Born To Be Wild

FIFTY

The head writer makes all decisions. Script writers are called dialoguers.

Mary Lisa’s house didn’t stay empty for very long. Within the hour, there was a cacophony of voices pouring out the open front door and the open windows. A half dozen people had gathered out on her deck, patting her, handing her sodas, beers, a straight shot of vodka.

“It’s over,” Mary Lisa heard them say over and over, “thank God it’s finally over and you’re okay.”

Mary Lisa stood in the middle of all the well-wishers, wondering why she didn’t feel much of anything at all. What about relief? Surely she should be feeling immense relief, but she wasn’t. There was nothing, simply nothing.

She knew if she fell to her knees and thanked God for getting her through this, she wouldn’t mean it, she wouldn’t mean anything. She sat on one of her deck chairs, a soda in one hand and a beer in the other, staring at the kitchen glass that held straight vodka beside her elbow on a side table and wondering who would drink this deadly stuff. She hadn’t known there was any in the house.

Paulie Thomas. She said his name a couple of times in her mind. He’d been the one to hit her with the car, the one to shoot at her on the beach, the one who’d called her. He was Jamie Ramos? He’d kidnapped Puker?

Her questions fell into a black hole. She got up and wandered into her kitchen. She saw Buzz Snyder laying out a half-dozen pizzas on her kitchen counter. For the first time, she smiled. Snyder was as skinny as the mirror above Mary Lisa’s bathroom sink, though he personally made about two hundred pizzas a day at Reality Pizza, a place he owned on PCH in Malibu. How could he not pop a dozen or two slices into his mouth every single day?

A dog barked, a little-dog bark even though it was loud. It was Honey Boy, only five pounds on a rainy day, which meant that MacKenzie Corman, his doting mama, wannabe actress, and Mary Lisa’s newest friend, had arrived as well.

Mary Lisa heard Breaker Barney’s scratchy laugh. He called himself the local “gangsta” because he made his living running gambling sites-some on the Internet and at least half a dozen for private clients in posh card rooms. He lived ten doors down in the Colony, and try as he might to slick his hair back and look tough and sexy, he looked like a preacher. She’d met him at Monte’s the first month she’d been in L.A., and had a standing Thursday morning date for espresso. His grin was so big she saw the gold filling in one of his molars.

Mary Lisa looked out over the back deck, her kitchen and living room filled with people, and in that moment, she did feel something-immense gratitude for all of her friends. She didn’t think; she threw back her head and drank down the straight vodka.

When everyone had a slice of pizza and had congregated on the back deck, she joined them, smiling widely now because someone, she didn’t know who, had poured another half glass of vodka for her, and she’d drunk it right down. She called out, “Hey, dudes, I’m heading over to the dojo tomorrow, working on my black belt. Any of you losers want to come with me and try to take me on?”

There was laughter, some hoots, some voices yelling out.

“Must be more like a pretty pink belt.”

“You can’t stand peace and quiet, is that it?”

“You couldn’t take on Honey Boy.”

Woof, woof, yip, yip.

“Come to Mama, Honey Boy, I don’t want Mary Lisa to try to beat you up.”

Of all things, that second vodka brought her right back, planted her feet firmly on her wooden deck. She heard seagulls overhead, saw a pelican wing its way ponderously down the beach, right at the edge of the foaming waves.

She listened to Carlo tell about a surfing lesson with Millie Cartwright, a young actress just breaking in, and how she’d fallen right on her head on the board and still came up smiling. She didn’t hear her cell phone over the din of voices, but she felt it vibrate in her jeans pocket.

It was Tom O’Hurley.

The first words out of his mouth were, “Paulie lost control of his bike, he wouldn’t do anything like this on purpose. He’s shy, Mary Lisa, you know that, but the thing is he’s always gotten these ideas into his head, but-” He paused, got ahold of himself, and sucked in a deep breath.

“Tom, I-”

“No, no, I’m sorry. You’ve been under a great deal of stress, everyone knows it. I’m very sorry for all of it. But Paulie-no, Mary Lisa, he really liked you, he wanted to ask you out, he told me that once, but I discouraged him.”

Mary Lisa wasn’t deaf. She heard the pain and fear in his voice. She wanted to tell him Paulie badly needed professional help, that he’d obviously lost it today, but she didn’t. She said, “Tom, listen to me now. It wasn’t me Paulie was interested in, it was Margie. He didn’t like me, Tom, truly-”

“Yes, he did like you but that doesn’t matter now. Listen, Mary Lisa, I’m so sorry about all this-this accident. It’s such a relief you weren’t hurt, even though Paulie was. And you know it was an accident, it had to be.”

What to say now? Tom wasn’t thinking logically and who could blame him? “Perhaps it was an accident, Tom. How is he doing?”

“They said he’s had a lot of bleeding into and around his brain. They’ve taken him to the operating room.” There was a hitch in his voice. “His mother is frantic. The doctors are closemouthed, but I could tell they think he could die. Everyone keeps repeating we have to be patient.”

“I’m very sorry, Tom.”

Silence a moment, then, “I heard there was some talk that he didn’t climb the curb on his bike accidentally, that he was trying to hit you, that it was Jeff Renfrew who shoved you away and kicked his bike.”

“Yes, Paulie did jump the curb, Tom. I’m sorry, but he did it on purpose, he wanted to run me down. A half dozen people saw the whole thing. I know this is difficult, but it’s what happened. When Paulie gets out of the hospital, he’ll need professional help, Tom, lots of it.” She prayed he was hearing her, not only hearing, but taking it in, understanding and accepting it.

His breathing hitched again, he moaned. “If I’d had the slightest idea Paulie was capable of such a thing, he wouldn’t have been anywhere near you, or the studio. He so loved the show, loved being near the actors. He’s never been violent, Mary Lisa, I swear it to you.”

“Like I said, Tom, it was Margie he loved, or maybe obsessed is the right word, Tom, not me.”

Silence, then, “I’ll offer my resignation to the studio in the morning.”

So now he’d decided to take the blame for all this. She wasn’t about to let him. He was a good director, the show needed him. “Tom, I don’t blame you for what happened, no one does. I want you to forget about the studio for a while, okay? Now isn’t the time for a big decision like that.”

“But I-” She heard someone speaking and he hung up. Slowly, Mary Lisa disconnected, and stood staring at the portrait of a colorful sailboat on the far wall of her living room.

She was still staring at the oil when Irene called from the studio. She supposed she’d been expecting this. The brass must be scared out of their minds and Irene was, currently, the biggest brass.

“No injuries, Mary Lisa?”

“No, Irene, I’m fine. Paulie is in the O.R. Tom told me they don’t know anything yet.”

Irene made a rude noise. “Well, at least it’s over. Now, you’ve been through the wringer, Mary Lisa. I asked Bernie to spread out the scenes you’ve already shot. You’re now officially off duty. Rest, Mary Lisa, get your bearings back. Take it easy. You need anything at all, you call me, all right?”

Mary Lisa smiled at her cell phone. She had nearly been run down on studio property by an employee. They must be terrified it would get out and she would sue them, and whatever-She said, “Irene, thank you for giving me some time off. I rather need it, you know?”

“I know. Is there anything I can do, Mary Lisa?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you for calling, Irene.” She disconnected, and looked up to see Lou Lou standing close, a slice of veggie pizza in her hand. “They’re as concerned for their own skins as they are for mine,” she said, and laughed. She actually laughed.

“I don’t blame them. That was Irene, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll bet she’s chewed her nails down to her knuckles. Hey, Lou Lou, can I have a bit of that cold pizza?”

Snyder, who’d worshipped Lou Lou from afar for as long as Mary Lisa could remember, ran up with a slice of hot pizza on a napkin and reverently placed it in her hand.

Mary Lisa chewed on the cold pizza-no fresh hot slice for her-and made her way back out onto her deck. She heard the doorbell ring, but didn’t turn. She was listening to everyone’s advice, like, “You should fly over to Honolulu, catch some waves at Diamond Head”-that from Carlo. “You need a nice spa experience. They give the cutest pedicures at the Golden Door, like a golden door painted on your big toe”-this from MacKenzie, Honey Boy barking his agreement.

Mary Lisa turned slowly to see Lou Lou leading Detective Vasquez through the mess of people, a slice of artichoke pizza in his hand.