The Wentworths Page 10

  “Please.”

  “Good luck to you,” Miss Angela said as she closed the red door.

  Kimmy wanted to be carried. She had a headache and Honey thought probably a fever. They needed a thermometer at home, why couldn’t Honey ever remember to buy one? Thermometer and children’s Tylenol. Honey picked up Kimmy. She was a skinny girl, barely forty pounds, and it was true that she was sick a lot. It was hard to get her to eat anything other than chips and hot dogs. What was Honey supposed do? Force-feed her spinach? Truth was, Honey didn’t really care for fruits and vegetables either. She’d buy some grapes. Grapes were good and Kimmy would eat them if they were frozen.

  “My angel,” Honey said. “We’ll walk to the market and get you some medicine. Then we’ll go home.”

  “They don’t want us, huh Mommy?” Kimmy rested her head on Honey’s shoulder.

  “No, baby. They don’t.”

  “It’s okay.” Kimmy shifted her weight. “I’ll stay home with you.”

  Honey walked down the street towards the market. What was she going to do? Who would take care of Kimmy while she was at work? What about when Gus came over? Honey didn’t even know where to begin to look for her answers.

  31

  Gus to the Rescue

  If Gus had been busy, if he’d had something, anything, to do that afternoon, if he hadn’t already gassed up the car and had it washed and the tires filled with air, if there weren’t still another three hours to kill before dinner at the country club, he probably would have ignored Honey’s cry for help. He probably would have put it off and maybe made a phone call the next day. He might have sent a letter. He probably would have done so anonymously. But Gus really didn’t have anything better to do on that afternoon and so he drove to the Happy Helpers Preschool. He parked the Bentley in the Loading and Unloading Only zone and walked up to the bright red door.

  Gus had never been here, of course. He’d only seen Kimmy that first time when he visited the apartment. Kid looked like something off a famine poster from the depths of poorest Africa, ribcage, cheekbones, bulging eyes and all. Except, of course, Kimmy was white. She didn’t say much but she stared at Gus with that awful hunger that made him want to lock her up in a closet. When Honey told him she couldn’t afford the local preschool and so Kimmy had to stay home—Gus had written a check.

  The knob on the red door was high, eye level. Gus assumed that was to keep the kids from escaping. He tried but it was locked. Shit. What if they were gone for the day? He didn’t even know the name of this god damn place. Gus pounded. He could hear someone moving around inside. What the fuck was he doing here? This wasn’t his job. He’d never even stepped foot in a school when his children were young. That was Judith’s territory. Women’s work. Hell, he had no idea where his grandchildren went or even what grade they were in. He waited but no one came. Gus put his ear to the door; it sounded like someone was sweeping.

  He knocked again, this time using his key. It scratched the paint but made a much louder noise. “Hello? Are you there?” Why was he doing this?

  Gus listened. The sweeping had stopped.

  “HELLO.” Gus pounded then put his ear to the door and heard the sweeping resume.

  “Hey.” Gus rattled the handle. “Come on.” He kicked the door but it hurt his toe so he turned around and used his heel, which was hard and sharp. BANG, BANG, BANG. “Open up, goddamn it.” His heel actually chipped some of the red paint off the door and you could see the gray primer coat. He felt strong, kicking that door. Nothing could stop August Wentworth. He felt like he could break the damn thing down if he wanted to. A young buck, a strapping young man, still lived in this old body. Gus looked back; there were little divots in the wood. How deep he could make those divots, how much paint could he chip off? Let’s show these motherfuckers something. Gus Wentworth was not to be ignored. He switched legs and started in with his left foot just as the door was flung opened. Gus stumbled backwards a couple of steps but caught himself before he fell.

  “What the fuck is going on?” the woman said.

  Gus whirled around. She was hard and pointy like a pair of needle-nose pliers. Her hair was straight and cut at a sharp angle just at the chin. Judith wore her hair that way. Was that why this woman looked so familiar?

  “Mr. Wentworth?”

  Shit. How the hell did she know his name?

  “Angela Simms.” She held out her hand and laughed. “I had dinner at your house a couple of nights ago. With Conrad. Remember?”

  “Of course. What a coincidence.” Gus shook then put his hands in his pockets and searched furiously for a plan. “So this is your school?”

  “Everything all right?” she said.

  This was not good. He saw her glance at the battered door then back up to his face. She kept that fake smile, a strangely Judith-like smile, plastered across her face. This girl was trouble.

  “Fine,” Gus cleared his throat. “I’m here to discuss a student who attends your school. Or did. Did attend your school.”

  “Who?”

  “Honey Belmont.”

  Angela Simms studied his face. That toxic smile.

  “I mean, Kimmy. Kimmy Belmont.” Gus laughed at his mistake. He hoped he sounded good-natured and casual. “Kimmy’s the daughter, Honey’s the mother. Of course.”

  Angela smiled. “Come in,” she said.

  As she took his arm and lead him through the door Gus felt like he was being sucked into a swirling vortex of doom.

  Honey Belmont was the last thing that Angela expected from August Wentworth. The little slut. She was an ignorant Utah farm girl, plain and utterly stupid, probably hadn’t made it past the seventh grade. But one should never underestimate white trash. They were the vermin of our society, impossible to exterminate. Beverly Hills was crawling with rats and cockroaches. Still, Angela couldn’t even begin to figure out how Honey had pulled it off. A Wentworth?

  Why had Angela ever admitted her to the school? Stupid mistake. But it seemed like the right thing at the time. Something about the challenge of fixing damaged goods and the fact that Angela tried for some semblance of diversity at the school. Nowadays you couldn’t just have rich white kids at your school, it was actually a law, and so right from the start Angela had made a point of reaching out to families of color. People liked the idea of diversity. There were the Washingtons with their adorable twin boys, black as midnight. The Yamamotos were a lovely family, so quiet and clean. Little Camilla Rodriguez had an Argentinean father. But Angela didn’t have any underprivilegeds. So when Honey showed up and wanted to enroll—and she was actually able to pay the tuition (a mystery, now solved)—Angela thought it would bring some sort of good preschool karma if she admitted a little white trash. She had visions of changing the child’s life with lessons in hygiene and elocution. Perhaps Kimmy would read early as a result of Angela’s attention. Maybe there was some sort of artistic potential that she could nurture. Angela could help the mother too with personal presentation and poise. But Honey and Kimmy were not good students. Kimmy was apathetic, uninterested in the most basic of activities. She was a child completely devoid of a personality. And Honey seemed to have some sort of attention deficit or learning disability; she never quite seemed to be all there. After a month, Angela realized it was hopeless so she gave up. Kimmy blended into the scenery, most of the children and staff ignored her, and Angela turned her attention elsewhere. The Belmonts fell off Angela’s radar—they didn’t cause any trouble, not really—until that terrible head-lice episode when 90 percent of the students were infested and a couple of the teachers too. A total nightmare. Of course Angela couldn’t prove it, but she knew where those first nits came from. She could just imagine that filthy Belmont apartment. It was a relief to finally get rid of them.

  And yet, here was August Wentworth asking for a favor.

  Gus told Angela the truth about how he met Honey at that diner on Wilshire. He said they’d become friends. He talked about her unfortunate circumstances and
the importance of charity. He confessed that he had a real soft spot for sweet little Kimmy. He told her about how he’d mentored lots of kids through the years and lately he’d assumed the “grandfather” role in the Belmonts’ lives. He was very concerned with Kimmy’s education. She was a bright kid, definitely going places. Kimmy Belmont was special and she deserved another chance.

  Angela listened carefully, nodded and smiled at all the right places, crossed her legs, folded her hands in intense concentration. But when he finished his story, it was clear that she didn’t believe a word of it. He could see that she knew instinctively what this was really about. He could practically hear her brain working behind those cold eyes. What was in it for her? How could she take Gus Wentworth’s sordid affair and turn it into a jackpot? She had him balanced on a blue plastic nursery school chair, his big body spilling over the sides, his knees pushing up against his chest, waiting for her verdict.

  It wasn’t that Gus worried about his reputation. And he was-n’t too worried about Judith. Judith believed pretty much anything he told her and would in fact fight to the death to defend him if a scandal should arise. No, what bothered Gus was that he was wasting his afternoon in a damn preschool, squatting on doll’s furniture, pleading with this skinny-assed witch. Gus hated to ask for favors. It undermined his position of power. Gus made a point never to owe anyone anything but this lollipop would have something on him when she said yes and then he’d feel compromised. His standards had been lowered. He’d allowed himself to be drawn into something that was beneath him. What did he care where Honey’s kid went to school? What did he really care about Honey? She was just another one in a long string of women, wasn’t she?

  “So?” Gus put his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up into a standing position. His knees cracked and his back seized on him but he was careful not to grimace. “What do you say, Angela? Do you have a place for Kimmy?”

  “Of course.” Angela stood. “I’m so glad you came today, August. I just didn’t understand what was going on but now that I know I’ll do everything I can to help. You can count on me.” Angela leaned in and gave Gus a hug. “I think we’re going to be good friends, you and I.”

  Gus patted her shoulder and headed for the door. At any minute now her incisors would elongate.

  “You tell Honey that she and Kimmy are more than welcome at Happy Helpers.” Angela opened the red door to let him out.

  “I’ll do that.” Gus resisted the urge to run as he walked through the door. “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll expect to see more of you,” Angela said from the doorway. “Now that we’re friends.”

  Gus waved his hand in what he hoped was a friendly farewell then picked up pace as he rushed to his car.

  32

  The Wentworths Take Maggie Haliburton to Dinner

  Judith never really liked Maggie Halliburton, truth be told. Maggie was humorless, dull, and in Judith’s humble opinion, more than a little bit stupid. Sure, she followed the conversation, laughed at the appropriate moments. She clapped her hands and yelled bravo or shed tears of sympathy when called upon. If you weren’t paying attention, you’d probably think she was a contributor, a fun dinner partner, a very good friend. But if you listened closely, as Judith did, you’d notice that Maggie simply collected and repackaged the thoughts of her friends then re-presented them with a confident pat on the shoulder and a big “don’t you think?” Of course that’s what they thought, they’d just said so a half hour ago. It was so irritating and yet so effective. No one ever seemed to catch on. And all the men were crazy about her. Maggie was the most beautiful in their group of friends. She was the one that they had courted in high school and college, long before Judith came on the scene. Beautiful and from a very rich, old Los Angeles family. But all the good looks and money in the world couldn’t hide the fact that Maggie was a simpleton who got by on her courtesan charms. Why, you could still find Maggie resting her hand on the knee of an attractive dinner partner with just a tad too much familiarity. Maggie, who kissed all handsome men on the lips, was still a flirt at 65. Imagine, at that age. No, Judith was not fond of that woman. She had tolerated her for August’s sake and, of course, because of that adorable husband David, but if she was honest with herself she’d have to admit that she positively loathed Maggie Halliburton.

  And now David was dead after a long and ugly struggle with lung cancer. David was dead and Maggie was devastated and it was Judith’s job to play nursemaid. Why did it always have to fall to the wives? Why couldn’t August be the one holding Maggie’s hand? They’d known each other since nursery school, for God’s sake. And yet, Judith wouldn’t really want August performing that task. Who knows what kind of stunt Maggie would pull if given the chance?

  Judith had made the call. “Dear one, this is a difficult time, and I know that you just want to curl up in a ball and hide away from the world but you simply must come out with us. It will be good for you, for all of us. We love you and you know how much everyone misses David. Thursday night, the country club. I won’t take no for an answer.” Or something along those lines. Judith didn’t even know what she’d said. She just opened her mouth and let the falsehoods spill forth and of course Maggie had agreed. Even in her darkest hour, Maggie wouldn’t dream of missing a dinner date and a chance to flirt with someone else’s husband.

  Gus wasn’t home yet. If he didn’t get back soon, they would be late. Judith tried him in the car again but there was no answer. Where could he be? Gus was either at the club playing golf or dominoes or poker with the same men he’d been playing with since he was a small boy, or he was home taking a nap. But he’d left the club hours ago. Gus didn’t do things or go places by himself. He needed people around him, family and friends and he was a creature of habit. It wasn’t like Gus to be late. Where could he be?

  Judith needed to finish applying the subtle bit of make-up she wore and then she’d concentrate on finding her husband. She leaned into the mirror and brushed on her mascara. Women her age and older needed to be careful not to over-paint; it was a common mistake. Fools thought that if they just pile on more foundation, brighter lipstick and darker brows, no one will notice how their faces are falling off their skulls. Tonight the club would be packed full of clown-like matrons with withered mouths and wattled necks. So many of them chose not to fix what was so easily taken care of. Why didn’t they just have face-lifts like Judith? Why weren’t they more concerned about their appearance? And why for God sake didn’t they watch their weight? The Los Angeles Country Club was filled with WASPy rich cows who started to drop the reins on their appearance around the age of forty and let nature take over by the time they hit their mid-fifties, just as their mothers and grandmothers had before them. Barbara Bush on parade. It was some sort of reverse snobbery that Judith had never understood. “I’m fat and gray and starting to look like an old man, but it doesn’t matter because I am of superior stock and needn’t concern myself with silly things like appearance.” Well, they could have it. Judith was not buying in. Never. She’d watch what she ate and keep seeing Dr. Graulich whenever she needed a little tightening. Judith planned to leave this earth in a stunning package. Obviously Maggie Halliburton felt the same way.

  August walked into the bedroom and threw himself on the bed.

  “Where on earth have you been?” Judith said. She sat next to him and kissed his cheek. He smelled of that awful lotion the masseuse used at the club. Vanilla? Strawberry? Why couldn’t they invest in a finer line of products? Perhaps Judith should take matters into her own hands and send August off with a big bottle of unscented oil. Yes, that’s what she would do. Tomorrow.

  “I’ve been out and about.” He rolled over and put a pillow over his head.

  “August, you need a shower,” she said. “We’ve got to leave in ten minutes or we’ll be late.”

  “I just need a second.” He curled into a ball as if he were settling in for a long nap.

  Judith took the pillow off his head.
“Did you get my message about the tongs?” she said.

  He looked at her, confused. Sometimes he could be so dense.

  “No, never mind,” Judith said. “We’ll talk about it later. Get up. Hurry. We mustn’t be late.”

  Judith brought August up to date on the tongs as they drove to the club. She started at the beginning with her breakfast in the courtyard and how the breakfast tray had come and she immediately noticed they were missing. She went into detail about interviewing the maids and how she’d called each of the children. It was so frustrating, no one had a clue and frankly, no one seemed to really care. August drove the car but he didn’t appear to be listening. Where did that man go? Honestly, sometimes he seemed like he was on another planet. Judith wondered if maybe she should schedule him a physical, just to make sure everything was all right. You couldn’t be too careful, at their age. She reached over and gave his arm a little shake. “Are you listening to me, August?”

  “Of course,” he said. “The tongs. Go on.”

  So she continued but when she’d finished the story, all he had to say was, “I’m sure they’ll turn up.” And that did not make Judith feel any better. Those tongs would not just “turn up” on their own. No, Judith would have to make them turn up. It would be nice to have a little support once in a while. Afterall, they were August’s tongs too.

  Judith took a deep breath, flipped down the visor and checked her lipstick in the vanity mirror. She would not let this ruin her evening. August turned the car into the club’s driveway and Judith patted his hand. “We’re going to have a nice evening,” she announced.

  August nodded his head but did not answer. Judith wondered if he was coming down with something. He seemed so distant. She watched as he got out of the car, walked around to open her door. He looked fine. She smiled at him and he smiled back so she took his arm and together they strolled into the clubhouse.