To Die For (4 page)

When she said, “OK. Now I’d like to take the names of the people who would like to talk with me, so we can set up a time to get together,” nobody raised their hand. She had this clipboard with her name on the front in gold letters, and she just stood there, with her pen uncapped, waiting to write down names, only there weren’t any. You could see her looking around the room, trying to make eye contact with someone. One guy burped real loud. One of the girls took out her cheering sweater that she was sewing a letter on and started stitching.

“You know, I used to be a cheerleader myself,” Suzanne says. “Back in the dark ages.” Then she kind of laughs, only nobody else does.

Mrs. Finlaysson called on a couple of people at this point, the usual good-citizen types teachers always count on to cooperate at moments like this. No luck.

“It’s too bad,” she said. “Mrs. Maretto has taken time out of her busy day and everything.” Chick’s still standing there, holding the clipboard. She was looking so young. It almost looked like she was going to cry.

That’s when old Lydia raised her hand. I figure Mrs. Finlaysson was so used to her never saying anything she didn’t even get what she was doing. “Yes, Lydia,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“I just wanted to sign up,” she said. “To be in the TV show.”

“Well, that’s more like it,” said Mrs. Finlaysson. “I’m glad to see someone with a little school spirit. Someone not afraid of speaking her own mind.”

Lydia wasn’t exactly a trendsetter, of course—her with that frizzy orange hair of hers, and those crossed eyes that you never knew where to look when you were talking to her. She was the only one in the whole class that gave her name. You knew right then this project was Dork City. Later, when we heard that Russell Hines signed up Jimmy Emmet, for a prank, I almost felt sorry for this reporter chick. And then Russell got roped in himself. I guess that was it, just the three of them. Not exactly your representative sampling of all-American teenagers.

I
WAS FOUR YEARS
old when Mom brought Susie home from the hospital, but I can still remember the day. I had chicken pox, so my face and hands were all covered with scabs, and of course they wouldn’t let me touch her. But I remember leaning over the bassinet and looking in at her, all wrapped up like a present in this little pink blanket. My dad used to worry that her nose looked big, but to me she was perfect. The minute I saw her I knew she was going to be the favorite.

You get used to it. It’s not like I spent the next twenty years expecting people to stop my mother on the street and say, “You have a beautiful little girl there”—meaning me instead of Suzanne. It’s not like I was sitting around waiting for some modeling agency to put my picture in its file. When you know you’re not cheerleader material, you don’t try out for the squad. Not unless you’re really dumb, you don’t. And I’m not. Not cheerleader material. But not dumb, is what I mean.

So what you do if you’re smart is you join the fan club. I’d push Susie around in her stroller and people would come up to me and say what a cute baby sister I had, and wasn’t I a good big sister. When she put on her tap routines, I’d be the announcer. How I got into hairdressing in fact was from all the years of doing Suzanne’s hair. I’d sit there for hours, just trying out the styles. Hot rollers, crimping, french braids, we tried them all. She’s not really blond anymore, incidentally. I’ve been coloring it for her for years now. You notice those highlights? I did that. Some salons just use a cap and pull the hairs they want to peroxide through the holes, you know. But I prefer the foil technique the big salons in New York use. It takes a lot more time painting the hairs one at a time like that. But it comes out a lot more natural looking.

She was always so tiny, just like a little doll. I remember sitting in the tub with her one time, seeing her ribs. I mean, we always took our baths together, but this was the first time I ever noticed them I guess. And I screamed, because I didn’t know what they were, and I thought something was the matter with Susie.

You should’ve seen her in her twirling outfit. Baton, tap, you name it, Susie did them all. Even when she was just three or four, she loved an audience. A lot of the kids in her dancing school would just freeze when it came time for the recital. But not Susie. If she could’ve performed every night she’d be happy. I can still see her standing in front of the mirror, practicing her curtsies and blowing kisses. She’d walk around the house holding the curling iron like it was a microphone, saying, “Thank you thank you thank you. … For my next number I’d like to do such and such. …”

When she was oh, six maybe, or seven, she worked out this tap routine to “High Hopes.” You know that song, about the little ant that’s trying to climb up this rubber plant? Well she won first prize in this talent show, and my folks brought her to the city for the finals. My mom took her around to all these talent agencies and had these professional pictures taken. She even tried out for a Stop & Shop commercial. Suzanne was always convinced it was her nose that kept her from getting the part, but for months after that we’d hear her doing the ad, around the house. “Stop and Shop means freshness for less. My mom says you just can’t beat those prices. But me, I love the bakery-fresh jelly doughnuts.” To this day I can remember the words.

Oh, not just that commercial either. She did Honey Nut Cheerios and saggy panty hose, Golden Dream Barbie, Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. She had, like, a whole repertoire. Whenever my parents had friends over, I’d be the announcer and Susie would perform her ads.

Around sixth or seventh grade we got the video camera—one of the first they came out with—and that’s when Suzanne got into news. She’d have me tape her so she could watch her performances and work on certain problem areas, like licking her lips and saying um. It’s a very competitive field, video journalism. And she figured it’s never too early to start. She knew what she wanted by then, so why wait around to start developing her skills, is what she said. We were all so proud of her.

By that time there were a lot of boys after her naturally. Even older guys, in my class, would ask me about my sister. She went out with them sometimes, but I don’t think anybody ever got anywhere. Even then Susie was more interested in her career.

I think that was partly why Larry was able to get where he did with her in fact. He was her biggest fan. He was the first guy that came along, that paid her even more attention than our dad. And believe me, that wasn’t easy. The other thing about Larry was, he was the first person that got Suzanne to let her hair down and have a good time. He was such a fun-loving kind of person himself. He brought out a side of Suzanne you never would have known was there. Kind of a wild side.

I was her maid of honor. It was a beautiful wedding of course. I did her hair in these french braids, with little tendrils going down the back of her neck, and sprays of pearls and voile woven into the back. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. I was bawling like a baby, naturally, and so were my mom and dad. I can still see Larry standing there, like he can’t believe she’s his. I could show you the tape.

After an event like that, there’s always a certain amount of letdown of course. So many months of planning and preparation, and then it’s over in a matter of hours, and you’ve got to get down to regular life. I remember going over to their condo, a couple weeks later. Once they’d got back from the Bahamas, and she was sitting there with a whole row of Mr. Coffees on the counter, writing thank-you notes. “It was all over so quick,” she told me. “It seems like something else should be happening.”

She had her resume printed up, listing her modeling experience at Simpson’s and all the workshops she’d taken and her communications degree of course. We all thought it looked so impressive, going way back to her talent show award and the cheerleading championship. Which tells something about a person, after all. Their ability to stay cool under pressure and so forth. She had professional pictures taken and everything. We even included one of her videos in the package she mailed to some of the better places. Channel 56 and Channel 38 and so forth. But she never heard back, except a form letter saying they weren’t looking for a reporter at this point in time, but they’d keep her name on file.

You’ve got to hand it to her, she didn’t give up. She went to ad agencies, to see if anyone was looking for somebody to do commercials. She contacted some agencies, looking into modeling, and she certainly was pretty enough, but I don’t know, maybe she was too short. Finally she went to schools. One or two offered her a job in the office, you know. But then WGSL said they’d give her a job in news. Once she started it turned out mostly what they had in mind was typing and answering the phone, same as the others, but like she said, “You make out of something what you put into it.” Larry had this little nameplate made with his own money that said
SUZANNE MARETTO, STAR REPORTER
, and a clipboard with her name embossed in gold. I remember him telling me he’d sneaked in and had it waiting for her on her desk the first day she went to work. That was Larry for you.

Of course I knew about the teen life video project. We all did. “I’m working with these disadvantaged kids,” she told me. “I really think I can make a difference in their lives. Isn’t that what it’s all about after all?”

Plus, if she got her report on the air, of course, that would be a real feather in her cap. You knew one way or another Susie was going to get her big break. You thought maybe this was it.

My sister with a sixteen-year-old hood? Don’t make me laugh. Listen, if you want to know the truth, Suzanne was never that interested in guys, period. I mean, she might like to meet a Tom Brokaw or a Dan Rather, but she’s not the type to get all excited about, you know, the sex part. I feel funny saying this and I’m only telling you because certain accusations have been made, and I think if people knew what she was like it would help prove her innocence. Jumping into bed with some kid would have about as much appeal for Susie as changing bedpans in a nursing home. It just wouldn’t be her thing, you know? Even as far as doing it with Larry was concerned, she told me one time she wished there was some pill you could buy to just get that part taken care of. One time she told me it grossed her out, seeing him all worked up and sweaty, crawling all over her. And he was a nice-looking guy, in reasonable shape, even if he did put on a few extra pounds after the wedding. So you can just imagine how interested she’d be in some skinny kid that smelled of clams or whatever.

I’m not saying there was anything wrong with my sister. She loved her husband. They had future plans. They had a perfect life. She’s just not the kind of person who would have anybody murdered because she was in love with somebody else. She was too serious about her career and whatnot. She had too much going for her to mess it all up over some guy.

I
T GOES LIKE THIS.
It’s a school day, but we’re down at the clam flats. Place we go sometimes, smoke weed, get laid. Place is dead. You know how it gets. You just want to get some shit going. See what happens.

We get to talking about this video business. Russell’s making comments about Mrs. Maretto. “Mrs. Tight Cunt,” he calls her. I mean even Russell, I don’t think in his wildest dreams he ever figured we’d get anyplace with her. It was Lydia we figured on sticking it to.

The girl had a face like the whole dog pound put together and a body to match. “But it’s all the same between their legs,” Russell says. You knew she’d never got laid. We figured it was about time somebody tried. I mean we’d be doing her a favor.

So we drive by school right around seventh period, thinking we’ll catch Lydia when she’s leaving and tell her we want to talk about Mrs. Maretto’s video and shit. Then we’ll take her down to the beach. Smoke some dope. Jump her bones.

Only when she comes out she’s got Mrs. Maretto with her. We were just going to cut out, forget the whole thing, only Mrs. Maretto sees us. No mention of how we hadn’t got around to going to school that day. Only she’s got the script to the video started and she needs us to give her some reaction shots or something. Don’t ask me what that meant.

I’m just thinking I’m going to tell her forget the whole thing. I mean, this was definitely not my scene, you know. “James,” she says. “I think you’ve got a good voice for the job.” And then she mentions some guy on Channel 4 that she thinks I look like him.

“Listen,” she says. “Since you guys are free now, what do you say we go over to my house and pick up the script and do some work right now? I was just going to give Lydia a ride home anyways.”

I say I don’t know. Seems like we got someplace to go. Something about Mrs. Maretto, she just got me so nervous. She was too pretty, is all. But Russell there, he grins at her and says, “Sure, that sounds stimulating,” or some crap that just about makes me piss in my pants.

“Russell,” she says, and she’s handing him money. “Why don’t you and Lydia just stop by Domino’s and pick us up a pizza, and James and I will go on ahead to my condo? Lydia knows the way.”

You could tell Lydia wasn’t too thrilled about this, and Russell neither. I mean, the guy had a reputation. As they’re pulling out of the parking lot I see her buckling her seat belt in Russ’s Pontiac. I mean, the girl’s scared shitless. And me, I never rode in no TV reporter’s car before neither.

She puts a handful of Tic Tacs in her mouth, asks if I want some gum. No thanks I say. Turns on the cassette. Some heavy metal shit. That was a surprise.

We don’t say nothing, just drive. She’s banging her hand on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. From the side view she kind of looks like when they were handing out noses they forgot to call her name, but she’s got these real nice tits, and I’m thinking, man, lucky she can’t read my mind right now.

“You like Aerosmith?” she says.

I don’t have no stereo or shit, but I just say, “Yeah.” You know she’s trying to show you how cool she is. Like she’s just another fucking slob like the rest of us.