Stardust

Chapter 38

I TOOK Jill up to Maine, to a cabin on a lake that I’d built with Paul Giacomin nine years before. The cabin belonged to Susan, but she let me use it. We got there on a Thursday, driving straight from the airport, and on Saturday morning while I was making breakfast Jill still hadn’t spoken.

The snow was a foot deep in the woods, and the other cabins were empty. Nothing moved but squirrels and the winter birds that hopped along the snow crust and seemed impervious to cold. I kept a fire going in the big central fireplace, and read some books, and did push-ups and sit-ups. I would have run along the plowed highway, but I didn’t want to leave Jill.

Jill was silent. She sat where I put her, she slept a lot, she ate some of what I gave her. She smoked and had coffee and in the evening would drink some. But she didn’t drink a lot, and she spoke not at all. Much of the time she simply sat and looked at things I didn’t see and seemed very far away inside.

I ate some turkey hash with corn bread, and two cups of coffee. Jill had some coffee and three cigarettes. It didn’t seem too healthy to me, but I figured this might not be the time for rigorous retraining.

”I came up here, about nine years ago,“ I said, ”with a kid named Paul Giacomin.“

It was not clear, when I talked to her, if Jill heard me, though when I offered her coffee she held out her cup.

”Kid was a mess,“ I said. ”Center of a custody dispute in a messy divorce. It wasn’t that each parent wanted him. It was that neither parent wanted the other to have him.“

I put a dab of cranberry catsup on my second helping of hash.

”We built this place, he and I. I taught him to carpenter, and to work out, read poetry. Susan got him some psychotherapy. Kid’s a professional dancer now, he’s in Aix-en-Provence, in France, performing and giving master’s classes at some dance festival.“

Jill had no reaction. I ate my hash. While I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, the phone rang. It was Sandy Salzman.

”Studio’s up my ass,“ Salzman said. ”Network is talking cancellation. Where the fuck is she?“

”She’s with me,“ I said.

”I know that, when the hell does she reappear?“

”Later,“ I said.

”I’ve got to talk with her,“ Sandy said. ”Put her on the phone.“

”No.“

”Dammit, I’ve got to talk with her. I’m coming up.“

”I won’t let you see her,“ I said.

”For crissake, Spenser, you work for me.“

”You can’t see her,“ I said.

”Somebody from the studio, Riggs, somebody from business affairs?“

”Nobody,“ I said.

”Dammit, you can’t stop me.“

”Yes, I can.“

”I’ll bring some people.“

”Better bring a lot,“ I said.

”Spenser, I’ve got authorization, from Michael Maschio himself, to terminate your services as of this moment.“

”No,“ I said. ”You don’t see her. Her agent doesn’t see her. Michael Maschio doesn’t see her. Captain Kangaroo doesn’t see her. Just me, I see her. And Susan Silverman. Nobody else until she’s ready.“

”Spenser, goddammit, you got no right… “

I hung up. In fifteen minutes I had a similar conversation with Jill’s agent, who must have been calling before sunrise, West Coast time. At 9:45 I talked on the phone with Martin Quirk.

”We got the gun killed Loftus,“ he said without preamble when I answered the phone. ”Registered to a guy named William Zabriskie. LAPD found him in the trunk of a stolen car parked in the lot of Bullocks Department Store on Wilshire Boulevard. Gun was on him. Been shot once through the heart.“

”How’d they come to check with you?“ I said.

”Anonymous tip,“ Quirk said.

”Got a motive?“

”No,“ Quirk said. ”Why I’m calling you. Ever hear of this guy?“

”He’s Jill Joyce’s father,“ I said.

”The hell he is,“ Quirk said.

I was silent. ”And?“ Quirk said.

”And I don’t know what else, yet. I need a little time.“

”I don’t have any to give you,“ Quirk said. ”I got lawyers from Zenith Meridien and the TV network and the governor’s office and the Jill Joyce fan club camped outside my office. The D.A. wants my badge.“

”Marty,“ I said, ”he molested her as a child. She saw him killed.“

The silence on the line was broken only by the faint crackle of the system.

”You got her up there with you?“

”Yeah.“

”What kind of shape she in?“

”The worst,“ I said.

”Susan seen her?“

”Not yet.“

More crackle on the line. Behind me Jill watching the fire move among the logs.

”You can’t keep her up there forever,“ Quirk said.

”I know.“

”What are you going to do?“

”I don’t know,“ I said. ”I don’t have a long-range plan. Right now I’m figuring out lunch.“

”How long you need?“

”I don’t know.“

”You know how Zabriskie got killed?“ Quirk said.

”Yes.“

”You planning on sharing that with me?“

”Only off the record.“

”Gee, I love being a homicide cop,“ Quirk said. ”Get to ask people lots of questions and they have no answer.“

”It’s L.A.’s problem,“ I said.

”True,“ Quirk said.

Again we were silent, listening to the murmur of the phone system.

”I’ll do what I can,“ Quirk said.

”Me too,“ I said.

We hung up.

Susan Silverman showed up at noon. She came in along the driveway too fast, like she always did, in her white sports car, only this time there were three mongrel dogs in it with her. They came out as she held the door for them, gingerly, sniffing carefully, the two junior dogs watching the alpha dog. After a moment of sniffing, they apparently established it as appropriate territory because they began to tear around, noses to the ground, investigating squirrel scent and bird tracks. Susan had brought with her a trunkful of groceries, and she was starting to unload them when I came out of the house.

”Time for that in a moment,“ I said and put my arms around her. She smelled of lilacs and milled soap and fresh air. She hugged me and we kissed and then we carried in the bags.

Susan smiled at fill when she went in, and said, ”Hi.“ Jill gazed at her without reaction. We went to the kitchen end of the cabin to put the groceries away.

”She talk yet?“ Susan said.

”No.“

”What’s she been doing?“ I told her. Susan nodded. ”What do I do with her,“ I said.

”You can’t help her,“ Susan said. ”If you’re right about her life she needs more than you can ever give her.“

”I know.“

”But you may be able to help get her to a point where she can be helped,“ Susan said.

”By giving her time?“

”Yes, and space, and quiet. Try to get her healthy. Eat more, drink less, some exercise. But don’t push it. All of her addictions are probably symptoms, not causes, and will yield better to treatment when the source of her anguish is dealt with.“

”Thanks, doctor,“ I said. ”Care to shtup me?“

”How could I resist, you glib devil, you?“

”Can you wait until evening?“

”Anxiously,“ Susan said.

I had left the door ajar for the dogs, and now they nosed it open and came in, sniffing vigorously around the cabin, their eyes bright from their return to the woods. One of them sniffed at Jill as she sat there, and she turned and bent down toward it. It licked her face and she reached out suddenly and began to pat it. Susan nudged me and nodded, but I’d seen it already.

The other two dogs joined the first one and Jill took turns patting them. One of them reared on his hind legs and laid his forepaws in her lap and licked her face again. Jill put her arms around him and hugged him, her face against the side of his muzzle. Tears moved on her face. The dog looked a little anxious as she rocked sideways holding him in her arms, but then he discovered the salty tears and lapped them industriously, making no attempt to escape.