LimeLight (2 page)

“You knew that when you were only six?”

“Oh, I probably couldn’t have expressed it in so many words, but I had this feeling deep inside me, this undeniable sense that someday I would really be, oh,
something.
”

She nodded with a hard-to-read expression, but one that aggravated me to the core. Just who was this upstart of a girl, and why did she come to visit me? Perhaps I should be more careful with my words.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Fioré?”

“Why are you here?” I peered closely at her pasty complexion. Had this poor girl never heard of rouge or what they called blush nowadays?

She smiled, exposing slightly crooked teeth. “I’ve told you before that I’m from the university…that I volunteer here to get credit for one of my classes.”

I scowled at her, knowing full well that frowning only deepened the creases between my brows, but it no longer mattered
how many wrinkles I incurred. Then I smiled at her. It was an insincere smile, but I doubted that she would know the difference. “What is your major, dear?”

She glanced away as if uncomfortable.

“You come here and pester me with your silly questions. Personal queries that I answer honestly. But I ask you a simple question and you close up on me like an angry clam.” I leaned forward and peered even more closely at her. She really was a homely little thing with her mousy hair and oversized nose. “Why is that?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Fioré. My major is clinical psychology.”

My jaw tightened. “So I am your guinea pig? You ask your prying questions without disclosing your purposes. Perhaps you plan to practice your junior clinical psychology on me?”

“No, that’s not it…”

I sat up straighter, easing to the edge of my seat. Then placing one hand on each arm of the chair, I hoisted myself to a standing position. “That will be enough.” She stood too, but I was still tall enough to look down on her.

“But we’ve barely started to visit.”

“We are finished, Lucy. And do not come back to see me again.”

“But, Mrs. Fioré—”

“You are dismissed,” I said in my haughtiest voice, the same tone I once used for servants who didn’t understand their place in my household. “Good-bye.” I turned and slowly walked away.

One of the few things I can be thankful for in my advanced years is my ability to walk. I pretended not to notice others in the room. The pathetic old lump of a woman with greasy gray hair, slumped like a bag of potatoes in her wheelchair…the thin, balding, middle-aged man who chewed his fingernails down to nubs…the doped-up young woman with a tattoo of a serpent crawling down her arm who stared blankly out the window. These people did not interest me. It was obvious they belonged here. I did not.

It was also obvious that I needed to find a way out of this nut house.

E
ven if you were well enough to leave Laurel Hills and return to the outside world…” As usual, Dr. Hampton speaks in his slow, methodic, sedate voice—one I’m sure he’s developed to soothe his patients, but the effect on me is that of fingernails scratching on a blackboard. “Where would you live, Claudette? Your house in Beverly Hills has been sold for back taxes. You have no family to speak of.”

“Rather, I have no family who speak to me.”

He looks down at my chart. “I’m aware that you’re estranged from your sister and her family.”

“There’s Michael.”

He glances at his paperwork. “Your deceased husband’s son?”

“Actually, Michael is Gavin’s
deceased wife’s
son. But we’ve always regarded him as our own.” I sort of laugh. “Although Michael and I are close to the same age.” Actually, Michael is six years younger, but at this stage of the game, who’s counting?

“And where does Michael live?”

“In Hawaii.” I think back to the last time I visited Michael there, shortly after Gavin died in early 2000. Michael had invited
me over to the big island to help comfort me at my time of loss. I stayed for nearly a month, but Michael’s jealous lover, Richard, resented the time Michael and I spent together. Richard is only in his forties and doesn’t share the same background that Michael and I have. He would become irate if Michael and I laughed and reminisced about the “good old days” in Hollywood. Finally I decided it was time for me to return to Beverly Hills.

“And do you think Michael would like for you to live with him in Hawaii?”

“Michael and I have always gotten along quite well.” I neglect to mention Richard.

“Perhaps you’d like me to give Michael a call.”

I sit up straighter. “Perhaps I’d prefer to call Michael myself, Dr. Hampton.”

He clears his throat. “You’re welcome to call him, Claudette. You know you’re not a prisoner here.”

I would like to ask for his definition of the word
prisoner
, but I don’t want to appear overly hostile. These past several weeks I have strived to convince him that I am perfectly sane, that I have no intention of harming myself or anyone else. “May I use your phone?”

“Of course.”

“In private?”

“If you wish.” He hands me the phone. “First dial nine.” Then he stands, picks up my folder, and exits, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I suspect he is either listening on the other side, or perhaps he has this line tapped. No matter, I intend to plead with Michael to help me out of this place.

“Aloha!” says a voice I instantly recognize as Michael’s.

“Oh, sweet Michael, I have missed you desperately.”

“Claudette?”

“Yes, dear. It is I.”

“How are you, darling? I heard you were hospitalized, but not a word more. I’ve been worried sick about you. So much so that I’ve almost returned to the mainland just to check on you.”

“Thank you, dear. But I am ever so much better,” I say, and then for Dr. Hampton’s eavesdropping ears, “I’ve had the best of care in this wonderful place.”

“I’m so relieved to hear that. But is it true? Has the house in Beverly Hills really been sold? I just can’t bear to think of that place no longer being in the family. Please, tell me it isn’t so.”

“I wish I could tell you that, Michael. But unfortunately, your father—rather his accountant—remember Harvey? Well, he neglected to pay our taxes for a few years…
quite
a few years. Apparently the IRS kept track. The estate had to be sold.”

“Oh, dear.” He sighs loudly. “Whatever will you do now, darling?”

“That’s why I’m calling you. I need some help—a place to stay.”

“Oh my…” He pauses, and I suspect Richard is nearby. “You know how it is here on the island.”

“You mean with Richard?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“But I have no one, Michael…no place to go…” My voice breaks, an old trick I learned back in the days when I thought I’d make my living on the silver screen. It has worked well for me over the years, and I’m desperate to have it work now.

“Oh, darling, I do want to help you. But I don’t know what to do. I feel caught between a rock and a hard place.”

“You mentioned possibly coming to the mainland to see me.”

“Well, yes, I’d love to see you, but I don’t know…to drop everything… I’m not sure I can get away…just like that.”

I can see that I need some sort of tempting bait. Something to encourage Michael to leave his precious island, to make the trip, and to help me. “I’ve set some special things aside for you. Some of Gavin’s film memorabilia and collectibles. Some of those items you’ve had your eye on for years. They’re supposed to be in storage, but I haven’t been able to check on anything since I’ve been, uh, hospitalized. Who knows what may have happened since then?”

“Well, it has been ages since I’ve been to the mainland. I suppose a little trip might do me some good.”

“It would be so wonderful to see you, Michael. And you can help me get out of here, and we’ll remove those things out of storage, and perhaps, together, we can think of something… someplace where I could go. I do have some money set aside…” I don’t admit that it’s hardly anything. “And I’ve had some furnishings
and things spared as well, but I need some help, dear. You know we’re not getting any younger.”

He laughs. “You’re telling me. Do you know I just turned seventy-six?”

“Goodness, you’re nearly as old as I am now.”

“But knowing you, Claudette, you probably look at least ten years younger. Tell me the truth, darling, were you really in the hospital getting a little work done?”

“If only that were the case.” I pat my wrinkly neck and try not to imagine the condition of my frowzy hair. If only I could have something done to it before Michael arrives. Although the blurry stainless-steel mirror in my room hides a multitude of things, I know I must look a fright.

“I will be on the next plane out, darling. Sir Michael to the rescue.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” I tell him the name of the institution and my doctor, admitting that I have no phone in my room. But I don’t mention that my room has a lock that locks from the exterior. Some things are better left unsaid. I’ve barely returned the receiver to the cradle when Dr. Hampton reenters the room.

“So…has Michael invited you to live with him in Hawaii?”

I slowly stand. “Michael is on his way to get me, Dr. Hampton. We will figure out these details upon his arrival.”

He leans forward and looks directly into my eyes. “Are you certain you’re ready to leave us? You were in such poor condition
when you arrived here. I would hate to see you deteriorate to that level again.”

I hold my head higher. “As you know, I have been through a lot in the past year. I lived alone with servants who ruthlessly stole from me, my home was literally sold right out from under me, I had no one to turn to, no place to go. Is it any surprise that I experienced a bit of stress?”

“You tried to kill yourself, Claudette.”

I wave my hand, as if to brush away a pesky mosquito. “Yes, I’m aware of that. I was depressed…despondent… I wasn’t thinking right.”

“But you really believe you’re better now?”

“Of course, only this morning you mentioned how remarkable my progress has been.”

“I also know that you were once an actress. It’s possible you have tricked me.”

I hold up both hands, palms dramatically upward. “And suppose that was the case? Would it truly matter? Look at me. I am going on…” I pause now, unsure that I really want to say how old I am or that I care to hear that number spoken aloud. Then again, this man has my medical records and is fully aware of my age. “I am in my eighties.” I inwardly cringe at this difficult confession. “Even if I were to expire, I have lived a long and fulfilling life, have I not?”

“Have you?”

I let out a sigh. “I had it all, Dr. Hampton. Beauty, fame,
wealth, envy, adoration, adventure… Really, what more could I possibly want?”

“I think you’re the only one who can answer that question, Claudette.” He smiles. “Perhaps you will.”

I nod. “Yes. Perhaps I will.” I return his smile, although mine is most decidedly false. Still, I don’t think he’s aware of this. He doesn’t know how experienced I am at these little charades. He assumes that acting is something I left far behind me, something I set aside eons ago. But if lifetime achievement awards were given to the actor who had fooled the most people for the longest period of time, I might be a serious contender for one of those gold-plated statuettes.

I
have always been fussy about packing.

For a while after marrying Gavin, I tried to entrust this task to my maid, only to be disappointed once I discovered my precious items wrinkled, snagged, tangled, or crushed. Finally I decided that, like with parachutes, one must pack one’s own bags. Because I believe that clothing, when it’s well designed and expensive, deserves respect. Respect your clothing and it will respect you. So I start my packing the morning before Michael is to arrive. I expect it will take most of the day to pack these four bags.

My packing reminds me of my old friend Billie. Oh, some people knew her as Joan Crawford, but her close friends called her Billie. Like so many of the old Hollywood greats I met, it was Gavin who first introduced us. Billie was much older than I, even a bit older than Gavin, as I recall. She was nearly old enough to be my mother, although we never spoke of age. That was unthinkable. Besides, she kept herself up, and looking back at some of her photos during that era, I must admit she was still stunningly beautiful. Even so, she was on her way out.