by John Marrs
Aware her nose was running, Ruth reached inside her handbag for a tissue and instead, unwittingly pulled out the $20 bill the maître d’ had returned to her. It was folded, but inside appeared to be another piece of paper.
‘4765 Sunset Plaza Drive, Hollywood Hills – Zak’s address’, it read.
It took a few moments before Ruth realised the maître d’s action had been the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.
CHAPTER 35
Nicole perched on the windowsill, willing a waft of cold air to blow into her musty dormitory room, when she saw Tommy leaving the hostel and crossing the road with someone she didn’t recognise with a ponytail.
Her brows knitted as she reached for her mobile phone and turned it to camera mode, zooming in to see if she could get a better view of who was accompanying him.
‘Who’ve you got your beady eye on, Miss Marple?’ began Eric, his head peering over his top bunk.
‘No one,’ she replied defensively. ‘Well, I was just trying to see who Tommy was going out with. It’s a bit late.’
‘I haven’t seen him slobbering over you much today. I presume you’ve had a little tête-à-tête?’
‘If you mean have I had a word with him, then yes, I’ve cooled it,’ she lied.
‘It’s for the best, trust me. Besides, we’re leaving in a couple of days; I’m sure that’s probably your replacement he has lined up.’
Eric rolled back on his side and smiled, satisfied at having Nicole to himself again. ‘And is there any chance you can clear your crap up from around the bed before rats start nesting in it?’
Nicole ignored him, even though she was aware there wasn’t enough room by their bunk to swing a cat, let alone to leave all her clothes and belongings scattered and piled up.
With Tommy and his companion now out of sight, Nicole closed her eyes and quietly hovered in that space between consciousness and sleep, when the sound of a sleeping bag being unzipped caught her attention. In the gloom, she squinted to catch Ruth slipping her dress off and packing it away in her suitcase.
‘Oh, hey Ruth, have you just got back?’ Nicole whispered.
‘Yeah, just now,’ replied Ruth.
‘So? Don’t keep me in suspense . . . How did it go? How was Zak?’
Ruth paused before offering an answer. ‘Really, really great. I’m going back tomorrow because Zak’s asked me if I wanted to spend the day at his house.’
‘Did he?’ replied Nicole, a little louder than she’d intended. ‘Oh, wow, well, you must have made an impression on him.’
‘I reckon so,’ replied Ruth before entering the bathroom with her pyjamas under her arm.
‘Do you think it was the hair, the dress or the air of desperation that won him over?’ sniped Eric from above.
‘You have a streak of bitch in you a mile wide,’ Nicole replied, as she considered whether she had got Ruth all wrong, and that maybe once you really got to know her, her personality was a lot more vivacious than on first impression.
Nicole slipped back under her sheet, shuffled around a little longer before leaning over the side of her bed and grasping for her suitcase. She partly pulled it out, unzipped it and removed a brown, oblong, cardboard box.
ELEVEN WEEKS EARLIER – LONDON
‘I bought an OK! magazine and a Guardian to read to Mrs Baker during my lunch break,’ smiled Nicole as she rushed past Eric and into the room behind the nurse’s station. ‘She likes the news but she loves a bit of celebrity gossip too.’
Eric followed her inside, watched as she unbuttoned her coat and waited for an opportunity to speak.
‘Last night she said her eyes are still causing her problems so I’m going to ask Doctor Kotnis if he can take a look at them later.’
‘Nic—’ began Eric, but Nicole interrupted.
‘I know what you’re going to say, but Matron can’t complain if I’m seeing her in my own time.’
‘I’m sorry, Nic, Mrs Baker passed away earlier this morning,’ Eric began gingerly. ‘Doctor Stephens thinks it was probably her heart that gave out.’
Nicole’s face dropped and she bit her bottom lip as Eric held her and kissed the top of her head.
‘I tried to call you but your mobile was turned off.’
‘Was she on her own when she . . .’
‘I think so.’
Nicole shook her head. ‘She’d have hated that.’
Before Eric could reply, Matron appeared and thrust a small brown Jiffy bag into Nicole’s chest. Nicole looked at it – her name was written on the front.
‘She left this for you in her drawer,’ Matron began gruffly, as Eric eyed it up suspiciously, ‘now spare me the tears, nurse, you’ve lost patients before.’
‘Mrs Baker was special to me,’ replied Nicole.
‘They all are. Now go and strip her bed, as you have work to do.’ Matron grabbed a clipboard and began to walk away, but not before Nicole saw red.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Nicole asked angrily. ‘When did you stop caring for people and become such a bitch?’
‘Excuse me,’ a surprised Matron replied, and turned slowly on her heels.
‘You heard me. Why do you feel the necessity to be such a cow all the damn time?’
‘Right, you are on report. In my office – now!’
‘No,’ Nicole replied firmly, and caught sight of Eric’s aghast expression. ‘Fuck you and fuck your job. You win, I’m out of here.’
Both Matron and Eric were speechless as Nicole grabbed her coat, stormed out of the room and out of the hospital.
*
Nicole opened the door of her flat and remained in the doorway, surveying her poky home.
She’d bought most of her furnishings on eBay, at IKEA or in end-of-line sales at Next. And with just a lounge/diner and galley kitchen leading towards a bedroom and bathroom, she hadn’t spent much filling it up. She’d tried hard to make it feel like home, but it didn’t, and it never would. It was a bridge between her past and an undisclosed future, but the thought of spending the rest of her life living alone in that box terrified her.
Matron couldn’t understand Nicole’s logic, but making time to talk and listen to a patient was equally as important as making sure they were clean and medicated. It was the human touch that attracted Nicole to nursing, and the inability to offer that was the reason she’d just quit. But quietly she worried if she’d let her mother’s memory down by making such an irrational, life-changing decision.
However, Mrs Baker had planted a seed in Nicole’s mind that was quietly germinating. She allowed herself to imagine what it must feel like to live for the moment; to wake up and not have your day mapped out in front of you; to go where you pleased; to meet new people from all walks of life and to absorb sights most people only witness in TV documentaries.
It was all just a fantasy, of course, because when Nicole thought about it rationally, she knew she had no savings to do any of that. So she slipped off her coat, closed the door behind her, blew a kiss to a photograph of a bare-chested Zak Stanley stuck to the fridge door and poured herself a glass of wine.
The next two pre-bedtime hours would be filled, as most evenings were, by a mixture of soap operas and reality TV recorded on her digibox.
Little did she know, a forgotten Jiffy bag in her coat pocket would soon alter everything.
TODAY
Quietly in the darkness of the room, Nicole pulled back the Sellotape that held the lid of the cardboard box in place and smiled as the metallic silver urn slipped out. She ran her fingers down its side and checked to make sure the lid was still secure.
‘We’ll find a home for you somewhere soon,’ she whispered.
CHAPTER 36
Four empty mugs sat on the counter of the coffee bar as Tommy and Jake spent their second hour flopped in leather armchairs comparing notes on their travelling experiences.
The walls surrounding them offered a stark warning of what can happen when success and excess collide. They wer
e covered in framed photographs of iconic actors and singers including River Phoenix, Marilyn Monroe, Janis Joplin, John Bonham, Dee Dee Ramone and John Belushi, who’d all descended on LA to find or revel in their fame and fortune but were spat out by the industry – and the world – at too early an age.
‘And you’ve not heard from your mate Sean since then?’ Jake asked.
‘Nope. His mum says he’s met some French girl and they’ve gone to Mexico, but I’ve not heard a thing from him. I keep checking my emails and Facebook but he’s gone off radar.’
‘Do you miss him?’
Tommy thought carefully about the question before he answered. ‘I did at first, but you’re never really alone when you’re backpacking, are you? You’re always meeting people in the same boat at you.’
‘Yeah, you develop these intense relationships, trade life stories, then within a few days, you’ve gone off in your own separate directions.’
‘Exactly! And then your name joins the list of a hundred others CC’d on a round-robin email, or you’re reduced to a photo on Facebook and have to tag your own name because it’s already been forgotten. You sound like you’re an old hand at this.’
‘Well, I’ve been living out of a rucksack for two years so far.’
‘Wow, it’s only been just over seven months for me. So what inspired you to start travelling?’
‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ replied Jake, vaguely. ‘What about you?’
‘Pretty much the same,’ replied Tommy, unwilling to cast a dampener on what had turned out to be a pleasantly spontaneous middle-of-the-night.
EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER – NORTHAMPTON
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Sean stared wide-eyed at Tommy, who stood on his doorstep, dressed in his army green fatigues and with a large green rucksack attached to his back. As far as Sean was aware, his best friend had another fortnight left of his fourteen-week phase-one army training in Winchester before he was allowed to visit home.
‘I’ve quit,’ began Tommy, matter-of-factly.
‘But you signed a contract – doesn’t that mean you’ve gone AWOL?’
Tommy brushed off Sean’s concerns. ‘Can I come in?’
Sean ushered Tommy into the hallway, up the stairs and into his flat. Tommy unstrapped his backpack and it dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. He sank just as heavily into an armchair as Sean turned down the volume of a music channel on his satellite box.
‘Mate, you’re going to be in deep shit if you’ve run away,’ continued Sean, pensively scratching the blonde stubble on his chin.
‘I don’t care, I had to leave.’
‘Why? Were you getting bullied or something?’
‘No, they were a really great bunch of lads, surprisingly, and even the officers are pretty cool once they stop shouting at you. But I just woke up this morning knowing I’d made a massive fucking mistake.’
‘I told you this would happen,’ replied Sean, emphasising the “told you” part of his response.
‘Yeah, well, you were right.’ Sean took no comfort in Tommy’s admission and was more concerned by the ramifications of his friend’s desertion.
‘I’m supposed to give fourteen days’ notice if I want to leave before three months, or my commanding officer can give me permission to leave.’
‘And which one did you get?’
Tommy hung his head and glanced at his boots, still shining despite the seven-hour National Express bus journey and two-mile hike to Sean’s.
‘So you are AWOL, you bloody muppet! They’re going to kill you.’
‘Well let them try,’ said Tommy defiantly. ‘’Cos I’m not going back. One of the last things Lee said to me was to make a decision and go with it and to stop wasting time. I was wasting time in the army and living in that house with my parents. I need to do something with my life.’
‘I told you not to join, mate, I told you. I said you needed to go to counselling after the accident, not go to university and then drop out and then join the armed fucking forces. What you went through . . . . Jesus . . . I don’t even know where I’d begin to learn to live with that. But you are not Daniel and you are not Lee, you’re Tommy. You can’t continue what they started because that’s just not you, and running away and going to a place where they do your thinking for you isn’t going to help.’
Tommy shrugged; when they’d had this conversation months earlier, he’d known Sean was right. But his desperation to win his parents’ approval had blinded him. However, even when he’d left home for basic training, they failed to wave him off or show an ounce of pride like they had for his brothers.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Sean.
‘It’s not what am I going to do, it’s what are we going to do,’ replied Tommy.
Sean grimaced. ‘Am I going to like this?’
‘You might. Do you fancy joining me on an adventure?’ Tommy smiled and hoped his friend would agree. ‘I’ve been reading this book,’ he continued as he pulled out a copy of Alex Garland’s The Beach from his backpack. ‘Have you read it?’
‘No, but I saw the film – Leonardo DiCaprio, yeah? Didn’t turn out too great for him, did it?’
‘Yes but you’re missing the point. Whether he found paradise or hell, at least he was out there looking for something. All we’re doing is killing time here, so let’s go and find our own beach.’
‘What, you want to go on a road trip to find a beach?’
‘Well no, I don’t mean an actual beach, but a metaphorical one. Let’s just pack up our stuff and travel the world. I’ve got some savings and that accident compensation money burning a hole in my bank account, so what could go wrong?’
Plenty, thought Sean. And eventually, he was right.
CHAPTER 37
Savannah dug her false fingernails into the palm of her hands and felt them bend as she waited for the man to reply to her question.
‘Is he in LA?’ she asked, her voice beginning to crack.
‘Who?’ replied the man.
‘My father. He knows I’m in LA and that’s why you’re here.’
‘I have no idea who your father is or if he knows where you are.’
‘Then who sent you?’
‘I’m not the kind of man who can be “sent” anywhere, Savannah,’ laughed the man. ‘My name is Nicholas Van Lien. You may have heard mention of me from some of your work colleagues.’
Savannah nodded, and unclenched her balled fists. Mr Van Lien owned two of the largest gentlemen’s clubs in Los Angeles, where only the cream of the stripping crop were invited to work.
‘I’m opening a new club at the end of the year, in that building just there,’ he continued, pointing towards an empty unit across the road. ‘And I’d like you to be one of my hosts. I have seen how you work, how you interact with your customers, and you’re the kind of pretty young thing who could do well in my employment. Plus there are . . . extracurricular benefits of working for me, as you may also have heard.’
Savannah was aware of how many young actresses had earned their first big break under his wing. Or just under him, period. His discreet clubs and parties in the Hollywood Hills were a honeypot for Hollywood executives who offered bit parts to aspiring starlets in exchange for their one-on-one company.
‘I’m sorry, but no thank you,’ replied Savannah.
‘Compared to what your current employer offers, you’re working for scraps. I can guarantee you a regular salary, plus much, much more.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to, I just can’t.’
‘Might I ask why?’
Savannah hesitated and contemplated telling him the truth. Instead, she chose to remain ambiguous. ‘I have . . . plans . . . so it’s impossible for me to commit to you. Thank you for the offer though, I appreciate it.’
‘Take my card, think about it,’ added Mr Van Lien. ‘Now may I offer you a ride home?’
‘I’m good, thank you,’ replied Savannah. She accepted
his card as the door slid open and she hurried to the sidewalk.
As Mr Van Lien’s SUV pulled away, Savannah steadied herself against the wall and waited until her heartbeat slowed down to its regular pace.
TWO YEARS EARLIER – MONTGOMERY ALABAMA
Reverend Devereaux kept his sweating palms on Savannah’s shoulders as he frog-marched her through the hallway and into the kitchen, where his astonished staff watched, too afraid to intervene.
Tears burned the raw, slapped skin on Savannah’s face as her father pushed her out of the house, across the lawns where the plantations once lay, through the water sprinklers and towards a white-panelled workshop. He yanked opened the door and shoved her inside and, as she grew accustomed the gloom, she gasped when she spotted the whites of Michael’s terrified eyes. He sat with his feet and arms bound together with plastic fasteners around a wooden garden chair; a cut above his right eye bled down his face and into his torn white T-shirt.
‘Michael!’ she whispered, before the Reverend cuffed her around the back of the head. Pastor Jackson and two of her father’s burly security man flanked her boyfriend.
‘You cry for this thing?’ Reverend Devereaux asked her, scarcely believing what he was witnessing. ‘You are actually shedding tears for this thing?’
‘I love him!’ she pleaded.
‘He’s nothing – look at him! A hundred years ago and he’d be castrated and hanging from a tree for what he has done to you.’
‘But he loves me and he is a good man. Please believe me.’
‘He has no prospects, none of his kin do.’
‘He’s not what you think – he’s in medical school, he’s going to be a surgeon.’
‘I don’t care if he’s going to be the first black man on the moon, he is a black man, and black men have no place corrupting good Christian families. So let’s see how the good doctor is going to put his hands to use after I perform my own procedure.’