Lullaby Town

I looked at Pat Kyle. Her eyes were hard and her jaw was tight and she was staring at the floor. What, and give up show business? I looked back at Peter Alan Nelsen. Nick and T.J. were rolling around on the zebra couch, laughing and goosing each other and slapping hands. I said, 'Peter. I didn't come here for Pee-Wee's playhouse.'

The laughter stopped.

'I have come because my friend Pat Kyle asked me to come, and I have answered questions about myself because that's the way most people beat around the bush before they get down to business, but now we are at the end of the road. Unless you knock off the bullshit and get to the point, I will walk out of here and you can get someone else to do the job.'

Peter Alan Nelsen blinked at me through surprised, little-boy eyes. T.J. got up from the couch and put his hands on his hips and grinned at me. The Nickster said, 'Oh, man, Peter, this guy wants a piece.'

Dani uncrossed the big arms and came forward until her right hip was pressed against the desk, very close to Peter. Her left quadricep flexed like a beating heart. Peter stared at me for a long time, sort of smiling, but mostly looking like a little boy who'd been caught eating worms and knew it was wrong. He looked ashamed. Peter said, 'Nick, T.J., you guys go grab a beer or something, okay?'

Nick and T.J. glanced at Peter, then walked out, the Nickster making a big deal out of coming very close to me. When they were gone, Peter slid off the desk, dug out his wallet, took out a small color snapshot, and handed it to me. It was creased cleanly once, and yellowed the way old photos are yellowed when they have lain untouched between papers in a box for many years. It was Peter. Much younger and even thinner, with long frizzy hair and a dark maroon T-shirt that said USC FILM. He was sitting on an ugly cloth couch in a plain student's apartment and he was holding a tiny baby. Neither Peter nor the baby looked happy. He said, 'I've got an ex-wife and a son. The last time I saw my son, he was maybe a year old. His name is Toby. We named him Toby after Toby Tyler, or, Ten Weeks with the Circus. He's gotta be about twelve now, but I don't know if he's dead or if he's alive or if he's a crip in a ward somewhere. I don't know if he likes pizza. I don't know if he likes Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You see?'

I nodded. 'Your ex-wife never came to you for child support?'

'No.'

'Or alimony?'

He spread his hands. 'For all I know she's on the moon.'

I said, 'Peter, you ever think maybe the woman doesn't want to be found?'

He stared at me.

'It's been ten years and you don't exactly lead a low-profile life. If she wanted to find you, she could've. I've done jobs like this before, and what happens is that everyone ends up wishing well enough had been left alone. The kids end up confused and scared and the parents end up fighting the old fights. You see?'

Peter took a deep breath and shook his head and looked around the office. With T.J. and the Nickster and Donnie Brewster gone, the office felt empty and he looked alone. He said, 'I'm worth, what? Maybe two hundred million, something like that? If I've got a kid, part of that's his, right?' Trying to convince me. 'What if he needs a car? What if he can't afford college?'

I said, 'You want to be a father.'

He took back the snapshot of the very much younger Peter Alan Nelsen and his baby son. Toby. Toby Tyler and the circus. 'Unless the kid's dead, I'm a father whether I want to be or not. That oughta mean something, right?'

I said, 'Yes. It should.'

'So Karen's mad. So I schmucked out back then and I blew it. Does that mean that I have to pay for it the rest of my life?'

'No.'

He shook his head and went over behind the marble desk and sat down the way a very old man would sit and he looked at the little picture again. He said, 'You know what's weird? It's like there's a piece of me out there that I don't know and have never seen. It's like I can feel him, like there's this other self, you see?'

I nodded. 'The boy may not feel that way. Your ex-wife almost certainly won't.'

He got up and walked over to the pinball machine and then to the video game and then to the Wurlitzer. He would stand, then move, then stand again, as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself or where he should be or how to say what he wanted to say.

I said, 'Just say it.'

He turned and his face seemed faraway and lost and hurt. 'I just want to say hello to my kid.'

I nodded. 'I don't blame you,' I said. 'I'll help you find him.'

The world's third most successful director took a deep breath, then said, 'Good. Good.' He came across the room and shook my hand. 'Good.'

CHAPTER THREE

The black secretary stuck his head in the door and told Peter that someone named Langston needed to see him on the stage right away.

We trooped down out of his office and back into the real world of aliens and oil barons and people who looked suspiciously like studio executives. Patricia Kyle and Peter Alan Nelsen and I walked together, with Dani sort of drifting behind. Somewhere between Peter's office and the soundstage, Nick and T.J. reappeared, Nick giving me tough whenever I looked at him. Had me shaking, that guy. Make you turn in your license, a guy like that. I looked at Peter Alan Nelsen, instead. 'What was your ex-wife's name?'

'Karen Nelsen.'

'Not her married name. What was her maiden name?'

'Karen Shipley. That cop we talked to, Ito, he said you're big with the martial arts. He said you took out some killer from Japan.'

I said, 'What's your son's name?'

'Toby Samuel Nelsen. I got the Sam from Sam Fuller. Great director. You ever been shot?'

'I caught some frag once.'

'What did it feel like?'

'Peter, let's stick to the information about your ex-wife, okay?'

'Yeah, sure. What do you want to know?'

We walked along the little studio back streets and people stopped what they were doing and looked at him. They saw celebrities every day, so they wouldn't look at Mel Gibson or Harrison Ford or Jane Fonda, but they looked at Peter Alan Nelsen, and Peter seemed to enjoy it. He stood tall and when he spoke he made broad, exaggerated gestures as if what was happening had been scripted and he was acting the scene and the lookers were his audience. Maybe the lookers thought so, too. Maybe, since Peter was the King of Adventure, they figured that a Stearman biplane would suddenly appear and begin a strafing run. Maybe they thought a Lamborghini Countach driven by Daryl Hannah would suddenly screech around the corner, chased by psychopaths in souped-up Fords, and Peter would have to save the day and it would really be something to see. If Daryl Hannah was driving the Countach, Peter would have to move pretty fast. I was planning to get there first.

I said, 'Okay. Do you have any idea where Karen might be living?'

'No.'

'You think she's still here in Los Angeles?'

'I don't know.'

'Did she ever talk about someplace in particular, like, 'I'd really like to live in Palmdale one day,' or, 'Los Angeles is the greatest city in the world. I'll never leave it,' something like that?'

'I never thought about living anyplace else.'

'Not you. Her.'

'I don't know.'

'Did she have any friends?'