The Dark Horse - lanyon Josh. Страница 19

He lay back with a sigh. «Jesus, what a fucked up day,» he muttered. I don't think he meant to say it aloud. I'd never heard him sound so drained. I lifted my head. «Are you okay? Can I get you something?» He said huskily, «I could really use a hug right about now.»

For a sec I didn't think I'd heard him right. I was so used to him being the caretaker that it didn't occur to me that he might occasionally need solace – or that I'd be the person best qualified to offer it.

«Hey,» I whispered, and reached for him. His arms locked around me. I wasn't exactly sure who was hugging whom. I rested my cheek against the soft crispness of his hair, kissed him lightly. His breath was warm against my ear. Toothpaste and a hint of the coffee he'd had earlier. He inhaled sharply. Held me even tighter. «I love the way you smell,» he whispered.

I smiled a little. Gave him another of those tiny stray kisses. After a few minutes, I felt his body relaxing against mine, growing heavy and drowsy. It was unexpectedly comforting. I held him until I too gave into sleep.

I slept late the next morning. Dan was gone by the time I wandered into the front room.

Markowitz sat on the couch reading Variety. Maria was scouring the granite countertops. She looked up, smiling with false brightness when I walked into the kitchen. «Buenos dias!» «Morning.» I opened the fridge. Took out the jug of orange juice.

«I make you breakfast, Mr. Fairchild,» Maria said, handing me a glass. Her soft brown eyes looked worried. Why was she worried?

«How about if I make you breakfast,» I said. «Markowitz, would you like breakfast?»

«I had a couple of Pop Tarts before I left the house,» Markowitz said from behind the newspaper. «Me, I'm dieting,» Maria said.

That made it unanimous. I drank my orange juice watching Mrs. Wilgi walking the beach. A little speck danced in front of her. A puppy.

I sat down and turned on the TV, flipping channels 'til I found a local station. I sat through two morning talk shows with celebrity guests – all of them much younger and prettier than me – cartoons I didn't recognize, and finally a news update on Lenny Norman.

Police were questioning a neighbor with whom he'd had a long-running feud. And that was about it. Norman had been shot to death late Monday night. His bullet-riddled body had been found by his gardener Tuesday morning.

News at eleven. Eleven a.m. because it wasn't very important news, the murder of one small-time indie director. Few, if any, of the at home viewers were going to recognize his film credits.

«The victim was killed by three shots from a 9 mm semiautomatic,» announced the perky blond reporter in her faux trench coat.

I said to Markowitz, who had lowered the paper for this news flash, «That's the old police issue, isn't it?» I knew Dan still carried a Beretta M9, though a lot of cops had switched to Glocks.

«I prefer the grip of a Beretta,» Markowitz said quite civilly. «They've been having problems with the Glock 21s.»

From the kitchen, Maria made clucking noises. «You don't want feel your head with that bad stuff, Mr. Fairchild!» The phone rang. My keepers exchanged looks.

I uncurled out of the overstuffed chair. «I've got it,» I said. I picked up before the answering machine. «Dude, is that you?» Steve sounded unusually subdued. «Yes.» I glanced at Maria. «I'll take this upstairs.» She nodded.

I ran upstairs, picked up, and said into the phone, «You can hang up now, Maria.» I waited for the clatter of the phone settling back on the hook, and then said, «What's up?» «Is everything okay?» «Of course.» «I tried to call last night.» «I know. I'm sorry. I was kind of out of it last night.» «Yeah. I heard.» Awkward pause.

«Well, listen,» Steve said finally, «I've got some news. I think it's good news. Winston Marshall called me this morning. He's going ahead with The Charioteer. He's already talked to Bruce Watts about replacing Lenny Norman as director, and the first person Bruce mentioned when he heard the Laurie role hadn't been cast yet was you.»

«Bruce is going to direct?» Bruce Watts had directed my last two films. He was wonderful to work with, an actor's director. «The part's yours if you still want it.» «If I still want it? Of course I still want it!» «Are you sure, Sean? Because there are other films and other parts.» «What are you talking about? I want this part. I want this film.»

Steve, sounding totally unlike himself, said, «Okay, but are you … sure you're up to it?»

«Hell, yes, I'm up to it.» The realization of what he was really saying hit me in the gut. «Why don't you just say what's on your mind, Steve?»

Clearly uncomfortable, he forged on. «Yeah, well, Dan and I talked last night. He said that you might not be … strong enough to go back to work so soon.» I was holding the receiver so hard I thought it might crack. «He said what?»

«Well, with all this shit going on. First Hammond and then this other lunatic and then thinking Hammond was this other lunatic. You have to admit you have been under a lot of strain. I mean, no wonder if you're emotionally fragile.» I felt like I couldn't get my breath. «Dan said I was emotionally fragile?» Silence. «Steve? Is that what Dan said? That I'm emotionally fragile?»

Steve said in an uncomfortable rush, «I think he's worried, Sean. I mean, we all are. But … Dan especially.»

«What else did he say?» I had hung the phone up too quickly last night. No wonder Maria and Markowitz were giving me funny looks this morning. «That you –« He bit it off. «That I what? Jesus! Tell me what the fuck he said!»

Steve spoke like the words were being dragged out of him one at a time. «He thought that maybe we should talk to you together. Convince you to get yourself admitted to UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Hospital.» I felt like gravity suddenly slipped and I was about to float off into space.

The Neuropsychiatric Hospital at UCLA is a facility for patients who require medical assistance in stabilizing acute emotional psychiatric crisis. Residential treatment. Supervised activity from eight a.m. to eight p.m. Deck time and occupational therapy and exercise and medication. It's a great hospital. I know. I once spent nine months there.

There was a weird humming in my ears. I wondered if I was going to make a habit of fainting.

My mouth was so dry I could hardly get the words out. «He wants to have me committed?»

«No! God, no. He wants it to be voluntary. Voluntary hospitalization, you know. Just for rest and observation.»

I swallowed so hard he must have heard it all the way in West Hollywood because he said quickly, «Like before. The second time, I mean, when you went in yourself for a-a rest.» «I don't need a rest. I need to get back to work.» «We all want what's best for you, Sean.»

I wanted to scream at that kind, noncommittal tone. He sounded like Dan at his most aggravating. I said as calmly as I could, «You've known me a long time, Steve. Do you think I need to be hospitalized? Do I seem irrational?» I had to fight to keep my voice even, in case I sounded as irrational as Dan apparently thought I was. «Do I seem like a danger to myself or anyone else?»

«Shit, no!» he said quickly and loyally. But then he said, «But I'm not living with you, Sean. Dan sees a different side, I guess.» I said tightly, «If anyone is crazy, it's Dan.» He said, «Hey, he never used the C-word.» «Yeah, they're not supposed to,» I retorted. «It's not politically correct.»

He did laugh at that, an unwilling snort of a laugh. «Well, you sound normal enough. Normal for you, anyway.»

«I'm going to have this out with Dan,» I said. «I'm tired of his –« I bit the rest of it off. Despite Dan's betrayal whatever happened between us was still none of Steve's business. «You can tell Bruce that he's got his Laurie,» I said. «Is Dan going to go for that?» «Dan doesn't have a say in this.»