Chasing Chaos: A Novel (4 page)

“Nope.”

“What
does Barr stand for?”

“My
last name is Barringer. I didn’t want people to know the paintings were mine.
So I use a pseudonym.”

Daphne
examined him. Marlon still stared at the painting, his arms crossed over his
respectably broad chest. She’d been right about his age—the tight skin around
his gray eyes proved he was no more than thirty. He must have started working for
Sandy when he was twenty or maybe even younger. She wanted to know the whole
story. Maybe Greta knew more.

Daphne
also noticed that, under the overgrown haircut, with pieces of sun-lightened
brown hair falling toward his face, under the scruffy growth of beard on his
chin, under the fingernail grime and streak of grease on his sun-darkened
forehead, Marlon was likely very handsome.

But
he wasn’t her type. She didn’t date handyman-assistants, even ones whose lovely
paintings hung in the homes of Hollywood royalty.

Marlon
wasn’t her match, she thought sadly. She’d chew him up, and then she’d blame
herself for it.

I
won’t make the same mistakes I made with Dan
, she thought.
The mistakes I made with any of
them.

She’d
rather be alone.

“Great,
we’re all here.” Sandy reappeared in the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind I
invited Marlon to this meeting, Daphne. I always bring him in when there’s an
emergency.”

“Of
course not,” she said. But she actually wished Marlon wasn’t there at all. She
didn’t understand him, and that lack of understanding made her uncomfortable.
She didn’t want to be distracted when she should be concentrating on Greta.

The
three of them sat around Sandy’s enormous trestle-legged table that ran nearly
the length of the room.

“What’s
the emergency?” Marlon asked.

“Greta’s
agreed to marry Timmy,” Sandy told him. “She wanted to do it today, but Daphne
convinced her to wait till Wednesday.”

Marlon
whistled. He seemed to know the significance of Sandy’s statement. Daphne was
intrigued.

“I’ve
made a few notes,” Daphne said, pulling out one of her business cards and
setting it face-down on the table. She’d written five words on the back.
“First, location. I thought you might want to have it here,” Daphne said,
gesturing around the house. “But if you don’t, we can do it at Rivet.”

Sandy
smiled with genuine joy. “Yes,” Sandy said. “Let’s have it here.”

“Could
we have the ceremony out on the deck, you think?” she asked. “Will everyone
fit?”

Sandy’s
deck was enormous. It ran the entire length of his house, with doors into every
room it touched. And it shot out from the house at least thirty feet. They
could hold the entire party out there if they wanted to. Greta had told her
that Sandy had done a lot of the construction himself, with Marlon’s help, a
long time ago.

“She’d
love that,” Sandy said.

“Done,”
Daphne said.

Marlon,
Daphne noticed, was taking notes on a yellow pad in precise handwriting.

“Second,”
Daphne said, “people. I convinced Greta to let us handle the invitation list
without having to run it by her. I figured time was of the essence. I could
make a list today, and you could do the same. And then what? Invite by email?
Is that too tacky?”

“Depending
on how many invites there are,” Sandy said, “we could hire a private stationery
and courier service to hand deliver them all in the morning.”

Daphne
raised her eyebrows. Private courier. Hand delivered. Wow.

“Well,
a private courier wouldn’t be tacky,” she said. “I’ll have my suggestions to
you via email tonight, along with text for the invitations. Review it, add
yours, then get the list to your stationery and courier person?”

“Easy
enough,” Sandy said.

Daphne
just shook her head.

“Third,
officiant,” she said. “Who should officiate?”

“I’m
actually a legal officiant in California,” Sandy said.

“Of
course you are, you hippie,” Daphne said. “But I thought you might want to walk
her down the aisle.”

“Do
you really think Greta will want someone walking her down the aisle? Or that
she’d want an aisle at all?”

“But
how will she get there?” Daphne tapped her lip in thought. “Which brings up
another question. What’s the ‘there’? Some magical wedding spot on the deck?
How will we demarcate the altar-thing where the wedding takes place?”

“Do
you really think Greta will want an altar?” Sandy asked, the humor leaving his
voice. “Don’t confuse what you want with what Greta wants.”

Sandy’s
words hit her hard. That had always been her problem. So many times over the
years, even when they were in college, Daphne had caused Greta pain by thinking
she knew what was best for her. Daphne liked to think she didn’t make this
mistake any more.

When
will I get it right?
she thought.

She
was angry with herself. She didn’t let her emotions show, though. That was one
of her gifts. Keeping her own negative feelings hidden so everyone else could
remain happy and comfortable.

“You’re
right,” she said, smiling. “No aisle. No escort. No altar. Just a magical
wedding spot on the deck that you will somehow manifest before Wednesday.” She
smiled even more brightly. “I trust you, Sandy.”

He
reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Daphne
turned back to the list on her business card. “Next: food and booze. I figured
we’d let Olivia arrange the catering through Rivet.”

“I
want to cover the cost,” Sandy cut in.

“That’s
fine, but I’ll let you figure out how to tell Greta.” Daphne laughed. “Do you
want to have a say in the menu?”

“Actually,
Marlon knows a lot more about that sort of thing than I do. Would you mind
working with him on that?”

“You
free tomorrow?” Daphne asked Marlon. “I don’t want to put this off another
minute.”

“What’s
the rush?” Marlon said. “I thought the party wasn’t till Wednesday.” He leaned
back in his seat.

Daphne
felt blood rush up to block her hearing. She rarely lost her temper, but she
was about to lose it now.

“It
is a wedding,” she said slowly. “Not a party. The wedding of the most important
person in my entire world. And if Rivet has to order special food to have it
here by Wednesday, then I want to be sure they have plenty of time to do so. So
I’m meeting with Olivia, the manager, as soon as she’ll have me, out of respect
for Greta. That’s the goddamned rush.”

At
her harsh words, Marlon’s expression turned quizzical, as though she’d posed a
tough question he didn’t know the answer to.

But,
horribly, Sandy’s face went blank, his happiness over the occasion apparently
chased away by her nastiness.

She
hated herself for her outburst. She just couldn’t do anything right today. The
same need to escape overcame her as it had back at Rivet. But this time, she
gave in to it. She stood, her hands shaking as she picked up her bag and flung
it over her shoulder. She was afraid to look at Sandy again, afraid of the
disappointment she was sure she would see in his eyes.

Instead,
she looked at the tabletop, speaking to Marlon. “If you want to talk tomorrow,
I’ll be at Rivet at three to meet with Olivia to set up catering for
Wednesday.” She turned to go. “Bye, Sandy,” she said, nearly choking on the
words. “I’m sorry.”

She
forced herself not to run to the front door. To walk steadily. To stop and pet
the dogs where they lay by the couch, under another of Marlon’s paintings. To
ease out as though nothing were wrong, even though everything was wrong.

~~~~

 “She’s
not having a good day, is she,” Marlon said after Daphne closed the front door
behind her. He picked up the card she’d left on the table. The remaining item
on her list was Decor. He added it to his own list. Then he pocketed the card
with her name and email.

“No,
she most definitely is not,” Sandy said.

“You
always did say she was a little high-strung.”

“I
did.”

“You
also said she was, let’s see, ‘gorgeous, whip-smart and potentially lethal’—in
a metaphorical sense.”

“That
sounds about right,” Sandy said.

“But
that girl looks like she’s about to break into a hundred pieces,” Marlon said.

Sandy
just nodded.

“Any
idea why?”

“Not
really. But I’d like to know. She’s one of Greta’s most important people.”

And
Marlon knew Greta was one of Sandy’s most important people.

Of
course Marlon was going to be at Rivet tomorrow at three o’clock because that
was his job. But now he would be there, and he would be eager and fascinated.

Later
Sunday night, sitting at her usual table at Uptown Coffee, Daphne emailed her
wedding invitation list to Sandy. Then she closed her laptop and waited for Dan
to arrive. She remembered Greta’s words from earlier in the day.

If
Dan hasn’t captured your attention by now, he never will
, she’d said.
And if you’re
punishing yourself because of his failing to do so, that’s just illogical.

Was
she punishing herself for Dan’s failings? Perhaps. But there was more to it
than that. She deliberately stayed with him because she could never fall in
love with him. And if she could never be in love with him, she could never hurt
him.

But she
had to end it with Dan, if only for the sake of her soul. Cheating on him in
order to stay with him made no sense. The betrayals only made her hate herself
more than she already did.

Daphne
hadn’t spent much time alone. It seemed as soon as she broke up with one man,
another was there, eager to take his place. And the next one always seemed good
enough to spend time with. He was kind to her, charming, caring.

So
she acquiesced.

But
she’d never been in love with a single one of them. And now, knowing what a
destructive force she could be, she was truly grateful she hadn’t.

Through
the tall, plate-glass windows, she watched Dan arrive. She watched him reach
for the door. She watched as he entered the shop and said something to the
barista that made her laugh and perhaps even blush. That was typical Dan. But
Daphne didn’t mind that he was a flirt.

After
all, she slept with other guys.

What
is wrong with
me
?
she thought.

He
picked up his order from the stainless steel counter and made his way past the
glossy black tables where couples sat, past the glass display cases polished to
a high shine full of decadent pastries. He made his way back to her.

“Babe!”
Dan said, leaning down to kiss her. She tilted up her chin to meet his lips.

He
sat across from her. She memorized his face, in case this was the last time
they met. Dan’s dark brown hair was nearly black, and he wore it slicked back
like he was ready to pitch a campaign on Madison Avenue. He was forty-three but
looked ten years younger. In fact, he’d lied about his age when he’d first met
her three years before, knocking ten years off.

When
she discovered his real age, he’d made her swear never to tell anyone how old
he was. She’d only figured out his real age because she’d run a background
check on him. Daphne had begun taking precautions after Greta was attacked.

She’d
told him about her discovery, of course, because Daphne was honest about most
things.

At
the time Daphne discovered Dan’s lie, they’d been going out about a month, and
she’d known him about a year. Daphne still worked at Sony, so she and Dan could
only hang out late in the evenings. He was already freelancing full time, and
she was jealous of his freedom. They met at various places along San Vicente,
places she could walk to after being cooped up in an office all day.

“Tell
me more about yourself,” she asked him that particular night. “When did you
graduate from college?”

He
gave her the correct school—UCLA—but he lied about the year. She already knew
when he’d graduated from college and from where. In fact, she had his alumni
record from UCLA pulled up on her laptop as they were speaking.

“Dan,”
she said. “There’s something you need to know about me.”

“I
knew it!” he said with his usual bluster. “You’re a lesbian.”

She
just shook her head. “One of the reasons Sony gave me a raise is because I’m
the best researcher they have. I can find anything.” She leaned forward and
looked him in the eye. “Anything.”

Dan’s
smile turned into a grimace.

She
rotated her laptop so he could see the screen. There was the alumni record of
UCLA, with Dan’s name plainly listed next to his class year.

“Were
you especially precocious? Did you go to college when you were, like, ten years
old?”

“No.”

“But
you said you’re only thirty-one.”

Dan
started shaking his head. “Shit,” he said.

“I’m
not trying to humiliate you,” she said, shutting her laptop screen. “But there
was no reason to lie.”

“I
knew you were in your twenties. I didn’t think you wanted to date an old man.”

“You’re
not an old man,” she said. “But you did lie to me. If we can’t be truthful with
each other, we should probably end this now.”

Dan
reached out a hand but stopped just shy of touching her. “Don’t leave,” he
said, a little breathless.

She
looked up at him. “We can start again.”

“Let’s
do the second one,” he said with unvarnished hope.

Two
months later, Dan invited Daphne to lunch with his agent. One week after that,
Dan’s agent sold Daphne’s two scripts, the two she’d been writing on her own
late at night. She’d made a pile of money and quit her job at Sony.

She
had Dan to thank for so much. That’s why she had to stop hurting him, even if
he never found out about the hurting.

He
set his demitasse on the table next to her closed laptop.

“What’s
wrong?” he asked.

“Greta’s
getting married on Wednesday,” she said.

“Whoa
Nelly. That’s fast.”

“Or,
considering she and Timmy have been living together for five years, very slow.”

“Is
that what’s bothering you?”

“I’m
happy for her. I’m planning the wedding.” She set down her cup. The ceramic
clanked too loudly, as though making a warm-up noise for what she was about to
say. “I think we’re done, Dan. You and me.”

He
sat back in his chair. “No way.”

“You’re
one of my best friends. But I don’t think we’re meant to last as lovers.” She
sighed, twirling a few strands of hair that hung over her shoulder. “I don’t
think we bring out the best in each other.”

“Of
course we do,” he said. “We keep this up, one of us will win an Oscar!”

“Please
take me seriously right now.”

“I
always take you seriously, babe.”

Daphne
realized that perhaps there was a clue to their problem buried in those words.
She remembered what Greta would say: No human always does anything because no
human is that consistent.

“It’s
over,” she said.

“You’re
just freaking out because your friend is getting married.”

“I’m
not. I’ve been considering this for a while.”

“I
thought things have been great lately,” Dan said, sounding hurt.

“They
haven’t been for me.”

“Come
on, Daph. Give us another chance.”

“That’s
what I’m trying to tell you. I did give us another chance. The last few months
have been chance after chance. And it’s just not working.”

“I
don’t believe you. This has to do with Greta.” He seemed so certain.

Daphne
had hoped to avoid doing this, but she couldn’t get through to him. She grabbed
Dan’s hand and held it on the top of the table, stilling it. “I slept with
someone else last night.”

Dan
paused. If she were transcribing his speech pattern in a script, his pause
would be the length of a triple beat.

“I
don’t care,” he said, firmly.

“Don’t
be silly. You’re a territorial caveman.”

“OK,
I care,” he said. “But I forgive you.”

“I
didn’t ask for your forgiveness.”

“Then
why did you tell me?”

“To
illustrate how much we are over.”

“You
slept with someone else to push me away?”

“I
slept with someone else because you were already gone.”

“Ouch,”
he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “No need to be cruel, Daphne.”

“I
wasn’t planning on telling you at all. But you weren’t listening to me.”

“You
shouldn’t have told me. Now I’ll always think of you as a cheater.”

His words
stung. Daphne crossed her arms over her chest, assessing him. “Did you ever
sleep with another woman while we were together?”

“What
a ridiculous question!”

Daphne
laughed with relief. He’d paused before he’d spoken, and then he’d given her a
non-answer. He was lying again. Her suspicions were confirmed, her guilt
assuaged.

“Dan,
it’s over. If we’re both cheating on each other, what are we doing together?”

“But
I really like you,” he said with a pout.

“I
really like you too.” The words were true.

“I
don’t want to stop working together,” he said.

Daphne
and Dan worked together many days during the week. They wrote together, traded
pages to perfect their drafts, even had agents at the same agency. Sometimes
they attended each other’s pitch meetings just to help out. When you were a
freelancer, having another person to watch your back could be a huge benefit.

Daphne
felt relieved that Dan didn’t want to end their friendship. She didn’t want to
end it either. She wasn’t ready for that much upheaval in her life.

Everything
already felt disrupted.

“I’m
planning on being at this table first thing in the morning, just like always,”
she said.

“Then
I’ll see you here, just like always,” he said. “Just not as early as you.”

“Just
like always.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

He
threw back the last of his coffee and stood. “You know, it was only the one
time,” he said. Then he turned from her at last.

Daphne
gave Dan fifteen minutes to get on his way before packing up her own things and
leaving Uptown. She had a ten-minute walk home. Even though it was dark out,
the neighborhood was busy with foot traffic. She felt safe living here.

Of
course, she and Greta had felt safe where they’d lived before, off Melrose, but
they’d been wrong.

~~~~

A
Friday in December five years ago was the worst day of Daphne’s life. Well, the
worst day of her adult life. She arrived home late at night to find a pool of
blood in the open doorway of the apartment she shared with Greta. Their
landlord, Marcellus, told her that Greta had been attacked and had been taken
to the hospital.

Then
she arrived at the hospital, and Greta kicked Daphne out of her life. Greta
could see what Daphne had done. Greta could see, in the special way she could
always see things when it came to Daphne, that while Greta had been fighting to
survive, Daphne had tried to destroy things between Greta and Timmy. Daphne
would never forget the dead look in Greta’s eyes. She had never looked at
Daphne that way before. It was horrifying.

Daphne
left the hospital alone and came home to the apartment on Melrose. By then, it
was the early hours of the morning. She unlocked the door and stepped over the
puddle of blood. The blood had darkened to a brownish color and seeped into the
worn wood floor.

Automatically,
Daphne reached under the kitchen sink for a cleaning bucket and a sponge.
Daphne had grown up in a motel. She knew how to clean a floor. She knew how to
clean anything off a floor. She filled the bucket with warm water and
considered her options. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t use harsh chemicals on wood
floors, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. She poured a quarter cup of
bleach into the bucket and set to work.

She
scrubbed and scrubbed, dumping and refilling her bucket after the water turned
pink, and scrubbed some more. She scrubbed until the sun came up on Saturday
morning. And then she kept scrubbing. Her fingertips, she noticed numbly, were
bleeding. Some distant part of her mind noticed that the bleach stung the torn
skin. She saw the outline of reddish-brown on the wood floor, and she scrubbed
harder.

Hours
later, exhausted, she pulled herself onto the orange vinyl sofa that they’d
dubbed “The Lifeboat” and fell asleep. A few hours after that, she woke to
Timmy calling to say Greta wanted her things packed and ready to move out of
the apartment.

“I’ll
take care of it,” Daphne said.

Then
she scrubbed some more.

Three
months later, after living alone with that dark spot on the floor, Daphne found
a small studio she could afford on the West Side of LA.

The
day she moved out, Marcellus stood with her on the patio behind the apartment.
“Thanks again for the lease extension,” she said.

She
had a lot more to thank him for, though. Marcellus had found Greta that awful
night and likely saved her life.

Then,
after Greta had moved out, Marcellus had offered Daphne a month-to-month lease.
Daphne had let him feel guilty for renting them an unsafe apartment, even
though she knew the attack had nothing to do with the safety of the
neighborhood. Letting Marcellus feel guilty for her own personal gain was just
another black mark against her. At that point, she figured, what was one more?
She was irredeemable.