slave.’
‘It felt like it, believe me. In fact I felt like several slaves.’
‘Look,’ she said, and turned him around so that he could see his back in the dressing-table mirror. His shoulders and his buttocks were criss-crossed with scarlet scratches. ‘You like me hurting you, don’t you? You know what I’m going to do to you next time? I’m going to bite you so hard that you scream.’ Her eyes widened as she kissed him again. ‘See you,’ she said. She opened the door, and then she was gone, her pink mules slip-slapping down the stairs. Frank stood in the middle of the living room, his arms by his sides, and for the first time in years he felt as if he had lost control of his life. It was like that winter three years ago when he had been driving to Portland, Oregon, and his rental car had skidded on an icy curve. He had frantically twisted the steering wheel from side to side, but he had seen the black rocks sliding toward him, and all he could do was brace himself for the impact.
He waited by the phone but Astrid didn’t call that evening, so shortly after eight o’clock he drove over to Burbank to see Margot. They were still husband and wife, after all, and he was beginning to feel guilty about leaving her to cope with her grief on her own.
Margot answered the door but Ruth was close behind her, dressed in some extraordinary hand-woven poncho with fraying edges, embroidered with a sun symbol, and baggy brown cotton pants. Margot was wearing denim dungarees and no makeup. Her face was as pale as a scrubbed potato.
‘Was there something you wanted?’ she asked him.
‘I thought we could talk.’
‘I thought you said everything you had to say when you defaced my paintings.’
‘You still believe that I did it?’
‘Do you care what I believe?’
Frank looked at Ruth and Ruth looked back at him with her usual slitty-eyed hostility. ‘Margot needs time to repair her emotional value system.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know it was broken.’
‘Of course it’s broken, Frank. Margot’s entire concept of conjugal weights and balances is in total disorder.’
Frank frowned at Margot as if he couldn’t quite remember who she was. In fact, he was trying to see in her face the reason why he had married her, and why they had conceived Danny together, and why they had stayed together for so long. But all he could see was the mole on her upper lip.
‘Is this true?’ he asked her. ‘Your
‘How can you make fun of me after what’s just happened?’
‘I’m not making fun of you, Margot. I’m making fun of a world that turns real feelings into meaningless jargon. I’m trying to tell you how sorry I am. But I’m also trying to tell you that we can’t turn the clock back. Either we’re going to share this grief together, and struggle on, and see what we can make of this marriage, or else we’re going to say that we’ve been holed below the waterline, and abandon ship, and then it’s every man for himself. Or woman,’ he added, before Rachel could say it.
Margot didn’t answer at first. Ruth came forward and took hold of her hand, giving Frank a smug proprietorial look, as if to say,
‘Frank,’ said Margot, ‘I know what you’re saying, I know how sorry you are. But I really need much more time.’
‘All right,’ Frank agreed. ‘I’m prepared to be generous. How much do you want? Two weeks, a month? A year, maybe? How about a decade?’
Then they finally looked at each other and they both knew that it was over.
Frank said, ‘I’ll have my horologist get in touch with your horologist, OK?’
When he returned to the Sunset Marquis, he called Nevile.
‘Signor Strange, he leave town,’ said his maid.
‘Do you know when he’s going to be back? This is Frank Bell. I needed to talk to him urgently.’
‘He no say. Maybe you try his cell-a-phone.’
‘OK, thanks.’
He dialed Nevile’s cellphone number but the phone was switched off. It was late now, after all – well past 11:30 P.M. He left a message and that was all he could do. For some reason he was beginning to feel panicky, as if something bad was going to happen, even though he couldn’t think what it was. He had been very disturbed by Danny’s appearance in Nevile’s hallway, all bruised and bleeding. What did it mean? Had Danny been trying to show him that he had been indifferent as a father, neglectful to the point of cruelty? He had always been pretty strict, he admitted that, sometimes too strict. But he thought that he had always been fair, and caring.
Maybe the bruises had been a metaphor for something else. After all, if Nevile had been right, then it hadn’t been Danny at all, but a much more powerful spirit masquerading as Danny. But if it was a much more powerful spirit, why had it allowed itself to be flung across the hallway, and then dragged away?
He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was wild and there were dark circles under his eyes. ‘Portrait of a lunatic,’ he decided.
Friday, October 1, 3:26 P.M.
He was sitting on his balcony, his legs propped up on the railings, when he thought he heard a bang toward the north-east. Other people must have heard it, too, because they stopped splashing and laughing around the pool, and stood still, listening.
‘Hear that?’ said the musician with the long hair and the beaky noise. ‘That was a bloody bomb, that was.’
Frank went inside and switched on the television. He flicked through the channels until he found CNN, then waited. After less than five minutes, a newsflash came up on the screen.
‘Reports are coming in of a massive explosion at Walt Disney Studios on Buena Vista Road in Burbank. Eye witnesses are saying that “scores” of people have been killed and injured, and that over half of the main administrative block has been demolished.’
He stayed in front of the television for the rest of the afternoon. Gradually it emerged that a car bomb had killed forty-five Disney staff and that more than a hundred had been maimed by blast and shrapnel. Offices had collapsed and fires were still raging through the building, destroying millions of dollars worth of irreplaceable artwork and cells. Only three of the Seven Dwarf figures, which held up the roof, remained intact.
Police Commissioner Campbell appeared on the screen. ‘Los Angeles has again lost precious lives. The whole world has lost its innocence.’
Fourteen
Two hours after the Disney bomb went off, Frank’s producer, Peter Brodsky, called him.
‘Now they’ve bombed
‘They’re not going to stop, Peter. They’re not going to stop until there’s no Hollywood left.’
They shared a moment’s silence, but then Peter said, ‘I thought you’d better be the first to know.
‘Well, I can’t say that we haven’t been expecting it.’
‘You know that it’s absolutely no reflection on you or the show. We have to think about the safety of everybody involved in it, that’s all. Just as soon as they’ve caught these goddamned terrorists—’
‘Peter, I totally understand.’
‘You’re OK, are you, Frank? Marcia was wondering if you’d like to come over for brunch on Sunday morning.’
‘Well, that’s very thoughtful of her, please say thanks. The thing is, though, I’m going down to Rancho Santa Fe to spend the weekend with some friends.’
‘Good, good. So long as you’re not alone.’
He called Nevile again, but he was still away. He left a message on his voicemail asking him to call back as soon as he could.
