Hollywood Ending (13 page)

The advertisement in the newspaper was exactly what I had been looking for. I pulled a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and cut around the edges. Lynette gave a startled yell as she stirred her coffee. It was one of those rare Saturday mornings when she was home, and not at the gym or some fundraising benefit.

‘How about you ask before you start cutting into the weekend paper?' she said, looking at me over the edge of her glasses. ‘There are two people living in this house you know.'

‘So you keep reminding me.'

She drank her coffee. ‘What are you going to do today?'

‘Just hang out with Benji.'

‘Well perhaps you should be spending less time with him.'

‘Since when have you cared who I hang out with?'

‘Since your attitude started to stink.' She put her arms on the bench and turned away, not looking at me. ‘I've tried so hard to make things comfortable for you and half the time you act like you don't even want to be here. You're always racing off to Benji's place. Maybe you should just go and live with the Connors. That seems to be what you want.'

‘Don't speak for me. You don't know a thing about me.'

‘It's not like I haven't asked! Every day I ask how you are and you barely tell me anything. What the hell do you and Benji get up to anyway?'

To my surprise Lynette had tears in her eyes. I had never seen her cry before, wasn't even sure she had the capacity to. Even at my mother's funeral she had been stony-faced, coordinating the event as if it were a military operation. She asked the priest if she could ‘sample' the sandwiches the church provided before passing them on to guests. She even told off the gravediggers for leaving a spade near the headstone, claiming it was ‘unsightly'. What was unsightly was my mother's body after the truck tore through it. Who the hell cared about a fucking shovel? But to Lynette it was a symbol of disorder in her neatly organised world, just like I was. Like a trial she'd lost, the fact that Mom was gone sentenced Lynette to life with a kid without parole. It was like a death sentence. I closed the newspaper and put the clipping in my pocket. Lynette came over and sat beside me, her face grave.

‘We can't go on like this much longer.'

‘Don't worry. Next year I'll be out of here.'

‘Don't say that.' She put her hand on mine. ‘I'm not going to let this relationship deteriorate any further than it already has. We are going to resolve this situation and move forward.'

‘Give me a break, Lynette. I'm not a client.'

‘Does Benji speak to his mother like that?'

‘Benji's mother lets him do what he wants. She leaves him alone.'

‘One minute I'm not paying attention, the next you want me to leave you alone. You are being totally irrational. If you want me to be interested you need to give me consistent messages.'

‘If I
want
you to be interested?'

‘I
am
interested.'

‘Really? Okay. You want to know what I do all day? Fine. Benji and I visit houses where people have been murdered. We take photos and try to imagine what it was like to be bludgeoned to death.'

‘Hilda—'

‘And I'm having a relationship with an old wino in Echo Park. We'd have sex only I think he's too old to get it up.'

Lynette looked at me like I was insane. ‘I think I need to take you to a doctor.'

‘Why? Because you feel obliged to look after me?'

‘Obliged? You really think that's how I feel? Well Hilda, you may feel I know nothing about your life, but it would appear you know just as little about me.'

She took her coffee and left the room. I read the front page of the newspaper. A female serial killer in Russia was claiming she was much more ambitious than other female killers who were content to drown their own babies at home.
I want to be as famous as the men
, she was quoted as saying.
I will continue to fight for equality
.

A few minutes later Lynette emerged from her bedroom in gym shorts and a tight singlet, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

‘I'm going to the gym,' she announced.

I didn't say anything. I had my own places to retreat to.

‘Guess what,' I said, arriving at Hank's later that evening. The sun was going down and I could tell he was surprised to see me so late.

‘Didn't know you were coming,' he grunted as he turned around and went back inside. He collapsed in his chair, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I stepped in and closed the door behind me, barely containing my excitement.

‘We're going out,' I announced.

‘No we ain't.'

‘Here.'

I pulled the newspaper clipping from my pocket and thrust it in his hand. Reluctantly he started to read. When he'd finished he folded the clipping and passed it back to me, looking disgusted.

‘That's sick,' he said. ‘I don't wanna get involved in your sick death shit.'

‘What are you talking about? It's really popular. Loads of people go.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘It's true. It's kind of a hip thing to do.'

‘People go to the cemetery to watch movies?'

‘Absolutely! Last summer Benji and I saw
The Shining
. It was a blast!'

‘I ain't interested.'

Hank put his feet on the table and stared at the football game on the television. I leant over and switched it off.

‘What the hell?' he yelled.

‘It's
Sunset Boulevard
, Hank. With Gloria Swanson. Are you telling me you don't wanna see that on the big screen? Under the stars?'

I stood and opened the curtains, pointed outside at the sun going down.

‘Look, soon it will be totally dark. No one will see you.'

‘What the hell does that mean?'

‘I'm just saying, there's no reason to be nervous.'

‘I told ya, I ain't nervous about going outside!'

‘Then do it!'

‘I will!'

Hank stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door. I heard drawers opening and cupboards slamming. A moment later the door swung open and there was Hank, dressed in a white shirt and old beige suit pants, a pair of leather shoes in his hand. He looked at me uncertainly.

‘Well?' he asked.

‘What?'

He gestured down. ‘Is this what people wear to movies at the cemetery these days?'

‘You look great Hank,' I said, and he grunted his appreciation.

‘I gotta take a shit,' he said, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged his hair was slicked back and I could smell cologne.

‘This is bullshit,' he said, and headed for the door like a cannonball. ‘I can't believe you talked me into this.'

‘Wait—we need something.'

‘What?'

I raced into his bedroom, ripped the pillows from the bed. ‘To sit on,' I explained. ‘Is it okay to use these?'

‘Whatever.'

I went to the fridge and grabbed a six pack of beer. ‘Okay. We're ready.'

‘Fine. Let's get this over with.'

Leaving the apartment was an ordeal. With every footstep Hank was looking over his shoulder. He didn't relax until we hailed a cab on Sunset. As we pulled out from the curb he sank down into the backseat, looking as if he expected someone was going to open fire on us at any second. We left Echo Park and made our way towards Hollywood, watching the suburbs rolling past us, and I looked for any kind of expression of excitement on Hank's face, but saw only fear. I began to wonder whether this was a good idea after all.

SEVENTEEN

Hollywood Forever was one of California's most exclusive cemeteries, a coveted resting place for the stars. Rudolph Valentino had a crypt there. Cecil B. De Mille. Tyrone Power. Even Dee Dee Ramone was interred in its lush green lawns, a strangely conventional resting place for a punk rocker. The waiting list was long and difficult to get on. It was a far cry from the tiny little cemetery in Topanga Canyon where my parents were buried, and where I would one day probably join them. Lying next to Dee Dee Ramone for eternity seemed like a more exciting option. You could be sure there would be a regular influx of teenagers to tip bottles of bourbon into the soil.

A few years ago they started showing movies at the cemetery during the summer, mostly Hollywood classics like
Singing In the
Rain
and cult films like
Rosemary's Baby
. When Hank and I arrived people were already teeming through the gates with picnic baskets under their arms, beanbags trailing along behind.
Sunset Boulevard
was a popular movie, a perverse film noir that would appeal to anyone excited by the idea of watching a movie in a graveyard. Everyone was walking fast, clambering to get the best position on the lawn. I grabbed Hank by the shoulder and pulled him along.

‘Hurry up Hank, we've got to get up front.'

We walked past the headstones that lined the driveway. Unlike most cemeteries, where the graves were crowded and almost on top of each other, here they were spaced far apart, with plenty of room to wander in between without worrying you were stepping on someone. A few of the mausoleums were the size of houses and one had a sign that said the chapel was now equipped for webcasts. A man accidentally bumped into Hank and he jumped.

‘Sorry dude,' the guy said, putting his hand on Hank's shoulder before walking off.

‘Hank? Everything okay?' I asked.

He swallowed hard and nodded. As the people milled around I saw Hank shrink, pulling in his shoulders as if he were hoping his head would disappear. I took his hand like he was a lost kid and to my surprise he gripped it firmly, and I pulled him along the lawn until we arrived at the space set up for the screening. It was a large stretch of grass named the Fairbanks Lawn, due to its location next to the crypt of movie star Douglas Fairbanks Senior. People had already laid out their blankets and were unpacking picnic baskets, pouring champagnes and opening beers.

‘Here looks good,' I said, and threw Hank's pillows on the ground. We sat down and watched as others arrived, placing beanbags and directors chairs next to us, squashing us in. Hank was beginning to realise that no one was paying attention to him, and relaxed. I handed him one of the beers I'd taken from the fridge and he almost smiled.

‘Thank God,' he said, twisting the top off. A woman walked past nursing a baby and smiled at us.

‘Who the hell would bring a baby to something like this?' he said.

‘Settle down Hank. What's the big deal?'

‘You shouldn't bring a baby to a cemetery.'

‘Why? The kid doesn't seem too bothered by it. It's not like it's old enough to understand what's going on.'

Hank leant back on the cushion. ‘I hate kids,' he grumbled.

‘But how great is this,' I said, looking around at the crowds as they settled in. ‘If any film was made to be watched at Hollywood Forever Cemetery it's
Sunset Boulevard
. It's like the ultimate Hollywood horror film.'

‘Gloria Swanson sure was something in her day,' he said. ‘Stunning.'

‘Were you ever in love, Hank?'

‘Yeah. We nearly married, but she couldn't live with my goddamn demons.' He looked at the grass thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes I can't.'

‘There's still so much I don't know about you,' I said.

‘You know enough.'

‘I know that I have successfully managed to extract you from your house. I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself.'

‘Don't get too cocky. The only reason I don't leave my place is that there ain't no good reason to.'

‘Are you kidding me? Hank, we live in
Los Angeles
. This is the best city in the world. There's always something going on, and it's like something amazing happened on every single street corner. Everything has a story behind it.'

‘I've heard a lot of stories in my time,' Hank said. ‘And not all good ones.'

‘Like what?'

Before he could answer, a projector started and the wall of the Cathedral Mausoleum became a screen. Everyone clapped and cheered and even Hank let out a laugh. ‘We're ready for our close-up Mr De Mille,' someone yelled, and the crowd laughed and clapped again.

‘Benji would've loved this,' I said quietly, not sure if I was speaking to Hank or myself. This was exactly the sort of thing Benji and I would've done together. I had to admit to myself that Benji and I were growing apart. Whenever I thought of him, all I could see was Sid the white goldfish, swimming listlessly in his bowl, jammed up the back of the cupboard and waiting for death. I wondered what could possibly come next.

The score burst to life, and the night was filled with the sound of a wailing police siren. I crossed my legs and watched as the images flashed across the wall: a police car speeding down 1940s Sunset Boulevard, a gothic mansion hidden behind enormous gates, a man floating dead in a pool. The images played on my eyes and warmed me. There was nothing better than the movies.

Sitting in a cemetery in the dark should have been scary, but it wasn't. Surrounded by couples and families, bathed in the glow of light from the screen, it was almost comforting. Watching movies in a cemetery is a liberating experience. You almost feel like you are keeping the dead company. I imagined the ghosts of Douglas Fairbanks Senior and Peter Lorre were pleased that we were there. It seemed a fitting tribute. In a way, all these people sitting on the lawn were just like me. They all found comfort amongst the dead.

I'd seen the movie a few times already. An ageing movie star refuses to believe her time as a famous actress has passed, and asks a struggling screenwriter to write her comeback project, a proposal that ends in betrayal and murder. Her house is a decaying mansion that looks like Dracula's castle. The movie star herself is as terrifying as her surroundings, old and sinewy like a black widow spider. In the end she loses her mind. Unable to come to terms with her lost career, she descends into madness, becomes convinced that life is actually a movie. At the end of the film the actress slinks towards the camera and the audience, beckoning us to join her.
All those wonderful
people in the dark
, she says.