Glamorama (82 page)

I find clothes in Bobby’s room and dizzily just pull them on, dressing quickly, keeping my eyes on the bedroom door. Numb and singing softly to myself while crying, I quickly tie the laces on a pair of Sperry deck shoes I slipped on.

As I stagger through the upstairs hallway I run past Bentley’s room because I can’t bear to see what’s in it and I’m sobbing but then I suddenly stop when I realize there’s a new odor filling the house, overpowering the aroma of shit that hung in it before.

On my way out I place the smell.

It’s popcorn.

5

The light outside the house has totally faded and the wind keeps screaming high above the courtyard I’m weaving through, a light rain slapping at my face, and the wind is blowing confetti into piles high against the walls like snowdrifts made up of gold and green and purple paper and there are bicycles I never noticed before lying on their sides, their upended wheels spinning in the wind. And in a corner a vague shape is slumped over and when I freeze, noticing it, the courtyard suddenly becomes quiet, which is my cue to slowly move closer.

Above Jamie’s head, another sloppy pentagram and in streaky red letters the words

An empty Absolut bottle rests by her side and she’s sitting propped up, stunned, barely lucid, and when I feel her cheek it’s hot, her face puffy. I crouch down. Her eyes are closed and when she opens them she recognizes me but shows no particular interest and we just stare at each other uncertainly, both with dead eyes. She’s wearing a white Gucci pantsuit, the collar lightly spattered with blood, but I can’t see any wounds because someone has wrapped her in plastic.

“Jamie … are you okay?” I ask hollowly. “Should I get help?”

A shaky sigh. She says something I can barely hear.

“What?” I’m asking. “I can’t hear you.”

“You’re … supposed to be … at the … hotel,” she sighs.

“Let me get help—”

“Don’t get help,” she whispers and then she gestures vaguely to something behind me. I turn, squinting. It’s the mattress Tammy Devol was murdered on, half-burned, lying in a blackened clump and dotted with white and silver confetti, in the middle of the courtyard.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” I’m saying.

“No … don’t, Victor,” she says, her voice muffled.

“I want to help you,” I say, straining to sound hopeful.

She grabs my wrists, her face drawn and tense, her eyes half-closed. “Don’t. I don’t want … any … help.”

“What happened?” I’m asking.

“Totally … fucked … up,” she whispers, smiling.

She starts shrugging, losing interest in me.

“Hey Jamie, talk to me—what happened, what happened here?”

“I … watched … that scene … of you at the embassy,” she whispers. “They … lied to you, Victor.” She keeps shuddering and I’m smoothing confetti out of her hair.

“About what?” I’m asking. “What did they lie about?” My voice is hoarse from screaming and her voice is low, the voice of a ghost, of someone lost in sleep, and from somewhere behind us there’s a faint crashing sound in the wind.

“Palakon works against the Japanese,” she says in a painful rush. “But he also works … for them.”

She starts giggling, high, a little girl.

“What Japanese?” I’m asking.

“Everything’s … connected … to the Japanese,” she says. “Everything is bought with Japanese … money from … Japanese banks and they … supply everything, Victor.” Dreamily she starts a list, offers it entirely without tone.

“Plastique … blasting caps … digital timers …”

“Why Japanese, Jamie?” I ask soothingly, stroking her face.

“Because … they want your … father elected.”

Pause. “They want him elected to … what?”

“Palakon is … also working … against your father,” she whispers. “Did you hear me … Victor?” She tries to laugh. “Your father hired him … but he works against him … too.”

Wind screams suddenly through the courtyard.

“He’s also working for … the people who don’t”—something slices through her, she shifts—“want your father elected.”

“Palakon told me my father hired him, Jamie,” I say.

“But Palakon has … no affinity … ,” she says in a wavery voice. “I watched … the tape of that scene … at the embassy … and he lied. He knew about my connection … with Bobby … before he sent you. He lied about that.”

“Jamie, why did Palakon send me?”

“Your father wanted you … out of the country,” she says. “Palakon did that … but the people who don’t want your father elected … also were in touch with … Palakon and … they had something else in mind.” She sighs. “A proposal …”

“Like what?” I’m asking loudly, over the wind.

“A scenario …” Her eyes are drifting, half-closed, but she still manages a shrug.

“What scenario, Jamie?”

She’s trying to remember something. “What if you … Victor … got hooked up with a … certain organization … and what if this information … was leaked? How much could Palakon be paid … to take care of that as well? … Either way Palakon couldn’t lose. He set it all up.”

I wipe away a tear that rolls halfway down her face and the gusting wind causes confetti to swirl wildly everywhere around us.

“How?” I’m asking.

“He offered … Palakon offered you to … Bobby. They made a … deal.”

“What deal? Why?”

“Palakon”—she swallows thickly—“had promised Bobby … a new face. Bobby wanted a man … so Palakon sent you. It fit perfectly. Your father wanted you gone … and Bobby needed a new face. Palakon put the two together.” She coughs, swallows again. “At first Bobby was mad … when he found out it was you .… Bobby knew who you were … who your father was. He didn’t like it.”

“I thought Bobby liked using people who were famous,” I say. “I thought celebrities had an instant cover.”

“Your father …” Jamie’s shaking her head slowly. “It was too much … it made Bobby suspicious. He didn’t like it and that’s when … Bobby was convinced Palakon was working for someone … else.”

Silence.

“What happened, Jamie?” I ask slowly.

“Bobby realized he could … use you to his advantage.”

“His advantage? How, Jamie?” Panic starts rising.

“Bobby contacted your—”

“No, no, no,” I’m saying, grabbing her shoulders.

“Bobby and your father—”

“No, Jamie, no.” I’m closing my eyes.

“Your father and Bobby talked, Victor.”

“No … no …”

Everything’s slipping behind me, floating away.

“The Japanese … were angry at Bobby when he … made a deal with … your dad.” Jamie breathes in. “They just wanted you gone … out of the country … but now they had to protect you.”

“Why?”

“Because if Bobby … went to the press with … stuff about you … and the things you did with us … it would destroy your father’s chances.” Jamie leans her head back and something passes through her, causing her forehead to crease. “The Japanese … want your father … to win.”

Another gust drowns out a sentence. I lean in closer but she’s turning away. I place my ear to her mouth.

“Palakon didn’t know … what was in the hat, Victor,” she says. “That was another lie.”

“Then why did he tell me to bring it?” I ask.

“Bobby knew what was in the hat .… Bobby told him … to tell you to bring it,” she says. “Bobby needed someone to bring the … Remform over here.”

Her voice suddenly turns gentle, curious almost. “Palakon didn’t know what was in it … until later … and then he found out and … and …” She trails off. Her eyes open, then close. “The Remform … was supposed to come … to me.”

“Jamie, hey, look at me,” I whisper loudly. “How did you get into this? Why did Palakon send me to find you?”

“He knew I was … involved with Bobby. Palakon always knew that, Victor … okay? Palakon thought it would work to his advantage … that you and I knew each other at … Camden.”

She’s drifting.

“Jamie, hey,
Jamie.
” With my hands I gently maneuver her face closer to mine. “Who was Marina Cannon?”

Her face crumples slightly. “She was on the ship … to warn you, Victor .… You were supposed to go with her.”

“What happened, Jamie?”

“Bobby sent people … from New York to watch you … to make sure you would not go to Paris.” She starts crying softly.

“Are you talking about the Wallaces?” I’m asking. “That English couple?”

“I don’t know … I don’t know their names. They got back to us and—”

“The ship stopped, Jamie.”

“—Palakon also wanted you to go to London.”

“It stopped, Jamie. The ship stopped. They said there was a distress signal.”

“I know … I know …”

“The fucking ship
stopped
, Jamie,” I’m shouting. “In the middle of the ocean it stopped.”

“Bobby didn’t want you to go to Paris. He didn’t want you to come to London either … but he definitely didn’t want you to go to Paris.” She smiles secretly to herself.

“Was it Bobby? Was Bobby on the ship that night?”

“Victor—”

“I saw the tattoo,” I shout. “What happened to Marina?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I found out after you told me … that night in the hotel … and I confronted Bobby. He wouldn’t say … he just wanted the Remform.”

“What else did he want?” I ask.

“He wanted you … dead.”

I close my eyes, don’t open them for a long time.

“I don’t know … ,” she says. “Bobby thought … bringing you in was a bad idea … but then he realized he could … frame you.”

“For Sam Ho’s murder?”

She just nods. “And once … that happened … other ideas emerged.”

“What other ideas?”

“Oh Victor … ,” she sighs. “Victor … it’s all been a setup. Even in New York … that girl who died … that DJ …”

“Mica?” I ask.

“Whoever … you went to meet at Fashion Café … for a new DJ. Do you remember?”

I nod dumbly even though she’s not looking. “She was killed the night before … I saw a report.”

“Oh Jesus oh Jesus.”

“It was all a setup.”

“Whose side are you on, Jamie?” I’m asking.

She smiles and when she smiles her upper lip splits open but there’s no blood.

“Who do you work for?”

“It … hardly matters … now.”

“Who did you work for?” I scream, shaking her.

“I was working against … Bobby,” she mutters. “To do that, Victor … I had to work for him.”

I pull back, panting.

“I worked for the group … Marina worked for … and I worked for the group Bobby worked for … and I worked for Palakon … just like you do—”

“I don’t work for Palakon.”

“Yes … you do.” She swallows again with great difficulty. “You have … ever since you met him.” She starts shivering.

“Jamie, how’s Lauren Hynde involved in all this?” I’m asking. “Look at me—how’s Lauren Hynde involved? She gave me the hat. I’ve seen pictures of her with Bobby.”

Jamie starts laughing, delirious.

“You remember Lauren Hynde from Camden, right?” I say. “She knows Bobby. She gave me the hat.” I pull Jamie closer to my face. “They set me up with her, didn’t they?”

“That wasn’t … Lauren Hynde, Victor.” Jamie sighs.

“It
was
Lauren Hynde,” I say. “It was, Jamie.”

“You didn’t pay … attention.” She sighs again. “That girl was not Lauren—”

“Jamie, I know that girl,” I say. “She’s Chloe’s best friend. What are you saying?”

“That was someone else.” Jamie keeps sighing.

“No, no, no …” I’m shaking my head adamantly.

“Lauren Hynde died in … December 1985 … in a car accident … outside Camden, New Hampshire.”

She leans into me, lowering her voice, almost as if she’s afraid someone is listening, and I’m thinking, She’s just a shell, and something huge and shapeless is flying over us in the darkness, hanging above the courtyard, and a voice says, You all are.

“I’ve gotta talk to Bobby,” I gasp. “Where’s Bobby?”

“No, Victor, don’t—”

“Where did he go, Jamie? Tell me.”

“He went to—” She gasps, rolls her head back. “He was on his way to …” She trails off.

“Where is he?” I scream, shaking her.