Coldheart Canyon: A Hollywood Ghost Story

'There is, believe me.'

'All right. Say I believe you. And maybe the earthquake did open it up. Shouldn't somebody go down there and close it?'

'That would certainly make sense.'

'Joe?'

'Aw shit. Why me?'

'Because you're the one who kept telling us how good you are with a gun. Anyway, it's obvious Jerry's in no state to go.'

'What about you?'

'Joe,' Eppstadt said. 'You're talking to the Head of Paramount.'

'So? That doesn't mean a whole heap right now, does it?'

'No, but it will when we get back to the real world.' He stared at Joe, with an odd little smile on his face. 'You don't want to be a waiter all your life, do you?'

'No. Of course not.'

'You came to Hollywood to act, am I right?'

'I'm really good.'

'I'm sure you are. Do you have any idea how much help I could be to you?'

'If I go down there—?'

'And close the door.'

'Then you make me a movie star?'

'There are no guarantees in this town, Joe. But put it this way. You've got a better chance of being the next Brad Pitt—'

'I see myself more as an Ed Norton.'

'Okay. Ed Norton. You stand a better chance of being the next Ed Norton if you've got the Head of Paramount on your side. You understand?'

Joe looked past Eppstadt at the doorway that led to the turret. The noise of the storm had not abated a jot. If anything the wind had become louder, slamming the door against a wall. If it had just been the whine of the wind coming from below, no doubt Joe's ambitions would have had him halfway down the stairs by now. But there were other sounds being carried on the back of the wind, some easy to interpret, others not so easy. He could hear the screech of agitated birds, which was not too distressing. But there were other species giving voice below: and he could put a name to none of them.

'Well, Joe?' Eppstadt said. 'You want to close that door? Or do you want to serve canapes for the rest of your life.'

'Fuck.'

'You've got a gun, Joe. Where's your balls?'

'You promise you'll get me a part? Not some stinking little walk-on?'

'I promise ... to do my best for you.'

Joe looked over at Jerry. 'Do you know what's down there?'

'Just don't look' was Jerry's advice. 'Close the door and come back up. Don't look into the room, even if it seems really amazing.'

'Why?'

'Because it is amazing. And once you've looked you're going to want to go on looking.'

'And if something comes out after me?'

'Shoot it.'

'There,' said Eppstadt. 'Satisfied?'

Joe turned the proposition over in his head for a few more seconds, weighing the gun in his hand as he did so. 'I've been in this fucking town two, almost three, years. Haven't even got an agent.'

'Looks like this is your lucky day,' Eppstadt said.

'Better be,' Joe replied.

He drew a deep breath, and went out into the hallway. Eppstadt smiled reassuringly at him as he went by, but his features weren't made for reassurance. In fact at the sight of Eppstadt's crooked smile, Joe almost changed his mind. Then, thinking perhaps of what his life had been like so far—the casual contempt heaped on waiters by the famous—he went out to the head of the stairs and looked down. Reassuringly, the door had stopped slamming quite so hard. Joe took a deep breath, then he headed down the flight.

Eppstadt watched him go. Then he went back to the window.

'The people out there . . .' he said to Jerry.

'What about them?'

'Will they have harmed Maxine?'

'I doubt it. They don't want blood. They just want to get back into the house.'

'Why didn't they just push past me?'

'There's some kind of trap at the door that keeps them out.'

'I got in and out without any problem.'

'Well, you're alive, aren't you?'

'What?'

'You heard what I said.'

'Don't start with the superstitious crap, Brahms. I'm not in the mood.'

'Neither am I,' Jerry said. 'I wish I were anywhere but here, right now.'

'I thought this was your dream palace?'

'If Katya were here, it would be a different matter.'

'You don't really think that woman on the beach was Katya Lupi, do you?'

'I know it was her for a fact. I drove her down to Malibu myself.'

'What?'

Jerry shrugged. 'Playing Cupid.'

'Katya Lupi and Todd Pickett? Crazy. It's all crazy.'

'Why? Because you refuse to believe in ghosts?'

'Oh, I didn't say that,' Eppstadt replied, somewhat cautiously. 'I didn't say I didn't believe. I've been to Gettysburg and felt the presence of the dead. But a battlefield is one thing—'

'And an old Hollywood dream palace is another? Why? People suffered here, believe me. A few even took their own lives. I don't know why I'm telling you. You know how people suffer here. You cause half of it. This miserable town's awash with envy and anger. You know how cruel LA makes people. How hungry.'

The word rang a bell. Eppstadt thought of the face of the woman at the back of the house. The appetite in her eyes.

'They might not be the kind of ghosts you think you hear moaning at Gettysburg,' Jerry went on. 'But believe me, they are very dead and they are very desperate. So the sooner we find Maxine and Sawyer and get out of here the better for all of us.'

'Oh dear God,' Eppstadt said softly.

'What?'

'I'm starting to believe you.'

'Then we've made some progress, I suppose.'

'Why didn't you tell me all this before we came up here?'

'Would it have stopped you coming?'

'No.'

'You see? You needed to see for yourself.'

'Well, I've seen,' Eppstadt said. 'And you're right. As soon as Joe's closed the door, we'll all go out and find Maxine and Sawyer. You're sure those things—'

'Use the word, Eppstadt.'

'I don't want to.'

'For God's sake, it's just a word.'