by Jesse Reiss
Chapter 10
That same Saturday afternoon Paula was in a deep conversation with a customer over a glass counter display in her store when the front door opened with a jingle of the welcoming bell. A small Hispanic boy entered and walked up to the first display counter. He looked nervous and out of place. Paula stopped what she was doing and looked over at him.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a smile, expecting to be asked where the restroom was or if he could “borrow” a dollar.
He glanced at her and said nothing. He had a red baseball cap on backwards and an LA Galaxy shirt that hung near his knees. In his hand was a brown envelope that he placed on the nearest display counter and looked around at the few people in the store. He yelled into the open space, “This for Paula,” and bolted from the store with a clattering of the bells.
Paula and all who witnessed this strange incident looked around surprised. She ran to the door and looked out through the glass window. The small boy was halfway down the block at a dead run, not looking back. She looked over at the counter where the brown envelope lay and picked it up.
“What is it?” Jacqueline asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and inserted her index finger through the sealed flap. She ripped it open and pulled out a folded piece of paper and unfolded it. Slowly she read the following typed in the middle of the page:
“Bring the coin with you to the subway stop at the Sunset/Vermont Metro station at three o’clock sharp. Call the police or come escorted and we kill Angelina. We are serious and stop at nothing.”
Her face went ashen and her hands began to tremble. She looked up at a few puzzled faces. “What’s it say?” Jacqueline asked again.
Paula’s head was spinning. Her own daughter’s life…being threatened? She didn’t know what to do. She had to sit down. “Jacq, can you finish helping Mr. Banks? This is something I need to attend to.”
Without waiting for a reply, she walked over to her office and closed the door. She tightened the blinds and slumped into her chair, staring at the typed note before her, reading it over and over and wanting it to say something else.
◊
Angelina spun around to see where the voice came from, to find herself face to face with a rotund man in a dusty tan suit and a fedora hat.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Thomas Roinner.” He extended a large hand with a smile. “And it is a great pleasure to meet you, Angelina.”
She shook his hand and stared at him. She placed his accent as somewhere from the east coast. He had large facial features and a double chin, but small gentle grey eyes. He looked down at the couple in the pool and smiled at them.
“You watch them often?” Angelina asked, looking down.
“Oh, every now and then, just for fun. You should come back in the evenings. A skinny dipping party almost every night that gets really out of control, especially when Paris shows up.”
“You mean Paris Hilton?”
“Right. That Paris. This used to be Robert Downey Jr’s house, but he sold it to this couple who work as actors over the hill in Silicone Valley.”
“Silicon Valley is near San Francisco, not over the hill,” Angelina corrected him.
“No, I mean Silicone Valley. You know — San Fernando Valley — the capital of porn movie production.”
Angelina felt herself blush. “I hadn’t known it was called that, but make sense.”
“Don’t read me wrong though. I’m a director. I make movies, but haven’t had the chance in some ninety years now.” He sighed and dropped his shoulders. “The whole industry has changed and all I can do is sit and watch it happen.”
“You made porn movies?” Angelina asked in disgust.
“No! In my time it was illegal to show any skin beyond the face and hands and you couldn’t do more than lightly kiss. Even when they did get to add talking in the movies, swearing was illegal. It’s different now. Now you can get away with anything.”
“I wouldn’t regret it if I were you.”
“Why? What isn’t there to love about Hollywood?”
“There is a lot to love and a lot to hate,” Angelina said. “I have yet to meet a celebrity or actor or movie executive — not that I’ve met many — who weren’t involved in some regrettable vice or weren’t depressed or wishing they could lead a normal life out of the publicity glare.”
“Ah, that’s what they tell you,” he said derisively. “There are millions all over the world that envy the fame and fortune. Sports stars, actors, politicians — it’s all for show and glamour. They love it; like I’m sure you’d love to be famous too.”
“I do not want to be famous!” Angelina denied sternly.
“Not just a little fame, Angelina?” he said holding up his thumb and index finger pinched together. “Not just something that people will remember you for or put your name in print or lights as having accomplished something?” He was bending forward and looking at her with one eye squinted, trying to get an admission of something.
“Nothing.”
He shrugged. “Then why do you, Angelina, as pretty as you are, live in Hollywood?”
Angelina couldn’t believe she was getting into an argument about fame with a dead man. “It’s sure not to be famous. I go to school here and my mother runs a jewelry shop. Living here doesn’t always mean you want to be famous.”
He nodded his head, like he knew that already.
“Besides, if you want to be famous,” she added, “you live in Beverly Hills or Malibu, not Hollywood! My mom says this town is like a gilded armpit.” She realized she hadn’t introduced herself, yet he knew her name. “How do you know who I am when I haven’t told you my name?”
“Oh, word gets around that you visit. I’ve watched you grow up in these hills and have been looking forward to meeting you. It isn’t everyday I get to meet someone who can live in both worlds you know! Here in this tree, you are famous!”
“Live in both worlds?”
“You are here talking to me aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly. Then you are in this tree where I ‘died’ nearly ninety years ago and talking to me. I’m very much alive, but not in your world.” A thought seemed to interrupt his sentence and he changed the subject. “Tell me, Angelina, who is your favorite movie star?”
Angelina thought for a moment and shrugged, like it didn’t mean that much to her. “Probably Kate Winslet, though my mom loves Denzel Washington.”
“Good choices,” he said approvingly. “I like Jack Black myself because off the screen he is as much a goofball as he is on it.
“How do you know what he is like in real life? You shouldn’t believe what the tabloids print about these people. It is almost inevitably embellished or twisted or an outright lie.”
“Oh, let me show you!”
He led her off, down a bough and away from the house and the couple in the pool. They walked for a few minutes before approaching the rear of a large house. As they got closer to the house, Angelina saw that there was a house like structure opening up before them, connected like a bird’s nest among the tree’s boughs. Opening a door, Thomas led her into his home. It was a large room, made entirely from oak. On the walls and displayed throughout the place were movie studio artifacts dating through the years. He had signed movie posters, old cameras, director’s chairs, film reels, masks, set lights, clapperboards and a few antique props. The items were displayed with oak trim or sat on oak pedestals or on oak shelves.
Angelina slowly walked around, admiring the artifacts before her.
“How did you get all this here?”
“They’re mostly things I was able to grab from junk left in people’s back yards. The old studios that used to be in Hollywood had oak trees in their back lots and I was able to reach out and get things that way. But now the studios have all moved to Burbank, San Fernando, Glendale and even farther away. Hardly anything left in Hollywood and the ones that are here have torn down any trees so I
can’t even get near them.”
“Did Tyoo-Rut build all this for you?”
“Yes, he did. He talks highly of you. Says you are his granddaughter, you know?”
“Yeah, whatever that means.” She continued wandering around, picking up an old magnesium camera flash unit and inspecting it.
Thomas walked over to a wall and pulled back a curtain revealing an open window looking right into a home theatre with a large screen. “Sandra Bullock’s house. She gets advanced copies of all the major movie releases, weeks or months before they come out and I sit here and enjoy them with her.”
“You spy into Sandra Bullock’s house?” Angelina said in shock.
“Well, not technically spying, just enjoying the movies with her. I used to have full access to my hero, Orson Welles. What a brilliant man. He had an outdoor theatre built behind his house in the Hills and we would sit together and watch the movies as they came out. Oh, the guests he would have over! Made me envious. Sadly he passed in 1980 and I had to move my home and find a new companion. Can’t say I approve of Sandra’s choices — too many rom coms — but it’s the best viewing I’ve been able to find so far.”
“Did Orson know you were watching the movies with him?”
“I don’t think so,” Thomas said with a smile. “Well, maybe he did. I think he suspected it because he would claim his house was haunted. Look up ghost stories in the Hollywood Hills and Griffith Park on your Internet and I could probably give you the details behind a few!” he said with a laugh. “I guess if you look at it, you could say I actually did haunt a few houses!” He threw his head back and laughed loudly again.
“Yeah and I’m sure the tabloids would love to interview you,” Angelina commented.
“Oh yeah. I’m sure they would. I could help the LAPD solve several murder mysteries too. Could tell you where a few bodies are buried in backyards and if I had a camera, could give you evidence of a hundred secret liaisons that would make the front covers scream for years.”
“I don’t think I want to know any of it,” Angelina said, already sick of the subject.
Thomas seated himself in a large director’s foldout chair, the thing creaking under his weight and Angelina thought it would collapse at any moment. He motioned to an oak chair for her to sit, looking at her seriously.
“Let me tell you what I have seen.”
“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Angelina said shirking.
“No, no. Not any sensationalism or conspiracy,” he said shaking his head. “Let me tell you what I see about this place having watched it grow to what it is today. Here’s what’s wrong,” he said holding up a finger, “it has been destroyed by vices, yes that’s true. But there’s more to it than that. I was here when it was a small desert town, dirt roads, a few hotels and some start up movie production companies. I have watched it grow. I have seen the best and the worst. From my viewpoint and in the years of loneliness, I have been able to ponder upon it all. I have become philosophical, you might say.”
Angelina looked at him suspiciously, unsure where this was going.
“You’re wise to want to have nothing to do with the fame and the allure. It’s a deadly addictive drug that destroys lives and I don’t know that there is one that it has directly helped. No one — even the recipient — gains from fame. Even the most famous and celebrated stars have led lives of deep depression, broken families and misery. I have seen right into their homes and there are few exceptions.”
“Yeah, my Mom says celebrity is like a poison,” Angelina added, “it won’t hurt you if you don’t swallow.”
“Exactly! You used to be able to walk into a restaurant in Hollywood and enjoy a meal sitting next to some big movie star who would smile and give you an autograph. Now they close down entire restaurants when they eat out — whenever they do, that is — and when they are sighted in public they are surrounded by bodyguards and the paparazzi are feeding like sharks. You want to see your favorite actor live for a few seconds? You gotta pay tickets to stand in a mob behind security guards at some red carpet premier. What sort of interconnection is that?”
“Never done it and wouldn’t be bothered,” Angelina said.
“Right. Good for you. The big studios and big players are moving out. The studios are taking tax breaks in other states and countries and setting up shop in places as far away as New Zealand, Vancouver and New England. With cell phones, the Internet, cheap flights and all that, it doesn’t really matter where you are. And anyone can gain celebrity status without even leaving his house. Hollywood is just a name and this town is a hollow shell of what it once was. Take for example the Hollywood Christmas Parade — it is a joke. Have you seen it recently?”
Angelina shook her head. She and her mother had skipped the past couple.
“It used to be headlined by all the big stars. There is a great oak tree on Hollywood Boulevard — one of the last ones standing on the street — that I watch it from every year. Now they have trouble getting mediocre TV actors to sit in floats. People still come and watch it, but it is almost meaningless. The big one is the Rose Parade in Pasadena. I’m glad they built a theatre to house the Oscars in with the Kodak, but have you noticed they are having trouble finding anything else to fill the theatre with when the Oscars aren’t happening?”
She shook her head. “I hadn’t noticed, but I guess you’re right. Big mall there and great clothing stores, but not much else.”
He dropped his head in sorrow. “From where I watch in the trees, I’ve seen the most gifted and promising actors, directors and artists bring prostitutes and drugs into their homes and been witness to their lives falling apart. I’ve seen crooked men persuade gullible actors to sign away millions into bogus investment schemes or persuade them to take terrible career choices.” He shot his arms up in disgust and began to gesticulate wildly as he continued his lecture. “Each time I’ve wanted to scream at them from where I watch and warn them, but I can’t make a sound. My voice is unheard. It’s unfair. It’s a ruthless and uncaring world it seems. Hollywood has become a museum surrounded by trash.”
Angelina was nodding her head in agreement. This was the Hollywood story her mother warned her about. This was what she saw in the tabloids and in the news. This was the Hollywood that she saw beneath the glimmer and the lights. This was what she detested. This was what made Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards places that she had nightmares of being out alone on at night.
“But,” Thomas said, lifting his head and putting his hands in the air, “beneath it all there is still the beauty and the creativity that signifies what is actually Hollywood. It is where you will find the most beautiful people on Earth. It is where you will find the most creative, most intelligent and most inspiring people. It is where musicians, painters, writers, sculptors and directors come to hone their craft and make their careers. The movies represent the ultimate in entertainment. This is what I love about Hollywood.” He was shouting now with spittle flying from his mouth. “To hell with that stupid real estate sign on the mountain, with the perfect weather, with the rich houses and with the insincere plastic nonsense that drags tourists by the millions every year.” His voice reached a crescendo and he threw his hands into the air in triumph. “It is about the craft! That’s what I love!”
“Wow!” Angelina said as Thomas sank back into his chair, panting from his exertion. “You truly love this place, don’t you.”
He nodded and began to tear up, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes. “And here I sit watching it all happen. If I could have once chance to do it again, I would stun the world.”
“I’m sure you would,” she said with some sympathy.
“So”, he said looking up and changing the subject, “what will you do with your life, young lady?”
“Not sure yet,” she said, not wanting to sound like a complete bore after hearing all his dreams and aspirations. “When I go to college next year, I’m going to study anthropology, that is the study o
f humankind, its societies and cultures and evolution and stuff.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the subject.”
“Well I’m sure you are, being someone who has watched this place for so many years.”
That started him off again and he sat up, putting his finger in the air. “Here is a wonderful example of how mankind misunderstands its own culture,” he said, into his lecture mode. “In the 1930s and 40s I watched as the world went to war and Los Angeles grew into this great machine that pumped out more supplies, munitions and planes than anywhere else in the world. Even the studios like Disney and MGM produced endless movies and songs to lift the spirits of the soldiers and propagandize the country so it would unite and fight. That war did more to destroy the memories of man’s past and threaten his future. After the war, the world created the United Nations to try to maintain international peace and preserve human culture and as a function, they label and preserve cultural heritage sites around the world.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that,” she said, remembering studying about it in school from her classes in ethnology.
“Right. Nearly nine hundred World Heritage Sites are recognized internationally. But, did you know, of these, there are only seven places recognized in North America and none west of the Rockies! Think of that! And of those seven, four predate the Revolutionary War. Those three remaining sites are Independence Hall in Philadelphia, Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and University of Virginia and France’s Statue of Liberty. Can you believe it!”
“Nothing else in all of America?” Angelina asked surprised.
“That country which has singly reshaped the entire look and destiny of all cultures in the world has only seven places recognized by the UN as cultural heritage sites. As a comparison, Mexico — our neighbor to the south — has twenty-five recognized cultural heritage sites. Now why is that, you wonder?”
“Makes no sense to me,” Angelina said, puzzled.
“Well, the criteria to be recognized by this organization and come under its protection are several things that include representing a masterpiece of human creative genius and bearing a unique or at least exceptional testimony to cultural tradition or to a civilization which is living or which has disappeared.”
“I think there are plenty of things that fall under those categories around here.”
“To us — yes, but to them — no. You see, Los Angeles is viewed in the grand scheme as a fantasy, transient — something evanescent. It is something to find amusing and not to be taken too seriously. We don’t worry about losing it or about it being lost in the passing of time because it is always reinventing itself. Everything is so modern and young and being driven by optimists. We can and are inclined to tear things down and rebuild if it ages or goes out of style. Its river, its museums, unique buildings and tourist attractions are all part of this mirage. It represents to outsiders everything uncultured; everything we have grown to detest about big cities and vast swathes of urbanity; everything places like the United Nations are trying to protect these other so-called ‘worldwide cultural heritage sites’ from. They see Southern California as the place where amusement parks, epic movie sets, freeways, fast food and credit cards were born.” He was back on his feet now, enthralled with the lecture he was giving her. He stepped a couple feet from her face. “Yet I’m sure you would agree with me that here in Southern California there is more culture and more wonders and evidence of human ingenuity and creativity than possibly anywhere else on Earth!” He wiped the spittle from his double chin that had drooled from his mouth, with an embarrassed smile.
Angelina raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly, starting to see this Thomas character must really have been lacking someone to talk to. She realized he could sit here for hours lecturing her. She decided to change the subject. “You gonna stay here forever? Watch this town destroy itself until eventually it is nothing but one big drug snorting brothel?” she slowly asked with mock humor.
“Hell, no! I’ve got to get on with my life — you know what I mean. I mean, not my past life or this life that I’ve been living here in this tree, but onto another life. This tree can’t live forever, you know. It’s got to die one of these days and then I’ll move on and maybe walk the Earth again, like you. I’ll make movies that will make women’s hearts soar and men cry. Movies that will engage, enrage and enthuse!”
Angelina smiled and nodded. She stood up to conclude the conversation.
“I hope you are able to achieve those things Mr. Roinner. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Thank you, beautiful Angelina. It has been a most wonderful experience to share the past and my home with you.”
“I should be getting back now and I don’t think it would be wise to go into Sandra’s backyard, if you know what I mean?”
“Well, I shouldn’t think you would be able to get down there anyway. As I understand, there is only one tree which has the gift and allowed you entry.”
“Oh?”
Thomas stepped his large bulk over to her and reached for the acorn on her necklace, feeling its smooth glass texture between his fingers. “This has more significance than you realize. It seems that the oak — the oldest living Angel in the entire City of Angels — may have chosen you for something special.”