Chapter Twenty-Six
twenty-six
JUNE 1990
VIVIAN was tense that summer. It was hot and dry and even the air seemed to stand still, waiting. Edith wouldn’t look her in the eye. Josiah was on the phone all the time. His father had fallen ill back in Jiaxing. Vivian kept telling him to go back and visit. She offered to buy him a plane ticket. She had been thinking of visiting her bà, too. Sometime next year, she promised herself. Maybe Richard would let her take the girls.
Lucille always locked herself in her room these days. Vivian finally understood what she had pointed to in the copy of Pride and Prejudice. Ada and Sophie had feelings for each other. But Vivian didn’t know how to confront her daughter about it, not yet.
Nothing in the house was working. There were yellowing patches of grass in the garden no matter how much they watered it. The fountain water had plugged up and gone stagnant. Her car wouldn’t start the day she needed it for an audition. And now the word processor was finnicky again.
Vivian fiddled with the knobs and buttons. It had shut down after she’d printed the latest page and wouldn’t turn on. Of course Richard was the one who always wanted the newest model of these things. Their old typewriter was just fine. She surprised herself by wishing that her husband was home to fix this. But he was away at another one of his meetings and she wanted to revise a page of her screenplay. She had the page next to her, with her notes in pen. She worked on the script in her spare time, even though it hardly amounted to anything but rejection letters. Her grand hope had dimmed over the years. After this filming in September for yet another background role in an action film, she had nothing booked for the rest of the year. At least if her roles ran out, she still had this.
The door creaked open. Vivian looked up to see Ada slip into the library, but she stopped short when she saw her mother. “Bǎo bèi?” Vivian called out, but the door had already closed behind her.
Vivian turned back to the machine and was observing it curiously as the phone rang.
She heard footsteps shuffle toward the library, and then stop. Ada again? She picked up the phone.
“Richard?”
Vivian cleared her throat. “Richard isn’t available right now. May I take a message?”
“It’s the accountant. Tell him to call me back.”
Vivian paused and cradled the phone receiver. “This is his wife, Vivian. Is there a problem?”
The accountant paused. “Well, there’s a discrepancy on the tax forms for this year on his income and he needs to file an amended return. Anyway. No need to stress, Mrs. Lowell. Tell him to call me back. ASAP. We’ll sort it out.”
“Okay.” She hung up and stared at the family portrait across from her. His income. Vivian had never questioned it. It had been enough. There had always been enough. But now with the production company, he was spending money on his trips to see studios and executives instead of earning money through roles. The production company wasn’t doing well. Maybe things had changed.
It was exactly the sort of thing he wouldn’t tell her about.
Vivian unlocked the file cabinet drawer built into the bottom of the desk. Everything important was in here: her daughters’ birth certificates, their marriage license, the deed from when they first bought this property. The files were neatly organized with labels in her husband’s script. She found the folder with the tax returns and pulled it out.
Don’t worry about it , her husband always told her. I’ll take care of it. This house, their lives, the money.
And she trusted him.
She paged through the returns. She took in the numbers, slowly, and summed them up in her head. They’d taken in far less income last year than she’d thought. At this rate, if they paid for the twin’s college tuitions, in addition to Elaine’s, they’d struggle to pay Edith and Josiah’s salaries. She shoved the folder back in the cabinet. Pushing the files back, she caught a glimpse of a manila folder at the bottom of the drawer. When she pulled it out, a piece of paper fluttered out with her name on it.
Dear Mrs. Yin-Lowell,
Thank you for submitting All Happy Families for consideration. You clearly possess a gift for storytelling, but I’m afraid I can’t quite place this script. With deep regret I must pass—
Vivian sat back. Had her husband been collecting her rejections? She knew where she put them; in an envelope, buried underneath the scarves in her vanity drawer. She’d folded up every stinging rejection letter and tucked it in there.
But this letter had no creases. No signature.
Vivian sat back. Slowly, she flipped through the papers. None of them were creased. They were perfectly crisp sheets of paper, all in the same font. The words were different, but they all held the same sentiment.
With deep regret I must pass.
I apologize.
I regret to say—
None of them had signatures.
These letters had never been sent. They could have only come from one place.
Cold sweat prickled on her palms, her forehead. With shaking fingers, she picked up the page she’d printed from the word processor and stared at the matching font.
Vivian stumbled out of the library. In the foyer, Edith stopped sweeping to watch her go up the stairs. In a stupor, Vivian retrieved the envelope with all of her rejections.
They were all on the same paper. Same font.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears like the thunder of an approaching train. The clock on the wall continued to tick.
I’ll take care of it , her husband had said. I’ll take care of everything.
She thought back to the beginning of her marriage, where they didn’t want to make a decision without asking the other. They were the architects and conspirators of their shared lives. Had it all—everything—been a lie? Had she misremembered all of it?
Them rehearsing lines with each other, him making her laugh with silly voices.
His hand on her knee, at the screening of his movie.
Of course you can do it , he’d said, when she told him about her screenplay. You write it, I’ll read it.
Him reading the script over her shoulder and helping her revise her lines, his pen patiently hovering next to hers as he thought of the words she’d struggled with.
The way he’d looked upon her on their honeymoon in Provence and said, I don’t think even a lifetime with you could be enough.
The way he’d gotten her flowers when she got the phone call for the role of Jia-Yee in Fortune’s Eye .
Their fast drives through the enchanting slip of the twilight hours, the long afternoons reading with their children in the living room, the late-night calls that poured forth when one of them was away.
All these years she had waited by the mailbox for any response. All these years her husband had sat across from her at the dinner table as she dared to hope that one day there could be a movie on the screen that she’d written. A movie about a big, happy Chinese family. He’d offered to mail them for her. She’d opened these letters— his letters —right in front of him. Each time he’d told her that there would be more chances.
She had never had a chance. He’d made sure of it.
If he’d done this, what else was he capable of?
This time she didn’t stop her thoughts. She let each horrifying possibility tear through her. Eugene Lyman’s words from Cannes came back to her: How are you feeling? Tears sprang to her eyes. She ran out of the room and lurched down the stairs. Edith rushed to her side. “Lian-er, are you—”
Vivian pushed past her. She ran barefoot onto the terrace and knelt by the railing, sobbing. She looked over the gardens she once dreamed up with him . He had promised her everything and he had taken it away from her too. She could barely register the sounds that came out of her, the hoarse, muffled, wordless wails. She bent toward the railing and rested her forehead against the stone balusters.
Eventually, the door opened behind her.
“Mā,” Lucille called out. “What’s wrong?” The twins stared at her, bewildered.
Vivian drew herself up. The sight of her daughters blurred through her tears. She couldn’t bear for them to look at her. “I’m going for a drive.”
She pushed through the girls, refusing to meet their eyes. Edith stood in the kitchen with Sophie, both staring at her. She headed straight for her convertible. The car her husband had taught her how to drive.
I’ll take care of everything.
Vivian stomped on the accelerator and threw the clutch into gear. The car jolted backward. The tires screeched and she could smell the rubber burning away on the hot pavement. On the road, the kicked-up dust stung her eyes and the wind knocked the breath from her chest.
She pulled over when she saw a phone booth. Shakily, she climbed out of her car. She lit a cigarette, took the address book out of her purse and dialed Eugene Lyman.
“Hello?”
“Eugene,” she said. She couldn’t stop shivering in this dry heat. Stop. Stop! “This is Vivian. I need to ask you a question.”
At the end of the day, Vivian waited for him in the library.
Edith called her to dinner, but she didn’t answer. She watched the grandfather clock. She knew he would come to her. She couldn’t stop shivering. She’d draped her suit jacket over her shoulders. At 6:47, there was a knock at the door. After a moment, Edith’s steps receded. At a quarter past eight, there was another insistent knock.
“Mā,” Rennie said. How her daughter had grown. It was as if Vivian had walked to the door expecting her toddling figure. But now Rennie was taller than her and long-limbed. “Are you—are you thinking of eating?”
Vivian shook her head. “I need to speak with your dad first.” She softened. “Don’t worry about me, bǎo bèi. Okay?”
Rennie nodded and retreated warily.
She finally saw his headlights at a quarter to midnight. She heard the front door open, and his steps approach the library. “Hey,” he said, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and running his hand through his hair. “Edith said you were in here. Are you—”
His eyes landed on the sheets of paper in front of her.
“I’m going to ask you a question.” She pushed toward him all the rejections she’d kept. All these years he’d let her believe she wasn’t good enough. He had made sure her dream died bloodlessly. In silence. “Did you write these?”
He stopped short. “No. What are you…” He paused, and then he gave her a strange look. She’d seen that expression so many times. That furrowed brow. The measured, concerned expression. It used to comfort her. Now it enraged her. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” He gestured around him. “What is all this?”
Vivian drew herself up. “You’re lying.”
His gaze snapped back to her. Her body registered that this was dangerous, but she didn’t know if she cared.
“I’m going to ask you one more time.” She pushed the stack of drafted rejection letters toward him. The ones that were unsent, uncreased, and unsigned. How many were there? How many more times was he ready for her to send her work out and hope? “Did you write these?”
He said nothing. That was enough for her.
“I tried,” he said softly. “At the beginning. I tried talking to everyone about it. I really did. No one wanted it. It wasn’t… there’s not an audience, Vivian.” He stepped forward. His eyes softened. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want them to hurt you.”
Vivian’s chest heaved. I’ll take care of it. “I don’t believe you anymore.” She lifted her chin. “I called Gene Lyman.”
His expression hardened.
“ You ,” she cried. “You took that role away from me. In Dawn Light .” Her voice rose and cracked. “I was going to get it!” The walls seemed to close in. “You fed him lies. You told him I was—unstable.” 神经病 . Nerves shot and frayed.
“Do you not remember that you were having panic attacks? I told him it was best for you to step back. I mean, clearly your career was taking a toll on you. It was better for you to be home, to be with the kids—”
“ What career? ” Vivian slammed the table with both hands. “I’m getting nothing now. I audition for—for a waitress, or a shopkeeper, or any other role where I don’t speak. I try so hard, and then I finally get an opportunity and you take it away from me! You monster. ”
Pain shocked through the back of her skull before she registered what happened. His fingers wrenched her hair. His eyes were bloodshot, wild. He was on something. She felt his hot breath on her face and smelled stale, sour whiskey. “Are you not happy with what you have? Other people work their entire lives for this, and it’s still not enough for you.”
Vivian went limp. Tears seared her cheeks.
“What a greedy woman you are,” he snarled. “You got what no one else could, and you’re still not satisfied.”
It was about the Oscar. It always was. She knew exactly how to placate him right now. She could apologize. But she had a fierce urge to hurt him back. She laughed, high and shrill. “You wish you got it. You never will.” She whispered through gritted teeth. “ You’re not good enough .”
That was when his fingers closed around her throat.
He shoved her against the bookshelves and pinned her with his whole weight, raising her up to her toes. Vivian kicked at him, but his grip only tightened. Her head pounded and she fought for air. “Say that again.”
She struggled against him. He wasn’t letting go.
His eyes were lethal. “Go on.” He threw her against the shelf, once, twice. “Say it.”
Nothing could make its way out of her throat. Her eyes felt like they would burst. Seconds dragged; the room swayed before her. She clawed at his hands, but he didn’t let go.
Spots filled her vision. The room dimmed. She heard a buzzing sound—was that real? Her husband was looking at her with that terrifying look she knew too well, except the flesh around his jaw was sagging, purpling and then becoming green. His eyes clouded over, bloating and bulging in his sockets, until they burst and splattered against her.
She pitched forward and fell on her knees, blinking frantically, sucking air in with rattling gasps. Light poured into her vision. She was on the floor of the library. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered into a chair. Her husband was facing away from her and she was relieved not to have to look at him.
Seconds, or hours, passed. She kept swallowing, as if it could open up her throat. The room still spun. There was still this buzzing in her ears. “I’m filing for divorce.” Her voice came out so hoarse, she was surprised he was able to hear her.
“We’re not divorcing.” He still wouldn’t look at her.
Look at what you did to me , she wanted to scream.
“Let’s make this clear,” he said quietly. There were scratches down his wrist. He rolled down his sleeves to cover them. “If you leave me, that is your choice. But let me tell you exactly what will happen next. You will ruin this family. You will never get another cent from me. I will get full custody of Rennie—”
“You won’t,” Vivian rasped.
“I will. I’ll get the best lawyers. You won’t see her again. And I will make sure you never, ever, come near Hollywood again, Vivian. I will make sure you are never on another screen in my lifetime. You will be a ghost here. No one will remember your name.”
“I’m your wife.”
“I brought you here,” her husband said. “I gave you everything you have.”
There was a creak from behind them. Vivian turned. The door hung ajar.
Her husband jerked away from her.
Ada stood there, her eyes wide.
“Hua-er,” Vivian whispered, Ada’s nickname. She swallowed, again.
“Go back to bed, Ada.”
This time Ada didn’t move. “What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward. “What are you fighting about?”
He walked toward Ada. “We were talking. Just go back to bed.”
“ No ,” Ada said, and her voice trembled. “I’m tired of not knowing. Tell me!”
Her husband lunged forward and slammed his fist against the door. He roared, “ Get out!! ”
Her daughter froze. She stumbled back and opened her mouth, but then she ran.
Vivian staggered after her. “Bǎo bèi,” she croaked. Ada ran up the stairs. Vivian tried to follow her, but she got dizzy and fell on the first step. Ada’s door closed and the lock clicked.
It was the first time she had seen her husband’s violence turn toward her children. She felt both trapped in her body and as though she was floating outside of it at the same time. Her breaths were ragged and painful. Wake up , she told herself. Wake up.
But this was not a dream.
Her husband came into the foyer and when he looked down at her his expression was empty. “Look at what we’ve done to ourselves.” He shook his head. “Look at what we’ve done to our family. Let’s just go to bed.”