“Which includes,” Jackie butted in, very bubbly, “not giving him any more leads, tips, or conjectures that might interfere with his casework.”
“Well, then,” I said. “That’s a perfect punishment.”
“And,” Deborah said, making a face, “I have to stay on as technical adviser to Jackie’s show during the whole shoot.” She gave me an ironic smile. “So do you.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering how I could possibly survive being around Robert for so long. I guess my face showed what I was thinking, because Jackie made a snorting noise.
“Guys,” Jackie said. “It’s not that bad. I mean, there’s really great food on the set, and it’s all free.”
“Great,” Deborah said. “I can eat doughnuts while the bodies pile up around Anderson.”
“Well, if there’s doughnuts,” I said.
Deborah shook her head. “And that’s all it takes to make you happy?”
“That-and the party going on down in the lab. It’s really very festive.”
“A festive forensics lab?” Jackie said, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “That’s quite a trick.”
“One of the other actors arrived,” I said. “Renny Boudreaux?”
“Oh, God, he’s a scream,” Jackie said, shaking her head. She looked at Debs, who raised one eyebrow. “A terrific comedian. I mean, he’s a total dick, but a really funny one.”
Deborah snorted. “A funny dick,” she said. “Great concept,” and the two of them snickered like sorority sisters.
The Town Car was waiting for us at the front door. It was the same driver again, and I waved Jackie into the backseat, sliding in next to her on the other side. We rode in silence most of the way. Jackie looked out the window at the traffic, every now and then glancing at me. I glanced back, wondering what she was thinking, but she gave me no clue, except for an occasional small and weary smile. She was clearly far too busy thinking deep thoughts to make light conversation, so I let her think, and I drifted away into a mellow reverie of my own.
Just before we went up the on-ramp onto the expressway, a loud bang! sounded behind our car, and we both jumped several inches off the seat. I looked out the back window; a motorcycle had backfired as it wove its way along the white line between the far more ponderous cars. I gave Jackie a reassuring smile, and she sank back into her thoughtful silence.
At the intersection with the Dolphin Expressway traffic slowed to a crawl as everyone paused to look at an ivory-colored Jaguar pulled halfway onto the shoulder. A thick stream of smoke came out one window, and a very large man stood beside it, yelling at a thin, elegantly dressed woman. She puffed on a huge cigar and looked bored as the man shouted at her, the veins in his neck visibly bulging.
“I think I’m starting to like Miami,” Jackie said as we crept past the Jaguar and its little piece of theater.
“More than L.A.?” I said.
She made a face. “Nobody really likes L.A.,” she said. “We just have to live there. Part of our deal with the devil.” And then she went quiet again, just looking out the window of the Town Car and thinking her thoughts, until we pulled up in front of the hotel at last.
The doorman with the talented nephew held the front door for us, and Jackie rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you, Benny,” she said. “Are you working late tonight?”
Benny beamed at her. “I took a double shift, Miss Forrest,” he said. “I can use the dough, and anyway, I gotta be honest, while you’re here? I don’t wanna go home.”
Jackie widened her smile and patted him on the arm. “Well, I wouldn’t want anybody else on the door, either,” she said, and Benny smiled so widely that I thought his face might split. But there were no screams of pain from bursting cheeks behind us as I escorted Jackie to the elevator, and when the doors slid shut Jackie closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Jesus,” she said. “Did that sound really stupid?”
“Him or you?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
She leaned back against the wall of the elevator car, eyes still closed. “It’s a kind of-what do they call it? Noblesse oblige.” She opened one eye and pointed it at me. “Which sounds pretty pompous, I know.”
“Only a little,” I said encouragingly.
“Yeah, thanks,” she said. She closed the eye again. “What the hell. You have to say something, and it doesn’t have to be Shakespeare to make somebody’s day.” She sighed heavily. “It goes with the job. And Benny seems like a nice guy. So … normal …”
I said nothing. After all, you really should understand a remark before you respond to it, and I didn’t. Clearly Jackie was in a philosophical mood-but whether the evening would turn toward Aristotle or existentialism, I couldn’t tell from her comment on Benny’s Normalness. And as the best philosophers will tell you, the rest is silence anyway, so I kept quiet.
I got Jackie into the suite without any outbursts of Kantian Dialectic, and as we settled into our chairs on the balcony and waited for mojitos, Kathy knocked on the door, bustling past me with a haughty glare when I let her in, and heading straight out to Jackie, her hands full of papers and her eternal phone and Starbucks cup.
The mojitos came. Kathy waved papers and yammered for another ten minutes, while Jackie nodded, interrupting a few times with blunt questions, signing a couple of papers and nodding wearily at the nearly endless flow of details. When Kathy finally gathered up the papers, and her coffee cup, Jackie looked tired and a little bit bleak. I wondered why. She had endured Kathy’s fusillade, which had been an exhausting tirade from a rather unpleasant person, but even so, I was surprised at how mortal Jackie looked all of a sudden. She picked up her mojito and sipped as I led Kathy out and chained the door behind her, pondering the heavy price of fame. It had all seemed so attractive, but now I found myself wondering.
Jackie had said she gave up everything for this; was it worth it? I mean, not just having to endure an annoying lump like Kathy a few times a day, although that certainly looked like a very great burden. But to trade away all the other stuff that normal people lived for, the things they claimed made them happy: home, marriage, kids-all the stuff I had gathered as props for my disguise. They didn’t make me happy, of course, but I am probably not actually capable of happiness. Moments of very rewarding satisfaction, yes-but were they the result of my Happy Normal Life? I could not offhand think of any such moments. I had never glanced at a pile of dirty laundry and felt ecstasy, never smiled blissfully as Astor bellowed at her mother and threw shoes across the room. To be honest, I had never even held my own child, Lily Anne, and thought, This is Paradise.…
I had my moments, of course. But most of them seemed to come while I stood above a securely taped, carefully chosen playmate as he squirmed away from the silver music of the knife-not quite the same thing as enjoying a quiet night at home with the wife and kids. Maybe not even happiness at all, but it worked for me.
On the more legal side of things, I had certainly been enjoying my time as Jackie’s entourage. Living in the lap of luxury, admired everywhere I went-it was living high on the hog, life without a care. Except, of course, for the very small care of knowing that a wild psychotic killer might be knocking on the door momentarily. Other than that, I couldn’t think of anything else I could reasonably want in a lifestyle.
But was this real Happiness? Probably not, or I wouldn’t be feeling it.
Did Jackie feel it? Was she happy with her life of limitless luxury, admired and even feted everywhere she went? Was it really as wonderful as it looked? Did it fulfill her? None of my business, of course-but it suddenly seemed like a question I wanted to hear her answer.
I came back out onto the balcony to find Jackie staring out over the water, still looking moody.