Catherine Coulter - Born To Be Wild

Mary Lisa signed the back of a prescription form and slowly eased off the gurney. She was beginning to feel quite fine again. She touched her fingertips to the bruise on her hip. “Thanks for everything. Do you know, about my bruise, I’m now thinking India -lots of fine and varied topography,” She shook Nurse Blenken’s hand. “Have I told you how much I love drugs?”

“And they love you too. Just stay away from that stuff you shoot between your toes.”

“The only thing I put near my toes is nail polish. Usually a nice coral.”

Nurse Blenkens nodded, but without a hint of a smile. Mary Lisa wasn’t sure she’d believed her. “No, really, it’s usually coral, but I’m leaning toward French now, same as my fingernails. What do you think?” She thrust her dirty hand toward the nurse and wiggled her fingers.

Nurse Blenkens studied her nails. “You’re going to need some repair. Now, Ms. Beverly, you go home and take to your bed until tomorrow morning, all right? Since you’ve been so nice, maybe you could sign an autograph to Dr. Murray’s wife, Marge. He was too embarrassed to ask. He said she hates Sunday and tapes all your shows.”

“Sure,” Mary Lisa said and signed the back of another prescription form. “I’m always telling the writers not to redeem Sunday too often, my alter ego and I are having too much fun.”

Ten minutes later Detective Vasquez helped Mary Lisa into his brown Crown Victoria.

“Hey, I’ve never been in a slick before. This is very cool.”

He grinned at her. “You know the idiom. I don’t know where that name came from. My old boss always called the detectives’ cars ‘plain wrapped,’ since they’re always one solid color, usually boring. Okay, I don’t see Puker Hodges.”

As he maneuvered out of the parking lot, he said, “I’m a little surprised that you weren’t surrounded by people from the studio by now, your friends, your agent, people like that, insisting on taking you home.”

“Actually you saved me from all that, and I’m really glad to be getting out of there without any press showing up. I wouldn’t call the studio people unless I was on life support. As for my agent, thankfully, he’s in Istanbul, taking a long-overdue vacation. I’ll call my friends when my brain is less squirrelly.”

“What’s his name?”

“Marvin Leftwich, with Trident Media, in L.A. ”

He nodded and turned right onto the highway. He looked into his rearview mirror, frowned.

“What’s wrong? Do you see something?”

The first TV soap opera, a half-hour program, appeared in 1956 with the debut of As the World Turns .

“A dark four-door sedan. No, don’t look back.” He smiled. “It’s okay, he turned off on Topanga Beach.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Stop worrying, let me do that. Okay, when I checked in with the station, they wanted you to know they have a weekly betting pool going about what Sunday Cavendish is going to do next. Detective Farber asked me to get the inside scoop.”

“You can tell her I honestly don’t know myself, but she should remember I’m bad to the bone.”

Mary Lisa leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “And she knows they like to push the envelope with Sunday.”

“And yet she remains sympathetic.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“You feeling all right, Ms. Beverly?”

She said without opening her eyes, “Compared to lying on the sidewalk with a toy poodle named Honey Boy licking my mouth, yeah, I’ll take it.” Mary Lisa roused herself enough to call Lou Lou. When Detective Vasquez pulled up beside the Colony kiosk, she called out, “ Chad, it’s me. I was hit by a car, but I’m okay. This is Detective Vasquez. He’ll probably be coming around again, so please let him in.”

Chad came around to the passenger side of the car, poked his head in, examined her face. “I heard about some asshole hitting you, not two blocks from here. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I promise, only temporary agony.”

Chad frowned over that. “I also heard it was on purpose. Carlo saw it all.”

Mary Lisa said to Detective Vasquez, “Carlo Spinelli is one of my neighbors. He used to own a computer company up in Silicon Valley, sold out ten years ago and moved down here. He’s a great surfer, even gives some lessons. He came right after I was lying on the road.”

“I know Carlo,” Detective Vasquez said.

Chad backed away and waved them in. He called after them, “Cool slick you’re driving, Detective!”

Detective Vasquez grinned and patted the dashboard of the Crown Vic.

The Colony, originally known as the Malibu Motion Picture Colony when it was established back in the 1920s, was now simply known as the Colony. Bing Crosby, Ronald Coleman, Gary Cooper, and Gloria Swanson were only a few of the early arrivals who built cottages on the beautiful, pristine stretch of beach. They came to play in privacy. There were two long rows of houses, all set close together, half of them on the ocean side, the others across a narrow street. The houses ranged from palatial to an occasional small cottage. The Colony extended all the way down to Malibu Lagoon State Beach, separated from the public land by a high rusted fence. Even though it was private, with only residents and their guests allowed in, anyone could duck under that fence and walk in. But no cars could get in, not unless the folk at the kiosk weren’t paying attention, which rarely happened.

She directed Detective Vasquez about two-thirds down Malibu Colony Road to her small ocean-side beach house. “Another twenty houses and we’d be in the Malibu Lagoon State Beach. Always lots of action there, big-time surfing. It’s Carlo’s favorite place. Actually, there’s lots of action all over the beach.”

“Nothing would surprise me in this town.” Detective Vasquez paused a moment. “But you know, Malibu isn’t a real town, which sounds strange, but I’ve always thought that.”

She grinned. “Come on now, we have a mayor, we have a high school, we have chiropractors. But I know what you mean. Truth is I think of it as a special place, my own special place.” She directed him into her driveway.

“Hey, nice house.”

Mary Lisa beamed at him. She was still excited about her two-story cottage, all glass and redwood, built back in the early ’80s, and all hers, her very first home, bought and paid for. “I purchased it from an older actress, a friend of Elizabeth Fargas-she’s also a friend of mine-who gave me a good price. She wanted to move back to Nebraska. Go figure that. I step off my back porch and get sand fleas between my toes in under five minutes. And then I dive in the waves and the fleas drown.”

He laughed. “An example of nature’s balance.” He pulled in behind a bright red Mustang convertible. He opened her unlocked door and walked directly into a large, high-ceilinged living room. He helped her ease down on a bright red-and-white-striped sofa. It was one of three colorful sofas set about the big room with at least half a dozen chairs and love seats interspersed among them. Bright geometric rugs were scattered on the oak floor. Pale light poured in through all the windows. “You’ve got lots of places to sit.”

“I’ve got lots of friendly neighbors who are always dropping by. I started out with one sofa and chair and just kept adding.”

Yes, he thought, she’d have lots of friends. She seemed just plain nice, and funny, at least when she was drugged up. He watched her look thoughtful and open her mouth, but she seemed to forget what she was going to say.

He said, “Nice and bright in here. Makes you smile, I’ll bet. You’re looking a bit peaked, Ms. Beverly. Your friend coming over soon?”