Chapter 33
‘My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.’
It was still dark outside, but I was done pretending to sleep. I showered quickly, threw on my standard work uniform, crumpled plaid shirt, jeans, and slipped out with Rocky bounding along beside me.
We drove north, up the Peninsula, cutting through the dark as the sky slowly softened into morning.
As we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the rising sun filtered through the rust-red iron stanchions, striping the car in shadows like prison bars.
It felt apt. I wasn’t sure if we were escaping, or being held in.
Rivertide Studios sat tucked into a quiet valley in Marin, half-hidden behind eucalyptus and redwoods. It always felt like a secret world. A film set for someone else’s life. One I could slip into and pretend to belong.
‘Hey, Florence, welcome back! Couldn’t wait to get back to your desk?’ the security guard joked at the gate.
‘Jet-lagged,’ I said. ‘Figured I’d get a head start.’
He leaned in and gave Rocky a pat on the head. ‘My favourite hound,’ he said. Rocky rewarded him with a wet lick.
The gate closed behind me and I exhaled. The Fullers had no jurisdiction here. This was mine.
I was on my fifth coffee, eyes twitching, fingers flying across the keyboard catching up on a week’s worth of chaos, when the phone rang. Reflex took over. I picked it up.
‘Florence speaking.’
‘It’s Chase. I’ve been calling the house. Where the hell have you been?’
Of course. It wasn’t Hi, honey, how are you? It never was.
‘I wasn’t there.’
‘Where were you?’
‘None of your business.’
A pause. The silence between us always spoke louder than the shouting.
‘Don’t be pissy. I’m the one who missed the flight, not you. I’ve had to fly via fucking Toronto. Pick me up at six at SFO.’
‘No.’
‘Don’t be a fucking bitch, pick me up.’
‘No. Fuck off.’
I hung up. Slammed the receiver back in place.
‘Hope that wasn’t the production office you were telling to fuck off,’ said my boss, appearing at my desk with a grin and a stack of files.
‘Just some personal crap. Sorry.’
He studied me for a second. ‘You alright?’
‘Yeah. Just tired.’
The phone rang again. We both glanced at it. Rivertide protocol: answer before the third ring.
‘Florence speaking.’
‘Don’t you ever hang up on me again, bitch.’
‘No problem,’ I said sweetly, and replaced the receiver again. ‘They’d solved it,’ I added for my boss’s benefit.
He gave a shrug and left me to it. When the phone rang a third time, I reached over and unplugged it from the wall.
That evening, the sun was setting as I headed back over the bridge, leaving the Marin side drenched in gold. I was late for supper with Bunny and Chase Sr.
I let Rocky out by the lake, parked, and legged it to the house. The dining room and study were empty, but I found a sour-faced woman in the kitchen, spooning overcooked rice onto three plates like she was doling out rations.
‘Hello, I’m Florence,’ I said, forcing some brightness into my voice.
‘Rose-Anne,’ she replied flatly.
‘Where’s Mrs Fuller?’
‘They’re in that TV room off the main bedroom.’
The vampire wing. I rarely ventured into Bunny and Chase Sr’s sleeping quarters. They had separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms, and what felt like separate lives, connected only by vast corridors and closets.
I called out a polite ‘Hello?’ as I tiptoed in. The air was heavy with mothballs, stale cigarettes, Bunny’s Gucci perfume, and hairspray. The whole aroma had all melded into the fibres of the silk curtains.
Chase Sr’s room was dimly lit. The bed was unmade, the Chronicle folded open, a half-empty ashtray by the lamp. Through the open door beyond, light spilled from the TV room.
‘Come in, Florence,’ came Bunny’s voice.
I pushed the door open to find them in pyjamas, sitting on a long cream sofa like two ageing sphinxes. Bunny had some sort of elastic face contraption on, pulling her skin taut like she’d been prepped for embalming.
The San Francisco Giants were about to play. Bunny had one eye on the screen, the other on her tumbler of Scotch.
‘Sit, darling,’ said Chase Sr, patting the cushion beside him.
I perched.
‘Have you heard from Chase?’ said Bunny.
‘Briefly. He’s flying in from Canada.’
‘He hasn’t called here,’ she said. ‘Don’t go running home to him. Make him sweat a little.’
No danger of me running home, I thought.
‘He’ll turn up soon enough,’ Chase Sr added, sipping Budweiser from a crystal tumbler. ‘We always do.’
I nodded politely, checked the time. Seven thirty. He’d be back at the house by now, shouting at an empty room.
I needed to get out. I needed somewhere of my own to live, a plan to exit the Fuller family, and enough money to do it all. Rivertide didn’t pay much, but maybe I could find a roommate situation. Something. Anything. I had to find financial independence to break free.
On-screen, the game began. Bunny and Chase Sr leaned forward, engrossed. My plate arrived, watery rice with something unidentifiable on top. I picked at it, made excuses, and slunk out when no one was looking.
Back at the flat, Rocky was waiting at the door, tail wagging. Bunny was apparently putting Rose-Anne up in a motel nearby ‘until Chase Jr came to his senses’.
The idea that I’d ever return to Chase out of anything other than legal necessity was laughable. But Bunny thought this was all a preamble. She believed in act breaks and resolutions. I was writing a different ending.
Rocky put his paw on my knee, as if he knew.
‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered to him, rubbing his head. ‘We’re not staying here forever.’