Heartland (42 page)
JayJay waited until the door had closed to ask, “How is she?”
“It's too early to tell. Now I must ask you to leave.”
Ahn said, “I heard the doctor mention a coma.”
“She is resting well.” The nurse had a face that was made to say no with force. “That is all I am able to tell you.”
Back at the central desk, JayJay was the first to hear the tapping sound. Someone walked toward them, carried on heels driven with such urgent force they threatened to drive through the linoleum. He knew who it was long before the face came into view.
The newcomer hissed, “You!”
“How do, Mrs. Channing.”
She stepped close enough for her breath of rage to blister his soul. “You did this, you despicable little man.”
Ahn protested, “JayJay saved her life.”
“Only after you got her into this mess. I have no doubt whatsoever of that. Kelly has far too much sense to do anything so
stupid
as to be dragged into a
fire
. Except of course when a
man
is behind it.” Edith Channing's fury shook her from her low heels to her shellacked copper hair. “You may stand tall in the lights of publicity, Mr. Junior. But you are a
midget
in my eye. An emotional
dwarf
. A
stunted
human being. You are
forbidden
to have anything more to do with my daughter, do you hear me?”
Edith Channing whirled about. She did not actually shout at the nurse. But only because the force of her rage made up for the lack of volume. “This, this
actor
is
banned
from coming anywhere
near
my daughter. Is that
perfectly
clear?”
The nurse recognized higher authority when she saw it. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Take me to her.”
J
ayJay released himself from Ahn without ever really hearing the excuse he gave. He turned a corner as though headed for the bathroom, then was guided to a rear exit by a small Latina in a cleaning uniform. She might not have understood JayJay's words, but she knew all about the press hanging around the front door, out beyond the police yellow tape. When JayJay pointed to the crowd and the clamor and then shook his head, she nodded and took hold of his surgical blues and led him to the loading platform. All without saying a word.
The more he moved, the easier his body responded. His truck was parked far down the road, just one more fire-streaked vehicle in a long, sooty line. He plucked the safety key from its holder beneath the bumper and drove back to the hotel.
The night manager was watching some LA newscaster breathlessly relate how close a Hollywood wildfire had come to torching Salton City. JayJay snagged two keys from their cubbyholes. One for his room, and the other for Peter's suite. And sneaked away unseen.
JayJay had known what he was going to do the very instant Edith Channing had turned away. Shutting the door between him and the only reason he had to stick around. The only link to this world that mattered.
He entered the empty suite and walked over to Peter's writing desk. The laptop was there, just waiting for him. He sat down in Peter's chair and touched the computer's surface. He felt a bit of stimulation, a softly humming power, strong enough to work through the numbness.
The plan was simple, like all good plans should be. He would find the script. He would type in the words.
He had been written into this world. No problem. He'd sign out the very same way.
He was in the process of opening the laptop when he thought he heard something.
He swiveled in the chair. The room was illuminated by courtyard lights spilling through the windows. He listened, but there was no further sound. Even so, he had the feeling that he was no longer alone.
Then the hairs on the back of his neck started rising.
Gradually the room's shadows began coalescing into figures. Two huge grips leaned against the side wall. A pair of bespectacled electricians sat there beside them. Claire. Derek. Peter. Cynthia. A dozen figures. There and not there. All praying. For him.
And someone else.
JayJay bounded from the chair. With trembling hands he unplugged the laptop and clutched it to his chest. He backed over to the door. One hand scrabbled over the wood, searching for the handle. He let himself out and stumbled down the hall.
Chased by the impossible. Because the murmuring prayer did not cease when the suite's door clicked shut behind him.
Which was why, when he got to his own door and saw the figure leaning against the wall, his neck-hairs tingled all over again.
The guy was so ropey-hard he mocked his own load of years. His forehead and silvery hair were both folded with the permanent imprint of the Stetson he was not wearing. His jeans were saddle-worn, his boots as tough and seamed as his face. He watched JayJay's approach with eyes that had been raised on endless horizons.
“I reckon there ain't no question who you be.” The old cowboy uncrossed his arms. “What's the matter, Junior? You look like you done seen a ghost.”
JayJay resisted the urge to reach over and poke the man, just to make sure he was real. “Or something.”
“There's somebody who wants to see you.”
“Can it wait?”
The cowboy pushed himself off the wall. “If it could, you think I'd be out here propping up this wall at midnight?”
“Give me a minute to get outta these hospital drawers.”
“The feller who's waiting on you don't care what you got on. You just come with me.”
The murmurs were still there. Following them down the corridor toward the front of the hotel. JayJay asked, “You hear anything funny?”
“You mean, other than my boss of thirty-seven years telling me we got to load up and drive to a town on the border of a raging wildfire, then argue with a hotel manager for a room and pay five times the going rate, and then be told to stand outside your room until you show up, no matter how long it takes?” The old cowboy pulled out a key, knocked, and unlocked the door. “Nope, can't say as I do.”
JayJay took a tentative step into the semidarkened room. A voice over by the window said, “Come on in, Mr. Junior.”
The old cowboy said, “If you're done with me, I'll go get some shut-eye.”
The voice by the window said, “I'm much obliged, Royce. Take this chair over by me, Mr. Junior.”
He rounded the bed and found himself staring at a man who had shrunk until his skin lay slack as a mottled rucksack. Then the door clicked shut. And the murmurs stopped.
The old man said, “I'm Carter Dawes. You and me got us some business to discuss.”
K
elly did not wake up so much as swim through increasingly shallow depths. She passed through one level after another. First came a faint sense of her own body, far beyond the level of pain or even concern. Just knowledge that she had a body at all, one tied to a world she had not yet left behind. Then sounds, snippets of voices and electronic beepings that came in quiet waves. Then smell and a raging thirst and faint whispers of discomfort.
Then she opened her eyes.
“Oh, thank the good Lord above.”
The voice drew her closer to the surface. Her mother looked down at her. A smile fought through the worry and the shared pain. “Hello, darling. My sweet baby girl.”
Kelly knew just one clear thought. A question that could not wait another instant. Even though uttering the one word drew the pain into sharp relief, such that tears seeped from both her eyes as she whispered, “JayJay?”
Her mother's entire body clamped down so tight her hand jerked as she cleared away Kelly's tears. “That man has made you cry for the very last time.”
Kelly wanted to speak, to protest, but it was no longer possible to keep hold. Her eyelids fought but would not stay open. She was cast once more into the sea of slumber, carried away upon her wailing heart. “Eighteen years ago I bought me this podunk studio and threw a dump truck of cash at it. Just paid and paid. I had the money. I own almost a hundred wells, most of 'em solid producers. But I ain't in the business of throwing good money away like that.” Carter Dawes' voice held the reedy thinness of a man with no air to spare for inflection. “Did it because of what happened at a prayer breakfast. I was sitting there over my griddle cakes when I felt God reach out and speak to me. Only time it's ever happened. Ain't that the strangest thing you ever heard?”
“No sir.” JayJay settled the laptop on his knees and rested both hands on its top. He reckoned he could wait another few minutes and satisfy the old man's need for conversation. “I can't say it is.”
“There you go then. I heard tell you were a believer. After all I've witnessed in Hollywood, I figured it for just one more tall tale. But seeing you here, I'm inclined to believe it after all. Which is why I came down here at all, Mr. Junior. The slim chance that this strange thing I'd been hearing was true.”
“Call me JayJay, sir.”
“Pour me a glass of water there, JayJay.”
JayJay had to settle the laptop on the coffee table to do so. He disliked letting go of Peter's computer. But it was right there where he could keep an eye on it.
The old man was so arthritic he needed both hands to lift the glass. He drank and settled it back on the table and declared, “I'm dying.”
The truth was too clear in what JayJay saw to be denied. “I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”
“I'm ready to go.” Carter Dawes spoke with a blunt calm. “Been ready. Lost my wife five years back and my only child eleven months before then. After that sorry mess, life just lost its flavor. Feel like I've woken up most mornings since then, hoping to hear God's call.”
JayJay nodded once in response. “I understand you. Yes sir, I truly do.”
“I didn't want to make this trip. But I felt God pushing me. Which is a mighty strange thing. On account of how I ain't had nothing from this studio but grief.” The tone did not change. But the old man began rubbing his knees. Two circular patterns of old aggravation. “I knew why God wanted me to buy this studio. There ain't never been a time in our nation's history when we needed moral leadership more than now. Not just in politics. In everything. And the truth is, we're an entertainment-driven culture. Which means our young folk look to Hollywood for their guidance. And if these folks have a moral compass, they sure keep it well hid.”
The old man took time out for another unsteady sip. He used the edge of the blanket covering his legs to wipe his mouth. Then he continued, “But the fellow I chose to run this studio didn't pan out the way I'd hoped.”
“Martin Allerby,” JayJay said.
“He was the third try. All of them ran to ways that turned my stomach. At least this one's made me money. I set a board in place that I hoped was gonna keep him in line. Told him he had to start up a program that would have a Bible-reading hero at its heart. A man of the land. A man who knew how to lead by example. Martin Allerby fought the idea tooth and nail. I told him either he did it or he found another job. So he did. And he made money on that too. But even this hasn't turned out the way I wanted.”
JayJay recalled Peter's earlier conversation with Britt. “Too many tornadoes and not enough moral meat.”
“There you go.” Dawes thumped a fragile fist on the sofa's arm. “And that feller they had playing the lead role, he just went from bad to worse. Made a mockery of everything they had on the screen by the way he lived when the lights went off. Then I started hearing rumors. About a new feller they'd brought in. A believer. A man with guts and true grit. A man who walked the talk.”
Here it came, JayJay reckoned. The feller's windup was over. The lasso was about to be tossed.
“Now I done seen you for myself, and I believe the rumors are true. So here's the deal. I want you to sign on for the long haul. Not just making more pictures. Representing the studio. Giving it a face. Being the man people think of when they hear the name Centurion. Name your price. A seat on the board, a chance to direct, whatever you hanker for. I just want to leave this earth knowing there's one feller in charge down here who listens to the same higher call as me.”
The man spoke like a cowboy. Simple and direct. When he was done, he just stopped. No need to fill the empty space. JayJay had to ask, “You ever live on a ranch?”
“All my born days. Eighty-three years. Born to it, lived it, and I'll be buried behind the house on the same patch as my wife and family, right back to my great-grandaddy.” He looked away then. “Including my son. And his boy. All we had. Both lost in a traffic accident six years back. What cost me my wife as well, I have no doubt.”
“I can't tell you how sorryâ”
“Don't give me sorry, son. Just say you'll help me out in the here and now.”
JayJay stared at the laptop. He could feel the energy more sharply now. Drawing him like a magnet tuned to his mortal flesh. “I can't, Mr. Dawes. I don't like telling you no, but I'm set on leaving this place.”
Dawes did not show regret. Perhaps he had aged beyond that capacity. All he did was go through the painful process of drinking once more from his glass. When he had wiped his mouth and settled back against the pillows, he said, “Had a call from the lawyer feller in Ojai who handles my affairs. There's been an offer for the studio. All cash. Lock, stock, and barrel. He ain't said nothing, but I smell a rat. One that likes fancy suits and running things his own way.”
“Martin Allerby is buying your studio?”
“I ain't got no hard proof. Man's covered his tracks well. But that's my guess.” He gave JayJay a look steady as a hunter's aim. “And I'm gonna sell it to him.”
“You can't do that.”
“Can and will, son. Can and will.” The old man leaned forward. “Unless we shake on this.”