I’m trapped in a void. Not a woman. Not a girl. Going somewhere. Going nowhere. Wanting too much. Wanting nothing. Having everything I want. Having nothing I need. I am completely alone in my life, thinking of a raspy voice whispering Chrissie while I fade into sleep.

Chapter Six

I jerk awake, pushing the hair from my face. There is a voice in the room. Low. Raspy. Just enough rough that it brings my senses alive. It’s Alan on TV. An afternoon talk show program. Why is he suddenly impossible to escape? I fight not to focus on the interview and find myself doing exactly that. God, he looks different. So different. Harsh. Angry. And I hate the way he’s dressed. Leather pants and open shirt. Definitely, not your type, Chrissie. Not your type at all!

The phone rings and I fumble for the receiver, my eyes still glued on the TV.

“Chrissie, I’m not interrupting something, am I?” Rene asks, sounding a little miffed.

For a moment, I hesitate. “No, just catching up on my reading. What’s happening in DC?”

“Total shitstorm. Dad was right about that. He’s bought a house in Georgetown. He is marrying fembot number thirty-seven. It seems Daddy Dearest is about to have a new family. And I can’t reach Mom. Apparently Mom went off the deep end. She’s probably halfway into a bottle of Cristal consoling herself at Elizabeth Arden. Total shitstorm, Chrissie.”

Rene has my full attention now. I mute the TV. It’s impossible to concentrate with Alan’s sexy voice in the background. “Do you want me to come down to DC?”

“No, it’s no big deal, other than Mom and fembot thirty-seven. Really, what did Mother expect? They’ve been divorced eight years. Dad remarrying was bound to happen eventually.”

“I can be in DC by dinner time,” I offer.

“Don’t bother. I’m OK. Really I am.” A pause. “Here’s the bad part, Chrissie. The wedding isn’t until next week. Thirty-seven wants me to be her maid of honor or some such nonsense. I am going to be trapped here until a week from Sunday.”

I freeze. She is leaving me in New York for two more weeks alone. “But we are only here for three weeks. I don’t know anyone in Manhattan.”

Silence. It is heavy this time. I wonder if Rene’s “I’m good rolling with everything” attitude is just a front. I wonder if this is hitting her hard. Is that what I feel through the silence of the phone?

“Do you want to hear something funny?” she asks.

“Sure, Rene.”

“Dad saw the picture in the Post. Do you know what his only comment was?”

I can’t imagine what insensitive, stupid thing Mr. Thompson would say.

“What did he say?”

A harsh laugh. “I should get the number for Manny’s press people for him. He’s been trying to get legendary civil rights attorney in print forever. Apparently, the headline is very good for business.”

Poor Rene. Poor, poor Rene.

“One of these days you should just tell your dad to go screw himself.”

“I should have told him that before number thirty-seven. Go get into some trouble for me, will you? I won’t have any fun at the wedding. Thirty-seven is forcing me to wear fuchsia. I look terrible in fuchsia.”

* * *

At 9 p.m. I’m sitting on the couch where I pretty much haven’t moved from all day, wearing a pair of old, fuzzy flannel PJ bottoms, my dad’s Harvard sweatshirt, and picking Chinese food out of cartons while trying to focus on an HBO movie I’ve already seen a dozen times.

Maybe I should just fly home. But what would I do in Santa Barbara without Rene? Anyone who is anyone is in Palm Springs. I stab my Chicken Chow Mein.

The phone rings. It’s got to be about the tenth time Rene has called today. She is worrying me. Rene is not needy. The blow-by-blow updates from Mr. Thompson’s wedding preparations are only an excuse to call.

“How are things with you, Chrissie?”

Oh crap! Jack! In the chaos of everything going on I forgot to call him after my audition.

“I’m great. How are you? Still trapped in your thing?”

Jack laughs.

“I was expecting you to call yesterday. I waited. I didn’t want to crowd you. But I got tired of waiting. Liz called. What happened?”

Liz? Who is Liz? Probably that dreadful woman who led me down the hall at Juilliard, the one who made sure I got a healthy dose of This is Your Life before my audition.

“Just an off day.”

Silence. “It happens. We all have bad performances, Chrissie. You’ve just got to blow them off.”

I laugh. “Well, they didn’t boo me. They politely excused me before my second piece.”

“It happens. So now what, baby girl?”

Now what? Crap, I must have really blown Juilliard if Juilliard informed Jack before they informed me, and it’s real now and it feels really oh shit!

“I think I’ll go to Cal with Rene.”

“Oh well, we can’t have everything, baby girl. I’ll check on you later this week. Don’t let your audition get you down. It happens.”

I stare at the receiver for a long time before I hang it up. It happens. I wanted something from Jack, I don’t know what, but not that. Not It happens. I mean, this is a pretty big screw up. It deserves some parental response: anger, sympathy, something. Not It happens.

I blew Juilliard. That brief uplift of spirit I felt knowing I was off to Cal with Rene is completely gone.

I shut off the TV and go to the sound system. I unwind from the heads the Blondie tape and loop another tape into place. I switch it on and crank up the volume. My brother’s voice fills the room. God, Sammy was incredible.

I feel tears start to push out and I start to sing as I wander out onto the terrace. An entire city of lights. Eight million people and I am totally alone.

“There’s no mercy in death. Death doesn’t feel that way,” I sing at the top of my voice.

The city swallows my voice. I stare down at the tiny, miniature world below the terrace and exhale a ragged breath. I’ve been missing Sammy so much lately, more than usual. Why?

The phone rings and I run for it in grateful eagerness. It’s probably only Rene with more wedding updates. I gave up my fantasies yesterday —well sort of—of Alan calling, and since the night is totally not promising, I say hello into the receiver in an even less promising way.

“Where’s Rene?” says a familiar voice in a harshly imperative way.

I tense and settle on my knees on the couch. “Well, hello to you too, Jimmy Stallworth. She’s in DC visiting her dad.”

“Listen, I’m not pissed at you.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s good to know since I really don’t care what you think about anything.”

“I could call the cops, you know.”

I tense. Oh crap, what has Rene done now? “Then why don’t you? Why waste my time with this?” I say with a calmness I don’t feel.

A long pause. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble here. I just want either my weed or my money.”

I bite my lip, remembering the joint I shared with Rene in the bedroom. “What? Are you kidding?”

“She copped my weed from my apartment, so no I’m fucking serious here!”

“Call the cops, Jimmy,” I say, fiercely defensive. “Let’s see how far that gets you. I’d really like to see you do it.”

“Well, you don’t have to be a bitch about it. I just want to know where Rene is and to get my money. Listen, there are guys I’ve got to pay.”

“Not my problem.”

“If I tell them about Rene it is your problem.”

Oh shit!

“I just want my stash back or the money. Get it? No reason to make a big scene out of it. I like Rene, but this isn’t cool. I don’t have the cash to cover the weed she took, so you’ve got to help me here.”

I feel sort of sorry for Jimmy Stallworth. Still, I say, “Your weed isn’t my problem. I don’t know who stole your weed, but someone lifted some cash from my apartment. When are you going to give me back my money?”