Bruce Wagner - Still Holding

[BACK TO STUDIO] A much needed, and hopefully, much enjoyed field trip at that. A tragic, fascinating story — and one we haven’t heard the end of yet.

[OTHER STUDIO ANCHOR] Little bit of an old-fashioned movie car chase there, huh?

— Keystone kops.

Coming up: a wild Wednesday for the Patriots, when they found their offense “up for grabs.”

• • •

BECCA’S CELL PHONE lit up: CALLER UNKNOWN. She didn’t think it was Rusty because when he phoned it usually said PRIVATE.

“Hello? Rusty? Hello?”

The club was too noisy for her to hear anything. She said “Hello? Hello?” through the crowd until she was outside.

“Hello, who is it?”

“Becca? Is it you?”

“Yes, this is Becca. Who is it?”

“It’s Elaine!”

“Elaine?”

“Elaine Jordache. Did you hear about Kit Lightfoot?”

“The chase?”

“They caught the person who did that to him.”

“They what?”

“The one who hit him on the head!” she said, adding testily: “He worked for me. ” Then: “Have you talked to Rusty?”

“No—”

“Then you don’t know any of this?”

“Know any of what, Elaine?” said Becca, getting peeved.

“The police are supposedly looking for him because of something that person said…”

“That person—”

“The idiot who cracked Kit Lightfoot’s skull! They were friends, they knew each other.”

“Friends? Who —?”

“There supposedly was a murder, in Virginia —”

“Elaine, I don’t understand this! I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“If you talk to Rusty, do not tell him that we spoke. All right? Will you promise me, Becca? Because we could be in danger, and I am scared shitless. I am in fear for my life!”

A Decent Proposal

BURKE CALLED FROM Vegas to tell Cela that a suspect in his son’s assault had been arrested.

He said the police were sitting on it for the weekend but to expect a burst of media activity on Monday, when the announcement would officially be made. He didn’t want Kit to know anything and was only mentioning it in case something leaked before he got back. Try to keep him away from the television. Just in case.

That night Cela invited Kit to her house for dinner. She lived outside the media-free zone; there was an element of delinquency, but more so because Burke was away and wouldn’t have approved. It was just like the old days, when they snuck around their parents after dark.

Steaks sizzled on the Foreman. Kit leaned over to inspect the water bowls with floating votive candles that dotted the yard.

“So who died?” he said with a smile.

“Very funny,” said Cela.

His limp was no longer pronounced. He wore a white button-down Gap shirt and new Levi’s, and was three days into the haircut she’d given him.

“You look nice,” she said.

She’d chosen a short little black dress, but Kit didn’t comment.

“Dad in Vegas,” he said, declaratively.

“That’s right.”

“When coming back?”

“ ‘When is he coming back?’”

“When is he coming back?”

“You can really speak beautifully when you want to.”

“When is he coming back, when is he coming back,” he said, gently mocking.

“Depends on how fast he loses,” she said. “He loves giving them his money.”

“Loves giving them my money.”

Cela laughed. His sense of humor was intact — everything was pretty much intact. He just moved a bit more slowly, in mind and in body, a bit less elegantly than before. He sporadically discarded words and consonants, his inflection unpredictably emphatic or slurred, but Cela was convinced that was because there was no one riding herd.

“Ever go with him?” he asked.

“To Vegas? Couple of times.”

“Where did you stay?”

“The Bellagio. He knows some people there. Or the Mirage.”

“You fuck him a long time?”

She turned from the grill, narrowing her eyes. “There is nothing between me and your father.”

“I saw you,” he said. She went back to grimly futzing with the blackened steaks. Kit’s smile became bittersweet. “I don’t… judgment. No energy to judge. Have got… energy for eating and shitting and… maybe signing autograph. Autographs,” he corrected.

“Your father,” she said awkwardly, “was good to me. Burke has his flaws — does he ever. OK? And I know that. I’m well aware. The bottom line is he took care of me when I got out of rehab. More than once. And I know he did some really shitty things to you, Kit — to you and your mom. And I respect whatever feelings you have toward him about that. OK? That’s not really my business. All I can deal with is how he — what he did for me. And that he’s a human being. He was right there, Kit. He was there for me. My father wasn’t, and neither were you —and that’s so not your fault! I’m sorry. That’s bullshit, and I shouldn’t have even said it. I’m sorry. It just — it had nothing to do with you. I’m not a perfect person, Kit — never said I was. OK? But I love you and I just don’t even really want to talk about any of this anymore. Or right now, OK?” She choked back tears and said, “I just want us to have a nice dinner and be sweet to each other—”

“I’m sorry, Cela.”

“About what?”

“I’m sorry I had a… big movie star life. ”

She hadn’t seen him angry since the injury — anger was probably a good thing. Still, it hurt to be the target.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“But I don’t anymore! So don’t worry!”

His face contorted with rage, then he broke into raucous laughter. Always with the practical jokes. She wanted to hug him, but he turned the tables again. “You’re using,” he said.

Cela poignantly winced. “Once in a while.”

She went back to her business at the grill. (Actor’s prop for a difficult scene.)

“You shouldn’t do it.”

“How about a urine test?” she said, stung. “But can we do it after dessert? Look: I’m well aware that I’m fucking up, OK? Does that make you feel better, Kit? I’m gonna start going to meetings again, I already decided that.” She shoveled the meat onto plates and sighed. “ Shit. ”

He grew quiet. The table was beautifully set with white cloth, white flowers, white candles.

They didn’t talk as they ate, but she watched him. The world had been upended though some things would never change. She was reminded of when they first went out and how she was nervous and always trying to please him.

After supper, they sat on a porch rocker, staring at the moon.

“Tula’s probably freaking out you’re here, huh.”

“I told him to… get a life. I told him — go guard some chicken tonight. At Koo Koo Roo.”

“Now that he’s a famous stunt driver, you better look out. Some headhunter’s gonna poach him.” She lit a cigarette. “So, what’s up with those Buddhists? They’re kind of a trip. I mean, they’re like full service, huh. They cook, they clean, they meditate…”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I think they’re great. You’ve been into that a long time, huh.”

“Yeah right. Buddhism has been berry, berry good to me.”

Cela laughed, not really catching the reference. “Kit,” she said, earnestly. “Do you remember anything about what happened? I mean, the night that guy hit you?”