Coldheart Canyon: A Hollywood Ghost Story

She grabbed the towel off the sink where she'd left it, and used it as best she could to cover her considerable nakedness.

'Good morning,' he said.

'Good afternoon,' she replied.

'It isn't.'

'Almost five-thirty,' she said. 'There's a clock beside the bed. Why don't you go look? And close the door after you.'

'I gotta take a leak first. I'm sorry. But I gotta.'

'Let me get out first.'

'Just don't look,' he said, unzipping himself.

She drew the shower curtain back, and continued to dry herself, while for the second time in the last twelve hours she heard the solid splash of him emptying his bladder. He took an age. By the time he was finished she was almost done drying herself.

'Okay, I'm done,' he said, with evident relief. 'Does this place have room service?'

'Yes.'

'You want something to eat?'

This was no time to be ladylike, she told herself. 'I'm starving,' she said.

'What do you want?'

'Just food. Nothing fancy.'

'I shouldn't think there's much danger of that.'

She waited until she heard the door click closed, then she pulled the shower curtain back and finished drying her nooks and crannies. She could hear his voice as he ordered food on the phone. It sounded like the soundtrack of a Todd Pickett movie playing on the television next door. Stepping out of the bath, she cleared a hole in the steamed-up mirror with the ball of her hand and regarded her reflection balefully. She was cleaner, but that was about the only improvement. She opened the door a crack.

'I need some clean clothes.'

Todd was sitting on the bed. He'd finished making his order and had turned on one of the late-afternoon chat shows.

'You can come in here and get dressed,' he said, not turning from the screen. 'I won't look.'

She discarded her sodden towel and ventured in, sorting through the meager contents of her suitcase for something presentable.

'I ordered club sandwiches,' Todd said. 'That was pretty much all they had. And coffee.'

'Fine.'

As she pulled on her underwear she glanced up at the television. A woman in a red polyester blouse three sizes too small for her was complaining vociferously to the host of the show that her daughter, who looked about eleven, went out every night 'dressed like a cheap little slut.'

'I love this shit,' Todd said.

'People's lives,' Tammy replied.

'I guess they're happy. They get their fifteen minutes.'

'Did you like yours?'

'I got more than fifteen,' he said.

'I didn't mean to offend you. I was just asking.'

'Sure, I enjoyed it. Who wouldn't? The first few times you're in a restaurant and a waiter recognizes you, or somebody sends over a drink, you get a buzz out of that. In fact, you feel like you're the only person who matters . . .' His voice trailed away. The daughter on the screen, who had the seeds of whoredom in her pre-pubescent features, was telling the audience that if she wanted to dress like a slut that was her business, and anyway who did she learn it from? She stabbed her finger in the direction of her mother, who did her best to look virtuous, but given what she'd chosen to do with her hair, makeup and outfit didn't have a chance. Todd laughed, then went back to what he was telling Tammy.

'The whole 'look at me, I'm a star thing gets old pretty quickly. And after a while you start to wish people didn't know who you were.'

'Really?'

'Actually, it's more that you want to be able to turn it on or off. Oh shit, look at this—'

The sluttish daughter was now up off her chair, and attempting to attack her mother. Luckily, there was a security man ready to step in and stop her. Unluckily, he wasn't quite fast enough to do so. The girl threw herself upon her mother with such violence the woman's chair toppled over, and the security man, who had by now taken hold of the girl to keep her from doing harm, fell forward too, so that chair, mother, daughter and security man ended up on the studio floor together. Todd continued to talk through it.

'There are days when you really want to feel good about yourself; you want to be recognized, you want people to say: I loved your movie so much I saw it six times. And then there are other days when it's a curse to have people know who the hell you are, because there's no privacy, no way to just go out and be yourself. Everything becomes a performance.' He pointed at the brawlers on television. 'Look at these stupid bitches. What are they going to say when their friends see this?' He pondered his own question for a moment, then he said: 'Actually, I know exactly what they're going to say. They're going to say: did you see me on the TV? That's all that matters. Not: did you see me being smart or looking beautiful: just did you see me?'

He watched the women's antics for a while longer, shaking his head. Then he glanced over at Tammy and said: 'I've been thinking maybe I'm done with the movies. Or movies are done with me. It's time to buy a ranch in Montana and raise horses.'

'Really?' Tammy had finally got dressed, and came to sit down on the unmade bed beside Todd. 'You're going to retire?'

He laughed. 'What's so funny?'

'Oh, just hearing the word. Retire. At thirty-four.'

'I thought you were thirty-two. Your bio—'

'I lied.'

'Oh.'

'But I'm still young. Right? I mean, thirty-four is still young.'

'A mere kitten.'

'I just can't face the idea of that circus for one more day . . .' He turned off the television. The room was suddenly very silent.

After a few moments Tammy said: 'Are we going to talk about it or not?'

Todd stared at the blank television. She couldn't see his expression but she was certain it was just as vacant as the screen.

'The Canyon, Todd,' she said again. 'Are we going to talk about what happened in the Canyon or not?'

'Yes,' he replied finally. 'I suppose so.'

'Last night you said it wasn't real.'

'I was tired.'

'So?'

'It's real. I knew last night I was talking bullshit . . .' He kept his back to her through this, as though he didn't want to let her see his incomprehension; as though it were something to be ashamed of.

'You saw more than I did,' she said to Todd. 'So you've probably got a clearer idea of what's going on. And you talked to—'

'Katya.'

'Yes. And. What did she tell you?'

'She told me the room downstairs had been given to her.'

'By Zeffer. Yes, I know that part.'

'Then what are you asking me for?' he said. 'You probably know as much as I do.'

'What about Maxine?'

'What about her?'