Left for Alive

by Tom Hogan

  “Not so far. But I might be…” He reached over and put a hand over hers on the steering wheel. “…if I found the right woman.”

  Donna squinted at the road ahead, then looked over, her eyes searching his face. Then she saw the corner of his mouth twitch and both of them broke into laughter.

  “Don’t let anyone tell you those acting lessons aren’t working.”

  He smiled back. “I just need more practice, that’s all.”

  The week between Christmas and New Year’s brought a steady rain which, while needed after the summer drought, drove everyone indoors. Clark still went on his daily hike with Zeke and Josh his afternoon run, but there were no takers for either one. William and Lucky had shut down their respective practices for the holidays and so spent most of the time in their cabin or down at The Gimp’s. Donna and Carol were the only productive ones, spending the week polishing the first three chapters of their book.

  Paul wasn’t slated to return to LA until the first week of January, so to alleviate the boredom he started riding with Alexis, who was pulling mostly day shifts. He helped her regulars—usually elderly—into and out of the car and with their shopping, if needed. The women clucked over him, telling Alexis how handsome her boyfriend was.

  On her longer fares he busied himself with the scripts that his acting coach had assigned. He would read a page twice, his forehead tight, then close the book and practice his lines. Alexis looked over and saw him mouthing the lines, a frown on his lips. Finally, on the third day of their ride-alongs, as they sat in the cab drinking coffee, the motor and heat running, Alexis volunteered to read with him, feeding him his lines. As she argued, he could concentrate on just his parts and it would be more interesting for her than listening to “All Things Considered.” Paul declined at first, saying he was too self-conscious. But by the end of the day, realizing it would be cutting his work in half, he relented. They started working together the next day.

  After one of the readings, Alexis put down the script. “I liked that one. You made a pretty convincing middle-age weasel. Too bad the mob kills you off in the next scene.”

  “Yeah, it felt a little real, didn’t it? Too bad I don’t have a paunch or a comb-over.” He patted the scripts. “This is one area where my looks work against me. The heroic and pretty-boy roles go to the A-list guys—the ones who can carry a movie. The rest are character roles—and I’m told I’m too good-looking to play second bananas.”

  She nodded. “I could see that. Maybe as you age…”

  Paul shook his head. “Let me tell you a secret. Everyone I know down there has done some kind of projection—consulting a plastic surgeon, a police artist, whatever—to find out what they’re going to look like as they age. In my case, the people who know—the ones who study facial bones, what skin will sag and what won’t—they tell me I’m going to ‘age beautifully.’ Which is good news for my modeling career, long-term, but there’s going to be a period where I’m too old to do what I’m doing now and too young for the senior work. That’s where acting comes in—hopefully to bridge that gap.”

  She smiled, almost to herself. “You know, it’s refreshing to hear a man talk so openly about his looks. We women do it all the time to each other, but I can’t imagine you’ve got too many guys you can confide in.”

  “Within the industry, there are a few. But you’re right—I could never get away with talking about this with Josh or William.” He looked over at her. “You may not believe this, but I’m not vain. It’s just that this thing…” he motioned at his face, “it’s my job. My craft. I take care of it, the same way Clark takes care of his tools. I don’t think the guys get that. I see it in Josh’s face and I can certainly hear it in Will’s tone.”

  “C’mon. They’re just giving you grief. It’s the national sport up there. You know that.”

  “Maybe, but there’s a tone there when they talk about my career that I don’t hear when they’re getting on each other.” He looked out the window. “Don’t get me wrong. I know they like me. They just don’t respect me. Sometimes it matters to me, sometimes it doesn’t.” He looked back at her. “In your case, it does.”

  Two nights later Donna and Carol knocked off their work on the book and invited Alexis to join them up at the hot springs. It was almost eleven by the time they reached the pools. The three women stripped down, sampled each pool, then settled into the lower one. Donna and Carol caught Alexis up on how the book was progressing, how they were integrating Donna’s recent case into the book.

  “The woman whose case it was,” Alexis said. “What happened to her?”

  “She’s in a shelter. We’re still in touch. I like the woman who’s running the house. She has plans for two more. I’m giving her the proceeds from the next edition of my book. Josh is doing the same. Hell, his contribution might be more than mine—his sales have doubled since the court ruling.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have equated ‘battered woman syndrome’ with rape, but it seems like there are a lot of people out there—especially women, it seems—who do.”

  Alexis forehead furrowed as she looked over at Carol and Donna, both of whom had their heads leaning back on the pool’s cement lip. “I’ve got no idea what you guys are talking about.”

  “What part?” Carol asked.

  “What book are you talking about? Not yours. The other one. Something about Josh?”

  Donna cocked her head. “You know. The rape manual.”

  “I’ll repeat. I’ve got no clue what you guys are talking about.”

  Donna looked at Carol, then back at Alexis. “Honey, I’m sorry. I guess I assumed Carol told you—and from how she’s looking at me, she must have assumed the same.”

  “Told me what?”

  “How do you think Josh got all the money to buy this place? I’m assuming you’ve heard of The Rapist’s Guide?”

  “Sure. Who hasn’t?” She looked at them. “Are you telling me that Josh wrote The Rapist’s Guide?”

  “Well, edited it more than wrote it. But, yes.” Donna cocked her head. “Why do you think the police call him in whenever there’s a rape they can’t solve?”

  “I was afraid to ask,” Alexis said, her voice weakening slightly.

  “Oh, honey. No. No. When he was in San Tomas he noted that there were no programs for rapists. In the prison hierarchy—both for guards and inmates—rapists are just one notch up the chain from child molesters. I don’t know if Josh thought they were capable of redemption or not, but he started working with them individually and in groups. And the more he worked with them, the more he started seeing patterns—in their backgrounds, in how they viewed women, and in what they looked for in their victims.”

  Alexis nodded. “I read the book, especially the part about the distinction between ‘familiar rapes’ and ‘stranger rapes.’ About the early signs in a boyfriend or husband as opposed to the safety measures you could take to avoid getting on a rapist’s radar. The chapter on defensive measures alone was worth the price of the book.”

  “Anyway,” Donna continued. “He took half the book’s proceeds and bought the camp and all its land. The other half he donated to hotlines and shelters.” She looked at Alexis. “Don’t tell him you know. It embarrasses him.”

  As they were toweling off and getting into their clothes, Donna looked over at Carol and motioned to her. Carol frowned and looked over at Alexis, then back at Donna, who motioned to her again.

  “Listen, Alexis,” Carol started. “Before we head back, we need to talk to you about something. Actually, ask you about something.”

  Alexis finished pulling up her pants—her top still bare. “What is it?”

  “Is there something going on between you and Paul?”

  Alexis pulled her head back slightly, her eyebrows narrowing. “No. Why?”

  “Well, you guys have been spending a lot of time together. And…”


  “I’ve been helping him with some of his acting homework. And he’s good company. But… again, why are you asking?”

  “Honey, this is a community,” Donna interjected. “Everything ripples and affects everyone else. If you and Paul are an item, that’s a big ripple.”

  “Well, we’re not. An item.” She looked from one woman to the other. “Am I missing something else here?”

  Donna’s sigh floated over the water. “We didn’t say anything when you were up in San Francisco with your ex because it was just for a few days. But Josh wasn’t himself while you were gone. He moped some, didn’t work with Clark when he was asked, wouldn’t play Scrabble with Lucky. Spent more time in his cabin than normal. But, like I said, it was just for a few days. And then you were back and he was back to normal, so we didn’t need to say anything.”

  “But since Paul’s started riding with you,” Carol continued, “he’s sliding back into being a moody prick.” She looked at Donna.

  Donna nodded. “He’s been…not quite rude, but short. With all of us.”

  “And you think it’s because of Paul and me?”

  “It’s the only thing that’s different up here. So, yes. Will agrees.”

  A soft breeze came up, causing the leaves overhead to issue a hushing sound. Some of the leaves broke loose and fluttered down into the pool. “What the hell does he want me to be?” Alexis asked. “A nun?”

  Donna looked at her sympathetically. “Remember, you’re talking about someone who’s lived his whole life like a monk.”

  Alexis reached for her bra. “The hell with him.” And she finished getting dressed.

  With the rain showing no sign of relenting, Paul called down to Le Jardin. Management comped him a suite, complete with spa treatments, for two nights. He invited Alexis to join him at the spa for the second day, but she had a day shift and had to pass.

  “How about dinner, then?”

  “I’d have to go back up to the camp, change, shower, you know.”

  “Bring some clothes and shower and change here. Or in the spa, wherever you’re most comfortable. Come on, it’s my last night here. I want to celebrate. And I want to thank you for helping out with the scripts.”

  There was a slight pause, then “Okay. See you at seven.”

  She drove over after work, arriving in her work clothes—black on black, plus a leather jacket. She took her hanging bag into the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later—still all in black but now a raw silk blouse and slacks, set off by gold earrings, necklace and belt. Over her arm was a cape she hadn’t worn since her Chicago days.

  Paul, wearing a dark blue blazer over a grey cashmere sweater and dark-grey herringboned slacks, held his hand up high, index finger extended. Alexis laughed lightly, touched the finger and twirled. “If Moetown could see us now,” she said, “we’d be blackballed.”

  “And we’d deserve it. Let’s go. Phillipe is waiting.”

  They had the same table as before, the same spectacular view of the darkening coast. Alexis looked at the bottle of Brunello on the table and nodded her thanks to Philippe. “Same shitty table, same shitty view,” she said to Paul as Philippe eased away. She nodded at the bottle. “Same swill, I see.” She put her hand on his for a brief moment. “This is very nice. Thanks.”

  “Thank Philippe. They were out of the Brunello when I called down yesterday, but he made some calls. He didn’t have to do that.”

  She raised her glass. “Neither did you.”

  The dinner conversation was relaxed, comfortable. Paul felt ready for what awaited him in Hollywood. He had the scripts down cold, the characters weren’t a major stretch for him—not a Ratso Rizzo in the lot. And besides, he said, mimicking Josh, they were just soaps.

  The dinner, like last time, was superb. When Alexis marveled at the lamb, Paul asked Philippe to bring the chef out to hear the compliments first-hand. And later, as the restaurant began to empty, Philippe—at their invitation—joined them and helped them with the second bottle of Brunello.

  At Philippe’s suggestion, they took their dessert and coffee in the Hearth Room. “There’s a magnificent fire in there,” he said, “and no one to enjoy it.” He came around the back of Alexis, held her chair for her, then took her hand and led the two of them into the next room. The Hearth Room was right out of an English hunting lodge—rich weathered wood, sturdy leather couches and chairs, all arranged in small, intimate arrangements. He led them to a small couch, slightly back from the fire, a low-lying coffee table in front of it.

  They passed on dessert but ordered cognac. When the snifters arrived, Alexis swirled hers, looking through the rich liquid at the fire behind it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad you’re leaving.” She looked around. “I could get used to this.”

  He returned the smile. “Good. Because there’s something I need to ask you.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I’d like you to come back with me.”

  Her smile lessened. “Come back with you where?”

  “LA.”

  She remained still, the fire’s dance playing on her features. “I wouldn’t fit,” she said finally.

  “Yes, you would. The only question is whether you want to or not.”

  “And who am I supposed to be, once I get there? Your lover? Your friend? Your roommate?”

  “You be yourself. The rest will take care of itself.” He reached over and placed his hand over hers. He didn’t try to hold it. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you here. But I didn’t want to go back without asking. Without telling you what I’d like to happen.”

  “Jesus, Paul. We barely know each other. I’m just getting settled into the camp and I’m supposed to uproot myself again?”

  “We both know you don’t fit in up at the camp any more than I do.”

  She stiffened slightly but let her hand stay under his. His eyes tightened. “You were right the other day in the car—I don’t know how to be with a woman except in a certain way. You’re the first woman I’ve met that I really wanted to get to know—whether as a friend or something else, I don’t know. And that’s the honest truth.”

  She put the cognac down and placed her other hand over his. “You don’t know how much this means to me. Not just tonight but the friendship we’ve developed.” Her eyes fastened on him. “But I can’t go with you. I can’t.”

  “Why the hell not? What’s stopping you?”

  She took her hands back. “Because if I went with you, I’d never know what was possible with Josh.”

  His face soured. “I wondered when he’d show up.”

  “I’m sorry, but if we’re friends, you can’t tell me about your desire and confusion unless I can tell you about mine.”

  His hands now free, Paul cradled his snifter between his palms and rolled the glass back and forth. For more than a minute, he was silent, his eyes fixed on the stuttering flames. At one point Alexis started to say something, but he raised his hand and she swallowed the words.

  “I’m going to tell you about your boyfriend,” he said finally in a low, flat voice. “This guy you want—this guy who’s everybody’s saint—you never wondered what he spent all those years in prison for?”

  “Of course I did. But I also know it was a long time ago. He was just…”

  “He carved a girl up. Your boyfriend. My brother. He sliced her face open with a knife.”

  Alexis rocked back in her chair. Her hand went to her own cheek. “You’re lying.”

  “I was there. It happened during a gang fight. In a way, she had it coming, given what she’d done to some of our boys.” He hesitated. “But she didn’t deserve what happened at the end, right before the cops came.”

  His eyes were dull, throwing back none of the fire. “When the cops came, her face was running blood and she was out cold. Her skirt was up around her waist and a
knife was sticking, blade-side out, sticking out of her c…” He looked away. “Out of her vagina.”

  Alexis stood up. “I don’t believe you.”

  He waved out the window. “Ask him yourself. Ask him why he doesn’t go out with women. Ever.” He leaned forward. “Because he knows himself, and he knows he can’t trust himself with a woman. Ever.”

  Alexis started to say something, then she turned and walked quickly away.

  “That’s your St. Josh,” Paul called at her retreating back.

  CHAPTER 44

  It was almost eleven; most of the camp, including the L, was in darkness. Josh was sitting up in bed, a pair of bifocals bridging his nose. The most recent chapter of Donna and Carol’s book, now in its second rev, lay in his laps, the just-read pages at a right angle to the remaining pages. His finger snaked down the pages quickly, stopping now and again, at which point Josh took the pencil from behind his ears and jotted a note. At the bottom of the page, he would scan the page again in its entirety, at which point he either turned it sideways and reached for the next page or turned it over and wrote a longer note.

  “Just tell me if it rings true,” Donna had told him. “Carol’s line-editing it, but the people in New York are so eager to get it out that they’ll tell me anything to hasten the publication date.” She pushed the manuscript at him. “Be brutal.”

  He was nearing the end of the chapter when he heard a timid knock. Then again, stronger. Josh took off his glasses and put them under the sheet. “Come in.”

  The door eased open and Alexis’ head pushed into the room. “I need to talk to you.”

  He stacked the papers and put them on the bedside table as she entered the cabin. She sat in the chair at the foot of his bed, her hands in her lap, her eyes rimmed with red.

  “I need you to tell me what happened in Baltimore.”

  His face didn’t change. “No.”

  “Please. It’s important.”

  “We’ve been over this. The answer’s no.”

  “Did you take a knife to a girl, Josh? Is that what you did?”