped and started to rise, but Marcus held me tight, making movement impossible. “Shut up and keep still,” Marcus said in a barely audible whisper.

“I doubt the changes will surprise her,” I heard Kane say as I tried to constrain myself. “You already told her how I felt about selling to her before she was able to make contact.”

“I told her what you said, but are you really going to try to make it a legal stipulation?” Scott sounded incredulous, perhaps even indignant. “You might as well start making out a check for twenty grand because there’s no way she’s gonna go for this. It’s crazy.”

“Are you saying that I’m not in my right mind, Scott?” There was something in Kane’s voice that made me shiver.

“No,” Scott faltered, “I think you’re as sane as…Freud.”

During my marriage to Scott he had used this expression a lot. The people he used it on never knew what to make of it. None of them realized how whacked Scott thought Freud was, no one except me. It was our inside joke, and he was using it now. It shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.

“But I do think that she might object to this, Kane. I know Sophie, you can only push her so far.”

“She wants the house. She’s connected to it,” Kane proclaimed.

“Have you ever actually heard her say that?”

“No, but if you ask her I’m sure she’ll admit it. Even when her boyfriend urges her to leave she insists on staying. It’s rather odd that she can’t explain that connection…that she doesn’t know…but perhaps she’ll figure it out in time.”

“You’re losing me, dude.”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about. Go make yourself at home in the study and read it all over. I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Why just me? Why don’t we both go to the study?” Scott asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“If you must know I’m going to use the bathroom. I’ll only be a—”

“Don’t do that,” Scott said.

“Why?”

“Because…because I…because…”

“What’s in the bathroom, Scott?”

“Nothing! I—”

But before he could continue the door swung open.

There was another silence and then I heard slow footsteps approach the tub. Marcus started mouthing the words “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God” over and over again and then the footsteps stopped and I could see Kane’s shadow standing on the other side of the curtain…and then I heard the sound of someone throwing up.

The shadow withdrew instantly. “What’s wrong with you?” Kane exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Scott said hoarsely. “I think this must be the sudden onset of the stomach flu.” Then I heard him gag. “I literally just felt it coming on, like, a minute ago.”

“Why didn’t you want me to come in here?” Kane asked, but now his voice was strained with what sounded like disgust. I was feeling a little disgusted, too. Whatever Scott had upchucked he hadn’t yet flushed down and the smell was quickly getting bad.

“I was trying to tell you that I was going to need to use it first, that’s all—” another gag “—I just…couldn’t…get…the words…out, oh, man, here I go again—”

“I’ll use the bathroom down the hall,” Kane said quickly. I listened to Kane’s footsteps make a fast retreat as Scott managed to regurgitate a little more.

The moment the door closed Scott flushed the toilet and pulled back the shower curtain again. “There!” he whispered, glaring down at me. “I literally made myself sick trying to save your ass.
Now
do you believe that I’m sorry about the shit I pulled ten years ago?”

“Are you really trying to say that you vomited just for me?” I asked, wriggling against Marcus in an attempt to look up at Scott. “I’ve never known you to be able to make yourself sick on demand, Scott.”

“Have you ever known me to try? Jeez, Sophie! Are you ever going to give me credit for anything?”

“Ladies,” Marcus interjected, “perhaps this isn’t the best time for a catfight seeing that Norman Bates is just down the hall.”

“Right. Should we stay in the bathroom?” I asked.

“God no,” Marcus said. “Kane might come back to ensure that Scott didn’t contaminate his monogrammed Lauren towels with his bile…then again, Kane might see that as an artistic expression. Either way, we need to skiddoodle.”

Scott nodded and reached out his hand to help me up. For half a second I hesitated, a fact that was not lost on Scott.

“Sophie, I know you hate it, but right now you need me.”

He grabbed my hand and I didn’t resist. Carefully, I climbed off of Marcus and out of the tub. Marcus came out a second later. “C’mon, we don’t have a lot of time,” he pointed out. “And by the way, you two can stop holding hands now.”

I looked down in horror to see that I had forgotten to jerk my hand away from Scott. An oversight I quickly corrected. I looked up at Scott’s face expecting to see a smirk, but his expression was completely grave.