Flavor of the Month (8 page)

One of them—the one she had to take least frequently—always left a bitter aftertaste. Lila rinsed her mouth out with mouthwash, then returned to the bedroom, locked all the vials away, and pulled out the black Versace bathing suit she liked best. Inching on the tight spandex over her underpants wasn’t easy, but at last she stared at herself in the full-length mirror and managed to smile. Then she left the room and headed for the pool.

Lila lay back on the chaise longue, the water droplets pooling around her on the white canvas cover. She felt the tension easing out of her, the effect of the hot sauna and quick swim. A shadow fell over her closed eyes, and her heartbeat quickened.

“Kevin?” she asked, opening her eyes, shielding them with her hand against the late-afternoon sun.

“No, mees, just Perez.”

Lila recognized her mother’s latest (and oldest) yardman. “Have you seen Kevin?” she snapped.

“No, mees. He was here ’bout an hour ago, but he leave. I don’t know where.” He continued, “Eet’s okay I treem the hedges here, Mees Lila?”

“With this whole fucking place falling apart, you have to work
here? Now?
Go find yourself something else to do. This isn’t showtime, for chrissakes.” Perez gave her the creeps, the way his eyes followed her whenever she was outside. He always seemed to be working right around her. She had told the Puppet Mistress to set him straight, but Lila guessed that she hadn’t:
no one
worked cheaper than Perez. But Lila couldn’t tolerate him.

Kevin was usually in the pool at this time of afternoon. He’d play tennis for an hour in the morning, then two more hours’ practice in the afternoon with his instructor, one Theresa had hired, then he’d swim the pool for fifty laps. She liked that about him, the way he took care of his body. Exercise. Vitamins. They had
that
in common, too. And she liked to watch him in his tennis shorts, his Speedo swimsuit. He would come over to her in the afternoon on his way to the bathhouse to change out of his tennis clothes, and bend to kiss her as he went by, leaving the salty taste of his sweat on her lips. Sometimes, before she’d left Westlake, he’d pick her up after school. Every girl in school hated her for that. He was gorgeous.

But now Lila was lonely. Where the fuck was he? She stood up and pulled her robe closed. She decided to go back into the house, maybe go look for him. As Lila neared the door, she thought better of it. She didn’t want to run into her mother, so she curved around the side of the building, past the solarium, intending to go in through the kitchen and up the back stairs to her room. The door to the unused solarium was closed, but the transom was open, and a mumble of voices came filtering through. Perez? she thought.

The low laugh was familiar and welcome. She twisted the knob and pushed in the door. “Kevin?” she asked as it swung open. In the half-light of late afternoon, there were figures moving in the shade over by the rotten wooden potting table.

“Kevin?” she asked again. And then she saw clearly. He was leaning over the table, his strong arms bracing him, and he was naked. His tennis instructor was behind him, his back and bare ass to Lila, and he was moving, his white shorts in a puddle at his feet.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, as he made another thrust with his hips against Kevin’s bare ass. “Tell me you like it,” Bob teased.

“Yes,” Lila heard Kevin laugh. “Yes, you bastard.” He grunted then, and so did Bob.

Lila felt the coldness stab at her heart and lungs. She stopped breathing for a long moment. The grunting continued, and then a groan. More than anything else, it was the disgusting sounds they were making that immobilized her. She made a sound herself. Kevin was the first to notice her.

They separated, slowly, breathing hard. Lila was breathing hard, too. She thought she might throw up. Kevin reached for his tennis shorts and said, “It’s not what you think, Lila. I love
you
, baby.”

But Lila was already screaming. “I could kill you both,” she cried, her voice a shriek, sounding unnatural in her ears. The horror, the
meanness
of it was more than she could bear. “I trusted you, Kevin. We were supposed to get married.
But then you do this!
” she screamed.

“Calm down, babe. Just calm down. Hey, I thought you knew, that you understood. I mean, this isn’t a
surprise
to you, is it?” Kevin held out his hands, palms up, waiting for an answer.

Bob zipped up his white shorts, smoothed back his sweaty hair while looking at his reflection in the glass wall, then stepped past Lila. It appeared he had seen all this before. Turning to Kevin, he said, “Same time tomorrow? Call me,” and left.

Lila stood there, shocked into silence until her breathing slowed. “I despise you, you fucking faggot.” Lila turned to the door and opened it for him. “You’re no different than those disgusting old nellies that hang all over my mother. I should have known. I want you out of here. Now.”

Kevin stepped back, as if slapped. Then his face hardened. “Yeah, you’re right. You
should
have known. And Theresa told me you did, that it was all taken care of. Freedom and respectability for you, a nice income for me. I guess we’re
both
fucked.
None
of us gets what we want now. Not even your mother.” He shook his head and walked through the open door. “It could have all worked out. But—
someone
fucked up. And it wasn’t
me
.” He was about to close the door behind him, then stopped, reconsidered, and smiled. “No hard feelings?”

Lila pushed the door shut on him, then stood in the same spot for what seemed like a long time. She wasn’t shaking, not a tremble. It was just that she couldn’t seem to move, to think. At last, from behind her, from the door now open at the other end of the solarium, she heard Theresa’s voice. “Better take him as he is, pet. He’s the best
you’re
ever going to do.”

Lila spun around. “Oh, my God! Why didn’t you tell me? You lied to me. I hate faggots, you
know
that. You said he didn’t
want
that. You said…”

“What I
said
was, he doesn’t want
you
.” Theresa paused. “Just the good life. I said that he’d leave you alone. You’d be safe with him. We both would.”

“Why didn’t you come right out and tell me, then?”

Theresa, as she so often did, ignored the question. “It was a one-in-a-million deal and you blew it. I did it all for you, Lila.”

“But it’s
my
life!”

“And
my
money! And
my
house, and
my
clothes on your back. You wanted to drop out of Westlake. Okay, I let you. You want to move out? I was letting you. But not without someone around to take care of you. Not to live some wild kind of life and start rumors. So I arranged it. I set it up. I found him, I paid him, and
this
is the thanks I get? After all I’ve sacrificed to keep you safe. To give you security.”

“Spare me, Mother. Next you’ll be telling me Candy and Skinny are more grateful than I am.” Lila took a deep breath. She wouldn’t cry. She was too angry, but the anger was cold. It had frozen all her tears. She looked at Theresa, the wreck of a star. “The truth is, you’re jealous of me. You’re jealous, and you have been for a long time.”

“Jealous! That’s a laugh!
I’m
Theresa O’Donnell.
I’m
a star.
I’m
famous.
You’re
the one who’s jealous of
me!
”

“I can get famous, Mother. You can’t get young!”

Quick as a flash, Theresa struck out and slapped Lila, hard, across the face. Lila gasped, reached up to her cheek, took a step toward her mother, towering over her, then stopped. Her voice became low, deep, and frightening. “You will
never
do that again. I’m certain of that. Because, if you do, I’ll kill you. And you’re not worth it. I’m
sick
of you. Sick of your constant manipulations. I’m not a puppet. For chrissakes, I’m not even your goddamn
daughter
.”

Theresa’s face went ashen. “Don’t you
dare
say that to me. Or to
anyone. Ever!
” Specks of spittle had formed on the corners of Theresa’s mouth.

Lila turned to go. “I’m leaving.” She turned her back and began to walk back to the house.

“Don’t you
dare
leave! Where are you going to go?” the Puppet Mistress screamed behind her. “You can’t be on your own. You don’t have a dime. And who’s going to take
you
in?” Lila heard her mother’s voice shrieking now. “Don’t you
dare
leave, Lila. You have no place to go.”

Sobbing now that her back was turned, Lila kept on walking away.

To understand this story, you’ve got to know Neil Morelli. Everyone knows him now, but no one knew him before that big Emmy award night. Now he’s infamous, but back then he was just another stand-up comic trying to get a break and a sitcom of his own. Mary Jane’s best friend, and a guy dying for recognition, he was one of the hungry hordes of New York entertainers trying for a ticket to the big time
.

When Neil Morelli left the scene of Mary Jane’s church-basement humiliation, he went on to work. Maybe someday she’d get wise—and notice the man in her life who really loved her. Now he couldn’t be depressed about it. Bouncing off the elevator into the law firm’s offices on the twenty-eighth floor of the Rockefeller Center skyscraper, he passed the receptionist behind an enormous cherry-wood desk. She sat amidst antique Sheraton tables and English hunt prints on the silk-papered walls, but he raced down the hall to the Word Processing Department. After working as a temp for three years in some of the most prestigious law firms in New York City, Neil had arrived at what he called his Ethnic Inversion Proportional Decorating Theory. He thought of it again as he rushed down the hall—the more Jewish or Italian partners in a firm, the more WASPy the furnishings—laughing to himself as he usually did. After all, a stand-up comic had to be his own best audience. With more than half of the partners here at Minster and Creed either Jews or guineas, the place looked like the queen herself supervised the decor. Yeah, he cracked to himself, but which queen?

Grinning, he opened the door at the end of the hall and walked into the fluorescent-lit interior, three rows of computer workstations, six stations in each row, spread out before him in the windowless room. The noise level and the Spartan Formica work areas were in stark contrast to the sedate richness seen by clients. Ah, backstage at the law office.

Well, no more backstage: it would now be a soundstage for him. He had been waiting for this moment for three long years.

Dana was sitting at the supervisor’s desk in the front, as usual. Neil breezed by her with an airy “Hi,” dropped his backpack on the floor next to his desk, and waved a general hello to his co-workers. He saw Dana lower her glasses to the tip of her skinny nose and beckon him to her desk with an exaggerated curl of her index finger. At that moment, she reminded him of the nun in the fourth grade at St. Dominic’s, Sister Helga. Neil had succeeded in getting his classmates to refer to her as Sister Hell Bent. Once the old crow had stood him up in front of the class and asked him where he thought his shenanigans would land him. “Show business,” he cried, and the whole class laughed. The laugh was worth the beating he got later.

Now he waited for Dana. Like Neil, she considered herself in show business. Unlike Neil, she was kidding herself. A string of failed auditions did not constitute a career. She’d tried to be an actress, but she’d been both stupid and lazy, and now she was bitter. During his first days at the firm, she’d been warm and the soul of sympathy when he bed over and over. It was only when he kept it up that her attitude changed. And Neil
had
kept it up, for over seven years now, doing a stand-up comedy routine at every club in town, starting with open-call nights only, midweek. He’d honed his material, worked all the way to weekends in the better clubs, and he had felt Dana’s envy every time she asked him how he was doing.

If the envy had been mixed with respect, Neil supposed he could have tolerated it. But when Neil got his first paid gig, Dana’s attitude took a turn for the worse. If once they had shared a camaraderie, from the night he got the twenty-five dollars for his bit at a retirement dinner on Long Island, Dana withdrew and seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making his job at the law firm hell. Because, while he’d moved up the club circuit, she’d only moved up the scut-work ladder. Now she was Queen of the Scut Work. Third-shift manager of a word-processing center. Big deal. But it gave her enough power to guarantee that any really shit typing got assigned to him. Statistics. Tables. Footnote corrections. Neil swore she saved them up. Twenty-five bucks, for chrissakes, Neil thought. She’s made my life miserable over twenty-five bucks.

But it wasn’t just the twenty-five dollars. When he’d gotten the shot on
Letterman
, she’d begun the crucifixion. And since she’d gotten wind of the pilot, she’d been murder. But no more. Neil smiled to himself.

“You’re late—again,” Dana warned as she neared his desk.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Neil said. All eyes were on him, though typists’ fingers continued to fly. He made sure his face showed the proper contrition. No gags, no funny lines. He knew how to play an audience. He turned to the crew at their monitors. “Hey, guys, what’s the difference between a vulture and a lawyer?” They were ready for the gag. “One’s a lice-ridden scavenger that lives off the unfortunate.” He took a beat. “The other’s a bird.”

The crowd went wild, but Dana didn’t even blink. “That’s the third time this week, Neil, and today’s only Wednesday.”

Neil kept a straight face. The line’s good and the bitch doesn’t even know it, he thought.

Dana lowered her voice. “I can’t keep covering for you with the day manager,” she said. A total lie. The day manager only knew what Dana told him. “I’m talking to you as a friend, Neil. Let’s face it, this pays a lot more than retirement dinners, Letterman’s scale, or free drinks at The Comic Strip.”

That’s the good girl, open wide. For weeks now, it had taken all his willpower not to mention the sitcom pilot again. She must have figured it died, like her hopes. She wouldn’t see this one coming. “I know,” he said. “But I won’t be doing retirement parties for twenty-five dollars anymore, Dana.”