“They dated for most of their senior year. It was all fine as long as they were still in school, but once they graduated everything changed.”
“Did Warren go to college?”
“No. He had other ideas.”
“What about Ophelia?”
Dorothy shook her head. “That wasn’t her style at all. She was waiting tables; the kind of place where the servers wear those really skimpy outfits. You know, like it might as well be strip club. That’s what they guys were there for, anyway, not the hamburgers. She made good money. Lots of tips.”
“What about Warren? Was he working somewhere?”
“Warren was broke. He was trying to make it as a musician, but he couldn’t even afford to pay rent. He was still at my parents’ house. That didn’t do for Ophelia at all. You can’t support a girl like that if don’t have any money. He knew he was losing her, but he couldn’t find a decent job. He was desperate.”
“So he joined the Army?”
Dorothy nodded. There was an air of sadness about her.
“He must have known they’d send him overseas?”
“Of course he did, but Warren figured, if it worked for our parents then why couldn’t it work for him? That was the biggest flaw in his grand design; trying to emulate our parents. What a joke.”
“Ophelia didn’t go for the idea, I take it?”
“She didn’t like it at all, but besides that, the Army was no place for Warren. He and my dad aren’t cut from the same cloth. Warren has my mother’s temperament. He’s kind and unassuming. Once he’d signed on the dotted line, though, there wasn’t much he could do about it.”
“Did he see any combat?”
Dorothy nodded again. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”
“Do you know his unit?”
“Third Infantry Division, based out of Fort Stewart.”
Rallston wrote the information down on his pad.
“He did a full tour in Iraq, thinking about Ophelia the whole time; dreaming about being with her. That’s what got him through, but when he finally came home things were different. Both of them were different.”
“He didn’t love her anymore?”
“No, he loved her all right. He still loves her, but…” Dorothy sighed as she tried to explain. “You have to understand, Warren is a sensitive person. Whatever he did or saw over there affected him, deeply. Ophelia just didn’t have the patience for it.”
“So you think Warren had PTSD, then, when he came back?”
“I don’t just think it.”
“How did that manifest itself?”
“Nightmares, depression, anxiety. Warren needed the support of someone who truly cared for him, but Ophelia…” Dorothy shook her head. “Ophelia is selfish woman. That’s really all there is to it.”
Rallston thought this over. “Did they fight?”
“Not much. Warren didn’t have it in him to fight with Ophelia. He just sank deeper and deeper while she bitched and whined and walked all over him. They were living in a tiny little apartment off base, and she didn’t want to be there at all. She blamed Warren for upending her life. Eventually she just left. That’s when things really went downhill for Warren. He ended up in the psyche ward at the VA hospital with a medical discharge.”
Rallston made a few more notes on his pad. “How did he wind up in LA, then?”
“I wish I knew. When he got out of the hospital he moved back home to New Orleans, but he just couldn’t stay here anymore. Especially not at my parents’ house, and not in the same city as Ophelia. She’d hooked up with Larry by then. We found out later she’d been seeing him for a year. I suppose that was the final straw. Warren just took off. None of us knew where he went.”
“Why didn’t your parents tell me about any of this?”
“Are you kidding? The whole thing is a huge embarrassment for my dad. He’s Army through and through. Maybe you noticed.”
“Yes, I did.”
“He thinks any emotional response is a sign of weakness.”
“So how do you think Warren survived these past three years? Was he on some sort of disability?”
Dorothy appeared to be unsure. “He qualified for disability payments, but he never collected them. I don’t know why.”
“Do you think he was working?”
“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “I still can’t understand how he ended up in that movie. I’d like to know how that happened.”
“So would everybody else. That’s the big mystery.”
“The thing is, Warren always was very sure of himself. Not when it came to women, but definitely otherwise. I was afraid he’d lost that. After what happened to him, I thought maybe his confidence was gone forever.”
“From what I’ve seen, he must have some left. They never would have cast him otherwise.”
“I hope so. Like I said, I just want to find him. He seems so alone.”
“I’ll be flying back to LA tonight,” said Rallston. “If I find out anything more, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Thank you,” said Dorothy.
“You love him very much,” said Rallston.
“Yes, I do,” Dorothy conceded. “I just wish I could tell him.”
“We’ll find him. It shouldn’t take long. You have no idea how many people are looking. If it’s all the same, though, I’m hoping to find him first.”
“Well, I wish you luck,” she said.
“Yes, good luck to us both,” Rallston answered.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When Warren awoke, he found himself in queen-sized bed with fresh, crisp linens. The stale smell of cigarettes hung in the air. He looked around the dimly-lit room to orient himself. The shades were drawn across a single window. In front of the bed was a dresser with a television on top and a mini-refrigerator to one side. Now he remembered; he was in a hotel room on the outskirts of New Orleans. He was back. The realization filled him with a mixture of excitement and dread. This was his destination, after all; the final stop on his quest for redemption. But what if Ophelia didn’t want him back? She’d rejected him once already. Why should he expect anything different? He reminded himself that this time things
were
different. He was going to do whatever it took to make something of himself. Not as a janitor, or even a musician. Warren was going to make it as an actor. He knew he could do it. He’d be famous. He’d be rich. She had to love him then. Isn’t that what she wanted, after all? To be rich? Warren pictured the two of them, living in a big house in the Hollywood Hills, with a swimming pool and a view of the city spread out below them. When he closed his eyes and inhaled he could almost smell the scent of her perfume. She had to want him. He’d win her back this time, no matter what it took.
After he climbed out of bed, Warren took a shower, shaved with a plastic razor, and laid out a clean set of clothes on the bed. These were courtesy of his new friends, Dan and Abigail from Sugar Land, Texas. At first Warren had declined the offer, but Abigail insisted. Dan never wore these clothes anyway, she’d explained. Warren was doing them a favor, helping to clear out the closet. She’d tried to buy him a bus ticket as well, but he had enough sax money left for that. And enough for the hotel room, too, but not much more. Warren fought his nerves as he put on the pair of dark slacks and a clean, white, collared shirt. He slid on the slightly worn brown sport coat and then the leather shoes. They were half a size too small, but he’d manage. He looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side. Not bad, he thought. He noticed a small bulge in one pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. Inside he found four twenty dollar bills and a note. “Good luck, Warren. You know where we live if you want to pay us back. You’re welcome here any time. Abby.” Warren smiled to himself and stuffed the envelope back in his pocket. He stepped into the bathroom where checked himself in the mirror and carefully combed his hair. When he was ready he left the rest of his things in the room and headed out for the day. The big day. He was going to see Ophelia today. He was going to make right all that had gone so wrong.
Warren’s first stop was a diner, where he filled up on a breakfast of greasy eggs, bacon and potatoes. Next he stopped by a florist and picked out a fresh bouquet; the nicest one he could get for $20. Then he flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address. As they drove down the streets and through the suburbs, Warren was strangely dazed. The world outside seemed to go past in a blur. He thought about what he was going to say, and what he was going to do, when he showed up at Ophelia’s house. He’d been thinking about it all the way across the country. He knew one thing for sure, Larry Ignatowski better not cause any trouble. Warren had a fist with Larry’s name on it if he tried. Larry had stolen Warren’s woman and it was time to make amends. It was time to take back what was rightfully his.
When the taxi pulled to a stop, Warren hardly noticed. The driver looked back at him through the rear-view mirror. “Yo, this it buddy?” the driver asked.
Warren snapped out of his trance long enough to look out the window and see the house across the street. “Uh, yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, this is it.”
“Sixteen dollars and seventy cents,” said the driver.
Warren pulled out a twenty and put it through a slot in the Plexiglas divider. “Keep the rest.”
“Thanks.”
Warren climbed out and stood on the curb. The cab drove off but Warren didn’t move. He was frozen in abject fear. It was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment he’d dreamed of. Why was he so terrified? It was more frightening than anything he’d faced in his entire life. At least it seemed that way, but there was only one thing to do. He had to move forward. The Army taught him that much. He straightened the flowers in his bouquet and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. It would be all right. He just had to go through with it. Now or never. Warren walked across the street and up the drive. He breathed in deeply and steeled himself to the task. Standing on the welcome mat, he reached up to place a finger on the door bell. It rested there on the smooth, round plastic surface. He’d come all this way. All he had to do was push it. Just a little bit more pressure and the bell would ring.
“Hey baby!” A voice came from inside the house. Startled, Warren pulled his finger away. It was Ophelia. Sweet, beloved Ophelia, the object of his desire, just on the other side of that door. “I told you to stop leaving your empties all over the living room!” she shouted.
Warren narrowed his eyes and listened for a response. Whoever she was speaking with was too far away for Warren to hear, though he knew it must be Larry. Instead he heard Ophelia’s voice again, raised an octave higher as she carried on their conversation. “You think I care about that?! Stop being such a slob! I’m sick and tired of it!” Her voice trailed off as she moved into another room. Warren pictured the inside of the house, littered with beer cans, potato chip bags and dirty dishes. For a moment his heart swelled at the thought of Ophelia being so unhappy here. Of course she’d come with him. She was miserable with Larry, it was obvious. He put his finger back onto the bell.
But then Warren felt something he wasn’t expecting at all. He felt sorry for Larry. How could that be? This was the man who had stolen away the love of Warren’s life. By all rights he should hate Larry. Warren had spent the last three years hating Larry, but suddenly he felt an unmistakable pang of sympathy. He remembered what it was like to be the subject of Ophelia’s wrath. This was a sensation he’d kept buried deep in his subconscious, but now it came flooding back; that pure sense of humiliation. The dream he’d harbored of punching Larry in the face began to melt away. Larry was just a henpecked husband, married to a woman who didn’t love him. A woman who didn’t love anyone but herself, and even that was questionable. Just the sound of her voice after so many years sent Warren’s fantasy crashing headlong into reality. This wasn’t love, he realized. It was obsession, based on pure and primal desire. Here, on the cusp of facing her, he finally recognized the truth. Love was something far deeper. It was two people longing to give everything they had, heart and soul, to the other. Love was… Bridget Peterson. The image of her face flashed into his mind. She wore her knit beanie with those few wayward strands of hair hanging in her face. She was the one who’d cared for him. It was Bridget who’d followed him home to the shelter, eager to do what she could to help him improve his lot in life. It was Bridget who’d offered guidance and advice; invited him home for dinner; kissed him on the lips… And it was Bridget he loved in return. He knew that with a conviction he’d never felt before, but it was all too late. His whole life was a series of tragic errors.
Warren pulled his hand away from the door bell once again. All this distance he’d traveled, only to find he was desperate to flee. Warren leaned down and placed the flowers on the mat; an offering, in honor of a beautiful dream that was no more. The spell of Ophelia was broken. Warren walked back down the drive and continued along the sidewalk, with forty dollars left in his pocket and no particular place to go.
Chapter Forty
Sydney Rallston sat at his desk at the office, flipping through a book of police mug shots. All of the men in the photos looked homeless, with unshaven, dirty faces and worn out clothes, but Warren August was not among them. Rallston was frustrated. The Oscars were now only days away and he still seemed no closer to finding his elusive quarry. Time was ticking and he knew that the competition might be closing in, but he seemed to be running out of options. The swan song of his career was looking less and less likely by the hour.
“Rallston, what are you up to?!” Harold Oswald shouted from across the newsroom. Rallston cringed leaned forward, trying to hide the photos but it was too late. “That sure as hell doesn’t look like Big Bird to me!” Oswald sneered as he moved closer.
“No, it’s not…” Rallston admitted.
“Don’t tell me you’ve taken up crime reporting all of a sudden?”
“I’m looking into another story,” said Rallston.