Hollywood Ending (28 page)

‘This is
not
my kind of scene, Benji. These people are dicks.'

‘Don't you want to see the bedroom? Hilda—it's where Belushi died!'

‘I've seen enough. These people don't even care about John Belushi. They're just a bunch of posers.'

‘Oh, so you're the only one here who's not? That's so fucking typical of you Hilda. Always acting like you're so much better than anyone else. Always acting like you're better than me.'

‘I'm going home,' I said, trying to push past him.

‘Look, I'm really sorry,' he pleaded, his face softening. ‘It's just that everything between us is different now, you know? How about you take a walk with me? We need to talk. We haven't talked in ages.'

I looked at Benji, saw something in him that seemed familiar, like the person I used to know, before everything started to change. God, how I wanted my old life back. Everything seemed simpler before Hank, and Jake. ‘We should talk,' I agreed. ‘Let's go outside.'

He smiled, relieved, and took my arm again, gently this time. He led me out the back door and out another gate to the pool area, leaving the party far behind. The pool was deserted. I sat on one of the cabanas and took my heels off, relieved to stretch my feet. Benji stood in front of me, swaying a little, a beer bottle in his hand. Away from the party I started to feel better. I breathed in the night air, savoured it in my lungs, savoured being alive. I fixed my old friend with a serious look.

‘Benji, those people do not care about you. They are not your friends.'

‘Oh, and you are?'

‘What's that supposed to mean? Of course I'm your friend!'

‘Then where have you been?'

I looked at my feet. A blister was starting to form on my toe. ‘I just needed a break. Time to myself. I'm worried about you. You've been acting weird.'

‘
I've
been acting weird? You're the one who's changed Hilda! I'm the same person I always was! I mean, fuck, we're at Belushi's Bungalow, and you don't even care.'

‘I just don't think this shit is healthy anymore.'

‘And fucking some old man is?'

‘That's just disgusting and immature.'

‘It was always you and me Hilda! Us against the world!
You left
me
.'

Benji's tie had come undone and now hung limply over his chest, a thin hangman's noose waiting for a neck. His eyes were wide and red. In the distance I could hear the sound of the party, a cacophony of sleazy blues music and laughter. Benji stared at me. The light of a nearby room reflected off the pool's surface and gleamed in his eyes. Those eyes were all inky blackness, and I'd seen that look before. That day so many years ago when Benji had handed the cat over to its owner, emotionless. At first he had been sad, even wept for the poor animal as it lay dying in the road, but once he got his hands on the corpse, something changed, something that had led us to Sid the goldfish, then the LA County Morgue, then here. There was nothing behind those eyes.

Benji was right. Once we had been a team like Bonnie and Clyde, Sid and Nancy, Kurt and Courtney. I understood why he was angry, but there was nothing that could be done. I had changed. I wanted so desperately to be far away from all of this, all the madness and death. I had my whole life to live and I didn't want to spend it in darkness any longer. I stood, picked up my shoes.

‘Enjoy the party,' I said, and began to walk away.

‘Hilda.'

‘No, Benji. No more. I don't think I can be your friend. Not now. So just leave me alone, okay? Let's just take a break.'

That's when I saw it. Something shiny and long in Benji's hand, but it wasn't a beer bottle. It was
too
shiny; the light from the lampposts caught the object and reflected off it, like a mirror.

‘Benji? What are you doing? What's that?'

Benji put the object longways in his mouth and held it between his teeth. He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and stood beside the pool naked from the waist up. His body wasn't as I'd remembered. It was as if he'd been in training: his arms looked stronger, showed the hint of muscle. He dropped his shirt beside him, took the object out of his mouth and once again held it in his hand, the end pointed towards me.

‘You'll get cold,' I said, dazed, too confused to know what I was saying. Suddenly I was feeling the cold all too intensely, but I couldn't take my eyes off the object in his hand, the kitchen knife. Was it from the Bungalow? I wondered if Belushi had ever used it to cut onions.

Benji looked around him, at the pool, the other hotel rooms, the majesty of the Chateau rising up around him. ‘Don't you just love this place,' he said. ‘It's everything I hoped it would be. It's like an enchanted kingdom. And the people, Hilda, the people who have been here, who have lived here.' He looked back over at the Bungalow. ‘Died here.'

Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass from Bungalow 3, and someone laughed, loud and sharp, cutting through the silence.

‘You're right Hilda,' Benji continued. ‘Those people in there, they aren't my friends. But you are. You were always my best friend, more than that. Even when we're apart, we're together. You know?'

‘I'll always be your friend Benji. But I have to go now.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I'm scared. You're scaring me.'

He stepped forward, the knife still pointed towards me. ‘Don't be scared. It's just me.'

‘I have to go. Please.'

He stopped. ‘You know, we could be like him.'

‘Who?'

‘Belushi. We could be like all of them. Imagine it Hilda. Imagine having people remember you, talk about you, visit where you died. You would become a legend.
We
could become legends. Forever.'

I looked around for something to grab, something strong enough that if I swung it I could bring Benji down. But there was nothing, just a few large potted plants, too heavy to pick up. ‘I don't want to be a legend Benji. I want to live.'

‘Do you?'

‘Of course I do!'

‘Hilda, your parents are dead. Your mom and dad, they left you. Don't you want to be with them? Isn't that what all this is about?'

‘No Benji, I want to live. Please. Don't do this.'

He stepped towards me and I could see millions of goose bumps appearing along his skin like tiny insect bites. He was right: I wanted to see my parents again, but not now, not like this.

‘Hilda, people would talk about us forever,' he said, inching closer. ‘We could become ghosts. We could do it now, by this pool. We'd be famous.'

I wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. God, did I actually want this? I mean, what was there for me to live for? Jake was gone, pretty soon Hank would be gone, and sometimes I thought Lynette would be better off without me, back to her normal life before I came along. I let Benji get close enough that the blade could touch me. I held out my neck to him, left myself exposed. The knife came up, glinted in front of my eyes, and a desperate yelp escaped from my throat.

‘No!' I squealed as the blade flashed past. I threw my hand up to my throat. There was no wetness, no blood, just the softness of my own skin. I breathed out. Benji's eyes were wide, manic.

‘You don't want this,' he whispered, and put his hand on my throat, softly, lovingly. ‘I'm sorry. I would never hurt you.'

Tears started to brim under his eyes, and I put my hand on his cheek, still wary of the knife, which was now by his side and could just as easily be plunged into my stomach. ‘Everything's going to be okay,' I said, and pulled him in to me, held him, and he held me, his hands shaking.

‘I know,' he said, as he released me and walked away. He was metres from me, standing by the pool and looking into the water, when he suddenly held out his arms as if he were crucified, raised the knife, and cut into the flesh along his forearm.

‘No!' I screamed, and raced to him, but the knife came up again, this time in the other hand, and he cut along his other arm, holding it out so the blood could drip off his skin, like water drops on a windowpane.

‘Help us!' I screamed. ‘Somebody, help me!'

A man flew out of his hotel room in a white robe, his wife cowering behind him, and when they saw Benji standing there, his arms red with blood, the woman screamed.

‘I'll call 911!' the man yelled, racing back inside. Benji took the knife again and cut a clean line across his stomach. A thin trail of blood rose to the surface.

‘Stop it!' I screamed, ‘Just stop it Benji!'

But Benji wasn't there. His eyes were glazed, rolling back in his head. The blood was running fast now, making large puddles next to him. Some of it had run off his hand into the pool, turning the water red. People started to pile out of Bungalow 3, then stopped short behind me when they saw what was happening.

‘Holy shit!' a guy screamed, almost falling over himself. All the girls behind him started to scream, and Benji just looked around calmly, surveyed the chaos. An image flashed in my mind: Sissy Spacek in the movie
Carrie
, standing at the prom, contemplating the damage she had caused, pleased with the destruction.

Hotel staff appeared, and the man who had called 911 ran out of his room holding a bundle of bed sheets, tackled Benji from behind, and knocked the knife out of his hand. He pinned him to the ground, grabbed the sheets, and wrapped them tightly around Benji's arms and chest.

‘Holy shit, it's Benji!' someone from the party cried. ‘That crazy motherfucker.'

Suddenly I heard the wail of an ambulance, as if it had been waiting in the wings, and a moment later three paramedics rushed in with a stretcher, yelling at everyone to get back. I stepped away, blending into the crowd, and watched as they opened Benji's eyes and shone a light into them. The decision was made quickly: they picked up the stretcher and raced him towards the front of the hotel. Before I could follow, the place was swarming with police officers.

‘Okay, nobody's going anywhere,' one of them announced. ‘We need statements from all of you.'

‘I was with him,' I said, stepping forward, bewildered. ‘He's my friend.'

A police officer wearing a no-nonsense look pulled me aside. ‘What's the kid's name?'

‘Benji. Benji Connor.'

He pulled out a notepad, whistled to one of his colleagues who was talking to a guy from the party still wearing his toga. The officer jogged over.

‘She was with him when it happened,' the cop explained to him, then turned back to me. ‘Did somebody attack you?'

‘No,' I said quietly. ‘He did it to himself.'

‘Suicide attempt?'

I shrugged slowly. What exactly was it that had just happened? The cop persisted.

‘Has he tried anything like that before?'

I shook my head, kept my mouth closed. I stared into the distance, at the doors through which they had just taken Benji. The cop looked at me, concerned.

‘Sweetheart, do you want me to find out where they took him? Want me to take you there?'

I thought for a moment, then started to shake my head slowly. No.

‘Then can you give us the details of his next of kin?'

I gave them Mrs Connor's cell number, and the number to the house. They got my name and address and asked me a few more questions: was I his girlfriend, did we have a fight, had he taken any drugs, to all of which I answered no.

‘He was sad,' I said, as if that explained everything, and the cop looked at me like I was crazy. A maid came out with a mop and started to clean up the blood, swirling it in big ineffective circles so it just smeared across the courtyard, and everyone went back into their rooms. A sign was placed next to the pool saying it was now closed for cleaning. The party in Bungalow 3 went quiet. Benji had given everyone a hell of a show.

One of the cops' cell phones started to ring. He scooped it out of his belt.

‘Okay, thanks,' he said, and snapped it shut. ‘Your friend is going to be just fine,' he said. ‘The cuts are superficial. Nothing serious.'

Nothing serious. I didn't know if I was relieved or not.

‘You want me to call someone for you?' he asked.

‘Could I use your phone?'

‘Sure.'

I took his phone, dialled the number, and waited. Around the pool there were now only a few cops who lingered, and some guys from the party, answering questions and looking miserable. Finally the phone picked up.

‘What?'

‘Hank?'

‘Who else would it be?'

‘Um, do you think I could come over?'

‘It's sorta late isn't it?'

‘I just, um, need to talk to you.'

All that blood. All that blood running down Benji's arms.

‘I need to talk to you too,' Hank said.

‘Why?'

‘It's time.'

‘Time?' I was still dazed. ‘Time for what?'

‘Just hurry. Please.'

Hank had never said please in his life. I snapped the phone shut, handed it back to the officer. No Hank. Not tonight. Not now.

‘You need a ride?' the cop asked.

I shook my head.

‘Suit yourself.'

I picked up my heels and ran through the foyer of the Chateau down to the boulevard, bare feet hitting the pavement. I thrust my hand in the air to flag down a cab, and as we sped away I became aware of the flash of cameras, and the paparazzi who had chased me down, convinced I was someone else.

FORTY

When I arrived at Hank's apartment it looked like no one was home. The lights were off and the curtains drawn. Jake's were drawn also, but I could see the faint light of a reading lamp. As I climbed the stairs I strained to hear the sound of Hank's television, constant and reassuring, but there was only silence. I crept over, feet bare, my heels still in my hand. When I tried the doorknob it turned. Hank had left it unlocked for me. I opened the door and padded inside.