Play Dead

  Oh, how Judy wished she could start over again. If she could somehow get her hands on a time machine, she would go back to the days when she and Mary were the little Simmons children. She would steal into Mary's room late one night while everyone was asleep. She would approach her sleeping sister and slice up her face with a broken Coke bottle. Or maybe she would use their father's straight razor. Or maybe she would use acid and melt Mary's flawless features into horrible clumps of waxy organisms -- something, anything to destroy the evil before it could flourish, before it could make its way out of the womb.

  The thought made her blanch.

  It was my fault too. My fault as much as anyone's.

  She was being hard on herself but that was understandable. Earlier today, Judy had met with Laura. Vivacious Laura, the woman who was everything that Mary wanted to be, was still in shock. Her niece stared dazed, her eyes wondering why the world had suddenly decided to crush her very being.

  What have I done to you, Laura? What have I helped cause?

  Judy remained silent, letting her sister vent, watching her sister cry uncontrollably as she spoke. Then Judy asked her sister the one important question.

  'Does James know?'

  The words stopped Mary's hysteria like a sharp smack. 'What?'

  'Does your husband know?'

  'Of course not. Why should he?'

  Judy ignored her sister's question. 'Has he acted any different since you returned?'

  'For pete's sake, our daughter has just lost her husband. Of course he's a little uptight.'

  'I mean, toward you.'

  Mary shrugged uneasily, the tears starting to show again. 'He treats me like I'm not there. Since David's death, he can't even look at me. But he's devastated. James was very fond of David.'

  'David was a wonderful man.'

  Mary paused. 'He loved Laura very much.'

  'I know.'

  'What should I do, Judy?'

  'Do?' Judy repeated, remembering the last time her sister had asked her for advice. It had led to tragedy and even death. 'This time, don't do anything.'

  Laura poured Stan another cup of coffee. 'So when are you heading back to Michigan?'

  'Anxious to get rid of me?'

  'Of course not. I didn't mean -- '

  Stan waved her off. 'I'm only kidding, Laura.'

  'I'm glad you've been here. Your visits have been very important to me.'

  'That's nice to hear,' he replied as he sipped the coffee, 'because I'm seriously considering staying in Boston.'

  'Really?'

  Stan shrugged. 'There's not much for me in Michigan. I closed a deal there before I left so I have nothing that ties me there anymore. Plus I'm trying to line something up in Boston. You see, there's a deal I'm hoping to raise some money for. A mall with a basketball theme or something. But more important than that . . .' He stopped and looked up. 'I hope I'm not being too forward.'

  'Not at all.'

  'Well, to be honest, the most important reason I want to stay is that I have no family in Michigan. And the way you and your family have treated me . . . I don't know, maybe I shouldn't say this, but I feel like I'm part of a family. I feel good when I'm with all of you.'

  'You are family, Stan.'

  He took her hand. 'Thank you. That's very nice of you to say. It's been so long since I had anybody close to me.'

  She smiled sadly. 'I still can't believe David's really gone. I keep expecting Earl and him to burst through that door in their sweat clothes, David spinning a ball on his finger and Earl doing all he can to distract him.'

  Stan moved closer to her, his arm snaking around her shoulders. 'You'll get over him, Laura.'

  The phone rang.

  Laura pulled away and stood.

  Shit! I had her. Damn that fuckin' phone.

  She picked up the extension in the kitchen. From his seat in the den, Stan could only hear murmurs. Three minutes later, she hung up.

  'That was Gloria. She's coming to pick me up in about an hour.'

  'She's a wonderful woman.'

  'Yes, she is.'

  'I like her very much.'

  'I'm glad.'

  'She seems to be a very interesting person. Had a lot of interesting experiences.'

  'And paid for them.'

  'Paid?'

  'Nothing, Stan. I shouldn't have said anything.'

  'She told me she's seeing a psychiatrist. She also told me that you saved her life.'

  'That's being a bit dramatic.'

  'She's really grateful to you.'

  'There's no need for her to be.'

  'Was it very bad when she first came back? Oh God, I'm sorry. That's none of my business. Please just forget I asked. I guess all this family talk clouded my judgment.'

  Laura sat back on the couch. 'No, Stan, like I said, you're family. From the sound of it, Gloria doesn't want to hide anything from you.' She nervously played with her empty coffee cup. 'It was very tough at first. She needed constant care. We hired full-time help.'

  'Was she institutionalized?'

  Laura nodded. Despite her earlier words, she felt a pang of discomfort talking about her sister like this. 'More of a dry-out farm.'

  Stan understood from the tone of her voice that he better quit. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried.'

  'No, it's okay.'

  Thick silence hung over them.

  'Well, I better be going.'

  'Thank you for visiting, Stan.'

  They rose and walked to the door. She opened it. Stan bent down and lightly kissed her goodbye. When he turned around to leave, the doorway was blocked.

  Stan smiled brightly. 'Hello, T.C.'

  T.C.'s eyes blazed with anger. 'What the fuck -- ?' He spotted Laura and closed his mouth.

  Stan patted T.C.'s bulging stomach. 'See you around, big guy.'

  T.C. closed his eyes, wrestling with his temper to keep it in check. Stan made a hasty exit.

  'Are you all right, T.C.?' Laura asked.

  'Fine.'

  'Come on in.'

  'Laura, has he been around a lot?'

  'Stan? He's been very supportive.'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'What's the matter, T.C.?'

  'Just be careful with Stan Baskin.'

  'I can take care of myself. Besides, he's been very kind.'

  'Right. He's a real sweetheart.'

  'Stan already told me you two don't get along.'

  'It's nice to hear he's not a complete liar.'

  'What happened between them, T.C.? What could separate brothers like that?'

  'Not my story to tell.'

  'Why not?'

  'It's just not my place to talk about it, that's all.'

  'Oh, I see,' Laura said with obvious annoyance. 'It's just your place to smear a man and then not offer a shred of evidence to back up your accusations.'

  'I didn't realize I was testifying in front of a judge.'

  'Listen, T.C., I don't need that shit. Stan Baskin happens to be family -- '

  'He happens to be scum.'

  'I don't want to hear that.'

  'Obviously.'

  'And I don't believe it. When was the last time you spoke to the man?'

  'At your house after the funeral.'

  'You know what I mean. Before that.'

  'Laura . . .'

  'When?'

  'I don't need to be subjected to your cross-examination. '

  'When?'

  'During my sophomore year of college. Ten years ago. Happy?'

  'A man can change in ten years.'

  'Not him, Laura. He's sick. He hated David.'

  'You've never been more wrong. He loved him so much it hurts.'

  'And you buy that crap?'

  'He's his brother. Nothing he can do can change that.'

  'So what?'

  'So he's changed. He regrets the past. He feels guilty about whatever happened between David and him.'

  'Christ, Laura, you sound like one of those pop psychologists wh
o get murderers freed. How can you be so goddamn gullible?'

  'Fuck off, T.C.'

  'No, you fuck off.'

  They both stopped, stared. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, she threw her arms around him. 'I'm sorry,' she began. 'I didn't mean . . .'

  'It was my fault.'

  She felt the tears start to force their way into her eyes. 'I know you're just trying to help. I could never have survived all this without you.'

  'Forget it.' He gently pulled her away. 'Are you sure you want to go through the photo album now?'

  She nodded. She had not had a chance to look at the photographs since they had taken them from the house. In truth, she was still not sure she possessed the strength to look at them by herself.

  They carefully went through David's photo album. T.C. observed Laura as they turned each page. He was confused by his own feelings of guilt and doing what was right to help Laura. He was surprised at how fast her tears had stopped, how none were present now as she went through the pictures. There was no emotion on her face, just a pale blank look as though the earlier outburst had drained her. The lack of emotion frightened T.C. more than her tears.

  She paused on one page for several minutes. T.C. looked over her shoulder at the picture of David's mother.

  'What was she like, T.C.?'

  'David's mother? I never knew her when she was healthy. She learned about her cancer during our freshman year. I know that she and David were very close. And I know he was devastated when she died.'

  Laura stared at the photograph for another minute. Then she turned to the next page. It was empty.

  T.C.'s hand reached down to the blank page. 'Was there a picture of . . . ?'

  She nodded. 'David's father.'

  'Jesus. Talk about eerie.'

  'I don't get it, T.C. Why rip up a picture of a man who's been dead for almost thirty years?'

  'I don't know.'

  'It doesn't make any sense.'

  'Was there anything else in the picture?'

  'I don't think so. It was just one of those faculty pictures they used in a yearbook.'

  'Are you sure that's the only picture missing?'

  They skimmed through the rest of the album, but there were no other blank pages.

  'What could it be, T.C.?'

  'Give me a second, Laura. I'm not much of a quick thinker. More of a plodder.' He took out a cigar. 'Do you mind?'

  'Smoke away.'

  He lit it. 'Okay, let's do this step by step. First, someone breaks into your house. Is he a burglar? No. If he was, he would have taken the money. Second, is he a fan who wants a few souvenirs of David? No. If he was, he would have taken David's NCAA ring or pictures of his playing days.'

  'We know all this.'

  'Just humor me for a minute.'

  'Sorry.'

  'Whoever broke in decided to remove a photograph of David's father.'

  'And he looked in our diary,' Laura added.

  'Right. Now what's the connection? What would make a person want to rip up a photograph of David's father and how is that related to looking at your schedule?'

  'Beats me.'

  T.C. paused, his hand rubbing his chin. 'What do we know about David's father?'

  'He committed suicide,' Laura replied.

  'Right. I can semi-understand someone wanting a picture of him.'

  'Huh?'

  'Well, that part of David's life has been pretty much kept quiet. Maybe someone was doing an expose on David and couldn't dig up a picture of his father.'

  'You're reaching.'

  'I know. Plus, he didn't take the picture. He tore it up.'

  'So where does that leave us, T.C.?'

  T.C. took a deep puff and blew the smoke straight up over his head. Earlier, he thought he had understood why someone had broken in, why they had needed to see the schedule diary. That part had semi-made sense. But ripping up a picture of David's father? He shook his head.

  'That leaves us,' he replied, 'very confused.'

  The man watched the surgeon closely. He had seen him do this several times before, but he had never watched with anything more than idle curiosity. Now he studied the surgeon's movements closely, the way he slowly cut away the bandages, the way he unwrapped them, the way he removed the gauze. This time, the man was interested in seeing the end product.

  'Just stay still,' the surgeon told the patient, 'and I'll be done in a minute.'

  The man tried to glance over the surgeon's shoulder to see the face, but there were still too many bandages. With painstaking care, the surgeon peeled back the white tape. Layer by layer came off. He dipped chunks of cloth in alcohol and wiped the man's face with them. When he was finished, the surgeon stepped back so the man could see the patient.

  'Jesus,' the man uttered.

  The surgeon smiled. 'One of my better jobs.'

  'You're not kidding, Hank. It's fantastic.'

  For the first time since the operation, the man heard the patient speak. 'Can I have a mirror please?'

  'And that voice. It's really incredible, Hank.'

  'The mirror?'

  The surgeon named Hank signaled to the nurse. 'Before I give this to you, young man, let me warn you: this is going to be a major shock. Do not panic. Many people feel disoriented when they first see the change. Many suffer an identity crisis.'

  'Thank you,' the patient said tonelessly. 'Can I have the mirror now?'

  It was the nurse who brought it over. The patient took it in his hands and gazed at his reflection. The man, the surgeon and the nurse all watched for his reaction. But there was none. The patient looked at his reflection as he would on any normal day. His expression remained unchanged.

  'How do you like it?' the surgeon asked.

  'You do very good work, Doctor. I assume your bill has been taken care of.'

  'It has, thank you.'

  'When can I get out of this bed?'

  'Another day of rest is all I think you'll need.'

  'And how long before I can start strenuous exercise?'

  'Strenuous exercise? But why, if . . . ?' He caught himself, remembering the danger in asking too many questions. 'If all goes okay, another week or so.'

  Chapter 7

  Stan found a pay phone near Filene's Basement. He dug deep into his pockets and pulled out a roll of quarters. He dropped a few into the slot and dialed. After three rings, a receptionist answered the call.

  'Charles Slackson, attorney-at-law. May I help you?'

  'Let me speak to Charlie.'

  'Whom shall I say is calling?'

  'An old friend,' Stan snapped.

  'I'm sorry. I'll need -- '

  'Just put him on, sweetheart, or I'll rip your tongue out of your air-filled head.'

  There was a stunned silence. Stan listened to the click as she put him on hold. A few seconds later, a man picked up the line.

  'Hello?'

  'Charlie? It's me, Stan.'

  'Jesus, Stan, did you have to scare my secretary half to death?'

  'Sorry about that. I didn't want to give my name.'

  'I don't blame you, old pal.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The B Man is looking for you. And he is not in a very good mood about it.'

  'So I figured.'

  'Where the hell are you, Stan?'

  'Don't worry about that. I need to ask you a legal question.'

  'A legit one?'

  'Yes.'

  'I normally don't do legit cases. Scams are my specialty.'

  'As I am well aware.'

  'Don't tell me you've come up with a legitimate way for us to make some money, Stan. I prefer you as the sleazy con man that you are.'

  'I'll try not to change.'

  'Okay, what's the question?'

  'You know of course that my brother kicked off in Australia.'

  'Are you kidding? It was all over the news for weeks.'

  'My question is about his estate. He didn't have a will so who gets his dough?'r />
  'It depends. Is it true that your brother eloped with that Laura Ayars a few days before he drowned?'

  'Yup.'

  'Man, is she gorgeous or what? I used to have one of her calendars in my kitchen.'

  'Super, Charlie. Now what about my brother's money?'

  'Right. I got off track a little there. So they were officially married before he died?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then the news isn't too good for you, Stan.'

  'What do you mean? I'm his only living blood relative.'

  'Courts don't care much about blood. It's what we call the intestacy statute.'

  'In layman's terms, Charlie.'

  'In your case, it's simply this: no will and the widow gets everything.'

  'Everything?'

  'Everything.'

  'Even if she's already loaded?'

  'Even if she's the Aga Khan.'

  'Shit!'

  'Sorry, pal. How deep you in the hole to B Man this time?'

  'Six feet under,' Stan muttered.

  'You better think up a good scam in a hurry or learn how to become invisible. B Man doesn't like those who owe to hide from him.'

  'I know, Charlie.'

  'You held up well?'

  'Well enough I suppose. All I need is a few more days. Listen, Charlie, there's a sure thing today at Aqueduct -- '

  'I've heard that before.'

  'No, really. Just place this bet for me and -- '

  'No way, Stan. B Man has spread the word. No one is going to cover you.'

  'But, Charlie -- '

  'Look, Stan, just keep me out of this. You're on your own. I gotta go now.'

  Charlie hung up the phone. Stan thought for a moment. Then he smiled. He took out another quarter and made a second call.

  Gloria Ayars felt light-headed as she walked down the stairs. She couldn't help it. For the first time since David's death, there was a reason to smile. True, she and her family were still in mourning. She still wanted to cry constantly for their loss. But something nice had finally happened and there wasn't anything wrong with being happy about it.

  Stan had just called her and asked her out for tomorrow night. It was not really a date, she kept reminding herself. It was just a friendly dinner. Nothing more. There was absolutely no reason to build it into something that it wasn't.

  So why did she feel warm inside?

  Gloria had not been with a man for so long. She had not even had a date, had not wanted to be near a man in a year. Not since . . . She closed her eyes. Why must she be reminded of that now? Why must she be reminded that she was not fit to be with someone like Stan? Why must she be reminded that she was only fit to be abused by filth and scum?

  No! I'm not scum! That was in the past. That Gloria Ayars no longer exists. She's dead and buried, thank God . . .