The Serpent's Bite (5 page)

She had hoped his explanation would be more fatuous and hollow and enhance her reasons for hating their attitude, but he was too crafty and intelligent for that. Selling jewels had, after all, been his final career choice, and she was convinced that he
truly believed in the esthetic value of gems and, of course, their financial worth. She couldn't be part of this business, whatever the potential rewards. She knew that was what her father wanted for Scott. Her participation was always optional.

“Not for me,” she confided to her mother. “I could never. Besides, I have a different career plan.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” her mother had told her.

When her father saw her display of talent in her school performances, any suggestion of her getting into the business became moot.

“You're fabulous, Courtney,” he told her after watching her as Lady Macbeth in
Macbeth
. “You were beyond fabulous in that famous blood-spot scene. Gave me the chills. You really convinced me, darling, that the lady had gone bonkers for what she had done.”

He hugged her hard and kissed her on the cheek. It was, indeed, a happy, unforgettable moment for both of them. See, she assured herself, when such memories surfaced, there was a time when she was softer, truly loving, and really devoted as a daughter, especially when she was the center of attraction. Had she acted a part then? She would never be certain.

“Oh, Daddy, I'm so glad.”

“You've got the stuff, darling. I feel it in my bones.”

So much for bone feelings, she told herself, heading off to Hollywood after graduating from the New School Actors Studio where Brando went and Walter Matthau and many others who had become famous and celebrated. She did well at the studio, and her teachers told her that her professional destiny was assured. She had gone West with high hopes and the full support, financial and emotional, of her parents. She
remembered her optimism and self-confidence as she stepped off the plane at LAX, ready to become an international movie star, a worshipped celebrity.

Despite all that had passed, she was still in the fray, beaten so far, but, as they say, unbowed. Besides, she was long past the point of no return. Becoming a star was the only thought that gave her sustenance. Fuck everything else! She was in thrall to an obsession, and she knew it.

“It's not the time or the place, Courtney,” her father told her, when she had raised the issue of money during their moment alone at her mother's funeral after the relatives had gone. Scott, too, as always, escaping from any impending hassle or conflict had paid his respects and hurried away to Seattle where he lived. She had noted that it was as far away as possible from their old homestead in Manhattan—and far enough away from Los Angeles.

Her father's eyes were swollen with mourning tears, and his face was drawn and pale. He smelled of grief and perspiration, unusual for him who was always fastidious. Her parents had been inseparable, working together, their lives inextricably bound up by their business and their children. She could not remember mean words between them, and there was no question that they cared about her and her brother and harbored real aspirations for their happiness and success.

Unfortunately, Scott's situation was far more defined than hers. He would not be let off the hook so easily. As a male, he was the heir apparent to the business, and although he recognized his being groomed for it, he had come to fear and detest it even worse than she did. In the end he had totally rejected it.

For years it had been a bone of contention between them. Often, in the intervening years, during their rare phone contact he would bring it up, always with the same repetitive whine.

“I can't get it out of my mind, Courtney. Doesn't it ever bother you? What we did?”

“Stop dwelling, little brother. It's long over.”

“Do you think he ever knew?”

“Done. Over.
Finito
. Give yourself an exorcism.”

“You are one tough bitch, Courtney. I wish I had your balls.”

His weakness exasperated her.

These infrequent conversations always ended badly, abruptly.

It was February and from the window of their high apartment, the Hudson looked like black slate polished by the light of a full moon. A moaning wind filtered through spaces in the old window fittings. A maid had just finished the cleanup of the dining room table and had left the apartment. It was only Courtney and her father now, the perfect moment, she believed, to make her carefully rehearsed pitch.

“Dad, Mom's gone, it's only the three of us now. I need help, real tangible financial help.”

“Please, Courtney. Not now. I'm in no mood for this.”

“I'm leaving in the morning, Dad.”

“Please.”

“Dad, if you love me, you'll listen.”

“Really, Courtney. If I love you? Of course, I love you. How dare you make such a statement! Please, darling. Please. Spare me this now. We've just buried your mother. I beg of you. Leave it alone now. I am too paralyzed by grief. Perhaps in the morning.”

“Now, Dad,” she insisted. “We need to talk now. You can't evade this anymore.”

She could see him trying to overcome his reluctance to confide, but she pressed on until he yielded.

“You can't shut me out.”

“Shut you out? What are you inferring? Please, Courtney. It's time you faced reality. You've been at it for years. It's not happening, darling. I wish it had, believe me, I would have given anything to make it happen for you. I did my part, happily, as any loving father would. Surely, I don't have to remind you…all those years of trying. I understand, believe me, I understand. For your own sake, darling, you must give it up before it destroys you.”

“My dream is ageless, Dad,” she had countered, feeling agitation rise up inside her.

“I've enabled that dream. No more, Courtney. I honestly feel that I'm contributing to your…your frustration and unhappiness. What kind of a life have you made for yourself? It's no sin to be a failure. You learn from it.” His words broke off, and he shook his head and put a hand over his eyes. “Please. Not now.”

Between the lines, she was reading his real meaning. She hadn't married. Her relationships had been sporadic, disastrous, and costly. She had problems with alcohol and cocaine but had miraculously escaped total dependence.”

“You believed in me once, Dad.”

“Of course, I believed in you. I love you, darling. But I can't go on doing this…for your sake. It's not the time, Courtney.”

“No matter what,” she cried, ignoring his entreaty. “I'm sticking with it,” she said firmly, with conviction and finality.

“Please, Courtney,” he pressed. “I can't cope with this now.” Despite his grief and vulnerable condition, he was holding firm.

“So it's tough love, is it?”

“Call it whatever, Courtney. I just can't handle this now.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she persisted. “Become a permanent serving person, more commonly know as a waitress? I'm your daughter, for crying out loud. We're a family.”

Roll out the guilt, she thought, spurring herself onward.

“I've done a great deal,” he murmured. “It hasn't helped.”

“I'm your child.”

“That won't work anymore, Courtney.” He was obviously growing irritated and impatient. “Honestly, darling,” he shook his head and sighed. “If you want, you can still work in the business. Make a real living, have a good prosperous life.”

“That again. No way.”

He had paused, sucked in a deep breath, sighed again, and shook his head in a gesture of despair. She knew he was weary with grief and unhappiness but pressed on, hoping that his vulnerability would help her gain her goals.

“It's a wonderful business,” he said, with what seemed like a sob in his throat, “and it has been very good to us. If you came into it and informed yourself about it, you would love it. I'll start you at a good salary and pay for your education to become a gemologist. You could take mother's role. She was a fabulous helpmate.” The sob reached the surface, shook him for a moment, and his eyes watered. “How will I survive without her?”

Show compassion, she urged herself. Be cautious. Guilt him.

“I'm sorry, Dad, you know that the business is not for me.” She had heard it all before. “You know my hopes and dreams,
Dad. Acting is my life, my art, my passion, my only ambition—” She halted her explanation. She was repeating the old worn argument.

He shrugged and looked at her with tired, watery eyes.

“My poor dear daughter,” he sighed. “You're ruining your life on a dying dream. I'm so sorry. By now it should be obvious to you.”

“What should be obvious? Are you saying I'm a loser with no hope of ever making it in my chosen profession? What is life all about anyway? This is what I want, and this is what I will never stop pursuing. I don't need your goddamned negativity.” She raised her voice. “I need your support, damn it.”

Anger was boiling to the surface.

“This is not the time, Courtney.”

She felt herself losing focus, stepping out of character. Anger was becoming rage.

“I know what you're thinking. That I have no talent, that I'm a fucking failure.” Her voice rose further. “Sorry, Dad. I believe in myself and my talent. I don't care what you think. I know my destiny, and nothing will keep me from it.”

“I know you have talent, darling,” he sighed. “You have a wonderful talent, but it's not enough. To succeed you need luck.”

“I know what I need,” she exploded. “I need money, you silly old man. That's what I need. Money to sustain me until I get my lucky break. It will come. I know it will. I feel it in my bones.” She paused, trying to find her way back to her performance. “You deserted me, that's what you did.” She began to push it. “What a lousy father you've become! Why are you making me beg?”

“Stop, Courtney.” He raised his hands, palms up. “I'll write a check.”

It was working, she thought. He had always responded to guilt, and in his present state, he was fragile and yielding. Her performance was paying off. She immediately switched to a more sympathetic emotion.

“I'm so sorry, Dad, really I am. Please believe me. I hadn't meant to be so…so unfeeling. It's just…well, I am in need.” Had she gotten through to him at last?

He thought for a moment, his face grimacing, swallowing hard. She studied his expression.

“What I'm asking for is a regular stipend,” she said, calculating. “Something I can depend on. I'm working hard on this, Dad. Believe me. I'm committed. Why go through this? It will be off your shoulders, and I'll never ask you again. I promise. Never again. I love you, Dad. Really I do.” She had grown suddenly hopeful. “Cross my heart.”

He was silent for a long moment, and she watched his face as he shook his head. Had her performance been over the top? Or had she hit pay dirt?

“I will write a check for ten thousand.”

She was stunned by his offer.

“Ten thousand?”

He sighed, shrugged, and turned away from her gaze.

“Shit,” she blurted, feeling her rage begin. “What a cheap bastard you've become! You have plenty. Millions.”

“Don't count my money, Courtney.”

Finally her rage broke through the barrier. A hot flush seemed to erupt in her entire body.

“Ten thousand! That is so fucking stingy. So fucking cheap.”

He closed his eyes. His complexion had become chalk white.

“Thank you, darling. What a wonderful thought on the day of your mother's death.”

She felt herself out of control now, totally out of the loving-daughter character she had played earlier.

“I'll tell you this,” she said, her voice rising, “Mother would not have treated me like this. She was a lot more generous than you were. Only you wouldn't let her be financially independent. You kept her in financial prison. If she had control of it, she would have given me what I needed.”

He shook his head again in resignation.

“Suddenly your mother is important. Where were you when she was suffering, my dear daughter? You belonged at her bedside during those last days. You've become hard and indifferent. What happened to the loving little girl I used to know?”

“And what happened to the loving father I grew up with?”

“Why now?” he whispered, his eyes raised to the ceiling.

“It's as good a time as any.” He had always been a sucker for what was allegedly the truth. If he knew the real truth, he would blow his cork. “It's time to tell the truth.”

Truth had been his mantra.
Never lie, sweetheart
, he had told her repetitively. As long as we tell each other the truth, everything will be all right. She waited for his reaction.

“All right then, Courtney. The truth of it is that, for whatever reason, you're not making it. I'm very sorry about that, sick at heart if you must know. I would have given anything to make it happen. I gave plenty. Now you're getting older. You have no husband, no family. I wish it were different, but it isn't. I tell you this as someone who loves you—”

“Get a life,” she snapped. “Is that what you're telling me?”

“Give it up, Courtney. It's destroying you. It may have already. You can't live like this. I am your father, and I love you but …”

“Bullshit,” she had shot back, all pretenses gone. “How can you give me that crap? I am your child, your blood. How can you ignore my needs? I need money. I can't make ends meet. What do I have to do to get your attention? I thought parents were to provide for their children. You've deserted me. Hell, you've got it. Why not share it now? Why do we have to wait until you're dead?”

Her voice had reached the edge of hysteria, but she would not avert her eyes from his. His face showed his hurt. His lips trembled, and a nerve palpitated in his jaw. She knew she was inflicting pain. She hoped so, but she was determined to have it out once and for all, to say what was on her mind.