Sex and Violence in Hollywood (33 page)

Well, Dad, here you are, Adam thought.

A black sequined figure appeared before Adam and he lifted his head. Blinked a couple times. His back stiffened with surprise when he realized it was Cher. She looked like Morticia Addams dressed by Bob Mackey. The amount of plastic surgery she had undergone would have her looking like Vincent Price at the end of The House of Wax in a few more years. Beside her and a step behind stood a young man of about twenty, with wavy black hair, a square jaw, puffy lips. Face blank, he scanned the crowd, waiting patiently.

Sniffling, Cher leaned forward and hugged him. Told him how sorry she was, how much she had admired Michael, that she had looked forward to finally working with him on her movie Lady Death after admiring him for so long. When she left, her perfume lingered awhile.

“That was the most terrifying moment of my life,” Carter said with a tremor in his voice.

“This month, that’s saying a lot,” Adam said.

“She’s not giving the eulogy, is she?”

“Probably would if it would do anything for her career. But no, she’s not.”

“Thank God. Her eulogy for Sonny was so long, they had to hold the funeral in three parts.”

“It wasn’t that it ran long,” Adam whispered. “She had to keep stopping for costume changes.”

Looking over his shoulder again, Carter whispered, “This place is packed. I had no idea so many people liked your dad.”

“Nobody liked my dad. They’re here for Gwen, or for the press. Or both. Most of these people don’t even like each other.” Adam had seen a few reporters arriving outside earlier. Fortunately, there were not very many. He planned to avoid them, afraid he would not look mournful enough on camera.

The caskets were beautiful. Bronze with brass handles, lined with white satin. An enormous and unnecessary expense, considering how little was left of the deceased. But Michael’s instructions had been specific, and the caskets, plots, and headstones at Forest Lawn had been purchased years ago.

The night before, Rog had told Adam that Michael had provided identical burial arrangements for him as well. It was the first time Adam had heard of it. The last place he wanted to go for his final rest was that Technicolor necrophilic theme park, Cadaverland, otherwise known as Forest Lawn. He thought it was the most nauseating tourist attraction in Los Angeles, and that said a lot. A landscaper’s wet dream full of dead celebrities.

“I don’t want it,” he had told Rog. “Put Rain in it. I don’t want to be buried. I’d like to be cremated. I want my ashes to be put into a douche and sneaked into Angelina Jolie’s bathroom. Do you have papers you can draw up for that?”

Rog had not found that funny. Not even a little.

Adam wondered what Rog and the other attorneys had been thinking. Did they suspect anything? He didn’t think so. No one had referred to the explosion as anything but “the accident.” But he had to watch his behavior around them, appear properly distraught. Douche jokes about human ashes probably weren’t a good idea.

He turned to Alyssa. “Ever seen so many celebrities under one roof, outside of a Scientology crab feed?”

“What?”

“All the celebrities here. It’s like an awards show. Somebody should have Bruce Vilanch write some jokes.”

“Hadn’t noticed. Are you okay?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Better than I would be if you weren’t here.”

The service was mercifully short, but felt nonetheless like a small eternity to Adam. He tried to get out of the church as quickly as possible, but had to stop several times for handshakes, condolences, and a hug from Doris Roberts, whose role in Fistfighter, as the hero’s mother, had been small but funny, and very popular. It had been one of Michael’s biggest hits.

Adam, Alyssa, and Carter started down the cement steps in front of the church, but stopped after only three.

The vans lined up in front of the church on Santa Monica Boulevard, some double-parked, made the block look like a giant TV Guide listing grid. CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, Fox, Entertainment Tonight, Hollywood Extra, Rough Cut. There was even a camera from The Daily Show on Comedy Central. The convertible was parked across the street and around the corner on Bedford Drive. The ominous clot of infotainment personnel and equipment blocked their way.

A hand settled on Adam’s shoulder. He turned to find Jack Nicholson beside him, looking grim in a black suit and sunglasses. Adam had not seen him inside, but was glad he’d shown up. While Adam was growing up, Jack had come to nearly every one of Michael’s parties, and spent time with Adam at each one. Never talked down to him or treated him like a kid. He’d spent most of one party upstairs with Adam and Carter, maybe ten years old at the time, playing video games and eating junk food. Michael had been infuriated, but said not a word to Jack about it.

“I’m real sorry about your dad, kid,” Nicholson said. “Never got to work with him, but he threw a hell of a party.”

Adam introduced Alyssa. Jack leaned around Adam and smiled, took her hand and gave it a gentlemanly squeeze. Once Adam blocked Alyssa’s view of him again, Jack’s eyebrows rose on his spacious forehead and he gave Adam a quick thumbs up. The four of them continued slowly down the concrete steps.

“Look at this shark tank,” Jack said, surveying the media crowd. “You got somebody to run interference for you?”

“Dad’s publicist wanted to stick to me like glue. I told her to leave me alone.”

“Stick with me and I’ll keep ’em off you.”

The reporters saw Jack first and a few moved toward him. When they saw Adam, they converged on him like piranha on a bloody chunk of meat just dropped into the water. Adam held tightly to Alyssa’s hand as Jack put his hand on Adam’s shoulder again, steered him. The movie star held up his right arm, didn’t hesitate a step. “’Scuse us, ’scuse us.”

Adam kept his head down, tried to ignore the reporters. He could not understand why so many had come. Screenwriters, even successful bad ones like Michael Julian, simply did not get that much media coverage, in life or death.

Then he heard the questions.

“Do you think someone murdered your family?”

“Is it possible a bomb could have been put on board the yacht?”

“Could the explosion have been intentional?”

Adam went numb from the very center of his being to the tips of his fingers and toes. The sunny day darkened for him and he felt dizzy. Jack stopped, clutched Adam’s arm. From behind, Carter grabbed Adam’s shoulder and squeezed hard. The gesture silently screamed, What are they talking about?

“You okay?” Jack asked.

Adam’s eyes were wide behind his sunglasses.

“He hasn’t felt well all day,” Carter lied. “I’d better get him home.”

They picked up their pace and Jack raised his arm again. “Okay, c’mon, people, show a little restraint, for Chrissake,” he said. “This is a funeral, remember?”

At the car, Adam and Alyssa got in the backseat. They had decided it would look better for Carter to drive them to the funeral, and Adam certainly was in no condition to drive back. He wondered if Carter was.

As he got behind the wheel of Adam’s convertible, Carter asked Jack, “What were they talking about back there?”

“The reporters?” Jack asked. “Who knows? I doubt they know.”

As Carter started the car, Jack wished Adam well, gave him a standing invitation to drop by.

Carter glanced repeatedly at Adam’s reflection in the rearview mirror with troubled eyes. “Think we should take Alyssa home now?” he asked.

He knew Carter was just as eager as he to talk, figure out what the reporters had been going on about. That would be impossible as long as Alyssa was with them.

“Trying to get rid of me?” she asked with a playful smile.

“Oh, no!” Adam said. “It’s just that—”

“Hey, look, you don’t have to explain anything to me, okay? I understand. I want to do whatever’s best for you. If you want me to stay with you every second I will. If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll do that, too.” She leaned close and whispered, “Even though I’d rather stay with you every second.” Adam started to speak, but she continued. “I know this is a tough time for you, no matter how you felt about him. It couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to do, and I’m so proud of you. But I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never dealt with death before. I’m afraid if I try too hard I’ll smother you and you’ll get sick of me, but if I leave you alone, I’m afraid...this will just end. You know? Fade away.”

“If I had my way, Alyssa, you’d move in with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. But this would be a bad time. I’ve got a lot of...family things to take care of.”

“I know.”

He pushed the words out fast, wanted to make sure she knew he was not just making excuses, brushing her off. “The house has been full of attorneys ever since this happened, and I don’t think the siege is over. I’m not saying I don’t want to see you, because I do, I want to see you often and...and naked, but I don’t know when all this is going to—”

Alyssa shut him up with a kiss. “You had me at ‘naked.’”

A moment later, Adam leaned forward to tell Carter to head for the bookstore. But they were already halfway there.

THIRTY-THREE

Adam’s first test of nerves
after Money Shot went up in flames had been a visit from a Coast Guard investigator. A tall, muscular, stern black man named Hammond came to the house to ask Adam some questions. They went to the dining room, where Mrs. Yu brought them coffee.

“Why weren’t you on the yacht with the others?” Hammond asked.

“My girlfriend had to work, so I stayed here to be with her.”

“Did your father have any enemies? Was he feuding with anyone? Business associates? Family?”

“A lot of people don’t like him. Didn’t, I mean. In his business, that just comes with the territory.”

“Relatives?”

“He has family in Spokane. Grandpa died a few years ago, but Grandma is still alive. Last I heard, anyway. I think she’s in a rest home. And he has a sister there, too. But they haven’t spoken in years. I only met them once, when I was a kid.”

It went on for about fifteen minutes. When Hammond was finished, he gave Adam his card and condolences and left abruptly.

Is that it? Adam had wondered. Is that all I have to deal with? If so, he figured he had nothing to worry about. But, of course, there was more.

Next, a uniformed officer from the Marina del Rey Police Department, Officer Miguel Ruiz, had come to the house to ask questions of his own. Medium height, average build, very nondescript. He apologized for having to question Adam at such a bad time, but said it was unavoidable. Once again, they talked at the dining room table. Officer Ruiz turned down coffee in favor of tea, and Mrs. Yu provided a tray of shortbread cookies.

“How long did your father have that yacht?”

“Two years at the most. He buys a new one every few years.”

“How long has he been doing that?”

“As long as I can remember.”

As they talked. Officer Ruiz ate one shortbread cookie after another, sometimes speaking with a bite of cookie creating a lump in his cheek. “Any other boats?”

“A fishing boat.”

“What kind?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I’m not into fishing, and I never went with him.”

“Did you ever go out on the yacht?”

“I used to. Every Fourth of July. But I stopped after my mom died.”

“Was your father an experienced boater?”

“He’s been doing it for a long time.”

“But was he...no offense, but was he any good?”

“He thought he was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Dad was...sometimes he was more willing than able.”

“Give me an example.”

“Once, Donald Sutherland went fishing with him. Dad made a bet that he could make better trout almandine. I don’t know why. Far as I know, Dad had never made anything besides toast, and I think Sutherland’s a pretty good cook. But he was determined to prove he could make a better trout almandine.”

“What happened?”

“He burned up the kitchen and most of the dining room.”

Officer Ruiz repeated Hammond’s question about possible enemies. Adam repeated his answer.

“What about his wife?” Officer Ruiz asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did she have any enemies?”

“Gwen?” He frowned. “I can’t imagine Gwen having any enemies. Everybody liked her.”

“Any old boyfriends? Ex-husbands?”

“Her husband was killed in a house fire recently. That’s why Rain was living with us.”

“Is it possible she was having an affair?”

Adam shrugged. “Possible, I guess. But I don’t think so.”

“What about your dad? Could he have been seeing someone?”

“That’s more likely. But he wasn’t as far as I know.”

“More likely? Was he ever unfaithful in the past?”

“With Gwen, I don’t know.” Adam remembered his parents arguing about a woman when he was nine or ten years old. And again a couple years later. He didn’t know if his dad had been unfaithful, but it seemed likely.