Sarah stood on Jack's deck and looked at the lights of the other houses across Laurel Canyon. Some of them had Christmas displays, chains of free, red, yellow and blue winking on and off in the night. Someone had even put up a tall Christmas tree outlined in lights about halfway up the hillside. It was a clear evening, and cold enough that Sarah needed to wear a sweater over her blouse. The stars shine thick and bright above, and car lights meandered along the canyon road way below. She could smell woodsmoke in the air.
Standing so high up the canyon side, Sarah felt suspended in space. Behind her, the party was full in swing. People were laughing dancing, drinking. Janis was belting out 'Get It While You Can't into the night air. But Sarah taking a moment's breather from the crowd. Her peace was soon broken. Guests came out onto the deck and stopped to tell her how much they love the show, how 'great 'she was, or how 'great' she looked, the way people did in Hollywood, as if it there were the only thing in the universe that mattered.
In return, Sarah smiled and made small talk as best she could, sipping on the glass of rum and Coke that Jack had poured her when she arrived. The ice had melted by now, and the Coke had most of its fizz. Between conversations, she would glance around nervously now and then to make sure Stuart, her escape route, was still nearby. The sweet, acrid smell of marijuana drifted through the air. The two actors who played uniformed cops on the show stood near the door snorting coke through follow-up dollar bill.
Or it could have been a twenty. Apart from the numbers, American money all looked the same to Sarah. She turned away from the actors ; the scene brought back too many memories, all of them bad. Music blasted out of Jack's megawatt stereo system in the main room. Janis gave way to the Rolling Stones doing 'Angie.' Sarah studied the lights of the houses across the canyon again and wondered if M were watching. Was she on stage tonight?
Inside the house, people danced wildly tossing frantic shadows over the stark white walls. Sometimes the shadows and the dancers didn't seem to connect, as if so much wildness disconnected them way retina might be detached from the back of the eye. Sarah looked for Jack, hoping he would manage to get away from the throng had for years, such a success that it was even being shown in the UK already.
People said the main reason for the show's success was the chemistry between Sarah's controlled, repressed and icy blonde homicide detective, Anita O' Rourke, and her spontaneous, rule bending, bed hopping partner Tony Lucillo, played by Jack. Why was it, Sarah wondered, that female TV cops always had names that started with an 'O' and male cops and names that ended with one ?
Sarah's character was tough and competent, with a hint of vulnerability, an occasional hairline crack in the professional carapace. She was the one always kept her cool when Lucillo shouted, gesticulated and when into his tantrums, but she also shed a tear or two in private after discovering the raped and murdered corpse of a twelve year old street kid.
Stuart said the audience liked the characters because they kept people in suspense about whether they'd end up in the sack together. They has filmed a kiss for Christmas special a chaste one, but with definite possibilities then the network would be showing reruns for a couple of weeks to keep the viewers on tenterhooks.
Stuart also said the male viewers loved Sarah because, although she seemed a bit aloof and prim, very Brit, they just knew she was a screamer between the sheets. All that repressed passion. Strictly footprints on the ceiling. Sarah took all the praise with a pinch of salt, and she took Stuart's crude comment as a compliment.
That, to her, was what acting was all about. Being someone different. She was by nature shy and quiet; her shyness was a personal prison she could only escape through acting. She could only be truly alive and real on stage or in front of the cameras.
Being reserved, Sarah didn't like parties very much, either, but she understood the importance of attending them, especially in Hollywood. It wasn't just a matter of being seen at the right places. Certainly that was important, Sarah was still only an up and coming star, rather than a fully fledged one.
But she was also relatively new to America, and she wanted to make friends; she wanted to be liked. It was especially difficult being English. People were inclined to think you were stuck up and stand -offish just because of your accent. So she showed up when she was invited, mingled and said the right things.
She never really made any close friends that way, but at least she collected more faces to smile at when she too noisy there to hear yourself think. Sarah turned to the sliding door and smiled to see Jack coming towards her with a bottle of beer in his hands. She liked Jack. Of all the people she'd met in Los Angeles- Stuart aside he was the closest she had to a friend.
Handsome in a TV star sort of way, Jack was tall and slim, not exactly muscular, but in good athletic shape, with a dark complexion and a great head of shiny black hair. Sarah liked him because he was straightforward no games, no bullshit full of mischief and energy, and he had a sense of humour.
Jack could act, too, not like some of the people in the show, who had walked right out of toothpaste commercials and used-cars lots . Sometimes they went out together to restaurants, plays and concerts.
There has been one or two media attempts at rumours of romance, of course, but even the greenest of entertainment reporters hadn't been able to maintain that fiction for long, reverting instead to the chiche of the beautiful star's lonely life, her Garbo-esque love of solitude and privacy.
Sarah knew that Jack was gay, and that the one marriage he had tired, to appear hetero, had been a dismal failure. If the gossip columnists also knew, they weren't saying anything. Hollywood could be very funny about things like that, even today.
'Playing wallflower again?' Jack asked, standing next to her. They turned to face the canyon and he draped his arm over her shoulder in a brotherly fashion. The solid wooden fence they leaned against the wall that stood between the two of them and a long plunge into the dark.
'Oh, shut up, Jack,' Sarah said, thumping his arm. You're such a party animal, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.' Jack feigned a frown. 'Not for much longer. In case you hadn't noticed, it's my birthday. I'm getting old.' 'Thirty-seven's.' 'Easy to say that when you're only thirty-four.' 'How did you that?' Jack winked.
Same way I know your real name's Sally Bolton. No problem if you flirt a bit with one of the secretaries.' 'Swine.' Sarah nudged him in the ribs, but a chill went through her when he mentioned knowing her real name. 'Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me,' Jack joked. 'Especially with that plummy London accent. 'Plummy?' Sarah countered, switching to the broad Yorkshire she'd lost after years playing other people, voices. 'Ee bah gum, lad, tha mun't call us plummy.'
Jack laughed.' Is that true?' Sarah asked him. 'About the secretary?' 'No. You told me yourself in the fall. Don't you remember?' So I did. It's just...' 'What is it? Is something wrong?' Sarah shrugged. 'No. Well, not really.' He took his arm away, grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him. 'Come on, Sarah,' He said in his TV voice. 'It's me Tony Lucillo, your partner.'
Sarah slipped out of his grasp and turned to face the canyon. 'Oh it's nothing,' she said. 'It was just you saying how easy it was to find out things about me. You know, personal details. I got some weird letters, that's all.' She turned to face him and touched his arm. 'Please don't say anything. I'd hate it if everyone knew about them.' The music stopped. Sarah heard police siren in the distance.
'Well all get weird letters. I got one from my ex-wife's lawyer just the other day. She want ps more money. Stop being so god damn British. What was it, threatening, dirty?' 'Netiher, really. But... well, a bit of both, maybe.' Sarah turned back to the canyon and told him about it. 'Ohh,' said a voice behind them when she'd finished. 'That is creepy.' Sarah and Jack turned around and saw Lisa Curtis.
Lisa looked as gorgeous as ever in low-cut, straples black dress, which contrasted with her creamy skin, and her thick, glossy chestnut hair falling in extravagant curls and waves over her shoulders. 'Sorry,' she said, 'but I couldn't help overhearing.' 'Oh it's you, Lisa,' she said. That's all right. Just don't go broadcasting it around okay? I could do without the attention. It's nothing really.'
Lisa, who played the police dispatcher in the show, pointed to her impressive chest. 'Moi? Broadcast? But I'm the soul of discretion, Sarah, you ought to know that.' 'Right.' Sarah laughed. 'Aren't you cold, dressed like that?' she asked. 'Goose bumps?' Jack excused himself to attend to his guests and said he'd be back later. Lisa cornered Sarah by the edge of the deck.
The music started again; this time it was Kiri Te Kanawa singing an aria Sarah recognized from Tosca. Jack sure had catholic tastes, and this was clearly the Italian in him coming out. Te Kanawa's strong, clear voice ran out over the canyon. 'Something like that happened to a friend of mine,' Lisa went on. 'Well a friend of a friend of mine really, I mean, I never actually met her.
She dated this guy, like a few times, and he got too serious, possessive, so she dumped him. Time to move on, right? Like, get a life. Anyway, this is the kind of guy who won't take no for an answer. He starts sending her letters everyday. Like, really graphic ones about the things they used to do together in bed and how he would love her for all eternity and couldn't bear being away from her body. That kind of thing.
Real yukky. Then next it's phone calls, flowers, the whole deal. 'She tries to tell him she's not interested, right, but it's like he isn't even hearing her. He says he knows she still loves him and she knows it, too, deep down. She's just like fighting it because her feelings are so overwhelming and so powerful she looks deep inside herself she'll find the truth and the courage to act on it.
Well, she tells him the things that frightens her is his behaviour, but he just laugh and tells her not to be a silly girl, like one day she'll wake up and know it's true.' Sarah sipped her warm rum and Coke and nodded in at the places. That was one thing about conversation with Lisa; it was too demanding, if you had plenty of patience. Laughter spilled from inside the house, glasses and Kiri sang on about how she lived for art, her warm soprano soaring in the clear night.
'Next he starts hanging around outside the bank where she works,' Lisa went on. 'She was an assistant manager. I mean she's one bright lady. And the guy who or some thing. We're not talking lowlifes here. Anyway, finally she gets she must be encouraging him some in some way, giving him signals. Like, maybe she really did want him.' Lisa put her index finger to her temple, turned it a hundred and eighty degrees and back, and mimicked the Twilight Zone theme.
'What happen?' Sarah asked. 'He goes too far is what, Just when she's starting to feel like it might be easier to give in than keep on dealing with him. I mean, he's got her so messed up she's even starting to feel flattered by the attention. This guy would neglect his job of her. I mean, just a glimpse. She wouldn't even talk to the sucker. He keeps telling her he loves her, buys her diamonds and stuff and she won't give him the time of day.'
'But how did he got too far?' Sarah asked, fascinated despite herself. 'What did he do?' 'I guess he didn't feel he was getting anywhere. Like, she never answered his calls or his letters. She always returned his presents.
She'd even cross the street to avoid him and make sure there was someone with her when she went out on her lunch break. Well, one time she'd been to lunch with this guy, you know, from the bank, a few times, and he comes out from work one day and finds his tyres slashed.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who did it, right?' What did your friend do?' She confronted him with it next time he phoned.' 'And did he admit it?' 'Sure he did. Tell her it's just a friendly warning. That she belongs to him. Then he starts talking abiut how if he can't have her alive they can be together in death. That, like, brought her to her senses again. What a loser. I mean, the guy's almost got there after months of presents and stuff, then blows it.
Anyway, she all freaked now and he's like getting really mad.' 'Did she go to the police?' 'Not at first. She just warned him, like that was it. No more. Nada. Goodbye. That's all she wrote.' 'And?' 'And one day while she's at work he, like breaks into her house. You know what he does?' Sarah shook her head. 'He steals a pair of shoes, that's all.' 'Shoes?' 'Uh-huh. Navy pumps. Is that weird, or what? But wait for it . Not only does he steal a pair of her shoes.
The next time he phoned, do you know what he tells her?' 'What?' 'He tells her he's had fucking shoes bronzed, that's all. Bronzed!' 'I don't believe it.' 'Cross my heart.' 'What happen next?' 'She called the cops. What she should've done right from the start, you ask me. They slap a restraining order in him. Like, he isn't supposed to go within two miles of her or something. This is a while ago. I hear we've got better laws now.' 'Did he obey the order?' 'Dream on. Two days later he breaks into her house again. This time while she's there.
First he shoots her in the head, then takes her clothes off. Then he get undressed, put his arm around her and shoots himself in the head. The cops find them huddled naked and dead together on the sofa like some modern day Romeo and Juliet. Isn't that just some bizzare?' Sarah shivered. Even the sweater wasn't warm enough to keep out the chill of Lisa's story. Kiri find her and Jack started with the sixties music again. This one Sarah recognized; it was Led Zeppelin doing 'Whole Lotta Love.'
'Anyway, don't worry about the letter,honey,' Lisa said, resting her hand lightly on Sarah's arm. 'I mean, this was different. The guy knew her. They'd dated. It wasn't just like you know, some pervert writing out of the blue. That happens all the time. See you later, sugar, I just have to go and dance to this song.'
And Lisa dashed off inside the house. Sarah finished her rum and Coke and chatted with other few guests, her mind hardly on it all, then looked for Stuart to take her home. Not being able to drive was a hell of a drawbacks in Los Angeles, she found, but the idea of getting behind the wheels of a car especially on the freeways terrified her even more than the inconvenience of calling cabs or relying on her friends.
She wasn't 'big' enough yet to merit a limo and a driver from the network, so Stuart would often take her a ride to the studio. He lived in Brentwood, which, while it was practically in the opposite direction, wasn't very far away. If Stuart couldn't make it, she would call a cab. The show's producer wanted Sarah to learn how to drive at least enough to look comfortable behind the wheel of a police cruiser on TV.
Stuart had taken her out in the desert couple of times for lessons, and she learn the basics, like how to turn on the ignition and put it in 'Drive', which was the gas pedal and which was the brake, but that was as far as the had got. The roads out there had been empty; she couldn't imagine herself ever driving in traffic.
Led Zeppelin rocked on. The bass and drums were so loud and Sarah worried the vibrations would shake the house loose and send it careering down the hillside the way mudslides often did in the canyons. he whole setting was ridiculous anyway: a house propped up on slilts near the top of a steep slope. How could Jack live up here, perched so precariously? Sarah didn't think she could.
Still, it seemed that no matter where one lived in Los Angeles, there was danger from the forces of nature. Impermanence was a fact of life that insinuated itself into people's psyches in odd ways. Sarah had often thought that explained some of the general craziness of the place. Nothing's permanent, so don't get hung up on anything.
Since she had been living in LA, there had been fires, heavy rain and major earthquake, and she had heard people say that four seasons in Southern California are called flood, fire, earthquake and riot. Yet here she was standing on the deck of the stilt-house high on a canyon she probably within spitting distance of the San Andreas fault. Crazy.
Talk about floating on air. It was bad enough feeling as if she were forever wobbling on slilts, constantly feeling that someday someone would come and pinch her and say, 'It's all been a mistake, love, you're not really a star, you're just a snotty-nosed little girl from Yorkshire and all this has just been an illusion, now it's back to the meat-packaging factory where you belong.'
Bad enough feeling it, let alone living it. Suddenly she felt an attack of vertigo coming on; she had to get back to solid ground. Brilliant, our Sal. she thought, catching Stuart's eye across the deck, now Los Angeles is a metaphor for your insecurities. Before she left, she looked again at the Christmas lights across the canyon and shivered.
'This was different,' Lisa had said of her friend. 'The guy knew her. Then she turned and looked at the party crowd. Could it be someone close to her, someone who knew her, someone who knew real name and her address, like Jack and Stuart? Then she tried to dismiss the idea from her mind as ridiculous. Jack and Stuart were only real friends she had here. They weren't perverts. They couldn't be.