Chapter 29 #2
“I’m not sure.” I always avoided looking too directly at him, but I couldn’t deny this.
His mood was erratic, his eyes tired. I didn’t know what he had done in the intervening years except work without reprieve, but how lonely that must have been.
Despite all that was at stake and everything he had taken from me, I felt sorry for him. What did he want me to say?
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied. The number of souls I gather daily in Afghanistan and Cambodia is staggering.” He motioned for a refill. “Famine, war, disease . . . the work never ends. And yet you all dance to your music and drown out the rest of the world.”
Guilt set in, as it always did, but I had to squash it down. He had his role, just like I had mine. “After all this time, do you have even one good thing to say about them? Us?”
His severe frown eased reluctantly. “Some of the movies aren’t bad.”
“Any favorites?”
He nodded his head toward Gabby. “Her last was passable.”
“You watched it?” That made me nervous. Of course he’d be interested in her. I loved her. He’d be interested in anything that interested me.
Death rolled his eyes. “A man had a heart attack in the theater and hit his head on the way down. I stayed a bit longer when I noticed her on the screen.”
“Well?” I couldn’t help but be curious. “What did you think?”
“She is talented. I can see why you . . . love her.”
“If you’re not here for Gabby, why are you here?”
“As I said, I’m stopping in to see an old friend.”
“Is that what you think we are? Friends?”
“Given our long history, I thought the term might fit.” We sat there for a while. He was a constant. The only one after decades and decades on earth. He knew the truth of me and I of him.
“Are you happy, Nella?”
Was it a mistake to admit I was? Would he cut Gabby’s life short? I glanced at her, chatting with her circle, still strong, lithe, incandescent. “Yes. I am.”
Death settled forlorn eyes on me. “Can you describe it?”
I sat for a minute, flummoxed. He’d never asked that before. “I can only describe happiness as a light that comes from within. You feel lighter, almost buoyant, maybe giddy. Are you?”
“No,” he said. “And I thought seeing you would fix it.”
I forgot how to breathe for a moment. “And did it?”
“I suppose. I find your happiness means something to me. I thought I’d take a look at it up close.”
He drained the last of the second drink. “Enjoy it, Nella. You deserve it. I’d stay longer, but, alas, duty calls.” He bowed and winked out of existence.
When he was gone, the music sharpened around me again, the sights and sounds of the nightclub refocused and more vibrant after his exit.
I had many years with Gabby. Death had assured me, but how many more? I tried not to think about it, but how could I not, especially as the years passed? As Death had promised, nothing unexpected happened, but I still had to watch the passage of time on her person.
In 1991, Gabby turned sixty-six, and though she was still beautiful, the effects of time were evident in small ways: the creases at the corners of her eyes, the slight thickening of her waist, the touch of gray kissing her temples.
I remember one night she sat at her makeup table at our house, squinting at her reflection, pressing back the soft skin from her eyes.
“You are stunning,” I said from the door, watching her.
She smiled at me. “Easy for you to say. You haven’t aged a day. It’s been more than thirty years since we met, and it’s like you just walked through the church doors. You have to tell me your secret.”
“Just good stock,” I lied, then told fiction stories about my family and their slow-aging fountain of youth genes. I hated lying to her. She was more than a lover, a wife, a partner, but a trusted friend, someone I wished I could let in on the truth. But I couldn’t break Death’s rules.
“Still, it’s a marvelous thing. Almost every actress I know would give their eyeteeth for it.” Gabby glanced up at me. “To be forever young looking. A blessing—”
“And a curse.” My thoughts wandered to the true price of living forever. All around me, the world had sped up: turbo jets, bullet trains, cell phones, Walkmans, VCRs, personal computers, and twenty-four-hour news cycles. The only thing remaining unchanged was me.
I’d resorted to dusting my hair with powder, overdoing my makeup, wearing longer skirts and dated blouses, and putting on thick, clear-lensed glasses that took up half my face. Despite my efforts, the comments about how good I looked for my age never stopped.
“Do you mind?” I asked her.
“Why would I?” She stood, her dressing gown sweeping behind her, and wrapped her hands around me. “Intelligent, talented, and beautiful? Who would complain about that? Not me, that’s for certain.”
I hugged her, her skin soft, her jasmine perfume wafting. Being in her arms felt like home.
“Speaking of certain,” she said as we broke apart, “I did want to talk with you about something I’ve been thinking about for a bit.”
I paused at the seriousness of her tone.
She swallowed, rubbing her hands together. “Perhaps it’s time for part two of my dream—that maybe we just do that full-time.”
“Does that mean what I think it means? Time for suitcases?”
She chuckled at my delight, the sound low in her throat.
“I think so.” She glanced around the room at the posters and trophies, evidence of her success littering the walls: pictures with other stars and blown-up movie stills.
“As much as I love it, I can admit that perhaps it doesn’t feel like it used to.
Three a.m. calls to set, weeks on location, always being camera ready .
. . I think I’ve done everything I wanted to do.
I’m getting older,” she said, putting up a hand to stop my protests, “and we still have twenty cards to go. I’d like to see them all before—you know. ”
“Well, we’re not going to think about that.”
“But we should. I’m not getting any younger. I just wanted to make plans—”
“I have a plan—taking care of you and Winston as long as there is breath in my body.”
Gabby’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “I think it’s time for our next act.”
“You don’t hear me complaining,” I said, kissing her curls.
I hadn’t thought she’d ever give up her career.
Her stepping back meant more one-on-one time, slowing down, and exploring.
I went through the cards mentally. We hadn’t traveled much to South America.
Maybe we’d start there. Perhaps we could find more that Death would be interested in.
We could explore her retirement. As for what would happen later, we’d get there in time.
She stopped me, gently capturing my hand and searching my face. “Are you sure? We’re always doing things for me—so much so I feel guilty. You moved all the way here for me—took care of Winston. I want you to accomplish your dreams as well.”
“I have you, Winston, and our life together. What more could I want?”
“Well, it’s decided then,” she said decisively. “The final shot’s tonight, and I can tell my agent at the wrap party right after. If we plan it right, we can be off in a month.”
I stood beside her as she applied the blush.
I loved her even more today than I had years ago.
I knew every inch of her body, how she smelled after getting caught in the rain, and the micro frown lines that popped between her eyebrows when she read a new script.
Our love had a depth that only time could bring.
I wondered what she’d be like, retired. It was easy to imagine long walks up the boulevards, using my gift to translate for us, or taking tours as we explored other places.
I glanced at my watch. “I need to get moving if I’m going to make it on time. I might be a smidge late to the wrap party, but I’ll see you there.”
“Oh?” she said, catching my eyes in the mirror. “What’ll be keeping you?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“For me?”
I leaned down and kissed her. “Who else would it be for?”
“Well, I know it’s not Winston. He was just here for Easter. So what else could it be?”
“You’ll just have to see,” I said, padding from the room.
I hurried to finish dressing and gather my papers, sure the cab would arrive at any minute.
I hadn’t wanted to tell her, especially since nothing had been finalized, but Sunset Publishing had reached out about writing her memoir.
If she was going to retire, this might be the perfect time to tell her story—our story.
I read through the proposal in the back of the cab, nervous.
I’d written all those stories for The Defender, but this was different and personal.
I’d be recording her nomination for a Primetime Emmy, her work on the variety shows, and all her work in civil rights.
Reading through the manuscript reminded me of how proud I was of her—how lucky I was to have her.
The traffic was surprisingly light, and we made fantastic time.
Maybe I can even get to the party early.
We pulled off the highway and were idling at a red light, almost there, when I felt a tingle of awareness so strong that I looked up from the papers.
It was only half a second, if even that.
One glimpse, and I was certain my life as I knew it was over.
Death stood on the corner, dressed in all black.
It was only a glance, but I knew what it meant. He hung his head as if it hurt him to hurt me, and vanished.
It was as if my lungs collapsed, the weight of an elephant there, making it impossible to draw breath.
When I could make a sound, it was a scream.
“Shit, lady! What’s the matter with you,” the driver said, swerving.
“Stop!” I pounded on the partition. “Turn the car around! Take me home now!”
“Hit the glass again, and you’ll be walking.”
“You have to take me back now. I don’t care what it costs.”
I held myself in the back seat, papers scattered at my feet as I prayed. Please, no, God. It’s just a coincidence. Everything is fine.
I couldn’t allow myself to think of anything else.
Gabby was fine.
Gabby was fine.
Gabby was fine.
If I thought it enough, then it would have to be true.
I checked the time. Maybe she hadn’t left yet. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.
I flew out of the cab as soon as it pulled up, not even waiting for it to stop. I threw money at the driver and grabbed the papers to my chest.
“Gabby!” I screeched, running up the stairs, papers fluttering like leaves behind me as I searched the house, going room by room, scared I’d find her fallen behind a door or having suffered a heart attack.
I searched and searched, but she wasn’t there.
My mind jumped to all the different scenarios. Where could she be, and what had happened?
I was running to our room to call her agent when the phone rang.
At that moment, I knew.
It could have been Winston checking on his mom.
It could have been the maid calling in sick, the wrong number, or any number of things, but at that moment, I knew.
I sat on the bed, watching it ring. But it could’ve been her, and she could’ve been fine. That was the only reason I picked up.
“Hello?”
It was her agent, Joan. “Jimi, they’re taking her to Cedars-Sinai—you have to get there quick.”