The Healing
HE ENDURED the loss of his beloved, but could not endure being alone.
As always, the sangha mercifully engulfed him. Monks read aloud to Cela’s wandering soul from long wood tablets of painted Sanskrit. Friends who’d feared to visit during Kit’s own ordeal now overwhelmed with their generosity of heart. Even Viv came to cook for him.
All around the new zendo (deliberately humbler in construction than its Benedict Canyon forebear), pristine and by nature impervious to the farrago of tabloidal gore, a balm of practitioners did contemplations. Row upon row they lay in Shavasana—the corpse pose.
They breathed in death.
In just a week’s time, he was ready to visit the jail.
• • •
THE PRISONER was led in, unshackled — that had been Kit’s request. It was agreed that he posed no threat. Besides, there were enough guards in the room.
The look-alike assailant (who’d consented to the meeting) seemed suddenly intimidated by circumstances.
Kit measured his own breaths, collecting himself.
“Thank you for seeing me. I–I have thought about you every day.” His diction was stilted. The slur came back from nervousness. He breathed through it, moving on. “I could not live with your hate — or… hate inside. It was kill me. Killing… always want — I always wanted to see you. To come to forgive. Forgive and to thank—you. I don’t know why! It is the godly thing. It is karma. My karma and yours. We are the same. You look like me. They pay you to be me! How could I not forgive? So: I forgive you as you forgive me! We do the same. We do the same thing. OK?” The look-alike appeared to nod subtly, dipping his head. “My father is in jail now,” said Kit. “I want to forgive him. I would like to forgive and would like to thank him too! If you see my father, please tell him that I am — that I forgive him. But don’t tell him thank you — not that I said ‘thank you.’… I will do that myself. One day. I hope I will love him enough to thank him. And forgive.” Eyes loose with tears, the trademark superstar smile eked out, in spite of himself. “But not today.”
Vanity Fair
FOR A MINUTE, it looked like David Gough and Dana Delany were breaking up.
Becca was floored when the actor phoned out of the blue, hinting they attend the Vanity Fair gala at Morton’s together. He never really asked—he just seemed to want solace on the rocky Dana front, nervously betraying there was a chance he’d be “solo” on Oscar night. It was the kind of confusing call a girl might get from her older sister’s drunken heartthrob boyfriend. A terrible idea anyway — Annie told her the last thing she needed was to foster bad vibes on the 1200 North set. Set yourself some boundaries, girl. David said he would call back to let her know what was happening but never did. The whole thing seemed like a setup, and she kicked herself for not having had the moral fiber either to express outrage or at least tell him he was a numbskull not to patch things up with Dana because she was amazing and he knew he’d never find another gal like her. Though it was juvenile, Becca realized that her heart had become set on going out with David on Academy Awards night.
At the last minute, instead of crashing an Oscar viewing party at the Mondrian, she decided to take Annie to the Dunsmores’. She no longer worried about them sabotaging her career and even felt a little sentimental toward the old days. Anyhow, she’d heard that the Cass and Grady Show had been “discovered.” Everyone who used to like to go to Robert Evans’s — Wes Anderson, Nick Nolte, Aaron Sorkin, Robert Downey Jr., Gina Gershon — now had a hard-on for the notorious biweekly bashes on Mulholland Drive.
• • •
CASSANDRA GREETED them like long-lost daughters. After standard issue nods to her newfound 1200 North fame, she was chastised for “being such a stranger.” Cass blathered on about how they’d supported and discovered her “when you were still Drew,” and then Grady stumbled in, bestowing hugs and sloppy kisses. He acted like Becca had never left the guesthouse. When he asked if she’d spoken to “Mr. Herky-Jerky,” she said, bemused, “Why would I?” Grady feigned being dumbstruck, before answering back, “Well, you, uh, used to fuck him, didn’t you? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong. You loved him, right?” He laughed, wheezing like a discount devil. “1200 North got you uppity.” He said he needed to go find “Miss Maryjane,” and excused himself.
Becca wanted everything to be copacetic. She asked where the bar was, but Cassandra said she first had to introduce them to Dr. J. Becca reminded their host that she and the doctor had already met.
“He’s doin scripts for us. We just sold a pilot to USA.”
“UPN,” chimed her gaunt ladylove (and QuestraWorld coprincipal).
“Whatever. He likes Dr. J, but I call him Dr. Doctor. Anyhoo, it was Dr. Doctor who had the bright idea we start filming our Tuesday and Friday fiestas. Now why haven’t you shown up for any of those?”
Thom Janowicz turned toward them as they hove into view. “Well, if it isn’t the all-seeing, all-knowing Dr. Doctor!” said Cassandra.
“Hey, I know who you are!” said Dr. J — Becca was in his coked-up sights and he grabbed her. Annie followed as he led Becca to the window overlooking the pool. Cassandra & Co. dropped back, waylaid by Alan Cumming and Dana Giacchetto.
“Now I know you had a boyfriend who got into trouble. I’ve talked with Grady and Cass about it, that’s one helluva story and you’re one helluva lady to have been on that ride. And I’d like you to share your experience at a future date, now is not the time. But I think that is something we could definitely turn into a beautiful, beautiful screenplay and I want to talk with you about that but now is of course not the time. I’m sensitive to time and place. You had a bad egg experience and soon it’ll be time to make an omelet. There are bad eggs, as you well know. Like that beanpole there — see him, over by the Lava lamp? — I’m working on a script about him. I’m five weeks in. He lied to a lady, corresponded with a widow for two years saying he was John Lithgow’s brother. There’s a slight resemblance, but mostly, he’s tall. She was starstruck and he stole her money. End of case. Wound up giving that cad right over there about $96,000. He’s awaiting conviction. Not a bad guy. Smart kid. Knows he did a bad thing. He’s turned to Jesus and that’s his prerogative. Who am I to judge? You get in trouble when you start to judge. Big time. But you know that. And there’s a woman down by the pool. You can see her talking to — who is that, David Spade?”—he gestured through the window—“Hey, who’s that way over there? Andy Dick? Anyhow, see that lady? Well, that lady was a dear friend of the late great Dorothy McGuire. Now you’re too young to know about Dorothy McGuire. Go on IMDb and you’ll learn all her movie credits. Go on Google or the AMC Web site. Well, Dorothy McGuire died a few years back and the Academy Awards failed to mention her passing during their much-touted annual memorial montage. And now this dear woman — the one by the pool — is waging a letter campaign to right a wrong because the Academy failed to acknowledge. Can you blame her? There’s a whole group of people here tonight with similar beefs: there’s Peggy Lee’s people and Troy Donahue’s too. The Academy didn’t acknowledge either one! And it’s a travesty. A few years ago, Peggy Lee got bumped for some little girl named Aaliyah. Now I never even heard of this little girl Aaliyah. She was black and she was in a plane wreck and maybe all that had something to do with why they put her on. You know, the tragedy of it, a life cut short. And she was a hottie — a hottentottie! But what about a life long lived, and lived well? I never heard of Aaliyah but I can tell you I sure heard of Peggy Lee! Gave lots of people lots of pleasure. Hell, even the young kids worship her now. And the Dunsmores freely give of their time and their counsel because they’re for the underdog — the Dunsmores feel a wrong should be righted and they are currently engaged I believe in putting up a Web site — they’re giving the money to put up a Web site for anyone of note who died but was not subsequently honored or acknowledged throughout the many many years of televised Academy Award memorial segment history. Cass and Grady are lobbying to have a special segment air with all those who were never acknowledged. These are not bad people — the Friends of Dorothy McGuire, the Friends of Troy Donahue, the Friends of Peggy Lee (my folks always called her Miss Peggy Lee) — and I don’t believe the folks at the Academy are bad guys either. I’ve spoken to them. Oh yes. I’ve spoken to all parties as a mediator. That is sometimes my role. Role and raison d’être. I spoke to that woman — the McGuire friend or relative or whatever. Spoke to her many times. I’ve had counsel with her the way I would with anyone. And she’s a wounded person but not a bad person — hell, we’re all wounded. Jesus Christ our savior was wounded. We wouldn’t be human beings if we weren’t wounded. Would we? Would we? What are your names?” The girls offered them. “What’s my point, Becca and Annie? My point is that we’re all people and the Dunsmores just go right to the heart of that, they are fearless, they take everyone in, they are for the underdog, they do not pass judgment, they do not have lofty opinions, they do not—”