They waved back at her, new acquaintances tried by fire into friends.
If they had known the circumstances under which they’d see Jayne again, they might not have let her go.
16
Howard Hughes Flew Planes Too, You Know
They closed the door upon seeing Jayne safely enter 14E, then walked back down the long hall and sat in the folding chairs at the turret. She moved her ballet flat so that it brushed against the sole of his leather loafer. The hair above his ear hadn’t been trimmed in a while, and loose strands descended from the razor line in a jagged arc that she wanted to touch. His skin was damp and jaundiced. Probably, he was hungover. “You look bad,” she said. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”
He didn’t move his eyes from the window. “It’s a draw. You, too.”
She sighed. “Still want your piano?”
“No. Are you in shock?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. I think so. But I’m also just dry. I don’t have a lot of feelings left when it comes to Betty.”
“Did she take that much work?”
The television was still playing, and the light in the den flickered. She was reminded again of something from her dream. “Yeah. She was a good person in a lot of ways, but it was too much for me.” She touched her throat. “I think it broke me a little, you know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why you always see yourself as a weakling. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
“If you saw what I used to be, you wouldn’t say that,” she said. “Dirty. Lice. I could have put on a better show, but I was so depressed I didn’t bother.”
He was looking out the window while he talked. The city lights were cold and pretty. “That’s hard for me to imagine.”
“Yeah. I try not to think about it.”
He nodded. “I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t like the expression on his face: apprehensive. “Okay…” she said.
He continued, still looking out the window. “The timing is bad, but I don’t know if you’re going to shut me out again—maybe this is the last time we’ll talk.”
She shook her head: no, she’d never do that again. Things had changed since she’d left him, or maybe she’d changed. From now on, she planned to let him in anytime he came knocking.
“I’m glad it happened, that you left,” he said. “It never could have worked between us.”
She looked down. Blinked once. Twice. Three times.
“Not the way things stand, at least. I know I’m not perfect, or even close. But you’ve got a problem, Audrey. The cleaning. The rearranging. When you’ve got a deadline, you get so nervous you can’t sleep, and then you stop eating, too. The more comfortable you were living with me, the worse it got. You need a doctor. I love you, and I hate watching you hurt yourself,” he said, calmly and without histrionics. It made her feel, for a moment, that the problem was not hers alone, but theirs.
He sighed with relief, and she knew that saying this hadn’t been easy for him. She was reminded of Betty. Probably, she’d confronted her mother with a speech nearly identical to this, once upon a time: I love you. For me. For yourself. Get help. But Betty had always ignored her. Or worse, thrown something.
She thought about all that for a while, then answered, “You’re a turkey. My mom’s in a coma; this is totally the wrong time. And I didn’t take your stupid comics.”
He looked down at his feet. “Oh, yeah. I found them under the futon.”
“Also, not that it’s your business, but I made appointments with three shrinks this week. Three!” She held up three fingers and pointed them at him, as proof.
“Really?” He blinked in surprise.
“Yeah, really. I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and I need to work on it.”
“That’s great, Audrey.”
“And you’re a real jerk for bringing it up,” she said.
He raised his eyes up to the ceiling, and didn’t answer. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“No. This place scares me. In another month I’m going to start peeing in milk bottles like Howard Hughes, just so I don’t have to go into the bathroom. The lady who lived here before me drowned all four of her kids. We’ll have to go to a restaurant.”
Saraub’s eyes wide as aggie marbles. “Not the Mommy Killer Murders?” That was what the New York Post had called them.
“Yeah. Them. There are temperature variations in every