The Venus Fix

Forty-One

The black town car was not where it always was.

I looked across the street.

No, it wasn’t there, either.

The panic started deep in my chest.

I ran as fast as I could in the snow, twenty yards up the street, then backtracked in the other direction.

No car.

A rush of adrenaline set my heart racing and I stood there in the freezing cold, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do first. And then I thought of the phone. I called Dulcie’s cell, and while I waited for her to answer, I tried to imagine her voice, curling at the edges with her smile, calling me Dr. Worry and clearing up the mystery of where she was with one simple sentence.

“Hi-”

“Dulcie where the hell-”

She was still talking. Damn it. It wasn’t her, it was her message, saying she wasn’t available.

“Dulcie? Where are you? Call me. I’m worried. Raul didn’t see you leave. I didn’t-” It was pointless to keep talking. What if something was wrong? What if-

I couldn’t think. The wind was blowing and the snow was getting in my eyes. My coat was open and I was starting to shiver.

What the hell should I do?

Dulcie was old enough to take the car service home on her own but either Mitch or I usually met her. We didn’t want her to be alone after a performance. It was a good time for us to talk, to find out how her day went, to reconnect. If one of us couldn’t be there, she could take the car by herself. But I’d told her I’d be there that night.

I stared at the phone, glowing blue and green in the dark. Call 911. Tell them- No, I could do better than that. I punched in Noah’s cell phone number. He answered quickly, listened to me, and then asked me for the name of the car service.

“Hold on, Morgan.”

I could hear him dialing another phone in the background and then he was back. “Hold on, Morgan, we’re calling the driver.”

Now I felt stupid on top of worried. Why hadn’t I thought to call the car service? Why hadn’t I-

“Morgan, she’s fine. The car service just dropped her off at home.”

I couldn’t say anything right away. The relief was overwhelming. Then I thanked him, told him I’d call him later, and dialed Dulcie’s number at home.

This time when the machine answered, I was angry. She was avoiding my call, acting out because of the audition.

“Call me back. Now.”

The bright neon signs and twinkling marquee lights were muted by the snow. Cars moved as if their drivers were unsure of what was happening beyond the windshield. A hush had come over the city. Winter storms mute Manhattan as nothing else can.

I pulled on my gloves, held the cell phone and walked west, figuring eventually I’d find a cab or get to a bus.

On the corner, a homeless man was huddled in the entranceway to a dark and boarded-up theater. All but one section of the theater’s neon sign was covered with snow, but the wind had blown in such a way that a single pink leg wearing a red shoe was exposed. On another night, I’d stop and try to talk him into going to a shelter, but I needed to get home.

I’d gone five blocks without hearing from my daughter. Stepping into the entrance of a busy and well-lit Japanese restaurant, I shook the snow off my hair and dialed the doorman of our building.

“Good evening, Doc. I hope you’re on your way home. It’s nasty out there.”

“I am. But listen, Gus, I’ve been calling Dulcie and she isn’t answering. How long ago did she get home?”

“I haven’t seen her, Doc.”

“How long have you been there?”

“I’ve been on duty since six.”

“But the driver said he had dropped her off at home.”

Gus was talking but what he was saying didn’t register. I ended the call and quickly punched in my ex-husband’s phone number.

My daughter had gone home, Noah had said.

Dulcie had two homes.

Damn. How could I have been so stupid?

“Mitch, it’s me. Is Dulcie there?”

“Yeah, didn’t she tell you she was coming back here tonight?”

“No.” I knew I was yelling into the phone-the patrons at the bar of the restaurant were staring at me.

“She left the theater without telling me. You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been, calling everyone-including the police. What the fuck is going on? Is this about that damn television show?”

“I think you’d better come over,” he said.

“First tell me, is she all right?”

“She’s not sick or hurt. She’s fine. But it might be better if-”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. There are no cabs. I’m walking,” I said, and hung up.

A young man and woman were standing out in the street, just standing there, two faces looking up at the sky, letting the soft flakes fall on them, mystified and amazed by the storm.

I was mystified by the storm, too: the one going on within my family.