The Girl Next Door (11 page)

“Taking the bus?” Lindsay asked sympathetically.

“I’m a New Yorker,” said Nina. “We don’t do cars.”

If Lindsay made a reply, it was drowned out by the hydraulic whoosh as the bus doors
opened and the vehicle sank down to an accessible level against the curb. Nina got
on board without a backward glance. By the time she had given the driver her ticket
and found a seat, she could no longer see any sign of Lindsay Farrell on the street.

A
S
she was getting ready for bed, performing every beauty ritual she knew, the phone
rang. Immediately, Nina thought of Duncan as she grabbed it.

“Nina, I finally got you. It’s Hank.”

Nina felt instantly uneasy. Hank Talbot. The man Aunt Mary had asked her about. Nina
and Hank Talbot had had a brief fling in the summer after he saw her in a play and
inundated her with flowers. She remembered telling her aunt about him enthusiastically
when they met. And it had seemed promising at first. He was good-looking, successful,
and divorced, and for a short time she enjoyed being with him. But gradually she realized
that he couldn’t sustain interest in any conversation
that didn’t center on himself. Some men made her feel like an earthbound alien, and
Hank Talbot turned out to be one of them. Her aunt was right—she wanted to love someone,
to have her own family. But sometimes she thought she would never make that kind of
connection with anyone. She couldn’t pretend to love a man when she didn’t. Even though
Hank seemed to scarcely notice it when she began to back out of the affair, she still
felt a little guilty. And now, hearing his voice on the phone, she felt pressured
as well. “Hi, Hank.”

“It’s hard to catch up with you these days. Of course, I’ve been out of town so much.
I was in Europe for almost a month.”

“Oh really,” she said, recalling that, after the first fusillade of flowers, she had
come to dislike it when he tried to impress her. “Where in Europe?”

“Paris, actually. They couldn’t handle things in the Paris office. They needed me
there to straighten them out.”

“Paris. My favorite city,” she murmured.

“You should have come with me,” he said lightly.

Nina stifled a sigh. “I’ve been … real busy.” She had never told him about her father
when they were dating. She wasn’t about to tell him now.

“Well, I’m back in town for a while, and while it’s not the Tour d’Argent, I’ve heard
about a new place that’s supposed to be pretty good,” he said. “You interested?”

Nina grimaced. “I’m really only back for a couple of days myself and then … I’ll be
out of town again.”

“Playing the boonies?” he said with an edge to his voice.

Her guilt about dumping him faded. She heard a click on the line. “No. Um. It’s a
personal thing. Hank, listen, I’ve got to take this. I’m expecting an urgent call.
But thanks for … the invitation.”

Before he could reply she pressed the flash button, and felt
relieved when she heard the familiar voice of Keith on the other end of the phone.
She pictured him in his poolside rental in Westwood, wearing preppy clothes and schoolboy
glasses, with his East Coast pallor and thinning blond hair. The proverbial fish out
of water.

“How did the return to Hoffman go?” he asked.

“A little rocky,” Nina admitted. “My father’s so vulnerable. Everything is strange
to him. And people say such nasty things. It scares me a little.”

“I’m really sorry about the co-op board,” he said.

“It’s all right. He’s where he wants to be.”

“Why don’t you bring him out to L.A.? He can enjoy the weather and the palm trees.
We’ll take him to some clubs, give him the VIP treatment at the studio.”

Nina felt irritated with Keith. She knew that his ability to grasp other people’s
problems was limited. “Keith, he’s on parole. He’s not on vacation. He can’t go larking
off anywhere he pleases.”

Keith sounded chastened. “Right,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Nina felt the injury in his silence and realized she’d overreacted. “Thanks anyway,”
she said apologetically, “for the thought. I know you’re only trying to help. So,
tell me, how’s the series going?”

“Fine,” he said, instantly recovered. “Better than they’d hoped. They want me to stay.
The network ordered seven more episodes.”

“Stay?” said Nina anxiously. “For how long?”

“Well, as long as … need be. The show is being very well received. This could turn
into something … permanent.”

“Permanent?” she said. She knew that she would miss his friendship if he stayed in
L.A. But, guiltily, she realized that her first concern was the apartment.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as if he were reading her mind. “I’m not going to give up
the co-op. You can stay there as long as you like.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” she lied.

“Yes you were. I would be, too, if I were you. But you know, Nina, you ought to think
seriously about coming out here. This is where the work is, and now I’m in a position
to help.”

“I know,” she said. “And I know you would.”

“You’ve got to do it while you’re still young. Besides, it would be fun. We could
do the town together. I’ll introduce you around.”

“I’ve thought about it,” said Nina. “Believe me. But …”

“But what?”

Nina sighed. “I can’t leave right now. Everything is too … tentative.”

“With your father,” Keith said flatly.

“He needs me right now,” she said.

“God, Nina. How much more are you going to sacrifice for him? Hasn’t he done enough
to ruin your life?”

“Hey,” she protested angrily. But then she told herself not to take his remark seriously.
In a way, it was typical Keith. He didn’t allow entangling alliances to drag him down.
How could Keith be expected to understand that Duncan was a man teetering on a tightrope?
How could she explain to Keith that she had to be there, to have her arms outstretched,
in case her father fell?

I
N
the morning, when she arrived at the Seasons Cosmetics audition, the casting director
frowned as he looked from Nina’s glossy head shot to her haggard face. She had had
trouble sleeping, which always had a bad effect on her appearance. The circles
under her eyes looked like dark smudges against her white skin, no matter how hard
she tried to cover them. She sat in the chair as the casting director and his assistant
circled her, examining her.

“Great hair,” he said, lifting up a shiny black length of it as if it were a horse’s
tail. The assistant murmured agreement. “I like the purple,” he said, inserting one
finger under the shoulder strap of her short formfitting dress. The casting director
bent down to eye level and studied her facial features as if she were a large doll.
“Good cheekbones, great lips.” He stood up and put his hands on his hips. “But, honey,
I think those eyes of yours have seen a few too many sunsets, if you know what I mean.
Cosmetics is a young girl’s game.”

Nina knew better than to be offended. Accepting rejection gracefully was the first
thing an actor learned to do, although it never got any easier. “Thanks for seeing
me,” she said.

I don’t care, she thought, as she pulled on her jacket and headed out the doors of
the white loft to the elevator. I’m not a model. I’m an actress. But she knew that
residuals from TV commercials could be lucrative, and it was hard to convince herself
that it was for the best. She really could use the money.

Especially now that Keith was thinking about settling down in L.A. He could change
his mind any day about keeping the apartment. It would be just like him to change
his mind completely, and if he did, how could she argue with him? He didn’t owe her
a thing. If she had more money, she could help her father get a nice place—maybe something
big enough for both of them.

That’s not what you want, she reminded herself. You’re supposed to be getting on with
your life. But how was she supposed to do that? Ignore Duncan’s problems and isolation?
Her father deserved some happiness now. Some measure of comfort after all those years
in prison.

Around lunchtime, she went to the table reading of a new play that was being held
at a church in Chelsea. The actual production would be Off Broadway, and she fell
in love with the part the director gave her to read. He seemed pleased with her, but
he had several other actresses to see. He promised to get back to her.

That afternoon she had another commercial audition. This one was held at the ad agency.
She rushed home beforehand and changed into a gray designer pantsuit that she bought
half-price at a discount store. It looked businesslike, but fit her perfectly, showing
off her figure to good advantage. The product was a new kind of floor cleaner, and
the part was a housewife, which didn’t require quite as much in the way of glamor
as the cosmetics audition. She read for the director, who liked her. He called in
the account manager and she did it again. The two men put their heads together and
nodded.

Please, she thought, let me get this one.

“Miss Avery,” said the director. “The product manufacturer is going to be in town
tomorrow for lunch. We want him to meet you before we make our final decision.”

Final decision. That sounded promising. But lunch tomorrow? Nina thought. She wouldn’t
get back to Hoffman until almost dark tomorrow night. Worrying about her father, she
hesitated. What if he was lonely and got discouraged? What if the cretin who put that
sign on Aunt Mary’s door decided to come back and harass him? What if they defaced
the house or, worse, tried to hurt him? Doomsday scenarios crowded her mind. And then
she chided herself. Her father had been alone in prison for fifteen years. He could
certainly handle one extra day on the outside without her. Besides, he’d be furious
if he thought she gave up this job just to rush back to Hoffman.

“Sure,” she said. “I can be here. I’d love to meet him. What time?”

O
VER
an early lunch, Nina met the product manufacturer, a cheerful, down-to-earth businessman
from Des Moines. He announced right there that he thought Nina would be ideal to represent
his floor wax, and so the deal was concluded with handshakes, and contract discussions
were directed to Len Weinberg. There was even some optimistic talk of multiple commercials,
and Nina left the meeting feeling happy and hopeful.

She rushed back to the apartment to change and pick up her bag, and she was able to
get to Port Authority and make the three o’clock bus to Hoffman. She stared impatiently
out the window, wondering how everything was going with her father. Last night, when
she realized she would be spending another night in New York, she had called her aunt’s
house, but there was no answer. Maybe he had met up with an old friend, she told herself,
and gone out to dinner. She had tried calling several
times, and then forced herself to stop. He had been so adamant about her not hovering
over him that she knew he would be angry when he finally answered and she pounced
on him. But she felt as if she were holding her breath all the time she was away from
him, and she felt an immense relief when the bus reached the stop nearest Aunt Mary’s
house and Nina was, at last, deposited on the sidewalk.

Maybe we’ll go out to dinner tonight, she thought, as she walked up the sidewalk through
the dry, shifting leaves. Somewhere really nice. She thought about the places she
knew around here. Patrick had taken her and Jimmy out to a steak house that was chic,
but the food was hearty and unfussy. Maybe they could try that. She wondered briefly
what Duncan would wear to such a place. She had kept some of his clothes when they
sold the house. She’d packed his shirts, ties, and jackets in boxes and stored them
in Aunt Mary’s basement. He’d be too thin for the jackets now, but he could wear the
gray windbreaker with a shirt and tie. Nina came around the corner and began to approach
the house. She could see that there was an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway and
that her aunt’s old Volvo was gone. As she came up the front walk she saw a man standing
on the front doorstep, ringing the doorbell. He was a dark-eyed, olive-complected
man wearing a black open-necked sport shirt and a burgundy jacket.

“Can I help you?” she asked suspiciously, coming up the steps behind him.

“Are you Nina Avery?” he asked.

Nina frowned. “Yes. Why?”

“Is Duncan Avery your father?”

Nina was instantly on her guard. “Why? What do you want to know for?”

“My name is Bill Repaci. I’m your father’s parole officer,” he said. The man pulled
a plastic folder out of his jacket pocket
and showed her his ID badge with his picture on it. “Your father had an appointment
scheduled today.”

“I know,” said Nina.

“He never showed up. I’m here looking for him.”

Nina did not want the man to see how much his words alarmed her. She reached into
her bag and pulled out the keys to the house. “Let’s go inside,” she said, putting
the key in the lock with a trembling hand.

She opened the door and turned on the lights. The house looked normal. Just as she’d
left it.

“Sit down, Mr….”

“Repaci,” said the man, and he remained standing.

Nina put her bag down. “I’ve been in New York the last few days. I just got back.
Did my father let you know we … he was living here?”

Repaci nodded. “He called me about it. He explained the situation and I said it was
all right, subject to the committee’s review, of course.”

“I can’t imagine that he would forget about his appointment this morning.”

Bill Repaci shook his head. “We spoke about it on the phone yesterday. He said he
would see me this morning just before he hung up.”

“He’s probably at work right now,” said Nina.

Repaci shook his head again. “I went over there when he didn’t show up at my office.
He didn’t show up at work today either. Or call.”

Nina stared at him. “He didn’t?”

Repaci looked at her grimly. “Nope. He was there yesterday, and the day before. But
today, nothing.”