Epiphany Jones (30 page)

‘Weinstein wouldn’t even know about this party,’ a man from the Mouse House answers arrogantly.

But there’s only one person I’m interested in finding.

‘We need to find Phineas,’ Epiphany says.

When we stepped out of the car, I half-thought that she just might lose it right then and go running off to find her daughter. But no, she’s as calm as ever. I, on the other hand, start to lose my nerve when I notice three men in grey suits patrolling the lawns. Their arms are big – the-size-of-my-thighs big. Their dark glasses and earpieces sit snugly on their muscled faces. And as if brute strength weren’t enough, they’ve all got holstered weapons.

‘Private security,’ Epiphany says.

Imminent death – even when you expect it – always has a way of bringing out the coward in you. And I suddenly remember we could have brought the gun. Despite what Epiphany thought, there ended up being no security check. The gun would have made this much, much easier.

‘This is insane,’ I mumble.

Epiphany locks her eyes on mine and squeezes my arm tight. ‘Stick to the plan, Jerry. It’s going to be fine.’

‘Plan?’ I hiss as my nerves go. ‘So we do have one? Because getting Phineas to tell me where the girls are is more of a best-case-scenario than a plan.’

Epiphany unlinks arms with me and graciously accepts two glasses of champagne when a roving waiter offers them on a silver platter.

‘I mean, let’s hear it then –
the plan
,’ I say. ‘Because when I saw the bodybuilders with their guns, I got worried.’

‘Calm down, Jerry. You know what happens to you when you get worked up,’ she says, like she’s my mother, then hands me one of the glasses. ‘My voices will tell me…’

‘This is ridiculous,’ I mutter.

‘Stop thinking how ridiculous it is and start asking yourself whether or not you believe this will work. That’s why it’s called a
leap of faith
, Jerry.’

A leap of faith would be a lot easier with Paulo’s gun.

Epiphany says, ‘You are afraid. Feel it, then let it go.’

I refuse her the dignity of a reply.

She says, ‘Trust me.’

She says, ‘Now keep an eye out for Phineas.’

I scan the grounds. I don’t see him anywhere.

‘We should split up,’ she says. ‘It will be easier to find him. Besides, Phineas wouldn’t mention anything about the girls in front of your date.’

I nod and watch Epiphany as she crosses the lawn, her blond wig shimmering in the sunlight. And then I hear it. ‘Jerry! Jerry!’

And Jordan Seabring, she almost knocks me over as she wraps her arms around my neck. She tells me how sorry she is about last night; how drunk she must have been, and how bad she felt that she made me run off.

And for the next twenty minutes, as I look out for murderers and child rapists, Jordan sits me at one of the tables with their actual silver silverware, and she tells me about how hard her life has been. How her parents pushed her into beauty pageants at the age of three. How they told her to win at any cost.
‘Fame is immortality,’
they said.

‘There are just so many demands to being me,’ she says as we sit and she drinks a nine-hundred-dollar glass of Cristal. ‘It’s a hard life.’ And, if you’re a cynical fuck like me, you’re probably thinking, how can a young, rich, beautiful star have a hard life? But everything is relative, right?
Why would a fifteen-year-old girl fuck a boy on command if she weren’t brainwashed into believing fame was the only goal worth pursuing?

You might think that her money and looks bring her freedom, but she’s as chained as any of us. She’s twenty-seven now. And though she’s not being shown the door yet, she’s definitely being handed her hat. She knows this, so she takes uppers to get through the press events and keep that young sparkle in her eyes. She has surgery at least twice a year to improve parts of her body
(‘December it was my hips. February, my ears, see?’
). And, though her life is immeasurably better than Epiphany’s or mine or yours, Jordan’s been ruined by what people demand of her all the same. She’s not a real person anymore.

‘Phineas has begun trying to get reporters to refer to me as “The Starlet” like they used to when I got started. He says it will make audiences think I’m young,’ the twenty-seven-year-old says.

A few more guests trickle out to the garden, but I still don’t see him anywhere. From the other side of the gardens, Epiphany stands flanked by some new admirers hoping to get lucky with the mysterious woman with blond hair. She’s holding her champagne glass up to her lips as her other hand playfully tickles the choker around her neck. She gives a throaty laugh. Here she can’t tell her suitors to fuck off like she did in the bar, so she acts polite, all while keeping one eye on me and the other on the look-out for Phineas.

Jordan laughs at something she’s just said. ‘But Hugh, he’s forty and still has another good twenty working years in front of him! He wouldn’t understand. Besides, he’s so busy. You’ve heard Matthew signed him to three pictures? No one in the industry thought Hugh would agree, but he did! Forty million a picture!’

On the orchestra’s stage a cymbal clashes.

In the crowd a supermodel dances.

And I look around and I look around and I look around and I don’t see him anywhere.

‘That’s sixty million!’ Jordan says.

I say, ‘Look, Jordan, the people who work for Matthew come to this party too, right?’

She says, ‘Please, call me Starlet.’

I say, ‘I mean, it’s not just for your kind, right?’

She says, ‘Do you spell Starlet with one T or two?’

I say, ‘I’ll bring you a dictionary later. But right now, is there a place here where someone who works for Matthew would be? Maybe a room where they all hang out?’

She says, ‘Everyone here works for Matthew. We all owe him for something.’

And then my breathing stops cold. Across the lawn I see him. The one I’ve been looking for since we arrived. The only reason I came. And even from this distance he looks so tall, so built. His dark face is scratched. And as Nico turns to enter the villa, I see a patch of his thick black hair on the back of his head is shaved.

Epiphany was right. He’s alive. He’s here. And as I watch the man I thought I murdered walk around all alive, my whole body suddenly courses with rage.

At our table, Jordan’s going on about how she’s so happy to be with Hugh Fox, the number one Hollywood box-office draw, the man whose name attached to a picture guarantees the film a one-hundred-million-dollar opening. ‘Just being with him has given my career the boost it needed after I turned twenty-five,’ she gushes. ‘And … oh, who are you going to tell? Last night, after you left the party, Hugh showed. He proposed! We’re getting married!’

Please shut up, I think. There’s a man I need to kill. Again.

‘You want to meet him?’ Jordan says like a sixteen-year-old dying to show off her first boyfriend.

‘Love to,’ I say.

And as Jordan goes bounding off to find her forty-million-dollar-a-picture boyfriend, I slide a gold-tipped silver steak knife from the table into the sleeve of my tux and stalk across the lawn. I brush by agents talking business, celebrities dancing to jazz, and waiters dressed in their white penguin jackets, carrying silver trays. Just past the orchestra’s stage I pause at the open doorway and peer into the grand foyer. It’s filled with more waiters and bartenders, more agents and stars and
publicists. Then through the crowd I glimpse Nico. He’s climbing the grand staircase. Up my sleeve, my hand tightens around the steak knife’s handle. For something I wished I could have taken back for the longest time, now I can’t wait to get it right.

But out of nowhere I’m grabbed by the collar and pulled back into the garden. I’m pulled behind the stage the orchestra is playing a rendition of ‘Blue Skies’ on. As the jazz trumpets flare a voice breathes, ‘No, Jerry. No!’

Epiphany slams me against the back wall of the orchestra’s stage. She’s dragged me here so we’re out of sight of all the guests.

She says, ‘We aren’t here for him. This is for my daughter.
Just
my daughter.’ Her eyes, they’re like nails pinning me in place.

As a saxophone blows, I yell, ‘He killed Bela! He killed her and he’s here. He deserves this!’ And my hand with the knife drops out of hiding.

Epiphany’s eyes go wide. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed,’ she says and grabs my wrist.

‘Then so be it!’ I grit through my teeth. ‘But I’m not going to let him go without even trying.’

On the stage behind us a bassist is doing a solo and Epiphany, she says, ‘Yes, you are.’ She says this and twists my wrist. The way she’s looking at me, it’s like I’m supposed to accept her words as final, absolute decree.

In my head, through all the music from the stage, through all the noise from the guests, through all the pain from Epiphany twisting my wrist, I hear Bela call me
‘my alleegator.’

To Epiphany, I say, ‘She was working with her dad at a bookstore, did you know that? She was saving money to come to the States. She wanted to go to school so she could become a journalist.’ My eyes are wet as the orchestra goes into full swing. ‘She was a good person, Epiphany. She was smart and she was kind and she was completely innocent. She didn’t make any of the mistakes you or my father or I have. She was innocent in all this.’ Pulling my wrist away from Epiphany’s grasp, I say, ‘This is for her.’

But Epiphany, she grabs my wrist harder this time. She gives it a firm
twist and the knife drops from my hand into the grass. She quickly kicks it out of sight underneath the stage. ‘No, this is all for you,’ she says.

And it takes all I can to not lunge at her.

‘Help me get my daughter, Jerry.
Help me
. Don’t become me.’

We’re both breathing heavily and several of the guests look at us standing behind the stage as they pass from the grand foyer to the gardens. On stage, the orchestra is now playing ‘Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love’.

‘You think the loss is bad, Jerry? You have no idea what revenge is really like. The things I’ve done to people – the things I’ll do today in the name of
revenge
. Every time you do it, it’s like drinking poison. Your Bela is
dead
. There’s nothing left to save. But my daughter is
alive
. She’s here. That’s the
only
reason we’re here. You need to find Phineas.’

And this is where Epiphany’s manipulation really comes out. The concern at the hotel, the looking after me. It was all an act to move her goals along.
Her
plans.

‘What about me? What about what I need?’ I yell. It feels like every blood cell is exploding beneath my skin, like every cell is dancing to the beats of the orchestra. Epiphany tightens her grip on me until I lower my voice. ‘What about losing my job and being framed for murder? What about my mom hating me? What about being stabbed and thrown off a dock and thinking you’ve killed a man? What about losing the love of my life – the only
real
thing I’ve ever known?’ My voice quivers, ‘What about
me
?’

And, as if she were a god speaking to an ant, Epiphany, the Quester, the Devil, the only-one-focus girl, she says, ‘What about you?’

What. About. You.

‘Fuck you,’ I say and push against her so hard the stage almost shakes. A group of publicists from inside the grand foyer peek out the door, but neither of us is their client so they go back to their drinks. But one of the guards in the grey suits has seen our skirmish and approaches us. I raise my hands, signalling
I’m done
, and walk into the villa. Epiphany won’t stop me. She won’t risk the guard asking us to leave.

I’m here to do what I’m here to do. Epiphany is on her own.

I
dart up the grand staircase, past more celebrities drinking and mingling, admiring the Oscars and Emmys displayed around the foyer. ‘No, after you win one, your career goes to shit,’ an Academy-Award-winning actress admits to a teen star. ‘If you’re a woman, that is. It doesn’t happen to the men. But then you start your own clothing line. Branding yourself is where it’s at.’

I pause mid-staircase and look over my shoulder towards the garden’s entrance. Epiphany has followed me, but she stops and turns away when someone says, ‘Just the person I was hoping I’d see.’ I turn to see Phineas smiling at me from the top of the stairs. ‘I wondered if you would come.’

I feel sick when I take his outstretched hand in mine.

‘Jerry, are you all right? After you ran out of the party last night, I became worried.’ He grins, ‘I know Jordan can be a handful, but…’

‘I’ve just had a lot of personal problems lately,’ I say, looking around for Nico.

‘It is a nice house,’ Phineas says, misreading my glances. ‘Come. Let me give you a tour. It will give us a chance to talk.’

We climb the grand staircase to the second floor. A personal tour is perfect. It’ll let me look for Nico and keep Epiphany away at the same time. Phineas apologises for not finding me sooner, but he says he was dealing with some last-minute technicalities with an important guest. ‘You know how temperamental these actors can be. Once they get famous, they lose all patience. When they want something, they want it yesterday.’

As we walk I look for anything I can use as a weapon. Nico’s built like an ironhorse train. I’m going to need something a little stronger than my fists. Phineas and I are in the second-floor gallery now. It’s a good fifteen feet to the ground below. I wonder,
Is it hard to push someone through a window?

‘Matthew designed this villa himself. It’s been featured on countless home shows, you know. You should see the view from the rooftop deck – it’s remarkable.’ And as we look at the Monets and the Picassos and the Chagalls that hang on the walls, I say, ‘Does Matthew own all these paintings?’

Phineas chuckles. ‘God, yes, and many more. He probably doesn’t even remember all the pieces he owns.’

My throat tightens. ‘Did you hear about that theft at the Art Institute in Chicago?’

‘No,’ Phineas says, with slight confusion in his voice. ‘But you know people in our business, if it doesn’t relate to Hollywood, it doesn’t matter.’

Surely the museum would have notified Matthew of the missing Van Gogh? But then I think, how could he know about the SD card? And the painting was recovered in less than a day. And then I remember what Donald told me once: any art theft is dealt with by liaising with the insurance companies. As powerful and busy as Mann is, chances are they don’t have a direct line to him. One of his assistants at the studio probably deals with all his philanthropy work. And even if his assistant did bother him about this, would he even suspect Epiphany was involved? Would he bat an eye if the police told him I was a suspect? Would he even remember me?

We make our way to the third floor, passing the cinema and entering a type of movie memorabilia ballroom. Where the second-floor gallery was dedicated to fine art, this one is dedicated to Hollywood pop. Huge posters from Hollywood’s past hang on the walls.
Casablanca. Breakfast
at Tiffany’s. Citizen Kane.
Under a glass case there’s the blaster gun from Blade Runner. There’s the golden statue from
The Maltese Falcon.
There’s the headdress Elizabeth Taylor wore in
Cleopatra
. It’s like being
in one of those Planet Hollywood theme restaurants. Only this one has actual celebrities roaming about, laughing, talking business, looking self-important.

Beside us a Disney actress asks her handler how best to avoid the questions interviewers love to ask about the rumours she’s still a virgin; that she’s still saving herself for that one special person.

‘What are you, twelve?’ the handler says to the fourteen-year-old. ‘Did you get into this business yesterday? I don’t care if you’ve just won a MTV Movie Award. When someone asks if you’re a virgin, you lie and you say “yes” and talk about the importance of your virginity whenever you can. People will see it as an obstacle and that will make you all the more desirable.’

The Disney actress nods her head.

‘And always have your mouth open,’ the handler instructs. ‘No, like this. Always open your mouth a little and purse your lips out, like you’re perpetually blowing on an invisible cup of hot tea. It will make people think of sex without making you look slutty.’

The Disney actress blowing on a cup of invisible hot tea says, ‘OK.’

‘Trust me,’ the handler says. ‘All this will help sell your television show and your movies and your albums. It’s all about building a personal media empire. It’s all about strategically stitching together all the pieces to build affinity around the content. But forget about that. That’s marketing stuff. That’s why you have me.’

And from the other side of the ballroom, a voice shouts, ‘Has anyone seen my fian–’ then stops abruptly and says, ‘I mean, has anyone seen Hugh?’

Phineas hears my groan. ‘Jordan is a handful,’ he says. ‘Come this way, let’s escape to the roof. The view is magnificent.’

It’s almost six in the evening now and the sun is still hovering above the sea. The Mediterranean’s blue-green waters stretch endlessly beyond the cliffs. The rain clouds over the mountains in the west have moved closer, but the breeze is slowing their approach. Jazz music drifts up from the lawn. Bela, she would find this whole party silly, but she would love the view.

I scan the gardens below. We’ve been through the whole house. Where’s Nico? What if he’s left? And where’s Epiphany? And now that I think about it…

‘I haven’t seen Matthew yet,’ I say.

‘He’s probably dealing with some last-minute details for tonight,’ Phineas says, and then stops abruptly. ‘Jerry, if you do see him, I’ll ask that you not approach him. It’s not that he wouldn’t show respect to his friend’s son – he’s just quite
particular
about these parties. I haven’t told him I’ve invited you. I’d rather stay on his good side.’

‘No problem. I understand.’ I give him a wink. My wink, it’s a warm-up. It’s a way to fake confidence; to pretend you aren’t a coward. Then I take a deep breath and, taking the biggest leap of faith in my life, I say, ‘But I need to be honest with you.’

Phineas, he raises his eyebrows.

‘There’s a man here – an Italian named Nico. I need to talk to him.’

‘I’m not sure–’

I’m not sure
is never a good sign. So I rattle through Epiphany’s ‘plan’ in my head. I cut him off and tell Phineas that I came here with ulterior motives. I tell him that I’ve known about Matthew’s parties for some time – that my father told me everything the night before he made the deal with Jordan Seabring.

And the look in his eyes – the guarded suspicion – I can tell Phineas is wondering where I’m going with this. So I apologise and tell him I’ve been less than honest. Forgive me. Those personal problems I mentioned? I’ve just gotten out of a bad marriage, I lie. I’ve come to the festival to party and to forget, I lie. I tell him that when he offered me the tickets, I thought,
What better way to party than to experience the off-limits?
Just like my dad liked to do.

‘Just like you like to do,’ I say.

And Phineas considers me with a look of guilty astonishment for a moment. But then he lets out a laugh – it’s a weird one; a mixture of apprehension and relief, as if he’s flip-flopping back and forth between believing whether what I’ve said my intentions are, and not.

And then, finally, ‘Just like your father,’ he smiles and holds my gaze.
He begins to speak again, but stops when a group of guests spill onto the rooftop deck with us. Phineas beckons me to follow him and, as we walk down the stairs back to the third floor, he insists we speak in whispers.

‘I’m confused,’ I say. ‘Doesn’t everyone here know about this? Isn’t that why they’re all here?’

Phineas shakes his head. ‘Why do sons never really listen to their fathers? No Jerry, this isn’t a free-for-all. The people who are here, most of them come because it’s the most exclusive party in Cannes. They come for the bragging rights. Besides, to turn down an invitation from Matthew Mann is certain to doom your career. But the real treats, shall we say, they are for a select few only.’

Phineas and I move through the movie memorabilia ballroom on the third floor, past VIPs who are drinking and eating and laughing, past the movie posters and the props in glass cases. A group of people exit the cinema and one of them gushes,
‘Matthew’s best movie ever!
Dare I say,
even better than Revolution
?’ loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

‘Come, we need privacy,’ Phineas says. We make our way down the stairs until we’re in the art gallery again. It’s still too crowded for Phineas’s taste so we walk through the gallery and pass through to a small library at the end of it. I haven’t seen this many books since Emma’s hospital room. At the back of the library there are a pair of stained-glass doors. When Phineas opens them, the only thing I can say is,
‘Jesus Christ.’

Literally, there’s a life-sized statue of Jesus Christ in front of me. Matthew Mann, he’s built a chapel in his villa. And Phineas, ever the showman, loves the look of surprise on my face. ‘The floor is made of imported granite. The statues are originals from Renaissance Italy. That cross there is over a thousand years old. The slabs come from a synagogue in Poland that was torn down by the Nazis after the start of the Second World War.’ Phineas knows what I’m thinking. ‘Excessive, right?’ he laughs. ‘Look, I wouldn’t dare say it’s a show he puts on because, well, I know he really believes.’ He pauses for a moment.
‘I mean, he was so worried about your father after Emma died. We all were. But Matthew made him read the Bible – he honestly thought it would help.’

It stings to hear Phineas say Emma’s name. What would he have done to her if given the chance?

‘But,’ Phineas continues, ‘this
is
Hollywood.
Everything
is for show in some way. And as I’ve said, this villa has been featured on countless home shows. Christians are a built-in audience. You appeal to them and they’ll spend their money on your products. So it never hurts Matthew to publicly declare how profoundly it affected him when he realised Jesus Christ was his saviour.’

Phineas falls silent for a moment. He hasn’t brought us down here just for privacy. The look on his face – the way he regards this place – he’s come down here to think about my proposition. He looks at the statue of Jesus.
What should I do?
Phineas seems to think. But the statue, it wears a face that says,
Like I have the answers.

‘You know when your dad first came to me telling me he wanted to solidify your future career, I thought it was a horrible idea,’ Phineas says. ‘I told him not everyone would be open to our lifestyle – even his own flesh and blood. But your dad was worried about you. He said you were spiralling down after your sister’s death, like him, and he needed to put you on a path.’

‘Path?’ I say.

‘He wanted to give you something to do. Let you start building a career so you wouldn’t waste your life in front of a TV,’ he says. ‘But Hollywood is competitive, and if your dad was going to use nepotism to get you in with Mann, we both knew you would eventually need to find out about the girls. So I came up with a sort of test for you and Jonathan agreed. We decided to give you Jordan as a gift and, if you were amenable to her, we would let you into our world and start prepping you for it.’

Poor stupid, beautiful, dumb Jordan.

‘But then there was the accident,’ Phineas says, omitting all the details that go with it.

‘So this Nico guy: can he hook me up?’ I say.

Phineas shakes his head. ‘Nico is just a middleman, Jerry. He’s a trafficker. A thug. He’s here to transport the girls back after tonight’s event. It’s not like he takes orders for girls from just anybody – no offence. You’re lucky you didn’t approach him about this. He probably would have beat you to death before asking questions.’

I give my best ‘surprised’ look.
Nico, dangerous? Wow, dodged that bullet.

‘This batch, Jerry – this batch I picked just for this party. Most are virgins,’ he says, standing next to a statue of the biggest virgin of them all. ‘All of these girls – they’re beautiful specimens. All between five and fourteen.’ He speaks like he’s in ecstasy. ‘There are twelve of them, for thirteen guests. No one but those thirteen guests, Matthew, Nico, and I, know about them.’ I furrow my eyebrows. ‘There is a producer,’ Phineas explains. ‘His wife likes to watch while he has his way with the young ladies.’

A sickening feeling rises in my gut.

‘Jerry, I don’t want to get into trouble, but I want to help you out. I understand how life can get you down and sometimes you need a pick-me-up. And you’ve never experienced a pick-me-up like this. You may think you have but you’ve never experienced pleasure until you’ve experienced one of them.’ He says this like he’s recalling sampling a fine wine. ‘The real show, it doesn’t start until ten, and even though I can’t let you have one of the girls – not tonight anyway,’ he smiles, ‘well, we are all part of the movies here. How about a preview of the coming attractions?’