Bright Shiny Morning

by James Frey

  He pulls behind the back of the store pulls up to a gate that leads to VIP parking in a small garage beneath the store. A guard comes out Amberton rolls down his window the guard motions into a camera mounted above the gate and the gate rises. Amberton pulls in, parks, gets out of his car.

  He walks towards a secure door it’s about fifteen feet away. By the time he reaches the door, it is open and a store representative, an extremely attractive woman in her early thirties, is waiting for him. She smiles, speaks.

  Hello, Mr. Parker. Nice to see you again.

  He smiles, speaks in his public voice.

  Hello, Veronica.

  What can we help you with today?

  He steps into the store, the door closes behind him. He’s in a small private waiting room, there are couches and chairs, tasteful prints on the walls, flowers. He speaks.

  I have a big meeting tomorrow and want to get a new suit for it. A perfect suit.

  I assume you’d like to do this privately?

  Yes.

  Do you have a particular person you would like to work with?

  You’re my favorite, Veronica, if you’re available.

  Of course I am, Mr. Parker.

  They step into a private elevator it takes them up they step into a small hallway decorated in a manner similar to the waiting room. They walk down the hall, which is lined with doors. Veronica stops in front of one of the doors, opens it with a security card they step into a medium-sized room with a large suede sofa, two matching chairs, a glass table covered with fashion magazines. There is a small refrigerator in a corner two crystal drinking glasses and a basket of fruit sit on top of it. There is an empty clothing rack. A door that leads to a dressing room. A full-length mirror.

  Amberton sits on the couch Veronica sits in one of the chairs. They talk about what he’s looking for he tells her a beautiful perfect suit. She asks him about brand he doesn’t care he just wants beautiful and perfect. She asks about budget he says there isn’t one. She asks when he needs it he says tomorrow morning.

  She stands tells him she’ll be back in a few minutes with some selections for him she asks him if he needs anything he says no. She leaves. He picks up one of the fashion magazines flips through it he’s better-looking than all of the men, Casey is better-looking than all of the women, he puts it down. He picks up another one. Same thing. Another one, same thing.

  He wonders what his life would be like if he wasn’t so good-looking. He would probably be a world-renowned professor at a prestigious eastern university. Or maybe an English university.

  There’s a knock at the door Amberton says come in. Veronica opens the door there are two assistants with her both holding dark suits in each arm there is a tailor standing behind them. They enter the room Amberton stands smiles he’s excited, excited. He starts looking at the suits most of them are Italian a couple English runs his hands along their materials hand-brushed worsted, vicuna, lightweight gabardine, none of them costs less than five thousand dollars. He tries a couple of them on, he looks carefully at how they hang on his body, how their colors enhance his skin. He likes two but can’t decide between them, one is black, one gray, they’re both made of vicuna (the fabric of a rare Peruvian llama). He decides to buy both of them he’ll decide which to wear in the morning.

  The tailor takes measurements marks the adjustments rushes from the room to get to work. Amberton thanks Veronica and her assistants she tells him they’ll deliver the suits later this evening he says thank you.

  He generously tips everyone. He leaves, drives back to Bel-Air traffic on Sunset is bad so it takes forty minutes. He doesn’t mind the traffic, he listens to love songs and he dreams, love songs and dreams.

  He pulls up to his gate the paparazzi are still there the gate closes behind him he parks the car goes inside. He has dinner with Casey and the kids. They have fresh grouper and Asian vegetables. The nannies put the kids to bed and Amberton and Casey watch a film in their screening room. The film is a new drama starring two of their friends (though they don’t actually like them). It’s about a doctor and a photographer who fall in love while working in a third-world war zone. Just after they consummate their relationship during a mortar attack, the doctor (the woman) contracts a rare disease and dies. The photographer publishes a book of photos documenting her work and wins a Pulitzer. Shortly thereafter, he returns to the war zone and also dies. It’s a heartbreaking film that makes both of them cry. When it’s over they both sit and stare at the screen and talk about how depressed they are that they didn’t do the film (it was offered to them first, but the money wasn’t right). They kiss each other goodnight (on the cheek) and go to their respective wings of the house.

  At some point while they were watching the film, Amberton’s suits were delivered. They are in hanging bags on his bed. He takes them out runs his hands along them, very nice, extremely nice. He tries each of them on, they fit him perfectly, he spends thirty minutes looking at himself in each of them looking at himself from a multitude of angles, he can’t decide which one to wear. He hangs them in the closet. He runs his hands along them one more time. Very nice, extremely nice.

  He gets into bed can’t sleep. He turns on a sixty-inch plasma TV mounted on the far wall, puts in a DVD of highlights from Kevin’s football career that he bought off the Internet. He watches Kevin running, throwing, scoring touchdowns, giving locker-room interviews, sets the DVD so it will loop, watches it over and over again. He lies sideways on his bed so he can watch it as he falls asleep (he can’t, for some reason, sleep on his back), he wants Kevin to be the last image in his mind when he drifts away, he drifts away.

  He wakes and the DVD is still playing. He smiles what a wonderful way to start a day, a new day, a fine Los Angeles day, the sun is streaming through the windows it’s a day that promises to be terrific.

  He gets out of bed and brushes his teeth. He checks his closet the suits are still there. He walks downstairs Casey and the children are in the backyard with the nannies. He eats breakfast kiwis, tangelos, granola and pomegranate juice. He goes outside what a beautiful day. He plays hide-and-seek with the kids and he always hides behind the same tree and they always find him and when they do they laugh laugh laugh. After an hour, it’s time for him to get ready.

  He takes a shower soaps shampoos conditions. He shaves, puts lotion on his skin, a dab of cologne on his neck, he uses his signature scent, it’s called—Ahhh, Amberton—and it’s a huge seller in Korea and Japan. He goes to the closet and looks at the suits and touches them both. He knows he’s going to a wear a periwinkle shirt, he puts the shirt on and tries each of the jackets with it, he stands in light he thinks will approximate the light of the agency conference room.

  The black radiates strength. The gray has a certain sophistication to it, and works beautifully with the periwinkle. The black denotes power and virility. The gray is indicative of a man with a heart and feelings. The black makes his body look angular, the gray makes him look lithe. He debates the merits of each in his mind black or gray he flips a coin and black wins. Amberton likes to think of himself as one who runs against the wind, so he decides on the gray. When he’s dressed he looks in the mirror and he’s pleased, more than pleased he’s overwhelmed. He takes a deep breath and inhales his scent, or, as he likes to call it, his musk, and he thinks—Ahhh, Amberton.

  He walks out to the entrance of his house there is a car waiting for him, a black Mercedes limousine, the driver is holding the back door open for him. He slips inside leans back against the soft leather, it’s cool, clean. The driver closes the door, and as he walks to the driver’s door, Amberton leans forward and opens a small cabinet, where there is a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket. He picks up the bottle and removes the cork and as he pours himself a glass, the driver sits behind the wheel. He turns and speaks.

  Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.

  Hi.

  Are you comfortable, sir?

  I am.

  Do you need anything?


  I’m great, thank you.

  We are going to the agency, sir.

  In a jiffy.

  If you need anything, sir, please let me know.

  The driver turns back around, a black glass partition rises. Amberton takes a sip of the champagne, it’s perfectly chilled, sweet with a mature taste that hints of spring daffodil and summer cherry.

  The drive is quick and easy. Amberton sips and savors the champagne, and runs a variety of strategies and scenarios through his head. Should he be warm and gracious, humorous and high-energy, distant and serious, cold and clinical? He tries to decide how he’ll greet Kevin, will he shake his hand, if he does will he use both hands and cover the first with the second, should he kiss him on the cheek (No No No No No)? Once they’re sitting at the conference table (there are usually four or five agents in the room with him), should he look at him, acknowledge him, pay special attention to him, completely ignore him? He decides to play it by ear, improvise, trust his instincts. He sips his champagne, he turns up the air-conditioning.

  They pull into the agency’s private garage. Amberton steps out and walks towards the door. His primary agent, whose name is Gordon, and who is also the CEO of the agency, is waiting for him with two of his assistants (he has six). Gordon is tall and handsome, his black hair is slicked back like a banker, he wears a perfect black suit (it might even be nicer than Amberton’s, which Amberton briefly considers, but dismisses).

  He is incredibly smart, incredibly savvy, incredibly smooth, incredibly successful, and incredibly rich. Many people consider him the most powerful person in Hollywood, though that is not something he would ever say, and when asked about it, he laughs and changes the subject.

  Unlike many agents, he truly cares for the well-being of his clients, and he works incredibly hard to further and protect their careers. He is the one person, aside from his wife, that Amberton trusts and with whom he shares most of his secrets. Gordon smiles, speaks.

  Amberton.

  Amberton does the same.

  Gordon.

  Nice suit.

  Thank you. You too.

  Thank you. It’s vicuna.

  So’s mine.

  They both laugh, shake hands.

  How are Casey and the kids?

  They’re well.

  We’ve got some exciting things for you today.

  I’m sure you do.

  They turn into the agency. The assistants follow three steps behind them.

  They walk along a wide, white, art-lined hallway, step into a private elevator (the assistants take the stairs). They step out of the elevator and walk through another wide, white, art-lined hallway, at the end of the hallway they walk through a set of double glass doors. They step into a large conference room. The room is long, wide, three walls are white, the other glass. There is a large, polished ebony conference table in the middle of the room, black leather Eames chairs are arranged around it. A matching ebony cabinet sits along the long wall, on the top of one end of the cabinet there are bottles of French water, ceramic coffee cups, and a silver coffee service. There are four agents in the room, two men and two women, all of them wear black suits, Kevin is not with them. They stand when Amberton and Gordon enter, all are smiling, they greet Amberton and shake his hand. When the greetings are finished, everyone sits, Amberton speaks.

  Is this everyone?

  Gordon speaks.

  A couple of the agents couldn’t make it.

  Where are they?

  I’m not sure.

  The meeting starts, no Kevin. Amberton wants to leave, wants to cry, wants to yell and scream wants to throw his coffee mug no Kevin. He wants to tell everyone in the room why he set the meeting up, tell them all he’s in love, desperately in love, and that they can go back to their jobs this was all a ruse he’s sorry for wasting their time. They talk to him about a new action franchise where he would play a scientist whose job it is to save the world from environmental ruin. They tell him about a prestigious cable network that wants to make a ten-hour miniseries about Michelangelo. They pitch him a drama about a politician with hepatitis C. He hardly hears a word of any of it. He has trouble focusing, his head is spinning, it feels like there’s a hole in his chest and his heart is pounding and it physically hurts him. He wants to cry. He wants to climb under the table and curl up in a ball and cry. He hasn’t felt this way since he was a teenager, when his first love, a basketball player two years older than him, cut off their affair because he was worried his teammates would find out. He hasn’t been denied anything since he was a teenager.

  His money and fame have always been enough to get him anything, everything and anyone he’s ever wanted. He wants to ask Gordon to hug him, to hold his hand. He wants to call his mother and have her sing him a lullaby.

  The meeting lasts an hour it feels like three days. When it’s over he thanks everyone and shakes their hands again, he tells Gordon to messenger him the scripts he’ll read them at home. When he gets in the elevator he starts shaking. When he gets in the car he starts crying. His crying quickly degenerates into loud, messy bawling, and as the car pulls through his gate his shirt is wet with tears and he’s howling. As the car pulls to his door he sees another car, a black Lexus, which is exactly like Kevin’s car, sitting near his garage. He stops howling. He starts to panic in a different way. He pulls down a mirror that’s built into a flap in the ceiling. He wipes his face tries to clean himself up tries to regain his composure. He looks at his shirt there’s nothing he can do. He tries to think of a reason for his appearance if Kevin’s really inside he’ll tell him he was so moved by the story of the politician with hep C that he broke down. He taps on the glass partition and the driver gets out and walks around to his door and opens it. He steps out of the car and he hands the driver a $100 bill and he thanks him. The sun is high and it’s hot. He looks at his house it’s gigantic and beautiful. Kevin’s car is in his driveway. His wife and children are somewhere where they won’t bother him. What a day. What a day!

  In 1901, Harrison Otis, the publisher of the Los Angeles Times newspaper, and his son-in-law, Harry Chandler, purchase large chunks of land in Owens Valley, which is on and just beyond the northeastern edges of Los Angeles County. City Water Commissioner William Mulholland hires J.B. Lippincott, who works for the U.S. Land Reclamation Department, and also secretly works for Otis and Chandler, to survey the land, and it is determined that the Owens River and Owens Lake would be able to provide Los Angeles with a sufficient water supply. Otis and Chandler then purchase large sections of the San Fernando Valley, which would be suitable for development with a proper water supply, and also purchase the water rights to the Owens Valley from a cooperative of local farmers and landowners. They then use the newspaper to create hysteria in regard to the dwindling water supply, and to promote a bond initiative that would finance the design and construction of a new water system.

  When the bond initiative passes, they sell the Owens Valley water rights to the city of Los Angeles at a huge profit. Mulholland begins designing the Los Angeles aqueduct, which will bring the water of the Owens Valley to the city of LA, and which becomes the longest aqueduct in the world, with a distance of just over 223 miles.

  Dylan hasn’t been to work in three days. Tiny called him and told him not to come in for a while, that he would call him again when he needed him. When Dylan answered the phone and heard Tiny’s voice he started shaking. When he hung up he kept shaking. An hour later he was still shaking. The money was in a stack on the table a few feet away. When he stopped shaking he put it in a drawer with his pants and T-shirts. Then he started shaking again, so he moved it to a drawer with Maddie’s pants and T-shirts.

  He takes Maddie to work in the morning, spends the days riding his bike aimlessly around the city. He goes into areas he doesn’t know Sherman Oaks with its manicured lawns and columned mansions, Reseda and Winnetka flat dense and monotonous housing development after housing devolopment, Brentwood wide leafy streets it almost loo
ks like Ohio he finds the former home of a famous murderer and stops and stares all he sees is a gate and tall sycamores he pulls up to the gate and spits on it.

  He moves into West LA it has long straight streets with orderly homes and speed bumps into West Hollywood the wide boulevards are lined with palms and the cafés are crowded in the middle of the day with beautiful men and beautiful women the men hold hands, kiss each other, the women hold hands, kiss each other. He drives down Melrose, lined with clothing shops and record stores and head shops and restaurants that go in and out of business all of the buildings covered with graffiti it’s ahead of the curve in the rest of the country fashion comes over from Japan moves onto Melrose gets picked up by New York and three years later you can buy it in Wal-Mart. He drives through Hollywood. The Streets of Dreams are worn, dirty, dangerous, decrepit, they’re crowded with tourists staring in shock at what isn’t like any dream they’ve ever had of Hollywood glamour, aggressive panhandlers some as old as ninety some as young as ten harass them for money, barkers yell at them to come see wax superstars, world records, the you-can-believe-it, they yell for them to come see strippers, dancers, girls on poles. Crumbling motels are filled with addicts and dealers. Legendary restaurants have rats in the corners and roaches on the walls. Run-down houses have dirt yards cars and cracked driveways, cars on blocks, couches on the sidewalk with the stuffing torn out. Gangbangers stand on corners some are lookouts some are salesmen some are killers. Cops cruise up and down Hollywood Boulevard their presence is not a deterrent in any way at all. When he leaves Hollywood, the only film Dylan can imagine being made there would be a horror film. He goes east into Los Feliz the canyons lined with bungalows the Hills dotted with mansions secondhand shops and diners filled with actors directors musicians artists some have made it some haven’t all of them hyper-aware of themselves of each other of their clothes the food they eat everything carefully chosen to project an image of seriousness, of thought, of style, of irony, of carelessness. Out of Los Feliz and into LA proper he goes through ethnic neighborhoods where the signs are in languages he can’t read and no one speaks English they’re Russian, Korean, Japanese, they’re Armenian, Lithuanian, Somalian, they’re from El Salvador and Nicaragua and Mexico, India, Iran, China, Samoa. He is often the only white face amongst the crowds of color he is often the only native-born amongst the crowds of immigrants. He knew one African-American kid in his town in Ohio, though no one there called him an African-American. He had seen Mexicans, or what he assumed were Mexicans, working on construction crews. He rides into Watts he’s the minority, he rides into East LA he’s the minority, he rides through Downtown he’s the minority. His color used to allow him to be part of the power structure, or at least the status quo. Here it is meaningless. He is just another human being in a roiling, sun-baked mass of humanity all trying to make it through the day with food on the table a roof overhead some money in the bank. He’s just another one.