The Last Story (17 page)

"I will take your advice under consideration.

What about Roger's family? His source of income?"

"I'm still looking into that. I have a buddy who works for the Chicago Police. He's supposed to get back to me by tomorrow. He said he had a lead on Roger Teller that might prove interesting."

"Could you elaborate?"

Garrett shook his head. "He refused to elaborate.

He wanted to check it out first. That's a cop for you.

But this guy's good. He won't go running all over town wasting your money."

"Am I paying him as well?"

Garrett smiled. "Indirectly. I'm sorry if I was heavy-handed a moment ago. It comes with the job.

Hey, there's a question I wanted to ask you."

I forced a chuckle. "Where do I get my ideas?"

"Yeah. Does everyone ask you that?"

I stood. "Ninety-nine percent of people. The truth is, I get them in the strangest places.

You have no idea how strange. May I see you tomorrow at this time?"

He stood up to walk me out. "Yes, that would be fine. My Chicago buddy should have reported in by then. Oh, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, my daughter left a copy of one of your books on her desk for you to sign. It would mean a lot to her."

I smiled again. "No problem. I'll be glad to sign it."

Garrett followed me into the reception area.

Because it was Sunday, his daughter had the day off or else was at lunch. I had eaten nothing all day, but wasn't hungry. When you went to hell and back you didn't pack a lunch.

Nothing worked as effectively as the pain and suffering diet. Cry Those Calories Away. I should write such a diet book and sell millions of copies.

Garrett's daughter had left a copy of First to Die.

Quickly I scribbled my best wishes and name.

Garrett took the book and held it as if it was worth its weight in gold. It never ceased to amaze me how much my sloppy signature meant to people. Yet as I was leaving, he made a remark that stopped me cold.

"Actually, she was hesitant to have you sign this book," he said.

"I don't understand?"

"She didn't want to impose on you twice. She wanted you to sign the other one."

I froze. "What other one?"

"Your new one. She was going to pick up a copy today at the mall. What's it called?

Remember Me?"

I smiled thinly. "Tell her not to bother buying it.

It's my worst book." Quickly I turned away. "Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Garrett."

"You too, Shari. I mean, Jean."

His slip of the tongue had been accidental.

Nothing more.

But what about tomorrow?

CHAPTER

XV

Y HEAD STARTED TO THROB the moment I set foot back on the set. I had no choice, I had to take two Tylenol-3. The pain medicine worked, yet I wasn't sure if the same could be said for my celluloid luster. That evening, watching the dailies, I thought I either had to rewrite Mary as a dopesmoking chick or else get a new actress to play my body double. My eyes were out of focus in every shot.

Roger, warm-blooded American boy that he was, wanted to take me to dinner and bed.

But I begged off, telling him that I had a headache. He was sympathetic and didn't pressure me. I didn't tell him where I was staying.

When I reached my hotel suite, I called Peter.

Hardest thing I ever had to do.

Harder than dying. I died a little when he answered and I heard the pain in his voice.

"Hello?"

he said.

M

"Peter, this is Shari. I'm so sorry."

There was a long pause. "Where are you?" he asked.

"At a hotel. By myself. How are you?"

He sighed. "Not so good."

"I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened."

I could hear him breathing. "Are you going to see him again?"

I knew he'd ask me that, of course. I tried to decide how I would respond. After the lies I'd put him through, the truth was all I could offer him now.

"I have to see him every day at the set. He's our star and we're stuck with him. At this point Henry won't let me make another change. But I don't plan to go out with him anymore. I don't want to do that. I didn't want to do it to begin with. I just did.

He has some kind of hold on me—I can't explain it." I stopped. "I know that isn't exactly what you wanted to hear, but it's the best I can give you."

Peter moaned softly. "Are you sure you didn't have sex with him?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'd remember, you know."

"Shari."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "That didn't come out the way I meant it. What I was trying to say is, it went too far. I crossed the line." I added, although it broke my heart to do so, "You have every right to leave me if you want."

Another long painful silence. "Do you want to leave me?"

"No. Not for anything in the world."

"Then how come you can't swear that you'll never see him again?"

I began to cry. "I don't know how come."

Peter pleaded. "Don't go to the movie set. They can make it without you. Henry's a genius. He's made dozens of movies. You're a writer—that's your gift. That's what you came back for—to tell stories. To inspire people. You don't need to be a producer or a director. Come back here to me. It can be like it was before. We've been happy, Shari.

We belong together. Please?"

I sobbed. "I can't!"

He wept with me. "Why not? What's stopping you?"

"I don't deserve you!"

"Shari."

"I betrayed you! I might betray you again!"

He lowered his voice. "Is it the sex thing? Is that what you need?"

"It's more complicated than that. I feel I have to confront..." My voice trailed off.

"Confront what?"

I paused, feeling cold. The words had just come out of my mouth. "I don't know—the unreal maybe."

"What's the unreal?"

I spoke as if I were suddenly far away. On a spaceship, light-years from Earth.

"Everything that isn't real." My mind felt split then as Sarteen's had when she leaped through the uncharted region of hyperspace. Indeed, I felt very close to her then. As if our mutual dilemmas were simply two sides of the same coin. Yet I did not understand what my affinity with a fictional character meant any more than I knew how to end that story.

"The Starlight Crystal"—why had I called it that? In reference to the crystals in her golden column? The precious jewels that vibrated with my heroine's chakras? I remembered how my forehead and heart had vibrated in the company of the yogi.

"Shari?" Peter said, confused. Some time must have gone by.

"How's your course?" I asked. "Did you complete it today?"

"Yes. It was wonderful. It kept me from jumping off a balcony."

"Or driving head on into a truck?"

He was sad. "Yeah."

"That was a sick joke. I'm sorry."

"Mine was, too. I guess we're both sorry."

"How's the yogi?" I asked.

"Wonderful." Peter hesitated. "I told him what was happening between us."

"That's OIC I'm sure he knew anyway."

"As a matter of fact he did. He said it was inevitable."

I didn't know if I liked the sound of that. "What does that mean?"

"He said this situation was all set up by nature, and by ourselves. That we test ourselves."

I forced a chuckle. "Did he say I was failing the test?"

"I asked him—"

"And?"

"He didn't answer. He doesn't always answer.

It's his way."

I spoke with feeling. "I'd love to see him again."

"He wants to see you. He asked for you to come see him."

"I thought he was leaving."

"He decided to stay longer." Peter paused.

"Please come home. We can go see him together.

He can help us through this difficult time."

"I don't deserve his help."

"Shari! Why do you keep saying these crazy things?"

"It's not crazy. I didn't keep my end of the bargain. I don't know what that means either, but I know it's true." I paused. Someone was knocking at my door. "Peter, I have to go now."

"What is it? We need to talk more."

"We can talk later. I'll call you."

He sounded so pitiful. "You promise?"

"I promise. I love you, Peter. You have to believe that Whatever happens, that will never change."

He sighed. "The yogi said I had to believe that."

The knock came again. "He's a wise man. Trust him. Take care of yourself."

**I love you, Shari."

I smiled, feeling the tears well up again. "I know you do. Try to relax. Goodbye."

Yet it was a false alarm, the knock at the door.

The maid simply wanted to know if I needed fresh flowers. Sure, I said. I could sit and smell them all by myself. She arranged a silver vase with two dozen red roses on the mantle above the fireplace

and then discreetly departed. Because of my vow not to call Roger, I had nothing to do except finish my story and rest. Certainly I didn't feel like going out and painting the town. But when I turned on my notebook computer, I discovered that my muse was off helping a college student write a term paper or something. I felt about as inspired as a crashed disk. Turning off my magical machine, I tried the TV, not a favorite pastime of mine. If I wanted to watch something, I usually rented a movie. The remote control had several buttons for pay TV. The bottom one on the left let you watch X-rated features. Briefly, I wondered what Roger was doing, if he was alone.

/ won't call him. I won't see him. I love Peter.

I wondered what Garrett's buddy in Chicago would discover.

The night crept by. Fifty channels on TV and I couldn't find anything to watch. I took a bath. The hotel offered an assortment of expensive oils to pour in the water. Wanting to get my thousandbucks a-night's worth, 1 dumped them all in. Came out of the tub smelling like the vase above the fireplace. I blow-dried my hair and ordered a hot fudge sundae from room service—that was a smart move. Tasted yummy, even though I was on the second day of my pain and suffering diet. I had ordered a turkey sandwich as well, but it didn't appeal to me. But I could see how people grew addicted to staying at expensive hotels. You just had to pick up the phone and dial a number and life

was taken care of for you. I probably could have ordered stronger pills for my headache.

The pain was coming back. Playing with my bottle of pills, I wondered how I would look and feel in the morning if I swallowed another two before I went to bed.

Probably like the cheerleader after the sharks got her.

It was ironic that I should think about sharks as I turned out the light.

The call came at two in the morning. Groaning, I rolled over and turned on the light.

Earlier, as a compromise, I had taken only one pill before putting my head on the pillow.

Unfortunately, the pleasant half of the medicine had already worn off.

Now I had only side effects percolating in my system. As I sat up, a vein pounded at my right temple, and I felt hung over. Picking up the phone, I hoped it was a wrong number.

"Hello?" I mumbled.

"Shari, this is Bob. I'm down at the shark set. I've got to talk to you about tomorrow's scene."

"Now? Bob, it's the middle of the night. How did you get this number?"

"Henry gave it to me. You gave it to him. This is important, Shari. We have to talk."

I yawned. "All right, I'm awake. What do you want to talk about?"

"Not on the phone. You have to come down here."

"No way. Knowing you, you'll probably shove me in the water and I'd be eaten alive."

He lowered his voice. "It's funny you should say that. Someone is planning to do exactly that tomorrow."

"What are you talking about? Who?"

"This is not something we can discuss on the phone. Be here in forty minutes. I'll be waiting by the boat. Don't be late."

"Wait a second," I began. But he had already hung up. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why Henry would have given Bob my number. I had specifically told him to keep my whereabouts secret. Of course, he knew where Roger was staying and must have figured we were having a wild old time.

I don't know why I called Roger. I had told myself a million times that I wouldn't. I guess I just needed someone to bounce Bob's crazy conversation off. Roger answered after the fifth ring. He sounded dead to the world.

"Yeah?"

"Roger, this is Shari. I'm sorry to wake you. We have a problem. It's Bob."

He groaned. "What time is it?"

"Two in the morning. I wouldn't have disturbed you if I didn't think this was important.

Bob called me a minute ago and said that someone plans to push one of our crew in the water with the sharks while we're shooting tomorrow."

Roger snorted. "The entire cast has joked about pushing someone in the water with sharks. We all grew up with Jaws. It's nothing. Bob's pulling your leg. Go back to sleep."

"I'd like to. But there was something in his voice—I don't think he was joking. He wants me to meet him down by the shark set. I want you to come with me."

He paused. "Are you serious about this?"

"Yes. I can come get you in a few minutes."

"In a few minutes? Where are you?"

I bit my lower lip. "I'm staying here, in your hotel."

"Shari. Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I'll explain when I see you. Get dressed. We have to see what Bob wants. Something's happening here that I don't understand."

Roger yawned. "You're not the only one."

CHAPTER

XVI

V - ^N THE WAY TO SEE BOB, sitting in the passenger seat of Roger's black Corvette, I explained to Roger that Peter and I were having difficulties but that they were unrelated to what had happened between us. Roger nodded and didn't press me for details.

He was remarkably cool about the whole thing. He even confessed to feeling guilty about moving in on me while I was living with Peter. Yet, grinning, he added that he wasn't losing any sleep over it.

"I was sleeping fine until you called," he said.

"You know, Bob's going to laugh when he sees how he managed to get us out of bed. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he's not even there."