hallway. He ran up the stairs.”
Vega grumbled. “Connie, I told you not to intrude.”
“He never
“He was alone?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“In that flashy car of his?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t see a car. The only time I saw him in a car, well, he was in a big, like, station wagon. With wood panels on the side. Brand-new.”
I turned to Mercy. “Jimmy drives a station wagon?”
Mercy grinned. “A Ford station wagon, designed for the modern family of four. Mommy, Daddy, and the kiddies. It’s a side of Jimmy you don’t know.”
“I gather.” I shook my head. “And then what happened?”
“I heard him yelling at her, and she was yelling back. In the hallway. I got scared.”
“What did he say?”
“He was swearing, calling her names. She must’ve done something bad to him.”
“Did he go into the apartment?”
“I dunno. He wasn’t there long. Yelling like crazy. I just stayed by the door and waited.”
“Where was I?” her grandfather interrupted.
“In the garden, I think, out back.”
He frowned.
“So how long was he upstairs?” Mercy asked.
“It was like minutes, I guess. Then I heard him on the stairs, and he comes running down, real fast, and out the door.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Why?”
“Was he angry?”
“He went by too fast. I couldn’t tell. And I jumped back, afraid he’d spot me.”
“But,” I said, “you said you saw him again. He came back. Later?”
“Yeah, I mean, well, I thought he left for the day so I didn’t care. I got ready to go meet my friend, you know, do something. So long’s I’m back early, Abuelo doesn’t mind. So like fifteen minutes later-I don’t know-I left and I waited for the bus on the corner. The bus came and I got on, and, you know, it goes by my house. So I’m staring out the window and then, all of a sudden, there he was again, running out the front door. Like a maniac. But the bus was moving, and I had to crane back my neck. He’s running and all, running, like…”
“And you hadn’t seen him arrive?”
“No, I was dressing in my room. I never
Mercy, her voice dark. “And then he was.”
“Yeah, I was so angry. Here I was on the bus, and he’s running out of my building.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see him get into a car?”
“The bus was moving fast, you know, but, no, but I felt somebody was waiting for him there.” She paused, as though conjuring up a picture in her head.
“What?” From Mercy.
“Well, looking back, I saw this car across the street, and there was this lady sitting there, looking out, at him. She was watching him. I could see her right there, but the bus was turning. And I thought, God, he got some girl waiting for him.”
“He went to the car?”
“I couldn’t tell, but I thought so. Looked like it. He was running in that direction-toward her. Jumping off the stoop, onto the sidewalk.”
“So you don’t know if he was with her?”
“No, I don’t, but I just had that feeling. You know? Like she was waiting.”
“Why?”
“Because suddenly I felt that I’d seen her sitting there before. I don’t know exactly, but something about her made me remember. Like she’d been one of the people that visited Carisa. One of her actress friends. Maybe with him. I don’t know. I mean, you know how it’s like in the back of your head, and then it’s there, sort of. It all happened so fast. I’m on the bus and it’s moving, and so I’m thinking that maybe he dropped something off.”
“What did she look like?”
“I dunno. She was just one of the girls that come here. I kept thinking-she’s in the movies, maybe. Maybe Julie Harris from
“You can’t describe her?” I asked.
“I thought I just did.”
Both of us waited, expectant, but nothing followed. Connie seemed edgy now, as though she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“And you told this to Detective Cotton?” I asked.
She nodded.
I turned to Mercy, who stared back. Cotton hadn’t mentioned any of this to me, certainly; but why should he? It was
Connie was mumbling something else. “I also told him about Alva and Alyce.”
“Who?” From Mercy.
“You know,” I said, “the twins, the boy and girl who follow Jimmy around.” I turned to Connie. “They were here that day?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Crazy. Those two. They’re
“So they were here that afternoon?”
“Yeah, that’s what I told the detective. When the bus stopped at the next stop, I noticed they were running up the street, turning into my block. Almost arm in arm, hurrying, like they knew James Dean was there. A couple times when I talked to them, they’re, like, out of breath. Was he here? What’s he like? What did he say to you?” She grinned. “I told them he always talks to me, and they go crazy.”
Her grandfather interrupted. “Connie, you talk to these crazy people? And you lie to them?”
“It’s not, like lying, Abuelo. It’s like we’re in the movies. Sometimes I imagine whole conversations with James.”
“Such foolishness.” He shook his head but never took his eyes off her face.
An absolutely beatific look washed over her; a quietude, a softness in her already gentle features. “It’s James Dean,” she breathed, so reverential that no one said anything. She wrapped her arms around her body, swayed a bit, and closed her eyes. “It’s James Dean. Not on the screen. Here. In my hallway. In my house.
Chapter 15
Rock Hudson’s publicist had called twice, trying to set up a luncheon. I’d resisted but Tansi, walking in as I was stumbling through an excuse, mumbled in a tinny, schoolmarm voice, “Oh Edna, you have to, it’s Rock
