Shivers (4 page)

“All right.” She smiled. It was out of place, considering. “What do you take?”

“Bourbon on the rocks, if you have it.”

“Of course, I’ll just take a moment.” She went to the bar, selected a glass, and poured a great deal of liquor into it. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Everson?”

“I’m a magazine editor. And occasional freelance writer.”

“Oh? That’s interesting. Are you working on anything now?”

Why was she bothering with small talk? He wanted to get on with it. “Nothing in particular,” he lied. He was in the middle of a free-lance celebrity profile, but there was no need for her to know that. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Jessup—just what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” The significance of the
Mrs.
finally hit him. Was she a widow, a divorcee— or was Joey fooling around with a married woman ?

“Oh
that,”
she said. “I’m so—I’m sorry if I alarmed you before.” Just for a second, her smile had faded; Steven had caught it. She was hiding behind a facade; she was deeply disturbed and trying to hide it. But why? Why not come out with it?

She walked over to the couch with his drink. He sat there staring at her, a study in impatience. Their eyes met briefly as the drink passed from her hand to his, but she turned away before he could peer too deeply.

She remained standing. “It’s just—it’s just that I . . . Well, to be frank, I had someone here at the time and I . . . Look, let me make myself a drink and we’ll talk.”

“All right,” Steven said. He wondered why she had called him in the first place if, as she claimed, she had had someone with her?

While she made her drink, he watched her. She sensed it too, though she wasn’t looking in his direction. She spilled some of the gin she was pouring, and an ice cube tumbled onto the rug. When she was ready, she came over to the couch and sat beside him. He got a strong whiff of her perfume and noted that she smelled rather nice. Her smile was gone. She wore a tense look that was occasionally punctuated by a quick nervous grin, almost a twitch. “Is your drink all right?”

“It’s fine.” He looked around the room as if to emphasize what he was going to say. “Mrs. Jessup. Is my brother here?”

“No, I don’t know where he is.”

Steven just sat there and looked at her. “Well, I was under the impression that you wanted me to cover over because you had something to say about his disappearance. You asked me if he was all right when we talked on the phone, as if you knew something, as if you knew that he was missing.” Steven remembered that she’d said something else that was funny—”they’ve done it” or “he’s done it”—but it had happened so fast he couldn’t be sure.

She touched her lower lip. “No—I-I didn’t know. I was just afraid . . .” She held her forehead with her fingertips, grimacing. The strain on her face made her look sixty. “Mr. Everson, I don’t know where Joey is. I didn’t know he was missing. When you told me what had happened I just thought that I could—console you—tell you a little about myself and Joey. Maybe explain a few things that might help you to understand why Joey—”

“Why Joey what?”

“Why Joey might have . . . done away with himself.”

“What?”
Steven jumped out of his seat and turned to face her. “Done away with himself! You think Joey committed suicide?”

“I’m not sure, mind you. I just thought it might be possible. That’s why I called to make sure he was all right. Don’t look at me like that.” She shivered. “God, I don’t
want
him to be dead. I just wanted to
prepare
you.”

“Why? Why would he have killed himself?”

“Please sit down,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.” Pulling his arm she got him back down on the sofa. “Sit down and I’ll tell you everything.

“How much did he tell you about our relationship?” she asked.

“Virtually nothing. I didn’t even see the kid that much.” For a moment Steven regretted his use of the word “kid,” not because Joey was in fact a grown man, but because it accentuated the age difference between his brother and Vivian. He didn’t know how sensitive she might be on the subject.

“We were quite close,” she said. “I met him . . . at a party . . . a few weeks ago. Not long after he came to New York. He said he was staying with you until he could . . . afford his own place. He thought very highly of you.

“I found him quite charming and clever. And very attractive. But still, he was a child. I was forty-two and he was—obscenely younger, as I’m sure you’re aware. I thought it would be foolish of me to think otherwise. It’s kind of unfair. Old men go everywhere with their little-girl lovers, and no one gives a damn. But when the situation is reversed—well, let me tell you, everyone seems to care. In spite of what you see on the soaps.”

She took more of her drink, sat back on the couch, a little more relaxed now. “It feels so good to talk about it.”

“Then you and Joey were having an affair. Is that how we put it these days?”

“I can tell. You think I’m disgusting.”

Steven shook his head. “I’m neither a prude nor a hypocrite. You’re right about the double standard. Anyway, Joey’s—social life—was his own business. And yours, I suppose.” He stared into his bourbon. “My brother was ahead of his time in many ways. Mature for his age. I can understand why the age difference wouldn’t have mattered to him.”

“No, no, that’s just it. It didn’t! It didn’t,
I
was the one.
I
was the one who couldn’t take it. I listened too much to my friends, to other women my age. I told Joey just last week that it was over between us. He was extremely upset.”

Steven didn’t know what to say. Was Vivian implying that Joey killed himself due to unrequited love? That he threw away a lifetime because—let’s face it—a woman literally old enough to have carried him in her womb no longer cared for him? He knew all about “strange bedfellows” and “unlikely partners” and all that, but this was stretching credibility to the limit. Joey was only twenty one, after all.

Vivian picked up on his disbelief. “I know it must sound strange to you. But in the brief time I knew your brother, I could tell that he was sensitive, that he held in his feelings. He’d sit and listen for hours while you told him your troubles, but he’d never burden you with his own.”

That much was true. Joey was like that. “And you think he was upset enough to want to
die?”

“I hadn’t thought it hit him that badly. But then there was the phone call.”

“What phone call?”

“He called me up two nights ago and told me that if I didn’t take him back he’d kill himself. Drown himself in the river, he said. He sounded drunk, out of his head. I assumed it was just childish bellowing. I didn’t take it seriously. Now I wish that I had.”

Vivian leaned over and put her hand on top of Steven’s. “I didn’t want to tell you any of this. I know you loved him. But when you told me he was missing . . . I couldn’t see you spending hours looking for him, never knowing if he was alive or dead. You had to know the truth, no matter how painful. I couldn’t let you go on wondering what had happened, when I knew what had happened, that he was dead.”

Steven got out of his seat so suddenly that the woman almost spilled her drink.
“No!
It just doesn’t make sense, lady.” Leaning over her, he put a constraining hand on her shoulder. “I don’t mean to sound rude or unkind. I realize that you’re possibly as worried as I am. But I don’t believe that Joey’s lying at the bottom of the river. He was not the suicidal type.”

“Of course, I can’t be positive,” she said, shrugging off his hand with irritation. “But I thought you should be aware of the
possibility,
at least.”

Steven stood up straight. “I understand that and I appreciate it. But Joey was in good spirits yesterday afternoon. I know he hides his feelings, but I don’t have to be an expert in psychology to know that people don’t run off and kill themselves—for whatever reason— unless they’re horribly depressed, practically on the verge of despair. I’m his
brother.
Don’t you think I would have seen it, would have known that something was wrong?”

“Perhaps he was afraid to tell you. I’m sure I’m not the kind of woman he usually associated with. He was afraid you might object, or laugh at him. That’s why he never told you much about me. He figured—it was over. Why bother?”

“If he was suicidal, over you or anything else, he couldn’t have hidden it from me. Yesterday he was downright jovial.”

Vivian seemed not to have heard him. “We saw each other at least three or four times a week. Sometimes we’d go out. Other times he just came over and spent the night. He was kind and tender. Passionate in that way of youth.” She spoke as if she was entranced. “Such a sweet boy.”

Steven spoke more forcefully, trying to break the spell she was under. “Look, it doesn’t matter whether Joey told me about you, or his breakup with you, or not. The fact remains that I am his brother, and I would have known if he was that distraught. For Pete’s sake, he was living with me. I could tell his moods, what kind of changes he was going through. And I’m telling you that yesterday he was in great spirits. He went out in the afternoon without giving me the slightest indication that he was upset about anything. I’m sorry if that bothers your ego, Mrs. Jessup. I’m sure you cared for him a great deal, and he probably cared—
cares
—for you. But my brother, who had his whole life ahead of him, would not put on his shorts and his sweatshirt and go galloping out of the house in the middle of the day with a smile on his face and then go commit suicide. It just doesn’t fit.”

Vivian just sat there and looked up at him, her face completely expressionless.

“At least you can take
comfort
in the fact that he didn’t kill himself,” Steven said. “Not because of anything you may have said.”

Vivian got up and moved slowly toward the bar. “Care for another drink, Mr. Everson?”

“No. I’ve hardly touched the first. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to.”

“Do you think I
want
him to be dead? I only did what I thought was best. I could have kept silent, left you totally unprepared for the worst. Well, I hope you’re right. I hope he didn’t kill himself. Over me. Over anyone. I hope he’s safe and sound. Somewhere.”

“I’m sure he is.” Steven downed his bourbon in one gulp—it burned but it felt good—and moved toward her as she added more ice to her own unfinished drink. “But damn it! Why do I have this feeling that
you know
where?”

“What?
How would I know where he is? What kind of accusation is that supposed to be?”

Embarrassed, Steven backed away and hoped the correct response would occur to him. “It’s just that you still seem to be hiding something. On the phone. Tonight. Right now. I keep getting this feeling that you’re only giving me half-truths.”

Vivian slammed the lid down on the ice bucket. “Well, I’m sorry if you don’t trust me. I’m sorry if you think I’m a crazy, disgusting old woman who dared to fool around with your precious younger brother. You’re just angry at me because you think you failed. You think that you failed somehow, that you were a lousy babysitter. But it’s not your fault and it’s not mine.”

A manic look came into Vivian’s eyes. She shuddered violently. “This city chews people up, did you know that?” She ran a hand over her shoulder. “It just swallows them whole. Don’t waste time looking for your brother. He’s been swallowed up, consumed by the city. We’ll never see him again, so don’t bother looking. Just go on with your life and
forget him.
For both our sakes.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Are you
crazy?”

“Your brother is
dead
and you must accept it!”

“How can you be so sure of that, God damn it!”

“Because I know it, I feel it.
Please.
Don’t ask me any more questions!”

“What kind of perverse—”

“Go ahead and call me names. It won’t change anything.” Vivian walked to the opposite end of the room and pointed down the hall toward the door. “Now do me a favor and get out of here. You’ve made me very upset.”

Steven walked over to her and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“I’ll leave you alone. After you tell me how you can be so positive that Joey is dead. He’s my brother. A
young man.
I love my brother and I want to know where he is. I want you to tell me everything you know, and I want you to tell me
now!”

Vivian stared at him, a look of utter horror on her face. That first flash of panic that he’d noticed when he’d grabbed her had been washed away and replaced by livid terror. She started to shake uncontrollably. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I just wanted to prepare you, Mr. Everson. I just wanted to help you. I can’t tell you a thing, I swear. It would . . .” It was as if she was giving a performance for an unseen spectator. “I don’t know where your brother is. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. And I don’t care. Just leave me alone. Please,
please,
leave me alone!” She was screaming now, her voice hoarse and her visage twisted into a hideous mask. Startled by the sudden change, Steven removed his arms and stepped back; he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She kept shaking, continuing to scream about how she knew nothing and wanted to be left alone.

“All right! All right!” Steven held out his arm imploringly, waiting for her to calm down. It took a couple of minutes for her to return to normal, for her face to relax. When she regained her composure, Steven found his anger returning. He tried to stay in control. Getting upset would clearly do no good.

“Look, Vivian, I don’t know what’s wrong. And I don’t want you to have another fit. But I do want you to have a little talk with the police. Strictly routine. Will you be agreeable to that?”

“No police,” she said quickly, the panic welling up in her voice again.

“They just have to ask you a few questions. Not tonight, if you’re upset. But tomorrow. Any time you’re ready. You’ll have to do it.”