A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Seventy-Five

Helping Angelica, Rose would come to realize, was like taking on the care of a needy child. By August her housemate had lost eight pounds and all interest in shopping, the theater, and her personal appearance. She drifted through the house like a ghost of her former self, hair unwashed and limp, dark half-moons beneath her eyelids. Most mornings Rose would arrive home from an audition or errand to find Angelica still in bed, curled in a fetal position.

Further complicating matters was the fact that there was an actual child involved. Li'l Max was about to turn two, and though he didn't miss his father much, he did have an awareness that something was wrong with his mother. He'd always displayed symptoms of a terrible temper, which was never kept in check and now manifested itself in the form of full-fledged, throw-self-on-the-floor-screaming tantrums. Angelica only ignored him more.

It was Elvira to the rescue with the infant. Rose had neither the time nor the patience. The wedding was a mere month away, and already it was a disaster in the making. First, the parish priest had to take a sudden and extended leave of absence due to the illness of a family member; the associate pastor left in charge was younger than Rose and had never officiated over a wedding ceremony. When Rose went for what was to be the final fitting for her gown, the dressmaker was highly displeased to find that she'd slimmed down—this at the suggestion of several casting agents—and her waistline had to be measured again.

Once she'd recovered from the news that the catering hall where her reception was to be held had nearly burned to the ground over Labor Day weekend, Rose received a disturbing call from Buster. Fatty Arbuckle had been arrested for the rape and murder of a young starlet during a wild party in a San Francisco hotel. Keaton, ever the loyal friend, publicly stood by Arbuckle—who would be tried three times before being acquitted—but the big man would never act again. The film he'd starred in with Rose had already been rushed into theaters to draw the holiday weekend crowd. After an angry mob—ironically—tore down the screen at one location that was showing the movie, it was quickly pulled from distribution. Rose saw her fledgling career going up in smoke just like the reception hall.

The priest at St. Joseph's came through, offering Rose the use of the church's social hall. Sebastian was working and unable to accompany her when she went to survey the place. It was a hot, stuffy room with card tables and metal folding chairs stacked against the walls. Tablecloths and all decorations would need to be supplied by the couple. At least the caterers had offered to move their operation to whatever location the bride and groom chose at a discount. Perhaps they could set up a buffet and leave most of the floor cleared for dancing. There was even a small stage for the string quartet they'd hired. Rose's spirits had lifted a little by the time she arrived home.

Elvira scurried around with a broom, sweeping tissue paper fragments into a dustpan. Torn multicolored paper lay everywhere like so much confetti. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rose followed the trail into the kitchen, where she'd set a box atop the table prior to leaving the house. The box's contents were ripped to shreds.

A wadded ball of paper struck Rose in the forehead. Li'l Max, seated on a high stool facing her, chortled with glee and prepared to launch another weapon.

“You little—” Rose snatched the infant from the chair, sat and turned him over her knee. Max began to scream in anticipation. Rose had gotten in three good licks before Elvira came running. The older woman grabbed the baby mid-spanking and proceeded to give Rose a tongue-lashing for her trouble.

“Don't you hit the child! He is not yours!”

“He's not yours, either,” Rose replied, “and yet I've seen you hit him plenty of times.”

“He was just playing.”

“Playing with my wedding favors.” Rose had created several artificial flower arrangements for the tables at the reception. She'd spent an entire weekend on the task and was quite proud of the result. The box was to be delivered to the church the following day. “I worked my ass off to have these ready on time!”

“Ass!” Max cried, and laughed, his punishment already forgotten.

Elvira gasped and struggled to cover the boy's ears. “You watch your language in this house.”

“It's my house. You're just visiting. For too long, I might add.”

Rose lifted the box containing the remnants of her work and started out of the kitchen. Elvira deposited Max back on the stool and followed her to the stairs.

“I'll have you know, young lady, that my son wants me to be here. He asked me to stay and help you plan the wedding. And that is a good thing. Look at you, making your own flowers.” She sniffed. “What a shame he didn't marry Mathilde when he had the chance.”

Rose, her foot on the bottom step, paused and slowly turned to face Elvira, who met her stare defiantly. “What was that?”

The older woman inwardly struggled with whether to attempt to stuff the genie back in its bottle, then came to a decision and plunged ahead. “You might as well hear it from me, dear, before your wedding. My good friends, the ones who sheltered us in Switzerland, have a daughter about your age, Mathilde. She's not nearly as pretty as you, maybe, but she comes from a good family. A good German family. It took time, but I persuaded Sebastian to see that it would be a good match. He was falling for her, I know he was, when we heard about Fritz.”

Rose's head was spinning. She lowered herself to the stairs and cradled the box of shredded paper in her lap.

“He never told you. It figures. Men always want you to believe you're the only one.” Elvira's eyes hardened. “But thanks to your trickery, my son is throwing away a chance at real happiness.”

“My trickery?”

“Yes. Throwing yourself at him like a harlot. I know you'll be impure on your wedding night. I have eyes and ears. And he probably wasn't the first.”

Rose was on her feet, and in a split second, emptied the box of tissue paper on Elvira's head. “Get out!” she yelled. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

A horrified Elvira backed away, slipped on a scrap and landed flat on her bottom. Rose charged at her with the empty box; Elvira jumped to her feet faster than she'd ever moved in her life. “Get out,” Rose hissed at her.

Elvira stumbled to the front door and departed without another word. Strips of tissue paper still clung to her clothes and hair.

As Li'l Max peered timidly at her from the dining room, Rose picked up where Elvira left off, sweeping the floor and emptying the dustpan into the box. She became aware of another presence and looked up to find Angelica, still in her bedclothes, surveying the mess.

“What happened?” she asked sleepily.

“'What happened?'“ Rose mimicked her. “What happened is it's almost two in the afternoon and you're just now getting out of bed, that's what happened.”

“Huh?”

Rose dropped the broom and crossed the floor in two strides. She grabbed a protesting Angelica by the arm and yanked her into the dining room. Max cringed and would've escaped under the table had Rose not grabbed him, too.

“Angelica, meet Max. Max is your son. He has barely seen you in two months and has forgotten what you look like. Max is starving, and not for food, Angelica.”

Max looked from one to the other, then his face broke out in a smile. “Mommy, look!” he said, and offered her a fragment of paper.

“These scraps are what's left of my wedding favors,” Rose explained. “My handmade wedding favors. He liked my artwork a great deal. Elvira, on the other hand—“

“Did I hear you correctly? Did you really throw her out?” Angelica was grinning impishly, the first time Rose had seen her smile in ages. “Sebastian's going to pitch a fit.”

“It'll be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to him.”

*****

Rose paced the porch, squeezing a cigarette between her fingers. Every few seconds she'd stop to inhale, drawing in a deep and satisfying breath. At times like this one did not need bother with a holder.

It was twilight when Sebastian pulled up in her car. They'd take turns driving it, with him catching rides with coworkers on her days, which had become fewer lately. Elvira still had not returned; Rose imagined she'd been struck by lightning. Such pleasant thoughts had sustained her the past few hours.

Sebastian leaned down to kiss her and she turned a cheek. “Ah, I see you're having dinner. Got any more of those?”

“No, this is my last one.”

“Well, then, let's hope my mum fixed something heavy and greasy. I'm famished.” He reached for the door.

“Your mum's gone. Angelica's cooking tonight. Good luck.”

“Elvira's gone? Where did she go?”

Rose shrugged and took another drag. “To the train station, I'd guess. Though I do hope she comes back for her belongings. I'd hate to have to ship them to Germany.”

“What happened?”

“Why does everyone ask me what happened?” She threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Your mother happened. She steamrolled her way in here eight months ago and was having a hard time with the concept of leaving, so I showed her the door.”

“You—you put my mother on the street?”

“No, she put herself on the street. Had she behaved like she was your mother, she would have been welcome to stay as long as she liked.”

“Jesus, Rose, what the hell have you done?” Sebastian's face was stormy. “You know she doesn't know anyone here besides us.” He began to pace the length of the porch as she had just minutes earlier, muttering to himself. Rose took a seat on the porch swing and waited.

“We're going looking for her,” he said.

“No.”

“Rose, whatever petty little grudge you hold against my mother, now is not the time—”

“I said I'm not going with you. She's fine, Sebastian. The woman's got nerves of iron. She's probably staying away on purpose to get even.” She wasn't about to let on that she'd literally chased Elvira out the door.

“Don't be ridiculous. Now let's go, before it gets dark.”

He grabbed her by the elbow, jerking her to her feet, and she pulled in the opposite direction, sending a jolt of pain up her arm to the shoulder. She cried out and he released her.

She'd sworn to herself that she'd never let anyone lay a hand on her in anger again. Her eyes welled. “I said no!”

“Rose, I'm sorry.”

“Maybe you should go back to Germany with your mother. Maybe Mathilde would be happy to have you both.”

As it dawned on him what his mother had done, a contrite Sebastian struggled to find the right words. “I never loved her,” he said finally. “I was only with her to please Elvira.”

“The wedding's off.” Rose opened the screen door, hesitated, and turned back to him.

“You're not the man I used to love.”

*****

Elvira was back the next day, but only to collect her things. She had connived her way into a suite at a hotel on Sunset by manufacturing a tale of being robbed while sightseeing and promising to return later with money. She would remain there until her son “came to his senses,” or so she informed Angelica. Rose was on an audition, fortunately, and never saw her.

Sebastian had retreated to his own bedroom after spending most nights in Rose's, and was gone by the time she awoke; she had stayed up late, writing her apologies to everyone on their guest list. He left her a two-page letter attempting to explain Mathilde. Rose read a few sentences, folded it, and left it in a drawer. He was considerate enough to dine away from home, but that evening she discovered a single red rose on her pillow. They continued in this manner for days, until it became clear to her that he would never stop trying to win her back. She told Angelica she was moving out.

The two women had been getting along famously since Elvira's departure, united in their rage against men, but at this news, Angelica turned her hostility on Rose.

“What am I to do when you're gone? You know very well Sebastian and I could never make the mortgage payments on our own.”

“I was prepared to list this place on the market. None of you wanted to leave.”

“Max didn't want to leave.”

Rose snapped, “Well, you're free to make your own decisions now. I know I've said this before, but perhaps it would be a good idea for you to seek employment. It would take your mind off your troubles. Your mother-in-law said she would be happy to look after Li'l Max—”

“Oh, go to hell.” Angelica trounced off to her bedroom and slammed the door.

There hadn't been many times in her life when Rose had felt more alone. She decided it would be best to vacate the premises sooner rather than later and signed a lease on what was to have been her wedding day. The apartment was on the second floor of a private home on a steep and quiet street in Hollywood. She would have a private entrance in the rear with a shaded deck and a spectacular view only partially obscured by hibiscus trees. The three little rooms would be more than sufficient to hold her furniture, which at that point consisted only of her bedroom set. The young marrieds who owned the home asked few questions.

Rose, her spirits buoyed, stopped to shop for household goods and arrived home to a quiet house. Angelica had grudgingly allowed Max a day with his son. Hopefully she was using her free time wisely and wouldn't come home until Rose was finished packing. She'd been told she could move in at any time and didn't see any reason to postpone the inevitable.

An item of discarded clothing at the head of the stairs caught her eye. A black stocking. Rose sighed, bent to pick it up, and saw its match further down the hall. What a slob Angelica could be at times. Now she was allowing her mess to spread out into the open.

Someone groaned.

Against her better judgment, Rose moved slowly toward the master bedroom door. The grunts and moans grew louder as she approached. The door was partially open and she could see more clothes scattered about the floor and casually draped over a wing chair. Even as her eyes took in the scene, her mind rejected what was in front of her.

Rose's former fiancé grappled with Angelica beneath satin sheets on the king-sized bed. They were both red-faced and sweaty and looked, to Rose, standing frozen in the doorway, like starving dogs fighting over a bone.

Angelica saw her first. She met Rose's stare with a cold, triumphant gaze of her own, until Sebastian felt the change in her and finally turned around. The shock on her face was reflected in his own as he stammered her name. He pushed Angelica roughly aside and jumped to his feet.

It was the sight of his nakedness that propelled Rose away from the doorway, down the stairs and out the front door, never stopping. He called after her repeatedly. Her last sight of him was in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the drive, attempting to outrun the automobile in nothing but his underpants.

Rose wasn't aware of where she was going until the Ferris wheel came into full view. The night was chilly, the amusements were shutting down, and the Santa Monica Pier was nearly deserted, save a few lovebirds on romantic outings. Rose gave them a wide berth. Shivering, she finally settled on a bench at the far end, where the only sound was that of the waves tossing against the pilings. What brought her to that spot, considering her phobia, she'd never know, and she probably didn't want to know.

She covered her face with her hands.

Footsteps approached, and a familiar voice asked what she was doing there. She looked up to find Terry shrugging out of his jacket, which he draped over her shoulders protectively. Rose threw herself into his arms and began to cry. He held her, making soothing noises into her ear. With a flick of a wrist he tossed the flask he'd been holding over the railing and onto the sand below. It was almost empty, anyhow.

Chapter Seventy-Six

Stories