“What did the sonofabitch want?” she found herself asking. There was a second surprise here. Her mouth put the words in a perfectly sensible order without her having to labor over it.
“He claims he’s writing a book. Can you believe the audacity of the creep — ”
“You know, I did know about this,” Tammy said.
“So he talked to you.”
“He didn’t, but Jerry Brahms did.” The conversation with Jerry came back to her remotely, as though it had happened several months ago.
“Oh good,” Maxine said, “so you’re up to speed. I’ve got a bunch of lawyers together to find out if he can do this, and it turns out-guess what?-he can. He can write what the hell he likes about any of us. We can sue of course but that’ll just — ”
“-give him more publicity.”
“That’s exactly what Peltzer said. He said the book would last two months on the shelves, three at the outside, then it would be forgotten.”
“He’s probably right. Anyway, Rooney’s not going to get any help from me.”
“That’s not going to stop him, of course.”
“I know,” Tammy said, “but frankly — ”
“You don’t give a damn.”
“Right.”
There was a pause. It seemed the conversation was almost at an end. Then, rather quietly, Maxine said: “Have you had any thoughts at all about going back up to the Canyon?”
There was a second pause, twice, three times the length of the first, at the end of which Tammy suddenly found herself saying: “Of course.”
It felt more like an admission of guilt than a straight-forward reply. And what was more, it wasn’t something she’d consciously been thinking about. But apparently somewhere in the recesses of her churned-up head she’d actually contemplated returning to the house.
“I have too,” Maxine confessed. “I know it’s ridiculous. After everything that happened up there.”
“Yes … it’s ridiculous.”
“But it feels like … ”
“Unfinished business,” Tammy prompted.
“Yes. Precisely. Jesus, why didn’t I have the wit to call you earlier? I knew you’d understand. Unfinished business. That’s exactly what it is.”
The real meat of this exchange suddenly became clear to Tammy. She wasn’t the only one who was having a bad time. So was Maxine. Of all people, Maxine, who’d always struck Tammy as one of the most capable, self-confident and unspookable woman in America. It was profoundly reassuring.
“The thing is,” Maxine went on, “I don’t particularly want to go up there alone.”
“I’m not even sure I’m ready.”
“Me neither. But frankly, the longer we leave it the worse it’s going to get. And it’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes … ” Tammy said, finally letting her own despair flood into her words. “It’s worse than bad. It’s terrible, Maxine. It’s just … words can’t describe it.”
“You sound the way I look,” Maxine replied. “I’m seeing a therapist four times a week and I’m drinking like a fish, but none of it’s doing any good.”
“I’m just avoiding everybody.”
“Does that help?” Maxine wanted to know.
“No. Not really.”
“So we’re both in a bad way. What do we do about it? I realize we’re not at all alike, Tammy. God knows I can be a bitch. Then when I met Katya-when I saw what kind of woman I could turn into-that frightened me. I thought: yuck, that could be me.”
“You were protecting him. You know, in a way, we both were.”
“I suppose that’s right. The question is: have we finished, or is there more to do?”
Tammy Jet out a low moan. “Do you mean what I think you mean?” she said.
“That depends what you think I mean.”
“That you think he’s still up there in the Canyon? Lost.”
“Christ, I don’t know. All I know is I can’t get him out of my head.” She drew a deep breath, then let the whole, bitter truth out. “For some stupid reason I think he still needs us.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Maybe it’s not us,” Maxine said. “Maybe it’s you. He had a lot of feelings for you, you know.”
“If that’s you trying to talk me into going back to the Canyon, it’s not going to work.”