Читать книгу Coldwater - Diana Gould - Страница 11

Cut to, exterior, beach, day. Tufts of white clouds billow in a bright blue winter sky. The sun is high and white, the ocean glassy and smooth. The tide unfurls carpets of foam as sandpipers scamper at its edge. A woman stands at the shoreline looking out to sea trying to work up the nerve to walk in.

I hadn’t had a drink yet that day, and it had been almost five hours since I’d awakened, or come to. But the craving was intense, and I knew that any minute now I would smoke a joint, or take a Xanax, and then think, oh, just one to take the edge off—and one more time I’d wake to find myself caked in vomit, or soaked in urine, or next to a man whose name I didn’t know, promising myself that today would be different.

I had long since lost house, home, and family. It took so many drugs in ever increasing quantities to blot out the memory of Rosa that I’d lost whatever ability I’d had to write scripts that made any sense. Jonathan had no choice but to replace me—on the show and, not long after, in his life. No longer fettered by the need to function, I hurtled into darkness. I spent days and nights in behavior so noxious that the only solace I could find was in removing myself from anyone or anything good.

And yet somehow, a few weeks ago, I’d run into Gerry Talbot, a director I’d once worked with. He was shooting a film in Toronto and needed someone to stay in his house and water his plants. God knows why he thought he could trust me, but he had, and I’d jumped at the chance. Gerry lived in a spectacular beachfront home in Malibu, and I was unemployable, $180,000 in debt, and sleeping on my dealer’s sofa. A show-runner who could no longer run the show. This gave me a place to stay and a car to drive—mine had been repossessed—but most importantly, I thought that living at the beach would be the chance I’d been looking for to finally clean up and get my act together.

And yet—and yet. Every day I’d wake with the same resolve, but before long, I’d take that drink, and often that was the last thing I could remember. I’d come to behind the wheel of Gerry’s Range Rover, with no memory of where I’d been, heart jack-hammered at the thought that I might once more have done what only I knew I’d done before.

Since I could not stop drinking, nor prevent its consequences, my only recourse was to stop waking up.

I put one foot tentatively in the water. It was icy cold. You’ll get used to it, I told myself, Just walk in. I was barefooted, in jeans and t-shirt, and even though I had a sweater wrapped around me, I shivered in the bright winter sun. I tried to urge myself onward but couldn’t take the next step. Maybe if I were drunk, I could do this. I’ll drink, and this time I won’t try to stop, I just have to remember to get back here and walk in.

But I knew I couldn’t trust myself even to do that. Oh, God, help me. What was the matter with me?

“Brett!”

A young woman came towards me, negotiating the sand awkwardly in her chunky platform boots. She wore a high-cut denim skirt which showed off her long legs, tights with the kind of holes in them that used to be cause for throwing them out but which now made them more expensive, and a blousy spaghetti strap top revealing a thin collarbone leading to narrow shoulders and delicate arms. A tattoo of a serpent coiled round a rose on the top of her arm. It was only those big doe eyes and the juxtaposition of the beauty mark next to the chicken pox scar on her cheek that allowed me to recognize her at all.

“Julia?”

Had it been that long? She’d still been a child when I knew her, but her slender body had softened and curved; she was becoming a young woman. Her hair was cut well, in a subtle, expensive haircut that showed its natural wave to good effect; her skin was clear of any lines or blemishes.

If I’d thought I was dead inside, the sight of Julia proved me wrong. Like the wings of a great bird taking flight, I felt a wild surge of—could it be joy?—opening in my chest. It lasted only a heartbeat, and then it was gone. But for a moment I remembered what it was like to live in a world with good in it. A tide of love and loss overtook me, powerful as the wave I’d hoped to die in a moment before, from the time when I was her mother, and life seemed to work. I longed to hug her, but held back, paralyzed by my own unworthiness.

“Brett. I need to talk to you.”

“How did you find me?”

She looked puzzled, as if I’d seen her, and told her where I was staying. It was a look I was used to, on the faces of people who assumed I’d remember moments we’d spent together while I was in an alcoholic blackout. But surely, if I’d seen Julia, I would remember.

Wouldn’t I?

I ransacked my memory of the nights before, but there were hours, days, of lost time, when I truly had not known where I’d been or what I’d done.

“Did I tell you?” I asked tentatively.

But I thought I saw relief in her eyes. “My dad told me you were house-sitting for Gerry Talbot.”

“How did he know?”

In her face, I could see the dimpled cheek and chin of Jonathan, also the delicate bone structure and pale, haunting beauty of her “real” mother, the shiksa goddess Jonathan thought I might be but wasn’t.

“Maybe Gerry told him? I overheard him talking to someone about it on the phone, and I asked him.”

“Who was he talking to?”

What must I look like to her? My clothes hung off me; I had lost interest in food. I never combed my hair, never wore makeup, barely showered or changed my clothes. I was glad I was wearing a sweater and jeans, because I had scabs and bruises all over my body. I made a gesture to primp my hair, matted by the ocean air. My appearance didn’t seem to bother her.

She cast a quick glance behind her. I followed her gaze, but saw nothing but the multi-million dollar beach “bungalows” that lined the road.

“You’re all grown up! I can’t believe it! Look at you!”

It wasn’t only that she was beautiful; it was the layers of time her appearance carried. A teenager stood before me, but in her, I saw the little girl in a tutu I’d sprinkled with fairy dust before sending out to trick or treat. The eight-year-old in a snorkel mask whose squiggling body I held in the shallow water in Kauai. I remembered the two of us baking a cake for Jonathan’s birthday, collapsing in giggles at the sludge we produced but eating it anyway because, after all, it was chocolate. If only I could have been the person Julia thought I was when we snuggled as I made up Susie-Q stories how different my life would have been.

She shifted from foot to foot, scanning the beach from one end to the other, her eyes filled with fear. She still said nothing about why she’d come.

“You want something to eat? A coke or something?”

The beach was a private one, shared only with the neighbors, and at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning in February, it was empty of all but a few sandpipers. She agreed, and we began walking back up to Gerry’s.

“How did you get here?”

For the first time, she smiled. “I drove. I’m sixteen now. Dad and Lynda gave me a Prius.”

“Sixteen!”

When was the last time I’d seen her? I tried to think back. For a while after Jonathan and I split up, I’d had an apartment on Sunset Plaza Drive, and occasionally Jonathan would let me see her, although he wouldn’t allow her to stay overnight. I railed at him for taking her away from me, but she was his, not mine, and in some part of me, I knew he was right. It wasn’t long before it was more important to have money for drugs than for rent, and I was forced to move to a cheaper place on Hollywood Boulevard, and I was embarrassed for her to see it. I’d kept the same cell phone number, so she could reach me, and for a while she kept me abreast of news of school, or friends, or Jonathan, who quickly began seeing another woman, whom I was gratified to know she didn’t like.

On her fifteenth birthday, I’d arranged with Jonathan to drop her off at Musso and Frank’s, a restaurant not far from my house. But I’d fallen the night before, and as I was leaving the house to meet her, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had a big black and blue mark on my face, and I’d chipped a tooth. I thought she could only have the same feelings for me I had for myself—disgust, contempt, and hate. I got drunk and didn’t show up. I thought the best thing I could do was stay out her life. Now I realized how much I’d missed.

“Wait till you see this house. It’s incredible.” As we walked back up the beach, I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s with the tattoos?”

“They’re stick-ons. Cool, huh?”

“Way cool.”

Gerry’s house was a designer showcase, pristine and sleek, photo ready. The ocean side of the house was glass; the kitchen and dining room looked out over a large wooden deck. A few grasses sprouted on the dunes by the house then the sand extended, clean and bright, to the shoreline, where it turned darker and wetter in the low tide. The sun was high, the sky bright blue, the ocean calm. I opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator, took out two Diet Cokes, and poured them into two glasses over ice. I was about to add a shot of rum into mine but stopped myself. In that moment, I knew for the first time that, for me, there was no such thing as one drink. I didn’t want Julia to have to watch me get drunk. I put the rum back and took the two Cokes out to the deck, where Julia had her back to me. Instead of the ocean, she was looking at her cell phone and texting someone.

“Incredible view, isn’t it?” I said. “I’ve got this place until April when Gerry gets back.”

Julia finished texting but still wouldn’t meet my gaze. If there was one thing I was familiar with, it was fear, and I recognized it in Julia’s eyes.

“Something’s happened to Caleigh.”

Caleigh (whose name rhymed with ‘gaily’) Nussbaum had been Julia’s best friend since first grade. Marty and Erika Nussbaum’s only child was as close to a princess as American democracy allows.

“She’s disappeared.”

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?”

“She’s not at school, she’s not texting back, hasn’t posted on her wall; nobody knows where she is.”

“Did you ask her parents where she is?”

“You know Marty and Erika. Anything they said would be a lie.”

I certainly knew Marty. We used to say about him that the way to tell if he was lying was to see if his lips were moving. I’d met Erika a few times, but she’d made little impression on me, other than being the sort of woman who always defers to her husband.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

I recognized this too: riffling through the mental alternatives before coming up with the most presentable story. How awful to see Julia taking on my worst characteristics.

“At school. Two days ago.”

Somehow, I knew it wasn’t the truth. A liar can usually recognize another.

“Are you sure she’s not just home sick and not answering her phone?”

My suggestion didn’t even warrant a reply.

“What do Jonathan...and Lynda say?” I tried not to choke on the name. Jonathan and I had lived together but never married. We’d talked about it, and each of us wanted to at different times but never simultaneously. He married his next girlfriend quickly. There’d been some overlap. It had been a sore point. To say the least.

“They work for Marty. They’re not going to want to rock the boat.” She turned towards me, and I could see the apprehension in her eyes. “I need you to help me find her.”

I was startled. “Me?”

“You used to write that detective show.” She paused. “And you’re not all caught up in that Hollywood bullshit.”

In my show, Jinx Magruder solved a murder a week. The more scared I was, the braver she became; the more my life spun out of control, the more commanding was Jinx.

“Honey, that was television! Make believe. It doesn’t have anything to do with real life. You should know that better than anybody.” I took a swig of my Coke. “If you’re really worried about Caleigh, tell Jonathan and Lynda. Let them talk to the Nussbaums. It sounds like maybe the police should be involved.”

The sun was warm, but a breeze rippling from the ocean was salty and cool. My palms were starting to sweat, and yet my skin felt clammy. A wave of nausea turned my stomach, and I thought perhaps I should have poured myself that shot of rum after all. I pulled my sweater close to me, hoping Julia wouldn’t see that my hands were trembling.

“There’s this big merger in the works. Poseidon is being bought by Alliance. If it goes through, everyone is going to make a ton of money, including Jonathan and Lynda.”

“But surely, if something’s happened to Caleigh that would be more important than money...”

The words weren’t out of my mouth before she shot me a look that reminded me that to Marty Nussbaum there was nothing more important than money.

“...at least to Jonathan?”

Julia looked out at the ocean, as if weighing how much it was important for me to know. I followed her gaze. A few sandpipers scampered at the shoreline, leaving tiny footprints in the wet sand as the tide rolled towards them and away. A lone seagull flew low over the water.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell my dad?”

Deep inside, where my heart used to be, I felt something stir, something furry, that had slumbered but now stretched and yawned, touched that Julia sill thought she could trust me.

“Of course.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘enjo kosai’?”

“No. What’s that?”

“It’s Japanese. It means ‘paid dating.’”

I waited for what came next.

“It’s really big in Japan. It’s like when older men want to be with teenage girls. They like pay to take her to dinner and buy her presents and stuff. Caleigh was really into it.”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean they want to be with teenage girls?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. They really get off on being with young girls. It’s like some sort of father-daughter thing. Except for the sex.”

Somebody told me once that you learn a lot more from kids when you don’t react to what they tell you but just listen without judgment. So I just said, “Oh?”

“It’s like a secret thing. Old guys who are into teenage girls. Caleigh was making tons of money at it. You can make like $1000 a night. Sometimes even more.”

I sputtered on my Coke. “But Caleigh’s parents have all the money in the world. Literally. What does she possibly need money for?”

I remembered the year that Marty made headlines for receiving a bonus worth more than the Writer’s Guild was asking for its entire membership for a three-year contract.

“She won’t even let Caleigh have her own credit card. When you think of what she spends and she won’t even give Caleigh a credit card?” Julia made it sound like child abuse. “She treats Caleigh like one of her dolls that she can dress up any way she wants.”

I remembered now that Marty’s mansion was famous for its enormous size with an extra wing to house the booty of Erika’s compulsive shopping. And that Erika was famous for having a collection of dolls.

“This way she can buy anything she wants. Like, she got two Prada dresses? And three Balenciaga bags. That’s why a lot of girls from my school are doing it. So they can buy whatever they want.”

“Girls from your school?”

“Caleigh got a bunch of us into it.”

I felt my stomach knot. “You too?”

Julia held my eye for only the briefest moment before looking away and shrugging, like it was no big deal. I was speechless. It wasn’t only the idea that rich girls from one of the most expensive private schools in Los Angeles were working as prostitutes. It was more the look I’d seen in Julia’s eyes—defensive, false bravado concealing—what? Shame? Embarrassment? A cry for help? Whatever it was, it was layered and false, which Julia had never before been. I sipped my coke, noticing that it had no power to take the edge off the pain of how I’d let her down.

“Caleigh was into it more than anybody else. And now she’s disappeared. And I think something’s happened to her. And I want you to help me find her.” She turned towards me with urgency. “You made up everything Jinx Magruder did. You’d know how to do it, if you try.”

“Honey, those were stories. Pretend people. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to find someone in real life. You need real help.”

“I know! That’s why I’m here.”

“Not from me, from someone who knows what they’re doing. Ask Jonathan.”

“I can’t.”

“A teacher then, or a guidance counselor. Someone at school.”

“No. There isn’t anybody else.”

In the distance, white sails dotted the horizon. The air was still with only the sound of the breakers lapping softly in a gentle rhythm. I wanted so much to be able to help her, to make up for all the times I’d let her down, but I knew, even if she didn’t, that I was not someone who could do anyone any good.

A runner, bare-chested, loped along the shoreline leaving footprints in the wet sand. Gerry’s house was on the exclusive Broad Beach Road, and his neighbors were among the elite of the business. The exquisitely sculpted body of this beautiful runner belonged to Campbell McCauley, one of Gerry’s movie star neighbors. I was starting to point this out to Julia, when I noticed the desperation in her eyes.

“Please?” she asked.

“Hold on. I have an idea.”

When I was doing the show, I’d been referred to an ex-cop turned private eye whom I could call for research. He’d been so helpful, we’d put him on retainer. I’d liked him. He’d always had an air of competence I admired. I hadn’t spoken to him since I left the show, but I thought maybe he could help Julia now.

“I know this guy; he was the tech advisor on the show. He’s a private investigator. I’ll bet he could help you. Maybe I’ve still got his number. Hold on.”

I went back in the house to look for my phone. I found it in the bedroom, but I’d gotten it too recently to have his number in it. We’d have to Google him. I went back to report to Julia.

She was gone.

“Julia...” A moment before, her presence was so unexpected; suddenly, her absence was desolating.

I looked up and down the beach, as she had done a moment ago. The beach was empty. The runner’s footprints by the water’s edge were already washed away; he was nowhere in sight.

I walked through the house and opened the front door, hoping to see her car, but saw only the garbage bins lining the block waiting to be collected. Other than that, the street was empty.