The Last Don - Mario Puzo [14]
“You’re not serious,” Claudia said.
“I think I am,” Vail said. “It’s a very tempting prospect. Suicide. Is it politically incorrect these days?”
“Oh shit,” Claudia said. She wrapped her arm around Vail’s neck. “The fight is just beginning,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll listen when I ask for your points. Okay?”
Vail smiled at her. “No hurry,” he said. “It will take me at least six months just to figure out how to do myself in. I hate violence.”
Claudia realized suddenly that Vail was serious. She was surprised at the panic she felt at the thought of his death. It was not that she loved him, though they had been lovers briefly. It was not even that she was fond of him. It was the thought that the beautiful books he had written were to him less powerful than money. That his art could be defeated by such a contemptible foe as money. Out of that panic she said, “If worse comes to worst, we’ll go to Vegas and see my brother, Cross. He likes you. He’ll do something.”
Vail laughed. “He doesn’t like me that much.”
Claudia said, “He has a good heart. I know my brother.”
“No, you don’t,” Vail said.
Athena had come home from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion the night of the Academy Awards without celebrating and had gone right to bed. She tossed and turned for hours, but she couldn’t sleep. Every muscle in her body felt taut. I won’t let him do this again, she thought. Not again. I won’t live in terror again.
She made herself a cup of tea and tried to drink it, but when she saw the small tremor in her hand, she became impatient, walked outside, and stood on the balcony looking into the dark night sky. She stood for hours, but her heart still raced in terror.
She dressed. In white shorts and tennis shoes. And as the red sun began to show itself over the horizon, she ran. She ran faster and faster along the beach, trying to stay on the hard wet sand, trying to follow the coastline as the cold water washed over her feet. She had to clear her head. She couldn’t let Boz beat her. She had worked too hard and too long. And he would kill her, she never doubted that. But first he would play with her, torment her, finally he would disfigure her, he would make her ugly, thinking it would make her his again. She felt her own fury beating in her throat, and then the cool wind spraying ocean water in her face. No, no!
She thought about the Studio, they’d be frantic, they’d threaten her. But it was money, not her, they were concerned about. She thought about her friend Claudia, how this could have been her big break, and she felt sad. She thought about all the others, but she knew she couldn’t afford the luxury of compassion. Boz was crazy, and people who weren’t crazy would try to reason with him. He was smart enough to make them think they could win, but she knew better. She couldn’t take the chance. She couldn’t allow herself to take that chance. . . .
By the time she reached the large black boulders that meant the north beach ended, she was completely out of breath. She sat, trying to slow her heart down. She looked up when she heard the caw of seagulls as they swept down and seemed to glide along the water. Her eyes filled, but she pulled herself back with determination. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. And for the first time in a long time she wished her parents weren’t so far away. Some part of her felt like a small child and wished desperately to run home to safety, to someone who could put their arms around her and just make everything better. She smiled at herself then, a crooked, wry smile, remembering when she really believed that was possible. Now, she was so loved by everyone, so admired, so adored . . . and so what? She felt more empty than she thought any human was capable of feeling, more lonely. Sometimes when she found herself passing an ordinary woman with her husband and children, a woman living an ordinary life, she felt such longing. Stop! she told herself.