Coldheart Canyon: A Hollywood Ghost Story

  "Suppose he wants to stay?"

  "With her?"

  "No. Among his friends."

  "He can't," she said. "He won't want to, when he sees me. He'll just come. You'll see."

  Her confidence was beguiling, whether it was fake or not. She took his arm, and they headed into the house. If Jerry had been expecting some grotesque echo of Sunset Boulevard he was pleasantly disappointed. Katya met the cameras at the door with an expression of familiarity on her face, as though she were saying to the world: oh, there you are. She let go of his hand at the threshold like a ship that suddenly finds the wind again and remembers what it has to do effortlessly. She turned and the cameramen got greedy for her: the flashes a blinding barrage, and she bathing in the light as it glazed her bones and filled her eyes.

  Of course none of them knew who the hell she was, so they were reduced to snapping their fingers and calling "Miss uh—?!"

  "Over here, Miss—?" But she knew her job. She gave them all something wonderful, something miraculous, and just as the frenzy was approaching its height, abruptly refused to continue, thanking them all and sweeping away into the house, leaving them begging for more.

  This sudden burst of activity had attracted attention, of course. Half the faces in the room were turned toward the door when Katya entered, wondering who the hell could have just arrived. When it turned out to be a woman they did not even know the house became a gallery of whispers. Jerry stayed two or three steps behind Katya as she crossed the room, so he was able to see the range of responses her presence created. Envy, more than anything: particularly on the faces of women who assumed they were Katya's contemporaries. Who was this woman who was as young as or younger than they were, prettier than they were, getting all the attention they should have been getting?

  On the faces of the young men, there were similar questions being silently asked. Why is this damn woman more perfect than I am? Why does she have more eyes undressing her than I do? Then there was that other contingent of young men who were simply calculating their chances of getting across the room to her side with a drink or a witty pickup line before the opposition.

  Katya played it perfectly. She was careful not to lock eyes with anyone, so that she didn't get caught up in a conversation she wanted no part of. She looked back at Jerry, who pointed on across the room toward Todd.

  And there he was, standing on the patio with Maxine. They were in the midst of what looked to be a very unpleasant exchange. She was shaking her head, turning away from him; he was following her, poking her in the shoulder like a kid who's not getting his mother's full attention.

  She ignored his importuning, and headed down a flight of stairs, which led off the other side of the patio, down onto the beach.

  The argument between Todd and Maxine had not gone unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. Ever since Todd's appearance at the party, all other subjects of whispered conversation had fallen by the wayside. It was Pickett the guests were talking about. They were chiefly debating his wounded appearance, of course, but now they were also discussing the way he stumbled in angry pursuit of Maxine, and the subject of their exchange, which had unfortunately now been taken out of ear-shot. There were plenty of people in the room who would have liked to go out onto the patio and follow Todd and Maxine down onto the sand, but the only one who did so was Tammy. She pushed through a group standing between her and the patio door, maneuvered her way around a waiter and a sofa, and headed outside.

  The wind had got up a little since she and Todd had arrived. It blew off the ocean, bringing with it the sound of raised voices. Tammy heard Maxine's voice first. She was demanding to know how Todd dared show his face—

  Tammy crossed the patio to see if she could get a look at Todd. Did he need her help or not? As she approached the wooden railing an officious little man, with the improbable face of an ill-tempered troll, got in her way. "Excuse me, but who the hell are you?"

  "I'm a friend of Todd's. Are you the maître d'?"

  There was a barely-suppressed guffaw from one corner of the patio. Tammy glanced round to see a young man, almost as well dressed as the troll, composing his face.

  "My name's Gary Eppstadt. I'm the Head of Paramount."

  "Oh," Tammy said. "So?"

  "So, you obviously don't belong on this patio."

  "In point of fact, I think she did come with Todd," said another onlooker, a woman in black, who was lounging against the railing as she sipped her cocktail.

  Eppstadt looked Tammy up and down as though he were assessing a particularly unappealing heifer. The nakedness of his look so infuriated her that she simply shoved him out of her way and went to the railing.

  "Get security," Eppstadt said. "I want this bitch thrown out or I shall lodge a charge of assault."

  "Oh, for God's sake, Gary," the woman said, "you're making a fool of yourself."

  Only now did Tammy recognize the woman's soft drawl. It was Faye Dunaway. Her weary glance fell momentarily on Tammy. "She's not doing any harm," Faye went on. "Go inside and get yourself a drink." Tammy glanced back over her shoulder. Eppstadt was obviously uncertain how to respond. He first threw a fiery glance at Dunaway, who promptly threw it straight back. Then he snapped at one of the three younger men doomed to be out here on the patio at the same time.

  "Christian?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "What did I just say?"

  "That. . . you wanted security, sir?"

  "And what are you doing?"

  "Going to get them," the man said, hurrying away.

  "Christ!" Dunaway murmured. "Didn't you hear what I said? She came in with Todd."

  "Well she doesn't belong in here," Eppstadt said. "With him or without him. She's up to no good. Mind you, so's he. He wasn't invited either. I should have security cart him away too."

  Tammy turned from her spot at the railings.

  "What is your problem?" she said. "This is nothing to do with you."

  "Where the fuck did you come from?" he asked. "You look like a street-person. Is this Todd's idea of a joke? Bringing a street-person in here?"

  "Who are you, honey?"

  "My name's Tammy Lauper, and I'm a friend of Todd's."

  Eppstadt cut in here. "Friend in the sense of—?"

  "Friend as in friend," Tammy said. "Todd's been going through some hard times recently."

  "No? Do tell."

  "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty—"

  "He's working you, honey," Faye said. "He knows all about the bad surgery. The whole town does."

  "As it happens I suggested the surgeon," Eppstadt said. "Bruce Burrows. He normally does first-rate work. Didn't he do some for you, Faye?"

  "No," said Ms. Dunaway. "I don't need it yet."

  "My mistake."

  "But when I do I'll be sure to avoid him, judging by what he did to

  Todd. That boy used to be damn-near perfect. The way Warren was perfect fifty years ago. I mean, they were uncanny, both of them."

  Tammy didn't bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. Instead she slipped down the creaking wooden steps that led off the patio and down onto the sand. The wash of light from the house lit the beach as far as the surf, which was breaking quite boisterously. The beach, as far as she could see, was immaculately clean. No doubt the residents hired somebody to vacuum every morning, so that nothing unpredictable—a whisky bottle, a stray condom, a dead fish—would disfigure the perfection of their stretch of coastline.

  The only items she could see on the beach were two human figures.

  If Todd and Maxine had realized that Tammy was there, they gave no sign of it. They simply kept up what they'd been doing for the last ten minutes: arguing.

  The wind carried most of their words away, but every now and again a phrase would reach Tammy's ears. Maxine called him a "waste of time" at one point, "all ego and no brains" at another. He called her "a talentless bitch" and "a parasite." She mentioned, by way of response to one of his assaults, that "the whole town
knows you got a face-lift, and that it went to hell."

  "I don't care," Todd replied.

  "Then you're even more of a fool than I thought you were," Maxine yelled back, "because that's your fucking reputation out the window."

  "Watch my lips," Todd said, pointing to his mouth. "I don't care."

  Several exchanges followed of which Tammy did not catch a single word. She continued to approach the pair slowly, expecting at any moment to be seen by one or the other. But they were too deeply involved in expressing their rage at one another to take notice of her.

  The conversation had definitely changed direction, however, because now, when the wind brought fresh words in Tammy's direction, the subject of the Canyon was under debate. And Todd was shouting.

  "You set me up! You knew something weird was going on up there and you set me up!"

  It was time to make this into a three-way conversation, Tammy decided, stepping into Maxine's line of sight. But Maxine wasn't going to be distracted from the subject at hand by Tammy.

  "All right," she said to Todd. "So the house has a history. Is that such a big deal?"

  "I don't like messing with that stuff, Maxine. It's not safe."

  "By that 'stuff' you mean what exactly?"

  Todd dropped his voice to a near-whisper, but Tammy was close enough to hear it. "The Canyon's full of dead people."

  Maxine's response was to laugh; her laughter unfeigned. "Are you high?"

  "No."

  "Drunk?"

  "No." Todd wasn't about to be laughed off. "I've seen them, Maxine. I've touched them."

  "Well then you should file a report to the National Enquirer, not come whining to me about it. As far as I'm concerned, this is our last conversation."

  "I want an explanation!"

  "I'll give you one," Maxine said: "You're crazy"

  "Jerry?"

  Katya was at Jerry's side, her expression troubled. "Is there a way down onto the beach along the side of the house?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. Why?"

  "Todd's down on the beach, being abused by that bitch of a manager."

  "I'm sure he can stand up for himself."

  "I just want to take him away, and I don't want to have to come back through the crowd when I bring him back."

  "Well let's see," Jerry said. He took hold of Katya's arm and together they went back to the front door.

  "I hate these people," Katya said, when they reached the foyer.

  "You don't know any of them," Jerry said. "With respect."

  "Oh believe me I do. They're the same old whores, fakes and fools. Only the names have changed."

  "Will you be leaving?" the valet wanted to know as they emerged from the house.

  "No," Jerry said. "I was just showing my friend around the house. Do you know if there's a way down onto the beach?"

  "Yes, of course. Just go back through the house—"

  "We'd prefer not to go through the house."

  "Well. I guess there's a pathway which runs down the side of the house, which takes you to the beach. But it's much easier—"

  "Thank you," Katya said, catching hold of the man's gaze and smiling at him. "I'd just like to get away from the crowd."

  If the man had any objections they faded away on the spot. He blushed at the directness of Katya's look, and stood aside. "It's all yours," he said.

  TEN

  On the beach Todd looked up toward the house. The patio was now so crowded with spectators that people had gone into the kitchen and up to the bedrooms so they could look out at the beach and watch the exchange between himself and Maxine. A few of the partyers had wandered down the patio, and were watching intently from there. The general level of hubbub from inside had also dropped considerably. Word had got around that a war of words was being fought on the sand, and if everyone would just shut up for a minute or two, it would be more audible.

  "You wish you'd never started this, now, don't you?" Maxine said.

  "All I want is some answers."

  "No, you don't. You want to embarrass me in front of my friends because I let you go. Well, Todd, I'd had enough of you. It's as simple as that. I was tired. I wanted to be free of you and your endless demands." Maxine closed her eyes as she spoke, and for the first time in her life Tammy had a morsel of sympathy for the woman. Despite her makeup and her immaculate coiffure, nothing could disguise her genuine exhaustion. When she said she wanted to be free of Todd, Tammy believed her.

  "When I arranged for you to move into that house it was because it seemed to serve your comforts. That was all I cared about. Now, you come here yelling and swearing, and I think, to hell with your comforts. It's about time they all heard the truth."

  "Don't go there, Maxine."

  "Why not? Why the hell not? You came here to cause trouble. Well you're going to get trouble." She had raised her voice, so that she was now plainly audible to the audience assembled on the patio and gathered at the windows.

  Todd had nowhere to run. The closer she got to him, the more he was forced to retreat toward the house, and the more audible her words became.

  "Just tell the damn woman you're sorry, Todd," Tammy said. "And let's get the hell out of here. This isn't the time or the place."

  Maxine glanced at Tammy, conceding her existence here with them for the first time. "You think he's going to apologize? To me? He doesn't understand the word sorry. You know why? He's never been wrong. At least the way he tells it."

  "Well, he can make an exception, right, Todd?"

  "Keep out of this," Todd snapped.

  "I hid you away in that house because you asked me to hide you away—" Maxine went on, her recollections delivered in the direction of the spectators. "You needed time to heal."

  "I'm warning you," Todd said.

  Maxine went on, unintimidated. "As I recall," she said, "your face looked like a piece of hammered steak, thanks to Doctor Burrows."

  "All right, you win," Todd said. "Just stop right there."

  "Why? They already know the truth, Todd. The whole town's been gossiping about your Phantom of the Opera act for weeks."

  "Shut up, Maxine."

  "No, Todd, I will not shut up. I've kept your fucking secrets for years, and I'm not going to do it any longer."

  "Perhaps we should just go, Todd," Tammy said.

  "Don't waste your breath on him," Maxine said. "He's not going to sleep with you. That's what you're hoping for, isn't it?"

  "God," Tammy said. "You people."

  "Don't deny it," Maxine snapped.

  "Well, I am denying it. You think the world revolves around sex. It's pathetic."

  "Anyway, I didn't," Todd said, as though he wanted to be sure that Maxine was not misled on the subject.

  Something about his eagerness to have this particular fact set straight distressed Tammy. She knew why. He was ashamed of her. Damn him! Still concerned about his stupid reputation.

  Maxine must have seen the anger and disappointment on Tammy's face, because the rage in her own voice mellowed. "Don't let him hurt you," she said. "He's not worth it. Really he's not. It's just that he doesn't want them up there"—she jabbed her finger in the direction of the house— "thinking he'd ever sink so low as to sleep with the likes of you. Isn't that right, Todd? You don't want people thinking you fucked the fat girl?"

  The knife turned a second time in Tammy. She wished the beach would just open up beneath her and swallow her, so she'd never have to see any of these people ever again.

  But there was still enough self-esteem left in her to challenge the sonofabitch. What had she got to lose?

  "Is that right, Todd?" she said. "Are you ashamed of me?"

  "Oh Jesus . . ." Todd shook his head, then cast a furtive glance at the house. There were probably sixty people on the patio and balconies now, enjoying the spectacle below.

  "You know what?" he said. "Fuck both of you."

  With that he turned his back on Tammy and Maxine and started to walk off down the beach. But M
axine wasn't going to let him get away so easily. "We didn't finish talking about your healing, Todd."

  "Leave it, Maxine—"

  "The operation? The one to make you look a few years younger? The face-lift ?"

  He swung around at her. "I said: leave it or I will sue your fucking ass."

  "On what grounds? I'm just telling the truth. You're an arrogant, spoiled, talentless—"

  Todd stopped his retreat. His face looked blotchy in the light thrown from the house; there was a tic beneath the left side of his mouth. The expression of empty despair on his mis-made face silenced Maxine. Todd looked past both the women at the crowd that was watching all this unfold.

  Then he started to yell.

  "Have you had enough? Well? Have you? She's right! It's all true! I did get a fucking face-lift. You know why? That cunt! Eppstadt! Yes, you, you fucking Quasimodo! You!"

  Eppstadt had found a prime grandstand position to watch the encounter between Todd and Maxine, so there were plenty of eyes turned in his direction now. He didn't like the scrutiny any more than Todd had. He shook his head and waved Todd's accusations away, then turned his back and tried to disappear into the crowd.

  But Todd kept on haranguing him. "You're the freak here, you know that?" Todd yelled. "You fuck with our lives, you fuck with our heads. Well, you're not going to fuck with me anymore, because I'm not playing your game anymore. Hear me? I'm not playing!"

  Todd suddenly ran at the patio and reached up through the railing to catch hold of Eppstadt's pants leg. Eppstadt turned on him.

  "Get your hands off me!" he shouted, kicking at Todd as though he were a crazed dog.

  Todd simply pulled harder on his leg, so that Eppstadt had to grab hold of somebody beside him to stop himself falling over. His face was white with fury. The assault went to the very heart of his dignity; this was a living nightmare for him, the mad-dog actor, the audience of people who despised him, all drinking his embarrassment down like a fine champagne.

  "You ain't getting away so easy, ugly-boy!" Todd said. "We're all in this together."

  "Pickett! Let go of me!" Eppstadt demanded. His voice had become shrill with rage, beads of sweat popping out all over his face. "You hear me? Let me go!"