Wishbones (3 page)

I gave Graf a kiss and told him I was taking Sweetie to lunch at the Vineyard, a little place in Malibu that I'd heard so
much about from Millie. Stars dined there on a regular basis. I was smiling when I left the building and stepped into a perfect, cloudless California day. I put an Eagles disk in the CD player as I edged the Thunderbird convertible, circa 1957, that Graf had rented for me onto the highway. Sweetie wore her sunglasses and a scarf. We reeked of Hollywood success.

The Vineyard was bare of celebrity but offered the best green salad I'd ever eaten. Sweetie was served grilled free-range chicken cubes, and after lunch, I took her to the beach. The sand was coarser, duller than the sugar-white powder that comprised the Gulf of Mexico beaches with which I was familiar. Instead of the gentle Gulf swells, this surf pounded the shore. While Sweetie ran into the waves and came out to shake the cold water all over me, I stayed well on land. The Pacific wasn't a body of water to tease. Like so much of California, it seemed designed for pleasure, but there was a definite undertow of danger.

When we got back up the mountain to the house, I was surprised to find the front door unlocked. I was certain Graf had locked it. I checked throughout the house, but there was nothing that I could find missing.

Perhaps the owner had come to retrieve some personal item. Bobby Joe Taylor was in the vicinity, holed up somewhere on Sunset Boulevard with his girlfriend, writing another brilliant script. He said he didn't like to taint the ambiance of his home with actual work, so he loaned his home out to friends while he finished a project.

It wasn't until I went in the bathroom that I found the note, written in bloodred lipstick. "Pack your hick ass up and head home."

Instead of frightening me, the message made me furious. I got the glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels and instantly scrubbed it away. It was only after I'd finished that I realized my actions were rash. Someone had broken into the house to
leave that message. It might have been a smarter move to call the law and at least establish a pattern of craziness if the author of the note decided to act again.

Too late for smart thoughts. The lipstick was gone, except for the smears in the paper towels. I hadn't been in town long enough to make real enemies, and if jealousy was the motivation, the person had made his or her point. Whoever it was would probably never come back. I took my script and went onto the porch to study my lines.

Graf returned that afternoon with an armload of flowers and an invitation to the spring party at Michael Mainheim's. It was the place to see and be seen, and Graf cajoled and teased me into saying I would attend. He'd never been so tender and kind, and when I glanced up at him suddenly, I saw worry and compassion in his gaze.

"I know what you've given up to come here," he said, his hand warm on my arm. "I never really had a place to call home, a place where I belonged. Zinnia is your town, and you left it to come here and act with me. I don't think anyone has ever done something like that for me."

I'd come for myself as well as Graf, but there was no sense spoiling it for him with full disclosure. And I had a party to get ready for.

I had the beautiful dress Tinkie had so generously bought for me in Zinnia, a winter white creation touched with stardust sparkles that fit me to perfection. The idea of the party, while a bit intimidating, was also exciting. My first Hollywood bash.

As I got ready, Graf filled me in on details. He was borrowing Bobby Joe's tuxedo, and for this single evening, we decided to leave Sweetie home; she was exhausted from her play in the surf. As we slipped out the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. My heart stopped. I'd never looked so much like my mother as I did in that dress with my hair swept up and my lipstick a peachy mango.

"What is it?" Graf asked.

"Just a ghost," I answered, my thoughts flying to Jitty. Where was she? Was she waiting at Dahlia House, or had she gone on?

"Are you okay?"

I'd chosen, and I refused to allow the road not taken to drag me down. "I'm fine." I put a smile on my face. I would make it so.

"If you don't want to go to the party . . ."

"But I do. See and be seen. This is part of it, Graf. In for a penny, in for a pound. I'll do everything I can to make this happen for both of us."

He bent to kiss my temple. "Sometimes you astound me." He took my arm and led me to the car, a Lexus sedan that he'd chosen for his own vehicle.

As he whisked me down the mountain toward the galaxy of lights that spread to the horizon, I closed my eyes and dared to dream. One of my worst habits was that I found it hard to believe when something really wonderful happened in my life. I hid from joy, because I feared it would be taken away from me. While Graf drove, I visualized the movie and all the pleasure of a dream realized. When we arrived at the party, I was ready to act the star.

The Mainheim house was everything I'd heard it to be. Michael Mainheim had done the music for a number of fabulous movies, and I knew Federico was courting him for our movie. A Mainheim soundtrack would be icing on the cake. From the looks of it, though, money wouldn't be the draw that brought M.M., as he preferred to be called, to the project. He had money, and he spent lavishly. The gathering in front of me was testimony to that.

The party was a star-studded gala--and everyone knew my name. Scarlet Johansson and Brad Pitt welcomed me to Hollywood as I walked toward the bar. I was green and taking it all in like a tourist. This was an A-list party, and I was a part of it all.

"I hear the screen test sizzled," Brad said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." I moved on, hoping for a bar that stocked something as common as Jack Daniel's. I wasn't disappointed. A huge bottle sat on the shelf with my name on it.

"M.M. keeps a bottle for each guest," the barkeep explained. "He said that was your drink, and so the bottle is marked for you."

"Thanks." That was the password of the day.

Graf was busy talking with Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, and I eased upstairs, hoping for a bit of solitude and a place to take a breather. This stargazing was a bit wearing.

The house was a treasure trove of art. I took my time examining the paintings and sculptures as I looked for a bathroom. While I was staring at what had to be a real Picasso, I heard voices raised in anger coming from the room beyond. The door was opened a crack, and I started to walk by when I recognized Federico's voice.

"You must calm down," he said with a degree of forcefulness.

"I'm not a child. Don't you dare condescend to me. Don't you tell me what I must do!"

The second voice was female, and not that of Jovan, who had a cool, clear tone with the hint of some underlying accent that I couldn't place. This woman was one hundred percent California.

"Suzy, I'm sorry. This role was written for Sarah Booth Delaney. Something else just right for you will come along."

"You bastard!" There was the sound of a slap. "You promised me. You said I would be the perfect Matty. You said the role was mine."

Federico sighed loudly enough for me to hear. "That was six years ago, Suzy. I couldn't get the backing then, remember? I tried, but after all the things I'd been through, no one would put money on me."

"And now, because of me, you're in a position to make this movie and I'm cut out of it because of that slutty underwear model."

I'd finally figured out the woman's voice. Suzy Dutton. Big, big news when she was in her early thirties. She'd been the hottest property in Hollywood. Now, at forty, her flame was burning blue.

"Jovan has nothing to do with this."

"When you were in my bed, I was everything to you."

"Time passes, Suzy. You can't lay that at Jovan's door. We were finished when I met her."

"And soon you'll be done with her and screwing that Mississippi bitch, Sarah Bootless Delancy, or whatever her name is."

"You should go home and sleep. You look exhausted."

"I look forty, you son of a bitch. Not exhausted, not sick, not crazy. I look my age, and that's the biggest sin of all in this sick town."

I ducked into the offset doorway of another bedroom just as Suzy slammed out of the bedroom. I had no time to hide. The moment she passed the doorway, she saw me.

"You eavesdropping redneck bitch!" She drew back her fist to slug me, but I caught her hand and easily held it.

"I was looking for the bathroom." Why was I explaining my actions to a rude, mean actress? Maybe because Suzy Dutton had been a favorite of mine. I'd spent many a dark hour in a movie theater pulled into the characters she created.

"Did you hear enough to know what's going to happen to you? Federico will work you until you start to age, and then he'll cast you off and find someone younger and fresher." Her lip curled in a near perfect Elvis snarl. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

She pulled free of my grasp and stormed off down the hallway. When I chanced a look at the room where Federico remained, the door was closed. I couldn't be certain if he'd heard my encounter with Suzy or not. Federico was my boss.
I didn't really need to know about his love life. But at least I had a pretty good idea of who'd written in lipstick on the mirror. Suzy Dutton was thoroughly pissed off, but she wasn't a serious threat.

The moon hung in the western sky as I sipped the glass of wine Graf had brought me. Federico had only needed Graf on the set today, so I'd been able to stay on the mountain and explore with Sweetie Pie a few of the hiking trails that led down into the canyon. This Hollywood life was working on my hound, and she snored softly at my feet.

"This is delicious," I told him. It was very good wine, like everything else that seemed to come so easily to Californians.

Graf took a seat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him. It was an invitation I wanted to take, so I eased into the nook of his arm.

"How did it go on the set?" I asked. I'd spent a lot of my hiking time imagining what was happening on the set.

"Mostly I heard everyone sing your praises, but I basked in the reflected glory." He kissed the top of my head. "I saw the screen test, Sarah Booth. You're amazing."

"Because of you." It was true. Graf made me feel safe enough to let myself go.

"Nonsense. We have chemistry, but you'll be great no matter who you're playing opposite. By the way, we have to be on the set at nine tomorrow."

"Let me get dinner finished." I'd driven down to this wonderful little store where everything was fresh and organic. "We're having asparagus and grilled tuna steaks. They even had a nice bone for Sweetie. I think she's already buried it in the canyon."

I got up and headed to the kitchen. It was a pleasure to cook in a space that was well designed, clean, perfectly lighted. His voice stopped me in the doorway.

"Be careful with Sweetie. There are coyotes in the canyon. Maybe mountain lions." I turned to see if he was teasing me, but his face showed sincerity. He signaled me back to the sofa, and I eased onto his lap. "And you be careful, too," he whispered against my neck, his breath sending chills of pleasure over me.

I yearned to kiss him, really kiss him, but I stood up and started back to the kitchen. I hadn't allowed myself to grieve over Coleman. I'd pushed back all of my hurt and disappointment and loss, because I was afraid if I confronted it, I would fall apart and never find the pieces to pull myself back together.

So Graf was too soon. No matter the physical attraction, if I cared about him, and about myself, I would give my heart a bit of time to heal.

"We'll be ready to eat in a flash," I told him. This cooking was so different from the way I'd grown up. I was still getting the hang of it, but I was a quick study when I wanted to be.

The tuna was marinating, and I had begun chopping fresh artichoke hearts for the salad when I heard Sweetie Pie baying on the porch. She had a lovely voice, all deep throat and warble. There is nothing better than the song of a hound, and I paused in my dicing to listen. Her cry went from lovely to aggressive, and I heard the scrabble of claws on the floor.

"Hey! Sweetie! Come back."

Graf burst into the kitchen. "Sweetie just took off outside. I'm afraid she's headed down into the canyon."

I'd never considered the coyotes a real threat--until I saw Graf's face. He was worried. "Let me get a light."

I turned off the stove, picked up a flashlight and Windbreaker, and headed outside with Graf. The night was brisk, the wind cutting through the canyon from the beach with the speed of a runaway train.

Beyond us, somewhere along the trail that led down into the darkness, I heard Sweetie Pie's baying mixed with an angry bark.

"We'll break our necks trying to get down that cliff at night," I told Graf.

"She's on the trail of something. I can hear her going deeper into the canyon."

Standing beside Graf on the lip of the cliff, I felt him tense. "What is it?" I couldn't see anything.

"Do you smell that?" he asked.

I inhaled and caught the tang of something burning. Wildfire! I'd heard about the California fires fed by the brisk Pacific breezes. The stories had always terrified me. There was nothing more frightening than the images of hungry flames raging up the ravines and over the mountains of the western states.