Adulation (37 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Danny Masters

D
ANNY HADN’T SEEN
 
or spoken to Charlene since he dropped her off at LAX the night he made the crackand she hit him. He’d called twice, but she’d not responded. Of course, this could have simply meant thatshe was on a tight shooting schedule, up until all hours of the night, but he figured otherwise.

It occurred to him that she would never call him again, and he couldn’t blame her. Perhaps it wasfor the best, he thought.

But finally she did call him, and he picked up immediately.

“Know what I hate?” he said when he pressed Talk, pretending as if all was well.

She didn’t respond. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good strategy.

“I hate interleague baseball. You know, when the American League plays the National Leagueduring the season. Does that make me some kind of baseball racist?”

What the fuck was he saying?

“Maybe you should get some counseling for that,” Charlene retorted.

Every muscle in his body tightened. He fired off the basics: How are you? How’s the shoot going? How’s the weather? Charlene gave him one-syllable responses: Fine. Good. Cool.

“Is that cool as in not warm, or cool as in
 
cool
?” he asked. Man, he was trying so hard.

“Take your pick.”

“So, I was wondering...” He hesitated. “If you’re free next weekend, how about spending it in East Hampton with me. Just the two of us. Robbie Marsh has a house.” She’d wanted to get him out to the Hamptons since last summer.

The silence on Charlene’s end seemed to increase in duration with each response.

“I don’t know, Danny.” She sounded wary.

“You can throw me into the ocean if I get out of line. It’s off-season. No one will know I’mmissing until my body floats ashore on Memorial Day.”

He could’ve sworn he heard a faint chuckle. Or maybe it was just the crappy reception. God, hemissed landlines.

“C’mon, how ’bout it?” he pleaded. “We’ll even try to catch a play at the Bay Street Theater in

Sag Harbor.”

He closed his eyes and crossed his fingers.

“Sure, why not,” she said.

Danny had flown to MacArthur Airport in Islip and arranged for a car to take him out to the East End on Thursday night (Robbie kept a car at the house and offered it to Danny for the weekend). Charlene showed

up the next  evening—Danny had offered to pick her up at the airport, but she refused and arranged for her own transportation. Never had he been so nervous while waiting for her. His mind was too cluttered to enjoy the ocean outside. When he wasn’t on the lanai smoking cigarettes down to little stubs (and practically eating those too), he paced the many rooms of the house, peering out the front windows every so often (as if doing so would make her magically appear). When she finally arrived, he raced outside to greet her and help her bring in luggage. It wasn’t until he saw her heading up the path that he realized just how afraid he’d been that she wouldn’t show.

He kissed her on the cheek, then took her in his arms and exhaled a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad youcame,” he said. He was slow to release his gaze upon her—it was as if they had only recently met,spending their first weekend together. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this hopeful, thisoptimistic. He wanted to start fresh, get to know Charlene Dumont all over again. He wanted to
finally
 
getit right.

“I need a drink,” she replied.

He was taken aback by the sharpness of her demand. She was usually more considerate aroundhim, curbing such statements. Robbie had asked the housekeeping staff to lock the liquor cabinet out ofrespect for Danny. The wine cellar, however, was not locked, and Charlene retrieved a sauvignon blancmade by Pindar, one of the many Long Island vineyards. Together they went to the high-ceilinged livingroom, furnished with contemporary styles and bold colors and big artwork. Danny was sitting in one ofthe uprights, nervously watching Charlene drink  on the couch and listening to Ella Fitzgerald while theytalked about her goings-on in Vancouver. He could barely complete a sentence, so preoccupied withevery raise of the glass to her lips, wondering whether he should stop her. Or, at the very least, ask her
why
 
she was doing it. When she refilled the glass a third time, he could feel a pain in his chest. And whilehe watched her fearfully, she eyed him seductively.

“Come here,” she said.

He padded to the couch and sat beside her. She pulled him by his shirt and was about to kiss him,but withdrew and squinched her face.

“Ugh, you ssmell like an asshhtray. Full,” she slurred.

He covered his mouth. “Sorry. I’ve been smoking more than usual lately.” As if on cue, hecoughed.

Charlene rose from the couch, stumbling as she did, before taking his hand and pulling him up withher. “Why don’t you fressshen up. I’ll go pick a bedroom an’ you come find me.” She grabbed the bottleof wine and took it with her, staggering away. Danny could feel that usual feeling—the rush of blood, thequickening of his heart rate, the release of adrenaline. However, this time it felt less like sexual arousaland more like a panic attack. She was drunk. She’d gotten tipsy at the post-Oscar party, but nothing likethis. He went to the master bathroom, brushed and flossed his teeth before gargling with mouthwash for aslong as he could stand it. He stood before the mirror and pushed his hair back with his fingers, noticingthe gray hair growing out around his temples, and leaned in for a closer look: Was this how most forty-five-year-old men looked? Did they have crow’s feet, circles under their  eyes, a modicum of gray hair? Did they feel this weary? Did they worry about whether they’d accomplished anything, about whether itwas enough? Did they get as much sex as he did? Did they get as little sleep? Did they inherit the sins oftheir fathers?

He stepped back. Charlene was waiting.

He practically tiptoed down the L-shaped hallways, opening doors and peeking in. Almost everyroom was furnished as a guest bedroom, hotel-style, picture windows offering majestic views of the Atlantic Ocean. Not a bad place to spend a night.

Halfway down the second hallway, he opened a door and found Charlene sitting upright in bed, theduvet teasingly pulled up above her bare chest. The near-empty bottle of wine sat on the nightstand beside

her; she was holding the glass and taking a sip when he found her. Why did she drink so much? Should he have stopped her? Should he tell her to stop now? Was he envious? He eyed the bottle cautiously, as if it were a pit bull poised to attack. If he stared at it too long, would it turn on him?

“You found me,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“I sure did,” he said, his voice quavering, as if he’d just met her for the first time, strangers rendezvousing for a one-night stand. He removed his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, followed by his sweatpants, and climbed onto the bed. Charlene took a final sip and set the glass aside before she knocked Danny to his side and pinned him, kissing him hard.

Oh God, he could taste the wine.

His heart started to race.

It had been so long since his palate had been privy to that sensation, that sweet flavor (all wine had tasted sweet to him, or so his memory said), that extra kick that sent signals to his brain, putting it on notice that he was off to the races. He could taste it on her tongue and lips and teeth as clearly as if he’d sipped it from her glass. And, God help him, he wanted to keep kissing her just to let the flavor linger.

Had she wanted him to feel it? Was this her way of getting back at him for what he’d said to her the last time they were together? If so, it seemed too cruel a revenge.

Danny forced himself away. “Char, I can’t. You...” He paused to let the sudden wooziness pass. “The wine is too strong.”

She slowly, deliberately turned her head to look at the bottle, feigning an innocence that seemed to say,
 
Are you afraid of this little thing?
 
before resuming eye contact with him.

“
Quel dommage
.”

He grew hot with anger.

“I’m going to go to bed someplace else,” he said, and left the room.

As he lay in the master bed, he stared up at the skylight framing a not quite yet full moon. His body

ached with anger, disappointment, sympathy, regret, confusion, cravings.

This was no way to live.

Early the next morning, Danny stood under the spray of the shower for a long time, letting any remnant ofresentment  wash away, to the point where he’d decided not to confront Charlene. What worried andpuzzled him was
 
why
 
she’d drunk so much in the first place. He knew all too well that downingpractically an entire bottle of wine on one’s own was an intention rather than a happenstance. Perhaps he
should
 
confront her—not for the purpose of accusation, but concern. And yet he remembered how manyfriends and lovers had tried that approach with him, and how unsuccessful they were.

No. Charlene wasn’t an alcoholic. But she sure as hell wasn’t having a good time last night either.

After he shaved and dressed, he went downstairs and found her sitting at the island in the kitchen:sunglasses on, head resting on her arm, a little bottle of Excedrin in front of her. The smell of French roastcoffee filled the entire room.

“Morning,” he said gingerly. He watched as she attempted to pick up her head, then thought better

of it.

“Ugh,” she replied.

“Coffee ready?”

“Arghhh,” she groaned. “Not so loud.”

“Sorry, Char.”

“What the hell, Danny? Why’d you let me drink so much?”

“I honestly didn’t know if it was my place to stop you. You never drank like that in front of me before.”

“I didn’t do or say anything stupid, did I? I mean, how did we end up in separate bedrooms?”

She’d forgotten everything, and he was relieved. Lord knew he wanted to forget it. Sitting there, she suddenly appeared to be so vulnerable to him, the previous night  being nothing more than a failed cry for help. He was filled with remorse and compassion for her.

“You wanted to play a game of guess-which-room-I’m-in. Unfortunately, you passed out before I had a chance to find you. Either Robbie’s house is too fucking big or I started looking for you at the wrong end,” he joked, pleased with his lie. “I decided it would be better for you if I went back to the master bedroom.”