Hollywood Ending (24 page)

‘My car's where I let the inner pig out,' he said, hanging his keys on a hook by the door. ‘Everyone needs a place where they can be chaotic, but your home should be a place of peace. Sanctuary. The chaos can stay outside.'

‘It's fantastic.'

I wandered over to a large bookshelf near the kitchen and ran my fingers along the spines. There were books about screenwriting, of course, but also other unexpected treasures: Steinbeck, Salinger, Orwell. I pulled out a novel by Maya Angelou.

‘Oprah's Book Club selection?' I shrieked, reading the cover. Jake rushed over and took the book from my hands, slotted it back into the shelf.

‘Give me a break,' he said, fidgeting. ‘I don't really have people over. I'm not used to having my stuff touched.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, pulling a DVD from the same shelf. ‘Everything's just so shiny, and sophisticated. I keep expecting you to flip a switch and have an Austin Powers style bed spring out from the wall. Oh no.'

I picked up a photo from the shelf: Jake with his arms around a nice-looking old lady wearing a knitted sweater, smiling, her hair wild and untamed. ‘Is that your mom?'

‘Okay, you've snooped enough,' he said, snatching the photo away. ‘Go and sit on the sofa where you won't cause trouble.'

I sat down, sinking into the soft leather. Jake retrieved his laptop from the desk and sat beside me.

‘I want to read you something,' he said. ‘It's something new I'm working on. I want to know what you think.'

‘What is it, a screenplay?'

His dropped his head, looking shy. ‘I'm not sure what it is yet. I guess you'd call it prose at this stage.'

‘Oh, prose! Okay Shakespeare, lay it on me.'

‘You're not going to laugh?'

‘Is it meant to be funny?'

‘Hilda, quit joking around. If you're just gonna joke I'm not reading it.'

‘I'm serious.' I composed myself, folded my hands in my lap. ‘Proceed.'

Jake opened his mouth then closed it again, then opened the laptop. I'd never seen him look so vulnerable. He reminded me of Benji when he'd ask me to stay the night. Jake cleared his throat and began to read.

‘She doesn't know what it is that makes her who she is,' he said. ‘And he didn't know what it was about her that tore into him, capturing him like a fish on a hook. When she walked she carried the darkness of the world on her shoulders, but all he saw was the light inside, the ceaseless, boundless light of life and all its possibilities. The possibilities he never imagined he would have for himself. He didn't know if she knew that's what he saw, what she gave to him. He didn't know how to tell her he'd waited all his life for her, missed her every day even though they'd never met. Ached for her when he didn't even know her name. Ached still. Hung on to that possibility like a life raft, because it was all he had keeping him afloat. Her, a life raft, bobbing towards him in a cold sea, a promise of rescue.'

He stopped reading and looked up.

‘I guess you pull that one out a lot, huh?' I said, embarrassed, scrambling for words. ‘The girls must go weak at the knees.'

‘Hilda—'

‘We should take this stuff up to Hank's,' I said, looking down at the groceries by the door. ‘That milk will be getting warm.'

Jake moved closer, then thought better of it. I could see his disappointment, but there were things I didn't know how to tell him either. How I couldn't possibly love him, because one day we would have to say goodbye, if not today then in weeks, or years, decades from now, when the clock stopped and took one of us from the other. After losing my parents I couldn't bear it. I would rather be alone.

‘Excuse me,' he said, and went to the bathroom. He closed the door and I opened his laptop, started surfing through the files on his desktop. I wanted to see again what he had just read to me, that beautiful gesture I couldn't return. There were multiple versions of the same file, drafts of something called ICE MAIDEN SCENE. A sex scene he was working on for a film? I opened it and scanned the page: I was right, just some terrible sex scene taking place on a research station in Antarctica of all places. I closed the document. Then another file caught my eye, shoved right down in the corner of the desktop where I might have missed it. The file was called THE_LIFE_UPSTAIRS. I looked towards the bathroom door, waited for the sound of the toilet flushing but nothing came. I opened the file.

EXT. NIGHT. RUN-DOWN APARTMENT BLOCK. DOWNTOWN
LOS ANGELES.

HENRY, a crusty old man answers the door to a young girl, LUCY, a middle-class goth slumming it far from home.

I heard the toilet flush, the sound of a tap running, Jake whistling. I skimmed the next line.

HENRY

What took you so long? I'm an old man, I ain't got all the time in the world.

LUCY holds up a bag of videotapes, old movies.

LUCY

Yes we do.

The bathroom door opened and I slammed the laptop shut, slid it onto the sofa next to me. Jake walked out, zipping up his fly.

‘You ready to go?' he asked. ‘Give the old bastard a visit?'

‘Sure,' I said, and forced a smile. I didn't want to feel the way I was suddenly feeling. I grappled with my panic, pushed it all the way down to my feet where I hoped I could stamp it out. ‘Let's go.'

We left the apartment and I walked behind Jake, not letting him see my face, the confusion I could feel turning my cheeks scarlet. When we arrived outside the apartment everything was quiet. Immediately I knew something was wrong.

‘The TV's not on,' I said as we approached the door.

‘Maybe he's having a nap,' Jake said. He knocked on the door and waited. When no one answered he took a spare key from under the mat.

‘I can't believe you do that,' I snapped, not able to hold my anger in check any longer. ‘It's such a stupid place to leave a key.'

‘The guy's old, okay? It's for if he locks himself out.'

‘It's the first place burglars look.'

‘Hilda, am I missing something? Why the attitude?'

‘I don't have an attitude,' I said. ‘I just want to get inside.'

‘How about you let me take care of this?' Jake said, and I held my hands up.

‘Go ahead buddy. Knock yourself out.'

He opened the door. All the curtains were drawn and the room was dark. As always there were empty beer bottles on the floor and dishes piled high in the sink. There was no sign of Hank.

‘Hank!' I yelled, pushing in front of Jake. I dropped the groceries on the ground. ‘Where are you?'

‘Hank!' Jake repeated, yelling louder. ‘Are you here?'

I opened the door to the bathroom. The window was open, the shower curtain rustling in the breeze. On the counter was a tin of shaving cream, but no sign of Hank. I was about to turn and investigate the bedroom when Jake let out a yell that made my blood run cold.

‘Jesus!'

I raced into the bedroom. Jake was standing in the corner, staring at the bed, his hands covering his mouth. Hank was on the bed, naked except for a thin sheen of red that ran the length of both his arms. I followed the trail to a straight razor that lay beside his hand. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. I dropped to the bed beside him. Jake paced in the corner, moaning.

‘Hank? Can you hear me?' Hank let out a soft groan. I turned to Jake. ‘Call 911.'

‘Oh shit. What's happening Hilda?'

‘For God's sake, Jake! Do it!'

I looked down at Hank's wrists as Jake fumbled with the telephone. The cuts looked deep, deliberate, the blood running down his sinewy arms and pooling in his hands. I ripped off a piece of bed sheet and tore it in half, wrapped his wrists as tightly as I could. The fabric quickly became soaked through. I could hear Jake talking to the 911 operator in the next room.

‘He's in his eighties. I think he tried to commit suicide. Blood type? Um, I have no idea. Is that something I should know? Oh God.'

I leant in close to Hank's ear. ‘Hank,' I whispered. ‘You still with us?' He groaned again. I put my hand on his chest, felt his stomach rise and fall with each shallow breath. ‘Hank,' I whispered again. ‘What have you done?'

Jake burst back into the room. ‘He's still breathing,' he said into the phone. ‘We've wrapped sheets around his wrists.'

Hank's lips started to move. I put my ear up to his mouth, tried to catch his words but they were too faint. In the distance I heard sirens, and Jake started to yell again, but all I could do was focus on Hank's breathing and the gentle beating of his heart beneath my hand.

THIRTY-THREE

We followed the ambulance in Jake's car. At the hospital a nurse with a tight, old-fashioned bun asked us questions.

‘It says here Mr Anderson has had some “falls” in the past,' she said, going over his chart. ‘Do you think in hindsight these may have actually been early suicide attempts?'

‘How the hell should we know?' Jake said. ‘The dude's an alcoholic. Alcoholics fall over all the time.'

‘So you're sure nothing like this has happened before?'

‘What difference does it make? What exactly are you getting at?'

‘It's important for us to confirm this was a suicide attempt. Past attempts can help us establish a pattern.'

‘Of course it was a suicide attempt. He slashed his fucking wrists.'

‘Sir—'

‘You tell me this,' Jake fumed, ‘how many old men do you get in here who have slashed their wrists? Huh? How fucking common is that?'

‘He was in a concentration camp,' I said to the nurse. Jake threw up his hands.

‘Great Hilda—what a way to complicate the situation. Well done.'

‘I'm just saying! He has a history of trauma, he's been depressed, paranoid. He hardly goes outside. It's like he's frightened of the world.'

‘They don't need to know this Hilda! That's his private business!'

‘What do you care?' I yelled back. ‘Why are you even here? You don't give a shit about him. Or me. You just want him back at home so you can keep using him.'

‘I think maybe you two should take this outside,' the nurse said, putting her hand lightly on Jake's shoulder. He shook her hand off, and she stepped back with a hurt look on her face.

‘Why are you saying that?' he said to me. ‘Why are you being such a goddamn brat all of a sudden?'

‘Oh, I'm being a brat?'

‘Yeah,' he said, his eyes hardening.

‘Okay,' the nurse said, trying to wrestle control of the situation. ‘I really think you need to go outside—'

Jake ignored her. ‘I mean, how can you say I don't care? Just who do you think I am?'

‘I guess I don't know.'

‘I'm getting security,' the nurse said, tottering off.

‘I think she's right Jake,' I said. ‘I think you should just leave.'

Jake's face crumpled in a way I had never seen before, a way I had believed he was incapable of. Standing in front of me, his eyes downcast, it was as if for the first time I was actually seeing him. He looked stripped bare.

‘Did I do something?' he said. ‘Because I don't understand what's going on.'

‘I saw your script Jake. On your laptop.
The Life Upstairs
?'

‘Oh shit. Hilda, that's nothing. I'm not even working on it anymore.'

‘Is that all we are to you? Is that all
I
am to you? A story?'

‘Oh man,' he spluttered, punching himself in the forehead with a closed fist. ‘I've fucked this up. I always fuck things up. Look, in the beginning, yeah, I thought it would make a cool story. I heard you guys on the balcony—'

‘You were spying on us?' I couldn't believe it. All the pieces started to come together. ‘That's why you were his friend. That's why he said you were asking too many questions. How long have you been writing his story Jake? Without him knowing?'

Jake took a step forward and I held up my hand.

‘Don't come near me.'

‘I don't understand why you're so angry! You're just as bad.'

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

‘It means where do you get off judging me? You feed off that old man like a vampire. You think you and I are so different? We're the same Hilda, we take what we need from people and throw them away.'

‘I am not like you. I will never be like you.'

‘Wise up Hilda. You know I'm right. You're nothing but a bloodsucker, feeding off everyone's misery. You think saving some old guy will bring your parents back? Make everything right again? Gee, wouldn't that be a nice little character arc. But let me tell you something. Life doesn't work that way. It doesn't tie up in a neat little Hollywood certified bow.'

Behind him the nurse was returning, a security guard by her side. Jake followed my gaze and turned around.

‘You know what?' he said. ‘I don't need this.'

‘Sir,' the guard said, standing beside him. ‘I believe this nurse asked you to leave.'

‘Don't worry. I'm gone. I am so out of here.'

He brushed past me, stomped down the hallway.

‘Jake!' I called out.

He turned. ‘What?'

‘Your writing sucks.'

He took his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on, kept walking.

‘So long Hilda,' he said, and I watched him walk down the corridor. I wanted to chase after him, tell him we had been doing so well—couldn't we go back to before he betrayed me? But I couldn't. I thought of all the conversations Hank and I had had on the balcony and in his living room and couldn't erase from my mind the image of Jake listening from his apartment below. The tape recorder that fell from his bag. All the things he knew that I had never told him, that he'd never given me the chance to. I watched as the hospital doors closed behind him, and then I walked away.