Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  They picked up their pace and Jack raised his arm again. “Okay, c’mon, people, show a little restraint, for Chrissake,” he said. “This is a funeral, remember?”

  At the car, Adam and Alyssa got in the backseat. They had decided it would look better for Carter to drive them to the funeral, and Adam certainly was in no condition to drive back. He wondered if Carter was.

  As he got behind the wheel of Adam’s convertible, Carter asked Jack, “What were they talking about back there?”

  “The reporters?” Jack asked. “Who knows? I doubt they know.”

  As Carter started the car, Jack wished Adam well, gave him a standing invitation to drop by.

  Carter glanced repeatedly at Adam’s reflection in the rearview mirror with troubled eyes. “Think we should take Alyssa home now?” he asked.

  He knew Carter was just as eager as he to talk, figure out what the reporters had been going on about. That would be impossible as long as Alyssa was with them.

  “Trying to get rid of me?” she asked with a playful smile.

  “Oh, no!” Adam said. “It’s just that—”

  “Hey, look, you don’t have to explain anything to me, okay? I understand. I want to do whatever’s best for you. If you want me to stay with you every second I will. If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll do that, too.” She leaned close and whispered, “Even though I’d rather stay with you every second.” Adam started to speak, but she continued. “I know this is a tough time for you, no matter how you felt about him. It couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to do, and I’m so proud of you. But I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never dealt with death before. I’m afraid if I try too hard I’ll smother you and you’ll get sick of me, but if I leave you alone, I’m afraid...this will just end. You know? Fade away.”

  “If I had my way, Alyssa, you’d move in with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. But this would be a bad time. I’ve got a lot of...family things to take care of.”

  “I know.”

  He pushed the words out fast, wanted to make sure she knew he was not just making excuses, brushing her off. “The house has been full of attorneys ever since this happened, and I don’t think the siege is over. I’m not saying I don’t want to see you, because I do, I want to see you often and...and naked, but I don’t know when all this is going to—”

  Alyssa shut him up with a kiss. “You had me at ‘naked.’”

  A moment later, Adam leaned forward to tell Carter to head for the bookstore. But they were already halfway there.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Adam’s first test of nerves after Money Shot went up in flames had been a visit from a Coast Guard investigator. A tall, muscular, stern black man named Hammond came to the house to ask Adam some questions. They went to the dining room, where Mrs. Yu brought them coffee.

  “Why weren’t you on the yacht with the others?” Hammond asked.

  “My girlfriend had to work, so I stayed here to be with her.”

  “Did your father have any enemies? Was he feuding with anyone? Business associates? Family?”

  “A lot of people don’t like him. Didn’t, I mean. In his business, that just comes with the territory.”

  “Relatives?”

  “He has family in Spokane. Grandpa died a few years ago, but Grandma is still alive. Last I heard, anyway. I think she’s in a rest home. And he has a sister there, too. But they haven’t spoken in years. I only met them once, when I was a kid.”

  It went on for about fifteen minutes. When Hammond was finished, he gave Adam his card and condolences and left abruptly.

  Is that it? Adam had wondered. Is that all I have to deal with? If so, he figured he had nothing to worry about. But, of course, there was more.

  Next, a uniformed officer from the Marina del Rey Police Department, Officer Miguel Ruiz, had come to the house to ask questions of his own. Medium height, average build, very nondescript. He apologized for having to question Adam at such a bad time, but said it was unavoidable. Once again, they talked at the dining room table. Officer Ruiz turned down coffee in favor of tea, and Mrs. Yu provided a tray of shortbread cookies.

  “How long did your father have that yacht?”

  “Two years at the most. He buys a new one every few years.”

  “How long has he been doing that?”

  “As long as I can remember.”

  As they talked. Officer Ruiz ate one shortbread cookie after another, sometimes speaking with a bite of cookie creating a lump in his cheek. “Any other boats?”

  “A fishing boat.”

  “What kind?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I’m not into fishing, and I never went with him.”

  “Did you ever go out on the yacht?”

  “I used to. Every Fourth of July. But I stopped after my mom died.”

  “Was your father an experienced boater?”

  “He’s been doing it for a long time.”

  “But was he...no offense, but was he any good?”

  “He thought he was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Dad was...sometimes he was more willing than able.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Once, Donald Sutherland went fishing with him. Dad made a bet that he could make better trout almandine. I don’t know why. Far as I know, Dad had never made anything besides toast, and I think Sutherland’s a pretty good cook. But he was determined to prove he could make a better trout almandine.”

  “What happened?”

  “He burned up the kitchen and most of the dining room.”

  Officer Ruiz repeated Hammond’s question about possible enemies. Adam repeated his answer.

  “What about his wife?” Officer Ruiz asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  “Gwen?” He frowned. “I can’t imagine Gwen having any enemies. Everybody liked her.”

  “Any old boyfriends? Ex-husbands?”

  “Her husband was killed in a house fire recently. That’s why Rain was living with us.”

  “Is it possible she was having an affair?”

  Adam shrugged. “Possible, I guess. But I don’t think so.”

  “What about your dad? Could he have been seeing someone?”

  “That’s more likely. But he wasn’t as far as I know.”

  “More likely? Was he ever unfaithful in the past?”

  “With Gwen, I don’t know.” Adam remembered his parents arguing about a woman when he was nine or ten years old. And again a couple years later. He didn’t know if his dad had been unfaithful, but it seemed likely.

  “What about Rain?”

  “I didn’t know her very well. She ran with a pretty rough crowd.”

  “Was she into drugs?”

  “She drank a lot. And she was always high on pot.”

  “Did you meet any of her friends?”

  “Not personally, no. But Gwen was always telling her to stay away from them. I don’t think it did any good.”

  “Do you know the names of any of her friends?”

  If the police looked too closely at Rain’s friends, they might discover Monty had been killed during the liquor store robbery. If they decided to look at the security video, they would see that Adam had been there for the robbery as well.

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “If she mentioned any names, I don’t remember them.”

  “You mentioned your mother. I’m curious. How did she die?”

  “An accident. She went out on the fishing boat with Dad and...drowned while swimming.”

  “Were you there?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Adam shook his head. “Just the two of them.”

  “Tell me, Adam, what do you think happened on that boat Saturday? Do you have an opinion? A guess?”

  Adam bowed his head for a moment. “I wish I knew. But I have no idea.”

  Officer Ruiz nod
ded, closed his notebook. Popped another cookie into his mouth.

  “Do you guys know yet?” Adam asked. “What happened on the yacht, I mean?”

  “Not exactly. It looks like nothing more than an accident, but we don’t know all the specifics yet. We’ve got experts looking over the remains of the yacht. Divers looking for more. They’ll figure it all out.”

  Adam was surprised by how calm he had remained during both interviews. He’d feared he would be a nervous wreck, but had sailed through them with unexpected ease. He had believed every answer he had given, had not allowed his mind to wander beyond the questions being asked. And he had pulled it off.

  Of course, marijuana had helped. He had been riding a buzz since the barbecue at Carter’s house on Friday night. Without it, Adam knew he would be unable to function socially. He was in a permanent state of nerve-ripping suspense until the phone call came from the Coast Guard. After that, Adam’s tension still didn’t ease. He waited for a knock at the door. An unsmiling cop, handcuffs ready, to read him his rights.

  When reporters started showing up at the house, Adam packed a few things, drove his convertible over to Carter’s late one night, parked it in back, and stayed there until the funeral on the following Friday. Rog had delayed the service until divers had rounded up all the pieces they were able to find.

  Adam temporarily moved into the unoccupied bedroom across the hall from Carter’s, which served as a catch-all for junk Carter had collected over the years. During that week, Alyssa spent every spare moment with him. Devin pampered him like a sick child. Even Carter’s dad hovered over him like a mother hen, and personally turned away reporters at the door and on the telephone, saying Adam was not there.

  Brett spent a good deal of time with them, too. Her face soured during her first visit to Carter’s studio. She walked along the shelves looking disgusted, but at the same time smirking. Alyssa, on the other hand, was delighted by Carter’s creations and had to touch everything, laughing and squealing like an delightedly disgusted little girl.

  “Carter, you’re a genius,” Alyssa said. “And an artist! You’re an artist and a genius!”

  “Artists and geniuses are sometimes very disturbed,” Brett said.

  “Oh, you’re so Dr. Laura, Brett,” Alyssa said with a dismissive wave.

  A few minutes later, Alyssa tapped Brett on the shoulder from behind. When Brett turned around, Alyssa screamed and held Carter’s severed head in front of Brett’s face by a handful of its hair. Her scream was shrill, piercing, the scream of a fifties B-movie queen fleeing a giant bug.

  “Holy shit!” Carter barked as he dropped the back issues of Fangoria he was stacking on a shelf.

  Adam flinched, but not only from Alyssa’s scream. For just an instant—arm outstretched, bloody-necked head dangling by the hair from her fist, Alyssa’s eyes impossibly wide, screaming mouth stretched into a too-large, toothy grin—she looked like someone else. Something else. A chill settled over Adam’s shoulders and the skin on the back of his neck shriveled.

  Her scream dissolved into an insane cackle.

  Brett jumped back and bumped a shelf. “Are you PMSing, or what?”

  “Hey, it scared you!” Carter said. He smiled with satisfaction.

  “It didn’t scare me,” Brett insisted. “Her stupid scream startled me, is all.”

  Still smiling, Carter said, “The head scared you or you wouldn’t have jumped back.”

  “It did not scare me.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did so.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did so.”

  During that week, an odd relationship developed between Carter and Brett.

  “She hates me,” Carter had said to Adam Tuesday morning in the studio. Just the two of them.

  “Has she said she hates you?”

  “Nobody comes right out and says, ‘I hate you.’ It’s the little things she says, the way she behaves.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Carter. I can’t very well ask Alyssa to tell her best friend to stay home.”

  “She thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Carter, we all think there’s something wrong with you, that doesn’t mean we hate you.”

  Adam was joking, but Carter looked a little hurt.

  “I’m kidding,” Adam quickly said.

  Carter relaxed, but still looked unhappy. “It’s true. She thinks there’s something wrong with me because of what I do.” He waved vaguely at the shelves.

  “You know how most people are.”

  “I thought she’d be different because she’s Alyssa’s friend.

  Adam smiled, chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” Carter asked.

  “You know what your problem is?”

  “You’re gonna tell me, right?”

  “You want her to like you.”

  “Bite my ass.”

  Adam’s smile grew. “Yeah, I think that’s it. You’ve got wood for her, don’t you?”

  “She hates animals, Adam. Dogs, cats, all animals. How could I like a girl like that?”

  “I can think of two reasons right off the top of my head.”

  Carter’s defenses crumbled quickly. “Yeah. Is her chest well hung, or what? They’re incredible.” After a moment, he shook his head. “But she hates me.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Carter, close mouth and engage brain! Do you think she’d be hanging around with us so much if she hated you?”

  “That’s just because she’s Alyssa’s friend, and Alyssa hangs around with us because of you.”

  “Okay, whatever you say. But if you were smart, you’d warm up to her. Get to know her. Put a little effort into it, you lazy bastard.”

  Over the next few days, Adam had noticed Carter first talking to Brett more, trying to engage her in conversation. Then the two of them began to wander off together when Adam and Alyssa were talking quietly to one another. On Thursday night, Adam found them making out on the old paint-spattered leather sofa in the studio. Carter had not brought it up, so Adam said nothing.

  Sunny called Alyssa in to work at the bookstore only when she had no other choice, and even then for no more than an hour or two at a time. Adam had driven her to the store early Wednesday afternoon. Mitch’s car had broken down while on a buying trip, and Sunny had to teach her pottery class at the Knowledge Pond. Adam had to meet with some of the attorneys that afternoon, and was dreading it. He dropped Alyssa off and was about to drive away to go back home when he heard Sunny calling him. She rushed to the convertible and handed him a platter covered with aluminum foil. Told him how sorry she was about his loss, got a little sniffly as she hugged him.

  “That’s for you, from Mitch and me,” she said, as Adam set the platter on the seat next to him. “I hope it can make the pain a little more tolerable.”

  Adam had no doubt it would. At home, he’d removed the foil to find a pile of large chocolate-chip cookies. Another sheet of foil separated them from a mound of brownies. All of them had been made with ingredients from what Sunny called “Mitch’s herb garden.”

  At night, Adam and Alyssa slept in the room he had commandeered. They slept eventually, anyway. But Adam did not look forward to that sleep. Each night, his nightmares grew worse. He had been able to keep them to himself until the night before the funeral.

  He remembered only fragments of the nightmares. Sometimes his dad came to him, sometimes Gwen or Rain. Their naked, fish-eaten bodies dragged ropes of seaweed and intestines as they shuffled toward him, creatures from an episode of Tales From the Crypt. Empty eye sockets, teeth falling out of their fish-eaten grins. But they were never angry, always smiling, sometimes laughing. And they always told him, without ever speaking out loud, that they were waiting for him. That they would be witnesses to his execution, and would be waiting to greet him on the other side.

  Sometimes, they were accompanied by police officers who pointed their firearms at Adam and
screamed repeatedly, “On the ground! Hands behind your back!”

  The worst was a nightmare in which Rain lay sprawled on her own casket, torn body in pieces, connected by the finest threads of muscle, flesh, or slime. Masturbating with a dead fish. The fish became a handgun. Rain fired the fish inside herself.

  He had awakened from that one with a shout, sweaty in the cool darkness of early morning. Alyssa had nearly fallen out of bed with fright, but quickly recovered and asked what was wrong. He’d been unable to tell her. It was too revealing, too risky. He had let her hold him instead, the side of his face resting against her warm breast. Spent the rest of the morning listening to Alyssa’s heart beat, unable to go back to sleep with the funeral looming over the coming day.

  Compared to his nightmares, though, reality was anticlimactic. There were no mangled, grinning corpses. No screaming police officers with guns drawn. Only eager reporters asking questions about bombs and murders. And the relentless ghosts of his own guilt haunting his sleep.

  * * *

  On the way back from the funeral, after dropping Alyssa off, Adam and Carter listened to the news on the radio. The service at the Church of the Good Shepherd came up a few times, although the real story seemed to be the celebrities who attended rather than the people being buried. There was no mention of the explosion being intentional, and the words “murder” and “bomb” were not used. But the newscaster did say, “A police investigation is underway.”

  “They were just fishing,” Adam said. “If they had something, it’d be all over the radio.”

  “They were just hoping, you mean,” Carter said as his shoulders slumped with relief.

  At Carter’s house, they entered through the back door. Devin was seated at the kitchen table, talking on the phone. He wrapped up the conversation as soon as he saw them.

  “Adam, I’m really sorry for not going to the funeral with you,” Devin said, standing.

  “You know I understand, Devin. Don’t worry about it.”

  It was the third time Devin had apologized. On the few occasions Devin and Mr. Brandis and Michael Julian had been together, Michael had been, as usual, less than civil. He had thought he was being funny, of course, when he’d made ugly remarks about Devin’s dress and asked if he was wearing a cup under there. Mr. Brandis was in New York, but even if he had been home, Adam was sure he would not have attended the funeral, either. And Adam would have understood that as well.