by May Burnett
But sitting around my hotel room when I felt upset was not attractive, either. With my bodyguard trailing behind me, I went for a walk along the pier, enjoying the bright houses, a spectacular sunset, and the raucous cries of seagulls whirling above me. Life was still beautiful. Much worse things happened to people of all ages all over the world every day. No need to be a crybaby.
I sat on a bench overlooking the harbour and watched the sailboats and yachts. Should I have one of those? Dad had a large yacht in the Bahamas that he rarely used. In my childhood I’d sailed on it a couple of times, but that had been years ago. Did he even still have it, or had it been sold? Replaced? If not, I could easily get him to loan me the yacht and crew for a few weeks. My hectic schedule did not really allow for it, but without Jerry and Alice to drive me on, I might carve out a bit more free time.
Maybe after finishing all the school exams and graduation might be a good time for a cruise. No fans, no strangers, just the deep blue sea, some uninhabited islands, dolphins, - all right, and storms, and possible seasickness. The sea could be wonderful but it was also dangerous and I might find it lonely. Now if Myra were also aboard….
Surely after all this time it was nonsense to still believe in her survival. If she was alive, she could have called, written, sent an email or text message. All I had from her was the memory of a vivid dream. Wishful thinking, to cope with my guilt.
I sighed.
“Hell, Jason,” a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts before they could spiral into full depression.
“Hello, P.A..” Somehow I was not at all surprised to see my composer friend here on this island. He was dressed in casual cream linen pants and a white shirt, and looked devastating. If I’d been into men, I would have drooled.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I said. “Do you like Cyprus?”
“It’s okay, though not my favourite island in this region.” He sat down next to me. “You have had some bad news, I take it from your long face?”
“You were the first to warn me about Murdock,” I remembered. “How did you guess? Or did you know?”
“I know the type. Greedy, always looking out for himself first. Though you were a goldmine for him, it still was not enough.”
“And I’m firing my publicist, Alice, as well,” I told P.A.. “She invented a romance between me and Amy despite my repeated orders to the contrary.”
“Ah,” his glance swept over the rows of boats towards the horizon. “It’s been quite a while since Myra disappeared. A new love would be only natural.”
“For other guys, perhaps. I’m not over her. I don’t know that I want to be.”
“Would you want to meet her again?”
“That’s my greatest wish. Even if she had moved on, just to know that she’s all right would make the world a better place. These last few months have been difficult, not knowing if she’s still alive, fearing the worst.” My voice sounded a little hoarse. Screw that.
“Don’t worry,” A.P. advised me. “Everything will be all right.”
“Easy for you to say-” I remembered that he’d known Hell and Myra before I did. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“I know a lot of things you don’t, Jason.” P.A. smiled. “I’m a great deal older than you, after all.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I do,” he admitted. “I know that Myra didn’t die on that mountain.”
I sucked in air in shock at finally getting a straight answer. My heart was hammering at double speed. It never occurred to me to doubt P.A. - I believed him implicitly.
“Then despite all that happened earlier, this is a good day,” I said, half to myself. I’d fire a hundred agents in exchange for one encouraging word about Myra.
Still - “Why wouldn’t she send me a letter, a text, a simple postcard?” I couldn’t help asking, sounding pathetic to my own ears.
P.A. sipped from his red wine, looking thoughtful. “Son, I’m not in her confidence, but – I wonder – maybe she’s waiting for you to grow up.”
Should I feel insulted? “How do you mean?”
“You are talented and famous, but in her way Myra is very special, too.”
“I know that.”
“Well, at your age – sixteen, seventeen – girls tend to be ahead of boys in overall maturity. Are you still the same person today that you were on the day when you met Myra?”
I didn’t have to think even for a moment. “No, and wouldn’t want to be.”
“Mind you, I doubt Myra thinks about it in those terms. She probably just wants to give you some space and a chance to forget about her, if that’s what you choose to do.”
“Well, tell her from me, if you meet, not to be an idiot. I’m not going to forget her, but it would help if I got to see her again. Soon. I miss her.”
P.A. smiled and raised his glass. “In that case, let’s drink to a happy reunion.”
3
The film was finished at last, and I returned to L.A. on board an Emirates flight, first class, as usual. I had not flown economy in my whole life, except twice when the planes did not have any class distinctions. What was it like to sit back there like a sardine in a box?
The guy next to me was an Arab in white dress with a kind of gold-thread tasselled rope on his headdress. He was swilling champagne by the bottleful. Wasn’t that supposed to be against their religion? But I had other things to worry about. At least the man didn’t seem interested in my autograph, in fact I had the impression he didn’t know me from Adam. Good.
Somewhere over the Atlantic I managed to fall asleep, till the stewardess gently woke me for breakfast, at some ungodly hour. At least that’s what it felt like; the trip had played havoc with my sense of time. Fortunately it was easier to re-adapt after travelling westwards, than the other way.
I had some fresh-pressed orange juice, crisp hot rolls, and bacon with eggs. The coffee was pretty decent too. I ate everything, including the selection of fresh fruit.
The change in New York was a bit awkward. Normally Alice made sure I was whisked straight through the VIP facilities, but now I was just another first class passenger. I had to look for the lounge myself, yawning, and was nearly mobbed on the concourse by a crowd of fans.
After signing over thirty autographs on different scraps of paper like tickets and brochures I told them that I was about to miss my connection, and was grateful for the escort of an airport security officer attracted by the milling fans. Clearly I needed someone else to handle the duties Alice had performed in the past. I put it on top of the mental list I’d been carrying around for the last days.
How could one ensure that the new publicist- or maybe a personal assistant? – did not betray me, the way Alice had? Maybe there was some kind of test to identify trustworthy staff. My parents would not know, since after all it had been Mother who’d chosen Jerry and Alice for me. Would I be able to do better on my own?
It was a great relief to find my house looking just as before, with the 24 hour security guarding it. I stopped to say hello to the guard on shift, a stocky guy in his late twenties.
“Welcome back, Mr. Mackenzie.” If I hadn’t been so rich, he hardly would have called me that at my age, I mused.
“Hello,” I looked at his nametag, “Mr. Holmesey.”
“Oh, just call me Thomas.”
“Fine – Thomas, did anyone not on the list try to enter my house in my absence?”
He looked at the notebook that they kept in their little hut. “Oh, no, Sir. Mr. Murdock came by twice, otherwise there was only the cleaning service. Several journalists and photographers tried, but of course we didn’t let any of those enter the grounds.”
“Thanks --- wait, Murdock was here twice? When was the last time?”
“Just yesterday.”
That had been right after he’d been fired. What was he doing in my house? I should have restricted his access the moment I’d fired him, but so far away, and busy with the last scenes o
f the movie, I hadn’t remembered about this detail.
From the hall I looked around with apprehension – had he trashed my place in his anger? No, everything looked pretty normal at first glance. Even so, this news spoilt my homecoming. What had Jerry Murdock been up to?”
I put some deli food from my full freezer into the microwave as I thought it over.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly. I went to open, feeling tense, but it was just Hell, Myra’s younger brother.
“Hello – I got back from Europe only minutes ago,” I told him, somewhat surprised to see him on my doorstep. “What brings you here?”
“No time to lose.” Hell briskly entered the house while I stood there, staring at him. “Murdock has stashed some drugs here and called the police on you. They should be here within the hour to search your house.”
“What!”
How could Hell know this? He was just a high school student, and ought to be in class in Colorado. Yet he seemed so certain that I could not help believing him.
“Do you know where?” I quickly looked around.
“Your bedroom.”
How, how on earth could Hell know this? No matter. We rushed into my bedroom. Hell rummaged in my shoe closet and emerged with a small bag with white powder.
“Cocaine, enough for a whole party. He must really hate you.”
“Let me flush it down the toilet….”
“OK.”
We both watched as the water swirled down the powder; Hell stuffed the empty bag into his jeans pocket. He then turned around slowly, scrutinizing the place as though he could look straight through my walls and closets.
“You’re clear, there isn’t any more.” He winked. “Myra would never let me hear the end of it if I let you get arrested. I have to go back to maths class – good luck.”
Hell simply winked out of existence, right there in front of me. That was the biggest shock of the day yet. I stupidly stared at the spot where he’d just been standing.
The microwave pinged from the kitchen. It could not have been more than five minutes, then, that Myra’s brother had been here. And that crack about her – she was still taking an interest in me, then? My head was whirling - it was a lot to process all at once.
Before I could even start on the warmed-up meal, Thomas called from the gate. “There are some policemen with a warrant here, Sir,” he said apologetically.
“Let them in, I’ll meet them at the entrance. Come inside also.” I wanted an extra witness. Hurriedly I dialled Zackary, the lawyer who’d assisted me in Colorado, but only got his voice mail. I left a message to call me back urgently.
The police had arrived in force – eight of them, six in uniform and two in civilian togs, plus a sniffer dog. Someone must have leaked the developing story to the press; a couple of TV vans were stationed right outside my gate.
I glanced at the warrant, dated that same day, and let them in. Together with Thomas, I trailed them as they searched every inch of the house, disregarding my growling stomach, and doing my best to subdue the anger and sense of violation I felt as they pawed through my suitcase, not yet unpacked, through my books and even the kitchenware.
When they gave up after some sixty minutes of strenuous effort, the lieutenant in charge could not hide his disappointment. He’d probably looked forward to arresting me and appearing on TV as the defender of law and order against a drug-riddled celebrity.
I didn’t feel relieved or triumphant, just weary, as they finally left. The TV vans were still around. Taking advantage of Thomas’ absence from the gate, the cameramen had even invaded my garden. They filmed the departing policemen who refused to answer any of their questions, tight-lipped and grim.
Why not make use of the media while they were right there? I approached the group of cameras, ignoring the flashes and whirring – those were long familiar to me, after all.
“Hello, guys,” I said. “Do you want to know what just happened here in my house?”
Their encouraging shouts left no doubt about their interest.
“Yesterday I fired my agent, Jerry Murdock, because an audit had brought to light serious discrepancies. He’ll be sued for every cent he owes me.” From their reaction, I could tell this wasn’t yet general knowledge.
“Today, just an hour after my return from Europe, the police turns up, believing that there were drugs in my house. I don’t know who gave them that false information, but I cannot help wondering at those events coming so soon one after the other.”
I paused for a moment, to let them draw their own conclusions, looking straight at the biggest camera. I knew that I came across as absolutely trustworthy and sympathetic when I did that. “Needless to say, they didn’t find anything, because I’m not into drugs, and never have been. Drugs are for losers.”
They paparazzi went away, though reluctantly, when they realised I’d had my say and wouldn’t respond to questions.
The warmed-up frozen meal had gone cold again, and no longer looked appetizing. I sent Thomas back to man the gate and called out for pizza.
4
My house felt less comfortable after the incursion of the police. I briefly thought about moving, but told myself not to be silly. This could just as easily happen again in a different house. And thanks to Hell, at least I’d come out safe and sound – I shuddered to think of the probable alternative. Without his lightning visit, I would have been totally blindsided, arrested, arraigned, … it didn’t bear thinking of. I had played a perp in the movie Arrested Development – that brief artificial experience of cuffs and prison clothes had been unpleasant enough; I was not eager to live the reality.
How many young men were in prison just because they were less lucky than I? Maybe I should do something for them. Here was a group I could now empathise with, who – I suspected - got very little sympathy and help from the majority or upstanding citizens.
Only, when would I find the time? I had to study, to launch my album, to prepare the series of concerts I’d arranged for, and then there were two other movies coming up. Except for the first two weeks of August, the rest of the year was booked solid. On the other hand, if Jerry had managed to land me in prison, all those plans would be moot. The magnitude of my escape was only slowly sinking in, as I devoured the pizzas I’d ordered – two for me, one for Thomas, who hadn’t been missing the previous two meals.
After a blessedly uninterrupted nap of five or six hours I remembered to check up on the TV news, and saw my face and the statement I’d given everywhere, on several channels. The raid on my house was the top news story. The L.A.P.D: were being questioned why they let themselves be manipulated by a vindictive crooked agent, and their spokesman sounded defensive. “We have to follow every lead,” he said. Then he was grilled on the fact that supposedly they should not have entered my premises without a parent or legal representative present, since I was still a minor. That was an aspect I hadn’t even thought about – I no longer felt like a minor, never mind the date on my birth certificate.
Jerry Murdock had gone into hiding. His other clients were ditching him in droves. The media were having a great time dissecting the whole story. As the near-victim of a plot, I received understanding and sympathy. How different the spin would have been if the police had found that cocaine, even though I was innocent…
5
The next few weeks went by in a blur – the pressure of work was unrelenting. My seventeenth birthday party is lost to my memory in a haze of fatigue – I read in the papers afterwards that it had been a blast, but despite sticking to innocent drinks, I could remember little of it, except that there were huge fireworks, and that some fellow performers, taking a bread from a Broadway hit, did a couple of songs in my honour. My parents had not been able to make it, but P.A. and Hell dropped in and offered their good wishes.
By then I had managed to hire a new agent, a publicist and a PA, and even with the support of their combined hard work, it was the toughest time I’d spent professionally since my mothe
r had first dragged me to a talent scout.
I told Mabel, my new PA, that the recording of the songs and shorts was my top priority, and worked my butt off on that project. Books and studying came in little dribs and bits in between performances, such as the times when I was waiting for a call; Mabel read textbooks aloud and quizzed me while I was being made up or exercising. I passed some exams, without distinction, but I was pleased enough to just pass.
On top of everything, I had to resume my singing lessons, since a few of my own songs were technically more demanding than the numbers my former record label had made me sing. It was over a year since I’d stopped working with my tutor, an opera singer, but I needed to stretch my voice if I was going to do full justice to my compositions.
The new record would be introduced with a major concert right here in L.A., followed by concerts in New York, Chicago, New Orleans and Las Vegas. The elaborate preparations and technology cost a fortune. Apart from my own money, four other investors were backing the venture. I could have risked a flop if it had been just me – but I owed those guys who believed in me, and Myra, for whom I’d written this music, my very best effort. Every evening I fell into bed so tired that I hardly felt my own body any more. And I was still young and strong – no wonder, I thought one evening as I struggled out of my clothes, already half comatose, that it had become too much for Michael Jackson‘s heart. I would not do this after age thirty, and throttle back the tempo after this year, if possible. Maybe interrupt my career and attend college as a normal student for a change...
Whom was I kidding? I was on a roll, and not about to give up the continued high of public performance. Fame was nice enough, but the feeling of doing something difficult at the very edge of my abilities, better than I could have done it just a month before – that was seriously addictive.
My new agent, Tom, was rejecting several movie proposals per week. I knew most actors in the world would cheerfully kill to be in my place, but too much choice was almost as bad as too little. He consulted me, of course, over every script he thought might suit me. My relationship with him and the other new support staff was quite different from before – where Jerry had bossed me around, and Alice had manipulated me, as I could see clearly now, the new guys jumped at my command. And they never pointed out that they were all at least ten years older than I. Amazingly, it did not take me long to take their deference for granted, though there were moments when I wanted to cry, “For heaven’s sake, I’m only seventeen, how am I supposed to know that!” My acting experience came to my aid: I told myself I was playing an experienced executive, and faked it with fair success.
