Audrey's Door Part 12

"I have cheese. I could cut the freezer burn off," Jayne volunteered. "Do you want some cheese? Or half a pita pocket?"

Audrey shook her head. She grinned at her stupid friend. A mean grin. Saraub stroked her neck with too-warm fingers.

"It's cheddar or American, I can't tell the difference," Jayne said, then reached down under her bandage and began to scratch.

Audrey looked at the woman. "No, thanks," she said. The mean grin left her face. Jayne was crying. Saraub's eyes were wet, too. Here she was, numb and furious, and here were her friends, crying for her. The vine got smaller.

"Or tea. I could make a cup of tea...What can I do?" Jayne pleaded, still scratching. Her sore broke open and began to bleed.

"Stop picking," Audrey said. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Oh, right. Sorry," Jayne said.

"Don't be sorry. It's just, stop hurting yourself," Audrey told her.

Jayne's face crumbled as she closed up the gauze. She squinted to keep from crying. Audrey reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. Thank you. You're helping. Really."

Jayne nodded, wet-eyed, and smiled heartbreakingly. The vine curled itself small again, a worm that lay in wait. Audrey turned to Saraub, and though she didn't yet feel the sentiment, she knew that soon, she would. "You were right. It's better it came from you."

Saraub leaned in, and said probably the only thing she wanted to hear. "I love you."

She scooted off the chair, and onto the floor, where she buried her wet nose in his chest. He put one arm around her back, the other around her bottom, so that he held her whole body. There, finally, she cried. Soft sobs. "I hate her. But I love her, too."

"You don't need to explain," Saraub answered.

"I know what you mean," Jayne said. "It hurts more because you wish it could have been different. And now it might not ever be."

Audrey nodded. "She was bad, but when I look back, I wasn't so great either. I blamed her for everything. Even when I was thirty years old. She was practically a vegetable, living in a group home, and I wanted her to tell me I was pretty. I wanted her to cook me dinner and make up for all those years she'd screwed up. I blamed her for everything. I held it over her head that I was a waitress, because she needed me in town to help her, and there weren't any jobs in architecture in Omaha. But the thing is, there were jobs. If I hadn't been high all the time, I could have applied for one. I just...it was easier to hate her than do something about it."

Jayne nodded. "Isn't it funny? When you have to raise yourself, you never really grow up."

"I guess we can grow up now, if we want. Can't we?" Audrey asked.

Jayne shrugged. "Good luck with that."

Audrey smiled.

Saraub cleared his throat, and she could tell he was uncomfortable. He'd never been big on discussing feelings, or, for that matter, criticizing loved ones. "Is there anyone I should call?" he asked.

She wasn't sure she liked the question. Did it mean he wanted to leave? "Well..." she said.

"Are you seeing someone?" Saraub asked.

"Like a shrink?" she asked.

He tried to hide his amus.e.m.e.nt when he answered by looking down. "No, like a dude."

"Of course not."

Suddenly, Jayne jumped up. "I'm going to leave you guys alone, but I'll be next door if you need me." She winked, not at all subtlely, at Audrey.

"Okay," Audrey said. Then she added, because she knew Jayne would be pleased to hear it. "I had...it was fun, Jayne. I had a nice time with you."

Jayne's entire face brightened. She lingered before hopping away on her crutches. "Me, too. So, I know this is bad timing and all, but if you're in town, you should come to my act. It'll cheer you up. Also, I'll need the moral support. And then I'll give you support back, too. That's what friends do. I'll buy new cheese and cook for you."

Holding her crutches for her, Saraub came to Jayne's side and took her arm.

"It's a deal," Audrey said as she rose, and walked with them.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Addie. It hurts my stomach to think you're sad...but don't forget about my act. She grinned widely at Saraub, then back at Audrey. Both of you!" Jayne said as she waved good-bye.

They waved back at her, new acquaintances tried by fire into friends.

If they had known the circ.u.mstances 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. I love you. For me. For yourself. Get help. But Betty had always ignored her. Or worse, thrown something. 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 New York Post had called them. had called them.

"Yeah. Them. There are temperature variations in every room, and they've got nothing to do with drafts and vents. Sound and light carry differently, too. I can't figure it out, but it's not a structural problem," she said. "I think it's an effect of the architecture. You've probably never heard of it, but this is Chaotic Naturalism. The last of its kind. Also, and this does not at all prove your stupid point, but I've started hallucinating. I've been dreaming about this guy in a three-piece suit who wants me to build a door. It's not good."

He stood, obliterating her view of the Parkside Plaza, and looked around the den. Took it in for a long time, then asked, "Why would you live in a place like this?"

She shrugged. "You're the one who said I need a doctor."

He touched a plaster wall, then put his ear to it. "You shouldn't stay here. There's something wrong. I felt it last night, too. Sorry about that, by the way."

She nodded. "That was mean, what you said."

He leaned on the turret seat, next to Wolverine. Gave the little guy a pet, p.r.i.c.k side down. "Yes. It was. But you can be mean, too."

She noticed the neatly tailored suit he'd worn to call on her tonight. Almost three years later, the gesture still charmed. She got up and leaned next to him. "I don't want to fight."

"Good. Let's get out of here. Let's eat."

"Amir's Falafel. Open all night. Or Tom's Diner."

"I'll treat."

"Thanks, 'cause I'm broke...Would you come to Nebraska with me?"

He took a labored breath, like he hadn't exercised, or even left his apartment, in six weeks. She realized that she really was worried about him. In her absence, who was cleaning the sheets?

"I know I shouldn't ask," she said.

"No. You shouldn't."

She waited. The seconds pa.s.sed.

"I'll come. There's an American Airlines red-eye. Tomorrow morning at six," he said.

She was so relieved that she burst into tears, then averted her eyes and flapped her hands in front of her face, so he didn't feel obligated to comfort her. "Thanks," she said. "Also, I'm glad you told me that stuff. You never tell me when you're mad, so it's good. I'll fix it if I can. I want to fix it."

"Audrey," he answered, his voice gruff. Then he took her in his arms, and she let loose, and cried harder.

"I don't want to make any promises. But I hope you know I love you. You're the most important person in the world to me."

"I know. Start making some promises," he whispered as he held her, and she squeezed tighter.

She packed in less than ten minutes. As they left 14B, they found a L'Oreal business card taped to the door, over which Jayne had written, "So sorry, Addie. Call me if you need anything: (917) 2746639. She'd drawn a blue daisy in the corner, shaded in with a light-handed Bic. The flower was open, its layered petals sharp points like gardening spades.

At Tom's Diner, they ate American cheese and broccoli omelets while on the overhead speakers, soft rock Beatles "Penny Lane" played. When she tried to filch a fry from his plate, he forked her wrist. "I've killed men for less," he grunted.

"Fair enough, heart attack," she answered.

Before they caught the bus, she worried that she'd left something plugged in or turned on at 14B. A toaster, maybe. Or the hair dryer. Or worse, the alarm clock, whose frayed wire might cause an electrical fire. "I'm going to go back up for a sec," she told him.

He was unfazed. When they'd lived together, she'd had to run home for no good reason at least twice a week. Never once had anything caught fire. "Need me to come?"

"No. I'll leave my bags with you. I'll just be a second."

The lobby was empty, and the Haitian doorman was sleeping at his post with an open issue of Playboy Playboy draped over his face. She took the elevator up and opened 14B. She unplugged the severed alarm clock wire, then searched all the other outlets and lights, not once, but twice, and in her mind made a note, so that she'd be able to visualize it while she was gone, and not worry: draped over his face. She took the elevator up and opened 14B. She unplugged the severed alarm clock wire, then searched all the other outlets and lights, not once, but twice, and in her mind made a note, so that she'd be able to visualize it while she was gone, and not worry: The toaster is unplugged. The oven is off. You checked, The toaster is unplugged. The oven is off. You checked, she would tell herself. she would tell herself.

As she was leaving, she took one last look at the den, then turned out the overhead light. In the dark, her mind played a trick on her. A heavyset woman sat at the piano bench while tiny red ants crept across her fingers. She was so still she could have been a doll, but softly she sang that tune from Annie: Annie:

"Send a flood Send the flu Anything that You can do To little girls."

The tune was lovely. The woman's voice smooth and deep as a river. Something wet dripped to the rotted wooden floor. The woman looked up. She wore black gla.s.ses and a blue sweatsuit. It was Clara DeLea. Only, her skin hung slack from her face like a mask, and her eyes were black. "Build the door, Audrey Lucas. Your mother's waiting." "Build the door, Audrey Lucas. Your mother's waiting."

Audrey ran down the fifty-foot hall, and out the door, and down the emergency stairs, all the way to Tom's Diner, without stopping.