Internet station in the galaxy. I asked him to find out how many movies Marzi Pan had Page 42
made. Two. _Swallow the Leader_ and _The Joy
Fuck Club_.
While I was sitting in a semi-coma, trying to think of what to do next, Veronica called. I tried to be normal but my voice must have sounded like it was coming from the other end of the Alaskan Pipeline. She picked up on it immediately.
"What's the matter?"
"I found out about Marzi Pan, Veronica."
Whatever I was expecting, what she said next wasn't it.
"Oh that." Her voice was dismissive, uninterested.
"What do you mean, 'Oh that'? For Christ's sake, Veronica, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was afraid you would react like this. What do you want me to say, Sam, I'm sorry?
Sorry for once being a person I no longer am? Sorry you had to find out before you cared, or knew, enough about me to understand?
Which sorry do you want?"
"I'm spinning, Veronica. I feel like I'm inside a clothes dryer."
Her voice became very small and hesitant. "Do you want to hear about it now? The whole story?
That's what Zane meant in L.A. when she told you to ask me about Donald Gold. It was his fault, but I went along because I wanted him to love me. I would have done anything and that's what he wanted. He even thought up that name for me.
"But it's _over_, Sam. That was years ago. You're not ashamed of anything in your past?
Something you can't do anything about, so you just have to be sorry and move on? I'm proud of myself now. Proud of who I am and what I
do. I'm proud that you want . . . ," her voice faltered and she took a quick breath, ". . . that you want to be with me." She had begun to cry and it was clear why.
Shit that I am, I could think of nothing to comfort or console her.
Instead, I whispered I would call her back and hung up.
The cemetery in Crane's View is wedged between the Lutheran Church and the town park. It's nondenominational and some of the gravestones date back to the eighteenth century. Ironically, both Gordon Cadmus and Pauline are buried there, not far from each other. It's a small place where you can have a good look around in less than an hour. When I was a kid we'd go there at night to mess around, sneaking up on each other, or making noises that were supposed to be scary but fooled no one.
I got out of my car and climbed over the low stone wall that enclosed the grounds. It was a beautiful morning, warm and still, the air full of birdsong and the smell of flowers.
I found Pauline's grave first. The stone was a small black rectangle, engraved only with her name and dates. The plot was well tended: Clearly
someone spent time there bringing fresh flowers, weeding, keeping a candle burning inside a small protected lamp. I stood above it, thinking not very original thoughts -- what a tragedy, what would she be doing now if she had lived, who killed her. I remembered the time I saw her at school bent over a drinking fountain. She was wearing a white blouse and long red skirt. Her hair was in a ponytail that she held to one side while she drank. Passing by, I had purposely veered so as to pass within inches of her. For one instant I was the closest person in the world to Pauline Ostrova. Her hair was shiny, her fingers so thin and long on the silver knob.
Kneeling down, I ran my hand across the lettering on her gravestone and said, "Remember me?"
I stood up slowly.
I started away, thinking to look for Gordon Cadmus next. A car slowed and stopped out on the street. Thinking it might be Frannie, I turned and saw it was only a brown UPS van making a delivery. Then because of my position, I
Page 43
saw the back of Pauline's gravestone for the first time. Written on it in thick white letters was
"Hi, Sam!"
After Pauline's death, a number of strange occurrences took place in Crane's View. Some of them we were aware of, others Frannie told me about years later.
The day after we'd found her body, someone went around town writing "Hi, Pauline!" in
made. Two. _Swallow the Leader_ and _The Joy
Fuck Club_.
While I was sitting in a semi-coma, trying to think of what to do next, Veronica called. I tried to be normal but my voice must have sounded like it was coming from the other end of the Alaskan Pipeline. She picked up on it immediately.
"What's the matter?"
"I found out about Marzi Pan, Veronica."
Whatever I was expecting, what she said next wasn't it.
"Oh that." Her voice was dismissive, uninterested.
"What do you mean, 'Oh that'? For Christ's sake, Veronica, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was afraid you would react like this. What do you want me to say, Sam, I'm sorry?
Sorry for once being a person I no longer am? Sorry you had to find out before you cared, or knew, enough about me to understand?
Which sorry do you want?"
"I'm spinning, Veronica. I feel like I'm inside a clothes dryer."
Her voice became very small and hesitant. "Do you want to hear about it now? The whole story?
That's what Zane meant in L.A. when she told you to ask me about Donald Gold. It was his fault, but I went along because I wanted him to love me. I would have done anything and that's what he wanted. He even thought up that name for me.
"But it's _over_, Sam. That was years ago. You're not ashamed of anything in your past?
Something you can't do anything about, so you just have to be sorry and move on? I'm proud of myself now. Proud of who I am and what I
do. I'm proud that you want . . . ," her voice faltered and she took a quick breath, ". . . that you want to be with me." She had begun to cry and it was clear why.
Shit that I am, I could think of nothing to comfort or console her.
Instead, I whispered I would call her back and hung up.
The cemetery in Crane's View is wedged between the Lutheran Church and the town park. It's nondenominational and some of the gravestones date back to the eighteenth century. Ironically, both Gordon Cadmus and Pauline are buried there, not far from each other. It's a small place where you can have a good look around in less than an hour. When I was a kid we'd go there at night to mess around, sneaking up on each other, or making noises that were supposed to be scary but fooled no one.
I got out of my car and climbed over the low stone wall that enclosed the grounds. It was a beautiful morning, warm and still, the air full of birdsong and the smell of flowers.
I found Pauline's grave first. The stone was a small black rectangle, engraved only with her name and dates. The plot was well tended: Clearly
someone spent time there bringing fresh flowers, weeding, keeping a candle burning inside a small protected lamp. I stood above it, thinking not very original thoughts -- what a tragedy, what would she be doing now if she had lived, who killed her. I remembered the time I saw her at school bent over a drinking fountain. She was wearing a white blouse and long red skirt. Her hair was in a ponytail that she held to one side while she drank. Passing by, I had purposely veered so as to pass within inches of her. For one instant I was the closest person in the world to Pauline Ostrova. Her hair was shiny, her fingers so thin and long on the silver knob.
Kneeling down, I ran my hand across the lettering on her gravestone and said, "Remember me?"
I stood up slowly.
I started away, thinking to look for Gordon Cadmus next. A car slowed and stopped out on the street. Thinking it might be Frannie, I turned and saw it was only a brown UPS van making a delivery. Then because of my position, I
Page 43
saw the back of Pauline's gravestone for the first time. Written on it in thick white letters was
"Hi, Sam!"
After Pauline's death, a number of strange occurrences took place in Crane's View. Some of them we were aware of, others Frannie told me about years later.
The day after we'd found her body, someone went around town writing "Hi, Pauline!" in
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