"Thank you."

"I rented Dynamite Bay just three weeks ago with my girl-friend, and we watched the whole thing without even fast-forwarding and we returned our backup video unwatched. She's not gonna believe I actually met you here."

Susan ate a fry. "What was your backup video?"

"America's Worst Car Crashes. Reality TV."

The deputy walked away and Susan ate a clump of fries andthen spoke to herself. Well, Eugene, am I going to screw my life up all over again, now? You think I've learned anything over this past year? She nibbledon a thigh, salty and greasy. She realized she was hungry and ateher lunch.

Susan's public story, planned long in advance by her andRandy, was that she remembered not a thing between arriving atJFK Airport and reading the USAToday in the box outside the po-lice building. She would tell people that the photo of Marilyn onthe front page was perhaps the trigger. The police interviewedSusan for hours, and it yielded them nothing.

Susan let it be known that she chose not to speak with the press as she sat safely within the cool, echoey stillness of the jail cell. For the time being, they could snack on the security camera images she'd provided. She also declined to speak with Marilyn.She was in no hurry because, as her story line went, she didn'tfeel she'd been missing. She felt no pangs of homesickness. Theairline offered to fly her to Cheyenne that night. She accepted.The flight arrived past midnight, and at her request, she was toreunite with Marilyn the next morning. She said she was tired and confused and needed to sort things out in her head.

She was put up at the local Days Inn, and she slept soundly.She woke up at six-thirty the next morning, showered, and put on a Donna Karan ensemble provided by the airline. She wasdriven in a minivan through Cheyenne, the city that hadn'treally been her home. It had been an extraordinarily hot anddry summer, and the leaves on the trees looked exhausted andthe roads were dusty. Already her bowels felt like lead and shemissed Eugene Junior and Randy. In a dull, aching and car-sick way, she missed Eugene Senior, too. He would have lovedand applauded the performance-art side of the act Susan hadplanned for the morning.

The vehicle approached an expensive-enough-looking Spanish-style house with a maroon BMW and a Mercedes in the drive-way. So this was the House on the Hill up to which Marilyn had leveraged herself.

Trailers with satellite feeds circled the yard.Neck-craning neighbors stood behind yellow police tapes and the cameras rolled as Susan slowly walked up the front path-way to the house, toward the double doors inlayed with asandblasted gla.s.s kingfisher holding a minnow in its beak. Thedoors opened and Marilyn emerged, eyes flooded with tears,and she stumbled toward Susan, who hugged her mother theway she used to hug first runners-up during the pageant days. Ifthe pageants had trained her for nothing else, it was for thismoment: Susan! Mom!It was mechanical. A pushover. The cameras needed this. Theworld wanted it. But what neither the cameras nor the worldgot to hear was Susan whispering into Marilyn's ear, jeweledwith a gold nautilus sh.e.l.l earring, "Guess what, Mom? Youreally are going to have to give back every single penny you were set to receive from the airline. So that makes us even now, okay?"

"Susan!"

Don came out the doors and approached Susan, giving her a hug, with Marilyn barnacled between them.

"Good to see you,Sue. We haven't had a single quiet moment since we got thenews yesterday." Susan laughed at this, then smiled at Marilyn,who was crying out of what Susan was now convinced was areal sense of loss.

The press camera lenses whirred and zoomed and the aper-tures clicked and chattered among themselves. Susan, Don and the tearful Marilyn stood on the front steps of Marilyn's house.Susan said to the cameras, "Sorry guys. We need to go inside for a spot of privacy. See you in a short while."

Good old Sue! Always kind to the press.

Marilyn, Susan and Don stepped in the house, and almost im-mediately Don fled to the cupboard above the telephone andpulled out a magnum of mola.s.ses-colored Navy rum. "It's woo-woo time," he said, pouring four fingers worth of the liquorinto a highball gla.s.s, which he topped off with cartoned choco-late milk. '"I call it a s.h.i.tsicle in honor of that wad of c.r.a.p thatgot us here to Wyoming. I live on 'em. You want one, Sue?"

"No thanks, Don."

"You sure? Aw, c'mon. We need to celebrate."

"No. It's too early," said Susan.

"Have it your way then," said Don, a nasty new spark to hisvoice. He glugged down a sizable portion of his drink.

Marilyn was mute. She stood by the kitchen table, her arms folded over her chest. Susan looked around the kitchen, bright and clean and dense with appliances, and by the telephone shesaw an array of envelopes and letterheads from CBS, CNN, KTLAand a.s.sorted cable and network outlets. "It's been a busy yearhere, I can see," Susan said.

Marilyn opened her mouth, about to speak, and stopped. Thethree were as far away from each other as it was possible to beinside the kitchen.

"You're wondering where I've been," said Susan, "aren't you?"

"It's a reasonable question."

Susan picked up a Fox TV letterhead with a note on it: DearMrs. Colgate Marilyn, Please find enclosed a check for $5,000.00, and thanks again for providing yet another compelling and inspiring story segment for our viewers.

Yours, Don FeschukVP Story Development "Maybe you ought to be talking to Don Feschuk instead ofme, Mom."

"Don't be willfully cruel. It's not becoming."

"Today's festivities must have caused a bidding war. Whowon, Mom?"

"CBS," said Don.

"Let me hazard a guess," Susan said, not releasing her eyesfrom Marilyn's face. "An exclusive interview, scheduled forpretty soon, I'd imagine, so as to be ripe for tonight's East Coastprime-time slot."

"I didn't want pandemonium here," Marilyn said. "It was away of simplifying things."

"Heck, no-we wouldn't want pandemonium here, wouldwe. Mom.""Stop saying Mom like that."

Susan tried to remember the last time she'd seen Marilyn in the flesh. It was at Erik Osmond's accounting office in CulverCity. Marilyn had called Susan a "bitsy little s.l.u.t," and Susan hadcalled her a thief, and then Marilyn threw an ashtray as Susanwas leaving the room. The ashtray had shattered and Erikshouted, "That was a gift from Gregory Peck!" Susan had shutthe door and that had been it.

Marilyn lit a cigarette. "You could have called."

"Are you dense, Mom? I don't even know where the h.e.l.lI was."

"I don't believe it."

"Then don't." Susan found the Fendi gla.s.ses. "But aren't youthe one faking it."

Marilyn came over and s.n.a.t.c.hed them away from Susan."Not these days, daughter."

"This is the most ornery homecoming I've ever seen,"Don said.

"Don," said Susan, "Look at it from my point of view, okay?As far as my brain is concerned, there was no last year. SuddenlyI'm standing on a street in the middle of Pennsylvania, andthen I'm whisked home to see Mummy here who, as far as I'mconcerned, is the same thief who swiped not only the sum ofmy TV earnings, but who also made me shake my moneymakeronstage in front of an unending parade of Chevy dealersand small-time hairstylists for all of my childhood. I had nodesire to speak to her a year ago, and I have no desire to speakwith her now."

Don was somehow cast in the role of debating coach andnodded fuzzily.

"Do you honestly think," said Marilyn, "that I walked aroundthat crash site-and don't try telling me you don't rememberit, because I know you do-amnesia my a.s.s-and saw those body parts and shoes and wrist.w.a.tches and dinner trays piledup and charbroiled like so much pepper steak on the grill at Benihana's-that I could walk through all of that and wish myown girl dead? That I would say to myself, Hey Marilyn, your ship'sfinally come in but hey, too bad about the kid?" Marilyn walked over tothe sink where Don put the rum and the chocolate milk, andshe poured herself a drink and took a slug. The rest of the drink soon vanished. "I wouldn't wish that crash on anybody, not evenmy worst enemy. But I don't even have a worst enemy because Idon't even have any friends. What do I have? Really? I have Donand I have you, and I don't really even have you. Yes, I almostmade a s.h.i.tload of money from your disappearance, whereveryou went to, but let me say here for the record, you disappeared. You vanished. It was torture, never having a true ending. All themoney I made over the past year is mine. I didn't earn it, and maybe I didn't even deserve it, but I'm not ashamed of it."

Outside on the street, through the kitchen window's sheers,Susan saw a network van, and some guy beside it switching on arumbling generator. "I wonder what those people out on thestreet think we're doing in here right now," she said.

"Oh, hugging, or some sort of c.r.a.p like that," said Marilyn.

Susan thought of Eugene and Eugene Junior. A small wave ofpossible forgiveness lapped over her.

"Mom, have you ever once,even for a fleeting moment, felt sorry for stealing my life theway you did?"

"Stealing your life?" Marilyn plunked her gla.s.s down on the counter. "Give me a break. I made you what you are."

"What I am?" A small pin of hope p.r.i.c.ked Susan's skin. Maybe she'd right now find out what it was she'd become."You've got my full attention, Mom. Please, go ahead and tell mewhat I am."

"You're my daughter and you're tough as nails."

27C.

This useless reply dashed Susan's brief hope. "What a sackof c.r.a.p."

"If it weren't for me you'd be driving a minivan full of brats to a soccer game in small-town Oregon."

"That sounds b.l.o.o.d.y marvelous. I might have wanted that."

"Bullc.r.a.p you would have. You were made for bigger stuff. Look at you now. And look outside the window. You're gettingmore coverage now than an emba.s.sy bombing."

"Is that all you care about? Coverage? What if I did have abunch of kids, Mom. What if I did have a whole G.o.ddam ChevyLumina vanload of squalling brats, and all of them looked justlike you."

Marilyn paused a fraction before saying, "Kids?"

"And what if I never let you see them. Ever. What if I toldthem you were dead and they'd never know their grandma?"

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I?"

Don cut in, "Guys, maybe we should take a break-"

"Shut up, Donald," said Marilyn. "Go ahead, Susan. Tell memore. What would you do to hurt me?"

Susan, suddenly aware of how well Marilyn could read her,pulled back. "All I'm saying is that I'm not over it, Mom. Themoney. The lawyers. Those scenes we had. The everything. Youknow that, right?"

Marilyn's index finger clickety-clicked the rim of her emptygla.s.s. " Fair enough."

"You own the house?" Susan asked.

"The bank."

"You're going to have to sell it now. And all those chichioutfits I can just imagine you pigging out on and buying inNew York."

"Yeah, we probably will. Make you happy?"

"It does. I lived on bulk yogurt and three-day-old vegetables for years after the shpw ended. Larry didn't foot the bills. Hedumped me pretty quick. I don't know what would have hap-pened if the Chris gig hadn't come up. Everybody was laugh-ing at me behind my back, and it was you who put me through all that."

Marilyn looked at her coldly. "Been practicing that one a longtime, dear?"

Susan decided to cut it off there. "I'm going to leave," Susansaid. "The airline's going to fly me to Los Angeles."

Susan paused and looked at Don with a question that came toher just then. "Did you ever meet Chris?"

"He's an a.s.shole."

Susan laughed. "Yeah, well, you're pretty well right on thatscore. But there's n.o.body can trash a hotel room as well ashe can."

Susan blew Don a kiss and then paused in front of Marilyn. Sheshrugged, turned around and left. It hadn't been the triumphanttouche fest she'd hoped for, but not much in life ever was.

Three hours later she was back in Los Angeles; four hourslater she was in Chris's house, alone; Chris was in SouthAmerica. The house on Prestwick had been emptied after thecrash, her things sold or given away.

In just a year, the city Susan had known was gone. Larry Mor-timer had quit managing Steel Mountain weeks after Susan'scrash. He'd divorced Jenna and was living with Amber in Pasa-dena, producing CD-ROM games for preteens. She called andleft a message that she was back, and he drove over to visit her,cutting through the gaggle of press people on the street.

"Sue? Sue! It's me, Larry-open up."

"Larry . . ." Susan opened the door and was stilled as alwaysby Larry's resemblance to Eugene. But this time she'd knownEugene the man, and Larry was a pale match for Eugene'squirky, arty crustiness. Larry was . . . just another Hollywood manager unit. Susan found herself trying to mask the flood ofemotion she was feeling for Eugene. Larry mistook this forSusan's pleasure at seeing him and came toward her in a slightlyseductive manner. Susan in turn gave him the most sisterlyof hugs. He asked how she was feeling and they exchangedsmall talk.

"How's Amber?"

"Pregnant. The show dropped her because they didn't wantto fit it into the script."

"Well, congratulations.You finally left Jenna, huh?"

"Oh, you know."

"No, I don't know. Forget it. How's the band? Chris?"

"The bond," replied Larry, "is in physical, moral, creative andfinancial chaos. But then I've moved away from rock-and-rollmanagement. Too many aneurysms every day." Susan and Larryhad migrated to the kitchen, where Larry poked around thefridge for something to eat. Neither was hungry, but it was aritual they'd developed years before to squelch awkward mo-ments. They talked some more about the comings and goings of various old acquaintances.

" I checked, but there's no hope in h.e.l.l of you getting any,how shall we say, 'back wages,' from the Steel Mountain Corpo-ration. There's nothing there to pay you with. And by the way, you'll have to do a photo-op with Chris and sign some divorcepapers. I can make it a one-stop deal. He's back from Caracas onMonday."

"Adam Norwitz is supposed to be managing my life thesedays."

"Adam's become a bigger fish since you were here. Twopilots he was connected with got picked up."

"Life's so rich, isn't it, Larry?"

"Snippy, snippy." Larry found a can of house-brand cola. He looked at it, paused, and asked Susan, "Can this stuff go bad?"

Susan shrugged and said, "Go nuts. Live dangerously."

Larry opened it, poured two gla.s.ses, they toasted her returnand he soon left. An hour later Dreama came over. She wasdeeply lonely, without a focus and was only too eager to enterthe new family fold.

She was given instructions to meet Randyand Eugene Junior at the airport. Randy by then had officially changed his name from Montarelli to Hexum. He and thebaby moved in with Dreama that night, and would hunt for aBrady Bunch house the next day. It was all Susan could do not toabandon all her plans, run to Dreama's and inhale Eugene Ju-nior's sweet baby smell.

Public interest in Susan's reappearance, at first blazing, dieddown to near nothing. Susan did nothing to encourage pub-licity, and at first Adam saw this as a clever device to jack upher price for an exclusive interview. But Susan rested firm, andAdam had a hard time forgiving her for blowing the chance tosell at the peak of public interest.

Susan was able to rent her old Cape Cod house from the SteelMountain Corporation, who'd bought it after the plane crash. Itwas eight minutes from Eugene Junior. She landed Randy a jobin a music PR office as an a.s.sistant. He used this money to rentthe agreed-upon house in the Valley. The Cape Cod house existedalmost purely as an elaborate ruse to deflect any possible publicawareness away from Eugene Junior. Susan was still trying to think of the lowest-profile manner possible of "taking Eugene public," but finding a solution was proving difficult, as any so-lution meant a media deluge.

Susan slept in her Cape Cod house at night. Otherwise itwas useful only as a sh.e.l.l for her answering machine. It re-ceived calls, almost all from Adam Norwitz, to inform Susan ofoffers for the rights to tell-all cable network dramatizationsof her life. These were offers she had to refuse because she pub-licly stood by her amnesia story, and technically she had noreal story to tell. The only other calls were psychiatrists fromaround the world specializing in memory retrieval who had ob-tained her number on the sly. ("I know it's bad form to sneak inthe back door like this, but I think I can help you out, Susan Colgate.") "Christ, Randy, these losers think that ambushing me on my private line somehow predisposes me to like them. Whatta bun-cha lepers."

Randy agreed. His job had given him a small measure ofmedia savvy. His office handled what press remained for SteelMountain, and he brought back reports that the band's fivemembers had succ.u.mbed to road fatigue, catastrophic drug use,hepat.i.tis C, a.s.sault-and-battery lawsuits, and musical irrelevance.

"My days are only a little bit starf.u.c.ky. Mostly they'respent photocopying legal doc.u.ments and fetching arcane health-food products from halfway across town. Starf.u.c.ky'smore fun."

Susan was cutting melon wedges into zigzag shapes for abarbecue at the Brady house. "Steel Mountain's really over now,isn't it?"

"I don't want to be disloyal-they pay the bills," said Randy,"but how much more energy is it worth to make five grizzledLiverpudlians with teeth like melting sugar crystals look like s.e.xual and moral outlaws for kids maybe two decades youngerthan themselves? It's obscene past a point."

"How's Chris doing?" Susan asked. She and Chris rarely spoke.