Innocent Little Crimes (14 page)

Jon was more than happy to oblige, now that
his mood had lightened considerably. He tossed a rock and watched
it ricochet and tumble to the beach below. The waves tossed
violently, giving Jon a surge of vertigo. He stopped looking
down.

“Well, you knew about the scholarship to USC.
So, I go down to L.A. and get settled in after Della refuses to
come with me. And then she calls me and says she’s coming—all
cheery and friendly, like we hadn’t had a big breakup fight. She
promises she’ll take care of me while I go through grad school.
Iron my shirts or something. So, I decide to give her another
chance. You know, I used to think she was a lot of fun. We’d stay
up all night, drink, smoke pot. But then I realized what an
insomniac she was. And she’d try to sleep all day. I thought she
was going to go look for work, but all she’d do was waste the day
in bed. And her stinking cats. She had to have them sleep in bed
with us. I got all scratched up at night from their claws.”

Jonathan took another swallow from the flask.
“Anyway, I tell her Hollywood’s an early town. That she’d better
get it together if she wants to make it. And then she starts
complaining about how sick she feels in the morning. Now, she must
think I’m stupid or something, but I can tell she’s pregnant. Her
breasts are swollen, her mood swings are unbearable. But, she
doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she wallows in her misery
and the house is a mess and the cats are messing in the corner of
the living room. So that’s it—I’ve had enough. I tell her to move
out. And her reaction? Like I was dumping her on the street and
never did a thing for her. The whole time she mooched off of me. I
paid for everything.”

“Wow,” Davis said, searching his mind. “Was
it yours or mine?”

Jonathan frowned. “Who knows? But, she
clearly took care of it. So, after that I hear she’s moved into a
tiny apartment in Culver City and starts sleeping around. Then I
hear she gets pregnant again by some actor. And then she moves in
with an A.D. who hires her as some personal assistant. And that’s
where she discovers her true vocation—living through other people’s
lives. And it’s one person after another until finally, once I
start getting work, she calls and asks me for a job. She
desperately needs to get in the union, but SAG won’t take you
unless you have a job, so out of the goodness of my heart, I give
her a small part. And how does she reward me? She shows up late. Am
I supposed to hold up production for Miss Prima Donna? I already
told you that part.

“Anyway, that’s it—the next thing I hear,
she’s had it with Hollywood. She tells people the stage is her true
calling and she’s going back to New York to live with her brother
and make it on Broadway.”

Davis digested the story. “You shouldn’t be
angry with her.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Look at her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s done her share of
bad-mouthing me around town. Not that anyone would believe what
she’d say.”

Jonathan could tell by the darkening sky that
the sun had already dropped below the horizon. “Look, I don’t know
how crazy you are, but I’m heading back. It’s going to take ten
minutes just to navigate down these rocks.” Jonathan started
feeling his way for footholds. “I’ll meet you back at the
house.”

Davis scanned the dark horizon spreading
before him. “I’m coming,”

Chapter 16

Peter hovered over the lace-covered dining
table. Gold-lined plates in perfect position. Crystal drinking
goblets filled with lemon water. Napkins, ironed and starched,
folded into tents across the plates. Just so. Unlike the other
meals, Peter prepared a sit-down affair—his attempt at ameliorating
the tense atmosphere. Unfortunately, the primary target of his
effort had sequestered herself in the tower, forgoing dinner. A
very bad sign.

The guests fumbled with a mixture of relief
and anxiety, making small talk—in Peter’s assessment—to distract
themselves from the inauspicious absence of their hostess. Cynthia
smiled at him, nodding in approval at his effort. As he poured wine
and brought out the salad, a flash of lightning streaked through
the window, followed by deafening thunder. The lights blinked and
dimmed.

Davis buttered his bread with an ornate
gold-trimmed knife. “What’s Lila got here—a generator?”

“The power shouldn’t go out with a
generator,” Dick said. “Unless she’s got a lot of above-ground
lines.”

“Peter, come join us.” Cynthia motioned him
over to the unoccupied seat beside her.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I have to stir the
pasta.”

Apparently thinking Peter was out of earshot,
Dick whispered to Jon, who sat across from him. “Now there’s an
interesting relationship—Lila and Peter.”

Peter glanced back into the room. He knew the
portent of Dick’s words.

Millie chewed on a piece of brioche bread.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing going on between Lila and Peter. He
just works for her.”

“Millie, you’re such an idiot,” Dick said.
“The guy’s a fag. Of course there’s nothing ‘going on.’ ” Dick
mimicked Millie’s inflection.

A long silence ensued as the guests plied
themselves with food. Peter came back in, aware of eyes upon him.
He spooned noodles onto the plates.

Dick cleared his throat. “Okay.” He looked at
Jonathan and Davis. “Did you hear the one about the psychiatrist
who says he made a Freudian slip?” Dick didn’t wait for an answer.
“He wanted to say, ‘please pass the butter’ to his wife, and
instead said, ‘you witch, you ruined my life.’ ”

He laughed to a response of soured smiles,
and urged more enthusiasm with his hands. “Come on, guys. Admit
that was a great one.”

Millie put her fork down. “Why do you always
have to bore people with your jokes? No one thinks they’re
funny.”

“You
don’t
think they’re funny because
you
have no sense of humor.” Dick stared across the table at
Millie, his eyes red and hostile.

“Hey, what the hell was that for?” He turned
to Davis. “She kicked me.”

Davis shrugged and finished off his glass of
wine. A lopsided smirk stretched across his face. “You asked for
it. Never insult a woman wearing sharp heels.”

“She’s got sneakers on,” Dick said.

“So, little harm done.”

Peter retrieved another steaming bowl of
pasta and spooned out a helping on Jonathan’s plate. As Davis
reached for the bottle of wine, Cynthia intercepted with her hand.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough? We’ve all had enough.
Everyone’s in a bad mood.” Davis yanked the bottle out of her hand,
and she sucked in her breath.

Davis patted her hand. “Lighten up, Cyn.” He
topped her barely touched glass. “Tell us another joke, Dick. I
don’t care if it isn’t funny.”

Dick turned toward Davis, away from eye
contact with Millie. “Okay. This guy has a perpetual headache. Goes
to lots of doctors and no one can help him. Finally, he finds a
therapist who tells him it’s all in the mind. He says, whenever you
get a headache, go in the bathroom, look in the mirror and say ‘I
don’t have a headache . . . I don’t have a headache . . .’ So, the
guy does it and, by God, it works. Later, his wife wants to have
sex. They do. She wants it again. So, he goes into the bathroom. He
comes out, they make love again. The wife wants more, so he goes
back into the bathroom again. This goes on all night. His wife
can’t believe it because he never performed like that before.
Finally, she’s dying to know what’s going on in the bathroom. So,
when he goes back in after their fourth time around, she peeks
through the crack in the door and sees her husband standing in
front of the mirror, saying, ‘She’s
not
my wife, she’s
not
my wife.’ ”

Jonathan groaned. Davis muffled a laugh.
Cynthia scowled. Peter caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic
look.

Cynthia motioned at Della’s untouched plate.
“Della, eat.”

Della picked up her fork and played with her
noodles, lifting a few strands up onto her fork and raising them to
her mouth. Peter watched in fascination. Della repeated the motion
over and over but never ate a bite.

Dick popped a Rolaids into his mouth in
between bites of food. Peter doubted the noodles were to blame for
his upset stomach. He glanced at Millie. She gripped her fork and
piled food into her mouth as if stoking her anger. He cringed
imagining a life with Dick as a husband. No wonder Millie insulated
herself with fat.

Jonathan poured another glass of wine and
caught Peter’s eye. He quickly turned his head.

“Hey, troops, I’ve got a show biz joke
for you, since we’re all here as guests of the queen of Hollywood.
Where
is
our generous
hostess, anyway?”

Peter pointed to the staircase. “Upstairs.
She said she wasn’t hungry.”

“Well, that’s bad manners,” Jonathan said.
“In that case, I’ll tell the joke in her honor. This one’s been
going around Hollywood: Lila and the Devil meet at Morton’s
restaurant to hammer out a deal. And Lila says: Let me get this
straight. I sign with you—you’ll make me the richest woman in
town?

“The Devil says: Yes.

“Lila says: I’ll even get to buy one of the
networks one day?

“The Devil says: Yes. if you want to.

“Lila says: I’ll be the biggest and most
famous star in the world?

“The Devil says: Yes. Anything your heart
desires.

“Lila says: But in exchange for all these
goodies, I have to give you my soul?

“The Devil says: Oh, yes . . .

“And Lila says: And the soul of my husband,
when I marry?

“The Devil says: Yes.

“Lila says: And if I have children? You get
their souls too? And my grandchildren? And all who come after?

“The Devil says: Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Then Lila says: Okay, Mephisto, baby. You
can level with me. So, what’s the catch?”

Davis and Dick joined Jonathan in a
wave of laughter, unaware that Lila stood in the doorway. Peter
caught sight of her and stiffened. She held onto the door handle,
looking tired and ragged. Mascara was smeared over one eye and
Peter could tell she had been drinking—heavily.
Another one
, she mouthed to Peter, pointing to
her empty glass. Peter walked to the liquor cabinet and found the
Absolut.

“Hey, Levin—‘baby’—you’ve got the punch line
wrong.”

The guests startled at the sound of Lila’s
voice. Peter noticed Jonathan cringe.

Lila continued. “So, Lila asks the
devil, what’s the catch, and the devil says, well, you have to star
in a TV movie-of-the-week directed by and costarring all your old
college buddies.” She burst into a squeaky laugh and waved her arms
in the air. “No, no! Anything but that. That . . . would be
hell!
”

Then the smile disappeared from her face.
“Just kidding.” She wet a finger with her tongue and chalked up an
imaginary score in the air. “One point, Lila.”

Lila grabbed the back of the chairs for
balance as she wended her way around the table. “Well, how are my
special guests? Enjoying yourselves? I sure hope so. We have gobs
of entertainment planned for you this evening, so eat and drink.
Jonny, how ’bout another joke? I sooo . . . enjoyed the last
one.”

Jonathan pinched his lips together.

“Okay, keeping to our religious motif—a
writer dies and ends up in Limbo. He meets God and God asks whether
the guy wants to go to heaven or hell. The writer isn’t sure. God
hands him two tapes and sends him into the screening room to make
his selection. The writer puts on the tape that says ‘Heaven.’ He
sees cute kitties and lambs and children laughing. He puts on the
other tape and it’s like a Michael Jackson video world of hot sex,
expensive cars, drugs, wild times. So he comes out and God asks his
choice. He says, well hell, of course. So, God opens a door and
shoves him in. And it’s awful. He falls and falls into a bottomless
pit. Fire and brimstone and ugly monsters eat away at his flesh. He
screams up to God, burning in flames, and says, ‘God! You lied to
me!’ And God shouts back, ‘No I didn’t. I just showed you the
pilot
.
’ ”

A few laughs rippled across the room, but
Lila scrunched her eyebrows together. Jonathan looked over at her,
sweat gathering on his forehead. An oppressive silence followed.
Peter stood at the doorway to the kitchen and trembled.

Finally Lila spoke. “Heaven and hell. An apt
choice, Levin. Very revealing. Perhaps we’ll all have those choices
to make before we’re through here.”

She pulled out the vacant chair next to
Cynthia and stuffed herself into it. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?
Oh, I almost forgot.” Lila abruptly stood, knocking over Cynthia’s
water glass. “Millie, come with me.”

Millie looked stricken as Lila pulled on her
hand. She let Lila drag her out of the dining room.

Peter gathered up the plates to make room for
dessert, watching the door. Lila’s tone implied more than
drunkenness. What did she have up her sleeve?

Della lit a cigarette.

“Do you have to smoke at the table?” Jonathan
said. “Show a little consideration, or do you even know the meaning
of the word?”

Della took a long drag and blew a cloud of
smoke across the table in Jonathan’s direction. “Who do you think
you are, ordering me around? No one’s hired you to direct this
inane movie.”

“This
would
make a great movie,” Dick said. “Famous
star invites old school buddies to a weekend of thrills and
intrigue. A variation of ‘The Big Chill.’ ”

Davis shook his head. “More like the Big
Chill faces the Big Chilly San Juans.”