“That girl in the paper anyone you know?”
“Who?” She was wandering barefoot through the living room now, yawning as she went.
“The socialite on the front page.”
“I’ll look.” She flicked on the kitchen light, and looked down at the paper in her hands. The room spun around as she did. “It … it … I … oh God, Lucas, help me …” She slid slowly down the side of the doorway, staring at the photograph of Tiffany Benjamin. She had jumped from the window of her apartment shortly after two. “See ya … see ya….” Suddenly the words rang in her ears. “See ya.” With that little salute they had done all through school. Kezia scarcely felt Luke’s arms around her as he led her to the couch to sit down.
Chapter 21
“Do you want me to come with you?” Kezia shook her head as she zipped up the black dress and then slipped on the black alligator shoes she had bought the summer before in Madrid.
“No, love, thanks. I’ll be okay.”
“Promise?”
She smiled at him as she put on her mink hat. “Swear.”
“I’ll say one thing, you sure as hell are looking fancy.”
He looked at her appreciatively and she smiled again.
“I’m not sure that I’m supposed to.” But she knew that she looked just right. She was trying to decide if she should wear her mink coat or her black Saint Laurent. She decided on the black.
“You look fine. And listen, lady, if it gets too heavy for you, you split, right?”
“I’ll see.”
“That’s not what I said.” He walked to the mirror and pulled her around to face him. He still didn’t like the look in her eyes. “If it gets heavy, you come home. Either that, or I come with you.” He knew that was out of the question. Tiffany’s funeral was going to be one of the “events” of the season. But all he wanted to know was that Kezia knew the score. It wasn’t her fault Tiffany had committed suicide. She had not killed Tiffany. She had not killed her mother. She had done her best. They had been over it and over it and over it, and he wanted to be sure that she wouldn’t backslide now. It was a bitch of a thing to happen but it wasn’t her fault. She slid quietly into his arms as they stood in front of the mirror, and she held him tighter than usual.
“I’m glad you’re here, Lucas.”
“So am I. Now do I have that promise from you?” She nodded silently and held her face up to him to kiss, which he did with a vengeance.
“Goodness, at that rate, Mr. Johns, I may never leave here in the first place.”
“That would suit me just fine.” He ran a hand inside the V-neck of her dress and she backed off with a giggle.
“Lucas!”
“At your service, madam.”
“You’re awful!”
“Awful horny!” He was eyeing her with a smile as she clipped on simple pearl earrings. He knew he was being irreverent, but it lightened the mood. He tried to sound casual as he sat down and watched her put on lipstick and a last dab of perfume. “Is Edward going with you?” She shook her head and picked up the black alligator bag and short white kid gloves. The thick black and white silk scarf from Dior provided the only brighter spot to her outfit.
“I told Edward I’d meet him there. And stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl, and I’m fine, and I love you and you take care of me better than anyone in this world.” She faced him with a smile that looked more like the Kezia who could take care of herself and he began to feel better.
“Jesus, you look good. If you weren’t in a hurry …”
“Lucas, you’re all talk.” She had turned away and was crossing the living room on her way to get her coat, when he came up silently behind her and picked her up off her feet.
“All talk am I? Listen here, wench…”
“Lucas! Lucas dammit, put me down! Lucas!!” He spun her around back down to the ground and she fell giggling and breathless into his arms as he chuckled. “You are the worst, most miserable, impossible …” He met her lips with his own and after a moment she pushed him gently away with a look both happy and sad on her face. “Luke … I have to go.”
“I know.” He was sober now too, and helped her on with her coat. “Just take it easy.” She nodded, kissed him, and was gone.
The church was already filled when she got there, and Edward was waiting discreetly near a door. He signaled silently to her, and she joined him, slipping a hand inside his arm.
“You look lovely.” His voice was a whisper and she nodded, as he tightened his grip on her arm. They were ushered up the main aisle, and Kezia tried not to see the casket draped in a blanket of white roses. Mother Benjamin sat piously in the front pew with her widower son and his two children. Kezia felt the breath catch in her throat as she saw them, and she wanted to scream “Killer!” at the bowed head of her friend’s mother-in-law. “Killer! You killed her, with your fucking threats of divorce and taking the children … you …”
“Thank you.” She heard Edward’s subdued voice as the usher showed them to a pew near the middle. Whit was standing three pews ahead.
He looked thinner, and suddenly more openly effeminate in an over-tailored Cardin suit that clutched at his waist, and seemed to hang too closely across his back. She suspected the suit had been a gift from his friend. It was not the sort of thing Whit would have bought for himself.
Marina was there too, with Halpern, looking embarrassingly happy in spite of the setting. They were getting married at New Year’s in Palm Beach. Marina looked as if her troubles were over.
Kezia found it hard not to cast the eye of Martin Hallam about, looking for people, tidbits, stories. But she couldn’t hide behind him anymore. Now he was dead too. And she was simply Kezia Saint Martin, mourning her friend. The tears ran freely down her face as they carried the casket down the aisle, to the maroon limousine that waited outside. Two policemen had been detailed to redirect traffic around the long snaking line of limousines, not a single one of which was rented. It was all the real thing. And as was to be expected, an army of press lay in wait for the mourners as they left.
It was hard to believe that it was all over. They had had so much fun in school, had written to each other from their respective colleges. Kezia had been Tiffany’s maid of honor when she married Bill, had laughed at her when she was pregnant. When did the end start? When did the drinking make her a drunk? Was it then, after the first baby? Or after the second? Was it later? Had she been before? The awful part was that now it seemed as though she had always been that way, always lurching, vague, dropping “Divine’s like rabbit pellets everywhere she went. It was this Tiffany that leapt to mind, the drunken, vomiting, confused Tiffany … not the funny girl in school … that mock salute at the door that last day … that … see ya … see ya … see ya….
Kezia found herself staring blankly at the backs of people’s heads and felt Edward guiding her slowly out of the pew. It was a long wait at the line where she shook hands with assorted relatives. Bill looked officious and solemn, dispensing small smiles and understanding nods like an undertaker instead of a husband. The children looked confused. Everywhere people were looking around, checking out who was there, what they had worn, and clucking and shaking their heads over Tiffany … Tiffany the drunk … Tiffany the lush … Tiffany the … friend. And it was all so much like Kezia’s mother’s funeral that it was unbearable. Not only to her, but to Edward. He looked gray when they left the church at last. Kezia took a deep breath, patted his hand and looked up at the sky.
“Edward, when I die, I want you to see to it that I’m tossed into the Hudson, or something equally simple and pleasant. If you do one of these numbers for me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” She was not entirely joking. But Edward looked at her with an unhappy expression.