Coldheart Canyon: A Hollywood Ghost Story

'See? That's my life. My problem.'

'Why's it a problem?'

'Because he drinks too much and he doesn't love me and he's having an affair with this woman who works at the FedEx office.'

'No shit. Is he the violent type?'

'He would be if I let him.'

'But you don't.'

'I fractured one of his ribs the last time he tried something stupid like that. He was drunk. But that's no excuse.'

'So why do you stay with him?'

'You really want to know?'

'Yeah.'

'Sound like you mean it.'

'I mean it.'

'If I tell you, you've got to promise me one thing.'

'What's that?'

'Promise first.'

'Shit. I promise. Scout's honor. Why'd you stay with him?'

'Because being alone is the worst. Especially for a woman. I walked out on him two and a half years ago, when I found out about one of his women, but after a month I had to go back to him. Being on my own made me crazy. I made him tell me he was sorry for humiliating me and that he'd never do it again, but I knew that wasn't true. Men can't help being pigs. It's the way God made them.'

'And I suppose women are—'

'Bitches, most of us. Me included. But sometimes you need to be a bitch so you can get through the day.'

'And Katya?'

'I wondered how long it would take you to get round to her,' Tammy said. 'Well I'll tell you how much of a bitch she was. You know the man she threw into the room?' Todd nodded. 'His name was Zeffer. He was the man who made her into a movie star. That's the kind of woman she was.'

'There was another side to her, believe me.'

'Don't tell me: she loves dogs.'

'Wait . . .' he said wearily, waving away her cynicism. 'I'm trying to explain something here.'

'I don't want to hear about her kinder, gentler side.'

'Why not?'

'Because she's a bad woman, Todd. They named Coldheart Canyon after her, for God's sake. Did you know that? Anyway, we're neither of us going back up there. Agreed?'

Todd didn't reply. He simply stared at the faded photograph of the Hollywood sign that hung above the bed. 'Didn't somebody throw themselves off that?' he said finally.

'Yeah. Her name was Peg Entwistle. She was a failed actress. Did you hear what I said?'

'About what?'

'Neither of us is going back up to see Katya again, agreed? You're not going to try and sneak back up there the moment my back's turned?'

'Why? Would it matter so much if I did?' he said. His belief that all this was a dream seemed to have lost credibility in the last few minutes. 'You're never going to see me again after this anyway.'

It was true, of course: this was the first and last time she'd sit in a motel room and have a conversation with Todd Pickett. But it still stung her to hear it said. Hurt, she stumbled after a response. 'It only matters because I want the best for you.'

'Then move over,' he said, coming to the bed, 'and let me lie down and sleep. Because that's what I want right now.'

She got up off the bed.

'You're not going to sleep?' he said.

'There isn't room for both of us.'

'Sure there is. Lie down and get some rest. We'll talk about this when we've had some sleep.'

He slipped off his shoes and lay down, placing one of the paper-thin pillows beside the other so they'd both have somewhere to lay their heads.

'Go on,' he said. 'Lie down. I won't bite.'

'You do know how weird all this is for me, don't you?'

'Which part: the girl, the house, the Devil's wife—'

'No. You and me, together in one bed.'

'Don't worry, I'm not going to be making sexual advances—'

'I know that—'

'—I'm just suggesting we get some sleep.'

'Yeah. Well. Okay. But it's still weird. You know, you used to be somebody I idolized.'

'With a heavy emphasis on the used to be,' Todd said, opening one eye and looking at her.

'Don't be so sensitive.'

'No. I get the message. It was the same when I met Paul Newman, in the flesh.' He closed his eye again. 'I always used to think he was the coolest of all the cool guys. He had those ice-blue eyes, and that easy way of . . .' His words were getting slower, dreamier. '. . . walking into a room . . . and I used to think . . . when I'm famous . . .' The words trailed away.

'Todd?'

He opened his eyes a fraction and looked at her between the lashes. 'What was I saying?'

'Never mind,' she said to him, sitting on the bed. 'Go to sleep.'

'No, tell me. What was I saying?'

'How much you wanted to be like Paul Newman.'

'Oh yeah. I just used to practice my Newman act for hours on end. The way everything he did was so relaxed. Sometimes he looked so relaxed you couldn't believe he was acting at all. It looked so... easy . . .'

While he talked Tammy took off her own shoes (her feet were filthy, and ached, but she didn't have the strength to get into a shower), and then lay down beside Todd. He didn't even seem to realize she was there beside him. His monologue continued, though it became less coherent, as sleep steadily made his tongue more sluggish.

'When I met him .. . finally met him ... he was.. . so . .. small . . .'

His conclusion reached, he began to snore gently.

Tammy sat up on her elbows and looked at him, lying there, wondering how she would have felt if she'd been told a few days ago that she'd be sharing a bed with Todd Pickett. It would have made her heart jump a beat to even contemplate the possibility. And yet here she was, lying down beside him, and she felt nothing; nothing except a vague irritation that she was not going to get a fair share of the bed with him sprawled out over it. Oh well, she had no choice. She could either sleep on the bed with Mister Heart-throb, or take the floor.

She closed her eyes.

She was exhausted: sleep came in a matter of moments. There were no dreams.

THREE

While the two mismatched adventurers slept in the subterranean murk of Room 131 in the Wilshire Plaza Hotel, a sleep too deep to be called comfortable; too close to death, in fact—the city of Los Angeles got up and went about its daily business. There was profit to be made. There were movies being shot all over the city. Joyless little pornos being made in ratty motels, witless spectacles with budgets that could have supported small nations