Sunday says meditatively, “My mother always thinks of herself, I’ll grant you that. And it’s true she was spoiled all her life, given anything she wanted, she had only to ask. When she was only thirty, Grandfather had a heart attack and she took over. She ran everything until she tried to grind me under-” Sunday shrugs. “In any case, she is, regardless of her machinations, the head of the Cavendish family.” Sunday suddenly smiles. “One thing I’ll say for her-she never gives up. When she wants something, she goes after it.”
“You paint an estimable woman, Sunday.”
“I’ve wondered if her dislike of me all these years was because of you, because I’m your daughter. You walked out and she was stuck with your offspring at a young age, a child of a man she felt-what did she feel about you?” She nails him, her eyes hard on his face. “There must have been more between you than you’ve told me.”
“Of course there was more, there’s always more when human beings try to relate to each other, but in essence, what I said is the truth. Why don’t you ask her?”
“She’d never tell me the truth unless she knew it would hurt me. Would it?”
“You were barely on this earth when we went our separate ways. We wanted different things from life.”
Sunday mimics him. “‘We wanted different things from life.’ Now that’s a despicable old chestnut.”
He shrugs. “It’s the truth. I don’t know how better to say it. We both moved on.”
Sunday rubs her hands over her arms as if she’s cold. “All right, I’ll believe you for now. I suppose I’d hoped it was something deeper, more intriguing, not simple selfishness, on both your parts.”
“But I-”
“Yeah, I know, you were a budding saint. The fact is, you married her under false pretenses. How did you present yourself to her in the first place? Not as a future preacher, I’ll bet.”
Phillip Galliard shrugs again. “No. I’d graduated from Boston College. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I was looking, searching within myself.”
“And? Where did Mom fit in? Are you saying you came to Los Angeles to find yourself?”
“No, my aunt and uncle lived here. I decided on graduate school in philosophy at UCLA. I lived with them.”
“How did you meet Mother?”
“She’d just graduated from Vassar. She was flitting all over L.A. in those days, partying, shopping, drinking too much. I met her when I was working in a small pipe boutique on Rodeo Drive. It was fast. We married three weeks later.”
“And I was born right away?”
He nods. “I was thrilled, Sunday. You were gorgeous, and you had my eyes. Your grandparents decided to name you Angela. I wanted Sunday because it was the miracle of your birth that made me decide what I was meant to do with my life. I cannot tell you what it felt like to hold you in my arms that first time.”
Sunday looks at him, says finally, with a nice big sneer, “So I come along and you get carried away with the miracle of life and want to go preach in Timbuktu. You held me in your arms and couldn’t wait to get out of there. What a wholesome image that is.”
They stare at each other, antipathy alive in the air. Stare, stare-
“Clear!”
“Good, excellent,” Bernie said. “We’ll look at it, but it’s probably finished.” He gave Mary Lisa a big hug, and bounded off to speak to the director.
Norman said, “I’m not on with you tomorrow. I’ve got a heavy-duty scene with Betsy. I think she’s going to hit me.”
Mary Lisa patted his arm. “Hopefully she won’t send a psychopath after you like she did me once. See you tomorrow, Norman.”
FORTY-FOUR
The doorbell rang at seven-thirty the following morning. Mary Lisa, with Elizabeth behind her, didn’t open it immediately.
“Who is it?”
“Jack, Mary Lisa.”
She threw the door open, a smile on her face that quickly fell away. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “What is it? What’s wrong? Come in, come in. We were just about ready to leave for work.”
Elizabeth was standing back, watching. She said, “Jack, what’s the matter?”
He said, “I’m glad you’re here, Elizabeth, glad Mary Lisa isn’t alone. I’ve got to fly home.”
“But, why?”
He lightly laid his palm against Mary Lisa’s cheek. “Milo Hildebrand-my deputies found him dead in his cell an hour ago.” He added to Elizabeth, “He was a murderer, in jail awaiting trial. I’m waiting for a call from the M.E. to tell me what caused his death. My deputy thinks he was poisoned.”
“Sit down,” Mary Lisa said. “I’m getting you some coffee.”
He sat. When she handed him the last cup of coffee from her coffeemaker, she said, “It’ll grow hair where you don’t want it, it’ll be so strong, but I think you need it.” She said nothing more until he’d taken a couple of drinks. He closed his eyes a moment, then set the cup down on the side table. “My flight leaves at ten o’clock.”
“I’m really sorry about this, Jack,” Mary Lisa said as she eased down beside him. “Do the deputies know who did it? Who visited him? Anything?”
He shook his head. His cell phone rang. “I hope it’s the M.E. Chief Wolf here.”
When he hung up nearly five minutes later, he said, “My deputy was right, Milo Hildebrand was poisoned. My deputy had told me there was blood coming out of his mouth and nose. The M.E. said his pupils were dilated-he said they were blown-and that means a part of his brain was compressed, probably by internal bleeding. He thought it was the work of an anticoagulant, like coumarin, the rat poison. He said he’s checking the blood work now, and they’re looking for his meal trays in the garbage, since that’s how it had to have been done. Dr. Hughes says he can’t speculate about whether Milo cooperated, that is, whether or not he committed assisted suicide, or was murdered. I knew Milo. I would swear he was one person who would never take his own life. It was cold-blooded murder, no doubt in my mind, and it was done on my watch, in my jail. I can’t believe this, dammit.”
“Where did he get his meals?” Elizabeth asked.
“From the Goddard Bay Inn, and my people are already over there checking the kitchen and talking to the staff, to guests, to anyone they can find who might have seen someone local in the kitchen or nearby. I’ve trained them well, but I’ve got to be there.” He slammed his fist on his leg. “It smacks me in the face that this was either a revenge killing or Milo was going to implicate somebody else in the crime. I know he was guilty, the evidence was so strong.” He jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to go,” he said. He grabbed Mary Lisa and pulled her close. “Do you want me to hire a bodyguard or a private investigator to stick to you like glue?”
“No, I’ve always got people with me. You know that. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah, right.” He didn’t want to let her go, he was afraid for her, but both of them knew he had to go back to Goddard Bay. She pulled away from him, touched her fingertips to his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
“Lou Lou and I will be Krazy Glue, Jack.”
He gave her a long look, slowly nodded.
Mary Lisa said, “Call me when you find out what exactly is going on, all right?”
He kissed her hard, nodded to Elizabeth, and was gone.
Set of BORN TO BE WILD
It was ten o’clock in the morning, and actors were lolling about the set, sprawled in chairs, reading their scripts, drinking coffee. Betsy Monroe had brought in two dozen of what she claimed were low-fat donuts stuffed with sugar-free raspberry filling, a few of which the crew hadn’t yet devoured. Only the light guys and the sound guys were busy, making adjustments for the next set. She heard the director-of-the-day, Tom O’Hurley, Paulie Thomas’s uncle, speaking to Bernie Barlow about a reaction Susan had had in her last scene he hadn’t liked. She heard one of the wardrobe people griping about how late she would have to work. Though she made an effort to keep up a conversation with Betsy, Mary Lisa felt apart from the people around her. Truth was, she was exhausted. She had had a lot of trouble sleeping the previous night, and now Jack was gone.