The Diamond Lane (55 page)

THE FACES OF
the guests were red and wet from hiking up or down the hill from wherever they'd managed to park. The night smelled not of the late spring flowers blooming up and down the hillsides but of the inside of a gas station service bay.

Ivan refused to make the announcement. He was too distracted with the filming of
Wedding March
, with the crew of
L.A. Today
taping him filming
Wedding March
. In addition, he was reluctant to make it seem as though he had somehow snapped Mouse out from under Tony's nose. He respected Tony. He did not want to appear to be gloating.

“Are you gloating?” Mouse asked.

“Of course I am. Warner Brothers is very interested in distributing
Wedding March. American Film
wants to do a cover story on us.”

“You're kidding.”

“When we are finished, the Museum of Modern Art will show
Total Immersion, El Funeral
, and
Wedding March
as a trilogy.”

It was decided that Nita would make the announcement. Shirl was too shy with all these young people, and Mouse had suddenly found herself embarrassed. She was sure that even in modern-day Los Angeles, where a husband is no less a status symbol than is a car phone, this would seem perverse. Mouse
FitzHenry marrying not the man whose name appeared on the invitation but her sister's ex-husband, her own ex-true love? Would they be shocked? Would they find her sociopathic? Would they want their presents back?

The presents were piled high on a table on the deck next to the railing. Kitchen/barbecue was the theme Mimi finally decided upon. As a result, among the presents, were several portable barbecues that looked like gift-wrapped space ships.

People asked, “Where's the groom?” Mouse said, “He's around here somewhere,” then tried to capture Ivan's attention. But Ivan was too busy with the Nagra, too busy being the serious and original independent documentary filmmaker for the cameras of
L.A. Today
. Even though he was now the groom, he refused to give up control of his tape recorder. The forty-pound Nagra hung from its frayed strap from one shoulder, the headphones sat casually around his thick neck. He could operate the controls without looking.

It would be very simple, he said, even humorous, for Eliot to film him and Mouse making a toast while he, Ivan, recorded the sound of their glasses clinking. The
L.A. Today
people would then videotape Eliot filming Ivan recording Mouse.

After the confusion at the front door (where had Tony disappeared to, anyway?), Ivan had pulled aside the
L.A. Today
producer and briefly explained the situation, that Tony and Mouse's wedding used to be the subject of
Wedding March
, but now it was his and Mouse's wedding. Yvonne, the producer, was thrilled with this new angle, which would give their viewers an insight into Ivan's personal, as well as his professional, life.

Outside, on the deck, Nita tapped the side of her wineglass with her fork. She was wearing a pink pinafore and plastic sandals. The city stretched behind her, the blanket of lights glowed dull yellow in the heat.
Ping-ping-ping
. “Turn down the music. Will someone turn down the – thank you.”

Mouse stood to one side, worrying the rim of her glass with her thumbnail.

“On behalf of my friend and client Mouse FitzHenry, I have a little announcement to make –”

“– I'm not pregnant!” Mouse blurted out.

A few people laughed.

“– who was it who said never explain, never apologize? Anyway, whoever it was, in that spirit I'd like to tell you all there's been a change in plans. This shower isn't for Mouse and Tony, it's for Mouse and Ivan. Congratulations, you two.” She toasted them, then took a dainty sip.

The silence that followed was less palpable than the response of, say, two doting parents who've just discovered that their
summa cum laude
daughter is going to marry a thrice-divorced shoe salesman.

Down the hill, on the far side of the forest of prickly pear that separated the Big House from its neighbor, a group of kids were playing Marco Polo in their backyard pool.

“Marco?” shouted a young, faraway voice.

“Polo!” hollered one of Mimi's friends from Bibliothèques, his voice amplified by cupped hands.

Everyone laughed. Mouse downed her vodka and soda, took a bold bite of the wedge of warm lime hung on the edge of the glass. No one cared! Someone turned the music back up. The bartender squeezed between conversations, collecting drinks to be refreshed. Discussions continued where they left off: who'd gotten what deal at what studio; what recent undeserving screenplay had sold for what outrageous amount; who had tossed in the towel and moved to what idyllic spot to work in a bookstore or movie theater.

Mr. Futake worked from a card table set up near the presents, charming people with his cars, cats, and Batmen. No one congratulated Mouse, but no one took back a present, either. Mouse felt her worry slide away. Warner Brothers wanted to distribute
Wedding March
!
American Film
was going to do a profile! A trilogy at the Museum of Modern Art!

L.A. Today
videotaped Eliot filming Ivan recording her.

Lisa struggled toward them through the crowd, a plate filled with button-sized dabs of food raised above her head.

“Lisa. Thanks for doing this,” said Mouse. “You've done a beautiful job.”

“So is Tony dating anyone, do you know?” asked Lisa, systematically working her way down a carrot stick with her front teeth.

“Mousie Mouse, I can't believe this! Now we'll really be sisters!” Mimi had sprung up from nowhere. For a moment Mouse wondered if she'd snorted something, so huge was her gummy wide smile, so hysterically messy was her straw-colored hair, so high and loud and cajoling was her voice. In fact, Mimi had just blown in from her last How to Write a Blockbuster.

“I take it things went well?” asked Mouse.

“Oh, God! Lex Waldorf was there. He loved my book. You should have seen Ralph's face. Did I tell you what I did? I gotta tell you. Lex is so hot, he gets people
movie
money for
books
. So, Mousie Mouse, you and Ivan! I can't believe it! Shirl already called me at work and told me after you'd talked to her this afternoon. Why didn't you tell me? Ivan the Terrible, let me give you a congratulationatory, or whatever it is, kiss.” Mimi sidled up to Ivan, threw her arm around his shoulder and planted one casually on his lips. “Are we going to be on TV? Ivan's my ex-husband. Lex Waldorf wants to see the book when it's done, that's how excited he was. I think I'm going to give up acting and do writing.”

“Ivan's your ex-husband?” asked Yvonne.

“It's like ancient history,” said Mimi. “We were kids.”

“How do you feel about your sister marrying him?”

“Really great. It's a wonderful thing. Fun, kind of like sharing clothes. You know, she was going out with Ivan first. It's true! We were all eighteen or so. They were in film class together. I don't know
how
he got interested in me. l was the older woman, I guess, mysterious or something. Anyway, now Mouse finally has her man. We will have to sit down and have a
long
talk. It's
like how you put a handicap on a golfer, that's what I'll have to do with her. All his bad habits, I'll tell her.”

Mimi excused herself, then threaded her way back through the crowd on the deck, through the sliding glass door and into the living room, where the bar was set up. She ordered a mineral water from a Samoan who admired her legs.

Someone put on the Stones. Mimi kicked off her black strappy sandals and danced by herself. One of the bartenders, not the Samoan, snuck out from behind the table and danced with her. The living room was dark and hot, lit only by lights of the deck. The booming bass line echoed the blood in Mimi's veins.

So Mouse was marrying Ivan. The news was unexpected but hardly a surprise, Mimi thought. This was a world where young fathers were run down by two-ton converter gears while crossing the street, where mothers were beaned by ceiling fans while innocently cheating on their diets, where average white girls of the middle class ran away to Africa. A world where the unexpected happened and the expected didn't.

Mouse was lucky she had Mimi to smooth the way, to advise her on handling Ivan. Not that Mimi had had any success. Not that Mimi was even going to have the time, what with dedicating all her time to finishing her blockbuster. She made a mental note to get Lex Waldorf's number from one of the Rolodexes at Talent and Artists. She would call him when the book was finished, then he would seduce the publishing world on her behalf.

She was through with Ralph. She was through with money problems, with eating problems, with married men. She would go back to her yoga class. She would eat more tofu. First, though, one last little purge, an easy one, the half dozen Ding Dongs she'd bought at a convenience store and wolfed down on the way to the shower.

After the song was over, the bartender reluctantly excused himself and returned to pouring margaritas. Auntie Barb, a finger jabbed in one ear, turned the stereo down so low only the hum of the speakers could be heard.

Outside, on the deck,
L.A. Today
prepared to tape a formal interview with Ivan. Yvonne arranged him in Lisa's fancy wooden deck chair, in front of one of Mimi's potted plants. The special wedding-shower photographer had arrived and was roving around blinding people with his flash.

Mouse stood by the railing, chewing her bottom lip raw. She stared down the hill at the boys paddling around the pool, seething. She wondered if their young lives were informed with as much unmitigated bullshit as hers was. She could not shake Mimi's voice from her head:
I don't know how he got interested in me. I was the older woman, I guess, mysterious or something
.

Then there was Ivan, no better than Mimi, really. Mouse listened while he mused about the nature of filmmaking and love. About how he and Mouse had found each other after all these years. About how in this time of cynicism and national apathy the force of true love was not to be underestimated. About how he believed people were made for one another. About how, if he did not believe all these things, he might feel terribly guilty for the breakup of Mouse and Tony's engagement. However, in his opinion, Love was second only to Truth in its power to make one Whole.

Mouse didn't know whether she was going to be sick or just needed to lock herself in the bathroom until the wedding was over.

Tony sat in his room. In his shorts, in the dark, on the edge of his bed, he sat. There were things he hadn't taken into consideration. For one, that climbing out the window was impossible. His bedroom was on the same side as the deck; stretching away twenty feet below it was the steep hill dense with cactus. For another, that in this wretched, stifling heat he would actually need to pee. After ascertaining that relieving himself out his bedroom window was impossible without a chair or the joints of a contortionist, he stood by the door, listening for a moment when the coast might be clear and he might make a run for it.

He made the mistake of opening the door – silently he
opened it! Just a crack he opened it! – to peer out, just as Mimi was walking by.

“Tony? Is that you?” She opened the door, switched on the blasted overhead light. “God, is it stuffy in here.”

“Hallo, Mimi. How – how's the party?” He tugged self-consciously at the end of his nose, held his legs together. In view of the state of his bladder, he really didn't have time for a chat. “I'd join you, y'know but … You're not going to believe this. We sold our script, Ralph and I.”

“No! Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“Does Ralph know? Ralph doesn't know. I just saw him at class. Oh God, congratulations! Let me –” She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You're so nice and tall. Do you want to hear one of the truths of the world? The short girls always get the tall guys and the tall girls always the short guys. Why do you think that is?”

“Nature's way of producing only so many jockeys and basketball stars, I imagine.”

“You are so funny and smart. I mean that as a compliment.”

She looked in his Pacific Ocean eyes, ground her bony hips against his. There was nothing between them but his paltry gym shorts, the thin linen of her skirt. He always suspected Mimi was something of a goer. Suddenly he forgot why he even opened his door, much less had to go to the loo.

“Allyn Meyer says it's going to be a thousand screens at Christmas – the movie, I mean.”

“You feel nice,” said Mimi.

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them he saw Mouse rooted in the doorway, arms crossed. Face pale and furrowed with shock and displeasure. “Mouse,” he croaked.

“No, honey, it's Mimi,” purred Mimi.

“What is going on?”

“Mousie Mouse! We were just talking!” Mimi leaped from Tony's arms, scrunching her hair wildly.

The bloody hell we were, thought Tony, cursing the sudden tightness in his shorts. Biology conspired with truth to make men lousy liars. “I don't see it's any of your business anyway,” he said.