The Mirror and the Mask (18 page)

Sunny sat cross-legged in the deep window well smoking a cigarette. A brittle blue light drifted in through the windows.

“You're home,” said Curt. He didn't get up, just waved a couple of fingers.

“I called you a couple of times,” said Annie, leaning down as Dooley hopped out of Curt's arms and trotted over to greet her. “You never answered.”

“My cell's out of juice.”

Annie perched on the arm of a chair opposite the couch. Dooley scrambled out of her arms and resumed his place with Curt.

“I see that you and Dools have bonded.”

“I'd forgotten how much I missed having a dog around.”

“How's your hangover?”

“I'll live.”

Looking over at Sunny, Annie asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“We were just talking about Mom.”

“Sunny gave me the news,” said Curt, “that the cops think it might be a homicide. It's kind of hard to believe, you know? I mean, who would want to hurt her?”

“According to the crime shows I watch on TV,” said Annie, “the cops always look pretty hard at the husband.”

“Jack had nothing to do with it,” said Sunny, coming to his defense with such swiftness that even Curt looked over at her.

Somewhere in the loft, Annie heard a cell phone trill.

“If you never plan to answer your goddamn phone,” said Curt, “why don't you turn it off? I'm sick of listening to it.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” grumbled Sunny, stubbing her cigarette out on a plate and then stomping past Annie into the kitchen. Coming back into the living room, she flipped it open and said hello directly into Curt's ear.

“Oh, hi, Jack.” She listened for a second. “Come on, don't be mad.
I must have turned my cell off by accident. What?” She listened. “That's why I left. I wasn't ready for an interrogation.” She drifted back to the window well, where she picked up her pack of cigarettes and shook one out. “Curt's place. Yeah, I told him. Sure, she's here.” Turning her head away, she listened for almost a minute. “Look, I said I was sorry. Why are you so worked up?” Another pause. “You
know
I don't think that. Jesus, Jack. Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'll leave right now. What? Sure, I'll get it. I'm hanging up now.”

“Boy, he's on the warpath,” said Curt, sitting up, rubbing his shoulder.

“I've never heard him that pissed before.”

“Is he angry at you?”

“Nah. It's got to be the whole situation.” She lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, blew smoke out the right side of her mouth.

Wake up
, thought Annie. “Sunny?”

“Huh?”

“Has Jack ever hurt you?”

Even in the darkness, Annie could see a look of irritation cross Sunny's face. “Of course not. In fact, this is the first time ever that he's totally lost it with me.”

“Just be careful.”

Still annoyed, Sunny stood up. “God knows why, but Jack wants your cell phone number. Write it down for me.”

Annie went to find a pad and pencil as Sunny and Curt said their good-byes.

“Call me tomorrow,” said Curt.

“If I live through the police interrogation.”

“Just . . . use your head.”

“Give it a rest.”

“You never know what they might have dug up.”

She flicked ash onto the plate. “It's ancient history. Everyone's forgotten about it.”

“There's probably a record somewhere that the cops can access.”

“You were a juvenile. Juvie case files are sealed.”

On Sunny's way to the front door, Annie handed her the paper with her number on it. “Be careful,” she said again, not caring if it made Sunny mad.

“And call me tomorrow,” called Curt.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. When do I ever not call?”

Once they were alone, Curt pulled Annie down on the couch next to him.

“Didn't know you had a juvie record,” said Annie, curious to learn what he'd done. “I've got one, too. You show me yours and I'll show you mine.”

“No thanks.” He played with the fingers on her left hand. “I know why Jack wants your phone number.”

“Yeah?”

“First of all, he wants to do a little question-and-answer session. He's always used my friends to find out what's going on with me. That way, he doesn't have to ask directly.”

“That's bizarre.”

“That's Jack.”

The real reason Jack wanted her number had nothing to do with Curt, but Annie played along. “Does he know you quit school?”

“No. So don't tell him. Sunny doesn't know either.” He tipped his head back and gazed impassively at the city lights outside. “As soon as Jack hears I'm failing, he'll yank the condo, take back my car, and stop sending those wonderful monthly allowance checks.”

“He owns it all?”

“Everything down to my underwear.”

“What will you do?”

“Go find an ashram in Tibet that doesn't require underwear and become a monk.” Glancing at her sideways, he added, “You think I'm kidding?”

“I hope so.”

He grinned, shook his head. “The second reason he wants to connect with you is that . . . he wants to
connect
with you. He's tried to hustle every girlfriend I've had since I graduated from high school.”

“Has he ever been successful?”

“A couple of times.”

“Gross. What a loathsome creep.”

“There's something wrong with him, that's for sure. Then again, who am I to judge?”

“Meaning?”

He shrugged. “There's something wrong with me, too.”

She turned and slipped her arm across his stomach. “Don't say that.”

“Why not? It's true.”

“Does Sunny know he tried to seduce your girlfriends?”

“Hell, no.”

“Why not tell her?”

“Because it would hurt her for no good reason.”

“I'm not sure that's true. Has he ever hit on Sunny?”

Curt backed away from her. “Hell, no.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Jesus, why would you even think something like that?”

“How would you describe Sunny's relationship with him?”

“Hero worship. She idolizes him.”

“That's not healthy.”

“I'm the last person to make judgments about emotional health.”

Annie laid her head against Curt's chest. “You're too hard on yourself.”

“I'm not hard enough.”

“I don't get why you're so critical of everything you do. I mean, your mom just died. You've got to give yourself time to recover.” But as she thought about it, she realized that the night they first met he was also down, and at that point, his mother was still alive.

He brushed a tear away from his cheek. “I can't seem to stop crying. It's been like this all day.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat. I'll make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“If it comes with a large glass of bourbon, I might be able to choke it down.”

Annie was about to get up when he pulled her back into his arms.

“Stay here,” he whispered, holding her tight.

Annie's heart broke for him. “Should we go in the bedroom?”

“No. Beds demand too much. Let's just stay here.”

She could smell alcohol on his breath.

“Don't ever leave me, promise?”

“I won't leave,” she whispered.

“Ever?”

“Ever's a long time.”

“I know. It's okay if you want to lie.”

“Curt—”

“Annie, just
lie
to me.”

“I'll never leave you,” she said.

He closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

B
y nine that night, Jane was home, sitting at the computer in her study, digging into Annie's past. She refused to remain in the dark any longer.

Checking her e-mail, she found that Cordelia had sent the photos Jack had taken at their spur-of-the-moment dinner party last summer. She studied the photos of Susan, Sunny, and Curt. It was good to put a face with a name. Susan was pretty. Diminutive. Red-haired. Professional looking in her gray slacks and navy blue blazer. Both Sunny and Curt had dark hair. Sunny's was cut in a classic pageboy with straight bangs. Both were thin, but while Curt appeared bookish, intellectual, and not terribly attractive, Sunny's good looks, round glasses, and bright red lipstick made her seem almost glamorous.

There was only one photo of Jack. He was seated at the table with his arm around Sunny. He looked bloated and tired. Jane dragged the photos to her iPhoto application. She could study the pictures of the house later.

With the room lit only by the computer screen, Jane Googled “High School Traverse City Michigan.” Up popped several sites. She clicked on various links until she narrowed her search to the three schools Annie might have attended. Checking the individual home pages, she found that none gave information about former students.

Clicking on the links to various reunion pages, she searched for the year Annie would have graduated—1995. In a section of the Central High School reunion site, she found e-mails from alumni who had attended a tenth reunion event a few years back. One of the notes said:

Great to see all my old buddies. Casey, still the jock. And Britt, that baby is gorgeous. Too bad so many people didn't show. Bummer. Thought maybe Annie Archer might come. What the hell happened to her? Anybody know? I was totally surprised when she just disappeared like that. I wonder if she finished high school somewhere else. If anybody's heard, e-mail me. She was cool and I'd like to get in touch.

Aaron Dunne

Jane began a mental list of Annie's lies. First: She said she hadn't left home until after she graduated from high school. Second: By inference, she'd let Jane think that Jack Bowman was her natural father. Third: She'd said her dad had never been in prison. The question in Jane's mind was: What else had Annie lied about?

Jane brought up
Intelius.com
, deciding to save herself some time. She paid for a background summary of Annie in Colorado. Included in the report would be current and previous addresses, a criminal background check, bankruptcies and liens, small claims and judgments, and relatives and associates. In a few minutes she would have it all. Everything she never wanted to know.

________

“I miss you
so
much,” cried Cordelia. She was going for pathos but ended up just sounding shrill. It was a sorry day when she couldn't even get pathos right. She was lying on her bed, her three cats all reclining on various parts of her body, talking to Melanie in Kansas City. “When are you coming home?”

“The middle of next week.”

“I won't last that long. I am completely . . . overwrought.”

“I can tell. But then, you always have been.”

“True. It's part of my idiom.”

“I miss you, too, babe, but you know what it's like here in February. Everyone in my family—with one significant exception—was born a Pisces. I'm drowning in balloons and being poisoned by cheap marble cake.”

“Tell me again why you were born in August?”

“My parents took a cruise that December. I was conceived in the Ca rib be an, and dedicated to the proposition that all humans should stay out of boxes, especially those of a totalitarian nature.”

“I miss your wordsmithery.”

“I miss your lips.”

“Oh, baby!”

“Give Hattie's picture a kiss from me.”

“I will.”

“Gotta go. My mom is hollering. It's time to wrap more presents. You staying put tonight?”

“I thought I'd join Robert and Andrew for a late movie.”

“Well, I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“The morrow, yes. Good-bye, my love, and flights of angels—”

But before she could finish, Melanie had hung up.

Floating down the stairs from her loft-within-a-loft bedroom, encased, as it were, in a cloud of longing, Cordelia was just about to slip into her down parka when there was a knock on the door.

Visitors had to phone up to be allowed in, unless they had a key that would get them past level three in the freight elevator—or unless they lived in the building. Or, and this was the big or, some moron let them ride up without asking if they lived in the building, thus circumventing the security system.

The knocking grew louder, more frenzied.

“Hold your horses.” Whipping open the door, Cordelia found her sister, Octavia, standing outside in the hallway.

Cordelia's mouth dropped open. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

“Frankly, it's a tangle.”

“That's a line. I can't place it.”

“
The Lion in Winter
.”