I never like to interfere with the affairs of the heart. I do not like to impose restrictions on my child. But the Addison-and-Zach sideshow had become tedious to everyone. And my son was the one I could claim responsibility for. I love my son, but he is not—how can I put this delicately—a significant person in the art world? His affiliation with Addison was damaging her name, and I’d made an investment in that name. And so I made my wishes very clear.
MARIE-CLAIRE BROYARD: Addison took me out for a sushi dinner. She’d left me a bunch of messages, which wasn’t like her. So I made a firm date. I was concerned about her. I had every reason to be. Between the seaweed salad and the hamachi, she confessed she’d been off her medication for about a month. She also told me that Ida was watching her from across the street. I remember my chopsticks slipping from my hands, as I attempted—badly—to hide my reaction. But it was awful to hear.
But I’d known, even before Addison had told me, I’d known in my heart that she’d gone off the Z. I’d probably known at the High Line fashion show, weeks before. No matter that Addison was attempting to give every indication that she was sane. She’d reminded me too much of Mother—the way her gaze had kept darting around, her restless fingers, the way nothing she said made a shred of sense. At that dinner, her disconnection was even more pronounced. Her rambling choice of topics, of art she wanted to make and trips she planned to take with her childhood friend Lucy. And television shows, documentaries mostly, that she wanted to create.
She also told me she’d seen all of these psychics, and even a dream interpreter, and these people were smarter than her shrinks. She told me that Lucy and Erickson would have made fun of her for believing. But the psychics had promised that Lincoln was coming back into her life.
“I’m waiting for the right dream, the right way to get to him. Dreams, numbers, sequences—they’re all so important, they’re the secret, sacred codes of the universe and we never pay attention to them, don’t you think, Marie-Claire?”
“It’s a lovely idea, darling.” As my heart sank. This was not the Addison I knew.
“I’m going back to school,” she told me next. And that, I remember, was a comfort. It was just about the only smart thing she’d said all lunch.
“Yes yes yes!” I was clapping my hands. “Go back to school, darling. You can’t rely on dreams and psychics. You need so much more than that. Teachers, mentors, new ways to think. It’d be wonderful for you.”
But she wasn’t even listening. She’d moved onto another ramble. It was very disturbing. I called Erickson the minute I got home.
DR. EVELYN TUTTENBAUER: Twice I traveled to New York City, seeking out Addison, who invited me under the guise of appointments that she had no intention of keeping. This after she’d stood up Roland. When I spoke with Roland, we figured maybe the fact I’d come a long distance would reel her in? But no. Both times, she stood me up. She had all but disappeared from Roland’s radar, too—though she kept up a running game of phone tag with him.
Of course we were all concerned. I’d left many messages with her parents. I called the Lim family, I spoke several times with Erickson McAvena. I called Arlene and Bill. I even called Max Berger. I recommended to her mother that somebody get hold of her, a family member or close friend, to find out what was happening.
LUCY LIM: Addison knew the plan. First, I had to snooze through two weeks on Lake George with my dad—he counted on that trip too much—and then onward to New York. Addison was working on Bridge Kiss, so we were both looking at August as our time. First we’d drive down to the Keys for a week because she’d loved it there so much. We were also talking about going to Nova Scotia. Anne of Green Gables was that one childhood book we both agreed on. So this was kind of our dream.
Mom was also away in July, on a little Hawaii trip with some of her girlfriends. Mom and I both knew that Addison wasn’t in her best space. We both were on the fence about whether we should just bail on all plans, jump in the car, and go get her.
If only, if only. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of other “if only”s in my life, but if only I’d gone to see Addy in July—that’s the biggest “if only,” by which all of my other “if only”s are measured.
CAMERON LUTZ: Addison swung by Paloma’s and my apartment one morning in the dead of summer. It was shaping up to be a broiling summer day where you never want to set foot outside, and inside, the clammy-cold air conditioning feels like a thin skin between you and hell. Suddenly, Addison. She hadn’t even been to bed yet, she said, and I believed her. She was in her work shirt, and she smelled like stale cigarettes. She looked kind of wild—a forest creature or an elf. She was crazy thin and tired and jumpy. I told her she looked like she needed some sleep and a good breakfast. She said what she really needed was coffee.
So Paloma put on a pot. Then Addison told me to record everything she said, because it was so important. I pretended that I was recording, but I wasn’t about to tape Addison Stone’s random pontificating. All she started talking about was how we needed a new heist, how the art market was stale, how nothing had value.
After she left, four cups of coffee later, Paloma and I sort of laughed it off, but we were unsettled. We couldn’t help thinking back to that first night we’d met her, seeing those scars, and that first picture of Ida that she’d drawn for me. How she’d always seemed too close to the edge, even when she was doing just fine.
I texted Lincoln about it. Just a heads-up. I knew that he still cared about her.
“She can be a nightmare, but she’s our nightmare,” Paloma said. It was exactly how I felt, too. Then Lincoln texted that he was in back in Brazil, and our hearts kinda went down the drain.
Addison in her apartment, courtesy of Gil Cheba.
LUCY LIM: I’d pick up my phone, and there’d be sixteen, seventeen messages from Addy. She didn’t seem to think voice mail was an obstacle—she’d talk till she heard the beep, call back, and keep talking. She just wanted me to come to New York. That’s what all the messages boiled down to. That she was lonely.
I’d landed a job at a hotel resort on Lake George, where I was waitressing my ass off. It wasn’t fancy, but I had a life, you know? I was making good tips, and I was dating this guy Marcus—I’m still with him, actually. I guess you could say I was falling in love with him? What I mean to say is … at the exact worst time when I had to make a decision, I decided that my life just couldn’t be all about Addison anymore.