Burnaway

[cont.]
But no one deserved the level of attack in these “documentaries.” Maggie knew that everyone around Larry would also be eviscerated. Odessa might have been unwise to get involved with him but Maggie could imagine how Barbara would distort that and mock it. Barbara wasn’t capable of appreciating that initial resurgence of joy she had seen in Odessa. Odessa deserved every happiness. Everyone deserved happiness. Seeking happiness should insulate us against the meanness of life instead of opening us up to derision, shouldn’t it? Why doesn’t it? What is it about us as humans that we have to make everything so hard, so cruel?
Larry helped Odessa through a difficult time. That was the euphemism, wasn’t it? Larry had distracted her, allowed her a respite from her grief. And Odessa still talked fondly about their quick trip to Hawaii, the colors of the birds and flowers, the sound of the waves on the white sand beach, how the air seemed different than regular air. She and Dennis never splurged that way. She bought art from emerging artists and before the economy crashed spent a small fortunate to participate in art fairs all around the world promoting her gallery artists. Her profits got funneled into purchases. Their few vacations for pure pleasure always revolved around a golf course for him with Odessa content to catch up on her reading and to check out any local artists. Dennis’ main extravagance was collecting drivers with macho names like RAZR Hawk and Diablo Octane and exotic putters like the antique one of ivory from Scotland. He attended the Masters every year, courtesy of a former patient who provided the ticket and a place to stay. He was like a little kid about it, always bringing back Masters mugs and socks and even Masters peanut butter crackers for his friends, wearing his green jacket all winter. He was a kind man: he accepted patients who couldn’t pay; he helped put the smartest of his cousins’ children through the best colleges which would accept them. He adopted her.
Barbara would probably mock Larry’s attraction to Odessa. After all, she wasn’t a pretty young thing. Aging women are easy to ridicule. All she’d have to do is manipulate the light to play up the wrinkles, the beginning signs of turkey neck, focus on the veins on her hands. She would probably make it seem more like a crass business decision, casting them both as shallow opportunists. Hanging out with a respected gallery dealer elevated him in the cultural world and his last novel, dedicated to her, was actually a much better read with major actors jockeying for the lead roles in the upcoming film version. Watching them together, his solicitousness, his perpetual need to be her center of attention, even Barbara would see that he needed a mother figure, someone to take care of him. Odessa nurtured. Whether she intended to or not, she nurtured. Barbara would definitely find a way to mock that. Maggie could imagine the footage of Odessa’s ample breasts and the snide voice over accompanying it.
When Barbara completed reciting the obviously rehearsed script of her apology, Maggie accepted it. Tragedy does have a long term impact, she agreed. Finding a family member unexpectedly dead is beyond tragedy into the realm of trauma.
As predicted, Barbara asked if it would be ok to contact Odessa. Barbara missed their conversations. Maggie, trying very hard not to laugh, remarked that Barbara of course should talk to Odessa, adding, “Just don’t expect her to kiss and tell.”
Barbara seemed taken aback at Maggie’s suggestion. “I’m not calling her for that reason.” The sputtering was amusing and as usual, Maggie let her off the hook, telling her truthfully that she had another call coming in and had to say good bye.
The call was from Alex. Dear Alex. Maggie didn’t usually become this friendly with men but she and Alex had so much in common – like being Abominations in the Eyes of the Lord and slaves to Art. His tendency to quote his favorite television programs like they were gems of Western civilization tickled her pink. He would call at midnight his time when his cell phone usage was free and unlimited and they would chat up a storm. Actually, he talked; she mostly listened. New York fascinated him and he saved stories to tell her – how everyone he met that day was like a specific insect, particularly the woman outside of Condé Nast whose body looked exactly like a six and a half foot tall preying mantis. Or odd and personal conversations he’d overheard sitting on the M train. No one suspected he was fluent in Spanish so he heard some pretty candid stuff, including a plot to rob a convenience store (their friend kept telling them they were talking crazy and stop with that shit) and a group of Puerto Rican hotel maids joking about the tiny penises of the men who exposed themselves. Alex liked to tell her stories, not just what he saw that day. She learned a lot about Tommy, Hondo and Lori as well. In a way, she saw them through his eyes and he loved them unconditionally. Maybe that’s what she liked most about him – that he was so capable of that.
“You know, Magpie, we’ll have to do something fun together when I come back for my opening. You want to ride on the Ferris wheel on the beach? It’s what I miss most about living there. So beautiful being up in the sky at sunset. Are you interested in Disneyland? I’m probably going to have to go there with my sister and her kids the day after the opening, if they actually make it to LA. I haven’t seen any of them in ten years. Escorting them to Disneyland is part of the price I have to pay for the pleasure of their company. My sister told me both of her kids are artistic and I’m supposed to convince them to study engineering instead of art.”
“Is this your twin sister?”
“Yeah. We haven’t even talked for years. Out of the blue she called me last week to let me know that Dad hasn’t been well and is in the hospital. Maggie, she said he still refuses to see me. He’ll die rejecting me.”
“You can’t choose your family, you know.”
“I can only choose my friends. My friends. My poor friends. I still can’t believe they are all dead. Aren’t you afraid of being friendly with me? I am like the curse of the mummy or something. ‘You should keep your distance, Ducky. The ones who get too close always end up dead.’”
“I know how that feels. One reason I don’t open up readily is that everyone I get close to dies too.”
“My sister told me I was living in one of those horror movies where a group of friends cheat death and then death stalks them down, killing them one by one.”
“So much doom and gloom on such a sunny day. Hey, since we both seem to be trapped in the same plot line, maybe our being friends works like a double negative, canceling each other out? No? What shall we call our affliction? Midas’ touch killed everything he came in contact with but we definitely aren’t getting rich off this curse. How about the Cerberus touch?”