Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

— If what you’re saying is there’s less of the money left, I already told you that’s OK, because—

— I didn’t have to put you in a private school, but I did . Do you know how much New Crossroads cost? $23,000 a year. For a 12-year-old!—

— Mom, it doesn’t matter, I’ll just take whatever’s there—

— Jerilynn, I don’t even remember, but that’s not—

— You don’t remember how much is there? In the trust?

— I don’t remember… promising that — because I knew what our situation was. But that I don’t remember isn’t the point — I’ll take your word for it, & it does sound like something I would have definitely wanted to do if I could—

— There isn’t any money?

— Jerilynn, I’ll go over my bank statements with you, I’ll have the accountant go over them with you. Right now, I’m carrying $90,000 in credit card debt.

— O my god. You totally lied. You totally scammed your own daughter. . . …

— Jerilynn—

— O my god, I hate you——

— That isn’t fair. Apparently, you weren’t listening when — ( Reeyonna starts to SCREAM ) Jerilynn — Jerilynn, stop. Stop!

— You piece of shit! You stole money from me!

— I didn’t st—

— My own mother actually stole money from me! O my god! O my god——I want you to DIE, you BITCH! I want you to DIE! You piece of shit bitch! You will NEVER see your grandchild EVER I would NEVER let you see her even if I had a MILLION DOLLARS! I would never let you see her because you are so SICK, you are so FUCKING SICK that you would probably take NUDE PICTURES of it & try to SELL them on the INTERNET! because you’re CRAZY you’re CRAZY you’re a fucking SICK CRAZY SLUT & I fucking HATE YOU! You are the biggest WHORE, you always make a FOOL out of yourself Steve Martin was LAUGHING at you & James Franco wanted to fuck ME not YOU even tho he could tell you were a fucking OLD WHORE! [sustained screams, then] YOU FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT [a sustained scream, then] you should just DIE why don’t you go somewhere and DIE you are the WORST & the SICKEST you have NO TALENT and everyone thinks you’re CRAZY they KNOW you are no one even wants to be SEEN with you all you have is how SICK you are, you are the WORST MOTHER, O my god I would rather be ADOPTED like RIKKI than have YOU as a MOTHER! You will NEVER meet my baby, you will go to your grave without seeing my baby & when my baby is older I will tell him that his grandma was a SICK PIECE OF SHIT and how HAPPY he should be that you never held him — you will NEVER EVER EVER hold him, do you understand? Are you listening? You better! You better! Because you ARE A SICK FUCKING WHORE AND I HOPE YOU DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Afternoon is the time of Woman: the Unknown

Io ritornai da la santissima onda

Rifatto sì come piante novelle

Rinovellate di novella fronda,

puro e disposto a salire a le

stelle

.

— P U R G A T O R I O, XXXIII. 142–5

Dancing With The Stars

He

was in LA, in preproduction on a film. Catherine was shooting a Fosse-themed Glee . Ryan told him that a guest stint by Catherine had been in play long before Michael sent his fan letter.

Karma.

. .

He met the little cancer gal & her mom for tea at the Peninsula.

Then he did something that surprised him.

Michael told the driver to take him to the little cemetery in Westwood where his half-brother was buried. (He didn’t question his instincts anymore.) Anyway, now was as good a time as any to pay his respects to the dead; he wasn’t able to make the Reaper’s recent gala, and had respectfully RSVP’d his regrets. He’d be attending soon enough.

The actor’s asst called the park to make sure he wouldn’t be disrupting a funeral by his presence. The coast was clear. A caretaker met him at the car & walked him to Eric’s flat stone. The mood of that shitty day — Eric’s funeral — washed over him. He knelt a moment, running a finger over the grass on the grave.

The actor meandered through the modestly-scaled tombs. It felt like a minefield. He stepped over, around & in-between the engraved invitations in a superstitious foxtrot (or minuet, holding Death’s hand like a child without knowing it), which was more or less what he’d done with cancer — with sure foot and unwavering eye, he picked his way through the cellsplitting grunge & muck that tried to abduct and to claim him, to snatch him back whence he came like an incensed parent denied custody. The fuckers on the Internet who laid virtual money that his time was nigh had already lost their shirts. He felt like Keith Richards. He’d outlive all the jackals, & have kicks along the way.

Everyone knew that Marilyn was buried here but as he walked and surveyed, the profusion of showbiz dead surprised him. His dad’s time was well-represented: Malden & Matthau, Leigh, Lancaster, Lemmon. The manicured morgue was as eclectic as a guest list off the old Tonight Show— Capote, Coburn, Cassavetes — Gene Kelly, Don Knotts, Merv. Dominick Dunne’s murdered daughter was here and he wondered why Nick buried himself in Connecticut instead of with his child. Michael couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from his children, even in death. He shook his head at the Zappa & Joplin markers… unfuckingreal .

He soft-shoed between Natalie Wood and Billy Wilder, suddenly standing over Farrah. That was a tough death. It was one thing to go on Letterman and tell the world the cat got your tongue, & entirely another to announce the cat crawled up your ass and died and was taking you with it. In those first frightening months, MD thought of her a lot. He watched her documentary — all in all, a damn brave girl. Hella courage. And to have them film you like that, hella courage all around. He remembered something a friend said when the family was vacationing in Fiji. They were floating in a coral reef when a small, black&white-banded snake swam between his legs and disappeared. His buddy told him it was poisonous but not to worry, it had no interest in human beings. Michael asked where the hospital was, if you happened to get bit. “You could drive to the clinic in town,” he answered, “but I wouldn’t recommend it. It wouldn’t be the best use of the hour you had left.”

MD wondered how he’d behave in the face of losing numbers: that was the real Hitch-22. (Jesus, losing Christopher was a loss. What giantsized balls the man had.) He knew the producer in him — the warrior — would never want to concede, but the actor just might… He agonized over the question: When do you stop NetJetting to clinics in Switzerland, South Africa, Brazil for experimental treatment? When the only result is twitter rape, videos of your emaciated bodyhusk struggling in and out of vans, your haunted, anguished huffin and puffin visage HuffPosted to the world. Ryan O’Neal had stayed by her side, steadfast & true. MD laughed a little, thinking: he won’t be by my side, least not if I can help it. There were so many things you’d lose control of once you crossed a certain threshold… Ryan had leukemia himself, for the last ten years, same type Ali had in Love Story . And now he’s got prostate. It’s Cancer’s world, we just live in it. At least Ryan was still alive. Wasn’t he?