[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Chapter One

"Wanted. Artist between the ages of 20-35 to share living expenses with local actress. Must be a woman with a steady job, no kids, and her own car. Race unimportant." Robin tightened her grip on the shopping bag handle. She grit her teeth and thought about Leslie, a woman who was once a famous actress. She hoped she wasn't home. The words to the ad she answered one year ago kept playing in her head. They were the words she believed Leslie, one of the fallen Hollywood celebrities, used to trap an unsuspecting New Yorker - her. Confusion poisoned her life now. Loud, drug addicted men. Alcoholic rages. Long bouts with depression. Angry bill collectors ringing the bell and calling on the telephone. And now death threats. So much changed in her life since she moved in with Leslie in New York City.

Pulling her raincoat tighter around her stomach, she skip-walked until she reached the high rise apartment building. She smiled when she heard children singing choruses of "Rain, rain, go away" while they played across the street in the park.

While she traipsed beneath the building's blue canopy, she nodded at the doorman. A second later, she pushed her wet shoes across the entrance mat. When she looked up, the doorman, his face the color of charcoal, his hands rough and splintered like worn slabs of wood, tilted his cap at her. Looking at him made her think about the nubian women in her family. She grinned and hurried toward the row of elevators.

She was late. She told Leslie she would be home an hour ago.

A tall, shapely woman sporting a short Afro stepped alongside her. She carried a laundry basket stacked high with folded clothes. She nudged her elbow. "What's up, Girl?"

Robin frowned before she said, "Diane's got you doing her laundry now?"

Paulette laughed. "No. I'm just helping her out. She's not feeling well."

Pursing her lips, she worked to keep her thoughts to herself, "Probably sick from the blood on her hands from all that back stabbing she does." A second later, she glanced up and saw Paulette's pouting brown eyes looking in her direction. She smiled and said, "Nice of you to help Diane out. You two are
so close." Then she twisted her mouth. "Wish these elevators weren't so slow. Think with all the money we pay for rent, management could keep these slow moving boxes better maintained."

The elevator doors opened, and Paulette chuckled. "You're the sweetest, most simple person I know, Carlile, but if you ain't one of those impatient Nubian women."

She waved and called out, "Bye," to Paulette while they stepped on separate elevators. When the silver doors closed, she unbuttoned her raincoat, moved to the back of the elevator wall, and closed her eyes. The tight jeans she wore made it clear that she was amongst the growing number of Nubian women living in New York City who seldom missed a day at the gym. As usual, she wore a pair of high priced cross trainers. One of the city's top distance runners, she didn't go far without her cross trainers. During her free time in the evenings, just before the sun tucked
itself behind the few trees in New York City, she logged a brisk six to ten mile run.

The elevator ascended. Sighing, she braced herself for the long ride to Apartment 1201.

A wave of silence greeted her when she exited the elevator. She stood in front of the only apartment on the twelfth level and cast her gaze to the floor. A folded note was pushed beneath the door. She kicked it all the way inside the apartment.

Her heart quickened the second she opened the door. Her gaze darted around the room. She looked down the hallway and called out, "Leslie." No answer. Walking down the hall, she went into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She sighed and thanked God that she was alone. A moment later, she pulled a book out of her bookcase. Crossing her legs, she turned a page in Charles Fuller's latest play. Shaking her head she smiled while she read the work. She long thought Fuller one of the country's best play writers. She didn't look up until she heard the security chain rattle the wood of the front door.

Without a "hi", "I'm home" or a nod, Leslie pushed her bedroom door open. Her tall, thin frame loomed in the doorway. The pink cashmere sweater she wore brought out the blue in her eyes. A wad of gum was in her mouth. She chewed and popped the gum loudly. Dropping her bottom lip and sighing, she stood in the doorway with her hand resting on the knob. Across from her, Robin pursed her lips and turned another page in the play.

"Stop acting like you don't see me!"

She sat up with a jolt. She watched Leslie swagger to the center of the bedroom.

"Where were you?"

"I went shopping. Since when did you become my mother?"

"You are so selfish! You don't even care that I got robbed!"

"I'm supposed to know you got robbed as soon as you walk through the door?"

"You said you'd be here!

"Oh. So, I'm supposed to stay locked up in the apartment while you go out all day just in case something happens? Think I want to be here in case that . . . that . . . that guy calls and starts telling me somebody's after you? That somebody's going to kill you? Think I want to be here all by myself for that?"

"I was expecting a very important call and you knew it!"

"Les-"

"I called you!"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"I can't count on you anymore!"

"Somebody's stalking you and all you're worried about is missing a director's call? I'll never understand you Hollywood celebrities."

"I can't count on anybody." Her bottom lip quivered.

"Forget the stalker? Just forget it. Comes with the territory, right? On to other things." She sighed. "I told you I went shopping. Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"You're always ranting and raving. Let me put it another way. Did you get hurt?"

"No." She crossed the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. "Piece of trash took my diamond necklace. Just snatched it off of me. You'd of thought he believed I was still a famous actress. That or that he thought he was trying to pull a lease off a dog the way he yanked and pulled on me."

"Did you call the police?"

"There you go. You are always trying to follow the rules. You're never going to get ahead until you learn how to break the rules." She shook her head. "No. I didn't call the police. I'll handle that scum myself. If I
ever see him again I'm gonna beat him like there's no tomorrow."

Taking her gaze to the ceiling, Robin rolled her eyes. While Leslie cast out threats against the man who stole her necklace, she reminded herself why she came to New York City. Despite the fact that she couldn't afford to live in New York City on her own, despite the fact that she was still attending New York University as an undergraduate majoring in English, she grit her teeth and promised herself that she would be a success. "One day I won't have to sit up under you and your mean, nasty ways. I won't have to run home to my daddy. I won't be here when death threats turn to death, when the stalker shows up at the front door. I'm gonna make it as one of the world's best play writers. I'm gonna make it big."

More Praise For Love Has Many Faces!
"Sometimes we have a friend for so long, we forget how much they mean to us. Then something emotional happens, something that almost destroys us, and we realize what friendship really means. Love Has Many Faces made me stop and think about my own friendships. It made me grateful for my friends. It was a huge wake-up call."

"The writing is excellent in this book! I don't think anyone with a friend should be without this book!"

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CHAPTER TWO

Crisis. That's what Leslie was. A crisis. If she wasn't in the middle of an emergency, she was just coming out of one. It was as if she existed simply to try the depth of Robin's faith. Because she was in between steady, decent work and had been since Robin met her, Robin refused to desert Leslie, leaving her alone with her own insecurities. One thing was certain. Robin knew she would not answer an ad in the newspaper and move in to live with another woman again - ever. She felt stuck, shackled to Leslie and betrayed, tricked. "Wanted. Roommate. Single female artist, between the ages of 20-35 to share living expenses with local actress. Must be a woman with a job, no kids, and her own car. Race unimportant." Robin would never forget the ad Leslie placed in The Daily New Yorker. She dressed like she was going to a job interview the day she went to meet Leslie for the first time. Her knees even shook, and her throat kept turning dry. "All that for this," Robin kept telling herself when life with Leslie became so taxing she thought about returning home down South. But then she thought the better of it, usually after Leslie employed one of her sympathy tricks. Life with Leslie was hard, but time got by. One year to be exact.

Robin was the only person who managed to live with Leslie when Leslie was out of work. It was noon before Leslie crawled out of bed. Once out of bed, she paced the apartment like a caged animal. Within days, her nervousness worked its way onto her flesh and became skin rash. Hard, red bumps clustered at the edges of her mouth, the sides of her face, and went up her neck and arms. All her time was spent waiting for the telephone to ring. In all her conversations, she was quick; sarcasm coated all her words. Because she didn't want to miss important calls and claimed she needed to rest, she ordered Robin to answer the telephone on the first ring. Fully settled into her diatribe, she instructed Robin not to laugh or talk loudly, perchance her laughter or conversation would flood the apartment and silence a knock at the door or the ring of the telephone.

Months later and overcome with relief, Robin found herself hugging Leslie. While she embraced Leslie, she reminded her that, "You landed the lead because you're a great talent. You have an enviable skill." She was careful not to mention the fact that the B movie would likely never make it to mainstream theatres.

Leslie, one of the country's prominent Hollywood celebrities from her youth, once was a dominant figure in the movie and television industries. She began her acting career at the same age Robin's mother, Marcia boasted Robin started reading -- three years old. As it was with most child actresses, Leslie's first job was a commercial. During those early days, she advertised toothpaste, tights and two popular lines of children's clothing. She signed her last commercial contract when she was fifteen. Between her first and last commercial shoot, she worked as a lead character in Christine Simpson and Jerry Stone's series, Gardenia's Life. To increase her exposure, she posed for magazine layouts and made several appearances on the nationally syndicated, hit television weekly, Friday Night's Hot Spot. Gardenia's Life ran 250 episodes and secured a top-ten slot on the Nielson Ratings the first 196 episodes. After Gardenia's Life, Leslie received more than a hundred motion picture offers. One offer she and her parents gave a great deal of consideration. After months of legal wrangling, Leslie turned the offer down. Her confidante, Teresa, a Beverly Hills hairstylist and confirmed Hollywood gossip, telephoned her and suggested, "Let's have lunch." While they enjoyed an entree of soft shell crabs and a basket of buttered sweet bread at the Fisherman's Hut, Teresa made a point of telling Leslie, "You know that movie you told me you were thinking about taking on? Well. I don't think you're going to want to hear this, but Amanda Gaynor's in it. Supporting actress."

Leslie's agent, Keith Riggs, visited the apartment and made several desperate attempts to persuade Leslie to accept the role. "Yes, you're an established actress," Keith nodded after Leslie cited past achievements. Three hours later, frustration moistening his armpits and his brow, Keith stood and closed Leslie and his conversation by reaching to the back of the living room sofa. He grabbed his leather jacket and assured Leslie that she couldn't afford to bypass the opportunity to work with an Oscar bound screenplay. "Besides," Keith added, his jacket on, "If you reject this offer simply because Amanda Gaynor's the supporting actress, you risk being labeled a spoiled, maladjusted child star. And," Keith called over his shoulder, his briefcase in his hand and the unsigned motion picture contract inside the briefcase, "You know what that means."

Winter 1986 New York City's evening skies took on a darkened hue. Leslie's refusal to work with Amanda Gaynor turned to jealousy--turned to nausea after Robin and she opened the door to their wide screen television and sat on the living room sofa. They stared at the television bug-eyed while they watched Amanda, dressed in a calf length, gold, silk gown hurry onstage to receive her Oscar. The movie Leslie was given first opt to play the lead, female role in but refused to work on won a total of five Oscars: costume, special effects, supporting actor, supporting actress and leading actress.

Three thousand miles from where Robin and Leslie sat gawking at the television screen Keith voiced his disapproval of Leslie's decision to three distinguished gentlemen, men who wielded enormous power in the entertainment business. That evening Hollywood's elite began to talk. Night of the 1986 Oscar awards presentation Leslie's refusal to accept the leading role opposite Amanda Gaynor in Michael Come Home proved detrimental.

Robin scratched her scalp and yawned. So many times, while she worked to soothe Leslie's fears and pad Leslie's insecurities with the fluff of empty compliments, she pondered the cradle of Leslie's mania, Leslie's deepest hurts, Leslie's broken strength. The answer came to her one spring day a year ago. It was the day she met Leslie's parents, Arnold and Joyce Fletcher.

Arnold wore a pair of designer jeans and a blue blazer the day Leslie drove Robin to their home in Medford, Connecticut. Joyce wore a flowered sundress. She smiled throughout the entire visit. Robin found her to be docile. She thought Arnold, with his piercing sea-blue eyes and his deep, raspy voice, was handsome. Yet, the way he barked orders at Joyce then followed the orders up with a wink to Robin sabotaged the bulk of his striking appearance. Robin tagged her mental image of him with a harsh label -- ugly. Arnold and Joyce didn't reveal much of their shared lives to Robin during the two-hour visit. Not until Robin bid them farewell and climbed again inside Leslie's Porsche did the facts become known. Leslie talked non-stop the entire drive from Medford to New York City.

Love Has Many Faces

She told Robin, "My parents were high school sweethearts. They married in their late teens. Two years after they wed I was born. I don't know how many times Mama's told me that she endured a long, sixteen-hour labor giving birth to me. She never says it, but I think, on many days, I'm nothing more than a child who reminds her too much of the man she regrets marrying -- my father." Placing her head against the driver seat headrest, Leslie turned on the Porche's cruise control and licked her lips. "Like my dad told you, he works at Medford's leading law firm. He's a senior attorney." She chuckled. "Even with all the secrets Mom and he try to keep, I knew he'd tell you that. He's always bragging about himself." She laughed outright. "As you can see, his being an attorney has brought a fair share of financial comfort to my mom and him. That's how they got that big house in that quiet suburb." Turning on her right blinker, she moved into the fast lane and sped passed a man who was driving the 55 mph speed limit. "Then again, if Dad didn't work as an attorney, he and Mom would probably steal their way into an upper class neighborhood." She shook her head and twisted her mouth. "Such show offs. Goodness! Do they ever care what other people think about them." She sighed. "I don't know if you could tell, but my parents marriage is more for show than it's for real. I know it sounds awful, but I don't think they really love each other. But divorce and have people start talking about them -- never." She laughed again. "Dad doesn't think I know, but he has a lover. Now, her -- I think Dad loves her. In fact, he's had a few of them. One woman, a dumb red head, almost cost Dad his life. Turns out she was some psychotic crook's girlfriend. I mean, this psycho guy was into some of everything. Drugs. Prostitution. I even heard he made a few hits on people who got in his way. Anyhow, when he found out about his girlfriend and Dad . . . talk about a triangle. We got death threats, prank calls, the whole nine yards. Don't think my mother turned her back on Dad. Hell no. She stuck by him through the whole ordeal. Said it was all the red head's fault. To this day my mother cannot stand to see a red headed woman. But the red head's out of the picture now. Six years ago she turned up missing."

Robin glanced at Leslie out of the corners of her eyes. She nibbled her bottom lip and hoped Leslie wouldn't stumble onto a passageway leading into her past that would cause her pain, deep emotional haunts.

"I think Dad's had his current mistress for about sixteen years now. He used to take me with him when he drove to the florist and bought her flowers. I was real young then. I don't guess he thought I was old enough to figure it out. That or he didn't think out what he was doing real well. I mean. He'd order a dozen of roses and ask to have them delivered on the same day, but when we went home, I never saw any flowers for Mom." Leslie laughed then she turned and looked Robin squarely in the eye. "Mom got him back though. She still does. Know what she does?"

Shaking her head, Robin answered, "Un-un." She prayed for Leslie to stop revealing her family's problems.

"You don't know?"

Robin's brow pointed and shaped into a V. "No. I don't."

"Wonderful shopping sprees! Mom spends nearly every dollar Dad sweats to earn."

Robin stared at Leslie while she watched her toss her head back and laugh -- laugh loud, laugh long and hard.

"Loehmann's, Macy's, Bolton's, Anne Taylor's, designer suits, dresses, designer jeans, silver, crystal, diamonds, you name it; my Mom buys it. When I was growing up, I loved shopping with her. She never said 'no'. Nothing was outside her limit. She shopped like we had money that would never end. Every week she did."

When Robin felt Leslie's gaze at the side of her head, she turned and asked, "Your dad never said anything?"

Leslie arched her shoulders. "I don't know. I never heard them argue about money. Besides, with the way Mom answers to Dad's every whim, any way you look at it, Dad wins out. The only thing I ever heard Mom complain openly to me about were the parties the law firm hosted. Mom said Dad always made her stand in the background. She couldn't talk too much or assert herself in anyway. Dad was always drinking then, Mom said." Shaking her head, Leslie added, "That man sure loves his scotch. And Mom said Dad would spend the evening telling joke after joke. Everyone would laugh and guffaw. Mom said most of the jokes were directed at her. And you see how handsome my dad is. He keeps himself in shape. I have to admit he's an attractive man even if he is my father. He doesn't miss his days at the gym. No, Ma'am. The women in the neighborhood love everything about my father. They're always giving him compliments. I think he's slept with a few of them. I think Mom knows."

Robin stared at the road while Leslie pulled onto the turnpike.

"And do you know what my mom did once?"

"No. What?"

"She broke down and told her troubles to the town gossip, the one and only, Lisa Butcher. Lisa lives five houses down from my parents. She lives in that pretty, red brick house I pointed to when we drove down the street. Mom said Lisa kept pouring her more and more tea that day while she, my gullible mother, opened up and told Lisa too many secrets. Mom said she even broke down and cried in front of Lisa. What a mistake." Leslie shook her head. "I'm not sure about Mom crying because I wasn't there, but I do know this. People gawked at, talked about and made fun of my mother so bad after that, Mom spent six months talking to a therapist." Releasing a thick breath, Leslie continued with, "I suppose people didn't want Mom to make it clear to them how imperfect Dad and her marriage really was."

"Looks like the whole town's perfect to me. Everybody's yard is so evenly cut and edged. I've never seen so many pretty houses and lawns one after another. Those folk look more proper than my mother, as hard as that is to pull off."

"Medford's the kind of place where sports standouts are the high school heroes. High school tournament games sell out months in advance in Medford. The thing I like the most about Medford is how the city looks in the winter. After a hard snow, the city is absolutely beautiful. Looks like a scene out of a movie. Mom always made the best buttermilk pancakes in the winter. Mom likes to cook, but she never cooked that much in the summer. Said the kitchen got too hot with the stove and oven on. I have to admit, Mom and Dad looked good together, especially when Mom was really happy, and she loved winter. If I remember correctly, Dad never hit mom in the winter. Beat the fool out of her after she pissed him off any other time of the year." She turned and looked at Robin. "Of course, they didn't think I knew, but you can only hide so much with make-up." Leslie gazed out the windshield. "My parents have been married for twenty-five years." She chuckled. "In a way, I guess they are the perfect couple. Mom's perfected the illusion that Dad has her eating out of his hand, when, in fact, she's the one who's pecking the top of his head."

Robin sat in the passenger seat nibbling her bottom lip. She wondered what she had gotten herself into.

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CHAPTER THREE

Robin sat up with a jolt. She wiped her eyes and wondered how long she had been asleep. Pushing off the sofa, she went into the kitchen. The smell of fish rushed up her nose. After she cleaned the fish, she tugged on a baking pan until it was free of a mixing bowl, skillet and blender.

The fish in the oven, she crossed the floor and walked inside the dining room. She opened a bureau drawer and grabbed a small, decorated box. Sitting in one of the dining room chairs, she took the lid off the box and smiled. Pictures. Pictures. Pictures. Memories and the faces of good friends beckoned her. The first photo she took out of the box was of her girlfriend Dinah. She laughed when she recalled pranks they played on each other while they were dorm mates at NYU. Soon she held pictures of Betsy and
Loretta.

Growing up with the trio in Johnson City, Tennessee brought joy and a sense of security to her. Attending to the pomp of high school dances, football and basketball games and track and field meets left the quartet no time for boredom.

She shuffled a handful of pictures. Then she stared at a young boy's smiling face. She remembered the boy. He was one of the kids she met when her sorority, Sigma Gamma Rho, visited The Saint Vincent Children's Ward a year ago. He was the little Jamaican who giggled every time one of her sorority sisters or she, dressed in clown suits, blew up a balloon or pulled the tips of their ears and made a funny face or winked at him. Staring at the picture of him resting in the bed, his head bald, his face pale, created
a lump in her throat. She had to turn away from looking at him. He reminded her too much of her little sister, Sonia, a girl who died of leukemia when she was only four years old. An only child -- that's what she became after her sister died. An only child and the person who reminded her mother too much of death. Although she was oldest, her mother made it clear to her that if she had to choose just one child, she'd always pick Sonia.

She dropped the picture in the box and buried it.

Grabbing a handful of older photos, she pressed her elbows against the edge of the table and spread the pictures. In one of the pictures, her sorority sister Loretta and she wore big, floppy hats. Looking at the hats reminded her of how she used to dress up in her mama's clothes when she was a girl, and she laughed.

She stared at four pictures. They were of her high school graduation. In the first picture her mama, dressed in a silk dress, and, she, in her cap and gown, stood with their arms draped over one another's shoulder. Neither woman smiled. In the second picture, her four grandparents, all in suits and old fashioned hats, and she hugged one another's waist. In the third picture, her father, dressed in a three-piece suit, held her around the waist with his thick, strong arms. He was leaning to the side and planting a kiss on her cheek. In the fourth picture, her mama, dad and she stood shoulder to shoulder with their hands gently cupping each other's waist. None of them smiled.

She sighed. High school graduation for her started on a bleak note. An hour before the commencement ceremony, her mother, Marcia, demanded that she wear her hair down, show off her long, black curls. "The one good thing about you, your hair, and you keep it up. Girl, when are you going to learn?
You are not Sonia. Sonia had a face suited for any hairstyle. Sonia had a pretty, round face. Your face is long, and you know you have a pointed chin. You can't wear your hair any kind of way. So many styles just don't look good on you."

"She was a baby, Mama." Her bottom lip quivering and as if deaf to her mother's requests, she stood in front of her bedroom mirror and gathered her hair into one hand and prepared to pin it into a bun.

At the end of the short, heated confrontation, Marcia turned and told her, "Yea. You're graduating, but where are you going?" The remainder of the evening, she pouted and criticized her hairstyle, the way she slouched when she walked and how she forgot to buy "Thank you" cards for family and friends who gave her gifts and money for graduating from high school.

For seventeen years, she watched Robin grow up, yet, for her attention to detail, her constant concern, her hand that guided, disciplined and betrayed, she found it impossible to vision her daughter as a grown woman. She found it impossible to release the person who was ten years old when her little sister died. While Robin was in New York City, she pressed her for personal information and demanded that she telephone no less than twice a week. Robin greeted her demands with insolence and anger. Her freshman year at NYU, she didn't telephone home for eleven months, and, when her mother telephoned her, she complained that she was busy with Rush, finals and dating. Graduation loomed fresh again. In three semesters she would graduate from NYU. For the second time, she made Marcia the center of attention and Theo proud. Her recent conversations proved to them that her writing career was progressing well. Until she sold her first play, she earned a living working at Mills Clothing, a large factory twelve blocks from the high rise.

Pushing loose strands of hair off her face, she put the lid back on the box and walked into the kitchen. She made a fish sandwich and rounded the corner.

As soon as she entered her bedroom she started turning the 96-channel television knob in fast circles. Two minutes later, rather than spin the knob a third time, she punched the power button and watched the screen blacken. Instinctively, she sat on her bed and turned on the radio. A disco song buzzing in her ear, she sipped cola. "Leslie, do you want some--" She stopped talking, bit into the fish sandwich, stood and looked across the hall. "Sleep. Here I am trying to make conversation, and she's asleep."

One song later, her bedroom was quiet. She walked inside the living room, and, parting the drapes, she looked out the picture window. She watched the wind blow through the trees. The weather was cool and cloudy just like this on the day Sonia died. It was a late night telephone call that changed her family tree. "Come to the hospital now." That's what her mother kept telling her the doctor said. By the time they got there Sonia was dead.

Wind rattled the picture window. Crossing her arms, she whispered, "Sonia, why did you die and leave me? You were supposed to grow up. We were supposed to be roommates. Not me and some maniac of a woman. You and me, Sonia. We were supposed to be best friends." Nibbling her bottom lip and swallowing hard, she released the past and returned to her bedroom. After she slipped into a pair of wooden clogs, she grabbed her purse and checked to make sure she had twenty dollars. Door keys in hand and her purse strapped over the crest of her shoulder, she closed and locked the front door and entered the hall.

What Readers Are Saying About Love Has Many Faces!
"Once I got into Love Has Many Faces, I couldn't put the book down. When my daughters came to me and asked me for something, I told them to 'Go ask Daddy. I'm into this book and I can't stop.' I just couldn't stop reading."

"I know someone like Robin's mother! What I really liked about Love Has Many Faces was how it showed how we shouldn't say we love everyone the same then have favorites. Because sometimes it's the favorites we're left without while we're stuck with the people we lied to and said we liked while we don't really like them much at all."

Love Has Many Faces

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