NORTH NORTH HOLLYWOOD - Chapter 43 - by Peter Nolan Smith

FORTY-THREE

Nearly none of it made the Los Angeles papers the next day or any of those of the following week. Not deRocco's or Driscoll's deaths, the burning of a house in Hollywood, or Che Chasta's disappearance from California. Louie Sinreich's untimely stroke received a write-up in the ADULT VIDEO NEWS accompanied by a medical caution on the dangers of Speed. All the other events following the escape from the studio had been hidden by the media's frenzied reportage on the earthquake and everyone involved seemed to prefer it that way.

The evening of the quake, Isaac Conti took Jimmo, the inventors and Alice over to his house in Hancock Park. Not one of them asked where the cop, Tony, or Lena's mystery man had gone. It was none of their business.

The next morning Isaac rewarded Jimmo's lack of curiosity with a chauffeur's job. After sending him out for groceries, Isaac went to the attic and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Bob asked, as if he were expecting the LAPD Swat team.

"It's me, open up." Isaac pushed his way inside the attic. "You boys have nothing to be scared about."

"Yeah, but___" Bob gnawed at his thumb.

"There are no buts, you did a good thing."

"W-w-what good thing?" His partner was hiding inside the closet.

"The less said the better." The two men's nervousnes confirmed Isaac's suspicions about the inventors having booby trapped the SINSEX's interface with the PC. They were small boys in many ways and they needed reassurance that they weren't going to spend the rest of their lives in prison. Isaac pulled open the curtain. It was a sunny day. "Look out the window. Do you see the police? No. Is your name being mentioned on the radio? No. Whatever happened back there doesn't matter to anyone, so stop hiding like two kids who have crashed their father's car."

"Yes, sir." Bob peeked out the window and called to his friend. The two of them studied the street and Bob turned to Isaac. "There's no police."

"Why would there be any police. No one's done anything wrong."

"I-I-I guess so."

"No guessing about it." Isaac sniffed the air. The room smelled of unwashed bodies. "

"Both of you take shower. One at a time, then come down and have breakfast."

"Yes, sir."

Isaac shut the door and climbed down the stairs to the second floor. He rapped on the guestroom door.

"Come in. It's unlocked." The redhead said in a clear voice.

"Morning." Louie greeted the redhead sitting on the bed. She was dressed like she was ready to take a bus back home. "Your name's Alice, right?"

"Yes, sir," she answered with the politeness of a repentant farm girl.

"Can you cook breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure I can."

"Then come downstairs and fry up some eggs and brew some coffee. I think we all could use something to eat after last night."

"What about Lou___"

"You can't cook any omelet without breaking some eggs can you?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then I think it's best if we don't mention his name at the breakfast table."

"And lunch?'

"Probably dinner too."

Alice turned out to be a surprisingly good cook fixed breakfast and when she left the dining room, their faces reddened, as Bob said, "We've asked Alice to help us. with the project."

"So you're not giving up?" Isaac hadn't thought they would abandon this project, since it was the only thing in their lives that mattered.

"Not at all, we were only interested in a love thing, which was the exact opposite from..."Bob Olsen could not bring himself to say Louie Sinreich's name, but continued by admitting, "Maybe the world isn't ready for SINSEX yet, but we're going back to the lab to refine that last bit of data from Lena. Maybe one day it will see the light of day, but until then____"

Bob stopped talking, as Alice walked into the room. Judging from the way the boys had watched her every move, Isaac was sure the redhead would help them in more ways than they imagined, though the mid-thirties might be a little late to learn about puppy love, but better late than never, as Lena and Sherri were finding out.

Moving to one of Isaac's houses off Mulholland, Sherri and Lena labored on their film and romance. During the day Sherri worked in the cutting room with Charley, splicing the newly shot scenes onto the previously shot footage. At night she lay in Lena's arms, speaking word no one else had or would ever hear from them.

After an intense week's work, they previewed a first rough cut of ADAM AND TWO EVES at a screening room in Burbank, inviting Vic Granollers, who had called them. Beth, Olga, and Maulwin Morrow III also joined him, since this viewing would also act a screen test for Lena for the lead in Beth's film, JUSTINE.

The only person missing was Sean, though even if the women had known where their male lead was hiding, they wouldn't have invited him to come. His presence was only needed on celluloid.

ADAM AND TWO EVES ran 115 minutes, had no background music, and no titles. While the choppy editing gave the film an edgy feel, the story flowed smooth as velvet and no one fidgeted during the sex scenes, thanks to Charley's editing expertise.

When THE END ran on the screen, they all congratulated Sherri and Lena, though Vic was the only one to compliment the missing man from nowhere by saying, "I always knew Sean had it in him to be an actor."

The mention of Sean's name silenced everyone in the room, until Maulwin commented, "He did a great job for a first-timer. As it stands, it would be a nice cult hit, though if Vic was in it, then ADAM AND TWO EVES might be a smash."

"It's too late for that, isn't it?" Olga said, deducing exactly where the well-dressed producer was heading.

"Not really,” Beth picked up her co-writer's hint. "Shooting the same scenes with Vic would only take a few weeks."

"Yeah, but how do we know Vic will be any better?” Lena asked, displaying her allegiance not so much to Sean, but the mythical blonde 'uncle' in the black suit brought to life by this film.

"We don't, but his name attached to the film would definitely sell more tickets. I'll back the production, plus get it into the theaters." Maulwin was hot for this project, since it would cost him next to nothing, plus editing Vic's friend out of the film would serve as a good payback for his having laid his hands on a Hollywood producer. No one gets away with that.

Sherri Conti regarded the editor for her opinion, but Charley said, "I think the film stands out, but there's nothing like a big name to get people in to a theater."

"You might be able to finish the film without a producer, but I really could help you with distribution."

All Sherri had to say was, "Yes.” and the man from nowhere would end up on the floor to be swept away by the janitors. Forever gone, but she had to ask Lena, "What do you think?"

Lena stared across the living room at Vic Granollers. He was blonde and would look great in a black suit, but he had a wife, a son, money, everything that Sean Collan had not, so she asked him, "You think you could be the Man from Nowhere?"

"I could act like one, but never be one the way Sean was." An actor had to understand his range and he winked at Lena, saying, "Making a film isn't just about selling popcorn."

"Yeah, but." Maulwin began, then Vic said, "Maulwin, I'm won't do It."

"Okay,” the nattily dressed producer replied disconsolately, as his brainstorm withered on the vine. Still he wouldn't let something as pedestrian as revenge stand in his way of making money, so he turned to Sherri and said, "I think you did a great job and I'll help any way I can to get it distributed."

This offer reassured Sherri her film only needed to be sound-synched, re-cut, and released. She meant it, when she said, "Thank you."
With that issue settled, the girls talked about Lena's possibly starring in Beth's movie, although the producer still wondered where the man who had just been saved from cinematic death was. All week he had been waiting for someone to blurt out the end of the story and been frustrated by their wall of silence. He could only guess and so could they, because the rest of that evening in Van Nuys was a secret only three men shared.

After having wrapped the NYPD's detective in a sheet of plastic and stealing a shovel from the studio's closet, Isaac's friend and Sean had stuffed the corpse into the trunk of the detective's rented car. They had a dead man in the car, but the big man didn't say anything about it, because there really wasn't anything either of them could say to get rid of him other than driving north into the high desert.

Twenty miles past Palmdale, the big man said, "Take the next exit."

Sean veered off the highway onto a rutted ranch road and didn't stop, until his living passenger pointed to a dirt road. "Take that for about five miles."

Ten minutes later they stopped. It was still night and the desert pitch-black, but they didn't turn the car lights, as they dug a grave. Once it was waist-deep, the big man said with authority, "That's enough to keep the animals from smelling him."

They dumped the corpse into the grave along with the wallets and .357. After they refilled the hole, Sean walked away without saying a single prayer. It was far from a Christian burial, but a lot better than whatever Driscoll or deRocco had intended for him.

Sean arrived back in LA with an orange sun topping the snow-covered mountains at the eastern end of the valley. He dropped Isaac's friend off in Valley Village, then drove the rented Taurus to the rental office on Magnolia. Nobody was on the sidewalks or in the lot, which suited him fine.

Nearing at the point of collapse Sean wiped the car of any fingerprints. He left the keys under the front seat. During this entire process only three cars went by and not a single pedestrian passed on the sidewalk and for once Sean was happy no one walked in LA. He flagged down a taxi and told the driver to take him Ventura Boulevard, where he picked the first motel with a nice name.

After a twenty-hour sleep, Sean woke up with a start. He was still alive and also in LA. He turned on the TV and went into the bathroom, catching his reflection in the mirror.

His bruises were fading from blue to green. Soon they would be gone, but his eyes were a little more alive after these last weeks in LA. Maybe someday that would go away, but somewhere in the past weeks he had abandoned the despair of the New Year and he could only blame that loss on being having been with two women and not mistreating them.

Other than a few quick forays to the bank, the Post Office, a travel agent, and the corner of Ventura and Laurel Canyon to pick up the NY Times, Sean spent the week reading and catching up with his TV watching in his motel room, though he really didn't watch anything, for Lena stalked through his mind and he fantasized about Sherri constantly.

He refrained from calling them, for they were better off without him.

No one in LA cared if he was there, which was just the way he liked it. In years past he might have drunk himself senseless, but the recent stretch of sobriety had a benevolent effect on him and he recalled having read someplace that you don't destroy your brain cells when you drink, but the drunk ones disassociate from the sober in the millions. Somehow they must be getting back together, because Sean could feel he would be getting better in the coming weeks, both physically and mentally. Maybe he would never reach one-hundred percent ever again, but considering the shape he had been in before leaving New York, he could only thank his lucky stars that he had was still walking the face of the Earth.

deRocco and Shea were gone. This was a big plus for the future, but coming out to LA had proven that, while the West Coast was good for the millions of people living out here, he belonged somewhere else and it wasn't New York either.

The other bonus was that his long-dormant muse was been re-awakened his long-dormant muse and he found was writing short poems, not caring whether they were good or bad as long as they were not sad.

At the end of two weeks Sean's body had healed and he was ready to move on. He phoned Vic, only reaching his answering machine, on which he left a short message, saying he was going to the airport and would call his friend once he was back in New York, though Sean had no idea, when that might be. Sean could have taken a taxi to LAX, but he asked Isaac Conti for a ride to the airport. The old man was in no position to refuse. Not with what Sean knew.

His one of his last act in LA was the burning every one of the fake $100 bills to avoid any temptation of passing bad paper during his holiday in the sun. He flushed the ashes down the toilet and packed his leather bag for an extended trip to Central America; passports, almost $4,000 in cash, a one-way ticket to Guatemala City, a compact short-wave radio, a second-hand laptop, clothing, a bathing suit for swimming under the volcano in Lake Atitlan, plus Joyce's ULYSSES. If he could not read it in the next three months, then he never could.

The Lincoln showed up at the motel on time and the big man looked over his shoulder and asked, "You want me to go knock on the door?"

Isaac signaled him to be patient, for Sean Collan had been the only other witness to his having shot a cop, and while he had little to fear physically from his passenger, Isaac would bet his Social Security benefits that the younger man would hit him up for money.

"Here he comes," Jimmo announced, as Sean emerged from the motel room. Upon the young man's sitting in the back seat, Isaac asked, "You have everything?"

"Yeah," Sean answered, although as always there wasn't much. "I want to thank you for giving me a ride."

"It's the least I can do for someone who helped save my niece's life."

"I barely did nothing."

"And that was enough."

On the ride over the Hollywood Hills, the two men spoke about how much LA had changed from the early 70s without a single mention of Las Vegas or another word about that night in Van Nuys. Still Isaac read every line as a pitch for money and calculated how much it would take to satisfy him.

The younger man's going to the International Terminal meant an overseas destination. The more money Isaac gave him, the longer he would stay away. $5000 was too small and $50,000 was too much. Isaac could live somewhere in between, but when the Lincoln TownCar stopped at LAX's B terminal, the young man hadn't hit him up for anything, which puzzled Isaac to no end, but then he had given up making sense out of younger people several generations ago.

"So this is it, Mr. Collan?” Isaac Conti asked.

"Unless you want to join me."

"No, I've had enough excitement for this year already."

"I'd have to say the same thing," Sean replied, knowing the year had barely begun for him. He got out of the car and picked up his bag, then asked, "Could you do me a favor."

"What's that?” the old man groaned inwardly, thinking, "Here it comes."

"Just tell Sherri and Lena I wish them the best luck possible."

"Sure, I'll do that, when I see them next.” Maybe the old man had under-estimated the young man after all. Inspecting at the laptop, he asked, "You thinking of writing a story?"

"Yes, but not the one you might think.” Sean wasn't going to scribble a single word about his stay in LA. The computer was to exorcise the specter of his best friend's death, a drowning that had haunted him since childhood. "There are some stones better left unturned."

"I'm glad to hear that.” While he was an old man and had lived a long life, he had no urge to end it in prison and this young man's not asking him for money bothered him, so he asked, "You know sometimes people are too proud to ask for what they think they deserve. You need anything?"

"I'm okay,” Sean answered magnanimously, since he had found $25,000 in deRocco's travel bag. He could only guess what lengths the dead cop had gone to accumulate that money and had immediately sent off a series of cashier checks to the Gay Men's Health Clinic in New York, reckoning $10,000 should wipe the blood off the remaining money that he had stuck in a bank.

Disbelief clouded the old man's eyes. Nobody had ever let him off the hook without taking their pound of flesh, but then the drifter wasn't like most people. Isaac shook Sean's hand firmly to show that, despite his age, he had not lost his strength.

"Hey, I need to eat with that hand." Sean whipped away his hand, hoping he could be as strong in his 50s. When an airport cop told them to move along, the old man said, "Then I guess this is good-bye."

"That it is.” This farewell was the only reason Sean had asked the old man to accompany him to the airport. "Once again thanks, it's always good to have someone say good-bye, especially if they owe you more than you owe them.

"I'll have to remember that, Mr. Collan.” The old man released Sean's hand. "You have a good trip."

"I most certainly will.” Sean walked away into the terminal to be immediately surrounded by people coming and going places. After checking in, Sean returned outside and his eyes were drawn to the spidery white legs of the restaurant set in the center of LAX. His flight to Guatemala City was scheduled to leave in two hours, so he decided to kill an hour by having a drink or two and a few minutes later he was seated at the bar with the panorama of America's Pacific gateway spread around him. 747s taxied to and from the gates. Ground crews readied commuter planes for the evening rush. The sun-baked tarmac shimmered with heat, as a 757 roared down the runway, its engines spewing a billowing trail of black exhaust. The truce from smog had been broken and the long shadowline of the San Gabriel Mountains was obscured on the eastern horizon, so even the Hollywood Hills disappeared beneath the blanket of pollution.

"You want another?" The bartender held up a beer.

"No, thanks." Sean covered the glass with his hand.

It was time to go.

On the way to the International Terminal he passed two homeless people pushing their carts to an undetermined destination. Sean gave both a $10 and they wished him luck.

Just what he needed, having used up his reserves in LA.

With another hour left until take-off, Sean wandered around the terminal, delaying the moment, when he would have to pass through the security check. he watched large families counted noses, married couples hugged in anticipation of a dream vacation, and lovers whispered in secret tones. They did not pay any attention to him, then again being part of the background was exactly how he would play it from now on.

Finally he went to the security check for the gates, ticket in hand. When he placed his computer and leather jacket onto the X-Ray machine, a female voice called out his name. He could not see anyone at first through the bustle of passengers, then the crowd parted for a young woman dressed in white.

Her glossy black hair was pulled back from her fallen angel's visage, the green eyes gemlike and lively. The thin cotton dress hid none of her lush curves. Each step created a sizzling aura of erotic energy spreading far beyond its bodily confines.

Most of the men simply stared with desire. So did some of the women, though the majority of her half of the species regarded Lena with a jealous hostility saved for those who are liberated from the constraints of the society's mores. The young woman ignored the stares, as Lena bee-lined for Sean.

The entire terminal seemed to have frozen solid in time. Isaac must have told her that he was leaving town and he thanked the old man for having done so. Everything Sean had and whatever might be in deRocco's and Driscoll's secret accounts in the Cayman were worth another night with this woman, except her having come to LAX to tell him he was the only man she would ever love were too good to be true.

"What are you doing here?” Sean asked as she came within a few feet. The perfume enhancing the body oils on her flesh evoked a dusty road near an orange orchard past midnight. A time and place forgotten by most people.

"You forgot to sign the release for the film.” Lena held out a paper and pen. Sean signed it without reading, then asked, "Was that all?"

"No, I came to say good-bye and to tell you why I picked you in the desert.” She folded her arms against a small book on her breasts. "I think I owe you that."

"You don't have to tell me a thing.” Sean fought the urge to put his arms around Lena, for holding her tight was Sherri's privilege.

"Why do you think that Sherri made love with you and I wanted to?” Lena’s voice cut through the hubbub of a thousand voices echoing within the terminal.

"Sherri only made love with me to stop you from doing the same."

"And what about me?"

Sean knew that Lena's motive was less clear. "Whatever I was to you had nothing to do with who I really am."

"That is true, but..."He had put his finger on why Lena had come to the airport. After viewing him in the film, she had to see one last time, even if his being her 'uncle' had been just an illusion.

"There's no 'but'...once I get on this plane, I'll be gone. The person you thought was in me has been gone even longer. Nobody can unbury the dead.” Sean almost felt like crying. Maybe these last few weeks would be as close to being loved as he could get.

"He might be alive somewhere."

"If you were anything to him, he would be here now and not me.” Sean’s had no idea about what he was talking, but the look in Lena's eyes told him that she did. "You love Sherri and she loves you. She would do anything to make you happy or keep you from getting hurt and I hope you would do the same. It's a big world and there are billions of people in it, but none so special as you two. I mean that as a compliment and nothing else."

"Thank you.” For the first time since they met on that abandoned highway the man before her was a human, just like Sherri and herself, though with different strengths and weaknesses. Lena owed him for vanquishing an old phantom from her psyche and said, "You know, you are not as bad as you think."

"How would you know?"

"Anywhere you have been, I have been too. It is not something either of us ever shared with others, if only for their sake. Normal people can not believe we will ever change, but because they have always been the same."

"I'm not sure 'they' would agree with you.” Sean indicated the people around them.

"We do not have to worry about them. Only about ourselves. You know it's not too late to start again."

"No, maybe not.” Sean recollected having told Che Chasta the same thing on her way out of town. If she could believe it, so could he. "Thanks for coming to say good-bye."

"Thank you for doing the film. You were great."

"So were you.” Sean was confused whether she talking about his acting or that one moment in the studio. Maybe she meant both. It was a totally man way to think, but that's because he was a man and nothing else.

"This is for you, maybe it will help you.” Lena handed him a Spanish phrasebook for a going-away present.

"I knew I forgot something," Sean replied, though he was leaving behind a lot more than a book of Spanish phrases.

"It has been an adventure."

"Just like a movie, right?” The next time he would see her would be on a big screen.

"Better than that."

Lena stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, which was a much more satisfying send-off than a handshake from an old man. Sean closed his eyes, hoping it would last forever. Maybe it did in another world, but not this one. The sweet pressure on his lips decreased and Sean reopened his eyes. Lena said softly, "I have to go. Sherri is waiting."

"Sure, wish her good luck for me.” Something about the tenderness in her kiss had told him someday he would love again and also that day might not be so far away. For this vision alone he was grateful she had come to see him off.

"Of course, and buena suerta, Sean."

"Thanks, I'll need it."

"One last thing, Sean."

"What's that?"

"Sherri apologizes for tilting the pinball machine."

Sean laughed aloud.

"So she had remembered him after all."

"Who could forget someone like you?" Lena walked away to be immediately absorbed into the crowd.

He waited a minute for her to return, but she was gone and so would he be in less than a half-hour. Sean passed through the security check. None of the guards questioned him. He was just another person going someplace, while they worked a 9 to 5. His feet shuffled soundlessly across the polished stone floors to the gate. The boarding process for his flight had already begun with the passengers queued up to hand in their passes to the ground crew.

Once the area around the gate was empty, Sean boarded the plane and took a seat in economy. Luckily the 757 was half-full and he sat at a portside window. After he buckled in, the plane reversed from the terminal and taxied onto the LAX's tarmac.

Unbelievably the take-off was on schedule. Engines thundered, as the 757's acceleration down the runway drove the passengers into their seats. After seventeen long seconds the plane nosed upward and rapidly gained altitude heading into the West, then the plane banked sharply away from the red ball descending into a Pacific Ocean.

Sean looked down from 10,000 feet on LA. He couldn't see any people, but they were there. He even knew some of them, maybe more than he thought and it wasn't as bad a place as he had previously thought, despite everything he had gone through there. On the other hand he hadn't killed anyone and helped two women. It might not be much, but it was a start, because he had partially recaptured the person he was as a child, so that maybe he could try to become someone better than the person he had been.

Almost anyone could given the chance.

After a few minutes of staring out the window he shut his eyes and relaxed, for he was going on vacation, but also because someone else would have to ride into the sunset this evening. He could only hope they would be as lucky as he was.



THE END