Blue World (46 page)

“Listen… come on. Bill, right? Be a pal, Bill. Look at Debbie.” He pushed his hand into her back to make her stand up straight. “She’s got presence, Bill. Star quality. Yeah, maybe she’s raw, but you put the time and money into her and you can develop--”

“We can develop a lot of money blown on coke,” Royer told him. “We’re not in the business of financing drug habits for porn stars. We’re working with millions of bucks here! You think we’re going to toss it to…” He glanced at the magazine again. “Debra Rocks? Man, you’re crazy to have even brought that in here!”

The pressure of Solly’s hand on her back was hurting her. That pain stirred up other, worse pains, until she was aflame with pain, suspended in a universe of it. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides and listened to these men talking about her as if she were a thing.

“You can use her,” Solly insisted. “Let the word leak who she really is. It’ll boost your box office.”

“Yeah, and destroy all our artistic integrity,” Katzenwaite said. “Forget it.”

“This audition is over,” Carmine repeated, and he picked up his script and started to stalk away.

Her voice cracked out like the sound of a whip on bloody flesh: “No, it is not!”

All of them stopped--Carmine, Katzenwaite, Royer, and Keith--and they stared at what stood before them.

She had felt the fire of Debra Rocks leap from her pores, and she saw that awesome heat scorch their faces. Even Solly stepped back, because her eyes blazed with determined power and the scared little Southern girl who had been there just a second before had vanished. Everyone jumped when she threw the script to the floor. Her backbone was as rigid as an iron bar, and as she walked toward the table she was all tiger and suffocating steam.

Debra Rocks picked up the copy of

Hustler, flipped it open to her nude centerfold, and pushed the pink right up into Carmine’s face. “Don’t you like it, Billy?” she asked, velvet-on-steel. “Oh, come on and tell me how much you like it.”

“Miss… Stoner,” he said, his eyes wide. “There’s no need to--”

“The name is

Rocks.

Oh, you know there’s a need, Billy. You know it.“ She licked her finger until it glistened, and then she ran that finger across his lower lip. Their saliva intermingled. ”What’re you thinkin‘, Billy? Thinkin’… hard thoughts?“ Her megawattage gaze wandered to Royer. She took a step forward and hooked two fingers up his nostrils. ”You got a coke sniffle, baby? You like a little blow now and then? Oh, big man, I can show you places to lick coke from that you never dared dream about.“ Another step, and she was in front of Katzenwaite. ”Oh, let’s you and me talk artistic integrity, baby. Like stirrin‘ up horny teenagers and makin’ ‘em think they’re dead if they’re not fuckin’ by fifteen.“ Her hips made a slow, grinding circle. ”Look at it, Katzy. Think about it.“ Her fingers flicked over her thighs. ”You’re standin‘ real close to the fire, Katzy. Ohhhhh… slide the wood in and let it burnnnn…“ She drifted to Keith, picked up

Hot Cowgirl, and opened it to a photograph that she knew was in there. “See that guy on top of me, Keithy baby? He was twelve inches, and I took him allll in. Every.” She grasped his hand and sucked a finger into her mouth. “Single. Inch,” she said, and spat his member out.

Keith moaned softly. Carmine’s hand had gone to his crotch.

Debra Rocks backed toward the doorway, her fingers beckoning them to follow if they dared. Katzenwaite looked as if he were about to leap over the table, and Royer’s face had frozen into a strained rictus. Solly staggered back and bumped into the wall. “I’m in a new movie,” she said huskily.

“Animal Heat.

It’s in one of those theaters with reallllll sticky floors. Now, when I walk out that door, you’re all gonna be thinkin‘ how soon can you get to that theater, and how soon can you be lickin’ your lips over what was just starin‘ you in the face. You remember my name, and you call it out when you get lonely. Hear, ya’ll?“ And with a sultry, soul-killing smile, she said,

“Now the audition is over,” turned her back on them, and walked proudly through the door.

Solly hurried after her, and caught up with her long-legged stride. “Whoa, baby!” he exclaimed, his cheeks slick with perspiration. “That was some job!”

Her face had tightened. The fire in her dark-hollowed eyes had dimmed, but it had burned a little more of her insides away. “I’m an artist,” she said, staring straight down the long chilly corridor. “My paintbrush is a man’s cock.”

John looked up from his magazine and saw them coming. Instantly he could tell that things had gone wrong. He stood up. Debbie strode past the receptionist, stuck a bird-finger right into the woman’s face, and kept going through the door. John followed, knowing the luck had run out.

“Where to? You want a drink?” Solly asked as he pulled the Cadillac out of the parking lot.

“No. Just drive.”

“What happened?” John asked. “You look--”

“You should’ve been in there with me!” she snapped, and something in her eyes went savage. “If you’d been in there, everything would’ve gone all right!”

“They found out about Debra Rocks,” Solly explained, “perverts must’ve combed the pom shops.”

“The part sucked, anyway,” Debbie said coldly. “They wanted me to play a slut.” She popped open her clutch purse. Her hand slid in and came out with a small gold box. Then she pulled out a straw. Her hands were shaking, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. “I don’t need the bastards,” she said. “I don’t need any of’em!” She started to slide the lid of the gold box open.

John had had enough. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that he could sit beside her and watch her snort up that crap again. His hand flashed out, grabbed the box away from her. Before she could move, John opened his door and flung it out. There was a puff of white on the roadside, and then they had left it behind. Debbie stared at him openmouthed. “You’re killing yourself with that stuff,” he said, his face aflame with anger. “I don’t want you to--”

“You bastard!”

she screamed, and attacked him.

It wasn’t a halfhearted attack. It was a clawing, shrieking, frenzied attack that drove John against the door and made Solly swerve the car and shout, “Hey! Cut the crap!” But Debbie was listening to no one now but her inner demons. She swung her fingers at Lucky’s eyes, grabbed his hair, and banged his head against the doorframe. She clutched at his throat, dug her nails in, hammered at his face and head with her fist, all the time screaming and cursing. Solly kept jerking the wheel, looking back over his shoulder to make sure the wild bitch didn’t jump his ass too; the Cadillac lurched drunkenly down Olive Avenue.

She punched John on the side of the face, a glancing blow, and that was it. He grabbed her wrist, shoved her back with his other hand, and threw his body on top of her, forcing her down against the seat. Her knees pounded at his ribs, but he got those down and then she reached up for his eyes, her face twisted with fury. He dodged just before he lost his vision, and she grabbed his collar and started trying to bang his head against the roof. “Stop it!” he shouted, gripping her wrists. “Debbie, stop it!”

He didn’t know exactly when it happened. But suddenly her arms were around his neck, trying to pull his mouth down on hers, and her body was hot and thrashing and the lips in her tormented, lust-puffed face moaned, “Hurt me, Lucky. Hurt me, hurt me, I want you to hurt me…”

John recoiled, breaking her grip. She sat up, reaching for him, saying, “Hurt me, hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” he said. “I love you!”

And there it was, spilled out like a glassful of forbidden wine.

Her hands stopped short of clawing his suit jacket off. Her face was frozen between a sneer and a moan. It stayed that way for a second or two--and then he saw her lower lip tremble, and a single tear streaked down her left cheek.

“You… should’ve been with me,” she whispered brokenheartedly. “Why weren’t you with me?”

The tears came then, and she sobbed as if someone had delivered a brutal blow to her stomach. She reached for him, a drowning figure reaching for a life-ring, and he put his arms around her and pulled her close. She wedged her head against his neck, and her tears soaked his collar.

“Hanky?” Solly offered one over the seat, but it had green flecks on it and John said, “No. Thanks anyway.”

He put the handkerchief away. “Lucky, where you want me to drive to? I mean, it’s a big place.”

“I don’t care,” John answered. “Just somewhere pretty.”

As Debbie continued to sob, her hands clutching at John’s shoulders and her body bowed in defeat, John did what he had been unable to in the confessional. He gently stroked her hair, hugged her body tightly against his, squeezed his eyes shut as her sobs racked his own body. Finally, her despair quieted if not exhausted, she lay silently beside him, her head on his shoulder, and stared at the world through swollen eyes. John took off his paisley tie and offered that to her as a handkerchief, but she didn’t move to accept it.

“Malibu comin‘ up!” Solly told them, and his exuberance clued John that the man might have started out as a tour-bus driver.

I

John had never seen Malibu before, but he’d heard a great deal about it. The late-afternoon light, however, didn’t reveal what he’d expected. The beaches of Malibu were gray, and the houses looked to John simply like oversize weather-beaten shacks. Debbie perked up a little bit, lifted her head, and said, “I used to live there,” pointing to a dreary beach shack, one of what looked like hundreds jammed together on the continent’s edge. Then Debbie lay back against him again, drained by memories.

Solly kept driving, as the red sun began to sink. The beach had eroded, and cracks had winnowed across the highway. Finally Solly slowed, turned the Cadillac, and headed back to L.A. “That’s the beach,” Solly said. “Where to next, chief?”

Debbie spoke up: “Forest Lawn.” Solly laughed uneasily. “That’s a cemetery.” “I know it’s a cemetery, numb nuts.” Her voice was still weak, but it was regaining power. “Take me there.”

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to be rude.” And Solly drove toward her destination.

By the time they reached the particular plot Debbie guided Solly to in the huge expanse of Forest Lawn Cemetery, the sun had sunk low. The orange light had faded to purple, and now edged into blue.

Debbie said, “Stop here,” and she got out and walked through the headstones and ornate markers to the grave she sought. She stood over it, just staring down, and didn’t move when John reached her. He saw a name on a little bronze plate in the ground: Lynn Phillips. John saw also that she’d died in mid-August of this last summer, and she’d been twenty-three years old.

“Lynn was my roommate for a while,” Debbie explained. “We were best friends. I mean… we didn’t have sex or anything. We were like sisters. Pals.” She sighed, a pained sound. “I helped her pick out her name: Cheri Dane. Know why? ‘Cause she was hooked on cherry Danishes. She used to go out to the Farmers Market and bring back a sackload. So we really had a laugh over that name, because we knew all across America guys were turned on by a girl named after a cherry Danish.” She smiled faintly, but it didn’t stick.

“What happened to her? Drugs?”

“No!” Debbie looked sharply at him. “Cheri was clean! Well… she was gettin‘ that way. No, somebody got into her apartment, over in Santa Monica. Whoever it was… tied her up and drowned her in her bathtub.” She shrugged, but it was to hide a shudder. “The cops never found out who it was. I don’t think they looked too hard. You know what they call us? Freak fodder. I’m beginnin’ to believe it.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh… another friend of mine hit the dirt last week.” It was said with false bravado and masked a core of hurt. “Janey McCullough. And the real gut-clencher is that we all had a hit together:

Super Slick.

At least, it was a hit in the business. It played everywhere, and did six high figures in videotape. Not that we saw very many of the bucks. I mean, somebody’s gettin‘ rich, but it’s sure not us.“ She stared down at the marker. ”Lynn, how many times did I tell you? If you don’t know the face, don’t let ’em into your place. Hell, she would’ve given the devil a thousand bucks and waited for change.“ Debbie saw a bouquet of fresh flowers on another grave a few yards away; she went to it, picked some of the flowers out of the vase, and sprinkled them around Lynn’s marker. ”There you go, babe,“ Debbie said. ”Let’s get you pretty.“

John glanced at his wristwatch. “We’d better go, maybe grab a sandwich somewhere before we catch our plane.”

Debbie walked away from the grave, and then she abruptly stopped again. She looked around, to all points of the compass. “It’s the blue world now,” she said in a hushed and respectful voice.

“What?” He hadn’t fully understood her.

“The blue world,” she repeated. “Listen.” She put her finger to her lips.

He did. The cemetery was an oasis of silence. Dying light flared on the towers of buildings off in the haze, but cool blue shadows had pooled around the headstones and monuments, and even the air itself had turned to indigo. A solitary car moved along one of the cemetery’s streets, and the twilight breeze stirred a palm tree’s fronds.

“See?” Debbie said quietly. “When everything turns blue, and the whole world seems to be holdin‘ its breath. That’s the blue world. My grandmomma and me used to sit out on the porch in the twilight, and we’d rock in the glider and she’d sing me these songs her momma sang to her a long time before. Songs like that don’t change; just people’s voices do.” She turned her face and smiled, and John saw she was looking to the southeast.

“Grandmomma said the blue world was the entrance to the night, but it wasn’t anything to fear. Oh, no! She said the blue world came back again, at dawn, and then it was the way out of the night. She said… the blue world was God’s way of sayin‘ there would always be a new day.” Debbie looked at him and gave a bitter grimace. “I was raised a Baptist. Isn’t that a big damned hoot?”

John didn’t hoot; he didn’t speak either. He just let her go on, and watched her face as she drifted back into time.