Suspicion of Madness (23 page)

Anthony said, "I am sorry, I don't know anything about this area of the law, but Ms. Connor does. Don't you, Gail? Gail Connor is one of the toughest lawyers in Miami. She scares me, she's so tough."

Gail looked at him, then said, "I'd love to help you, Miss Sinclair. It would be an honor."

"Good. I like women with brains. In my career I refused to play syrupy, mealy-mouthed housewives or idiotic sex kittens. No way, no how. A woman has to stand up for herself in this world or she gets walked on. Right?"

"Absolutely," said Gail. "And don't worry about fees. I'll send my bill right to Mr. Quintana."

"You've got a deal." Joan Sinclair stood up with her empty glass. "Who wants another drink?"

"Thank you, but no more," Anthony said. "It's been a long day, and we—"

"Oh, sit
down.
You just got here." She wobbled back to the bar in her high heels and opened the gin. "What time should I be ready to go tomorrow? Warning. I don't get up early."

Anthony said the afternoon would be all right. He would arrange something with Detective Baylor and let her know, and the boat could leave from her dock.

Gail ventured to ask, "What do think you'll wear?"

Joan Lindeman turned around and looked at her. "I have an extensive wardrobe."

"Well, I just thought... since you haven't been off the island in so long—"

"I do get out, Gail, I just don't blab it to everyone. Sometimes I ask Arnel to take me for a ride. It's beautiful here. The sun, the ocean, the stars. I didn't always appreciate such things. I was only nineteen when I left. I couldn't wait to get out. I went to California with two thousand dollars that I borrowed from my father. He said, 'When it runs out, start waiting tables.' To hell with that. I was destined to succeed. Thank God I didn't know how many people with talent go to Hollywood and fail."

"How did you get your start in the movies?"

As soon as the words spilled off her lips, Gail knew she shouldn't have asked. It was late. Anthony was exhausted.

"I succeeded because I knew I could." The ice cubes rattled in the cocktail shaker. "Does that sound arrogant? Too bad. When you've got it, you've got it, and the only thing separating them that do and them that don't, is not lettin' nothin' stand in your way. I didn't wait around to get lucky. I worked my ass off. I took classes at the Film Institute. I didn't eat, but I had money for school. My boyfriend was a stunt double, and he got me onto the Paramount lot. I stayed out of sight and watched the actors and listened to the director. I slept with a casting agent. I did what I had to, and I'm not going to apologize for it. He got me a nonspeaking part in
The Time Machine,
a
wretched
picture. They used about fifty girls in blond wigs, and everybody looked exactly alike. I did a couple other things, then
finally
got a part where I could open my mouth. What was it called? Who cares?"

Joan Sinclair carried her drink across the room, stopping halfway. "You ever see a sound stage? My first time was such a thrill. Cables and equipment, and the actors, and dozens of people running around. The ceiling is so high you can't see where it ends. 'Give me a number three warm gel on Miss Sinclair!' 'A little more to the right!' Then here comes the camera, ro-o-oolling toward me on a dolly. My first line: 'Hello, Mrs. Potter, how's Jeff doing today?' I was brilliant.

"Word got around that John Huston was looking for a girl for
The Edge of Midnight.
I
wanted
that part, I would
die
for that part. I saw him in the hall at the Institute, and I said if he didn't let me try out, I would kill myself. He'd been thinking of Natalie Wood, but she was too sweet, and when they saw my test, they cast
me.
It wasn't easy. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I had a voice coach and an acting coach, and they were tearing their hair, but when the picture was done, I
knew
it was good. The reviews! 'Joan Sinclair... a stunning newcomer... she sets the screen aglow.' Except for this one cretin I insulted at the premiere. He said I had the talent of a potato. I called him up and told him to kiss my ass. After that he went out of his way to trash me whenever he got the chance. Petty, petty, petty.

"I didn't care. I was nominated for an Academy Award. Best Supporting Actress. They threw us a party the night before, all the nominees. Everybody was there. Audrey Hepburn congratulated me. She said, 'I hope you win. You were wonderful!' Then the awards ceremony the next night. I arrived in a limousine, naturally. Photographers and flashbulbs, and lines of police and screaming fans. Smile and wave, wave and smile. All the reporters ask the same dumb questions. 'How do you feel?' 'Do you think you'll win?' I didn't win. Margaret Rutherford won for
The V.I.P.s.
Can I be a bitch and say she didn't deserve it? Yes, I can. She didn't deserve it, I did, but they gave it to her because she was old and that was her last chance.

"After
The Edge of Midnight
I was besieged with offers. Columbia wanted me, MGM wanted me, Fox wanted me—if I'd take a deferred percentage of the profits. The studios are such thieves. They never show a profit! The studio execs didn't know what the hell they were doing. When
Runner's Club
came out, they publicized it like a goddamn romantic comedy. It flopped, so the next picture, they hardly spent anything on advertising, and that one flopped even worse. As if the studios weren't bad enough, my agent screwed me over. Mike Nichols wanted me for
Carnal Knowledge
but they were only paying SAG wages, and my idiot agent turned down the part without even telling me about it! They gave it to Ann-Margret."

Joan flopped into the rattan chair. The blues singer on the stereo sang softly,
It's been so, so
long... since my man's been gone... and my tears come down... like rain.

"I could've saved my career if I'd learned how to pucker up and kiss ass. You have to work at being a phony. Go to the parties, doesn't matter how bored you are. You go and you make small talk and you smile. I knew it was horseshit so I stayed away. They called me cold and stuck-up. The other actors snubbed me. The tabloids said I was having affairs with
everybody.
Probably true."

She finished her drink. "Then I got a part in
Bride of Nosferatu.
I had no money and no pride, so why not? After it came out Vincent Price called me up and he asked me to costar in his next picture. I
adored
Vincent. He taught me not to be so goddamn serious. I played a vampire princess in
The Scourge
." Joan Sinclair narrowed her eyes and lowered her head. "'No man holds de rrrreins off my soul, nor woman either, nor beast, nor Gott. I am guided by my own desires.'

"The critics haaaaa-ated it." She laughed. "I had a damn good time doing those silly pictures. I got lots of fan mail, made lots of money. A lot. Don't know where it went. I had a TV show, a sitcom. Oh, God. Forget that. Cancelled after four episodes. I did
Hollywood Squares.
I was on
Saturday Night Live.
John Belushi and I did
Samurai Vampire.
Big deal. Then what?... I don't remember. This and that. I got married again. Unmarried. It wasn't pretty. They evicted me... from my goddamn apartment and nobody... would take a phone call. Kick in the pants, huh?... What do you do?... So I came home." She blinked. "I could've stayed here. I could've married Tom, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be a famous actress... and I did it, by God."

Her eyes closed, and her glass tipped in her hand. Anthony reached out to catch it before it fell.

13

It could have been the flutter of bird wings that awakened her, or the soft rustle of palm fronds against the windows. Or rain. Yes. A light, steady tapping on the leaves. Gail opened her eyes and noticed the clock on her nightstand. The numbers came into focus.

"Oh, my God."

She pushed Anthony's arm off her waist and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheet before she managed to wrap it around herself. The sky was so overcast it hardly seemed possible the sun had come up.

From his pillow Anthony mumbled,
"¿Qué pasa?"

"Stupid clock. The alarm didn't go off." She found her cell phone on the dresser and hit the speed dial for her mother's house. "I have to call Karen. The bus might not have come yet."

"Go in the living room," he said.

When Irene picked up, Gail said, "Hi, Mom. Has Karen left already?... I know, I'm sorry, but we got back so late last night, and I must've hit the wrong buttons on the alarm…. Was she mad?"

Not mad, Irene said. Disappointed.

Anthony put his pillow over his head.

"What did she say? No, wait, let me guess. That I don't care. I'm so mean, I'm the worst mother, running away on vacation, ignoring her—"
 

"Gail!"

She turned her back and said quietly, "When Karen comes home, would you please tell her I'll try again this afternoon? This is so ridiculous. She has my number. There's no reason she can't call
me.
She just
won't.
It's like unless I call her, I have somehow failed this test of motherhood that—"

"¡Es de madrugada! ¡Hazme favor, sal de aquí con el teléfono!"

"Anthony, please!" She spoke into the phone again. "Sorry.
Señor
Grouch needs his IV of
café cubano
before he can be civil in the morning. I'll call you later." She disconnected. "Anthony, don't yell at me when I'm talking to my mother."

"Why didn't you go in the other room?"

"You told me you had to get up early."

"Not this early." His hair curled in all directions. Squinty-eyed, he bunched his pillow under his neck. "When are you going to stop letting Karen pull your strings?"

"Look. I promised her I'd call. I said, 'Karen, I
promise
to call you every day.'"

"And yesterday you didn't have time. Too bad."

"If I make a promise," Gail said, "I try to follow through. Karen needs to know she can rely on me."

"You promised to call her because you feel guilty about being here with me."

"Oh, please."

"¡Es verdad!"

Gail sat on the edge of the bed. "You're probably right. I need to stop feeling guilty. Why should I? We've been working." Dragging the sheet with her, she crawled over to Anthony. "I'm such a bad person. I don't want to make sandwiches for the homeless. I want to lie on the beach with you."

"I'll tell you something. I'm ready to get out of here. If we finish this case today, let's go back. We'll get a room at the Fontainebleau tonight, and you can have your wish."

"I don't think so. It's going to be raining on Miami Beach."

"Good. We'll sleep.
Shhhh."

Gail settled into his arms. "Do you think Joan Sinclair is going to come through for Billy?"

"Yes, I do. I had my doubts at first, but she isn't crazy. Eccentric, yes, but alert and in full control of her faculties."

"So Billy is innocent."

"You sound uncertain."

"No, but... I wish we knew the rest of it. Why he confessed."

"Let his psychiatrist figure it out."

Gail put a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I should try to be more like Joan Sinclair."

He laughed. "Why?"

"Not as she is now. I mean as she
used
to be. Not Joan the actress but Joan the person, before she turned nutty. She sat through
Citizen Kane
ten times with Billy Fadden. Who else would give him ten minutes? Well, his mother, but mothers don't count. I loved what you told me, how Joan let her hair go all gray, and she wore blue jeans when Tom came to dinner with champagne. I hope I have the courage to do that. Will you love me when I get old and gray?"

"Siempre, mi vida."
He yawned into the pillow. A moment later his eyes opened. "What time is it? I have to meet Billy at ten o'clock."

"About eight-thirty, I guess. Why do you have to meet Billy?"

"We're going to be very well prepared before we talk to the cops." Anthony raised up far enough to grab his watch off his nightstand. He frowned at it, closing one eye.

"You need your eyes checked," Gail said. "I've noticed you squinting."

"No, it's too dark in here to see."

"Give me that." She glanced at his watch. "Eight-twenty-two. Uh-oh. Anthony needs glasses.
Caballo viejo,"
she said. The old horse, out to pasture, the name he used for his grandfather, when the old man wasn't around to hear it.

"
¿Caballo Viejo?
" Anthony put his watch back on the nightstand then moved down in the bed until their faces were aligned.
"Ven a montar este caballo
." He had a horse he wanted her to ride. He took her hand and put it under the covers.

The pause in the rain would not last long. Heavy masses of clouds lumbered across the sky. Brief shafts of sunlight hit the water in sparkling patches that quickly dimmed and were gone. The sea was an empty plain of murky blue.

From his position on the dock, Anthony turned toward shore and spotted movement in the bushes. Billy Fadden was still looking for his stepfather's .38-caliber revolver. Martin had been unable to find it yesterday before nightfall, and Anthony had suggested that Billy have a look. The boy came out from behind a tangle of low branches and poked the weeds with a stick. The blond spikes in his hair had fallen, and his jeans were soaked.