Feast of Saints (44 page)

Chapter 30

After they’d gone, Lilly looked around her empty bungalow. What had always been a cheery, lovely place to her, felt sordid and dirty. Violated. She went to the doorway of her Jake room, standing where he had stood minutes ago, and surveyed the room. She felt sick. Grabbing the back of the rolling chair, she pushed it to the center of the room and plopped down into it. She kicked her heel to spin the chair, taking in all of the Jakes in full panorama. She marveled at her own idiocy. Turning faster, she closed her eyes and opened them again. She spun and spun until all of the Jakes melded into one beautiful and stunningly frightful vision of a beast of a man who was capable of shredding her to pieces. Who already had.

Dizzy and feeling nauseated, she pulled her feet up to hug her knees as she slowed to a stop, facing the holographic board of Allegrezza she’d drawn as Jake modeled in Culver City. Lilly sat staring at him until she lost track of time. Hours would have passed if it hadn’t been for Madcap, who clamored to be fed. Stiff and hollow, she pushed her knees down, setting her numb and tingling feet on the floor, and wandered into the kitchen.

Filling Madcap’s dish, she thought of her options. Wallowing was certainly one legitimate choice. Defend herself to Jake? How? What exactly would she say? Was she supposed to apologize? She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the one who’d violated her, broken into her home, let some polyester hack ridicule her.

The echo of Cheapshirt’s accusations galvanized her into action. With contained fury, she marched back into the studio, picked up her landline phone and punched in Alison’s number.

“Alison, it’s Lilly,” she said, leaving her a message. “About that zombie gig, I’ve changed my mind. I’m all in.” Ravi had told her not to take the Tarantino project because the timing would conflict with the best
Strange
offer, the Art Director position. As Art Director, she would have been expected to play a large part in preproduction and start in just a few weeks.

Her anger at being forced to close the door on that opportunity threatened to engulf her. She used it, wrapping it like a fiery blanket around her heart.

Hanging up, she glared around her cluttered studio. High time to rid herself of this mess. Erase Jake from her life. She’d need supplies, and a little help.

Two hours later, Lilly made it back to the house, barely.

She’d ridden first back to the studio to collect her phone. Alison, she knew, wouldn’t have the patience to bother with a different number when she had Lilly’s cell number on speed dial. She had been right. When she grabbed the phone off the counter where she’d thrown it that morning, Alison had already called and texted twice. Lilly plugged in her earbuds with the built in mic, and hopped back on her bike, calling Alison as she peddled out of the studio gate.

Four blocks later, she nearly ran into the side of a moving bus when Alison said that if she wanted the job she needed to be on the set by the weekend. In New Zealand.

“Don’t they already have someone for special effects?” she asked. It wasn’t possible that they’d be this close to production without a special effects designer, especially given what little she knew about the plot.

“Well…” Uh oh. Lilly didn’t like the cagey tone in Alison’s voice. She could hear the wheels turning as Alison decided how to spin this opportunity.

“There
was
someone, but she’s on her way out. Look, I’ll just be straight. Quentin’s asked me to personally deal with this. There were some… relationship issues.”

Hearing this, Lilly knew she should run the other way. With a set up like that, who knows what she’d be stepping into, most likely a hotbed of resentment. But she needed to get out of LA, and getting that far – New Zealand far – seemed like a godsend.

“What’s her name? The woman I’d be replacing? I’m not doing it if it’s someone I know.” Her question signaled her acquiescence.

Audibly smiling, Alison piped, “She’s nobody. Katarina Nicholson or Mickelson something. She’s eastern European. No way you’d know her. I don’t even know her.”

“Alright, email me the contract,” she said. “But, can you do me favor? Don’t mention this to anyone outside the movie?”

Lilly figured that she’d better be specific if she wanted to nail down Alison on a commitment to be discreet. “Not a word to Phillip, or Jake,” she said.

Alison hesitated. “Lilly, you’re under contract to Mjicon. I can’t promise that.”

“Can you at least hold up until I’m out of town?”

“Is there some problem I need to know about?” Alison asked, now not sounding so pleased.

“No, nothing you need to know about. It’s personal,” she said.

There was a long silence. Lilly stood on the corner, balancing her bike between her legs and watching the traffic.

“Alright. Sign the contract and email it back to me. Drop an original by the office, or better yet, put it in the mail. I won’t get the original for a day or two, but I’ll have to turn it in to Mjicon as soon as I do. Good enough?”

Relieved, she said, “Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for the opportunity, too.”

Lilly wasn’t sure what got into Alison, but her next words were sincere. “Lilly,” she said, “whatever’s going on, don’t let it ruin your relationship with Mjicon. Your
professional
relationships are your passport to better opportunities.” Even over the traffic noise, she couldn’t miss the emphasis on “professional”.

“I know.” Her throat was suddenly tight at Alison’s unexpected concern. “Thanks.”

Alison signed off with a cryptic, “And watch your back with Sergei.”

“Who’s Sergei?” Lilly asked, but the line was dead.

Her next stop before going home was Boulevard Hardware. She was terribly unsteady biking back with a gallon of white paint in her backpack and nearly wrecked her bike two more times. But by eight p.m., she sighed with relief standing in the doorway of her pristine white studio. She’d covered every wall surface twice, three times on the ceiling. The room stank of the latex paint she’d used to exorcise Jake. Her Jake casts, drawings and boards were bundled together and stacked by the front door. Greg, no questions asked, had promised to swing by to pick them up and throw them away in the dumpster behind his shop.

Sitting down to check her email, she saw that the contract from Alison had come through. She hit print, knowing she was supposed to have someone in Mjicon’s legal department review it before she signed. Shrugging with defiant apathy, she signed anyway, and scanned and emailed the signature page back to Alison. She was just sticking the original in the outgoing mail when Greg pulled up.

Stepping up on to the porch, he said, “You okay?”

At the concern in his voice, her tears welled up.

Looking away and blinking fast she said, “Yeah. Let’s just get this stuff out of here, okay? Can you check on Madcap on Saturday? I’m headed out Friday morning, and Kyle’s leaving for Houston that afternoon. Lionel’s going to come down Sunday to pick up Madcap and take her to their house.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, dropping the concerned tone in favor of his characteristic Greg agreeability.

Lilly and he together made three trips to the van to get rid of the bundles of plaster, paper and foam core boards. When they were done, she led Greg to her completed
Feast
collage, which had been leaning against the living room wall, too heavy to hang by herself.

She’d used the final plaster Allegrezza for part of it. She’d cut the head and torso on a compound angle and attached the cast to the frame so that it stood out in relief on one side. Allegrezza glared over the collage of memorabilia from the film. The opposite side of the collage was a much more abstract representation of Maya and the angel Blaylock. Their side of the large work was bright and colorful, and the items she had selected and arranged on that side were whimsical, cheerful or spiritual. A silvered mirror, the bishop’s scepter and other bright items were fitted together in the vague outline of angel’s wings hovering behind a female form that dissolved into a flowing petalled skirt. Toward the center, and moving to Allegrezza’s side of the canvas, the items became increasingly darker until, just touching Jake’s torso, were props from the most violent scenes in
Feast
, a bloodied stake, a ritual blade, the axe from Wyoming. Staring at the piece with a squint from a few feet away, the colors blurred together in such a way that there appeared a landscape moving from a sunny, sandy beach to nighttime in the shadow of the mountains.

“This one’s too heavy for us to move. Could you send someone over later this week?”

Greg, open-mouthed, said, “This is gonna be worth a fortune. You sure you don’t want to hold on to it and sell it after the movie’s out?”

“No. I just want it gone,” she said, not looking twice at the work. “Please, you take it and sell it.”

Greg stepped back, squinting at the piece. Lilly walked away toward the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Let me get you a beer.”

She stopped in her tracks as she passed the still open front door. The McLaren was parked in front of Greg’s Get-A-Grip van. She stood in place, watching as he got out of his car and walked up the short path to her door. He was alone this time.

When he looked up and saw her, she stepped forward, shut the front door and locked it. She didn’t expect that to stop him, but it would set the tone for whatever conversation they were going to have. She headed into the kitchen to get Greg’s beer. And one for herself.

The doorbell rang as she opened the refrigerator. And rang again as she took her time opening two beers.

“You want me to get that?” Greg asked from the family room, still studying the
Feast
collage.

“No.”

At her response, Greg looked toward her and then at the shut front door. “Something wrong, Peanut?” Greg asked.

“It’s Jake.” Her answer was nearly drowned out as Jake pounded so hard that the door hinges rattled.

Although not particularly tall, Greg was bulky and heavily muscled. He visibly bristled. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Lilly wanted nothing to do with Jake Durant. Greg puffed up, hulked over, unlocked and yanked open the door.

“Go away, Durant. She doesn’t want what you’re selling,” he nearly shouted.

Jake, who played and coached a variety of sports when he wasn’t working, including ice hockey, checked Greg’s attempt to slam the door in his face by shoving his shoulder into it, propelling Greg backwards into the living area.

When Greg stepped forward and looked about to take a swing, Lilly moved as quickly as she could to step between them.

“Don’t,” she said, grabbing Greg’s forearm before he could wind up.

Greg looked down at her hand on his arm. “You want me to throw him out, just say the word.”

Lilly did want Greg to throw him out. And beat him to a pulp on the sidewalk. And kick him into the street and then run over him with his van.

She looked over at Jake, measuring him up, wondering if anyone could.

Then she felt it. That whole body pull. An invisible rope tied around her waist tugged at her, bending her toward him.

She slipped under Greg’s arm, restraining herself as much as him.

“Go away, Jake,” she said, echoing Greg’s command, although not nearly as forcefully.

“Not this time, Lilly. I’m not going anywhere.
You
,” he shoved his finger at Greg, “leave us alone. Now.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Greg said, not intimidated. Greg pulled her tighter against his side and reached into his back pocket for his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

Jake looked at Lilly. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” Then, when it seemed she was going to let Greg call the police on him, he adjusted his aggressive stance and pleaded with her, “Don’t do this.”

Lilly didn’t trust herself with Jake, but she didn’t want the nightmare of the police coming to her house. She covered Greg’s hand on his phone. Stepping out from under the cover of his arm, she said, “Let him say what he has to say. Then he can leave.”

Greg shifted the phone to his other hand and clasped Lilly’s.

Jake’s jaw clenched. “Is he your boyfriend, Lilly?” he asked, his tone turning scornful.

Lilly found her backbone. “Wouldn’t it be better if he was? You can go report that to your private investigator. What’s his name? John? The one who thinks I’m stalking you?”

Jake’s face turned white. “Did John come here?”

“You’re unbelievable!” she screeched. “You know he did! I saw you, Jake. In my house, snooping around. Taking pictures!”

Jake had the good graces to look contrite. “You were here?”

“Yes, Jake, I was here. What exactly is it that you think I did?” she asked angrily.

“Nothing. I didn’t think you did anything. I just asked John to check in on you. I didn’t think he would draw the conclusions that he did.” Jake impulsively looked toward the studio.

Even from across the room Jake could feel the studio’s emptiness. He stepped around Lilly and Greg and went to stand in the doorway. The plaster Allegrezzas were gone. Everything – walls, ceiling – was painted a sterile white.

Jake rubbed his hand over his eyes. Months of creative work that Lilly had poured herself into, revolving around him, had vanished. When he’d been there earlier that afternoon, he had wanted to come back without John, study her work, spend hours with her talking about how she did what she did. Try to understand her incredible talent, her frightening imagination.

“Is it all gone?” he asked, turning back toward her.

“Yes. Done and gone, and good riddance.”

When Jake’s eyes lighted on the
Feast
collage leaning against her living room wall, she stepped in front of it. “This is going, too.”

She wasn’t just running away from him this time. She was cutting him out of her life.

“Please, leave us alone, Greg,” he asked quietly.

“No, don’t,” she said, as if that were a possibility. Greg wasn’t going anywhere, she knew.

“You need to leave, Durant,” Greg said, pushing up his sleeves.

Jake looked frustratingly at Greg, then at her. “I crossed a line, today. I’m sorry. I was worried about you.”