Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [66]
“Stu!” Bangbangbang. “Stu, it’s Lola. Answer me. Are you OK?”
The silence of a pharaoh’s tomb came back at me. And that was when this really awful thought struck me like an arrow. What if Stu had gone in the john to kill himself? He was drunk, he was depressed, he was haunted by the fear that he would never find anyone to love him for himself. Maybe he even worried (foolishly) that his career was over, now that the band was gone. Tortured geniuses are prone to suicide.
I exited the ladies’, acting carefree and calm.
The second cop had come back and was talking to his partner. The counter-man was scraping gunk from the grill. The waitress was cutting a wedge of pie. Only Ella was looking at me.
I put my hand on the doorknob of the men’s room, and turned it gently. It was locked. I pressed my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear anyone breathing. My stomach began to churn as I pictured the crumpled form on the floor, the eyes open, the lips slightly parted, the handsome face blank, the once great mind as gone as yesterday. A soft cry of pain escaped me. I turned back to the diner, unsure of what to do.
A dark figure was passing in front of the restaurant. Slowly and uncertainly. Almost stumbling, it braced itself against the window for a second. Joy, relief and total panic all surged through me at once. It was Stuart Harley Wolff! He must have found a way out the back. No mean feat for a man in his condition.
I raced to our booth and grabbed my things. “Come on,” I said. “We have to go.”
“But Stu—”
“Now!” I gave her a yank. “He got out!”
Ella scrambled to her feet. “What about the bill?”
The bill! The greatest talent of our times was staggering unhappily through the tempest-tossed night and all Ella could think about was the bill! Her parents really have a lot to answer for.
I picked up the bill and pretended to examine it carefully. The deluxe hamburger platter was $5.95. The large onion rings were another $2.50. The coffees were nearly three.
“Put whatever you have on the table,” I ordered. I put down my five-dollar bill and fifty-eight cents.
Ella put down $1.40. “You had the rest of my money,” said Ella. And then, in case I’d overlooked the obvious, added, “We don’t have enough.”
One of the cops had disappeared; the other was watching us in the mirror behind the counter.
I got a firm grip on Ella’s arm. “Just walk to the door like nothing’s wrong,” I whispered.
“And then what?” she whispered back.
“Then run.”
It would have worked, I’m sure it would have. But we never got a chance to run. The cop got up as we started walking; he blocked our way to the door.
“Not so fast,” he said, in a friendly tone. “I want to ask you two a couple of questions.”
“Now?” I asked, feigning panic and urgency. “I’m afraid we’re in a hurry. Our friend—” I tried to push past him.
He took each of us gently but firmly by the arm.
“Don’t worry about your friend,” said the cop. “He’s going to be just fine.”
OH, WHAT A TANGLED WEB I’D WOVEN
I will never forget that ride to the precinct house. The streets were dark and blurred with rain; the blue lights flashed; the neon signs shone feebly through the storm; the windshield wipers whispered like demons. Given her views on being driven home in a patrol car, I’d expected Ella to feel equally strongly about being driven to the precinct house in a patrol car, but she sat calmly in the back seat between me and the dozing Stuart Wolff, humming a Sidartha song under her breath.
I was the one who was upset. It was obvious that Officer Lentigo didn’t believe my story. Which was that we were eighteen-year-old New York University students, that we were out on a date with Stu and another guy, that the other guy had gone to get his car, and that we’d taken Stu to the diner to sober him up a little while we waited.
“You know what college guys are like,” I’d joked.
“He looks a little old to be in college,” said Officer Lentigo.
I laughed, indulgently. “He’s doing his master’s in literature.”
Officer Lentigo didn’t so much as crack a smile. “You got any ID?” he asked.