Shooting Hollywood

by Melodie Johnson Howe

  “You call prostituting your daughter sophistication?”

  Her thin body tensed. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. I suggest that you never repeat that lie to anyone else.”

  In our world it’s usually the lie that becomes the truth. That’s because we don’t call it a lie. We call it hype. And hype in our world is morality-free. But I had to give Monique credit at how quickly and brazenly she had turned the truth into a lie. That’s just pure power.

  “I guess I’ll be looking for another agent,” I said.

  “Good luck.” She didn’t mean it. She slammed the door on her way out.

  I sat down in the blue slipper chair and faced the mirror. Well, I just blew another connection. I gave my reflection a congratulatory smile. There was some wine left in the bottle, but no glass. I took a drink and stared at the gown.

  So Kyra didn’t wear it. She had defied her mother. Maybe there was hope, I thought, as I watched a pink ruffle edging the hem of the gown change color. I peered closer. It turned a deeper pink. Then it turned red. The red color grew darker and began to glisten as it oozed free of the hem forming a small rivulet of blood on the blue wool carpet. I lifted up the skirt. Jimmy Whitelaw was curled into a fetal position. Blood matted the front of his expensive white shirt. His once cocky eyes were now a cloudy blue. I let the skirt flutter back down over him. Maybe Kyra had more than defied her mother.

  Had I just experienced a sense of hope? What had it felt like? I couldn’t remember.

  I walked out of the bedroom and out the front door of the house. I asked the valet if he had my car.

  “Oh, sorry. What kind was it?’

  “Old green Jag.”

  He disappeared in the darkness quickly returning with it. I drove away.

  I stopped at the Ralph’s Market in Hollywood to pick up some milk and coffee. I needed them. But I needed to do something normal and mundane even more. I had just witnessed a mother selling off her daughter. I had just discovered the dead body of Jimmy Whitelaw. And what did I do? Leave the party. Oh, Diana.

  My hands shook as I ground my mocha java beans. I recognized an actress that I had recently met. We had both been up for a dog food commercial. Neither one of us had got it. I attempted a smile but it wasn’t in me. And she looked as if I had discovered her doing something she shouldn’t have been doing. As if being alone in a market at night picking up a few normal, mundane things to keep her sad lonely life together wasn’t something I should see. Avoiding me, she ducked down another aisle.

  I paid the cashier and walked back to my car. As I put the grocery bag in the back seat I noticed my trunk was ajar. I opened it and looked in. Nothing but a flat spare tire and a pink barrette. I picked up the barrette. It was the same one Monique had fastened in her daughter’s hair.

  I ran through the parking lot out to the sidewalk. As I looked up the street the lights of the oncoming cars momentarily blinded me. Then I saw Kyra. She was sitting on a bus bench wearing a wool cap pulled low. There was no mistaking her up-turned nose and pointed chin. I sat down next to her.

  “Go away, Diana. I’m not going home.”

  “You forgot your barrette. What if I hadn’t stopped here but drove all the way to Malibu? What would you have done?”

  “Hitched my way up the coast. He tried to rape me. I’m not a virgin but that doesn’t mean I have to allow myself to be raped. Even for my mother. He had his arm on my throat and every time I lifted my head I choked. I felt the gun in his pocket. I didn’t even think. I just took it and shot. I hated him. I hate my mother.”

  Tears glistened on her cheeks. I tried to put my arm around.

  She stiffened at my touch. “I just stood there waiting for people to run up to my bedroom because of the noise the gun made, but nobody did. I guess that fake rap band my mother hired was too loud. I couldn’t look at Jimmy’s body. I put that stupid gown over him. Then I got dressed and went downstairs and wandered through the party. I really didn’t know that many people. Except that they were famous. I saw you talking to a man. You looked happy, Diana. Everyone looked like they were having a good time. Then I walked down our driveway until I saw your car. I tried the trunk, it was open, and I got in.” She snuffed back more tears.

  “Come with me and tell the police that.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll have to tell them that mother set the whole thing up. I can’t to that.”

  “Why? I was there. I’ll vouch for you.”

  “Will you really, Diana?” Teenage sarcasm and distrust riddled her voice.

  “You can trust me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  We watched the cars race past us. When the light changed red the cars screeched to a stop inches from one another as if jockeying for a minute piece of space kept them all in the unnamed race.

  “You said you used his gun. What did you do with it?” I asked.

  She gazed at the nylon duffle bag on her lap. “I need it for protection.”

  “Jimmy can’t hurt you anymore. At least let me take the gun.”

  “No!” She edged away from me. “How often do the buses come by?” she asked, nervously. “I’ve never taken one.” She griped a twenty-dollar bill in her hand.

  “I took buses when I was a teenager. Kyra, I don’t think bus drivers make change anymore.”

  “He will for me.” For a moment she sounded like her mother.

  “But they don’t carry change.”

  “When you took the bus as a teenager where were you going?”

  “I had a job in downtown L.A. I was a fitter’s model.”

  “Then you knew where you were going.”

  “Let’s say I had a destination. Kyra please let me take you home. Whatever your mother may have done, she wants to know you’re okay.”

  “Then tell her I’m okay. Also tell her I have a gun.”

  “Why do you want me to tell her that?”

  She peered at me in the shadowy light. “How can you be old and so naive?”

  A bus pulled up: its airbrakes made a loud swooshing sound. Its interior was lit up like an all night Denny’s Restaurant. We watched the working poor and the illegal aliens straggle off.

  “Good-bye, Diana.”

  I grabbed her arm. She wrenched away and leaped up the steps of the bus. The door clamped shut. It pulled out into traffic. I could see her standing, swaying, talking to the driver. I was sure he would pull over and make her get off. But he didn’t. Then she was talking to a passenger who began to make change for her. Just like her mother, she could talk anybody into anything. It was then I realized I hadn’t got the destination of the bus or its number.

  Two hours later I was drinking a glass of wine on the rotting wood balcony of my Malibu teardown. Next-door Ryan Johns’ house, separated by a narrow path from mine, towered in wealth and importance. I heard Ryan staggering up the steps to his stone balcony.

  Swaying he grabbed the newel post and yelled at me, “You’re a bitter lonely woman, Diana Poole.”

  “And you’re a drunken hack,” I yelled back.

  This had somehow become our usual greeting.

  “Why do you hate me?” he asked.

  Ryan Johns was a man who would betray his friends for connections. A man who stayed sober long enough to write what the movie stars and the money people wanted him to write. Then he’d hit the bottle, turning his self-loathing into drunken charm. Did I say betray his friends for his connections? Had I betrayed Kyra? If I had gone to help her sooner maybe I could have prevented Whitelaw’s death and kept a young girl from destroying her life.

  “I don’t hate you, Ryan.”

  I went into the house and closed the sliding glass door. I stared at my husband’s two Oscars on the fireplace mantle. He had won them for BEST SCREENWRITER on two different movies. They were the only tangible evidence of his life that he had left me besides this house I could no longer afford. We had lived too well, never thinking of the future, or of death. I should wrap them in newspape
r and put them in a box, I thought. It was time. And then I felt that deep ache for the need of his arms around me. The doorbell rang.

  I answered it. It was Detective Heath. His attitude was causal and threatening at the same time. His charming smile had disappeared.

  “According to Monique Lancer you were the last person she saw in Kyra’s bedroom. That is except for when she discovered Jimmy Whitelaw’s body.”

  “Would you like to come in?”

  He followed me into the living room.

  “I take it by your composed reaction to my news that you knew Whitelaw was dead. Did you know Kyra is missing, too?”

  “Yes and yes.” I sat on the sofa. He remained standing, legs apart, hands jammed into his pant pockets.

  “But I’m calm only because a certain about of time has passed.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to upset you. Though I could get technical and say you left a murder scene.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “It depends on what you tell me.”

  I described how I had discovered Whitelaw’s body and then he asked:

  “So where is Kyra?”

  “I’m getting to that. On my way home from the party…”

  “This is after discovering Whitelaw’s body?”

  “Yes. I stopped at Ralph’s market in Hollywood. I bought milk and coffee.”

  “You always do grocery shopping after discovering a dead body? What’s with you people?”

  “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

  “Go on.”

  I told him how I had found my trunk open, the barrette, and then Kyra on the bus bench.

  “What bus was she taking?”

  “I didn’t get the number or the destination.”

  “She could be anywhere. I’d like to think that you didn’t help her.”

  “If she had taken a chance on me I probably would have. But she didn’t. She thought I depended on her mother.”

  “For what?”

  “Any small parts she could toss my way.”

  “How did you know to look under the evening gown?”

  “I saw the blood seeping through the fabric. I lifted the hem and there he was. I put it back down and got in my car.”

  “With Kyra in the trunk.”

  “Except I didn’t know she was in my trunk.”

  “Monique Lancer said that Jimmy Whitelaw went up to her daughter’s room to escort her down to the party.”

  “That’s not true. I was there. Monique wanted Kyra to have sex with him. Monique thought that would get him to take her on as his agent.”

  “By pimping her daughter? What is it with you people?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked that. Do you really expect an answer?”

  He looked at me for a long a moment then said, “Someday, but not now.”

  “By the way, Monique will deny what I just told you. And there’s something else. Kyra told me Whitelaw got rough with her. That it was really a rape. From what little I know of him I believe her story.”

  “Whitelaw was shot.”

  “I know.”

  “Kyra confessed to you, didn’t she?”

  I nodded. Tears ran down my cheeks. He awkwardly and briskly reached into his pocket and handed me his handkerchief. It smelled of Shalimar.

  “Who wears Shalimar?”

  “Third ex-wife. Where did Kyra get the gun?”

  “She said Jimmy had it in his pocket.”

  “We can’t find it. Does Kyra have it?”

  His dark eyes burrowed into me. I was afraid if the police knew she was armed they’d hurt her.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “For an actress you’re not a very good liar. What time was it when she got on the bus?”

  “I’m not sure. I left the party around eight thirty. Between 9:30 and ten. I’m only guessing.”

  He reached in his pocket for his cell phone. When he made his connection he snapped out orders to check the bus schedules for the time and the area. Then he added that Kyra might be armed.

  “I didn’t say she had a gun.”

  “I didn’t either. Why didn’t you phone the police after she got on the bus?”

  “There was a moment at the party. I was standing on the stairs and watched Whitelaw go into Krya’s room. I didn’t do anything to stop it. Her mother and I should be held accountable. Not Kyra.” My tears started again.

  He slipped the phone back in his pocket. “Doesn’t work that way.”

  He stood in front of the Oscars.

  “Did you win these?”

  “My husband was Colin Hudson. They’re his.”

  “You were married to Colin Hudson? God, he was a great writer. The Paddy Chayevsky of our time. How long ago did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “A little over a year. You want to pick one up, don’t you?” I said.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  “Heavy.” He weighed the Oscar in his hands and grinned sheepishly. “I suppose everybody says that”

  “Take it.”

  “What?”

  “Take it home with you.”

  “Is this some kind of bribe?”

  “I’m trying to let go. Besides I thought it might help with your writer’s block. Or maybe understand what kind of people we are.”

  “You’re trying to let go of your husband?”

  “I think it’s about time.”

  “Well if I were you I wouldn’t start with giving away his Oscars. I’d do something a little more practical.”

  “Such as?”

  “Find another man.” He looked quickly away from me and returned the statuette to its place on the mantel. “Here’s my card. It has my cell phone number on it. If Kyra calls you, or you remember anything else I want you to call me. Understand?”

  “Yes. Here’s your handkerchief.”

  “Keep it.”

  “No thanks. I hate the smell of Shalimar.”

  “So do I. It’s suffocating.” He threw it into the fireplace. “See how easy it is to let go?”

  “You must know. Three ex-wives.”

  I placed his card on my nightstand. I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

  At two in the morning the phone jarred me out of my sleep.

  “Diana?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Kyra.”

  I sat up pulling the covers around me. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m going to do the only thing I can. The only thing that will really hurt my mother.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What I should have done. You’ll be reading about it.”

  “Where are you, Kyra? Please let me help you.”

  She hung up.

  I thought of calling Monique. To warn her. But of what? I didn’t believe Kyra would physically harm her mother. I got up and put on jeans and a sweater, and made myself coffee. At four-thirty the phone rang again. It was Monique.

  “I’m in my car on the way to your house. Kyra called. She wants me to pick her up. She wants you to be there too.”

  “Where?”

  “Near the restaurant at Paradise Cove. I’ll be at your house in about twenty minutes.” She hung up. Like a true agent she didn’t wait for my answer.

  I called Leo Heath. He answered groggily.

  “If I tell you something about Kyra you have to promise me you won’t show up with an army of cops.”

  He agreed and I told him that Monique and I were going to pick her up. I didn’t trust him enough to tell him that Kyra had told me she wanted to hurt her mother.

  “I’ll follow you there,” he said. “Monique doesn’t have to know.”

  “But she’s going to be here soon.”

  “I’m just down the street from you.”

  “You live in this area?”

  “No. I’m sleeping in my car. My third wife tossed me out yesterday. I haven’t had time to find a place.”r />
  “Are you watching my house?”

  “Now how can I do that when I’ve been asleep?”

  Monique picked me up and we drove up the coast. Paradise Cove wasn’t far from where I lived.

  “How did Kyra get to the cove?” I asked.

  “Hitchhiked from Santa Monica.”

  “I wonder why she didn’t get dropped off at my house?”

  “Maybe she thought you’d call the police.”

  I tried not to turn around and see if Heath was behind us; but since I didn’t know what kind of car he drove I wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked her.

  “Our lawyer said I’m to take her to him. He would arrange with the police to bring her in. What have I done, Diana?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I just thought that if she’d given herself to all those creeps why couldn’t she give herself to someone who could help us? I don’t know where the boundaries are anymore. Where the lines are drawn. It just seemed that nothing meant anything to her. So why would Jimmy?”

  “Kyra called me.”

  “When?”

  “Around two this morning?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she wanted to hurt you.”

  “What does that mean?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know. What did she say to you when she called you to pick her up?”

  “Nothing. Just that she wanted to turn herself in.”

  “When I talked to her earlier she implied she had the gun to protect her against you.”

  “Does she truly believe I would physically harm her? Oh, God Diana what have I done?”

  We drove in silence. There was a heavy wet mist and we seemed to be the only people on the Pacific Coast Highway.

  “She has a gun, Diana. I’m scared of my own daughter.”

  “But you said she wanted me to come along. She’s not going to harm you if I’m there. Kyra is not a cold-blooded killer.”

  Tears showed on Monique’s face. They looked out of place. I remembered Kyra’s tears as we sat on the bus bench.

  “Did you ever want to be a mother, Diana?”

  “I was more interested in being loved myself.”

  “By Colin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was more interested in my career. But I thought I could have it all. Women always get screwed.”