Hollywood Ending (11 page)

I held up a bag from Blockbuster Home Video, filled with tapes. I took one out and shook it at him.
‘Psycho
? I've got
Lawrence of
Arabia
too. The uncut version.'

Hank closed the door in our faces, and for a moment I thought we'd been given our marching orders. Then we heard the sound of a chain unlocking and the door opened. We slithered through the crack Hank had left for us.

‘Wipe your feet,' he snarled at Benji, who did a little tap dance on the welcome mat before stepping inside. Hank walked to the kitchen to prepare some tea. I put the bag of tapes on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. Benji slid over and whispered in my ear.

‘Looks like you're not the only do-gooder who pays him a visit,' he said, looking around at the spotless apartment. ‘Jealous?'

‘That he's got a cleaning lady? Yeah Benji, I'm heartbroken. I thought you were going to behave yourself today?'

‘I am, Hilda,' he said, a serious look on his face. I just want to know what time we give him the sponge bath. Or should I leave for that? Give you both some privacy?'

Benji put his boots on the coffee table. Hank brought the tea over on a tray and stopped suddenly.

‘Hey!' he yelled with such force that I jumped.

Benji turned around. ‘Are you talking to me?'

‘Yeah, I'm talking to you. Get your feet off my table.'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought it was a footrest. My mistake.'

If there was any doubt in my mind that it had been a bad idea to bring Benji it had now been confirmed. He seemed intent on behaving badly. I stared at him, implored him with my eyes to be civilised, but he was already helping himself to tea, filling his cup with a ridiculous amount of sugar. As Hank stared at him, incredulous, Benji put in four lumps, then five, then six. He stirred the tea and took a mouthful, closing his eyes as if it were the most glorious thing he had ever tasted.

‘Mmmmm,' he moaned. ‘Now that is a perfect cup of tea. Where do you get your tea, Hank?'

‘Supermarket.'

‘I mean, who gets it for you? Have you got someone who comes here and cleans up, runs errands?'

Hank fixed himself a cup and leaned back. ‘Somethin' like that, yeah. I got someone who helps out.'

I sat between them, like the meat in a macho sandwich. I could practically feel them peeing in their seats, marking their territory.

‘Look at all this great stuff I got.' I leant forward and rifled through my bag from Blockbuster. ‘I thought you could do with a few more tapes. And I found this.'

I handed him a copy of
The Girl Can't Help It
starring Jayne Mansfield. On the cover she was wearing a tight red dress, her enormous bosoms busting to get out.

‘She was a nice lady,' he said, ‘but she weren't no great actress. I prefer Janet Leigh.' He picked up the copy of
Psycho
and read the back cover.

‘Hilda tells me you knew Jayne Mansfield,' Benji said. ‘That you worked on her pool.'

‘That's right. I did.'

‘I get it. You were the sexy pool man, giving her what her husband never could?'

‘Benji!'

‘It's cool, Hilda. It's just guy talk. Hank knows what goes on with the hired help. Am I right, my man?'

Hank grinned, saying nothing.

‘Yeah, he knows,' Benji said, pleased with himself.

‘We were thinking maybe you'd like to go out,' I offered. ‘Benji has a car—we could take you someplace if you wanted.'

‘Why would I want to do that?'

‘To get some fresh air.'

‘Plenty of air in here.'

‘Come on Hank,' Benji said. ‘Let's go cruising.'

‘Ain't nothin' I can see out there that I can't see in here,' he said, motioning to the television set and the tapes.

‘You don't wanna drive on down to Pink's, get some hot dogs?'

Hank sank into his seat, muttered an almost inaudible ‘no'. This was not the Hank I was familiar with. It was as if Benji had him cornered. All his bluster and bravado were gone, and in their place sat a frail old man, interrogated in his own home and scared to go outside. For a moment I forgot Benji was there, leaned forward and put my hand gently on Hank's arm.

‘Are you nervous to go outside?' I asked softly, and Benji leapt forward in his seat and pointed at Hank's arm.

‘Hey man, what's that?'

Hank placed his fingers over the blurry ink blob. ‘What?' he said.

‘Under your fingers, man. What's that on your arm? Is that a tattoo?'

‘It's nothing,' Hank said, talking fast. ‘Got it when I was a teenager. Just a stupid mistake. Take it from me sonny, when you fall in love for the first time, don't be dumb enough to have her name tattooed on your person. Sure, they got laser surgery these days. But in my day, well, let me just say acid hurts like a son of a bitch.'

I laughed, relieved.

Benji sat back, his eyes darting around, unsatisfied. ‘Believe me, I wouldn't be stupid enough to do that for a girl,' he said, shooting me a look that could have withered a vine. ‘So, tell us a story about Jayne Mansfield. Seeing as how you knew her so well.'

Hank poured himself another cup of tea and sat back. ‘Frankly, I didn't know her that well. Just saw her coming and going, in and out of the house, sometimes in her bathing suit, sometimes…well, not in her bathing suit. If you catch my meaning.'

‘Oh yeah,' Benji whistled.

‘She was a beautiful woman, but had no self-respect. Didn't care who saw her naked. I was just off the boat and I was damn impressed by her. By the whole town. I'd never seen anything like it.'

‘Off the boat?' I asked. ‘From where?'

‘Norway,' he said without hesitation. ‘Came out when I was eighteen.'

‘Was your family with you?'

Something passed through Hank's eyes. ‘No. Just me.'

‘What was it like back then?' Benji asked, genuinely interested.

‘You mean Hollywood? You're asking the wrong person. I only ever saw people's pools, or their hotel room as I was cleanin' it.'

‘Did you know any other famous people?' Benji asked, almost drooling into his cup. It was alarming how fast he could turn from interrogative bulldog to salivating sycophant.

‘I once built a letterbox for Mickey Rooney.'

Benji put his cup down. ‘Awesome.'

‘More tea?' Hank asked.

‘No, it's cool. I'm not much of a tea drinker.'

‘How about a beer then?'

‘Now you're talking!'

Hank stood and walked back over to the kitchen, grabbing two cold beers from the fridge.

‘Your boyfriend's pretty cool,' Benji said, leaning in. ‘You two have my blessing.'

Hank handed Benji a beer and sat back down.

Benji tore the cap off and drank a little too enthusiastically.

‘Take it easy tiger,' I said. ‘You're driving, remember?'

‘Hey Hank,' Benji said, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Hilda's got something in common with Jayne Mansfield.'

‘Benji, don't!'

Benji fixed me with a cold stare.

‘Do they just?' Hank said. ‘And what would that be?'

Benji took another drink. The room filled with the smell of alcohol. ‘They both have huge tits. You know what I'm talking about, don't ya Hank?'

I felt them both waiting for me to say something, to react to Benji's comment. I was pleased that Benji hadn't told Hank anything about what happened to me, but I was still angry. Whenever Benji wanted to get power over me it was something he would always bring up, knowing I spent my whole life trying to forget the day I lost my parents, knowing how much it hurt to be reminded.

‘You're a shit Benji,' I said, and he laughed.

‘Just a joke, Hilda. Just a little joke. I'm sorry.'

I downed my tea. ‘We have to get going,' I said, standing.

Benji stood as well, finishing his beer. ‘That's right old man. Places to go, people to see. It's a big world out there—you should try it out sometime.'

‘Maybe I will,' Hank said. He stayed seated and took another drink. ‘I just might take you up on that,
boy
.'

‘What the hell was that all about?' I asked as I put on my seatbelt. Benji started the engine and laughed.

‘What? What's the problem now?'

I chewed on the tips of my fingers. There wasn't much left to bite off but I made my best attempt.

‘Why do you have to be such an asshole?' I said through a mouthful of torn skin and cuticle. I snapped off a corner of my nail and spat it out onto the floor.

‘What the hell, Hilda? Don't do that. It's disgusting.'

Benji plugged his iPod into the cigarette lighter and busied himself with making a selection. I looked back at Hank's apartment in time to see him closing the curtains, shutting himself in once again. Benji slammed his foot on the accelerator and we roared off, tyres squealing.

‘Slow down!' I yelled over the music, AC/DC at their rowdiest. I turned the volume down and Benji scowled.

‘I just wanna get the hell out of this dump. I don't know how people can live like that.'

‘People live the best way they know how, Benji. You wouldn't know a thing about it. Your mom still presses your underwear.'

‘What is your problem, Hilda? You got something to say?'

‘Yes,' I said, turning to him, angry again. ‘Yes, I have something to say.' I breathed deeply, forming the words in my head before saying them aloud. ‘I am not a specimen.'

‘What?'

I balled my fists, defiant. ‘I am not a specimen. I am not something you can keep in a jar and poke with a stick whenever you feel like it.'

I caught a glint in Benji's eye that told me he knew exactly what I meant. Instead, he tried to laugh it off with a joke.

‘Is this
The Elephant Man
?' he said, slurring his words.
‘I am not
an animal Benji! I am a human beeeeing!
'

‘You know what I mean,' I said, not letting him off the hook. ‘You're meant to be my friend.'

‘All right, I'm sorry. Truce?'

I didn't say anything. I didn't tell him that sometimes I thought he was only friends with me because he was fascinated by what had happened to me. It was as if he wanted to see how I developed and grew, if I was going to be normal or turn into one of those people who walks into McDonald's with a rifle and starts shooting. We pulled up in front of my house and I got out.

‘Wanna go to Wonderland Avenue tomorrow?' he asked. ‘The place where John Holmes and those drug dealers bludgeoned all those losers to death?'

‘It was never confirmed that John Holmes was actually there,' I protested, avoiding his gaze. ‘Once again, the evidence against him is entirely circumstantial.'

‘Yeah, because porn stars are such model citizens. Come on. Don't make me beg.'

I turned back and managed a grin. ‘How can I stay mad at you? You had me at bludgeoning.'

FOURTEEN

I continued to visit Hank but there was no way I was going to let Benji come along after his last performance. I would go to the apartment in Echo Park in the afternoon, after Benji and I had completed our expedition for the day.

As summer went by we ticked off the people and places that made up LA's ghoulish tapestry of despair. The bend in the road near Bakersfield where James Dean met his grisly end in a car he affectionately named ‘Little Bastard'. The apartment where Sal Mineo, who also starred in
Rebel Without a Cause
, was stabbed to death during a robbery gone wrong. We even did a dedicated ‘Night Stalker' tour, driving the same roads and freeways as Richard Ramirez, right to the doors of his victims.

We hung around the bus station where Ramirez regularly met with his fence, eager to offload jewellery and any other valuables he had stolen from his victims in exchange for cash to feed his dope habit. But that's not why Ramirez killed people. The dope was a way to curb his addiction to killing; it mellowed him out, kept him balanced. It didn't work very well. Richard Ramirez loved to kill. It fed his soul, a soul he believed belonged to Satan. He was convinced that his killing spree would earn him a place at Satan's throne in the afterlife.

When Ramirez was on trial no one knew that his father suffered from such terrifying fits of rage that one day he beat himself in the face with a hammer while a cowering young Richard looked on from the corner. The jury didn't know that Richard's cousin came back from Vietnam and showed him photographs of Vietnamese women giving head at gunpoint. They didn't know that Richard's cousin shot his own wife in front of the young boy, aimed the gun right at her face and pulled the trigger. Even Richard's family didn't know about that until after he was in jail.

As Benji and I drove the quiet streets, neighbourhoods once shrouded in terror because of the Night Stalker, doors locked and windows barred, I thought about all the ways to make a man a killer. I tried to imagine what was going through Ramirez's mind as he peered through windows and prised off screen doors. Was killing really the natural order of the world, as so many of these serial killers believed? Had the rest of us all been duped by the idea of a civilised society, where killing people just wasn't neighbourly? Was that why everyone screamed at each other on the freeway? Maybe a good kill was nature's way of restoring the balance. Maybe it wasn't natural for us to suppress our rage, to shrug off every insult and disguise our pain with smiles. Maybe a good kill was enough to set us straight. Maybe a good kill would make us all feel a hell of a lot better.

If Benji knew I was still visiting Hank, he didn't show it. After he had dropped me home I would walk inside, call a cab, then walk back out to the porch to wait for it. Some days Hank and I didn't talk about much. Maybe we'd discuss the weather, or the latest old movie he had watched on cable; or perhaps he'd regale me with a story from when he first arrived in Los Angeles, like the time he mowed Sinatra's lawn and accidentally cut the flowers with it. Most of the time we'd just sit, watching the television or staring into our drinks. It was as if my presence was enough, something to break up the day, a welcome relief from his solitude.