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| Painting by Louis Spector |
CHAPTER
ONE
A PAIR OF TWINS
FOR CHRISTMAS
From our
social worker's point of view, my twin brother and I hit the jackpot. We were
five years old, foster kids, and our social worker wanted to find us a home.
But, unfortunately, we also had baggage and not just the regular kind you carry
with you but internal baggage. I was considered brain-damaged, detached, and
even simple-minded. When I spoke, it was incoherent considering I had a severe
speech impairment, leaving my twin brother, Gary, having to translate for me.
As for my twin brother, he was temperamental and argumentative, often
challenging others in childish debates.
On top of that, we were very hyperactive with behavioral challenges. That made it very difficult for Mrs. Erickson, the social worker, to place us in any family longer than a few months, if not weeks or even days. So, of course, when the opportunity arose just days before Christmas in the extravagant town of Beverly Hills, Mrs. Erickson snatched us up, threw us in her station wagon along with our few belongings, and drove off. Perhaps we were not the best choice, but we were all that was available on such short notice.
The prospect seemed promising; after all, who rejects kids so close to Christmas? With that in mind, she eagerly drove up the private road of LaCollina Drive, a narrow, winding road just on the outskirts of Beverly Hills, only slowing down for the speedbumps along the way. I sat in the far back of the station wagon, with my hair combed and face washed, gazing wide-eyed at the cozy, charming houses outlining the narrow road. Some were obscured behind bushes or walls covered in ivy, while others showcased their elegance and charm.
As I sat in the very back of the station wagon, Gary sat in front next to Mrs. Erickson, gazing out the window also wide-eyed with his hair combed and face washed. Mrs. Erickson believed in first impressions.
Halfway up the road, we came across a chain-link fence covered in ivy, displaying signs warning of trespassing, electric fences, and guard dogs. We followed it up to a wrought-iron gate left wide open with the same warning signs regarding trespassing, electric fences, and guard dogs, who at the time were ferociously barking at us from behind their cages, still, Mrs. Erickson drove through.
Standing in front of us was an
ominous-looking mansion resembling a mausoleum, an oversized, long-forgotten
one as it stood there mottled by the years with ivy scaling its solid concrete
walls while slithering through the broken shutters.
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| The Mansion on LaCollina Drive |
In the dead center of the driveway stood
a circular stone fountain with dried foliage extending from its two tiers. Once
parked, Mrs. Erickson stepped out, headed towards the front door, an iron gate,
and pressed the doorbell under a sign that read, "NEVER MIND THE DOGS,
BEWARE OF OWNER."
My brother
and I remained in the car, keeping the doors locked and windows tightly sealed.
We were nervously concerned about the two German Shepherds continuously and
viciously barking at us. And though they were also restrained to a pole within
their cages, we hesitated to get out of the car, at least until Gary felt brave
enough to do so. He quickly ran to the fountain, climbed over, and jumped
in. Eventually, I joined him only to
discover the fountain bare of water, except for a small puddle perhaps left
over from the rain; instead, dead leaves were scattered about, which I began to
kick around once inside.
Although we were
expected at the house, no one was there to let us in. However, Mrs. Erickson
continued ringing the doorbell while my brother and I played in the fountain.
Moments later, a brown Rolls-Royce pulled into the
driveway and parked near us. As the driver's side door opened, a tall, burly
bearded man stepped out with a no-nonsense demeanor. He was casually dressed in
a brown suit with no tie and quickly approached the front door where Mrs.
Erickson was. Then, the car's back door opened, and an attractive young lady
with a perplexed look after seeing us stepped out. She was petite with long
thick black hair, light brown skin, and fashionably dressed. Upon seeing us,
she quickly looked back toward her husband for an explanation just as he was
exiting the car as to why two kids were playing around in the fountain.
Her husband was a pale, scrawny little man dressed with
a bit more flare. Though he was just as petite as his wife, his polished boots
gave him an extra inch or two. In response to his wife, he swept his arms out
as if making a presentation, then shouted, "Merry Christmas," to the
bafflement of everyone around. In doing so, he revealed two-gun holsters under
his jacket.
Though it was unknown then, it turned out that my twin
and I were an unexpected gift to his otherwise unsuspecting wife.
My brother and I quickly climbed out of the fountain
to join everyone. As we did, the wife's husband approached us, promptly licked
the tip of his thumb, and then began to wash away the dirt on our faces, then
brushed his fingers through our hair, removing any dead leaves entangled
within. Once done, he stood back, looked us over, then turned to his wife and,
with a victorious grin, said, "are they not perfect?"
Once in front of the gated door, the bearded man
unlocked it; it led to another set of iron doors, ones with a glass mirrored
panel. As we tightly assembled between the doors, he locked the first set,
leaving us caged between the two doors until he unlocked the second set,
leading into the house.
The area we walked into was the foyer, and in it was
the tallest Christmas tree I had ever seen. Unfortunately, the enormous tree
was forced to bow downwards under the high ceiling. Perhaps getting one's hands
on the tallest tree was more crucial than considering if it would fit in the
house. Plus, because of its size, only the bottom section of the tree was
decorated with ornaments, leaving the top bare and dreary.
Besides the tree and a few Christmas decorations, the
foyer was mainly a shrine dedicated to the husband and his wife. Since no one
attempted to leave the area, we were
compelled to fixate on the many black-and-white photos displayed on the marble
surface of the tables, including the large ones hanging on the walls. But, of
course, not all photos were of the two talking to Mrs. Erickson as some were of
well-known people such as John Lennon,
the controversial comedian Lenny Bruce and the theoretical physicist
Elbert Einstein, with a quote,
"imagination is more important than knowledge," and, for humor, he's
sticking out his tongue.
Among the pictures and photos were framed articles,
framed letters, and record albums, many of which were produced by the man still
wearing tinted shades and talking to Mrs. Erickson. However, what caught my eye was a small
bronze statue of a monkey. It was sitting on a stack of books, examining the
human skull in his hand, and appearing somewhat perplexed. Near it was a
picture of a man sniffing something from a spoon, with the caption, "A
little snow at Christmas time never hurt anyone." I later learned it was a snapshot from
"Easy Rider," a movie starring Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper and
where the man who has since been addressed as Mr. Spector played some kind of
drug lord. It was also rumored that his cameo was contingent upon using his
brown Rolls-Royce, which, at the time, was parked just outside.
Of course, the most prominent pictures in the foyer
were the one of Mr. Spector and the other of his wife, Mrs. Spector.
Coincidently, they were separated by a rather enormous, ornate vanity mirror
hanging on the wall, an ironic premonition of things to come.
Ordinarily, Gary and I would be outside in the
backyard or in the front yard playing around while the grownups talked;
however, with the front gated door locked and no one showing the way to the
backyard, we were forced to stay stationary in the foyer gazing over all the
vanity around us. To make it more strenuous, all the chairs in the lobby were
monopolized by record albums, leaving no place to sit.
After a while, my attention was drawn down the
hallway, where I saw a lady dressed all in white. She was accompanying a small
child while making her way toward us.
When she reached us, Mr. Spector introduced his son, Donte, to Mrs.
Erickson just before the lady in white left him with Gary and me, if just to
observe his reaction toward us. Right
away, Donte bit Gary on the leg, and in retaliation, Gary pushed him away,
causing him to fall to the ground and cry.
Jumping into action, the nanny quickly snatched Donte
up as Mrs. Erickson began to tend to Gary's injury, proclaiming it was only a
flesh wound.
At the same time, Mr. Spector decided to conduct the
conversation elsewhere. He then ordered the bearded man, whom he addressed as
George, to take everyone to the kitchen for a treat while escorting Mrs.
Erickson to another room down the hallway.
Mrs. Spector followed George, the nanny, and her son
while Gary tagged along close by. As for me, I got distracted by a large
tapestry hanging on the wall. It showcased many familiar characters such as
Goofy, Donald Duck, Pinocchio, the seven dwarfs, and many others. Each gathered
around a TV set, welcoming Micky Mouse as he magically emerged from it with
help from Tinker Bell's wand.
Perhaps my fixation with the image on the tapestry was
seeing the facsimile in my situation, walking into what I perceived as a fairy
tale, and being welcomed with open arms.
As I turned toward the end of the hallway, where
everyone was heading, I realized I was alone, except for two ominous black
statues on pillars staring down at me with vacant eyes. They were of ladies,
scantily dressed in gold cloth, looking dreary and distant in thought as they
balanced a basket atop their heads. Feeling uneasy with their stare, I decided
to head towards the double doors near me, where I heard voices coming from. It
was slightly ajar, so I opened it just enough to enter.
The room was a massive Living Room, which was dark and
cold at the time. On the other end of where I stood was a large stone
fireplace, which was large enough to walk into and cold enough to consider it.
Near it was the only light source, a table lamp dimly lit. Besides the lamp,
there was no other light source except for the sliver of sunlight seeping
through the thick window drapes that were otherwise closed though it was a
bright and sunny day.
Sitting on the sofa, next to the lamp, was Mrs.
Erickson while Mr. Spector stood over her talking. Not wanting to disturb them,
I remained silent in the shadows atop a stairway, un-disturbing the things
around me as my eyes explored the entire room. It was a rather ostentatious
room with murals painted on the ceiling, concrete walls with old oil paintings
framed in gold, and periodical furniture, dating back to the 1920s when the massive
house was first built.
At the bottom of the steps, on the left side, stood a
grand black piano covered with many black and white photos of Mr. and Mrs.
Spector. Next to them, a metronome and a world globe on an axle emitting a soft
glow. Just below the steps and where my attention eventually rested was a
dome-shaped aquarium atop a pillar. In it were various kinds of fish swimming
about among the foliage. Accompanying them was a deep-sea diver, a sunken ship,
and a man-like fish creature from the old black and white movie The Creature
from the Black Lagoon. There were also
the remains of a pirate pierced by a sword where his heart had been once upon a
time. And though he was long dead, he continued drinking from a jug of whiskey
with the help of air bubbles racing to the surface while guarding a nearby
chest full of treasure.
Though I wasn't paying attention to the conversation
between Mrs. Erickson and Mr. Spector, I suddenly did become aware when I
overheard Mrs. Erickson say, "If there is a problem, I'll take them
away." And though it was only said
once, it echoed in my head.
I was left to consider all the possibilities without
clearly understanding what kind of "problem" she was referring to.
Whatever it was, it caused me to rethink entering the Living Room instead of
following the others to the kitchen, as I should have done.
Perhaps, I thought I would be accused of eavesdropping
on conversations I had no business listening to or lurking in rooms I had no
business entering. So I began slowly exiting the room, leaving the door
slightly ajar just as I found it, only to see George firmly standing over me,
looking down, with the two foreboding statues behind him doing the same with
their vacant dead eyes.
In somber resignation, I bowed my head like the tall
tree in the foyer and awaited my fate. I knew I would once again be in the back
of the station wagon to be driven away like I had many times before. And all
because, as I just learned, I was a "problem."
Instead of grabbing me by the arm and dragging me into
the living room to expose my presence as expected, George reached over my head
to tightly close the door behind me. Then asked if I would like some ice cream.
My smile gave him my answer as he escorted me down the hall and through the
door leading to the kitchen.
My brothers were just finishing eating their ice cream
as I walked in. Seeing only one available place to sit at the table, I took it,
sitting across from Gary. Next to him sat Donte, whose face was being wiped by
the nanny while Mrs. Spector stood nearby.
There was another person in the kitchen, a hefty man
who, upon seeing me, jumped up from his chair and went right to work, grabbing
a bowl from one of the cupboards and then placing it near me. He then opened
one of three refrigerators, took out a tub of vanilla ice cream, chocolate
syrup, whip cream, and a banana, placed them next to the bowl, then went to
work creating a scrumptious banana split.
When I thought he was done, he went to another
refrigerator to grab a jar of cherries. Then took two items from the spice rack
on the table and returned to work on the banana split by sprinkling candy
confetti and sugar pearls, then topping it with a cherry. When done, he placed
it before me to enjoy before returning to the chair, all without saying a
word.
As I ate, Gary spoke to no one in particular, talking
about places and people he had seen along with trivial information he eagerly
wanted to share. If anyone tuned into
what he was saying, it would have been the nanny, as everyone else's attention
seemed preoccupied.
By the time I had finished eating, Mr. Spector had entered
the kitchen. He was alone as Mrs. Erickson had already left. He also seemed
anxious to show us to our room. It was located at the top of a flight of stairs
with three landings, one of which had a large arched window overlooking the
driveway.
Before Mrs. Erickson left, it appeared she brought in
all our things and left them in the box on a bed for us to put away. The
bedroom we were shown was significantly more extensive than any others we
stayed in. In addition, the furniture was more elaborate, the kind you would
not expect two five-year-old hyperactive children to have. There was also a private bathroom, walk-in
closet, and large French window overlooking the backyard while giving us a
panoramic view of Beverly Hills and the Sierra Towers just down the street on
Doheny Road.
Evidently, the room was not set up for us; after all,
we were meant to be a surprise, so had any alterations been made to the
bedroom, Mrs. Spector might not have been as shocked upon seeing us earlier.
Leaving us with a desk filled with all the amenities, such as scissors, a sharp
letter opener, a stapler, a box full of staples, glass paperweights, and a
marble ashtray. Plus, the drawers were filled with tacks, fountain pens,
bottled glass inkwells, stationary paper, and documents. In addition, the one and only dresser in
the room was filled to capacity, meaning we had nowhere to put our few
belongings until Mr. Spector decided to empty one of the drawers and throw all
its contents in the closet, as well as the few questionable items on the desk,
then locking it up and keeping the key, thus leaving us without a closet to
use.
Ordinarily, after putting our things away, Gary and I
would venture outside and play, explore the grounds, or meet other kids playing
on the street. But, unfortunately, and unexpectedly, as Mr. Spector left, he
locked the door behind him, leaving Gary and me looking at each other,
wondering if we were actually locked in.
We were. So, with nothing to do, we decided to jump up and down on the
canopied bed.
…
It
wasn't until later in the evening that our door was finally unlocked. At that
time, we were escorted downstairs for an early dinner, then back to our room to
be locked up for the rest of the night.
Whenever
we were out of our rooms, the nanny chaperoned us. We hadn't stepped out in the
backyard or even seen it, except when looking out from our window. We didn't
see much of Mr. Spector or his wife; only the nanny and the cook were the two
people we spent time with, and our new baby brother, Donte.
Although Gary had no problems drifting off to sleep, I often stayed awake thinking. Life was like a puzzle to me, one with many missing pieces, and trying to make sense of it, kept me up through the night, reliving events like a broken record, and repeating in my head was Mrs. Erickson's voice stating what she said a few days ago, "If there is a problem, I'll take them away." Before hearing her say that I had never considered that perhaps I was a problem. But then, I started to think about all the previous homes I've stayed at and what might have caused my departure after a month, a week, or even a few days. I was sure one of them was due to being accused of accidentally killing a duckling. I wasn't even aware of it until I lifted my foot and saw its body smash into the mud below me. Then, shocked by the discovery, I crouched closer to get a better look and, perhaps, revive it. But, instead, as I watched all the other ducklings trample over it, I became saddened; after all, they were a family, yet they had no regard for the one lifeless in the mud. It indirectly revealed a dark truth: nothing last forever, not even family, something a foster child eventually discovers, and what I realized that day. I was four at the time.
Of course, I
wasn't accused of accidentally killing the duckling just by observing it; it
was when I smashed my foot back down, hoping to hide it. I had just heard the
back sliding door open, and not wanting to be blamed for killing the duckling,
I acted quickly by standing up and pounding my foot back down over it,
unintentionally crushing it even more. It was that action the potential parents
saw as they looked down at me in utter shock. Perhaps, if I didn't mumble my
words, I would have said something in my defense. But, instead, I remained
silent. Gary and I were taken away a few hours later, unaware of the reason,
but thinking about it while locked up in my room, I was sure the incident with
the duckling had something to do with it.
And I wasn't just thinking about all the reasons that could have led to my departure but also some of the places we stayed in. Though I might not have liked all of them, I certainly was beginning to wish I was back in any of them, even the one where we slept in the garage. It was set up with rags covering all the oil stains on the cold concrete floor and rugs scattered about, giving us something warm to walk on. All the tools were locked away, and a homemade wooden bunk bed was built for us to sleep in, plus a single shelf for our things to be stored away on. I'm sure we were not the only foster kids who slept there, but at the time, we were. Cold, windy nights were the worst as I lay awake listening to the howling wind blowing through the cracks in the walls, the trees scraping the roof, and the pitter patterns of the creatures snooping around. Yet, I craved to be back there because whenever I felt scared, I simply got out of bed, went to the lady of the house, curled up, and slept with her.
When I
eventually fell asleep, I had the same dream I had for the past few
months. It always started the same, me walking on a pathway towards a house in
the distance. Outside of it, my mother. She was waving at me, and though I
could never make out her face, something told me it was her.
And though I would pick up the pace, I was not getting any closer. So, I started to run, but I still got no closer as Mom continued to wave. Then, looking down, I saw street lines zipping by. They were moving away from me. I was going backward, away from the house and away from Mom. Suddenly I found myself in a familiar car, a station wagon, sitting in the far back, looking out the window towards the house, which was nowhere to be seen. Out of panic, I pound on the back window until it shatters, causing me to fall into an abyss with street lines zipping by until I awaken and find myself back in my room next to Gary, with my door still locked.
…
The night Christmas arrived; the nanny laid out clothes for us to change into. It had been almost a week since we arrived and we were given new clothes within that time, all identical. It was a typical tradition for twins to look and dress alike, and we were not the exception to the practice. So, we put on our new identical clothes and awaited Christmas.
Moments later, our door was unlocked by the nanny, but only for Donte to enter before it was locked up again. He was also dressed for the occasion, with a similar outfit as ours, just in a different color. Because I didn't have many opportunities to bond with Donte, I mostly clung to Gary for direction, instructions, or comfort. I got the sense, however, that Donte saw us as intruders. Perhaps, he was still confused about our presents; after all, one day, he was an only child, and the next, he had two older brothers interfering with his daily routine. I assume he resented us initially, but it's hard to say as he was only two years old.
Suddenly,
music was heard blasting through the vents, vibrating the windows and floor
underneath our feet. It was a symphony of sounds filling the house. Though they
were familiar Christmas songs, they had an added upbeat sound. "Frosty the
Snowman," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and "Santa
Claus is Coming to Town" never sounded so exuberant. But "It's a
Marshmallow World" provoked my curiosity as I wondered exactly what a
marshmallow world would look like. I couldn't wait for our door to open and
find out.
The next time our door was opened, Mr. Spector entered. In his hand, he had two clip-on ties and a regular one. The clip-on ones were given to Gary and me while Mr. Spector worked on tying the traditional one through the caller of Donte's shirt. When we were all ready and with much anticipation, Mr. Spector, as he did on the first day, licked the tip of his thumb and wiped away any smudges on our faces, then brushed his fingers through our hair to comb it, a gesture I was starting to enjoy.
He then
stated that Santa Claus was waiting for us downstairs. With that, he opened the
door all the way, thus allowing us to run off to trample over each other down
the stairs, with Gary and I far ahead of Donte.
When we got to the Christmas tree blinking with lights, I saw Mrs. Spector sitting down, awaiting our arrival but no Santa. Underneath the tree were many presents making me believe that, perhaps, we missed him. However, before we even had a chance to open one, the music became more intense as the door leading to the library opened. Standing in the doorway was Santa Claus holding onto a bag and shouting out, "HO, HO, HO."
He then
shouted out our names, one at a time. "Louis, Santa has a gift for
you," he would announce as he scrambled through the bag before pulling out
a wrapped gift with my name on it, then handing it to me. He would do the same
for Gary and Donte, and it went on a few more times before his bag was empty.
There were some presents for the Spectors and one for George, which Santa
kept. He then hung around for a few personal photos with us before leaving
through the library doors and disappearing.
When the
music died and the house again silent, we were escorted back to our rooms and
locked in for the night. However, we had so many more items to play with that
it was a while before Gary and I went to bed. When we did and before changing
into my pajamas, I took from my pocket a tag that I had shoved in it just moments
earlier. I placed it on my nightstand and drifted off to sleep. All that was
written on it, in big, bold lettering, was "TO LOUIS, FROM MOM AND
DAD." It was the most cherished
gift I got that night.
