Toxicology Read online

  I wore my Miyake. The 100 percent polyester fabric felt cool and welcome against my skin after such a long absence. The doorbell rang. Eleanor adjusted the hospital bed so I could sit up. Probably Benjy, Eleanor said. I expected Benjy to bring a huge bouquet of exotic and intimidating flowers, like he always did. Bird-of-paradise, ginger, plumeria—all my favorites. Please take off shoes, I heard Mattia say. Then Benjy in that snotty, wounded voice: Put these in a vase, would you? And bring them to my mum’s room.

  Doctor not allow flowers.

  Excuse me?

  Not in room. Sorry Mr. Benjamin.

  My son never got over the shock of seeing his once sexy, robust, and powerful mother transformed into a bald, shrunken old geezer with a beak for a nose. Poor baby.

  Hello, Mum.

  Where’s Nneka? I asked.

  Eleanor left the room. Benjy picked up my limp hand and gave it a kiss.

  In the Seychelles, on a shoot. She sends you her love, Benjy said. My poor baby looking dejected, trying his best to keep it together.

  Your face. There’s something new. What—

  A beard, Benjy said.

  The doorbell rang again. Louder, more aggressive. Or so it seemed.

  I winced and moved my head sideways.

  That was the doorbell, Mum.

  Hurts, I said.

  I heard Mattia bark, Take off shoes. Mimi entered the room with Eleanor, brandishing a magnum of champagne. Happy birthday, Yvonne!

  How old am I? I asked.

  Old enough to drink, Mimi said. She beamed at my son. Wazzup, Ben? Long time no see.

  What a fabulous slut. You’ve got to hand it to her, really. Calls herself a filmmaker. Clad for the occasion in a revealing outfit—a gauzy camisole worn over some sort of low-slung, Gypsy skirt that exposed the sensuous paunch of her tawny belly. I understood why Eleanor was hooked. God is in the details, truly.

  You look ravishing! I yelled. I should paint you! Making everyone laugh, even Benjy. Though I was nothing but a bag of bones, my voice—when I could summon it forth—was startling.

  Treats laid out on a tray table. Bottles of wine, a platter of cheese and sliced green apples, dainty olive and goat-cheese tarts Eleanor had whipped up with Mattia’s help. Mimi popped open the champagne. I let out a yelp.

  Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, Mimi said.

  I grew frantic. Is Ben here?

  I’m here, Mum.

  Stick around, I said. Don’t go anywhere.

  Eleanor poured me a mix of water and champagne. More water than bubbly, actually. I took a sip and frowned. There was too much going on. Clamor and strained festivities.

  Want us to leave? Benjy asked. We don’t have to do this.

  No way, I said. The party’s just started.

  At one point Mimi excused herself and went off somewhere to smoke. Where’d she go? I asked Eleanor. She’ll be back, Eleanor said. Why don’t you ask Mimi out? I asked Benjy. She’s hot stuff. Have you forgotten? Nneka and I are engaged to be married, Benjy said, rather primly. Well, that shouldn’t stop you, I said. I turned to Eleanor. What do you think of his beard?

  Dashing, Eleanor said.

  At one point Mimi reappeared. At one point I caught Eleanor sneaking off to the bathroom. I may have been out of my mind, but I knew exactly what the old girl was up to. A little snort and sniff from that tiny bindle of coke she always kept in her pocket. She made sure to flush the toilet and turn the faucet on afterward, as if she were washing her hands. Finally she emerged. My Eleanor felt good, finally. On top of the situation, her nerves scoured clean.

  The reservation’s for six-thirty. Shall we go? Eleanor said.

  I grew agitated. Don’t forget my hat. We mustn’t forget my hat.

  Benjy pushed me in my wheelchair down the block to Las Meninas. Eleanor, stoned and in a generous mood, followed behind with Mimi. I, too, was stoned. The air felt strange like my diaper and Miyake pleats felt strange. Eleanor had made sure to put socks on my feet before slipping them into those fleece-lined things. She pulled a wool cap over my head and wrapped me in all sorts of shawls and mohair blankets. I remember that none of it mattered. I felt the cold and whined about it like a child.

  Look at you in that enchanting dress! Rocio gushed. So beautiful! She was not a very good liar. They had steeled themselves for our arrival. Larry taking our coats, Rocio fussing over me. She led us to our usual table. My voice was loud and strident. ROCIO, I LOVE ME SOME SEXY BOYS AND NO LONGER THINK OF SUCCESS. That is good, Rocio said. Very, very good. I turned to my son and lowered my voice. Don’t worry, Benjy. You’re going to be rich. Then I pumped up the volume and said to Eleanor, There’s nothing left to prove! We’ve done it all! Several diners glanced in our direction. Sangria for the table? Rocio asked.

  I remember this. Tommy sent over a magnificent black cake of bittersweet chocolate and blood oranges that he had baked especially for me. A single gold candle flickered in the center. Everyone in Las Meninas—Rocio and Larry, the eaters and drinkers, the waiters and busboys, the bartender, even Tommy—joined in singing Happy Birthday, Yvonne! I asked Benjy to blow out the candle for me; I didn’t have the strength. I could not eat my slice of cake. Rocio and Larry came by to ask if everything was all right. Terrific, I said.

  I remember this. Paintings of bloody flowers, paintings of ancient jaguars with clenched fists that covered entire walls in grand museums. Paintings of fried eggs and brains. I said to Benjy that night, Your father was a sexy man. Not a bad artist, actually. And rich. I was lucky, you were lucky. I was on a roll. Eleanor let me sip from her sangria. I said to Mimi, Here’s hoping you’ve had great sex!

  Mimi laughed. When it’s good, it’s very, very good.

  I laughed, too. Or rather, I made a series of coughing, wheezing sounds and could not stop. Benjy held a glass of water up to my dry, parched lips so I could drink. I drank like an animal. I swam in lagoons and rivers. The open sea. The din in the restaurant faded to a hush. Or maybe I only imagined the sounds muted, the colors drained. I heard my son say, Time to go. Yes, Eleanor agreed, Yvonne needs her rest. She asked for the check. When the bill came, Benjy and Eleanor tossed their credit cards on the table. Eleanor tried giving Benjy back his card, and so on. Really tiresome. The poor waiter went off to the kitchen to find Rocio. She snatched the bill off the table and glowered at him. No! No! Can’t you see? Everything’s on the house.

  I remember Larry patting my arm, Rocio planting a kiss on each of my sunken, cadaverous cheeks. It took balls, as Eleanor might say. My son was drunk. You happy, Benjy? I asked him. He nodded. I am, Mum. Mimi sat there serenely, gazing at us without saying a word. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? I asked her. A movie, she answered. The busboys scurried to clear the plates and glasses and crumbs of paella and cake from our table, the busboys who could not speak English and were sexy and shy and young. They were terrified by my ghastly smile and ravaged face, terrified by the dirty things I kept whispering, dirty things they didn’t understand. But they looked at me with kindness and sorrow and love. Knowing, as I did, that the end was near.

  The Animal Waits for Her

  A few pellets of black shit lay in a puddle of piss. The animal had somehow found the strength to claw its way past the blankets and stale sheets of Mimi’s unmade bed, collapsing on the floor with its eyes half closed after emptying its bowels. Mimi stared at the damp, wasted animal. Somehow she found a way to pick it up off the floor and lay it back down on the bed. Thinking, Don’t panic. Call Lucy. Lucy Guzmán would walk her through it. The animal did not move or make a sound. Mimi chastised herself for getting high with Eleanor. And with her kid right there, sleeping in the next room. Images sparked and popped in Mimi’s overloaded mind. Endless to-do lists recited by myriad voices. The movie. So many loose ends, so many fucking people to call. She felt capable of everything and nothing at all.

  She touched it. Patches of fur came off in her hand. How much longer? The animal’s stench unbearable. A sign. Mimi glance
d at the pillow closest to it. Did she have the courage to smother the creature, to end its suffering? No, she did not. Her fingers felt for the tumors rolling around like tiny balls beneath the surface of its skin. The animal twitched at the sharp buzz of the doorbell. Violet calling faintly through the door. Ma, you there? Let me in.

  Where were you last night? Violet indignant, rumpled, still half asleep.

  Nice to see you, too.

  I saw you taking pictures at the vigil.

  I was filming, Mimi said. Trying out this new camera I got.

  Yeah? Can I borrow it? Charlie and I wanna make a movie.

  Mimi rolled her eyes.

  What? Violet said. Think we’re retards?

  Not you, Mimi said. Maybe Charlie. So if you saw me at the vigil, why didn’t you come over and say hey?

  Violet shrugged.

  It would’ve been cool to hang out with you, Mimi dared to say.

  Violet averted her gaze. Do you think Romeo OD’d on purpose?

  We don’t know that. It could’ve been an accident.

  Accident. Yeah, right. Where’s the beast? Violet suddenly asks.

  On my bed. Brace yourself.

  Come with me? A pleading look on Violet’s face.

  The incessant drilling and banging, the shouts of construction workers could be heard through the closed windows. Mimi took Violet by the hand and led her into the bedroom.

  Violet gasped when she saw the dark, lifeless shape on the bed. Dull, stubby horns and splintery claws. Who was this shrunken creature? She didn’t notice the puddle until she’d stepped in it.

  Ewww. My boots!

  Take them off and help me clean up this mess, Mimi snapped.

  Violet was stunned by Mimi’s sudden show of maternal authority. Without a word she took off her boots and set them aside. Mimi left and came back with a mop, a roll of paper towels, and a spray bottle of Clorox. They cleaned up the mess in silence. Violet kept glancing at the bed. Shouldn’t we ask the vet to come over or something?

  Mimi grunted and kept mopping. When she was done, Mimi sprayed Clorox on the soles of Violet’s boots, scrubbing them with paper towels before handing the boots back to Violet. Violet slipped them on and lay across the bed, curling her body around the animal. O Beasty, she crooned. Great, terrible Beasty. She scratched gently behind its ear. The animal’s eyes flickered open at her touch. Then closed. Violet buried her face in its wet, ratty fur.

  DON’T, Mimi said. You could catch whatever it has.

  Not true.

  How about this, then? Eleanor said you were high on acid last night. True?

  Eleanor’s sketchy. How can you trust her?

  You still high?

  Violet didn’t respond.

  Why didn’t you take the animal with you when you moved to Brooklyn?

  Who cares? Violet said. Who cares about anything?

  I ran into this kid panhandling in the subway, Mimi said. Wearing one of those hoodies. Thought she was you.

  Give her any money?

  Yup.

  That’s good, Violet said.

  Her lower lip was trembling and she was about to cry, Mimi knew. Thinking, I’m a shitty mother and this is going nowhere fast. Out loud, Mimi put forth the inevitable question. Does your father know you’re here?

  Eleanor already asked me that.

  Were you on acid, Violet? Or should I give up asking and just smack you?

  Eleanor’s a beyotch. Wrong about everything. I ate a bunch of mushrooms, FYI. Violet beamed with pride. This guy I know? He, like . . . brought a bunch back from Mexico!

  You’re fourteen years old. Is this smuggler some friend of yours? Mimi waited. Leave that fucking animal alone and look at me, Violet!

  Violet glared at her mother.

  You gonna talk to me or what?

  He’s Dashiell’s friend, Violet said. She’d begun calling her father by his first name ever since the split-up.

  And this “friend” gave you mushrooms? Does your father know?

  Violet kept stroking the animal. I was snooping around. Found Dashiell’s stash. Took the mushrooms. And some weed, too. It’s really strong. From the same guy, I think. You want some?

  I don’t like weed, Mimi said. Snooping around. You do that a lot? Mimi’s mind racing. Should she call Dash and tell him? Mimi felt a twinge of vengeful glee. Fought hard not to show it.

  Dashiell’s not very good at hiding things, Violet said. Then added, with a smirk, You should know that.

  Violet was no doubt referring to a series of steamy online chats between Dash and her former baby-sitter, Cheryl, which Mimi had stumbled upon by accident one night. He’d passed out from gorging on pasta, wine, and weed and forgotten to sign out. And there were no fucking accidents in the fucking glorious universe, as Eleanor had recently reminded her. Only destiny, and Mimi should have known. Dash had wanted to be busted all along.

  Out loud Mimi said, You really should respect your father’s—

  Can I live here with you? Violet asked.

  Mimi stared at her, not sure of what she had just heard. How to process.

  I can sleep on the couch. Or in your bed, with you.

  We’ll work it out, Mimi said.

  Or maybe you don’t want me around. Is it because of Bobby?

  Fuck Bobby. Bobby’s gone.

  Dashiell says he’s probably dead. Violet staring back at Mimi intently. Says it’s probably your fault.

  Really. Your father had the fucking gall to say that?

  The animal’s sudden, loud cry startled them both. What do we do? What do we do? Violet kept shrieking, Bobby forgotten for the moment. Mimi grabbed her cell and punched in Eleanor’s number. The phone rang and rang. Hello? Eleanor finally picked up, sounding surprised.

  Can you please, please get over here? Mimi begged.

  The phone went dead, and in a few seconds the old woman was at the door. The animal was panting now. Violet grew more frantic. What do we do? Eleanor? Ma? What do we do?

  Get something to wrap it in, Eleanor said, her voice calm.

  Mimi ran to the linen closet and found Violet’s baby blanket, the one Violet had asked her to never give away. The blanket was pale blue and yellow, made of fleece. She wrapped it snugly around the animal’s body, holding the animal close to her.

  Make sure it’s comfortable, Eleanor said. That’s all we can do.

  Violet stood with her mouth agape as the animal gave a last guttural howl and clawed wildly at Mimi’s arm. Then it was over. Mimi’s right arm was torn open, bright with blood. Violet fled from the room and locked herself in the bathroom.

  Now what? Mimi held on to the dead animal.

  Have it cremated, Eleanor said. Keep the ashes in an urn and make an altar. Very Frida Kahlo.

  I’m sick of Frida Kahlo, Mimi said. Aren’t you sick of her?

  Well, if this building had a backyard, you could bury the animal under a tree. Get a little tombstone made. That would be very Ernest Hemingway. But we don’t have backyards. Or trees.

  Feel like shit, Mimi said.

  Yeah. I bet you do.

  I have to find money. Or my movie’s—

  Fucked? The old woman’s tone was sympathetic. There are worse things.

  I’m fucked.

  May I suggest you go deal with your daughter? The rest will follow.

  That’s very Zen of you, Mimi said. After a pause, she said, I need to get going, or I’m gonna fall asleep standing here.

  You’d better disinfect that arm, Eleanor said. I’m heading back to my apartment, but—the old woman hesitated, then lowered her voice—if you need another bump to get through this most unbearable of days, call me.

  After Eleanor left, Mimi leaned against the bathroom door and listened to the ragged sounds of Violet’s weeping. Mimi was astonished by the violence of her daughter’s grief. Violet, Mimi said in a loud voice. Violet, I am here for you.

  Fuck you. Fuck alla you!

  Fair enough, Mimi said. A moment, then
, Intend to go to school today?

  NO.

  Want me to ask your father to come get you?

  NO.

  Gonna unlock this door and come out?

  NO.

  I’m taking the animal to the vet. Wanna come?

  Silence from Violet. Followed by a quiet, No.

  Fine, Mimi said. I understand.

  After more silence, Violet asked, What’s the vet gonna do?

  Make arrangements to have it cremated, probably.

  Then what?

  I don’t know.

  Ma, Violet said.

  Yes.

  I’m hungry.

  I’ll get stuff. Make you breakfast. Don’t go anywhere. Promise?

  Silence.

  Violet?

  I said OKAY! Violet shouted.

  Mimi returned to her bedroom and studied the dead animal on the bed. Its head was sticking out of the blanket. She covered its face. Now it was simply a bundle, which she placed inside a large duffel bag. Her arm was really starting to bother her. There were no bandages around, so Mimi wrapped the torn flesh with an old chiffon scarf before putting on a jacket. She did not need strangers on the street looking at her arm or asking questions. She grabbed the bag and said good-bye to Violet through the bathroom door before leaving the apartment. Mimi pressed the “down” button and waited for the elevator. Coco Schnabel emerged, dragging Churchill, her oppressed, drooling bulldog, on a leash. Coming to the next board meeting, I hope? Coco said by way of greeting. Mimi stiffened. Through no vote of Mimi’s or Eleanor’s, Coco Schnabel had recently been elected the co-op’s board president.

  I’m kinda swamped. Plus, I don’t own, Mimi said. I rent.

  That’s no excuse. We’re planning extensive renovations and need a vote from the shareholders and tenants.

  When’s the meeting?

  Thursday at six.

  Sorry.

  You can’t keep being absent and then complain.

  I don’t complain.

  People don’t show up, don’t participate. Then as soon as the building’s repainted, they suddenly have opinions. Did you sign the petition? Your pal Eleanor did. We don’t need another boutique hotel in the Village. We need—

  I’ll sign.