Page 24 of Deja Who
TEN
“I’m really nervous,” Archer confessed as they pulled up to her childhood mansion.
“Why, do you think she’s unstable?”
“No! God, no.”
“Then you’re something of an idiot,” Leah said, softening the observation with a smile. “She’s incredibly unstable. But she would never hurtyou.”
He waved that away, which given that he’d been stabbed (repeatedly) by another family member, struck her as courageous or stupid. Courageously stupid? And he’d passed over the emphasis onyou, which she also found interesting. “I’m nervous about the questions. I’ve got so many! What if I forget one? When am I ever going to be back here? God, I thought my family was screwed up.”
Leah sighed, shut off the engine, got out of the car. Archer had been more than happy to let her drive; he was understandablysore. Fine with her; she loved to drive. There was something about hopping in a car and justgoingthat appealed to her inner chickenshit. She could never summon the courage to pick up and leave her life, but often indulged a rich fantasy world where she did. Taking the long way on virtually every trip factored into that.I am not driving to my terrible mother’s house; this is the beginning of my road trip to Egypt. I will need a new plan by the time I get to Florida. Perhaps I can trade my car for a one-way cruise ship ticket. That is Monday’s problem, today I am going to drive. Drive. Driiiive.
So when Archer asked her to drive, she’d made sure he was buckled securely in the passenger seat of her gray Ford Fusion (which looked an awful lot like a giant electric shaver, which was an awful lot like why she’d bought it), and taken the scenic route around the lake. But it was a gorgeous day, the kind that lures people to the Midwest: bright blue sky, clouds like marshmallow fluff, the breeze off Superior, the sunshine. Chicago’s slogan should be “See? Winter eventually ends.”
It was exactly as creepy as she imagined to find herself in the old neighborhood; she had not been home—though her apartment was only a half-hour drive away—since high school. If she’d had her way, she wouldn’t have been home since middle school. For the thousandth time, she cursed the thick judge. If Nazir v. Nazir had not been a clear-cut case for legal emancipation, she could not imagine what was.
The place looked, from the outside, as it had when she’d last seen it: a gorgeous pile of Prairie-style brick concealing the utter madness within, with all the rich toy trappings out on the broad lawn, which was, of course, a perfect vivid green. Not the back lawn, either; if it cannot be seen from the street, if someone driving by doesn’t crane their neck to take in all theaccouterments, it hardly counts: a gazebo, a conspicuous absence of lawn jockeys, and...
A koi pond stuffed withGosankeandKohaku.For God’s sake. She hates fish. It could have been her idea of a subtle sly commentary on Hollywood’s bottom-feeders, except it’s neither subtle nor sly, and she has great respect for bottom-feeders.
Unmoved by the McMansion’s clichéd beauty, she marched up the porch steps and hammered on the glassed-in door with both fists. “I know you’re in there, you horrible thing! I might kill you this time, so let me in!”
The door opened at once, startling her, and a moment later she knew why she’d gotten such an instant response: her mother hadn’t answered the door.
“Leah, I’d like the record to show I tried to talk her out of it.” The man, whom she knew was her mother’s age but not holding up nearly as well, blinked nervously at her. His pale blue eyes were unusually large and the glasses made them look watery, as if he was always on the verge of an allergy attack. The few gray-blond wisps of hair he had left seemed so thin and fragile the wind could whisk them away, leaving him bald and blinking. “I truly did.”
“And when that failed, you... hmmm... called to warn me?”
He blinked faster. “Well, your mom’s my client, not you. Not since you fired—”
“Shut up, Tom.” She brushed past her mother’s agent into the front hall, immediately confronted by the clichéd sweeping dark walnut staircase, oriental rugs, hutches full of china they did not inherit, and looming over the entire room the gigantic Scarlett O’Hara–ish painting of her mother when she was Leah’s age.
Behind her, Archer was introducing himself to Tom Winn of Winner’s TalentTM(ugh). Leah ignored them and marched into the game room, which was dominated by a piano no one could play, reducing it to nothing more than a dusting headache for the housekeeper.
Ah, and there she was: Nellie Nazir, former child star, sperm bank shopper, swindler of fortunes, whack job, former smoker. Leah knew her mother would not have dared receive her in the Room O’Crap, stuffed to bursting with old photos of them in their (ugh) heyday, DVDs and downloads of commercials, newspaper articles, magazines... Leah needed no reminders of her exploited childhood. Nellie saved that room for people she needed to impress, and Leah had been off that list since her fifth birthday.
So it was no surprise to see It was posed prettily on the couch opposite the piano no one could play, wearing what Leah called the Birthday Outfit.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked shortly, eyeing her mother and wondering if maternity was a gene you either had or hadn’t.If you don’t have it, as It clearly does not, is there medication for the syndrome? Besides vodka? Perhaps an operation would be required. Like an appendectomy, only in reverse.
“My darling daughter is home! The prodigal hon!”
She might mean Hun. As in Attila.“You’ve gone too far this time.” She considered her mother’s past transgressions. “Again. You’ve gone too far this time again.”
“Wow, Leah, you can really get lost in—whoa.” Archer skidded to a halt, taking in her mother’s mufti: the long pink satin flowing robe trimmed in pink feathers at the cuffs and neck and hem. The pale skin, masses of rich reddish brown hair, expertlymade-up eyes sporting enough eyeliner to choke a bear (but somehow It made it work), the long movie vixen red nails and matching lipstick. “You weren’t wearing that when you hired me. That’s—um—a different look for you.”
“Please.” Leah crossed her arms over her chest and considered indulging the urge to stick her tongue out at her mother. “She wore it to every one of my birthday parties.”
“Mr. Drake, I underestimated you.” Her mother flowed to her feet and, trailing feathers, crossed the room to kiss a startled Archer on the corner of the mouth. “I wanted you to watch over my baby so I could figure out the best time to approach her with my wonderful new idea, and you brought her home to me.”
“Ibroughthim,” she got out through gritted teeth. It would be a miracle if she didn’t crack a molar. “No more spying, Nellie, and no more wonderful new ideas. You know goddamned well I will never work with you again.”
“For me,” It corrected sweetly. “Workforme. Again.”
“What’s that weird noise?” Archer asked, trying to look everywhere at once.
“My darling girl has the most atrocious habit of grinding her teeth when she’s indulging in one of her tantrums. A dreadful noise.” It shook her head and looked mournful, her face momentarily hidden by rich brown curls. “The money I spent on orthos.”
