Dan Wakefield - Home Free

“How’s it goin?”

“Give you an example. First night here the director takes me to dinner, wants to assure me he knows what my book is really about. I ask. He says, ‘Illusion and reality.’”

“Your mystery? Death of a Deb? ”

“Yep.”

“Shitman,” Gene said, “maybe he was puttin ya on.”

“I wish. That’d make it easier. I wouldn’t have to sit around in meetings talking about illusion and reality. Fuck it. I just keep writin the thing, feedin em pages. Best not to think about it, otherwise your head gets all screwed up.”

“Illusion and reality. That’s a heavy-number.”

“Fuck it,” Barnes said. “Let’s have lunch.”

They went across the street to the famous Schwab’s drugstore of Hollywood, Barnes acting real cool about it, calling the waitress by name and all, ordering himself a bacon and avocado sandwich on toast.

He’s really getting into it , Gene thought.

Barnes said Gene could sleep in his room at the Marmont, since he just used it as a place to write in the daytime now. He was sort of living with this girl and he stayed over at her place every night.

Gene thanked him about the room and asked what his new woman was like.

Barnes scratched his head.

“It’s kind of hard to describe her.”

Gene wondered if she was missing an arm or something. He didn’t want to press it.

“She’s unique,” Barnes added.

Jesus , Gene thought, maybe both arms are gone .

“Oh,” is all he said.

“Yeh. You’ll see. Just don’t say anything to her about plastic.”

“Plastic? What kind of plastic?”

“You know, about L.A. being ‘plastic,’” Barnes said. “A lot of people when they first get out here put it down for being too ‘plastic’”

“Sure, man. No plastic.”

Barnes was gazing off in the distance, over Gene’s shoulder somewhere, far. He absently rubbed his paper napkin at his mouth.

“Belle is very loyal,” he said.

“To you, you mean?”

“Huh? Oh. No. I mean to Los Angeles.”

Belle had nothing missing.

To put it mildly. In fact she was one of the most abundantly endowed women Gene had ever laid eyes on, and the abundance was all in the proper proportions. When people complimented her about the marvelous condition of her body she said, “I work at it,” the implication being that she, as opposed to God, should get the credit, which was certainly true in part but Belle didn’t deal in compromises. All or nothing. Her hair was dark brown and straight, cut short, and her eyes deep brown. The first time you saw her they were likely to seem menacing. Her habitual stances were either with arms folded firmly across her chest, or fists planted on waist, as if ready to bawl someone out if the occasion arose, or even if she thought it arose. She liked to wear long, old-fashioned dresses with lace trimmings, and big hats, all of which she got at thrift stores but which looked very classy when Belle wore them, as probably anything would have. Later Gene learned she was just the same age as he, but in comparison he always kind of felt like a kid.

She lived on a quiet little street off Sunset in a renovated guest cottage behind a big house. It was basically one room with kitchen and bath. She had fixed it up to be comfortable and cozy, but still it seemed too small a place to hold her properly. Gene thought she was the one should live in a castle, not just a part of it, the whole operation.

“Nice to meet you, Belle,” said Gene, smiling, making an affirming nod of his head.

“My God!” said Belle. “He’s so pale . Is he all right? ”

“He’s fine,” Barnes said quickly. “Just be nice to him, OK?”

“Be nice to him? Well, of course, I’ll be nice to him. He’s your friend, and besides, he doesn’t look well. Can I get him anything?”

Gene hoped she wasn’t going to give him any medicine.

“A drink,” said Barnes. “You can get him a drink. Me, too. Please.”

She hurried from the room; the kitchen suddenly burst into a clatter of glasses, bottles, and ice. Gene felt slightly in shock, as if someone had hit him from behind with a two-by-four. He supposed this was what Barnes meant when he said his girl was “unique” and “hard to describe.”

He looked at Barnes, who was trying to wink at him, no doubt for reassurance. But Barnes was one of those people who did not have the capacity to wink; both his eyes moved at once in a kind of squint, as if he had just got sand in them.

Belle came out bearing a tray with three cocktails.

“These are old-fashioneds,” she said. “Some people don’t like them. But they should .”

“Love em,” Gene said.

“Hers are great,” said Barnes.

Belle raised her glass and said, “Well, here’s to your friend’s health! ”

“Goddam it, Belle, he’s not sick!”

“That’s a toast , for heaven sake. ‘To your health.’”

Barnes took a belt of his drink, grumbling.

Gene started giggling.

He was on the verge of getting really pissed when it suddenly seemed funny.

“Belle,” he said, “the fact is you’re right. I’m run down and I’m done in. I’ve come out here to get cured. I figure California’s my last hope.”

“Well it’s certainly your best one,” she said, suddenly brightening.

“And I think this drink is a sign, a good sign I’m on the right track. I’ve been a bartender, Belle, and I’ve mixed these myself, and I’ve never had a better one.”

She had an absolutely radiant smile, and it was now on full.

“Well, thank you, Gene, I can see you’re a person of standards . That’s so rare nowadays.”

At last, she’d addressed him directly, using his name. Barnes looked drained but relieved, like a man in a car that just swerved barely in time to avoid a head-on collision. From there on in, the evening was a joy.

After avocado vinaigrette, chicken Marengo, asparagus with hollandaise, new potatoes with parsley, and strawberries with cream, accompanied by two bottles of Ingle-nook Chablis, Belle brought out snifters and brandy, and rolled a couple of joints.

Gene finished his ravings over the meal, which in fact was splendid, by telling Belle he could see now why Barnes was in the best shape he’d ever seen him.

Belle agreed, explaining, “The potential was there, it just had to be brought out.”

“But it’s not just good cooking,” Gene said, “it’s the hair, the clothes. He’s a new man.”

“I know,” Belle said. “I did him over.”

She made a sudden little giggle and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers for a moment, gesture of a naughty child.

“Shee-it,” said Barnes, turning his snifter around, embarrassed and pleased.

Belle turned to Gene, put her fists on her hips.

“Now, what about you? ” she demanded. “What’re we going to do about you?”

“He’s, gonna use my room at the Marmont,” Barnes said. “To sleep in.”

“Well, thank goodness someone’s going to get some good out of it with you paying all that money for it when we could rent a nice little house somewhere.”

“We’ve been through that, Belle, I know all about it.”

“Well, Gene doesn’t, maybe he wants to know.”

“No, he doesn’t. Let’s get back to him .”

That had the ring of a running battle, and Gene was anxious to help them get off it.

“I need to make some bread, Belle. I owe Barnes, and I want to buy some clothes, get myself together.”

“Are you an artist?” she asked.

“No.”

“Good. That makes it easier. Artists are so sensitive, there’s a lot of things they can’t do. I know because that’s what I am. An artist.”