NO SIMPLE REMEDY
“What do we do now?” Barbara asked, as the familiar sight of Montepulciano appeared ahead of us. There seemed to be a gap in time—one of Nature’s anomalies, I suppose—something that happened at the precise moment Barbara spoke and Roger stepped on the clutch, missing the gear. There was something I heard in the tone of Barbara’s voice. I’ll never know if it was because she wanted to leave us behind, but now felt obligated to see us out on our own first. Her life, as she knew it, had been put on hold.
“What do I do now?” she asked her reflection in the window.
The late afternoon sun beat against the walls of the old town like it was pummelling it; the only relief was a gentle breeze coming up from the valley. It beat on the tiled roofs. The church tower in the Palazzo del Comune stood in defiance, casting its shadow across the length of the town. Bit by bit I watched as the shadow ate at the tree lined hills—until it cast its length over the ancient olive trees lining the valley. It was a sight that never failed to take my breath away; it never failed to inspire me.
I think the events of the past week had taken its toll on me, because I was soon asleep, my head leaning on Barbara’s shoulder. She put her arm around me, holding me close, while I struggled in search of a dream that held the memory of my Mother. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, and burrowed myself into my sister’s shoulder, not wanting to face the world any more than I wanted to enter the apartment.
“I can stay for a while,” Roger said. “Help you sort things out. Your Mother knew this day was coming and made sure everything was taken care of. You won’t have to go through this alone—”
“Yes, we do,” Barbara said.
“There’s this number she gave me. Her lawyer, ” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.
I don’t know if Roger heard her, because he didn’t answer; but I’d heard her. The reality of it hit me all at once as I realized we’d be alone for the first time, and for the first time, I wondered what we were going to do. I didn’t want to have to face this. Not now.
I opened one eye when Barbara shook me awake. In the distance, I saw the apartment, and then saw a tall figure standing on the balcony.
“It looks like Charlie made it,” Roger said.
“What’s he doing here?” Richard said.
“He lives here,” Barbara reminded him.
“He was supposed to leave two months ago. Mother told him.”
“And who was going to drive her to see the doctor? You?” Barbara asked.
“Well, we don’t need him now, do we?” Richard said.
“Don’t be daft,” she said, opening the door and waiting for me to get out. I ran up the stairs two at a time, bursting through the door where Shu was waiting. I stopped as Lilane stepped out of the kitchen. I stepped around her without saying a word, and headed for the balcony.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Uncle Charlie said when he saw me.
“Where were you!” I screamed at him. I stepped forward and punched him, as hard as I could. I could feel the tears burning my eyes. “Where were you! Mother died, and you weren’t there!” I screamed—again I realized; I’d screamed again—and stepped away from him, trying to get control of myself. I took deep gasps of air, and looked at Lilane watching me.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said, walking to the drink cart and pouring himself a liberal amount of gin. He added a splash of tonic and took a big swallow.
“Not your fault? Of course it’s your fault. It’s always your fault,” I said, trying not to cry. I could feel tears swimming in my eyes all the same, and wiped them away.
“Charlie!” Roger called out. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he said, coming out onto the balcony.
“Something came up,” Uncle Charlie said.
“Something…what?” It didn’t sound like he didn’t hear him; it was more like he didn’t believe what he’d heard. “What could’ve come up that was more important than what happened here?” Roger demanded. “Tell me! Because you know, and I know, what happened in Rome. Tell me you didn’t do it for that.”
Barbara came out onto the balcony and made her way to Uncle Charlie. She looked at Roger and stared at him until he turned his head away. She walked up to Uncle Charlie, put her arms around him and hugged him. It took a moment for him to put his arms around her. There were tears in his eyes as he buried his face into her shoulder. I could see him choking back his sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping away from her.
“You’re sorry?” Richard said, shaking his head. “That’s not good enough! Our mother died, Charlie. She’s dead…and you didn’t even come to her funeral. What, was it more important to get drunk? Is that it? I mean, you can’t even dress yourself. Look at you. Your socks don’t even match, so I’m thinking it was a successful week? Or maybe you were too busy sucking your friend off in some dark alley somewhere?”
“Richard, enough!”
Alison stepped out onto the balcony. She fixed a drink for herself and sat on one of the four chairs. She didn’t look at us, but sat looking out at the valley below. Then she turned and looked up at Uncle Charlie.
“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you Charlie?” she said.
“You don’t know me,” Uncle Charlie said.
“Oh, I know you, Charlie,” she said, sitting back and taking a sip of her drink. “You’re the brother no one wants. I have one of those. You’re a closet homosexual who hides behind his sister’s fame, too ashamed to face the world on his own—and for good reason. Is that why you drink so much?”
“How dare you?”
“Is that all you can say, Charlie? ‘How dare you?’ You’re the one who abandoned the kids in Rome so you could go off with your friend. Your sister would have said: How dare you to that, don’t you think? You were supposed to take them there so Barbara could celebrate her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday, Charlie. A girl only turns eighteen once. Well, I guess that’s a birthday she’ll never forget now then, isn’t it? Have you even thought about how she feels about it? Why don’t you ask her?”
“It’s not like that,” Charlie said, his face wet with tears.
“It’s not? Then tell us, Charlie. What was so important that you didn’t come to your own sister’s funeral?”
“I was in jail!” he said.
“In jail?” she asked. “And you couldn’t send a message?
“Charlie? Why were you in jail?” Roger asked, sitting down and wiping his forehead with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, spinning his hat in his hands as he waited for the answer.
Uncle Charlie walked to the balcony railing, took a swallow of his drink, and then tossed the rest of it over the railing. He turned around and looked at each of us. Shu came out, followed by Liling, and they both sat down.
“I made food,” Shu said, her voice soft. “I didn’t know what else to do.” She stopped talking, but it was obvious that she wasn’t finished. “I had someone come up and take the bed out; I got him to paint the walls, too. Then I closed and locked the bedroom door. She deserves that much.” She looked at Barbara. “You’re going to have to go through her things.”
“She deserved a lot more than that,” Richard said, looking at Uncle Charlie.
“Yes, she does,” Shu said. “But death doesn’t wait, does it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richard asked.
“Someone has to take care of the little things. That’s why I’m here. Your mother told me that’s why I was here—to take care of the little things.”
“Because she knew she couldn’t count on Charlie,” Alison said.
“Why were you in jail, Charlie?” Roger asked again.
Uncle Charlie looked at me for a moment longer than I expected; I dropped my gaze. When I lifted my eyes again, he had his back to me. He was standing in front of Alison, like whatever he was going to say was something she would understand more than us.
“I was arrested for Gross Indecency,” he said, and I could hear a collective groan like the sigh of some burdensome monster. But Alison wasn’t shocked by it—I doubt anyone was—because it was more of a voiced acknowledgement to the reality of the life he led. We all knew it about him. I’d known since I was a child when I caught him kissing another man.
But Alison could smell a story. She knew there was more to it. She told Uncle Charlie that if he was thinking he was going to get away with that as an excuse, he was wrong.
“Wrong?”
“You’re claiming you were arrested and thrown into jail for Gross Indecency, for preforming a sexual act with a person of the same sex? I just want to get that out so everyone understands what we’re talking about. Because from where I sit, I think Richard said it best when he said you were sucking someone off in the alley. Is that about right? Does any of that ring true?”
“Where are you going with this?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”
“I did what I did,” he said. “I’m not proud of it, but I did it.”
“And where did that come from?”
“What?”
“Is that a confession of sorts?”
“Is what a confession?”
“Who was the man in Rome, Charlie?” she said without hesitating.
“I don’t see how any of that has any bearing on this discussion—”
“Is that what this is? A discussion?”
“I don’t see how any of that, has to do with this discussion.”
“You don’t think it’s curious?” she asked.
“What’s curious?”
“That you’d leave your niece and nephew in Rome, with Roger, who had a flight in the morning, out of Rome. You left them in his care, and you don’t find that curious?”
“I’m not on trial here, am I?”
“Of course you are,” she said. “Only this court is worse than any court you’ve ever encountered; even worse than the Court of Popular Opinion. Because this is your family, Charlie. You don’t need to convince me and Roger, but you do have to convince them. Remember, Richard already hates you; Barbara might adore you, but poor Dennis hangs in the balance.”
“What do you mean he hangs in the balance?” Roger said.
“It’s all up to him. Does he side with Barbara, or Richard? There were some pretty compelling arguments during the course of the last three days. I don’t know if he was listening, but I’m pretty sure he was.”
“You think we’re going to tear the family apart?” Barbara asked her.
“It’s already torn apart. Richard has already made his decision, haven’t you Richard?”
Richard steeled his jaw.
“I can never forgive him for what he did.”
“And that, dear Roger, is what they call a line in the sand. If Dennis thinks he can forgive Uncle Charlie, and sides with Barbara, his brother will never talk to him again. If he sides with his brother, his sister will never forgive him.”
“What is wrong with you?” Uncle Charlie asked her. “You’re making them choose sides.”
“No, all of this would be moot if you tell us who the man in Rome was.”
“What makes you think he’s important?”
“Because he wasn’t arrested, was he?”
“And how do you know that?”
“Well, when Roger told me to use the phone and call my editor, to tell him that the worst possible ending to any interview, had just happened—he told me the final decision was up to me. I thought I could do the funeral and service some justice, maybe give her a righteous send off. I always liked her movies. She was class. You would’ve seen that if you were there. Your friend Rock Hudson was there. I thought, maybe I could make it into something real special. That’s why I went. But for some reason—when we were already in Florence, your name came up, as well as a certain Cabinet Minister from England.”
“There, you see?” he said, pointing a finger at her like he was accusing her. He looked at Shu and Liling staring up at him. “It’s blackmail,” he said to them. “I didn’t play their game, so I ended up going to jail on false charges. They didn’t have anything to arrest me on. But at the same time, they were putting pressure on him, and fabricating lies about me.”
“What kind of pressure?”
“Indecency.”
“Because of what happened?”
“Because he sucked him off!” Richard spat out.
“Richard,” Roger said, shaking his head, the disappointment hanging on him like dashed hope.
Uncle Charlie looked at Roger and Roger shrugged.
“Who is this man? Alison says he’s a Cabinet Minister. Is that true? And who’s trying to blackmail him?” Roger asked.
“She is,” Uncle Charlie said.
“Her?” Barbara said. “How can you possibly think she’s responsible for your arrest?”
“She won’t say it’s blackmail, but it is. It’s nothing like the movies. She’ll say it was background information she sent on to her editor. He did some more digging because he thought he could also smell a story.”
“And what story would that be?” Barbara asked.
“That he’s selling sex to politicians,” Alison said into the silence.
“That’s ridiculous!” Uncle Charlie said. “I’ll have you up on slander.”
“But it is true. You hide behind your sister’s fame. It’s what you’ve always done. You claim to work for her, promise a phot-op, or an autograph, and stay with that job until you have an opportunity somewhere else. But those are in cities where they host large, political, summits. That way, you always have a clientèle.”
“Preposterous. Are you planning to print that?”
“I can’t, and you know it—at least, not before knowing who the man in Rome was.”
“And you expect me to tell you?”
She studied him.
“Not at all. But like I said, I’ve got a brother, and he’s an awful lot like you. I just wanted Dennis to know what kind of man you are, rather than tear his life apart. But I also wanted Barbara to see the real you. I was Barbara once. And I’m not about to let that happen to someone else.”
“And what is it you think will happen to her?”
“Well, her heart will break because of the love she has for you. She’ll move heaven and earth for you, but you’ll always disappoint her; you’ll always let her down. And each time she reaches to pick you up, she’ll have to reach a little bit farther, until one day, she won’t be able to reach you at all. And you’ll die a sad, pathetic death, somewhere, in some hovel.”
“You don’t paint a very pretty picture, do you?” Uncle Charlie said. “What is it I’m supposed to do?”
“You have to leave, Charlie.”
“Leave?”
“You are an anathema to this family. You are bete noire.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“A detested person.”
“No. He’s Uncle Charlie,” I said. “You can’t expect me to detest him. You’re asking me to turn my back on him—and I will if I have to—for love if that’s what you want—but I can’t detest him.”
“You’d turn your back on me?”
“If I have to choose between them and you, I have to go with them. They’re blood, and blood is more important than anything. That’s why Mother could never send you away, Charlie. You were her blood.”
He turned and looked at Barbara.
“And what about you?”
“I love you Charlie. I’ll always love you, but I can’t let you come between us. We’re broken, but at least we’re together. All we have to do is be together. In five years, Dennis will be eighteen. The same age I am right now. But in five years, I’ll be twenty-three. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“Just go,” Richard said, and Barbara turned on him.
“No! Not like that,” she said. “You wish him all the best.”
“What for?”
“Because if we have to start all over again, from scratch, but we have to start with a clean slate. You hating him and blaming him for something he didn’t do, isn’t right. It’s something that’s going to torment you and eat at you.”
“So?”
“So? So shake his hand. That’s what a real man would do. Are you a man, or are you still a boy?”
Uncle Charlie put his hand out, and at that moment I realized that I’d never see him again. But I promised myself that I’d weep for him when the day came. I told myself that no matter what, I’d never turn my back on him.
“I never believed my father when he said that death was something you had to go through in order to understand life,” he said. “But I think you three have already learned that.”
He stepped through the door and made his way down the stairs. He stopped a moment, but I couldn’t see why, and before I knew it he was out and down the stairs. I closed the door, not wanting to watch him.
“That’s not what I was expecting,” Roger said.
“You have to leave now, Roger. I appreciate all that you've done for us—you’ll always have our gratitude—but we have to do this on our own. We still have Shu.”
“You want me to leave?” he said.
“You don’t have a client anymore,” I said.
“Okay. I get it. You guys should do fine. And Barbara, if you ever decide to try your luck in the movies, give me a shout.”
He walked into his room and came out ten minutes later with his single brown suitcase. He unwrapped a big cigar and put his hat on.
“Wait for me,” Alison said. She picked her bag up by the door, then hugged us, kissed us, wiped the lipstick off my cheek just the way Mother used to, and said good-bye.
“Son of a bitch!” Roger called out, half way down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Alison called out
“Charlie took the Fiat."
He’d stopped to pick up the keys, I realized. Well, it was his car, I told myself.