Imperial Bedrooms Part 4

"I'm going back to New York soon," I say.

"When are you going back?"

"I don't know." I pause. "I have some things I need to finish up here first and..."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I guess you have your reasons to stay." Rip lets it hang there before adding, "But I think you'll be pretty interested in what I have to tell you."

"I'll check my schedule and let you know."

"Schedule?" he asks. "That's funny." he asks. "That's funny."

"Why is that funny?" I ask back. "I'm really busy."

"You're a writer. What do you mean, busy?" busy?" His voice had been slack but now it isn't. "Who have you been hanging out with?" His voice had been slack but now it isn't. "Who have you been hanging out with?"

"I'm...at the casting sessions pretty much all day."

A pause before "Really." It's not a question.

"Look, Rip, I'll be in touch."

Rip follows this with, "Well, how is The Listeners The Listeners coming along?" coming along?"

"It's coming along." I'm straining. "It's very...busy."

"Yeah, you're very busy. You already said that."

Move it out of this realm, make it impersonal, concentrate on gossip, anything to elicit sympathy so we can get off the phone. I try another tactic: "And I'm really stressed about what happened to Kelly. It really stressed me out."

Rip pauses. "Yeah? I heard about that." He pauses again. "I didn't know you two were close."

"Yeah. We were pretty close."

The sound Rip makes after I say this is like a m.u.f.fled giggle, a private riddle whose answer amused him.

"I guess he found himself in a slightly improbable situation. Who knows what kind of people he got involved with?" He gives both sentences a syncopated rhythm.

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it until I'm calm enough to bring it back. There's nothing to say.

"That's what happens when you get involved with the wrong element" is all Rip offers, his voice crawling toward me.

"What's the wrong element?"

A pause and then Rip's voice becomes, for the first time I can remember, vaguely annoyed. "Do you really have to ask me that, Clay?"

"Look, Rip, I'll get in touch."

"Yeah, do that. I think the sooner you hear this, the better."

"Why don't you just tell me now?"

"Because it's...intimate," Rip says. "Yeah. It's a very intimate thing."

Later that week I'm roaming the fifth floor of the Barneys on Wils.h.i.+re, stoned, constantly checking my iPhone for messages from Rain that never appear, glancing at the price tags on the sleeves of s.h.i.+ny s.h.i.+rts, things to show off in, unable to concentrate on anything but Rain's absence, and in the men's department I can't even keep up the most rudimentary conversation with a salesman over a Prada suit and I end up at the bar in Barney Greengra.s.s ordering a b.l.o.o.d.y Mary and drinking it with my sungla.s.ses on. Rip is having lunch with Griffin Dyer and Eric Thomas, a city councilman who resembles a lifeguard, and whom Rip had been complaining about but now seems friendly with, and Rip's wearing a skull T-s.h.i.+rt he's too old for and baggy j.a.panese pants and he shakes my hand and when he sees the b.l.o.o.d.y Mary and that I'm alone he murmurs, "So, you're really busy, huh?"

Behind him I can feel the burning wind coming in from the patio. Rip's shocked-open eyes are bloodshot and I notice how muscular his arms are.

"Yeah."

"Sitting here? Brooding at Barneys?"

"Yeah." I s.h.i.+ft on the bar stool and grip the icy gla.s.s.

"Getting a little scruffy there."

I touch my cheek, surprised at how thick the stubble is and by how long it's been since I shaved and I quickly do the math: the day after Rain left.

"Yeah."

The orange face contemplates something and as it leans into me it says, "You're so much further out there than I thought, dude."

A trainer at Equinox introduces himself after I noticed him gazing at me while I work out with my trainer and asks me if I'd like to have coffee with him at Caffe Primo next door to the gym. Cade is wearing a black T-s.h.i.+rt with the word trainer at Equinox introduces himself after I noticed him gazing at me while I work out with my trainer and asks me if I'd like to have coffee with him at Caffe Primo next door to the gym. Cade is wearing a black T-s.h.i.+rt with the word TRAINER TRAINER on it in small block letters and he has full lips and a white smile and wide blue eyes and carefully groomed stubble and he smells clean, almost antiseptic, and his voice manages to sound both cheerful and hostile at the same time and he's sucking on a water bottle filled with a reddish liquid and sitting in a way that makes you realize he's waiting for someone to notice him and beneath the shade of an umbrella strewn with Christmas lights I'm staring at the traffic on Sunset as we sit at an outdoor table and I'm thinking about the beautiful boy on the treadmill wearing the on it in small block letters and he has full lips and a white smile and wide blue eyes and carefully groomed stubble and he smells clean, almost antiseptic, and his voice manages to sound both cheerful and hostile at the same time and he's sucking on a water bottle filled with a reddish liquid and sitting in a way that makes you realize he's waiting for someone to notice him and beneath the shade of an umbrella strewn with Christmas lights I'm staring at the traffic on Sunset as we sit at an outdoor table and I'm thinking about the beautiful boy on the treadmill wearing the I STILL HAVE A DREAM I STILL HAVE A DREAM T-s.h.i.+rt and realize that it might not have been ironic. T-s.h.i.+rt and realize that it might not have been ironic.

"I read The Listeners," The Listeners," Cade says, glancing away from his cell phone, a text that had been bothering him. Cade says, glancing away from his cell phone, a text that had been bothering him.

"Really?" I sip my coffee and offer a tight smile, unsure of why I'm here.

"Yeah, a buddy of mine auditioned for the role of Tim."

"Cool," I say. "Are you auditioning?"

"I'd like to," Cade says. "Do you think you can get me in?"

"Oh," I say, now getting it. "Yeah. Sure."

Softly and with a rehea.r.s.ed shyness he says, "Maybe we can hang out sometime."

"Like...when?" I'm momentarily confused.

"Like, I don't know, just hang," he says. "Maybe go to a concert, see a band..."

"Yeah, that sounds cool."

Young girls walk by in a trance holding yoga mats, the scent of patchouli and rosemary breezing over us, the glimpse of a b.u.t.terfly tattoo on a shoulder, and I'm so keyed up about not talking to Rain in almost five days that I keep expecting a car to crash on Sunset because everything seems imminent with disaster and Cade keeps posing constantly as if he'd been photographed his entire life and in front of the H&M store across the plaza men are rolling out a short red carpet.

"Why did you come to me?" I ask Cade.

"Someone pointed you out," he says.

"No, I mean, why me? Why not someone else connected with the movie?"

"Well..." Cade tries to figure out why I'm playing it like this. "I heard you help people."

"Yeah?" I ask. "Who told you that?" The question sounds like a dare. The way it sounds forces Cade to be more open with me than he might have been.

"I think you know him."

"Who?"

"Julian. You know Julian Wells, right?"

I tense up even though he said the name innocently. But suddenly Cade is someone different because of his connection to Julian.

"Right," I say. "How do you know Julian?"

"I worked for him briefly."

"Doing what?"

Cade shrugs. "Personal stuff."

"Like an a.s.sistant?"

Cade smiles and turns away and then looks back at me, trying not to seem too concerned by the question. "Yeah, I guess."

Blair calls to invite me to a dinner party she's hosting in Bel Air next week and I'm suspicious at first but when she says it's for Alana's birthday I understand why I'm being invited and the conversation is mellow and tinged with forgiveness and after talking about simple things it feels easy enough to ask, "Can I bring someone?" even though a brief pause on Blair's part forces me back to the past.

"Yeah, sure," she says casually. "Who?"

"Just a friend. Someone I'm working with."

"Who is it?" she asks. "Do I know them?"

"She's an actress," I say. "Her name's Rain Turner."

Blair is silent. Whatever we had recovered earlier in the phone call is now gone.

"She's an actress," I repeat. "h.e.l.lo?"

Blair doesn't say anything.

"Blair?"

"Look, I thought maybe you'd come solo, but I don't want her here," she says quickly. "I would never have allowed her to come here."

"Why not?" I ask in a warning voice. "Do you know her?"

"Look, Clay-"

"Oh, f.u.c.k this," I say. "Why would you invite me anyway, Blair? What are you doing? Are you trying to f.u.c.k with me? Are you still p.i.s.sed? It's been over two years, Blair."

After a pause, she says, "I think we should talk."

"About what?"

She pauses again. "Meet me somewhere."

"Why can't we talk now?"

"We can't talk over the phone."

"Why not, Blair?"

"Because none of these lines are secure."

Turning off Sunset onto Stone Canyon I drive into the darkness of the canyons and valet park the BMW at the Hotel Bel-Air. I walk across the bridge past the swans floating in the pond and make my way to the dining room but Blair's not there and when I ask the hostess I find out she didn't make a reservation and outside I look around the patio but she's not there either and I'm about to call her when I realize I don't have her number. As I walk to the front desk I'm suddenly aware of how much effort I made to look nice even though nothing was going to happen. The receptionist tells me what room Mrs. Burroughs is in.

I pace around the grounds debating something and then I give up and walk to the room and knock. When Blair opens the door I walk in past her.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not going to happen."

"What's not going to happen?"

"This." I make a tired gesture with my arm across the suite.

"That's not why we're..." She looks away.

Blair's wearing loose cotton pants and she has no makeup on and her hair's pulled back and whatever work she has had done you can't tell and she's sitting on the edge of the bed next to a Michael Kors bag and she's not wearing her wedding ring.

"It's just a suite that Trent keeps," she says.

"Yeah?" I say, pacing. "Where's Trent?"

"He's still upset about Kelly Montrose," Blair says. "They were close. Trent represented him for a while." She pauses. "Trent's helping plan the memorial."

"What did you think was going to happen?" I ask. "Why am I here?"

"I don't know why you keep-"

"It's not going to happen, Blair."

"You can stop saying that, Clay," she says, an edge in her voice. "I know."

I open the minibar. I don't even look at what bottle I take out. Annoyed, shaky, I pour myself a drink.