Dacey snorted. “I’ll take my chances,” she said, and flagged the waiter for a second beer.
Steve rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Well, if you saw him this morning, you’d wonder if he’s sitting on stuff that could make the difference.”
Make the difference. Him or me.
“If nothing else, it would clear some doubts. And if he’s good, call him back in and that’s that.”
Steve looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
She took a sip of beer and wiped her mouth. “Plan B.”
63
FALL 1975
He went to bed early the night before he and Lila were to return to New York for the shoot of her Taxi Driver scenes. He was beside himself with excitement. He had an excused absence from school for the next two days.
Lila had told him not to expect much, since most of the day they’d just hang around as the lighting and camera technicians set up the scenes. Then about the time when everybody thought they’d die of boredom, the director would call them to action. The scene was less than a minute long, but with retakes could take two hours or more. But it would be fun to be on the set with all those people and equipment with ordinary folks looking on. He’d also get to meet Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese and that young actress who plays the child prostitute.
Lila was out doing some last-minute shopping so Kirk would have something to eat while they were away. From his bedroom he heard her pull into the driveway and enter the back door with the groceries. A few minutes later he heard her and his father in the kitchen talking. Suddenly their voices became hard and loud. They were fighting. But this was worse than the others. Lila was screaming as if she’d been hurt.
He jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. When he entered the room, his father was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his face red. Lila was on the floor gasping for breath and bleeding from the nose and mouth. On the counter table was her portfolio—the one with the studio shots of her in the nude from her modeling days. He had secreted the album under his bed and his father had found it.
“She gave that to you, didn’t she?”
He was too startled to answer. Lila muttered in dismay at the blood coming from her face.
His father snapped open the album to shots of her naked. “She let you have this shit.”
“Look what he did to me,” Lila said, pushing herself to her knees.
His father made a move to swing at her again, when he jumped on his back. “You leave her alone!” he shouted, and nearly stumbled onto the floor with him.
But Kirk caught him and threw him against the refrigerator. He grabbed him up by his pajama top. “Why, you going to beat me up?”
“Don’t you touch him!” Lila screamed, and pulled herself up, whimpering over her ruined face.
His father pushed him away.
“Look what he did to me.” She pulled a dish towel off the stove and let out a cry of horror at all the blood. Her face was a mess. One eye was red and swollen shut, her cheek cut, and her mouth was oozing blood from a split upper lip. She removed a broken front tooth. “Oh, Jesus!”
“Good enough for you,” his father growled. “I want you out of here by the time I come back. You hear me?” He tossed the photo album on the counter beside her. “And take this trash with you.” Then he flashed his face to his son. “And you, you little creep, go to bed. Now!”
Lila leaned against the counter, staring in disbelief at the bloodied tooth in her hand.
“You can’t leave her like this. She needs a doctor.”
“Then take her to one. And send the bill to the Holiday Inn, because that’s where I’ll be.” He looked at Lila. “You better be gone by morning.” He grabbed his car keys and left.
She stood whimpering at the sink with the towel against her face. He went to the freezer and pulled out a package of frozen green peas. She took it and put it against her eye. “Go to bed,” she said in a barely audible voice. “Please.”
For a long moment he kept his hand on her shoulder, knowing that she just wanted to be alone with her pain and grief. Her face was a mess.
He went upstairs but did not go to bed. Downstairs Lila was crying, swearing, and throwing things around the room. Tomorrow she would have to call Harry Dobbs and tell him what had happened, that she could not show up with her face like it was, that it would take days to heal and for a dentist to replace her tooth. He stood there, quaking in the sounds of her rage.
Sometime later she stumbled up the stairs and pushed her way into her bedroom. For a moment she stood there in the dark. Then she went to his father’s bureau, tearing through the drawers, unaware that he stood in the far corner watching her. In frustration, she slammed shut the bottom drawer. She turned around and saw him. She said nothing, just glared at him through the swollen bruised eyes, still wild with fire.
He stood there in his pajamas with his father’s .38 Smith & Wesson in hand.
For a stunned moment she studied him. Then without a word she took the pistol from him.
No. He gave it to her.
The next moment she brushed by him and left the room. He heard her move down the stairs and leave through the back door in the kitchen and drive away in her car.
It was maybe two hours later when in the black of his bedroom he heard her return. The stairs creaked as she climbed to the landing. He got out of bed and opened the door. She looked at him at the top of the stairs. Her left eye was half closed from the swelling and the color of eggplant. Her other eye was also discolored and her lip was puffy and scabby. She did not have the gun. She did not say anything but passed into her bedroom and closed and locked the door.
Around dawn, he heard the front doorbell ring. Outside were two police cars.
Lila wore a black patch on her eye and heavy makeup when she went down to let them in. He put on his pants and followed. The officers’ faces were grim with bad news. Her husband had been found shot to death in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn on Route 93. He had apparently been attacked by someone intent on robbery because his wallet was missing.
Lila broke down in tears as the police filled in the details. Kirk was attacked in his car through the open window, one of the officers said. She kept saying, “Oh, God,” and “I don’t believe this,” all the while keeping one hand on her mouth to cover the gap where Kirk had punched out her tooth. They said there were no witnesses, but they were still investigating, of course. They apologized for asking, saying that was a routine part of the investigation. They wanted to know where Lila was between ten last night and two A.M. She said she was in bed. Her stepson confirmed that, saying that in the middle of the night he had gotten up because of a headache and went to Lila, who knew where his medication was. That was around two, and because of the pain he had remained awake for more than an hour. He showed them the vials of painkillers.
Lila looked at him with a blank expression, but he could feel something pass from her. The police asked more questions and checked the house. The kitchen had been cleaned up of broken dishes. Before they left, they asked her about the bruises on her face. She said that she had fallen down the cellar stairs yesterday while bringing down a chair, the back of which hit her in the face, knocking out her tooth. Her voice did not waver from the lie. When they asked what Kirk was doing at the Holiday Inn, Lila said that the hotel was near the Manchester airport where the airline put up the crew for early departures. After a few more questions, the police left.
Over the next two days she went through the motions of being the grieving wife and made funeral arrangements with Kirk’s sister and brother-in-law. He, of course, did not go to school but stayed in his room most of the time. When their paths crossed, Lila barely spoke.