by Stone, Jean
On this trip to L.A. Alissa would have to work quickly. She’d have to close in on Zoe and get her to commit to come.
And … she’d finally get to see Jay.
She wrapped a silk shirt in tissue paper. As she carefully folded the fabric, she wondered why the threads of her life had never been woven so smoothly. It seemed she was always trying. Trying for bigger, trying for better, probably trying too hard.
She lay the shirt inside the suitcase and wished she could pack her negative thoughts away so neatly. “Nothing’s going to happen to your father,” she told Natalie. “Besides, you have Dr. Stern’s phone number.”
“Mom, are you forgetting I’m the one who found him before? Do you really want me to go through that again?”
“I told you, your father is fine. Dolores and Howard will be here. And Michele.”
“Big deal. Two crotchety old people who can’t get out of their own way and a sister who’s too busy playing bride games to be bothered with her father.”
“Natalie …”
“How long will you be gone?”
If I’m lucky, forever, Alissa wanted to say. If I’m lucky, Jay will sweep me into his arms and take me away to far-off, romantic places, and this time I won’t come back. Unless, of course, Zoe agreed to the gala. “I don’t know,” she answered. “A few days.”
“Are you going to leave a phone number?”
“So you can bother me every time your father sneezes? I don’t think so.”
“Mom. Get serious. What if something happens?”
If something happens, I don’t want to know. She tossed in another satin and lace nightgown. She wondered if Natalie noticed. “All right. I’ll give you a phone number. But only for a real emergency. Got that?” She took out her small notebook and jotted Zoe’s number on a pad beside her bed. “Your father’s napping now. Tell him I said good-bye, then ring for Howard to get me to the airport.”
Natalie eyed her mother, then her mother’s suitcase. “Do it yourself,” she said, and left the room.
The Los Angeles headquarters of World Press International wasn’t nearly as impressive as the name implied. Alissa stood in the middle of a large room and looked around. Tables that ran along one wall were smothered by piles of newspapers scattered every which way; on the opposite wall was a row of computers, only three of which were being used by intense, bespectacled, horrendously dressed young people. The only other time Alissa had had this kind of up-close-and-personal view of a press office was years ago at Stockwell Media Group, but the only discernible differences now were the flickering computer screens in place of thumping typewriter keys and the clear air instead of a permanent cloud of thick gray smoke. The employees still had the same left-wing look, only they were younger. Young enough to be her kids. Her anxiety over being there eased until she suddenly remembered that these were Jay’s co-workers. This was his life.
She checked the string of clocks on the wall and searched for the one with L.A. time: it was after two o’clock; she hoped he wasn’t out to lunch. She played with the guard chain on her gold bracelet and wondered what she had expected. Had she thought Jay would be sitting there, waiting for her reemergence after twenty-four years? Had she expected he’d have somehow guessed that she was coming?
One of the bespectacled young men finally stopped typing and acknowledged Alissa.
She stared at him a moment, as though she’d forgotten why she was there. Then she said, “I’d like to see Jay Stockwell. Has he returned from abroad?” Abroad? She couldn’t believe she’d used that word. Did anyone say that anymore?
“Yeah,” the young man answered. “He’s back, but he’s not here. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She questioned him as though he were lying to her.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” The young man turned back to his computer and resumed his typing.
“Excuse me,” Alissa said loudly.
He stopped and looked back at her.
“What time tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “You never know with Jay. Maybe nine o’clock. Maybe three. You want to leave a message?”
Alissa looked around the room once again. Maybe nine o’clock. Maybe three. She was reminded of Jay’s free spirit. Once it had made her crazy with lust. Then it had simply made her crazy.
“No,” she said. “No message.”
Outside again, she sat in the rented Mercedes and considered her next move. She couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow. Could she? She took out the notes Danny had given her. Jay’s home address was there: 730 Mesa Linda Drive. Did she dare?
She started the car. Yes, she dared. Alissa Page would always dare when it was something she wanted badly. And she’d never wanted anything as badly as this. She fumbled through the papers the rental agency had included in the car. Stapled to a location guide to the homes of the stars was a street map of the city. She checked it; she found Mesa Linda Drive. She wheeled out of the parking lot and headed in that direction.
Fifteen minutes later Alissa stopped in front of 730 Mesa Linda Drive. She stared at the house. It was a sad little ranch, beige stucco in need of a paint job with a faded red-tile roof. It was nearly identical to number 728 on one side and 732 on the other. There were a couple of palm trees in what must have been considered the front yard. Underneath a carport sat a dark-green Chevy Blazer.
Of course he wouldn’t live in a decent place, Alissa reminded herself. He’s never here. He’s single, and he’s never here.
Still, it was pretty tacky. She’d have hoped that over the years Jay had developed more taste than this. But he was a man. Alone. She wondered how much taste Robert would have if it weren’t for her.
Robert? Why the hell was she thinking of that faggot husband of hers now?
She shook her head and grasped the steering wheel.
She should get out of the car.
She should go up to the front door.
She should ring the bell.
What was stopping her?
Her heart started banging against the walls of her chest.
It wasn’t as though she were afraid. What the hell should she be afraid of? She could tell him she was in L.A. on business. She could tell him … what? That by some fluke she just happened to find out he lived there? That she just happened to know where he worked?
“Hi,” she could say. “Remember me? I know I left you twenty-four years ago, but I’ve decided to give you another chance.”
There were drapes at a large picture window. The living room, probably. The drapes were closed. Was he in there sleeping? Maybe he had jet lag. Or maybe he was fucking someone.
God, she thought, I hope it’s a female.
She sat, intently, and stared at the drapes, half waiting for them to move. She didn’t see the front door open until the movement of a man on the steps distracted her. Alissa caught her breath. It must be him, she thought. My God, it must be him.
With the lightning reaction of a thief caught in the act, her trembling hand threw the shift into gear, and she sped off down the street.
The house was fairly impressive: not bad for a backwoods girl from Montana or Minnesota or wherever the hell Zoe was from. As Alissa climbed the winding stone path that appeared to lead to the front door, she suddenly remembered the news stories. She shuddered. They’d said Zoe’s husband had killed himself at home. Here. The house she was about to enter. Regardless of their differences, Alissa truly hoped that Robert would never do something so gruesome. And if he did, she hoped to God he wouldn’t do it at home. She would absolutely, positively, have to move.
She stepped up to the door and rang the bell. She hadn’t bothered to call ahead: hell, in a place this size someone must be around. Cooks, maids, gardeners, someone. She wondered if Zoe had got the movie deal, if she’d managed to keep off the weight. She wondered if Zoe would agree to the gala, and she wondered why in the hell she’d let herself get so wrapped up in the plans that she hadn’t stayed in touch. At least called Zoe once.
At least acted as though she really cared.
Zoe opened the door.
“Hi, stranger,” Alissa said.
Zoe stepped back in surprise. “Alissa! My God, I was just talking about you. What are you doing here? Oh, come in. Come in.”
Alissa went into the huge stone foyer. It was light and airy and didn’t at all seem like a house where someone had died such a short time ago. Not a bad place to be a recluse. “So you were talking about me. Only in the best terms, I’m sure.”
Zoe laughed. “Of course. I had breakfast with Meg before I left New York this morning.”
“Meg as in Cooper? What were you doing in New York? And how on earth did you and Meg manage without me?”
“Come on into the family room,” Zoe said. “Gosh, what a surprise.” She led Alissa past a string of suitcases in the hall.
As Alissa settled onto one of the three sofas, she quickly surveyed the room. Nice. California casual, but nice, nonetheless. Even the gauche old movie posters seemed to look good in there. “So you didn’t expect it to be me at your door?”
“Hardly!” Zoe brushed back her thick black curls. Her smile radiated.
“You look terrific,” Alissa said, and meant it. The Golden Key Spa had come out victorious once again. Zoe would be a huge hit at the gala.
“Thanks. But it’s really hard to keep the weight down. You look wonderful, too. But what brings you here?”
Alissa smiled. “You mean you don’t believe I’ve come out to L.A. solely to see you?”
“Something tells me that drop-in visits from over two thousand miles away aren’t exactly your style.”
“Well, you’re right,” Alissa said. She wanted to light a cigarette but remembered that Zoe didn’t smoke. No one did anymore. She played with the fringe on the giant pillow beside her. It was too soon to talk about the gala. She didn’t want Zoe to think she was using her. “I’ve come to meet him.”
Zoe’s dark eyes widened. “Jay Stockwell? He’s here? In L.A.?”
“In the flesh.”
“My God. You haven’t seen him yet?”
“I tried. He won’t be in his office until tomorrow.” There was no way Alissa was going to tell Zoe about sitting in front of Jay’s house, stalking the property as though she were some kind of low-life Danny Gordon. There was no way she was going to tell her she thought she had already seen Jay. From a distance.
“Well. Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet.” Hadn’t thought about it? Of course she had. Alissa had planned to stay with Zoe. If not Jay. “I’ll run back into town when I leave here and get a room at the Wilshire or somewhere.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll stay right here.”
Alissa smiled. It amazed her that Zoe had ever made it to the big time. She was too open, too nice. Not the way successful people tended to be. But, then, Hollywood and the film industry were different from the real world and, Alissa suspected, played by their own set of rules.
“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Alissa said, “but, you know, maybe it would be easier … if you have the space.…”
“Space? This place has eight bedrooms and six baths. My friend Marisol has gone to a crafts show in Monterey for a few days, and my son is …” She paused and looked away from Alissa. “Out of town.”
“Perfect,” Alissa said. “Actually, I did leave your number with my family in case of emergency.”
“Good. Now, tell me, how did you find Jay?”
Alissa nodded as she kicked off her heels and pulled her feet underneath her on the sofa. She was beginning to feel curiously comfortable there. “Not until you tell me what you were doing in New York with Meg.”
Zoe laughed. “I wasn’t exactly with Meg. But I saw her a few times. I went there to shoot the movie.”
“The movie? You got the part? I knew you would.” So Zoe was on her way back to stardom. And Alissa would reap the benefits. She tried not to smile too broadly. “How did it go?”
Zoe waved a hand in the air. “Okay. Fine. Now tell me how you found Jay.”
Alissa sighed with a smile, filling her lungs with girlish excitement, suddenly eager to share her news. “I didn’t find him. Meg’s friend Danny did.”
“Oh, yes. Danny Gordon.” Again Zoe looked away.
Alissa thought she could see Zoe’s eyes glaze over. Christ, she thought, did Danny get to her, too? She watched as Zoe stretched her feet in front of her and examined her shoeless toes.
“Are you sure you’re ready to meet Jay?” Zoe asked.
“Of course I’m ready. I’ve been ready since we made the decision in April.”
“It may not go as you hoped. I think you should be prepared.”
The caution in Zoe’s voice told Alissa something had happened, something had gone wrong. Alissa wanted to sound concerned and then realized that she was. “Did something go wrong?”
Zoe shuffled her feet back and forth across the alpaca rug. “I saw Eric. I talked with him.”
“And?”
“And I’m only telling you to be prepared. People change. Or maybe it’s that they’re not as you remember them.”
Well, Alissa thought, life can certainly be a bitch. First Zoe’s husband blew himself away, then the one guy she’d probably figured still loved her blew her off. Again, apparently. But that was Zoe. And Alissa was Alissa. She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you, Zoe. But it won’t be that way with Jay and me. I know it won’t. Jay Stockwell isn’t like Eric at all.”
Zoe suggested they get Chinese take-out for dinner. Alissa loathed Chinese food.
“It’s hard for me to go out in public and try to enjoy a meal,” Zoe explained. “Too many people recognize me since I lost weight and look like a star again.” She laughed. “So it’s your own fault, Alissa. If you hadn’t forced me to diet, we could go to Chasen’s for a delectable dinner.”
“Never mind,” Alissa conceded, “Chinese will be fine.” She couldn’t imagine sitting in a restaurant where other patrons would be whispering and pointing not at her, but at the woman with her. It would be a humiliating experience, not unlike being the scrawny twelve-year-old wallflower all dressed up for the cotillion her aunt had made her attend, where Alissa had spent the night shrouded in embarrassment, her eyes glued to the older, glamorous debs, the girls everyone was making such an all-fired fuss over. All eyes would be on Zoe at the gala too, of course, but that was different. On her own turf Alissa would be well-known.
Their dinner was delivered in white cardboard containers that made everything taste like paper. Salted paper. They sat at the kitchen table, though there was a perfectly lovely dining room that appeared never to be used.
Throughout the ghastly meal Zoe chattered about the film and New York and how she couldn’t understand how anyone, let alone level-headed Meg, could stand to live in that dirty, noisy city. “It does have its advantages—the ultimate in theater and unmatchable concert halls,” she went on, “even though Meg doesn’t seem to take advantage of them.”
Alissa didn’t much care. She barely listened. She was too busy thinking of the gala, thinking of Jay. Would he really be her escort? She had decided not to mention the gala to Zoe that evening, not wanting to rush it. There would be plenty of time later. She poked at the questionable innards of a steamed dumpling and finally saw an opportunity to interrupt. “I’d like to use your phone to make a call tonight,” she said.
“Of course,” Zoe said. “There’s one in your room.”
“I’m going to call Jay.”
Zoe took a forkful of something wet and stringy looking that Alissa had declined. “Oh,” she said, then quickly changed the subject. “Shall I make tea?”
Alissa set down her fork. “Look, Zoe, I’m sorry if things haven’t worked out for you and Eric. But I’ve waited a long time and I’ve come a long way to see Jay. Please don’t spoil it for me.”
“I’m sorry,” Zoe said. “I just don�
�t want to see you get hurt.”
Wow, Alissa thought, things with the old Minnesota Viking must have really exploded in Zoe’s face. But Alissa and Jay were different. They had loved each other. Really loved each other.
Alissa got up from the table. “I think I’ll make that call now. I’ll have tea after.” She walked down the wing toward her room and realized Zoe hadn’t wished her luck.
But once in her room, Alissa wondered if she really did have the courage to go through with her plans. She told herself that Jay wouldn’t be home: after all, hadn’t she seen him leave the house earlier? She told herself it would be better to talk with him in person, to have him see how good she still looked: wouldn’t that serve as justification for all the pain and suffering she’d undergone with her nips and tucks?
But the truth, Alissa knew, was that if she went to his office, she was afraid he would snub her, make her feel like a fool in front of those left-wing young people, make her feel as if she were someone who didn’t matter.
She sat at the built-in desk in the guest room and picked up the receiver. Then, slowly, she punched in the numbers, telling herself that everything would be fine, because Jay wouldn’t be home anyway.
“Hello?” a male voice answered.
She froze.
“Hello? Anybody there?”
It was Jay. She’d know his voice anywhere, anytime, anytime from twenty-four years ago, anytime from now.
“Jay?” The word came out in a whisper.
“Who?”
Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe she had a wrong number.
“Jay?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Who’s this?”
How could it be that she recognized his voice, but he didn’t recognize hers? Didn’t he ever think about her? Did he even remember her?
She cleared her throat. “Jay, this is Alissa.”
There was silence a moment, then, “Alissa?”
“Yes, Jay,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “Alissa.”
“Hey,” he said, “well, God. What a surprise.”
Alissa laughed. “A blast from the past, huh?”
“God, I can’t believe it’s you. Where are you?”
“I’m in L.A. I thought we could get together.”