Chapter Text
“Once more into her kingdom of knickknacks,” Lindsey muttered to himself. He expected Christopher to answer the door, or anybody but Stevie. But there she was, a big cardigan sweater dwarfing her frame. In Bonnie Doon-stocking feet she was tinier than most might think. He could spy the hem of one of her satin-and-lace nightgowns hanging below the sweater.
“Linds,” she said in shock then stood there, mouth open.
“Can I come in, Stevie?” he requested, trying to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice.
“Why?” she asked, her voice rasping. Her dog Ginny had finally made it to the door and whined at the visitor. Lindsey refrained from paying her any attention, Ginny had once peed on him in the studio and he felt betrayed but not surprised.
“Because,” he replied, but said nothing further, as if that were answer enough.
“You can’t just –“ she said, moving her arms outward in a dramatic gesture, “come over here any time you want just because.” Ginny, frightened by her mistress’ agitation, began to bark.
“Shh!” they both exclaimed, then looked at each other and cracked a smile.
“You say that every time I come over, and you still let me in,” he reminded her.
She sighed dramatically and threw open the door.
Lindsey never told her, but the Doheny house fascinated him, it seemed perfectly in tune with Stevie’s perception of herself. He preferred the simplicity and solitude of his Bel Air house, but missed her sense of glamour at times. Other times it drove him crazy. Even as he entered the velvet lair, he immediately felt claustrophobic amongst all her things. The Tiffany lamps vibrated on their respective tables as he trod on the hardwood floor.
“Where is everybody?” he asked. From somewhere within he could hear Tom Petty exhorting I need to know, I need to know and for a moment it was as if the house was conspiring to read his mind.
“I don’t know,” Stevie said, walking towards the kitchen. “And it’s pissing me off because I have things to do, and I need them.”
Lindsey tried not to laugh, but he knew she knew not everyone kept the same hours she did. He was about to say something about Christopher needing a night off from Stevieland, but thought better of it.
“Are you scared to be alone?” he asked her. “I thought you said this house was haunted.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me, you know.” She rinsed out the carafe of her Bunn coffee maker and set about making a fresh pot. Lindsey opened the refrigerator and scanned the sparse contents within.
“What do you guys eat, anyway?”
“Sharon was supposed to go shopping. . .” her voice trailed off as she began to look through cupboards. She wandered into the pantry and emerged with a bag of potato chips. “Here,” she said, throwing the bag at him.
“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, catching the bag and ripping it open. “If any house is haunted, this would be a good one.”
“That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To mock me?”
“I don’t do that –“
“No, not to my face, of course not.”
He saw her body tense, wound like a spring. He should have known not to come when he could tell she hadn’t eaten in a few days, that she was going around in circles fueled by black coffee and cocaine.
“Angel, stop.”
She started crying then, her voice croaking, and he put his arms around her. She put her face against his shirt and it took only the scent of her, layers of perfume and shampoo and just the delicate odor she had always possessed, to bring him down from his perch of haughty contempt.
Lindsey knew it was fitting he had no idea where Carol Ann was at that moment as well.