And I Don't Want to Live This Life : A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder (9780307807434) (47 page)

It was Nancy's voice. My eyes sought her out and found her.

I was not prepared for how much she'd deteriorated—even from when I'd seen her on TV. She looked like a Holocaust victim. She was much thinner. Her skin was a translucent bluish white. Her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets and had black circles under
them. Her hair was bleached white, and along the hairline there were yellowish bruises and sores and scabs. She wore a black leather jacket with a torn, filthy T-shirt under it, tight black jeans, and spike heels. Around her neck was a charm necklace—silver charms of gargoyles and snakes.

She looked like the walking dead.

Behind her lurked Sid. I say “lurked” because he was at least a foot taller than her, and his spiky hair stood straight up on his head. He too was bluish white and painfully thin. He wore a black leather jacket with no shirt under it, black jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a matching black leather collar and cuffs with pointed metal studs.

Frank and I just stood there gaping at them. We weren't alone. Everyone, but
everyone
, on the platform was staring at them. They stood out as much as if they'd just arrived from another planet. There was a total absence of life to them. It was as if the rest of the world were in color and they were in black and white.

They were totally oblivious to the scene they were causing.

Nancy came toward me and I toward her. We met halfway and embraced.

“My mum!” she cried as she held me tight. “My mum.”

But it wasn't my Nancy I held in my arms. I felt as if I were holding a stranger. I wanted my Nancy back. But my Nancy was gone. A sob welled up in my throat.

We released each other.

“Mum,” she said, “this is Sid. Sid, this is my mum. Isn't she beautiful? Just like I told you.”

He stuck out his hand. I shook it. It was wet and limp, a boy's hand. He
was
a boy, shy and more than a little confused by the strange surroundings.

“ 'Allo, Mum,” he said quietly.

“Hello, Sid,” I said.

He wasn't so evil-looking once you got used to the sight of him. It was partly his drooping eye that made him appear so malevolent. His presence, however, was not malevolent. It was subdued. My initial impression was that he simply wasn't very bright.

“And this is my dad, Sid,” Nancy said. “Dad, this is Sid.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sid,” Frank said, shaking Sid's hand vigorously. Sid's arm seemed as if it were made of rubber.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sid said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Frank grabbed their bags and we found our car, blazing a path
straight through the stunned crowd on the platform.

“I thought we'd go straight home,” I said as we got in the car. “I made a reservation for you at the Holiday Inn. We can go over there after dinner.”

They sat in the back seat, holding hands, not replying.

“I thought we'd go home and have dinner now,” I repeated. “Suzy's on her way home from town. David's already there.”

I was the only one talking. I plowed on about nothing, afraid to stop, afraid of what the silence would feel like. I chattered the whole way home.

As we slowed in front of the house to turn into the driveway, Nancy began to clap her hands like a little girl.

“See, Sid?” she exclaimed. “That's it! That's my house!”

“It's a fuckin' palace,” he gasped, genuinely awestruck by our housing tract colonial with its brick-faced first floor and aluminum-sided second floor—literally hundreds exactly like it spanning for block after block.

“It
is,”
he said. “It's a fuckin' palace.”

We pulled into the garage. Nancy jumped out of the car excitedly and dragged Sid inside by the wrist.

David waited in the foyer. His jaw dropped in shock at the sight of them. Nancy, totally unaware, hugged him.

“Sid, this is my little baby brother.” She giggled because David was about six feet tall. “This is David.”

David and Sid shook hands.

“Okay,” she exclaimed. “Now you
have
to see the house! This is the foyer, okay?” She dragged him from room to room by the wrist. “Here's the living room, Sid. And here's the den.” He went along, as if he were a docile child. “This is the kitchen. Now we get to go upstairs.”

They went upstairs. I could hear her guiding him from room to room. Then they came back downstairs and she took him out back to show him the garden and the pool.

“Isn't it beautiful, Sid?” she asked.

“It's a fuckin' palace,” he replied.

“I better get going,” David observed. “Gotta pick up Suzy at Bethayres Station.”

“Oh, can we come, too?” Nancy begged.

David shot Frank an inquiring look. Frank nodded.

“Sure,” David said.

“Oh boy!” Nancy cried gleefully. “C'mon, Sid. We're gonna pick up my baby sister at the station!”

The three of them got in the car and drove away. I began to get dinner ready.

“I think,” Frank said, “they're going to be the biggest thing that's ever hit Bethayres Station.”

“Frank, what are we going to do with them?”

“Maybe Sid plays golf,” he said, attempting to lighten my mood. I was not amused. “I sure don't know,” he admitted.

They came back in about twenty minutes. Suzy rolled her eyes when she walked in the door—it was her way of saying she couldn't believe how Nancy looked.

“Guess who we saw?” cried Nancy as she came in with Sid. “Aunt Susan and Holly. They were on the
same exact
train as Suzy. Do you
believe
it? Boy, did Holly grow up!”

The “Aunt Susan” Nancy referred to was my friend Susan, the one who had delivered the money to Nancy a year before in London. Holly was Susan's daughter. Later Susan told me she and Holly had gotten off the train and noticed a tremendous commotion—a commotion caused by the sight of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen leaning against the car, waiting for Suzy. Susan said Nancy had changed so much in the past year that she hadn't recognized her. Holly had—from the pictures in the Philadelphia papers.

Nancy and Sid each requested a vodka and tonic. Frank made them. They sat on the den sofa and held hands, sipping their drinks. Suzy went into the den and presented her sister with a batch of chocolate chip cookies. They were a love offering from Suzy.

“Oh, my favorites!” cried Nancy. “Oh boy, oh boy!”

She opened the foil package and removed two cookies. One she popped joy fully in her mouth. The other she handed to Sid.

“You can have
one
, Sid,” she said. “I'm gonna wrap up the rest and take 'em back to New York. Oh, thank you, Suzy!”

“You're welcome,” Suzy said.

Sid sat there on the sofa holding his cookie.

“Eat it, Sid,” Nancy told him.

He bit into it obediently. We watched as he chewed and swallowed it. He said nothing.

“How is it?” Nancy prompted him.

“It's fuckin' delicious,” he replied. He took another nibble. Suzy rolled her eyes.

Dinner was served.

I barbecued a steak and served it with corn on the cob, salad, and garlic toast. We ate outside on the patio, under our green-and-white-striped
awning, seated around our glass-topped wrought-iron table with its six matching wrought-iron chairs.

Nancy cut Sid's meat for him. Apparently she always did. Then he dug in. He ate ravenously for a few minutes, his face in his plate.

“Fuckin' good food,” he said. “Fuckin' good, Debbie. Never have I had a meal like this. Never. Used to be I lived in a place with rats. Had to tie the food up in bags. High up, so they couldn't get at it. Never have I had a meal like this.”

“I don't cook much.” Nancy giggled.

“But that's okay,” he said. “She's so fuckin' good to me.”

“That's very nice,” I said.

We ate in awkward silence for a moment.

“So what are your plans?” Frank said.

“Well, we just got in,” Nancy said.

“First class,” Sid pointed out. “We flew first class. I paid for the tickets. Nancy should always fly first class.”

“We're loaded.” Nancy smiled. “Money to burn.”

Sid stopped eating. He'd lost interest in the food after only consuming about a third of it. So had Nancy. They lit cigarettes and sipped at their vodkas while the rest of us ate.

“We're at the Chelsea Hotel for now,” she said. “We're gonna get a flat. I thought I'd see if my old one is empty. Our stuff is on the way. Our sofa and clippings and Sid's gold record and his knives and …”

“Knives?” I asked uneasily.

“Wish I had me knives,” Sid lamented. “Never know when you might get cut. That's how I got this eye, you know. In a fight.”

“Everything's on the way,” Nancy said. “I had it sent here. Didn't know where we'd end up, you know. I have to get my stereo and my records back.”

“Then what?” Frank asked.

“Once we get settled, I'm gonna promote my Sid,” she said. “I'm his manager now. I'm a professional. Oh, I'll have to show you my portfolio after dinner! I'm a star! Can you believe it? I made it! I really did!”

We all smiled and nodded and continued to eat.

“Oh, and we have to find a methadone clinic in New York. We brought some back, but it'll run out pretty soon. You know how we got it past the customs guys?”

“No,” I said.

“Guess,” she said. “I poured it in a bottle of dish soap. Fairy Lotion, it's called. They didn't think to look in it. Wasn't that stupid of them? I knew they wouldn't. They're so unbelievably dumb.” She lit another cigarette. “So Suzy, how are you doing, love? You moved into the city?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's grand. Just grand. And David? You're in private school?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“My brother's very smart,” Nancy proudly informed Sid.

“I didn't much like school,” Sid said. “Teacher used to hit me. I didn't like school.” He turned to Nancy. “Have you a guitar?”

“Sid wants to
play
,” Nancy said excitedly. “David, do you still have your guitar?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'll get it.” He went inside to get the guitar from his bedroom.

“Do you know our music then?” Sid asked us.

We nodded.

“Do you like it?”

We nodded yes.

David returned with the guitar, handed it to Sid.

“Let's go in the den, Sid,” Nancy said.

They grabbed their cigarettes and got up.

“Best fuckin' food I ever ate,” Sid said.

“Thank you, Sid,” I said.

“Debbie?”

“Yes, Sid?”

“Is
Sha
Na Na
on? On the telly?”

“Do you mean right now?” I asked uncertainly.

“Yes.”

“They're on tomorrow, Sid,” David told him. “Saturdays at seven.”

“Oh,” Sid said. “Don't want to miss
Sha Na Na
. They're my favorites.”

He and Nancy went inside.

The four of us ate our food in silence, glancing occasionally at the remains on Nancy's and Sid's plates.

“She really looks awful,” Suzy finally said, breaking the silence.

“She treats him like a little boy,” David said. “She cuts his meat for him.”

“He
is
a little boy,” Frank said.

“And what's with her stupid accent?” Suzy asked.

“She always picks them up,” I said. “Remember the time she got the southern accent from the boy at Avon?”

“When are they going back to New York?” Suzy asked.

“I don't know,” I said.

“We can't throw them out,” Frank said.

“I really don't know her anymore,” David said. “That person is not my sister.”

We finished our meal in silence.

“Best fuckin' steak I ever ate, Mum,” David concluded.

“Come inside!” called Nancy. “Come in and hear Sid play!”

We went inside to hear Sid play. He and Nancy sat close to each other on the sofa, fresh vodka and tonics in front of them. They'd left the last ones half finished.

“Sid has something he wants to show you,” Nancy said. “Okay, Sid. Go ahead.”

Sid proceeded to bang out two chords, clumsily and with great difficulty. Then he stopped and looked up, grinning crookedly. That was it. That was what he wanted to show us. Our cat could have played it.

The four of us just stood there, staring at the two of them.

“Ain't that great?” asked Nancy.

We agreed it was great.

“Daddy used to play the guitar for us when we were little,” Nancy said. “Remember how you used to play for us, Daddy?”

“I remember,” Frank said.

Sid held the guitar out to Frank. “Here,” he said anxiously, “play.”

“No, I'm a little rusty,” said Frank. “Haven't touched the guitar in years. David plays. He took lessons.”

Sid offered the guitar to David, who took it reluctantly, sat down, and began to strum the Beatles song “Eleanor Rigby.” He'd taken lessons for six months. At that, he was ten times the guitarist that Sid was.

“That's grand,” said Nancy. “Sing, too.”

David shook his head.

“C'mon,” she urged.

He shook his head again. “I have a terrible voice.”

She looked to Sid for support, but he had begun to melt into the sofa, half asleep.

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “I should take you to the hotel.”

“Okay,” Nancy said. “No, wait. You haven't seen my portfolio yet. You have to see my portfolio.”

She jumped up and went to the foyer to get it. Then she came back and cleared a spot on the coffee table. We gathered around the table to be shown her portfolio. Sid perked up, sort of.