“For safety. The kids in the neighborhood were climbing all around.”
Cora stared at her old friend.
“I am so sorry I haven’t come to see you, Marj — you’re at the Beverly Hills? But, well…you see, I had some bad news of my own. My Pahrump passed away.”
“No! Not Mr P!”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
The 2 began to cry.
“And there I was for the last few hours wondering what to bring him…oh darling, how dreadful!”
“The doctors said they did everything humanly possible, but it just got to the point where — I thought it was cruel. I put him on DNR. ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ ”
“He was so brave. Oh, that Mr P! Cora, it was his time.”
“Well, yes, I suppose. He lost his testicles at the end. You know, Steinie said they do prosthetics now, for dogs who get neutered. Just like a breast implant, only down there. But the doctors said the surgery would have killed him.” She smiled that incongruous cookie-jar smile. “Come! Come inside, Marj, it’s cold. Does Joan know you’re here?”
“Oh! I imagine.”
Cora sensed something was wrong. She wanted to get her friend into the house, maybe get some food in her while she called the hotel and told her daughter what was going on. (She had a sneaking suspicion Mrs Herlihy’s whereabouts were unknown.) All she could think was, the poor darling has been through hell.
Cora parked her in the living room. She brought a glass of water and part of a Reuben sandwich from Factor’s that her grandson left, and the maid had wrapped up.
“The most wonderful thing was, just before my Drummer Boy passed, these extraordinary people came and put him on film — he’s a television star! Now they’re going to dedicate the entire episode to Mr P. Oh Marj, let me show you!”
She put on the Dog Whisperer DVD that Stein had “burned.” Marjorie wasn’t sure what the whole thing was about but it did give her a chance to see Pahrump again, and that was fine. There was another dog too, who’d been shot by mistake, so awful, but the animals seemed to be busy making friends. She recognized some of her neighbor’s grandkids. Cora was on the show too, “in the wings,” and Marj thought she comported herself well.
She called the hotel from the kitchen and left a message with guest voicemail saying, “Joan, your mom is here.” When Cora hung up, she realized that in her excitement she stupidly hadn’t identified herself, and phoned again. This time, it took longer to connect her to the room. “Joan? I’m so sorry — that was me! — but I don’t think I left my name. It’s Cora, Cora Ludinsky, Marjorie’s neighbor. Well, she’s here in my living room. I wasn’t sure if you knew, but she’s right here in my living room, right now.” It came to her that she had Joan’s cellphone number somewhere; finding it would be another story. Also, that she probably should have said what time it was.
She went back in — Marj was already standing at the front door. Cora begged her to stay, but Marj was adamant and the neighbor said she would give her a ride back to the hotel. Marj told her it wasn’t necessary, that “Lucas sent a Town Car,” and it was waiting on Robertson because she didn’t want to “put on airs” or suffer the embarrassment of the chauffeur seeing her beloved house in its undignified burned-up condition. Cora knew that was nonsense and wild talk. She pleaded with Marj and tried to stall, saying she wanted to show off some of the new garden furniture Stein had bought. Marj left almost hastily. Cora went straight to the phone to reach her son but didn’t have any luck. She began to look for Joan’s cell number.
The old woman stared through the Cyclone fence at the ruins of her home. It made her think of that ancient city the Travel Gal mentioned, Benares, where Jesus learned the art of healing — where corpses were set on fire and thrown from ghats into the Ganges, the proceedings watched over by Lord Siva, god of Death. (She looked it up in the old Encyclopedia Britannica her father had bought for her Sweet 16th.) The river, between the Varana and Asi rivers, was said to have sprung from Siva’s matted hair. When his girlfriend Parvati died, a jeweled earring fell to earth and landed in the exact place that became the holiest cremation site—“the Manikarnika Ghat.” She was amazed to read that it took 100 kilos of wood to render a body to ashes. All day and all night one could hear the chant, Rama nama satya hai (“God’s name is Truth”). Benares, she read, “is also known as Mahashmashana, the great cremation ground, the final resting place of the corpse of the universe at the end of its vast cycle of life.” Trudy said that Benares was nothing but a “wretched ant farm.”
She began to walk. Just before turning the corner to Robertson she looked back to see Cora, distressed, standing on the sidewalk—the neighbor called out to her but Marj couldn’t hear and besides, quickened her pace.
Within 5 minutes she was on a bus, heading for Long Beach as she
LXXXI.Joan
came home from visiting her dad, the caregiver was frantic.
After tearfully admitting to the possibility she had napped during Oprah, the RN said that her mother had somehow managed to “slip out.” Upon realizing “the client” was gone, she became distraught and went looking for her. Joan asked if she’d bothered to notify security; she hadn’t, and was tormented afresh by her own incompetence. Joan picked up the phone. The staff said they would immediately alert the police in case Mrs Herlihy had “wandered off-site,” and begin to check ladies’ rooms, pool and cabana areas, and the hidden fern-choked nooks that were plentiful on the grounds — everywhere they could think of.
Joan thanked them, then saw the envelope under the door — a message from the hotel operator, saying “Cora Ludinsky” had called.
She retrieved the voicemail informing that Marj was back in Beverlywood. The neighbor hadn’t left a number and Joan didn’t have it in her Treo afterall (of course) but it didn’t matter, she jumped in the car and went right over. On the way, she phoned the detective who had helped with the fraud case; he said he’d do what he could. Of course when she got there, her mother was gone, and Cora didn’t have much to add, except the disquieting reference to “Lucas.” No one was sure if she’d flagged a cab or gotten on a bus or was just meandering — in a follow-up call, the detective thought the latter a more likely scenario, that she was out there confused, and someone had most likely given refuge, and was in the process of contacting authorities — so Joan canvassed the neighborhood until it was pitch dark. She even stopped at Riki’s and the young man said yes, she’d been in, not too long ago, to buy a ticket. Cora said that Marj was wearing a stylish green coat, and Joan was positive it was the Jil Sander she bought for her that 1st week she’d come home from the hospital. Mom liked to wear it when they ate at the subterranean hotel coffeeshop. She passed that on to the detective.
Joan and Barbet had plans to go to Locanda Portofino for her birthday — a supershitty day to turn 38. (She hadn’t expected her father to remember, and chided herself for even having the sappy, babyish thought that he’d send flowers and a 6pack of Diet Coke.) They wound up meeting at Kate Mantellini’s because the restaurant was sort of between the hotel and the old house; that way, Joan could feel halfway in her skin. There was nothing to do for now and at least she had the gut feeling Mom would soon be found. The detective had his “eyes and ears out there” and was waiting for a high-priced PI colleague to return his page. Joan awaited that callback as well — she’d already emailed a picture of Marj and there was no reason the PI couldn’t get started right away. She told the detective to give his friend a number—$25,000, as retainer fee — and he said that was way too high but Joan insisted. She knew it guaranteed action. She needed someone who would knock on doors if it came down to that.