Nothing Left To Want (33 page)

“
Well you weren’t thinking at all, obviously.”

Gritting my teeth, I replied, “Right again, Aunty George, but the house is so great now and I think I could pretty much stay out here now and be happy, so ... ”

“
Well I am glad to hear you say that. I’ve been worried when we’ve spoken. I’ll tell you now that I didn’t think Los Angeles was a wise choice. Your mother is hopeless, and of course Kells is a wonderful father but he seems to have lost some of his family focus since Sarah. Why, at the time I said ... ”

“
I like Sarah, Aunt George, don’t you?”

Her voice chilled. “Oh, I don’t dislike her, but since she appeared on the scene, it’s been increasingly hard to spend time alone with my own brother. It seems I’ve barely seen him at all this summer and ... ”

“
Yeah, I know how you feel, Aunt George. I’ve only seen Daddy twice in the last two years and he forgot my birthday, but I’m still glad for him if Sarah makes him happy.”

A little silence ensued and then, “I’m sorry to hear that about your birthday, Carey. I’ll tell you what, I will help you out. I’ll call Kells myself and tell him to talk to Herbert, tell him to remind Herbert that he does indeed work for us and not the other way around. Even I’ve been plagued by him on occasion. As for the earrings, I’ll make sure your father covers that little extravagance. I’ll tell him it’s the price of being forgetful.” She laughed and so did I, with relief. Then she began lecturing me again. “You know, Carolyn, being a Kelleher is not all about showing other people what they don’t have. it carries social responsibility with it, my orphanage for example.” I rolled my eyes. Her famous Indonesian orphanage, for which tout New York called her a saint, was, according to my mother, a tax shelter that 'Queen Georgia' had only deigned to visit twice in the years since she had opened it.

I wasn’t stupid enough to say that though. “I know, Aunt George. The orphanage is fantastic. Have you been over there much this year?”

“
Well, no, I’m always meaning to go but things come up, though I am planning a trip this coming January. Possibly you could join me and see the work I’m doing over there. That isn’t the point I was trying to make, though, Carey. My point is that you need something of your own that defines your life and gives it meaning, such as my work with those poor children defines mine.”

It was a good thing Aunt Georgia couldn’t see my face. Her work? But I wasn’t in total disagreement with what she was saying because she wasn’t the first person to mention this whole 'get a cause, get a life' idea to me. Michael had been the first, and remembering that made the old longing for him wash through me. Plaintively I asked her what she thought I should do. Of course, she ate it up. “That’s an excellent question, Carey, and I am going to tell Kells when I talk to him how glad I am that you are finally searching for a deeper purpose to your existence. We are all seekers on the road to light, Carey. You may not be aware of this, but I’ve been attending some Kabbalah classes recently, you know, to help me deal with Trump and his horrible arbitrary restrictions on my tranquility pond and ... ”

“
Tranquility pond, Aunt George? I thought you just wanted a swimming pool and he said that the floors would ... ”

Her voice hardened. “You’ve been gone a long time now, Carolyn. I gave up my selfish need for a swimming pool ages ago. That is a ridiculous desire for one person. I am speaking about my tranquility pool, I mean pond, which, while having the same size and water dimensions of an Olympic pool, is an ancient Tibetan cleansing temple which, if I am granted permission for, I will fill with only pure water from the springs of Thailand. I can assure you that Trump will have to give in or face court action on the grounds of interfering with my right to practice my chosen religion and I believe ... ”

I had to shut her up. A few more minutes of this and I was afraid I would end up giving away the rest of my own paltry fortune and joining a socialist commune. “You’re right, Aunt George, the guy's a dick. I totally hope you win and get your pool, I mean, uhm, your tranquility thingamajigger. So anyway, listen, it’s been so wonderful getting to talk to you, and thank you so much for saying you’d talk to Daddy and everything. I can’t wait till you get back to me and tell me what you think I should do, but I have to go right now because I’m late for a driving class. It turns out my old New York license expired and I ... ”

“
Oh, it’s fine, Carey. I have a meeting with the board of the Met and then a private audience later with Cardinal Roehing, but I am glad you called and you will be hearing from me soon.” Her voice turned confiding. “It really does please me, darling, that you feel comfortable coming to me with your little needs. I know that your mother is far too terrible and self-absorbed, so please know I am always here for you, Carey. You’re my niece and very dear to me.”

My throat locked a little. “Thank you, Aunt George, I … well, that means a lot to me. Sometimes, you know, I feel like nobody. Well, anyway, I love you too.”

“
Oh, oh yes, of course, right. Well ciao, darling.”

I hung up, bemused. It was kind of funny in a really sad way how the one sure-fire way to make anyone in my family immediately uncomfortable and send them running for the hills was to say the L word. Still, it had made me feel good hearing Aunt Georgia tell me she cared about me. Deliberately I ignored the little voice in my head that pointed out that she hadn’t been to see me once during my years in California, nor had she sent me an invitation to visit her, and that her sporadic interest in me over the years was generally shown only when she wanted to remind my father what a terrible choice he had made by marrying my mother.

Two days later two huge trucks pulled up outside my house. I wasn’t home at the time, having been ordered by the State of California to spend two hours a day at driving school, which I had whined about to Milan, but didn’t really mind because at least it was something to do besides shopping.

The great couple that worked for me had met the truck and let it through the gates in my absence. I’m positive they thought that Aunt Georgia’s strange gift, the one designed to give my life meaning and purpose, was just another of the freaky things we rich white people indulged in.

So, when I got home that afternoon, I found Mieko and Harin running around in the front garden chasing two ginormous white horses, and a strange guy standing on my front porch smoking a cigarette and laughing as he watched them. At first I thought maybe I was going to be on T.V. after all. It seemed like the kind of hilarious thing Milan working in tandem with Ashton Kutcher for Punk’d might do, and I was glad I had bothered to curl my hair and put on my new Nicole Miller wrap dress before leaving the house that morning.

I got out of the Merc trying to look both sexy and casual, wanting to appear for the MTV viewing audience as the kind of girl that wacky cool stuff happened to all the time. As soon as he saw me, the guy on the porch crushed out his smoke and headed towards me. He was definitely hot, in a kind of scruffy way. Unlike the preppy East Side boys I had grown up with, his scruffiness looked real and not contrived. He was a big guy, about six-three with wide shoulders and long brown hair, and when he grinned at me I saw his front tooth was gold. I thought he looked like a pirate and I like pirates.

I flashed him the dimple and he smiled back at me. “Hi, are you the famous Carolyn Kelleher, birthday girl?”

I played along. “I am, and you must be the Horse Whisperer, right? Listen they are totally ahhdorable and this little stunt is hilarious but Mr … uhm? Well anyway, this is Beverly Hills and it’s got some major zoning laws, and when my neighbors see those Clydesdales in my yard, they’re going to freak, and I don’t need the hassle. Seriously, I’m already a wanted woman out here for driving without a license. I just got back from traffic school. So ... ” I turned towards the horses where I suspected the cameras were and flashed what I hoped was an endearing grin. “You totally got me but now you have to take them back.”

The cute guy rubbed his face and stared at me like I might be delusional. Shaking his head he said, “Uhm, the name's John Ray and I’m getting the idea that for some reason you think you’re on TV, which is cool. You’re pretty enough for TV but uhm … do you like think you’re on TV a lot?”

I turned away from the apparently non-existent TV cameras totally confused by then. “What? No, I’m not crazy, and no, I don’t like have imaginary TV cameras following me around. I just thought this had to be like, you know, Punk’d or something, 'cause. if it isn’t, who the hell are you and why are there gigantic Budweiser horses in my front yard?”

Right then, to add to the circus atmosphere, one of the big white horses trotted around to the back of the house with Harin in hot pursuit. John and I listened to the crashing of the horse through the shrubbery and Harin’s shrill shouting in Japanese.

There was the sound of a large splash.

Not knowing if it was the horse or Harin, we looked at each other and started to laugh until we were both bent double. After a couple minutes, he straightened up and held out his hand. “Let’s start over. I’m John Ray, part-time horse trainer, full time band manager. The guy I work for sometimes sent me over here along with the horses, which are Lipizzaner mares, by the way. They’re birthday gifts for a Miss Carolyn Kelleher which I presume is you, from a Ms. Georgia Kelleher, who I presume is some crazy relative of yours who thought you needed yard horses, apparently.” Following his little speech he bowed theatrically, long hair flopping. Standing again, he said, “So congratulations, Miss Kelleher, you are now the proud owner of two particularly fine mares and fifty hours of pre-paid training from yours truly.”

Two thoughts chased through my head: one, Aunt Georgia’s answer to the ‘What should Carey do with her life?’ was a strange one; and the second thought I accidentally blurted out loud, saying, “Great, I’ll keep all three of you.”

Chapter 35

Reviews were mixed. John and I became a couple from almost the first day, and from the first day I ended up taking care of his board and feeding along with my horses. It was John who suggested I use Bentley Farms, the equestrienne center over by the Griffith Park Observatory, so that we could ride the trails there together.

Bentley Farms is a plushy sort of place but it does all the important things for horses, like weigh their food and give them only well water and organic carrots. My horses, which I had named Kelly and Lily for my missing sisters, seemed happy to be there, and Harin and Mieko were even happier, so it was a win-win arrangement.

The second day after I ensconced them in their new home, I went out to visit them and meet John for a ride. It wasn’t early and I never usually saw early, but I still ended up surprising him. When I pulled up to Bentley’s roundabout, I noticed that there were a couple of Mexican workers standing beside a rusted out red pick-up, speaking to whoever was inside in raised voices. I wasn’t interested. I parked my Mercedes in front of the large no parking sign so that I could remember where I had left it, checked my make-up in the rearview mirror, and got out, hoping that when I found John he would appreciate my skin-tight Galiano riding pants.

I heard his voice calling my name before I made it two steps. Looking around for him, I couldn’t find him, until he honked the horn and I realized John was the guy in the red pick-up that was, for whatever reason, being yelled at by the help. They dispersed when they saw me approaching, with a last muttered, “No sleeping,” warning over their shoulders.

John, it turned out, kind of lived in his truck. I say 'kind of' because sometimes he crashed at the apartment downtown where the guys in the band he managed lived. The band - Steel Whores - was apparently going to be huge, and since he was the “driving, creative force” behind them, when they broke through to mega-fame and money, so would he. He earnestly explained to me that he was going to be like Jay Z one day and have his own music empire.

I thought it sounded kind of stupid, almost as stupid as the name of the band, but I didn’t judge him. This was L.A., and besides, the only boy I ever loved had been doing pretty much the same thing, albeit a lot more successfully. Try as I might, I couldn’t picture Michael living in his car, but success had made Michael stop needing me, so while John was telling me about his plans, I was only half listening to him. The other half of me was hearing my own plans which were always pretty basic: have someone who wanted to be with me, who had time for me, who might just for once make me the most important person in their life.

Success, I decided, was a fine trait in a guy if you were a poor, ambitious girl looking to hook onto someone whose star was going to take them to the top and you wanted to go along for the ride, but when a girl does that she usually finds out that she’s the last thing the guy wants if he finally gets there.

I didn’t need any fame or money, I needed someone who would love me and not want to leave. I thought that John, big, shaggy, adorable John, who had come from nothing and still had nothing, would be so dazzled by me and what I could give him that he would probably end up worshipping me for the rest of his life.