And I Don't Want to Live This Life : A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder (9780307807434) (50 page)

“Oh, right.”

“The glass on the record is broken.”

Sid got very upset when she passed this bit of information on to him. I could hear him cursing in the background.

“We'll get it fixed, Mum. We'll fix it here. Is Daddy gonna be here? Can Daddy bring it?”

I checked. Frank had to be in New York on business the following Wednesday and said he could drop the stuff off. I told her.

“Can you come, too, Mum?”

“No, Nancy. I have to work.”

“Oh, okay. We'll see you Wednesday.”

“Nancy, I'm not coming.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you. Work.”

“Oh. See ya, then. See ya … whenever.”

On Wednesday, Frank loaded Sid's things into his car along with his briefcase and headed into New York. He stopped at the Chelsea Hotel first thing. He didn't want to take the chance of having Sid's gold record stolen from the car. He got there at about noon.

He checked in with me by phone when his mission had been accomplished.

The hotel lobby, he told me, was seedy and shabby. The desk clerk directed him to room 100. He took the stairs up to the second floor, found their room, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder. Nancy hollered for him to come in. He went in.

They were still in bed, watching cartoons on TV. It was very dark in the room, the lights out, the shades drawn. And it smelled. Half-filled takeout food containers and soda cups were piled everywhere. So was dirty laundry.

They were both so out of it they didn't seem completely aware of his presence in the room. They just continued to stare at the TV.

Frank said he cleared a spot on the dresser, put down the things he'd brought, and said he'd be going.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Nancy said, looking right through him.

Sid said nothing.

Frank left.

“I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there,” he told me. “It was so depressing. They're even worse than they were before. Totally out of it. They're barely alive.”

I was sorry Frank had seen her like that. But I was glad I hadn't.

It rained that Sunday, October first. It was a dreary day, the kind that makes you want to be somewhere else, doing something else. I decided to clean out some closets. I started with Nancy's. It had remained untouched for over three years. I had put off cleaning her things out. I guess, deep down inside, I had wanted to believe she'd come back someday and live with us, live happily. Now I knew this was never going to happen. There was no point in keeping her old papers and hippie clothes around. Knowing that, I wanted to get the job over with.

There were three shelves built into the right side of the closet. These were crammed with school papers from Darlington and Colorado, crammed with keepsakes, crammed with junk. Most of it went into the trash. I saved whatever I thought might be important to her. I saved her newspaper from the day after JFK's assassination. I saved her
Life
magazine issue about Woodstock. I saved her old doll. It had been my doll before it was hers. I saved her little stuffed tiger, which Frank had bought for me when he was away in the army, and which I had given to her when she was little because she adored it so. I saved her scholastic awards from elementary school and her books. It occurred to me, as I made a stack of the dog-eared paperbacks, that she hadn't looked at a book or magazine the weekend she'd been home. She had stopped reading, given up on her intellect.

Suzy came by that afternoon and helped me go through Nancy's clothing. We packed most of it into cartons to give away. We felt certain there was nothing there that Nancy would want to wear anymore. Suzy kept a couple of the blouses for herself. Then we took the cartons downstairs to the garage.

I went back upstairs to survey my work. The closet was empty and clean now—all except for a garment bag hanging way in the back. I hadn't noticed it until now. I unzipped the bag. Inside was that slinky, lime-green dress Nancy had bought for her Darlington prom. I zipped the bag up again and left it hanging there in the closet. I didn't feel like making another trip downstairs. Then I closed the closet door and surveyed the room. It was an office now, with Frank's desk and filing cabinets. The evidence that Nancy had lived here was all but erased. But the memories—the screaming, the demons, the pain—were not. Those I couldn't give away to Goodwill.

She phoned the following Sunday, October eighth.

“I'm sick,” she said weakly. “My kidneys. I'm sick from my kidneys. Can you send money? Can you send me money?”

“You know the deal, Nancy. Go to the doctor and tell him to send the bill to me. I'll pay him directly. What's wrong with your kidneys?”

“Wait, Mum. Sid wants to talk.”

Sid got on. “Debbie?”

“Yes, Sid.”

“Why won't you help your daughter?” he demanded. He sounded different—harsh and unpleasant.

“I will, Sid. I'll pay her bills directly to the doctor. That's always been our—”

“Her health comes first!”

“I
know
that, Sid. I
will
pay her medical bills.
Directly
to the doctor.”

“But it's your daughter's health!” he snapped angrily.

“Sid, I—”

“We need three thousand dollars right now! For the doctor! Send it at once!” he ordered.

“No.”

“We
must
have it!” he insisted.

“I said no, Sid! Please put Nancy back on.”

“What kind of mother are you? How can you do this to your own fuckin' daughter?”

“Sid, in the first place, I haven't got three thousand dollars. In the second place, a doctor's appointment doesn't cost that much! Now would you
please
put Nancy back on?”

“It's your daughter's health!” he repeated angrily. “Your daughter's fuckin' health!”

“Sid, would you please put—”

“No! I won't put Nancy on! Not until you—”

“Put Nancy on or I'm hanging up!”

“How can you do this to your own fuckin'—”

I hung up on him, shaken. This was a side of Sid—hostile and belligerent—I hadn't seen before. He frightened me.

The phone rang immediately. I wouldn't answer it. Frank and I had made dinner plans with my mother. I told David not to answer the phone if it rang while we were out. It was ringing when we left. When we returned, David said it hadn't stopped ringing the whole time we were gone.

It immediately started to ring again.

“See?” David said.

I decided to answer it. It was Nancy.

“Mum, what happened before between you and Sid?”

“He was very nasty. I warned him I was going to hang up.”

“Wait, hang on.” She turned away from the phone to talk to Sid. “Here's your match. Now light your cigarette and leave me the fuck alone,” she said to him. Then she was back. “He's very upset, Mum. A very upset lad. He has a lot of problems.”

“Where is he now?”

“Right here. But he's out of it. You don't have to worry about him.”

Her voice was calm, her speech clear. It was the most lucid she'd sounded in a long time.

“Are your kidneys really bothering you, sweetheart?”

“Yes. I think I have an infection. I'll be all right, though. I'll go see a doctor tomorrow. What kind do you go to for kidneys?”

“A urologist. Go to the emergency ward of the hospital tomorrow and ask for one. If there isn't one there who can treat you, call me. I'll get you the name of someone in New York to see.”

“Okay, Mum, I will. Thank you.” She paused. “Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Did Daddy ever beat you?”

I was so taken aback by the question, I didn't know how to answer it. I made a joke out of it. “No, but
I've
thrown a few things at
him
.”

There was silence from her end.

“Nancy, why do you ask?”

“You know all the times I told you I got beat up by the Teddys in London? Got my ear torn off? My nose broken?”

“Yes.”

“It was Sid who was really doing it. And … and now he's started doing it again.”

“Why?” I gasped, horrified.

“He's upset.”

“Nancy, why do you put up with that? Why don't you leave him?”

“Because … well, he's having a terrible time. He's getting hassled. He can't get work. He's depressed. He's not himself.”

There was a long pause.

“Maybe one of these days you
will
find me on your doorstep,” she said softly.

“We're always here for you, Nancy. If you ever hit the bottom and need us, we're here to help you. You can count on it.”

“I
am
at the bottom, Mum. This is it.”

She'd come out of her fog. She was rational. We were communicating.

“Mum, do you remember that detox hospital, White Deer Run?
It's somewhere in Pennsylvania. Our next-door neighbor had to go there, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think Sid and I could get in there? We have to get off. Just have to. Could you call? Could you find out for me if it's locked? I don't want to go if it's locked. I can't stand being locked up.”

“I know. I'll call tomorrow and find out.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me know how you are. Let me know what the urologist says, okay?”

“I'll let you know.”

“Good.”

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Does Daddy love me?”

“Of course he loves you. He's always loved you very much.”

“He doesn't act that way.”

“How does he act?”

“Like he's afraid of me.”

“That's because he has to walk on eggs with you, sweetheart. Everyone has to. You're very sensitive. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mum. I do. Tell Daddy I understand. And … and …”

“And what?”

“Tell him that I love him.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I will.”

“How's
your
mom? How's Essie?”

She hadn't asked about her grandmother in three years.

“She's fine.”

“Send her my love, will you?”

“I'll do that.”

“Good-bye, Mum.”

“Good-bye, sweetheart.”

As I hung up the phone I heard her yell, “I love you, Mommy! I love you!”

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, too, but it was too late. The connection was broken.

I gave Frank her message.

“Nancy said that?” He was surprised and touched.

“Uh-huh. It was a very strange call, Frank. Spooky, kind of. It was almost as if she were saying good-bye.”

I called White Deer Run on Monday afternoon from the office. The woman I needed to speak with in admissions was out sick. I was told to phone later in the week.

Nancy didn't call on Monday night. I supposed she had nothing to report about her kidneys.

On Tuesday I met Suzy after work at her haircutter's. It was located right near the clothing store where Nancy's friend Karen worked. Suzy and I stopped in to tell her Nancy would soon be coming to town for Sid's appearance at Artemis.

It was hard to imagine that she and Karen had once been friends. Karen was responsible, hardworking, and sober. Her appearance was very neat. But she got excited at the prospect of seeing Nancy again.

“Tell her I'll be there!” she exclaimed. “That'll be great! I haven't seen her in years. I keep wondering if she really looks like that. You know, like she does in the papers.”

“More so,” I said.

“You mean you've seen her?” Karen asked.

“
And
Sid,” replied Suzy, rolling her eyes.

We filled Karen in on our weekend with the two of them.

Karen looked down, suddenly very serious. “You know, it's such a waste. She was so smart and read so many books. She could have been anything she wanted.”

Nancy didn't call on Tuesday night, either. I had a vague uneasiness, but I didn't give in to the temptation to call her. If she was coping with her problems, I didn't want to interfere with the process. She knew where to reach me.

She didn't call on Wednesday, either. Wednesday was Yom Kippur. I became more uneasy.

On Thursday morning it was glorious and crisp, a beautiful autumn day. I drove to the office early, my mind on all of the work piled up on my desk. I made a mental note to phone White Deer Run for Nancy, but crises kept coming up at the office and I still hadn't had a chance to call at two o'clock.

I was coming out of the computer room and crossing the main office to my own office when one of the secretaries said, “Debbie, you have a call. The receptionist wants you to buzz her before you take it.”

I buzzed the receptionist.

“It's a Lieutenant Hunter from the Lower Moreland police,” she told me. “I just thought you'd like to know.”

I wondered what the local police wanted of me.

I thanked her, went into my office to take the call. As I sat down at my desk I glanced at the calender page for that day, October 12, 1978. On it I'd scrawled “Call White Deer Run re: admission Nancy, Sid.” Had to remember to take care of that, I told myself. And call Nancy that night if I hadn't heard from her.

I picked up the phone.

“This is Deborah Spungen,” I said. “Can I help you, Lieutenant Hunter?”

He sounded very uncomfortable.