The stench in the kitchen was hideous, and when Emmet’s friend took one step forward, a seething cloud of blowflies rose up from the bodies and battered around the kitchen like some kind of nightmarish hailstorm.
Eight
Up in the hills, in Topanga Canyon, Wednesday morning was as quiet and sunny as any other day. Only when Season stepped out through the french doors to join Carl and Vee on the pooldeck could she see the distant dark plumes of smoke which hung over Los Angeles like the black feathers of an old-fashioned funeral. And there was the smell, too – like burning cushions.
Carl was dressed in a white safari suit, and he was already halfway through a large tumbler of tequila, with salt around the rim. Vee was wearing a pink sun-dress and sandals, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept.
‘No calls?’ Season asked. ‘I didn’t think I was going to get to sleep at all, until you gave me those pills. They’re amazing.’
‘You feel better?’ asked Carl. Then he glanced at Vee, and said, ‘No, there were no calls. They mentioned Ed on the news once, but only to say that there wasn’t any sign of him yet. I should think the police have got their hands full without looking for people who can usually take care of themselves.’
‘Well, that’s Ed all right,’ said Season, rubbing her elbow as if she were cold, and giving Carl an uncomfortable smile.
‘Do you want breakfast?’ asked Vee. ‘I’ll have to cook it myself. Maria hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘Has she phoned you? I mean, she’s all right?’
Vee shook her head. ‘I don’t know. There was a whole lot of shooting last night, especially around Palms and Culver City. I just hope – well, I just hope I didn’t make a mistake, letting her go see her mother.’
‘Have you called the police?’ asked Season.
Carl took a mouthful of cold tequila, and grimaced. ‘The police lines are permanently busy. We’ve been taking turns dialling Maria’s mother’s house, too, but we can’t get any reply. I expect she’s okay. She’s a sensible girl. But, my God, I never thought I’d live to see the world like this. Just look at those damn fires.’
Season walked across to the breakfast table and sat down. There were two burned-down joints in the ashtray, and two empty plates with the greasy remains of bacon and scrambled egg on them. She looked up at Vee, and she had to half-close her eyes against the winking reflections from the pool.
‘Vee,’ she said, ‘I’m thinking of trying to make it back to South Burlington.’
Vee stared at her. ‘Are you crazy? What do you want to go back to South Burlington for?’
‘For Ed. If he’s going to go anyplace at all, he’ll go to his farm.’
‘But why, Season? You came out here to get away from Ed. You came out here because you couldn’t take Kansas any longer. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how bad you were just a week ago? You were in pieces! And now you want to go back?’
Carl put in, ‘Apart from that. Season, think of the danger. There’s no way you could possibly take Sally along with you, for starters. And you couldn’t fly. They said on the news this morning that all flights out of LAX and Burbank have been cancelled, at least until the weekend, and private flying has been restricted to essential flights only. Come on, Season – the freeways are jammed solid by day, there are curfews in almost every single state at night – you’d never find anyplace to stay, or anyplace to hide.’
‘Carl—’ began Season, but Carl raised his hand to quieten her.
‘There are vigilantes out there. Season. Looters, hoodlums, rapists, you name it. And if they don’t get you, the police or the National Guard probably will. I’m telling you straight, you wouldn’t only be ill-advised if you went, you’d be dead, and I don’t want to see Sally without a mother or Vee without a sister. Or me without a sister-in-law, if it comes to that.’
Vee squatted down beside her and said earnestly, ‘He’s right, honey. You can’t even think of going. If Ed wants to get back to you, you’re going to have to leave it to him.’
‘I feel like I’ve deserted him, just when he needed me most,’ said Season. ‘Didn’t you see the way he looked on television on Sunday? He looked so sincere, so straight. He was saying what he believed was right, and that’s the way he’s always been.’
‘I know he has,’ argued Vee. ‘But think about it. Sincere and straight may be the breakfast of champions, but they may not be what you really need in your man. There is so much else required in a one-to-one relationship apart from sincere and straight. What about alluring? What about devious? What about irritating? Provoking? Expansionising? Season – you can’t stand there like some suburban housewife from San Fernando and tell me that you and your female identity don’t require more out of a marriage than sincere and straight? Can you?’
Season lowered her eyes. She looked at the joints in the ashtray and the egg scrapings on the plates. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I guess I can’t. I guess I do need more than Ed can give me.’
‘So you’ll stay?’
‘What about food? Things are going to be pretty lean from here on in. I can’t take the food out of your mouth. Nor yours, Carl, whatever you say.’
‘We’re pretty well stocked up here,’ smiled Carl. ‘Vee never did like marketing, so I guess we’ve got ourselves enough steak to last us through till Christmas.’
‘We’ve even got a turkey for Thanksgiving,’ said Vee. ‘I bought two last year, and froze one of them.’
‘Let’s hope we still have something to give thanks for,’ Season said, and the tears that blurred her eyes were only partly provoked by the sunshine that skipped and dazzled on the pool. She was thinking of Ed, too, and even though they’d only been apart for a week – even though she’d begun to find a strange new energy in herself through the sexual and emotional stimulation of Granger Hughes – she missed Ed badly. She could just picture Ed raising his eyes from a copy of one of his tedious agricultural magazines and smiling at her with that amused, warm expression that meant I love you, and nobody else.
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. ‘I guess I’d better go see what Sally’s doing,’ she said. She attempted a smile. ‘You’re very good to me, both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’re family,’ said Carl, as if that explained everything.
Season went back inside the house. Carl had switched off the air-conditioning, in response to a plea from the Mayor to save as much energy as possible, but there was a crosswise wind blowing that morning from the ocean, and it was tolerably cool. She called, ‘Sally? Are you dressed yet? Auntie Vee wants to know if we’d like some breakfast.’ There was no answer. She called, ‘Sally? Sally, are you upstairs?’
Again, there was silence. She frowned. She had seen Sally only a few minutes ago, taking off her pyjamas and laying out her new blue-chequered sun-dress. She said, ‘Sally?’ more quietly this time, and walked slowly towards the stairs.
She was just about to put her foot on the first stair when Sally’s voice from the kitchen said, ‘Mommy!’ in such an odd and off-key way that Season froze. She felt as if someone had slowly poured a carafe of ice-cold water down her back. Her hair tingled and even her nipples rose.
‘Sally?’ she asked, in a trembly voice. Then she was rushing along the corridor into the kitchen and screaming, ‘Sally! Sally – what’s wrong?’
She burst through the white louvred kitchen door and there they were. Five of them – tall, greasy-haired, dressed in black leather jackets, with chains and studs and pointed insignia – all of them except for the one who was holding Sally, who was blond and almost angelic-looking, and who was wearing a pale blue denim two-piece suit, and a white shirt, and a pale blue bootlace tie. He was twisting Sally’s arm around behind her back, and gripping his forearm against her throat, and he was smiling.