by Susan Lewis
In the end, without thinking, or even planning what she would say, she tried to call Tom, but he was no longer in his room. She sat staring at the phone, then before she knew why she had dialled again and was asking to be put through to Ellen. But Ellen wasn’t there either.
‘Do you know where she is?’ she asked Maggie.
‘Sure. She went up to Vic Warren’s place,’ Maggie answered. ‘She was due to meet Tom there at two, so you should get her if you try in a few minutes.’
Sandy suddenly felt very strange inside. It was as though a fog was dropping over her, filling her with noise and tensing her with fear. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled to Maggie and put down the phone.
Her hands were trembling as she searched for Vic’s number. She couldn’t push through to the end of a thought. She felt panicked, then numbed, then horribly afraid. She couldn’t say what she was afraid of, all she knew was that it was as though she were on the verge of doing something over which she had no control. She had lost connection with herself, had somehow cut loose from the normal constraints of behaviour and was being sucked into a compulsion she didn’t understand.
She couldn’t find Vic’s number. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, nor would her mind. Questions came at her, but no answers. Did she want to stop Ellen doing this? Did she want to confess to Tom what she had done? She gave a strangled sort of laugh. Was this what it was to develop a conscience?
Getting up she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It sent a shock to her senses that helped calm her. She took a breath, let it out slowly, then took another.
It was several minutes before she realized what she must do, and as it reached her the sense of rightness that came with it flooded into her heart like a golden light. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and felt her eyes fill with tears as a small, lonely smile curved her mouth. Then going back into the room she called down to the concierge and ordered a hotel car to take her to Vic Warren’s house.
It didn’t take long to get there, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, though it felt like an eternity. Every light was red, the world’s slowest drivers were on the same route. Just past Michael’s and Ellen’s house the road was up, causing another wait that seemed to go on for ever. But she was sure they’d still be there, certain she would catch them and do what she must.
In the end she instructed her driver to ignore the red light and go on. A few minutes later they rounded a bend and the ornate, black-gated entrance to Vic Warren’s house came into view. Sandy braced herself, and tried again to work out how she was going to do this. She wondered what they would think when they saw her, what she would do if she came upon them in a romantic embrace. But that wasn’t going to happen, for when she looked up ahead she saw, with a sinking heart, that Tom’s rental car was driving away in the distance. And her car was still too far back to be noticed when Ellen’s came sweeping out of the gates onto Mulholland Drive and turned right along the highway, heading after Tom.
Ellen was in the passenger seat, allowing Kris to drive while she tried to collect her thoughts and redirect them towards the shareholders’ meeting, due to begin in under an hour. But it was hard thinking about anything else after the scene she’d just had with Tom, when he’d told her his plans for the future and what provisions he had made for the baby, should it turn out to be his.
Of course she’d told him straight away that it wasn’t, but that hadn’t proved anywhere near as easy as it should have, for it was only then that she’d realized he might actually have hoped that it was. She suspected that he hadn’t realized it either, for the terrible disappointment that had come into his eyes was something she was sure he wouldn’t have wanted her to see, had he known there was a chance he might respond that way. He’d covered it quickly with a typical, rueful kind of humour, but it had been so awful seeing him hurt like that that she had ended up making matters a thousand times worse by trying to hug him. His response had been as awkward as his embarrassment, which of course had embarrassed her too, and now she desperately wished she’d had the foresight, and the heart, to have handled it all with much more sensitivity and understanding. If she had, she might then have taken more time to talk to him about his plans, and to tell him how sorry she was he’d ever had to know there was a doubt over who the father was.
But it was too late now, and with the shareholders’ meeting looming there probably wouldn’t have been the time to talk much anyhow.
Remembering she’d promised to call Michael to tell him when she was on her way back, she was about to struggle past the baby to reach for the phone when she suddenly became aware of the way Kris was repeatedly glancing in the rear-view mirror. Her heart jumped, then her blood started to run cold as she noticed too how tightly his hands were gripping the wheel. ‘What is it?’ she said, glancing back over her shoulder. ‘Is someone tailing us?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he answered. His tanned, rugged face was taut with concentration, his steely eyes flicked between mirror and road.
Ellen pulled down her visor and angled it so that she too could see behind. At first there was nothing, then a long black Mercedes appeared from around the bend and she felt a horrible heat spread through her body. ‘This town is full of Mercedes,’ she said, stating a truth that was as much to comfort herself as to try taking the edge off his tension.
‘Sure,’ he responded, noticing a smaller, saloon car coming up behind the limo.
They continued along the narrow twisting road that crested the Santa Monica mountains, catching glimpses of the Westside to the left, of the San Fernando Valley to the right. They raced past the flowery hedgerows and million-dollar homes, speeding up, slowing down and checking all the time on the car behind. By now Ellen’s heart was thudding a loud, rapid beat, as she wondered what had happened to all the other traffic.
‘Why don’t we slow up and let him pass?’ she suggested.
‘That wouldn’t be wise,’ he answered, expertly righting the wheel after taking a bend too fast.
She looked back at the mirror, then stifled a scream as they suddenly swerved to the other side of the road.
‘What is it?’ she cried, grabbing the dash. ‘What happened?’
‘I think we lost a tyre,’ he answered, struggling to regain control.
Suddenly the rear window smashed. She screamed and grabbed the wheel as they mounted the right bank and bounced off a barrier. ‘Kris!’ she yelled. ‘What are you doing? For God’s sake! Oh my God, no!’ she cried, as he slumped lifelessly against her, blood spilling from the back of his head.
She fought frantically with the wheel, trying to keep the car on the road as it rocked from side to side and veered madly towards grassy banks and gates. Then the Mercedes was alongside her, forcing her over, pressing her closer and closer to the sheer drops that opened up between properties and parkland.
Adrenalin was rushing through her. Kris’s foot was jammed on the gas. She looked at the Mercedes. Its passenger window was lowered. She saw the gun, then the face behind it. The world whizzed crazily by. She screamed, and spun the wheel. Sparks flew from the car as it scraped a wall. She turned the wheel again, then a searing pain tore through her chest and her eyes bulged in a split second of terror before the car slammed into a boulder, flipped to its side and flew wildly across the road, where it struck the bank, rolled onto its roof and skidded towards the cliff edge. It stopped only inches away, wheels still madly spinning, horn sounding as glass tumbled from its frames onto the grass. The Mercedes stopped, started to back up, then, spotting another car approaching from behind, the driver hit the gas and they disappeared fast.
It was dead on three thirty when Michael walked into the conference room with Maggie. Mark Bergin, the Australian partner, and Ted Forgon were already there, seated at one end of the long table looking like Hollywood’s answer to hags at a hanging. Chris Ruskin had gone to make a quick call to New York. As yet there was no sign of Sandy, or Ellen.
Michael set down his files and spoke quietly to
Maggie, telling her to try Ellen’s mobile again. He’d just heard from Chambers, who was already back at the Four Seasons, so he knew their meeting was over though he hadn’t asked how it had gone. Nor had he asked what time they’d finished, or he might have been considerably more concerned than he was. He guessed she’d got caught up in traffic, and was annoyed that she hadn’t bothered to call, or to turn on her phone. Still, she’d probably come rushing in any minute, hopefully with Sandy hard on her heels.
As Maggie left she passed Chris Ruskin in the doorway. He was a man of middling height, with a round face, grey curly hair and a dapper way of dressing. Normally his eyes glimmered with humour, but today the burden he was bearing had dimmed their light. Michael knew that after their meeting this morning he had gone on to another with Forgon and Bergin, and as this was the first time Michael had seen him since, apart from passing him briefly just now, Michael still had no idea which way he intended to vote. Looking at him now, it didn’t seem like he did either – or maybe the way he was avoiding Michael’s eyes was telling Michael all he didn’t want to know.
Michael glanced at his watch, then sat down halfway along the table. Ruskin walked round the lower end of the table and took a seat facing him. Forgon and Bergin paused in their conversation, watched Ruskin sit down, then went back to whatever they were scheming.
Michael ignored them, and opened a file. Tucked just inside were all the documents he needed, which included several copies of the company’s terms and conditions, and the notarized certificate showing that Ellen now owned twelve per cent of World Wide. Of necessity this bombshell needed to be first on the agenda. He wondered how Forgon was going to take it, and hoped to God, for several reasons, that when its full implication was realized it didn’t bring on another coronary. But that wasn’t likely, for the grim reality was whichever way the vote went Forgon was going to come out a winner, either because he’d managed to keep the movie rolling, or because, if he failed in that, he was going to get the satisfaction of seeing Michael’s life in ruins.
Looking up from his paperwork, Michael gazed past Chris Ruskin and out the window to the upper storeys of the opposite building. He couldn’t deny there was a part of him that wanted the vote to go Forgon’s way, he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t, for then he would be absolved of responsibility for what was happening in Colombia by knowing that he had done what he could to stop it. And if he believed that he would believe Forgon had morals, for he knew already that in the event that he did lose, he would take the case to Vic Warren and the actors and appeal to them to stop anyway. Contractually, that would cause no end of problems, and no doubt end up making everyone’s lawyers even richer than they already were, but it was either that or sit back, put up his hands and say, ‘Hey, I tried.’ But that kind of cop-out never had been an option, for as remote from his life as those poor, wretched kids seemed, there wasn’t a single shred of his conscience that would allow him to ignore them.
He glanced at his watch again and was getting to his feet to go and see if Maggie had reached Ellen when he happened to catch Chris Ruskin’s eye. It seemed Ruskin had been waiting, and Michael felt a jolt go through him as, almost imperceptibly, Ruskin gave him a nod.
Michael’s expression said nothing as he turned away from the table and started out of the room.
‘Hey, when are we going to get this show on the road?’ Forgon called after him. ‘Where’s Randy Sandy, she’s late.’
Inwardly Michael cringed at his coarseness. ‘She’ll be here,’ he answered.
Forgon chuckled. He was a hundred per cent certain that take-care-of-herself-Sandy was going to vote his way.
After learning that there was still no sign of Ellen – or Sandy – Michael returned to the conference room and announced that they would get started, as the opening items on the agenda were ones Sandy was already familiar with.
‘Ellen will also be joining the meeting when she gets here,’ he told them.
Forgon immediately looked hostile, though he didn’t actually protest, as she was one of the exec. producers after all.
Satisfied that Forgon wasn’t going to speak, Michael opened the file in front of him and passed around copies of the document that showed Ellen to be a twelve per cent shareholder.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ Forgon demanded.
‘What it says it is,’ Michael responded.
‘So you gave her twelve per cent,’ Forgon sneered. ‘Are we supposed to be impressed?’
‘No,’ Michael answered, and passed around more photocopied documents. ‘I gave her twenty-eight per cent,’ he said. ‘Now you’re supposed to be impressed.’
‘You gave her all your stock!’ Forgon was clearly struggling to see where this was going.
Michael suppressed a smile. This was a move he had taken that morning in order to avoid a complication that even Sandy had managed to overlook – that according to the terms and conditions of the company there could never be an even number of shareholders. So now Ellen held forty per cent of the company, ten per cent more than Forgon.
Forgon’s face was swelling. ‘So where did this other twelve come from?’ he wanted to know.
‘From Sandy,’ Michael replied.
He could almost hear the commotion going on in Forgon’s head as he tried to figure out what it all meant. If he had thirty per cent, Mark Bergin had ten and Sandy now had nine … His eyes flew to Ruskin. His was still the deciding vote. Then suddenly he remembered the clause about having to inform the majority shareholder before any share transaction took place. He couldn’t have looked more smug as he cited it.
This time Michael went with the smile, and was on the point of handing over the relevant pages of the company contract when the door opened behind him. Assuming it was Ellen or Sandy, or both, and knowing that they would want to be party to this moment, he paused.
‘Michael,’ Maggie said softly.
Surprised, Michael turned round. Maggie’s face was chalk white and she appeared to be shaking.
Michael suddenly felt very strange. Ellen was late. There had been no call.
‘Sandy’s on the phone,’ Maggie said. ‘I think you should come and talk to her.’ Sandy on the phone?
Confused, Michael got to his feet. He could hear his heart pounding, and his limbs felt oddly light as he followed Maggie back to his office. Why was Sandy calling? Why wasn’t she here? And why did Maggie look so awful? As he walked into the office Maggie’s assistants looked up at him. They were deathly pale too.
‘She’s on your private line,’ Maggie told him.
Michael went through and picked up the phone. ‘Sandy?’ he said. ‘Where are you? Why aren’t you here?’ Then by way of a joke, as though to prevent what his subconscious already knew was coming, he said, ‘We’re just getting to the good bit.’
‘Michael listen to me,’ Sandy said, her voice choked with emotion. ‘I’m at the hospital. It’s Ellen.’
The fear hit him like a physical blow. His hand squeezed the phone so hard it would have hurt had he been capable of feeling it. ‘What about her?’ he said, hardly hearing himself speak.
Sandy was hesitant, as though trying to collect enough breath to continue. ‘Something happened,’ she said. ‘Up on Mulholland. Her car went off the road.’
Horrible images flashed through his head. He couldn’t get past the terror. ‘Where is she now?’ he managed.
‘They brought her here, to Cedars Sinai,’ Sandy answered, then she started to break down. ‘She’s in the operating room … The doctor just told me … I had to get hold of you fast … He said … he said, there may not be much time.’
Abandoning his car, Michael ran in through the Emergency Room doors and looked around.
Sandy was waiting. She ran towards him and took his hands as he tried to go by.
‘Where is she?’ he said.
‘They’re still operating.’
The smallest flicker of relief. She was still alive. He looked down at Sandy. There was mascara
all over her face. Her skin was almost transparent.
‘One of the doctors is going to come and talk to you,’ she told him. ‘We just need to let him know you’re here.’
Michael waited where he was. Sandy went to the desk to inform the nurse he’d arrived. The nurse glanced his way, then after saying something to Sandy she disappeared through a set of automatic doors with opaque windows.
Sandy came back and they went to sit down. There was no-one else around. Michael felt himself suddenly swamped by despair, but moved quickly past it, knowing that he had to brace himself now for whatever the surgeon might tell him.
‘There’s something you should know,’ Sandy said quietly. ‘Kris is dead. He was shot while he was driving the car.’
Michael’s eyes closed as his chest filled up with horrible emotion.
‘I saw most of it,’ Sandy said.
She waited to see if he wanted to hear more, but it was hard to get a sense of where his mind was. ‘I was two cars behind,’ she began, ready to stop in a moment. ‘It looked as though Ellen tried to take the wheel. The car was going all over the place. I couldn’t see who was in the Mercedes …’ She stopped, swallowed and dabbed her eyes. ‘The road is so twisty. So many bends.’ She could feel herself being transported back to the scene, being gripped again by that horrendous impotence and terror.
She glanced up at Michael. He was still staring ahead.
‘I didn’t see the car go over,’ she said. ‘When we came round the corner it was already on its roof. Whoever was in the Mercedes must have seen us …’
‘Us?’ Michael said.
‘I was in a hotel taxi,’ she explained. ‘The driver got on to the police as soon as he realized what was happening. That was even before the crash, so everyone arrived quite quickly after it happened.’
She wanted to say more, to tell him how horrible and terrifying it had been. How she had rushed up to Ellen’s car and was dragged back at the last minute by her driver. If she’d touched it, it could have gone over. So she had to wait, sobbing and praying there on the grass next to Ellen, who was all twisted up in her seat-belt, head pressed against the roof of the car, face turned so that Sandy could see it. There was a thin line of blood coming from her mouth, what seemed like an ocean dripping from her chest. Sandy hadn’t known whether she was alive or dead.