All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 38

Sue was certain Joyce Davenport had answers for her. Answers that would explain what was happening. For Sue had come to understand that she was on the brink of discovering something about herself-and the things that she could do.

Was that what Granpa had meant? That she was now a woman-who could make things happen?

Things she didn't always like.

But still-things that made her feel very powerful.

Sue couldn't deny the ripple of excitement she'd felt as she'd driven out of Lebanon early Wednesday afternoon in the midst of the snowstorm. She didn't fear slippery roads. She didn't fear anything, in fact. The roads will clear for me, The roads will clear for me, she told herself. she told herself.

And they did. It might be snowing fiercely, but as Sue's Lexus made its way through the winding roads of upstate New York, ice melted and slush receded. She didn't so much as spin a tire all the way back to the city.

Luck-or something else?

She got off the subway at Times Square, and headed over to the bookstore Joyce had told her about. A mob of people stood waiting to hear Joyce speak. Sheep, Sheep, Sue couldn't help but think. Sue couldn't help but think. They look like sheep. They look like sheep. Blank-eyed, they clutched copies of Joyce's books to their chests. Sue found a spot in the back, and watched with fascination as all the seats were filled. Then Joyce was up there in front, basking in the applause. Her rant was far more specific than the one she'd given at Wilbourne. Joyce blasted "G.o.dless liberals" who wanted to destroy "the American way of life." She called a well-known Congressman a "f.a.ggot" to the hoots and applause of the crowd. Those blank eyes were waking up, filled now with fire. Joyce went after illegal immigrants. "Tar and feather them!" one young man in the same row as Sue shouted. The people around her hooted. Sue could feel the hot energy pulsing from the crowd. It was both terrifying-but also, strangely, exhilarating. Blank-eyed, they clutched copies of Joyce's books to their chests. Sue found a spot in the back, and watched with fascination as all the seats were filled. Then Joyce was up there in front, basking in the applause. Her rant was far more specific than the one she'd given at Wilbourne. Joyce blasted "G.o.dless liberals" who wanted to destroy "the American way of life." She called a well-known Congressman a "f.a.ggot" to the hoots and applause of the crowd. Those blank eyes were waking up, filled now with fire. Joyce went after illegal immigrants. "Tar and feather them!" one young man in the same row as Sue shouted. The people around her hooted. Sue could feel the hot energy pulsing from the crowd. It was both terrifying-but also, strangely, exhilarating.

Sue stood off to the side watching Joyce sign copies of her book after she had finished speaking. Sue marveled at the way these people responded to Joyce. They seemed to draw power from her. And she from them.

She certainly drew their dollars. The cash register never stopped ringing.

"Sweetie!" Joyce finally said as she caught a glimpse of Sue. "You're here!"

She flew over, flung her arms around Sue, and whispered in her ear. "Meet me across the street at the Hubcap Grill. I'll get rid of these sheep so we can speak privately."

Sheep, Sue thought, smiling. Sue thought, smiling. She called them sheep, too She called them sheep, too.

The Hubcap Grill was crowded when she walked through the front door, as most places around Times Square generally were. It was a specialty place that sold nostalgia along with overpriced food. It was patterned after a cla.s.sic fifties-style diner. Shiny chrome stood out everywhere, with booths covered in red vinyl. A jukebox played only music from Elvis Presley, the Big Bopper, and Buddy Holly. Everywhere you looked, flat-screen televisions were mounted, each of them showing episodes of a different black-and-white sitcom from the fifties. Sue recognized Leave it to Beaver, The Honeymooners, Leave it to Beaver, The Honeymooners, and and I Love Lucy. I Love Lucy. The others weren't as familiar. The others weren't as familiar.

She slipped into a booth way in back and ordered a c.o.ke. After about ten minutes, she spotted Joyce moving through the crowd toward her. She was wearing a simple black pantsuit-where's the s.e.xy black miniskirt? Sue wondered-with a short rope of pearls hanging onto her black blouse. The long black hair, styled dramatically over her shoulder at the book reading, was now pulled back into a ponytail. She'd washed off most of the makeup she'd been wearing, too. Apparently, the persona she adapted for public consumption was off duty now. Sue wondered-with a short rope of pearls hanging onto her black blouse. The long black hair, styled dramatically over her shoulder at the book reading, was now pulled back into a ponytail. She'd washed off most of the makeup she'd been wearing, too. Apparently, the persona she adapted for public consumption was off duty now.

Her one concession seemed to be her mink coat, which she ditched as quickly as she arrived at the booth. "Too many of those freaky animal rights people around, you know?" Joyce laughed. "I've got to hide it under the table. If I hang it here on the rack, somebody's bound to throw ketchup on it, pretending it's blood." She sat down opposite Sue. "Minks are nasty little animals anyway."

"Great turnout across the street," Sue said.

"Oh, that's nothing, sweetie. I pulled in five hundred last night on Fifth Avenue."

"On Thanksgiving Night?"

Joyce beamed. "I've got 'em flocking behind me."

Sue smiled awkwardly. "Anyway, I appreciate you meeting me."

"Well, I'm only sorry it took so long. But everything happens for a reason." She narrowed her eyes and gave Sue an intimate look. "I've been wanting to see you for a very long time, you know."

A waitress handed them two menus. "Can I just get a gla.s.s of white wine?" Joyce asked as she opened her menu.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't serve wine," the waitress replied.

Joyce made a face. "Then just bring me a f.u.c.king Diet c.o.ke." She waved her hand as if dismissing the waitress.

Joyce sighed. "So, what do you think of Wilbourne? Have they been good to you?"

Sue nodded. "It's okay. I mean, I enjoy my cla.s.ses, and some of my professors are great."

"Like who?"

"Well, like Dr. Marshall."

"Virginia Marshall?" Joyce let out a hoot. "Brilliant! f.u.c.king brilliant! I'm so glad you had Marshall this semester!"

"I didn't think you'd approve of what she teaches."

Joyce grinned. "She gets people riled up. That's what it's all about, sweetie. Getting people riled up."

"Or getting people to think."

"h.e.l.l, no!" Joyce laughed again. "If they think too long, they start getting too many ideas!"

If they think too long, maybe they'll stop buying your books, Sue thought. Sue thought.

"Do you think you're getting a good education at Wilbourne?"

"I guess." Sue shrugged. "I mean, it's not easy-I really have to study and work hard to get good grades...and my teachers really push me, you know?"

"Wilbourne is a great school," Joyce replied. She smiled and raised her eyebrows. "And did you get a chance to read my book?"

Sue looked down at her c.o.ke. "Um, yes."

"I gather you didn't much care for it?" Joyce barked out a laugh. "That's okay, Sue, you aren't my target audience. Did some of the things I wrote in it shock you?"

"No. Well, yeah." Sue looked Joyce directly in the eye. "There wasn't anything in it that I hadn't heard before. You and my grandfather agree on almost everything. It was pretty much the way you said things that I didn't care for."

"Because I'm a b.i.t.c.h?" Joyce laughed again. "Yeah, I can be pretty mean, right? That's the point, you know. I say things that people think but don't have the b.a.l.l.s to come right out and say. Get people riled up. That's my motto." The waitress set down her c.o.ke and Joyce took a sip. "But if you think I'm bad, you should see the things the liberals say about me sometime."

"I have," Sue said. "You seem to provoke quite a bit of controversy."

"And that's the point, sweetie! Get things stirred up! You know what my favorite Web site is? Joyce Davenport is a Lying c.u.n.t dot com. Joyce Davenport is a Lying c.u.n.t dot com. Isn't that great? People get all pa.s.sionate-and they start accusing me of everything-and then they get mad at each other and actually start arguing with each other! It's fantastic!" Isn't that great? People get all pa.s.sionate-and they start accusing me of everything-and then they get mad at each other and actually start arguing with each other! It's fantastic!"

The waitress was hovering to take their orders. Without looking at her, Joyce said, "I'll have the Cobb salad, no dressing. Sue?"

"I'll have the Reuben sandwich with fries." Sue smiled at the waitress and handed over her menu.

"A Reuben?" Joyce raised her eyebrows. "That's pretty fattening, Sue."

Sue smirked. "I'm not one of those girls who worries about my weight."

"Good for you." Joyce sighed. "But me-I have to watch my weight." She patted her stomach. "Don't think I'm not aware that if I gained about fifty pounds, I wouldn't get on television any more."

Sue was becoming impatient. "Please, Joyce," she said, "I want to know about my mother."

"Direct and to the point. I like that." Joyce laughed. "But I wouldn't have expected anything less from Mariclare's little girl."

"You knew her well?"

"Well, as I told you before, your mother and I were roommates at Wilbourne. I really liked your mother. I miss her."

I can't believe my mother would be friends with someone like you.

"I wanted to see you, to talk to you about her, many times over the years, but your grandfather wouldn't allow it," Joyce went on. "I understood. It hurt your grandfather too much to talk about Mariclare."

"But you decided to risk his displeasure when you sought me out at Wilbourne."

"Darling," Joyce said, reaching over and patting Sue's hand. "He gave me permission to do so."

"He did?"

"Of course. I wouldn't do anything behind your grandfather's back."

"He never told me," Sue said, Just like he hadn't told her he'd been in contact with Dean Gregory, that he'd intended for Sue to go to Wilbourne all along...

"Sweetie, I understood that everything would come out in time." She sat back in the booth, looking over at Sue. "That's why I phoned your grandparents to tell them we were meeting today."

"You did?"

Joyce nodded. "They agreed not to say anything to you."

Sue was dumbfounded. "What is going on? Why does it feel that there's all this stuff going on behind my back?"

"Sweetie, it's time that you learned everything. Of course, a bit at a time. Too much at once would be too much for anyone. Even me!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your grandfather is allowing me a wonderful privilege in giving you this news, Sue. I'm forever grateful to him."

Sue was ready to jump out of her seat. "What news?"

Joyce was quiet for a moment. Finally, she said, "I went to see your mother last week. Told her I was meeting you."

"You mean...you went to the cemetery? My grandparents have never brought me, said it was too hard for them..."

"No, baby," Joyce said. "Your mother's not in any cemetery."

"Then where...?"

The waitress was there with their food. She settled their plates in front of them. Neither Joyce nor Sue looked down. They just kept staring at each other.

"Sweetie," Joyce said. "Your mother is alive."

"No," Sue said, feeling as if someone had just kicked her in the stomach. "My mother and my father were both killed in a car accident when I was a baby." There was a dull buzzing in her head.

"No, baby."

"Yes!" Sue struggled to keep her voice steady. The words of Bernadette deSalis echoed in her mind: Your mother is alive Your mother is alive. "My mother is dead!" Sue shouted.

"No."

Sue squeezed the older woman's hand. "Tell me the truth!"

Joyce leaned back against the booth. "That's what I'm trying to do, sweetie. Your mother is in a mental hospital in western Pennsylvania. It's called Fair Oaks, in a town called Star of Bethlehem."

"My mother-in-a-mental hospital."

Joyce nodded. "It was a terrible thing, what happened to her. You have no idea how many times I've blamed myself for what happened-if only I'd done this, if only I'd done that..."

"What-happened to her?"

Joyce took a deep breath. "We were roommates at Wilbourne-Room 323 in Bentley Hall."

So she had been right. Her mother had lived in the haunted room.

"One night, I was at the library studying. It was very late. If only I'd gone back to the room earlier..."

"Why?"

"Because maybe I could have stopped what happened."

Sue swallowed hard. "My mother was the girl who was raped in there, wasn't she?"

Joyce nodded. "When I got back, she was gone. She had wandered off. We looked everywhere for her, the other girls and I and Mrs. Oosterhouse..."

"And she was never found?"

"Oh, yes. She was found. She was missing for several days, and then one day she just turned up back here in New York." Joyce's voice shook as she remembered. "Except she was no longer able to speak. She seemed catatonic. Even when she regained some of her voice, she didn't make any sense. The experience had driven her right out of her mind..."

"Did you see her after that?"

Joyce hesitated. "Not until after..."

"After what?"

"After you were born."

Suddenly, Sue understood.

Her rapist got her pregnant.

My father was a rapist.

"She's been in the mental hospital ever since. Your grandparents had every good reason to keep the truth from you. Please believe me. When you go back home after this, don't judge them. Listen to them. They'll tell you everything else you need to know."