Mackenna on the Edge Read online

  “Well, that’s a good idea,” Camille said. “I’m just so glad you’re safe and that you’re not alone up there.”

  “No… No I’m not,” Mackenna replied, smiling to herself.

  “That’s so great.” Camille gazed around her room and sighed. “I need to get one of those.”

  “One of what?” Mackenna asked, puzzled.

  “A family.”

  Mackenna chortled at Camille’s comment. “They do come in handy, I suppose—particularly during natural disasters.”

  “I guess you don’t ever hire them out, do you?” Camille playfully inquired.

  “Nope. Never.”

  Camille sighed, “I didn’t think so.”

  Suddenly realizing Camille was the one who was all alone and would probably appreciate some company, without thinking, Mackenna offered, “You know I’d invite you up if I thought the roads were safe, but I don’t know… if you wanted to give it a try, we’re here and you’re welcome. Of course, we’ll put you to work, so…” she playfully warned, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake. Was she ready for face-to-face visiting?

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” Camille replied with her own playful sarcasm. “Seriously, Mackie, I would love to, but I’m good for the moment. I’m already working, y’know, my kind of work. The laying in bed with my laptop kind of work.”

  “Yes, I almost forgot I was talking to a princess,” Mackenna smiled at the thought of Camille in a princess gown with a tiara.

  “Ha. Ha.” Camille was beginning to enjoy their familiar banter and realized it had been quite a long time since she had last spoken to Mackenna. “You know, not to change the subject, Mackie, but, gosh it’s been a long time since I talked to you last, hasn’t it?” Camille asked, hoping to inspire some normal, everyday conversation and escape from her present reality. Then she remembered. “Actually, now that I think of it, the last time we talked was —”

  “Right after Papá’ and Mother’s memorial in Spain,” Mackenna said flatly. The memory of the disconcerting event that occurred nearly six months after her parents’ accident suddenly brought up a rush of raw emotions all over again. Not to mention the turmoil in her personal life that had erupted upon her return.

  “That’s right… you’d just gotten back from Spain when we last spoke. Yeah…” Camille floundered awkwardly for a moment at the mention of Mackenna’s tragedy. Poor Mackenna, Camille thought, immediately feeling sad. First Mackenna lost her parents, and then Deirdre just up and dumped her. Camille forced an upbeat tone to deflect a possible mood swing but her voice betrayed her, as her words came out high-pitched and strained. “Jesus, Mackenna, that’s what, July… August… has it been six months already? Wow. Time really does fly, doesn’t it? So what, um… have you been up to since then?” Camille waited nervously for a reply.

  Mackenna tried but couldn’t find words to cut through the thick wall of depression that surrounded the painful memories. Those memories that had just suddenly reappeared from nowhere. She was able only to manage a decidedly heavy sigh. The earthquake had actually been a welcomed distraction for her; but now, Camille had breached an aspect of Mackenna’s life that had been happily ignored the whole day, and for the first time in a long, long time. Her sigh was palpable.

  Camille thought Mackenna’s voice had seemed lifeless throughout their conversation, but wasn’t sure if it was depression, fatigue from the earthquake, or her own imagination. But now, the heaviness in Mackenna’s sigh was unmistakable—she’d heard it before. Instantly alarmed, Camille gently asked about the one subject guaranteed to spark energy into Mackenna’s voice and lift her mood. “Hey, have you been working on anything?”

  “Nothing—no. Not really.” Mackenna’s reply was non-committal.

  “Really? Hmm… that’s surprising.” Camille was surprised and immediately worried. Mackenna was a self-proclaimed workaholic and for her not to be working on anything was highly unusual. “I just assumed you’ve been busy working all this time which is why I haven’t called. I’ve wanted to, but I know how you hate to be bugged mid-project. Is uh… is everything all right? I mean, I understand, with your parents and…”

  “Of course, everything’s fine,” Mackenna clipped, becoming abruptly cold. “Listen, Camille… I appreciate you calling to check up on me, and I don’t mean to be rude, but you know, I’ve really got a lot of stuff to do around here. And… well, the truth is…” She paused as she mustered up the courage to end the conversation. “I’m pretty much talked out right now, okay?”

  “Oh. Well, all right, but… um…” Camille haltingly persisted. “I can’t help but feeling… I don’t know. Is something wrong?”

  “No. Your feelers are off, Cami—nothing’s wrong.”

  “Really?” Camille gently prodded.

  “Camille, please…” Teeth clenched, Mackenna added curtly, “I’m fine.”

  “Okay… I’m sorry.”

  The phone lay silent while they both wondered how to handle this new situation. Camille wondered if she should push any further while Mackenna pondered hanging up. They were two friends contemplating the borders of their relationship—how far to push and how far to run.

  Camille gently nudged the silence, braving whatever storm was forthcoming. “It’s just that… you sound… I don’t know…” She held her breath. “…kind of depressed —”

  “I’m not depressed,” Mackenna firmly protested even though Camille was right.

  “Okay, okay. You said you haven’t been working —”

  “So?” Mackenna interrupted testily.

  “So I’m just saying… It feels like… something, you know, might be up.”

  “The only thing that’s up right now is my blood pressure, and it’s getting higher by the second. Look, Camille, I’m fine, all right?” Mackenna added brusquely. “Now, can we say good-bye and talk about this some other day? I need to get back to cleaning up,” she added, her voice thick with annoyance.

  Never able to take no for an answer, Camille pressed on carefully. “Is it Deirdre? I know it’s been hard on you since she left, and —”

  Mackenna sighed heavily. “Camille…” Just drop it.

  “Look, Mackie… I love you and I’m worried about you,” Camille pleaded.

  Mackenna huffed, “Well, do both of us a favor and don’t. I’m fine.”

  “I can’t help it… and I do love you, Mackie. It just concerns me that all this time… all this time I thought, well, I thought you were working so I didn’t call—and now, I find out you weren’t. So—that worries me a little, Mackenna, knowing you the way I do. Okay? You can’t convince me nothing’s wro —”

  “Oh my God!” Mackenna’s temper immediately flared. “So that’s it? You’re worried. You know me? How interesting. Wow. I’m sorry if I’m not working hard enough for you, Camille, but —”

  “What?! No! For gods sake, no!” Camille said emphatically, pounding the bed with her free hand, toppling her Oreos once again. “I can’t believe you’d even say that. It’s just that… you are a self-acclaimed workaholic. You’ll hardly even take a two-week vacation—the whole time I’ve known you—and now you’re telling me you haven’t been working for six months? Fuck the money. My God… something’s not right here, Mackenna, and I’m just concerned. About you. So sue me, all right?”

  “Right. What’s not right… what’s not right is… is I think maybe you care more about the money… than me,” Mackenna said, her matter-of-fact tone tinged with accusation. “Maybe what’s important to you is my money and how much I can make for you.”

  “What!” Shocked, Camille protested vehemently. “I… I can’t even respond to that… I mean, how could you even think that, Mackenna?” She was indignant. “Money is not…”

  Mackenna snapped back, interrupting Camille, “Well, that’s not what it feels like, Camille.”

  6.5

  The immediate silence was deafening as Camille was taken aback by Mackenna’s unsubstantiated and ludicrous accusation.


  “You really think that’s what our relationship is about?” Camille fought back the instant tears. “Really? Because it’s not.”

  Irrationally, Mackenna replied, “Really?” Her tone was sub-zero.

  “Of course not! It never has been.” Camille sniffed, her feelings hurt beyond measure. “Not for me. I am just concerned about you… after all, you’ve got to admit, it is not normal for you not to write… I mean, six months, Mackenna… Jesus—that’s not just a long time for you to not write, it’s highly unusual and goddamned bizarre.”

  “That’s right, Camille,” Mackenna’s temper snapped as she snarled, nearly shouting. “Six months! Okay!? Do you think I’m happy about that? Do you think I’ve been on a bloody vacation up here? Forget about the fact that my parents were suddenly killed, and then my life partner dumped me for… whatever. Aside from the gruesome details of my pathetic life, I mean, just forget about all that because, you know, it’s normal stuff that just happens to people, right? No… would you feel more comfortable knowing I’ve been completely unable to write for the last six months?” She waited. “Well, Camille? Are you shocked? Maybe you better hurry and check your savings book and make sure you can pay your mortgage since I have been incapable of writing.”

  “Oh come on, Mackenna, you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” Camille attempted to soothe Mackenna. “So you’re having a block—big deal. Writers have blocks all the time. Now you’re normal. It’s an epidemic in this town. It’s not a big deal, honey.”

  Mackenna continued ranting, her near shouting drowning out Camille’s intermittent protestations. “It is a big deal. For me! I have a writer’s block. Pretty classic, isn’t it? So now what other tragic tidbits about my life would you care to drag out of me? Huh? How about how I can’t sleep at night? Or how I spend most nights sitting by myself in the dark, by myself thinking about things I don’t want to think about but can’t get out of my head? What the hell difference does it make? To you or anyone else? What the hell difference does any of it make… I haven’t been writing… At all,” she practically shouted into the mouthpiece of her phone. “I haven’t written anything that’s going to make you or anyone else any money. All right? You’re right. Big deal. Big freaking deal! Gawd, Camille! That’s the truth.” Mackenna finally broke down and began to cry softly. “It’s, it’s… I… haven’t been able… to… write. Until yesterday. Yesterday! Okay, Camille? Okay!? Are you… happy now?” She began to weep heavily, her body racked with uncontrollable emotions.

  “Oh, Mackenna… honey, I’m so sorry.” Camille said, almost to herself. Her heart ached hearing the mournful sobbing coming from the other end of the line.

  “You know,” Mackenna cried softly, her face red and instantly wet from the river of tears that poured from her eyes, “I’m sitting here, and I’m thinking this awful earthquake is a horrible blessing… just to get my mind off everything… and then I think… why the hell didn’t this whole stupid house just tumble down the hill with me in it? I’m sitting here wondering that.” She whispered. “Why aren’t I in a blissful dead heap at the bottom of the hill?”

  “C’mon, Mackenna —”

  “No, you come on,” Mackenna lashed out at Camille, her irrationality getting the best of her. “I have been in flipping hell, Camille, and it just feels to me like you’re worried about your stupid commission. Getting on my case… You think that’s going to get me to produce? It’s not. You know, maybe you should just find yourself another client if you’re so blasted worried about my output… because right now nothing is happening, okay?”

  Camille was dumbstruck—she felt like she’d just been slapped hard in the face, the sting the least of her pain. “I’m… I’m stunned, Mackenna and extremely hurt… that you could even think that… that I… I’m only… only…” Camille stopped mid-sentence, unable to halt the burning tears that suddenly spilled down her cheeks. On any other day, Camille would have understood Mackenna’s breakdown as a result of stress or grief, but this day had been too emotional for her already. Mackenna’s bitter accusation was more than she could take, especially right after Mackenna’s own emotional breakdown. She continued, fighting to keep control of her voice. “Please tell me that’s not how you really feel… about us… about… me.”

  Camille’s plea was met by stony silence as Mackenna mentally battled with her own fragile emotions.

  I shouldn’t have said that… I’m being irrational… didn’t mean it… God, I’m such a bitch… she’s not crying is she? Oh cripes… And look at me… What a ridiculous wreck… I need a tissue… Yeah, but I don’t want to talk and she… she keeps pushing… she pushed me… But she’s one of your best friends… Well, sometimes it does seem like all she’s interested in is the money… not me… just my work… You really believe that?… Yes… No… no… I don’t know… I shouldn’t have answered the phone… Dang it. I shouldn’t be talking to anyone… I feel so bad… But you did and now look what you’ve done… What can I say now? I’m really not in the mood for small talk, Camille? I’m just a bitch right now? I’m out of my mind? Damn.

  As the silence continued, Camille waged her own inner war and despite Mackenna’s hurtful accusation, decided to share what she’d been feeling earlier in the day. Whether it was about laying down guilt or a quest for understanding, Camille didn’t know or care—she just knew in her heart Mackenna couldn’t have meant what she said. She just couldn’t.

  “You know,” Camille said softly, “after this morning, and my near-death experience, I started thinking… we should do something special to celebrate our five-year anniversary. You know… five years since you first hired me… and since we became friends. It’s at the end of the month, and I thought maybe… Overcome with emotion and unable to continue her sentence, Camille quickly wiped her arm across her face, mopping up the silent tears with a flannel cowboy. “I was thinking… maybe we could do something special—just the two of us. But… if you really meant what you said, then…”

  “Really?” Mackenna was taken aback by Camille’s sentimental lapse and what sounded like an emotional collapse of her usually flippant demeanor. She was at a loss for words and replied sheepishly, “I guess I forgot.”

  “Well, it was just a thought…” Embarrassed and still hurt, Camille instantly composed herself and, for lack of a better substitute, wiped her nose on the bottom of her robe and wondered silently whether she should just hang up on Mackenna and to hell with her.

  The line lay silent once again as Camille worked to maintain some semblance of dignity while Mackenna’s thoughts drifted to another time and place.

  SEVEN

  Past Redux

  Mackenna first laid eyes on Camille in the winter of 1986 at Cheryl Hogue’s 1920’s Brentwood house. Cheryl was a prominent A-list lesbian in the entertainment industry and was throwing one of her notorious cocktail parties to show off her newly renovated bungalow.

  The house was almost too large to fit the description of “bungalow,” but Cheryl preferred the term over just plain “house” because “bungalow” sounded more chic. Mackenna was there as the guest and date of Deirdre Collier-Gunn, the drop-dead gorgeous English actress who was also a fringe member of the infamous Brat Pack. Fringe only because the closest she ever came to acting with any of the Brat Pack members was in dating the likes of Emilio Estevez and Rob Lowe. They were cute enough and certainly nice enough, but not exactly her type. Dating them got her picture in the tabloids from time to time, and that alone had helped her career immensely—if not her reputation in the industry for being an attractive, eligible “straight” female.

  Deirdre and Mackenna had first met six months earlier. They were in New York, backstage at Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner’s play, “The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in The Universe,” and formed an immediate attraction for one another. Mackenna was there as the guest of Francine Carter-Hathaway, who was the financial backer of what would be Mackenna’s first Off-Off Broadway play, “Everything Ida.”

/>   The Tomlin/Wagner collaboration was a must-see for anyone, especially anyone with any interest whatsoever in The Theatre, and seemed a natural venue for Francine and Mackenna to celebrate the deal they had made only that morning with a producer and a director.

  Francine’s husband, Matthew Hathaway, had connections with the theatre owner and Francine herself had had a brief acquaintance with Jane Wagner several years earlier which landed Mackenna and Francine backstage after the performance, schmoozing with the royalty. Before long, however, a veritable crush of adoring fans and well-wishers—fanatics in a few cases—engulfed the hostesses, Lily and Jane, to the point that Mackenna was finally driven out from the midst of the throng and to the sidelines.

  As she waited patiently in the wings of the theatre for Francine—who was clearly more adept at hand-to-hand combat than she—a small woman, dressed completely in black baggy clothes, sidled up to Mackenna. She leaned up into Mackenna, pulling her five-foot-one frame up as tall as she could to compensate for Mackenna’s six-foot-with-heels stature, and queried in a rough, raspy voice that she intended to be sexy, “Hi there. This your first time?”

  Mackenna turned quickly and looked down at the stranger who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. She took a rapid inventory of the little woman, whose height barely reached her chin, and found herself staring down into the strange woman’s short, bright purple, hacked-up hair. It was clearly a case of a self-inflicted trim and dye-job, accentuated by pierced ears that were filled with what looked like at least ten piercings per ear, and at least twice that many metal earrings of varying shapes and sizes.

  Her face was outlandishly made up with eye makeup that consisted of multiple shades of pink and purple eye shadow that were applied from her eyelids, across her temples, and finally blended into her hairline. Heavily applied black eye-liner and thick black mascara made her look almost vampirish under the backstage lighting. “Over the top” was an understatement.