Mackenna on the Edge Page 17

  Glistening black lace stockings covered lumpy tree-stump legs and feet stuffed into hot pink too-tall satin stiletto pumps that looked two sizes too small. A clutch bag with post-it bows matching the dress added to the painfully bizarre ensemble. The clincher for Mackenna was the matching pill box hat and black lace veil that sat atop a nineteen sixty’s-style platinum blonde pageboy wig. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought the woman was an aging drag queen dressed as a shiny Doris Day. But she knew better. It was just a sad woman, with probably too much power from marriage, money or position who hadn’t a clue about style, taste or her age which, despite every effort to camouflage it, who was maybe around eighty.

  But who could tell anymore with the plethora of facelifts—especially in the entertainment industry? Obviously no one was going to go out on a limb and tell her how nuts she looked. For all Mackenna knew, Shiny Doris was probably over a hundred anyway. Just as Mackenna decided the eccentric woman would make an excellent character study for a future writing project, the subject of Mackenna’s fascination suddenly veered in Mackenna’s direction and wobbled unsteadily toward her.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you, darling,” Shiny Doris exclaimed, her arms outstretched exposing a mass of loose, dangling wrinkles.

  Mackenna looked around her wildly, but quickly realized she was the only one the strange woman could have been addressing. She smiled a wary smile and stood slowly to greet Shiny Doris and said with reservation, “Hello,” while wondering why all the nut cases seemed so hopelessly attracted to her.

  “My, my, my… it’s been a terribly long time, hasn’t it? When was the last time, dearie?” Shiny Doris embraced Mackenna quickly while applying air kisses near Mackenna’s face. She smelled of Chanel No. 5—a fragrance Mackenna destested—brandy and cigarettes. “Well, never mind, I just had to come over here and tell you just how splendid you look tonight! Is that a Donna Karan?” she asked, referring to Mackenna’s basic black suit.

  “Uh, no—Armani,” Mackenna answered stiffly.

  “Ooooh,” Shiny Doris squealed, “Isn’t Armani just dreamy? Well, you know dear, you look absolutely stunning tonight,” she continued, obviously fishing for a reciprocal compliment. “Really stunning. Yummy.” Shiny Doris waited, her face filled with hopeful anticipation as she practically posed for Mackenna.

  Mackenna felt trapped. She looked at Shiny Doris’ open face and quickly glanced at her garish clothing and just could not find the words to lend a compliment—at all.

  She struggled with a reply saying with hesitation, “And you look… so…” She paused just slightly as she quickly searched in vain for something to say. Shiny Doris smiled wider, showing globs of red lipstick stuck to her teeth. She leaned toward Mackenna as if to help her with a positive adjective, when suddenly and uncontrollably Mackenna blurted out, “You look so… shiny!” She was instantly mortified at her own lack of tact because in a split-second, she realized how precious Shiny Doris was when the hopefulness in her face faded for just a moment.

  Mackenna was desperate to take back what she thought was an obvious slight, when Shiny Doris suddenly burst out laughing hysterically. “Why thank you! I thought so, too!” In a flash, Shiny Doris whipped a compact mirror and lipstick from her clutch bag and quickly began applying a bright shade of red to her puckered, wrinkled lips, oblivious to the color running into the small wrinkles around her mouth. “Perhaps we could go out together sometime. Unless… you don’t care for slightly older women…”

  Mackenna was instantly rendered speechless.

  “So how old are you, my dear? Twenty-five? Hmmm?”

  “Um… I’m actually um… thirty-nine—probably a bit too old for you —”

  “Oh! Too old!! Oh, Sandy,” Shiny Doris exclaimed, “you can be such a kidder sometimes! Oh, oh…” Shiny Doris doubled over and slapped her lumpy thigh. “I’m so glad I ran into you tonight! You’re always good for a laugh! Too old!! Oh, oh… that calls for a drink!” She continued laughing as she teetered and wobbled away toward the hosted bar, leaving Mackenna completely bewildered and wondering, Who’s Sandy?

  Mackenna sat down slowly and looked in the direction of the now nearly maniacal laughter as Shiny Doris disappeared into the sea of bodies. She sat, staring in wonder and thinking how interesting and different it would be to have Shiny Doris as a friend. Probably really weird, she conceded.

  Lost in her thoughts, Mackenna’s attention was quickly pulled away from the crowd to a young, nubile girl who had quietly plopped down next to her on the couch, sinking into the super soft cushion. She could not have been older than fifteen, though her intent was to look much older than her years, wearing what looked like nothing more than a very, very short black satin slip. Her five inch black Jimmy Choo stilettos created unnaturally tall knees as she sat. She seemed completely oblivious to Mackenna’s presence. Either that or she was purposely ignoring her. Whatever the reason, she casually crossed her long, shapely legs, and as Mackenna watched with great interest, proceeded to deftly roll a cigarette with intense care and precision.

  At first glance, Mackenna naturally assumed the girl was brazenly rolling a marijuana joint, but was surprised to discover that when lit, the handmade cigarette emitted the sweet smell of fresh tobacco. The young girl pulled a deep drag, exhaled slightly, then pulled another dramatic drag, producing a perfect French curl, sucking a stream of smoke up into her nose, directly from her mouth——a difficult technique mastered by few.

  The young woman displayed her skillful art of posing, effectively mesmerizing Mackenna who continued to quietly observe. Then, just as abruptly as she arrived, the young dark-haired girl gracefully lifted herself out of the couch cushion and left, leaving Mackenna to ponder the idea of introducing “Tobacco Girl” to “Shiny Doris” just for sport, but quickly decided against it—it would be too wicked.

  Mackenna’s interesting distractions quickly disappeared into the bowels of the party as quickly as they had appeared; leaving her to again dwell on her miseries without immediate replacements to entertain her at best, and at the least, take her mind elsewhere. She unwillingly came to roost on her loathing of Deirdre, and how even being at the party was making her angry and rather somber at the same time. It was an uncomfortable combination of emotions, but she couldn’t help it—Deirdre’s cheating and subsequent leaving hurt her, and eventually became the final blow that plunged her into the deep melancholy she’d been battling with such difficulty. Mackenna realized the immense grief she’d felt over the loss of her parents contributed to her break up with Deirdre, but in her own mind, it was more likely that Deirdre used Mackenna’s pain as a convenient excuse to leave her.

  Deirdre’s exit was bereft of any emotion save disinterest—disinterest in Mackenna and her difficulties, but not disinterest in herself. On the contrary, it was clear, or at least it became clear over their relationship, that as Deirdre’s career grew, so did her self-absorption—and her increasing dependence on cocaine. The woman who so easily filled the emotional void in Mackenna’s life, was now a veritable stranger to Mackenna.

  It didn’t happen right away. The first four years of their relationship were good—extremely good—but the fifth year was the beginning of Deirdre’s decline, and her obvious dispassion for Mackenna. Although Deirdre’s eventual departure, physically and mentally, hurt Mackenna deeply, Mackenna had begun to want for something more from the relationship than Deirdre could give her—ever. No matter how much she loved Deirdre, it wasn’t enough and could never be, because Deirdre simply wasn’t Alice.

  That painful realization began to nag Mackenna mercilessly. So subtle it was indecipherable at first, the reality of Alice’s continuing presence in her life was becoming an unwanted burden, creating undue strain on Mackenna’s relationship with Deirdre. The ultimate demise of their union, she decided, might have been averted had Deirdre any desire whatsoever to save it. But she didn’t. Mackenna believed with all her heart that their relationship could be saved, but the only
relationship Deirdre was interested in saving at the end was the one between her nose and the almighty white powder, and another woman. Toward the end, no conversation or argument went without Deirdre’s ritual of feeding her addiction—usually mid-speech. When Deirdre finally departed, Mackenna was left with an uneasy conflict between emotions of immense relief and bitter loss.

  Sitting alone on the couch, mentally reliving her painful breakup with Deirdre, Mackenna fought back the black wave that was her near constant companion over the last six months, always waiting on the edges for any opportunity to wash over her again like a tsunami. In a moment, Mackenna nearly became lost in her struggle with the darkness, but instead, found herself pleasantly distracted from her inner turmoil as she once again began watching Eve and company with great interest. Just looking at Eve brought that old familiar, yet uncomfortable feeling again where her stomach seemed to drop to her feet. It was always that first glance, when Eve reminded Mackenna so much of Alice, that got to her. It was almost a sick feeling that was very quickly replaced by a warm, liquid sensation. It wasn’t a calm sensation by any means. It was more the jumpy or swirly kind—similar to stirred up, hungry piranhas in the Amazon River.

  Mackenna caught herself admiring Eve, who was dressed in a baggy dark brown tweed, four-button Ralph Lauren suit, a black silk T-shirt and wide-leg pleated trousers that fell long and loose over brown Joan and David oxford shoes. She was the epitome of casual elegance. Her short blonde curls lay softly around her angular face, framing graceful eyebrows and large soulful warm brown eyes. With her hands casually shoved deep in her pants pockets, Eve seemed very relaxed with herself—a quality Mackenna found very attractive—and she laughed easily, tossing her head back as she did. There was a feminine androgyny about Eve that Mackenna found so incredibly attractive. Sexy. Oh god, there was that feeling again.

  Mackenna’s absorption into Eve was interrupted by a deep male voice. “Excuse us—you mind if we sit down?”

  “No, not at all,” she said as she slid on the leather cushion to the very end of the sofa and continued to observe Eve and her group.

  Three men—two who appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties and the other very forty-ish—sat down on the sofa. The elder of the three squeezed himself next to Mackenna, and said to the other two men, “It’s not right, you know what I mean?”

  “Well, I’ve never been in the military, you know,” said the red-haired twenty-something to the other two men in a hushed tone, “But I can tell you, I don’t know if I’d like taking a shower with some guy I knew was a fairy, you know?”

  “Or how about getting stuck in a fox hole out in the middle of fucking nowhere,” offered the older man. “Huh? I mean, I’m as liberal as they come, but Clinton’s got brass ones dumpin’ this one on the military and the public in general. And right out of the chute, too. ’Course, whaddya expect from a pussy draft dodger? I mean, I was in ’Nam, man, and I’m tellin’ you, if I had to serve with a…” he looked quickly over his shoulder before continuing in a lowered voice, “…faggot—man, you gotta be careful in this crowd, heh, heh—man, I’m tellin’ you, he’d go home in a fuckin’ body bag, if you know what I mean. All he’d have to do is look at me, man, and I’d frag his sorry faggot ass.”

  “I don’t know, Ed,” said the younger blond man, “I’m no queer lover or anything, but it wouldn’t bother me if Clinton let ’em in the military. I mean, they’re already there—wouldn’t you wanna know who was who?”

  “Yeah Bob,” Ed interjected, “In case you got sneaked up on in the shower by one of ’em…”

  “Heh, heh,” the redhead added, “You know what they say about droppin’ your soap when a fag’s in the locker room shower…”

  Mackenna sat quietly, her initial shock turning to anger and growing by the second from the homophobic conversation occurring practically on top of her. The whole topic in general, in the news on a daily basis and discussed by seemingly everyone, was upsetting to her. She had lived it, and over the years tried to forget it, but no more. It was but another of the events of her past reappearing as if to personally haunt her. The jerks sitting next to her obviously never experienced blatant or covert discrimination a day in their lives, and their disgusting, Neanderthal conversation was pissing her off. She had kept her mouth shut seventeen years earlier, against her better judgment, but that was then and her freedom to speak was limited—but not now.

  “Excuse me,” she said firmly as she interrupted the three men.

  The men stopped talking, almost shocked at her presence as they had promptly forgotten her within seconds of sitting down.

  She didn’t let them finish their feeble attempts to belatedly acknowledge her, and cut right to the crux of her ire. “Your hateful, bigoted and small-minded conversation is extremely offensive to me,” she began, her voice exuding quiet confidence. “And, I might add, has no place here at this gathering in particular. I would appreciate it; in fact, I insist you take it elsewhere—as in, to another party. This is my friend’s party and I know she would find this conversation incredibly offensive as you are insulting many of her guests.

  “Furthermore,” she looked the men up and down before continuing, “I don’t believe any of you has to worry about anyone or anything accosting you in the shower, other than athlete’s foot that is, or anywhere else. You do flatter yourselves greatly and have an extraordinarily exaggerated sense of your own physical attractiveness. You obviously have the mental capacity of third graders, though I’m sure they’d be quite insulted to hear me say that.”

  The three men merely stared at Mackenna as if English was their second language.

  “Please,” she demanded calmly. “This sofa is reserved for homo Sapiens—I’m sorry I mistook you for gentlemen—my fault. Now if you’ll please leave. I believe the door is over there.” She casually waved her hand in the direction of the door.

  They stood in tandem, awkward and speechless until the older man, Ed, recovered from Mackenna’s verbal beating. “C’mon,” he said with vengeance,” let’s go—give the fag hag her couch. This party sucks anyway.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Cunt.”

  As they slithered away toward the door, Mackenna shrugged off their vitriolic comments and calmly resumed her people watching, focusing her full attention on Eve.

  Eve suddenly looked up, as if aware she was being watched and saw that, in fact, she was. She motioned for Mackenna to join them, but Mackenna only shrugged as if to say, not really interested. Eve’s urging was insistent until finally, refusing to take Mackenna’s decline to her invitation, Eve began walking toward her.

  17.3

  Eve grabbed Mackenna’s hand. “Come on, little wallflower. Come join me with my friends,” she said as she gently dragged a reluctant Mackenna over to the circle where Frederick Georgio’s story was wrapping up.

  Mackenna allowed Eve to tow her to the klatch, just for the thrill of Eve holding her hand.

  “So she says to me, ‘Well, honey, you’re so different than I imagined you’d be—you’re sooo macho—not at all like my first impression of you.’ So I said—as I climbed off her—‘Well, darling, sometimes first impressions aren’t worth the brain matter they’re printed on.”

  “You didn’t!

  “Not to The Contessa he didn’t!”

  “I don’t think so!”

  “Right, Freddy—and monkeys might fly out of my butt!”

  “Don’t you wish!”

  “Fly in… Maybe…”

  Laughter burst explosively from the small klatch as the authenticity of Frederick George’s candid revelation was ruthlessly questioned.

  “All right, no,” the former George Fredricks finally admitted sheepishly. “I thought it—I wanted that job too much, all right? But then,” he said with attitude, “I flounced my macho ass right out of there, honey.” Frederick Georgio flipped his wrist to demonstrate he meant anything but macho. “Ugh,” he shuddered dramatically. “Never again.”
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  A great fawning roar erupted at Frederick Georgio’s declaration.

  Mackenna stood with the sub-gathering of mostly gay men who were friends of Eve’s, listening to their war stories from Hollywood. Being young, handsome and/or gay in the entertainment business was a double-edged sword. Many opportunities were available to the pretty that weren’t to the not-so-pretty; but, too many parts had to be auditioned for on the proverbial casting couch.

  The Contessa was the nickname given to the now deceased Dorina Borgia—the casting agent in Hollywood for legitimate films for nearly thirty years. Until her death earlier in the year, no one dared speak ill of her; and the forty-something Frederick Georgio had just confessed to having sex with her on her office couch in exchange for his first acting job. Never more than a supporting actor, Frederick Georgio had finally given up acting ten years earlier. Preferring to direct, he now owned his own production company that specialized in independent films, primarily in the gay film noire genre.

  Mackenna listened to Frederick Georgio’s witty and delicious industry stories with rapt attention for nearly an hour, getting lost in his lush descriptions and deft acting out of characters for his endless adventures. She was feeling loose for the first time that evening—maybe even for the first time in a long time—losing herself completely in his performance.

  Eve certainly noticed the change in Mackenna, how the dark aura seemed to evaporate, leaving Mackenna with a brightness Eve hadn’t quite seen since their reunion. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when the shroud lifted, ever so slightly from Mackenna’s shoulders, giving Eve but a glimpse of the treasure that lay buried beneath. It was compelling to finally witness such a metamorphosis, capturing Eve’s complete attention, as Mackenna remained riveted on the magnetic former actor.