Chasing Chaos: A Novel (24 page)

“That
can’t be right,” Daphne insisted.

“But
it is. And it’s awful.”

Marlon
didn’t say anything on the drive back home, and Sandy was happy to let him
stew. Sandy had figured things wouldn’t go well with Daphne at first. After
all, Marlon had screwed up pretty badly, and Daphne was a tough one. Marlon
would tell him what happened soon enough, and Sandy was a patient man.

Finally,
Marlon slammed his fist down on his knee in frustration. “She called me a
rebound.”

Sandy
chuckled.

“Of
course you think this is funny.”

“Of
course. Watching you in love for the first time is more entertaining than I
ever imagined it would be.”

Marlon
was silent for a while.

After
Sandy turned left at Chateau Marmont, Marlon spoke again. “She also told me she
slept with someone else last weekend, the night before she broke up with Dan.
What am I supposed to think of that?”

“That
she’s a human being? That she was in an unhappy relationship?”

Marlon
quieted again.

“But
I think you’re missing the bigger picture,” Sandy said. “What you’re really
supposed to think is that she’s trying to drive you away.”

“It’s
working,” Marlon snapped.

“Really?”
Sandy said. “Why?”

“I
don’t want to be a rebound from Dan!”

“Jesus,
Marlon.” Sandy tried not to laugh again. “Dan is dead. Furthermore, Carrie’s
survival was a near thing.”

“I
know that!”

Wow,
Daphne had Marlon all twisted up. Marlon needed to see that he’d brought this
tongue-lashing on himself.

“And
most importantly,” Sandy said, “Daphne blames herself for it. Mostly because
you told her it was all her fault, and she believed you.”

Marlon
grumbled.

“You
did this. If she’s driving you away, it’s because she thinks it’s what you
want. Maybe she thinks it’s what you need.”

They
rode in silence up the canyon. Marlon seemed to consider Sandy’s words.

Seeing
Marlon like this, so fragile, so immature, reminded him of when he first met
the kid, twelve years before. Marlon had been eighteen, a freshman at UCLA. And
he’d been lost as hell.

That
spring, Sandy had been considering an anonymous donation to the art department
there. He was touring the facilities. Marlon was taking a studio art class,
Painting the Human Form or some other nonsense. But in Marlon’s hands, the
course wasn’t nonsense. Sandy saw this working-class kid doing something
brilliant. More importantly, in the kid, Sandy saw himself.

Sandy
had a look around the classroom, striking up conversations with the students.
Most of them were star-struck by his presence, but after so many years of these
interactions, Sandy was good at putting people at ease. When Sandy spoke with
Marlon, the young man wasn’t star-struck at all. Marlon gave him a challenging
look. He was daring Sandy to say that he didn’t belong at this fancy school
with these fancy kids.

Sandy’s
wife had never wanted to have kids. It was one of the reasons they’d split.
That, and her serial sleeping with other men. The divorce, only a couple of
years old at the time, still stung. Sandy was alone in his mansion.

The
guest house was empty too.

“The
semester’s almost over,” Sandy said to Marlon. “You got a summer job?”

“I’ll
figure something out.”

“What
are you interested in?”

“Not
the movies, that’s for sure.”

Sandy
laughed at Marlon’s dig. “You got any superpowers?”

The
question caught Marlon’s attention. “Yeah,” he said. “I can build anything out
of wood.”

“A
carpenter?”

“A
cabinet-maker.”

Sandy
smiled again, this time at the kid’s boldness. “I’m interested in building a
deck, and I could use some help. It’ll likely take all summer.” He handed
Marlon his card. “Call me if you’re interested.”

Marlon
called two weeks later. At the end of the semester, Marlon moved into the guest
house for the summer. But at the end of the summer, Marlon stayed on. He stayed
on all through college and then after. For a while, Marlon had been meticulous
about earning his own way. He’d kept accounts, deducting rent from his pay.
Sandy knew Marlon needed to feel like he wasn’t—once again—living off someone
else’s good graces. Sandy knew Marlon needed to learn that he, himself, was
indispensable. That he was special.

Eventually,
Marlon figured that out.

And
as for his paintings, well. Marlon did have a gift. At first, Sandy hung a few
of Marlon’s paintings in his house. After a week or two, Sandy’s friends
started asking about them. Sandy was coy, telling folks that the artist was a
recluse, but that Sandy had a connection. Word began to spread about this Barr
fellow, and how you had to go through Sandy to get his work. People even
speculated that Sandy was the artist.

Now,
Marlon could paint on commission and name his price. His paintings hung all
over Laurel Canyon and beyond.

There
was even a Barr painting hanging in that asshole Jamison’s house. Sandy had
seen it once when he’d been convinced by a friend to stop by for a party.

Sandy
knew exactly what Carrie had seen at Jamison’s house.

Sandy
knew what Jamison was.

When
he pulled into his driveway, instead of parking down in the garage, he left his
car up by the front door. He had a feeling they’d be needing the car again
sooner rather than later.

Sandy
didn’t tell Marlon, but he was really worried about Daphne.

~~~~

Around
four o’clock that afternoon, Marlon came into Sandy’s house holding his cell
phone open in his hand. Sandy saw the urgency on Marlon’s face. He rose from
the chair where he’d been reading a script.

Marlon
spoke into the phone. “I’m going to put you on speaker, OK?” Then he pressed a
button and set the phone on the coffee table. He sat near it and motioned for
Sandy to do the same.

“Miranda?”
Marlon said. “I’ve got Sandy with me now.”

“How’d
you get Marlon’s number?” Sandy asked Miranda.

“I
stole it from Daphne’s phone when she was asleep.” She sounded impatient. “Stop
wasting time with stupid questions. I think you guys need to do something.”

“What’s
happened?” Sandy asked.

“After
we got back from the hospital, Daphne and I both went back to sleep because
we’d been up all night. But when I woke up, something felt off. I went into
Daphne’s room, and she was gone. But like, gone-gone. A lot of her clothes were
gone, like she’d packed for a trip.”

Sandy
met Marlon’s eyes. Marlon looked desperate.

Miranda
continued. “And I found this crazy note on the kitchen counter. Look, can we
call Greta now? This feels like DEFCON 1 to me.”

“What
did the note say?” Sandy asked.

“It
said—hang on, I’ll just read it to you. ‘I have to make this right. If I don’t
see you again, I’m sorry about what I did to you in college.’ Don’t worry about
that, that’s our old business. But, well, it was serious business. Anyway, then
she says, ‘Tell Marlon I do love him.’ Ha. I was totally right about that, by
the way. And then she says, ‘I just don’t want to hurt anyone else.’ That part,
to me, sounds completely ominous. Also, that’s Marlon’s fault. Marlon, you are
an asshole.”

Marlon
looked sick. He also made no move to defend himself.

“Can
we come over there?” Sandy asked. “Take a look around?”

“I
dunno,” Miranda said. “Do you think that would help? Marlon made her feel like
some kind of Typhoid Mary. Maybe you could leave him behind.”

Sandy
glanced at Marlon. He looked even more wretched.

“I
think we can help, Miranda. I have resources.”

“Ugh,”
she said. “You sound like my dad.” After a moment she said, “Fine. But call
Greta while you’re on your way. She’ll want to know that her sister’s in
trouble.”

“I
will,” Sandy promised.

He
headed out the door, and Marlon followed, radiating guilt and helplessness.

After
they climbed into the car, Sandy asked him, “Do you want to ruin Greta’s
honeymoon, or should I?”

“I’ll
do it,” Marlon said. “It’s my fault.”

“To
be fair,” Sandy said, “she probably would have felt guilty no matter what. You
just pushed her over the edge.”

“That
doesn’t make me feel better,” Marlon said.

“Wasn’t
supposed to.”

Marlon
picked up his phone and dialed, leaving his phone on speaker.

“Marlon?”
Greta said. “What’s going on?”

“We
have a situation.”

“Is
it the kind of situation that means I get to come home now?”

“What?”
he asked. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I’m
not very good at relaxing.”

“I
guess that’s true.” Marlon laughed despite the dire situation “Greta, it’s
Daphne. We’re afraid she’s in trouble.”

“Hang
on,” Greta said.

Muffled
voices spoke on the other end of the line.

“I’m
back,” she said. “We’re packing now. Tell me what’s happening.”

Sandy
listened while Marlon filled in Greta. Sandy sped toward Daphne’s condo,
realizing that Marlon seemed to be getting over his fear of fast-moving
automobiles.

When
Marlon finished explaining the situation to Greta, he said, “I told Sandy I
didn’t think she’d do anything stupid.” Greta didn’t respond. “Right, Greta?
She won’t, will she?”

“No,
Marlon. You’re wrong. Daphne would absolutely sacrifice herself to save someone
she loves. She’d do it in a heartbeat. She’s done it before.”

Marlon
looked at Sandy with frantic eyes, and Sandy just nodded, sadly.

Greta
said, “We just have to figure out what she’s planning on doing and hope we can
stop her in time.”

At
five o’clock on Thursday, Daphne sat in a corner booth at Rivet, her back to the
room, reducing the chances of her being spotted. She knew that coming to Rivet,
a place where she was known, was risky, but Rivet itself was a key part of her
plan.

She’d
also known that leaving a note at her condo had been risky, but the chances of
Miranda acting on the note were slim. Miranda didn’t know her way around Los
Angeles. She didn’t even have a car. She could call John to help her, but he
was relatively new in town, and he certainly didn’t know the places where
Daphne would be. Places like Rivet.

And
Daphne had needed to leave a note. She’d needed to let them all know that she
loved them, despite the horrible things she’d said.

She
hadn’t said anything in the note to Greta, though. Greta already knew that
Daphne loved her. And Greta would be annoyed that Daphne had left something as
silly as a note.

She
glanced at her watch. It was time. Daphne dialed Jamison from her cell phone.

“Yeah,”
he said by way of greeting.

“Is
this Jamison?” She added a touch of sadness to her voice.

“Yeah.”
He sounded even more impatient.

“Jamison.”
She sniffled. “This is Daphne Saito.”

A
pause. “Hey,” he said. “Rough news.”

“The
worst. I’m heartbroken. I was hoping…” She paused dramatically. “I was hoping
you might have dinner with me tonight. You and I, we were the last of his
friends to see him alive.”

Jamison
paused again, considering. “Where were you thinking of going?”

“How
about Rivet?”

Jamison
laughed. “Daphne, I can’t get into Rivet.”

“I
can.”

“Oh,”
he said. “That’s cool.”

He
swallowed her lure like she knew he would.

She
told Luis to expect Jamison in the next half hour or so, and she told the host
to seat him at her table. She ordered herself a soda water with lime, a fake
cocktail, because her plan depended on her not getting drunk tonight, and on
Jamison getting very drunk.

She
wore all black—her black leather pants, her black cashmere sweater and her
black booties to hide her bandaged feet. She’d worn the sweater on purpose. It
still smelled like Marlon, and thinking of Marlon made her feel brave.

When
Jamison arrived, she stood to greet him. She let her real grief over Dan’s
death show on her face, but she carefully disguised the disgust she felt toward
Jamison.

For
a split second, Daphne allowed herself to picture Jamison cornering Carrie in
the bathroom. Jamison tearing Carrie’s dress. Jamison, who deserved everything
Daphne was planning for him tonight and more. She kept her face placid while
the vicious thoughts churned.

“Daphne.”
He kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you again, even under these tragic circumstances.”

“Thanks
for coming,” she said. “I just wanted to reminisce, you know?”

“Sure,
babe,” he said with what could only be described as a leer. “Anything you
want.”

“Let
me order you a drink. You want what I’m having?”

“Vodka
tonic?”

“Yeah.”
She let his presumption form the lie. “Have a seat. I’ll speak to the
bartender.”

She
strolled to the bar, giving Jamison a good view of her legs in her leather
pants. Most men found the pants irresistible. She had a feeling Jamison would
be like most men.

At the
bar, she flagged down Quentin.

“Hey,
Daph,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”

“My
friend wants to get wasted on vodka tonics. I’m driving, so I’ll just stick
with sodas. But let’s keep my booze-free state between us, OK? I don’t want him
to feel bad.”

“Sure
thing. I’ll let your server know.”

She
nodded her thanks and headed back to the booth. She slid in next to Jamison,
sitting close enough that they could share body heat. It was easy enough for
her to hide her revulsion. She worked in Hollywood, after all.

“I
can’t believe you’ve never been here before,” she said to him.

“It’s
hard to get in, you know.”

“I
do know.”

“The
owners must be pompous pricks, keeping it so exclusive.”

“They
must be.”

Daphne
knew Jamison was on Rivet’s no-fly list, and she knew Sandy had put him there.
And she knew Sandy had put him there because Jamison never went anywhere
without his cocaine.

“Well,
I’m here now, thanks to you.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and
squeezed. “You’re a doll.”

Daphne
pretended to be delighted to be out to dinner with a man she wanted to
dismember. She knew she was a good actress, but this evening’s performance was
strong even for her.

They
ordered dinner and ate slowly. Daphne listened to Jamison tell stories of how
he’d first met Dan just after college, how they’d run in the same circles for a
while, trying to get their big breaks. How Dan’s break had come first. How Dan
had introduced Jamison to all the people Dan met, giving Jamison every
opportunity Dan could.

That
sort of loyalty and generosity sounded just like Dan.

Daphne
wondered, if Jamison had made it first, would he have done the same for Dan?
Highly unlikely.

Throughout
the meal, Daphne ensured Jamison’s cocktail glass was never empty. She listened
carefully, growing more and more satisfied as his words began to slur. When he
stood to use the restroom and almost stumbled, she smiled to herself.

Around
seven o’clock, it was time for the next part of her plan.

They
were drinking one more round of drinks. “I have an idea,” Daphne said. “Let’s
drive up on Mulholland. Say goodbye to Dan up there. I think he would have
liked that. You know, because it’s poetic.”

“I
don’t think I can drive on Mulholland, babe. I need to stick to straighter
roads.”

That
Jamison was considering driving at all made her want to strangle him. But his
words were just the excuse she was hoping for. “That’s OK,” she said. “We’ll
take my car. Then I’ll bring you back here, and you can head home. It’s even
better this way. We can be together.”

When
she said they could be together, Jamison’s eyes got hot. He was thinking what
Daphne wanted him to think. Her lure was set strong.

They
waited at the valet stand for Daphne’s car, then climbed in together. She
silenced her phone and put it in its usual spot in the cup-holder. The screen
kept flashing.

“Popular
girl.” Jamison gestured at her phone.

“I
am.” She had a feeling that by this point her note had elicited some reactions.
She considered turning off the phone entirely but opted against it.

“Why
don’t you put yours there too,” she said. “That way we’ll have no
distractions.”

Jamison
fished his cell phone from his pocket and set it next to hers in the
cup-holder. Then he placed his hand on her leather-clad thigh. She gritted her
teeth and forced a smile at the intimate touch.

She
drove up the 405 to Mulholland Drive, then headed east along the ridge. She
drove up into the hills just as the sun was setting, glancing to her right for
the perfect place to park. When she found it, she pulled the car onto the side
of the road and killed the engine.

“Why
are we stopping here?” Jamison asked.

“I
thought we could look at the view.”

“Isn’t
there an official overlook up ahead?”

There
was an official overlook up ahead, but Daphne couldn’t execute her plan in a
fenced-in public location. And she couldn’t risk having witnesses.

“I
don’t want to be around tourists,” she said. “Aren’t tourists the worst?”

“Yeah,
they’re awful.” He nodded with her.

“I
want to be alone with you when we think about Dan.” She gave him her best
smile. “Or maybe you could help me forget him.” She dipped her chin and looked
up at him, giving him her most entrancing look, the one she knew he couldn’t
resist.

Because
no one could.

Jamison
hopped out of the car and followed her to the edge of the road. Their feet
nudged the steep drop-off. Gravel fell into the shadows below.

“Careful,
babe.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, nuzzling her neck. She let him hold
her for a moment, letting him get his fill.

“I’m
chilly,” she said. “Wait here. I have a jacket in the car.”

She
stepped back from him. Time slowed.

He
stood at the edge of the cliff, staring at the lights of the city spread below
them like fireworks. His stance was wide and unsteady.

Here
was the man who’d ripped Carrie’s dress from her body. Who’d chased her from
his house in the middle of the night. Whom Dan had to rescue Carrie from. And
Dan had died for it.

If
Daphne were chaos itself, Jamison was the man who triggered these particular
tragedies.

And
he was standing, drunk and likely high, on the edge of a cliff.

And
she was standing right behind him.

~~~~

Around
six-thirty, Timmy and Greta had arrived back from the resort in Santa Barbara
County. They’d come straight to Daphne’s home. According to Sandy, Sandy and
Marlon had arrived at Daphne’s apartment in record time, because Marlon finally
let Sandy drive at a normal speed. Greta would have laughed if she weren’t so
worried about Daphne.

When
they’d first arrived, Greta had read the note Miranda had found.

Now
the note lay on the coffee table. Marlon and Miranda sat on the lifeboat. Timmy
sat on a kitchen chair pulled up next to the others. Greta stood near the
kitchen, listening to them speculate about where Daphne had gone. They were all
taking turns calling Daphne and sending her texts, hoping she’d answer or
reply. So far, nothing.

Sandy
had been on the phone since their arrival, but no one was sure whom he was
talking to, and he wouldn’t say.

It
was now after seven o’clock, and they still knew nothing.

“It’s
obvious she’s taken herself out of the picture.” Marlon sounded shattered. “I
pushed her away.”

“Daphne
isn’t suicidal,” said Timmy. “Even when she hates herself. She lashes outward,
not inward. It’s super charming.”

Greta
wanted to laugh at that one.

“The
cops are looking for her plates,” Sandy said. “And no I won’t tell you how I
pulled that off.” He was looking at Miranda when he said the last part.

“Did
anyone think maybe she doesn’t want to be found?” said Miranda. “Maybe we
should let her go?”

Marlon
and Timmy looked at her like she was crazy. Sandy gave her a small smile.

Finally,
Greta spoke. “She doesn’t want to be found.” She nodded at Miranda. “And she
does lash outward.” She nodded at Timmy. “And you did push her away.” She
nodded at Marlon. “But if she’s lashing outward, and she was pushed away—”

“Shit,”
said Sandy.

“Call
him,” Greta said. “Make up some nonsense about a project.”

Sandy
made a call, then hung up. “Voicemail. I’ll try again.” He dialed, leaving the
room.

“Who’s
he calling?” Marlon asked.

“Jamison.”
Timmy spoke this time. “Daphne went after Jamison by herself.”

Greta
turned to Marlon, and for the first time, he saw no friendliness in her green
eyes. He saw no emotion at all. At the moment, her resemblance to her father
was uncanny. “If anything happens to her because of you, I will never forgive
you.”

Sandy
reentered the room, hanging up his phone. “I left him a B.S. message about a
pilot I’m working on. If he gets the message, he’ll call me.”

“Thanks,
Sandy,” Greta said.

Miranda,
who had been oddly quiet, spoke up. “Daphne’s not exactly going to go over to
Jamison’s house with a gun. She’s not an idiot.” She paused, thoughtful. “She’d
have to coax him out, convince him to come to her. What does she have that he
doesn’t have?”

“Real
friends,” said Greta.

“A
career,” said Marlon.

“Access,”
said Sandy. “I banned him from Rivet. And she knows it. We had a long,
hilarious chat about ‘known cokeheads’ one night.”

“It’s
worth a try,” Marlon said. “I’ll call over there.” He dialed and asked to speak
with the host. His face brightened during the conversation, then he hung up.
“She was there. And she was with a guy no one knew. They left together about
twenty minutes ago in her car. The guy left his car there. The valet chief is
going to text me when he finds out who the car belongs to.” At that moment,
Marlon’s phone beeped. He held it up for all to see. Jamison’s name was on the
message.

“My
turn,” Greta said, picking up her phone to send a message.