“Wouldn’t that be something?”

Kara doesn’t come back for awhile, so I meander through the crowd, back toward the jazz band at the other end of the veranda. I bump into a few people who know me along the way, and one of them, an agent, goes on and on about how she read a New York Times rave review for some off-off-Broadway thing I did, and how she had no idea I had stage chops.

It’s easier than you might think talking to someone you don’t remember. Because if you let them, most people will talk exclusively about themselves. Honestly, they don’t really want to know how you’re doing. And if they do ask, it’s merely out of courtesy, and they won’t be listening to your answer. They’ll be nodding their head, smiling at you, and wondering, Do I have something in my teeth? I wonder if John’s here. Oh, there’s Mary! I need another drink.

Practically everyone asks about the screenplay Brad Morton and I are writing. Some people seem to have read portions of it. I’m telling you, there’s a buzz. Everyone asks me where Brad is, like I’m supposed to be keeping tabs on him or something. I hate that. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Brad. I really don’t.

The jazz band is smoking. Especially the drummer. He’s one cool cat as they say. The only thing that moves are his arms. The rest of his body is perfectly still, and he just stares out at the ocean while he plays these blistering fills, like he could give a shit who he’s playing for.

When I glance through the crowd again, I see Harvey Wallison making his way toward me. We haven’t made eye contact, and since he doesn’t know I’ve seen him, I walk through the French doors, into Rich’s house, moving quickly through the kitchen, a ridiculous dining room, with a table that could seat forty guests, and finally arriving at the atrium. There’s a chair beside this gurgling fountain, so I sit down and cross my legs and wait, praying Harvey doesn’t see me.

Shortly thereafter, he comes around the corner from the dining room and stops, looking over the candlelit atrium and the half dozen people who occupy its chairs and sofas. I’m hoping he won’t recognize me in the lowlight of the candles, but when he looks in my direction, he smiles and starts toward me.

He sits down in the empty chair across from mine, takes out a handkerchief, pats down his forehead.

“I hate these things,” he says. “Wear me the fuck out.”

He sips from his glass of Scotch and sets it on the wrought iron table betwixt us.

“Good to see you out again, Jim.”

“Good to be out.”

“Yeah? You feeling well?”

“I think so. Some people tell me I seem different.” He nods, touching his index finger to the corner of his eye. I think Harvey might be one of those rare listeners. “I feel different,” I say.

“Well, you’re sort of just getting back into the swing of things.”

“Yeah.”

“And I think it’s terrific that you are, Jim. You’re a helluva brave soul, and a lot of people are rooting for you.”

I pat Harvey on the knee.

Harvey sips his Scotch and removes his glasses.

“I don’t know what your timetable is for picking your next project. I’ll tell you, Guy Watson and Tyler Law are hounding me for this part. I’ve had both of them over to read with Lauren and it was good. I’m not going to say it wasn’t. But it wasn’t what it could be.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks me hard in the eyes. “Jim, I’ve only worked with you on one film, but I know when something’s perfect for you, and buddy, this is it. A role like this comes along once, maybe twice in a man’s career.”

He leans in closer. I can smell the single malt on his breath.

“I know I’m coming on strong here, Jim, and believe me, I don’t want you to do this if you aren’t ready, or if you don’t want it. But if any part of you is interested, I would urge you to come up to my place for a read. I won’t lie to you. I want you at least partly for selfish reasons. I think you’d make this film the best thing I’ve ever done. I think you’d make it a classic. But as much as I want these things for me, I want them also for you.”

He finishes his Scotch, and I’m wondering if I’m already supposed to know the premise.

I take a chance.

“So what’s it about, Harvey? I apologize, you may have already told me.”

Harvey gets up and stands in front of me.

I am very uncomfortable.

I keep waiting for him to ask me something I don’t know.

“You’re a car salesman in the Midwest. A family man. You have a wife and daughter. You come home early from work one day to surprise your wife and find her in bed with your next door neighbor, Michael. You sit outside the door and listen to them making wild, flagrant love.”

He takes a breath and half-grins at me like, Are you hooked yet?

And I guess I am. It’s a fairly intriguing premise.

“That night, about two in the morning, you sneak over to your neighbor’s house and murder him and bury him in his backyard. His wife and children are visiting family in another state.

“The next hour and forty-five minutes chronicles Michael’s body being discovered your wife’s growing suspicion that you murdered him, and your own deteriorating mental state brought on by an ocean of guilt. It’s called Next Door.”

He’s smiling. I am, too.

I say, “Wow.”

“Yeah?”

“Harvey, I want to see this movie.”

“See it? Star in the motherfucker!”

I take a deep breath. I think the only way Harvey’s going to leave me alone is if I agree to do a reading.

“All right. I’ll read with Lauren.” I don’t even know which Lauren he’s talking about.

“Really?” I don’t think he expected me to agree.

“Well, you hooked me.”

Harvey kneels down and hugs my legs. It’s sort of embarrassing.

Heading back toward my place, Kara puts her hand on the back of my neck and runs her fingers through my hair.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” she asks.

I don’t turn around. I don’t say anything.

She snuggles close to me, so that when she speaks, I feel her warm, moist breath on my ear.

“Did something happen at the party?”

“Harvey Wallison wants me to star in his new movie.”

“That’s great!”

“Everyone wants to know how my screenplay is coming along. They can’t wait to read it.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Our limo is winding up Laurel Canyon. The road is very steep. If Rex were to make a steering mistake, we’d go plunging down into a ravine.

“These things aren’t wonderful,” I say, still gazing out the window.

“Why?”

“Everyone wants things from me.”

“Well, isn’t that—”

“What if I can’t deliver?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I can’t do the things these people want?”

“But you can, Jim. You’re a brilliant actor. I know. I’ve seen your films. You’ve won an Oscar, for Chrissakes.”

It’s two a.m., and I’m so angry. It even surpasses the fear.

There’s nothing like getting exactly what you want and it still not being enough.

Chapter 24

 

with Kara in the bungalow ~ Kara holds the Oscar ~ Margot’s curiosity ~ the angry goldens ~ the worst thing that can possibly happen when you’re making love to a woman (it’s not what you think) ~ finishes the job ~ finishes the other job ~ Kara takes the Defender ~ digs a hole ~ the Star Wars analogy

Even though we just came from the mansion to end all mansions, Kara’s pretty blown away by my bungalow. I take her inside and give her the quick tour. She seems particularly enthralled with my home theatre.

“You have to have me over to watch a movie some time,” she says. Of course that won’t happen. I’ve decided now, but I smile just the same and say that of course we will. We’ll pop popcorn and do the whole shebang.