by E. R. Torre
Sinclair drank the last of his champagne and placed the empty glass on the table behind us.
"Still, this party could easily have been for me. Did you ever hear the story behind the making of Collision Course?"
“You mean the coin flip?”
“Ah, you heard. I’m afraid it’s more involved than that, although it makes for a great anecdote and even greater mythology. At the time, John Robinson and I were equals, at least in the eyes of the studios. We rose through the ranks, taking small roles in moderately successful films and getting studio brass to see us as potential for bigger roles. We landed a few, and built up even more credit. Then I read a couple of books by this long forgotten author, Collision Course and Death Comes To Town. I liked what I read, and I passed it along to my agent. I wanted the lead role in both works. My agent, unknown to me at the time, is also John Robinson’s agent. He passes the books to John and John contacts me. He has this real clever idea of optioning both books and selling them as a two-fer to the studios. His pitch was dynamite: Two films made concurrently for the cost of one, provided we keep the same cast and crew and film them one after the other. To keep things interesting, he proposed we swap leads. John and I play the hero in one of the films and the villain in the other.”
“The two of us pitched our ideas to one studio after another and in the course of time became pretty good friends. One day, we hit the jackpot. A producer offers us a contract and we’re off. Only one provision: They want us to make Collision Course first and, if they’re happy with the dailies, they’ll launch right into Death Comes to Town, now renamed Death Highway. This is where that coin flip mythology comes in. The truth of the matter is that the producer insisted John play the lead in the first of the two films because he thought I’d make a better bad guy.”
Or, I thought, he felt John Robinson would make a better leading man.
"We start filming and the dailies came in and everyone was happy. Too happy. Even though we agreed I’d play the lead in Death Highway, the producer and the studios balked. They put pressure on us and insisted Robinson play the lead once again and while I play the villain. I felt betrayed, not an uncommon feeling to those who toil in Hollywood. Things got so tense that I nearly walked from Collision Course. I blamed everyone, including John Robinson. Anyway, he tried to get the studio to change their mind, but no luck. Once they started filming Death Highway, I was out of there. But I knew we had a good product in Collision Course. I was certain it would be my ticket to bigger things.”
Sinclair sighed.
“That is, until Collision Course was released. It proved to be what the studios call a ‘modest’ hit. Less charitable souls would say it was a bomb. The studios were in a panic. The soon to be released Death Highway, they feared, would also be a failure. John Robinson was despondent. His career seemed destined for failure while I was looking like a genius for abandoning that sinking ship. Only Death Highway gets released and, what do you know, it’s a huge hit. John Robinson becomes a bona fide movie star while Lewis Sinclair, his good friend and, quietly exits stage right. To this day, most people will tell you Collision Course is the superior of the two films, yet Death Highway was the financial success, and in the end, that’s all that matters.” Lewis Sinclair shrugged. “That is the harsh reality of Hollywood.”
“Hell, it was for the best,” he continued. “John and I remained friends even after my acting career was finished.”
“But you did appear in some movies,” I said. “You have a legacy, something you can show your children and grandchildren.”
“Heaven forbid!” Sinclair said. “I have no children nor any interest in them. I’m proud to say that on that tragic day when I finally succumb to the Cold Hemispheres, the Sinclair name dies with me.”
It was an odd thought, but to each their own.
“Anyway, I didn’t entirely leave show business,” Sinclair continued. “I found work behind the camera."
“As a cinematographer and agent.”
“So you have heard of me, after all,” he said and laughed. “You know, John was the one that told me about Viktor. He brought me here kicking and screaming and the town charmed me into staying. That was over twenty five years ago."
Sinclair’s words were warm and pleasant and made me envious. It was nice to find your place in the world.
"You attended Robinson’s funeral."
"Of course. A small affair, undeserved for a man of such incredible accomplishments. Afterwards, the craziness started. The rumors of foul play, the fanatics telling us what really happened. It was the only time I strongly considered leaving Viktor. I couldn’t tell you the number of people who walked up to me in the middle of the street and started in with their insane ideas about how I—”
Lewis Sinclair stopped talking. He remained quiet for a few seconds as the anger dissipated from his system.
"I'm sorry, young man," he said. "Sometimes it gets to me.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out,” I said. What else could I say?
“Of course,” Sinclair replied. “You’re a decent fellow, listening to this old man talk. Say, are you free? I could use some company. Care to join me for a walk?”
As he said these words the subtle sexual undertones of Collision Course manifested themselves in reality. The actor’s role and the actual person merged into one.
“Sorry, no. Judith—”
Sinclair stepped back and smiled. He knew he had overplayed his hand.
“She’s a tart,” he said. “Then again, aren’t we all? Too bad. We could have had a delightful evening.”
Sinclair patted me on the shoulder.
“Good luck with her,” he said, though he didn’t mean it.
I spent the next hour making small talk to different people at the party, many of whom claimed to be close friends of John Robinson. I smiled at their jokes and was sympathetic to their sense of loss, but inside, the party was draining the life out of me. I was a stranger and my interest in their affairs was an illusion.
After a while, though, the general focus of conversations turned from John Robinson to the murder of the unknown, to them, young man at the Green Manor Inn. Several people wanted to confront the Sheriff and demand he take care of this shocking crime. To them, his presence in the party suggested he wasn’t doing anything. They gossiped and offered theories and second hand rumors regarding who was killed and why.
There was a certain irony to this. The town of Viktor grew hostile to those who spread rumors and innuendo regarding the death of John Robinson, yet these same people were doing the very same thing with Karl Walker.
And watching them from the safety of their corner in the lobby were Sheriff Burton Chandler and Deputy Craig Livingstone. Their eyes scanned the crowds and their ears no doubt tried to pick up any stray conversation. Any one of these guests could surely be Karl’s killer.
I felt a shiver pass through me. That thought, more than anything else, suddenly had me on edge. Could one of these people, perhaps even one of the elderly ladies who passed before me, be a killer? In their smiles and playful eyes I saw no trace of malice. Was it that easy to hide?
All at once, I needed to get away from the crowd. The walls in the lobby felt like they were falling in on me, crushing the air and choking me with fear.
I bowed out of the conversation I was engaged in and squeezed through the partygoers and to the exit. I opened the door leading out, and was hit with a blast of the cold air. The sun was gone. Other than the dim streetlights, all was dark. I looked up the street and toward the Inn. I could just make out my SUV, alone in the parking lot. A single light was on at the Inn. The lobby light. Was Mrs. Borg still frozen in place, staring at the spot where Karl was killed?
I turned and looked in the opposite direction. I could just make out the empty lot where I saw the drugstore and its ghostly patrons. A violent chill ran through my body. I took a deep breath of icy air, but felt like I was drowning.
"I was wondering where you were."
<
br /> The voice was sweet and inviting, a light piercing through the darkness.
"Hello, Judith."
She walked to my side and stared out at Viktor's mountain.
"I'm sorry about what happened in there."
"You have no reason to apologize."
"But I do. I should have told you about Nick. Kissing you was bound to cause trouble."
Dark thoughts coalesced in my mind.
“Maybe that’s what you wanted.”
Judith bowed her head.
“I’d be lying,” she said, then stopped. “He and I were real close.”
“But?”
“It ended when Grandpa died.” Judith shook her head. “Six years ago. Can you believe it’s been that long? It’s like our lives are on hold.”
“He still cares for you.”
“And I still care for him,” Judith said. “Even after all this time. I can’t count how often we’ve gotten close and then…then we fly apart. It’s like he wants to be with me, but something stops him cold and he backs off. I’ve had enough, you know? I’m not going to spend the rest of my life like that.”
I nodded and let silence settle between us. After a while, Judith let out a breath.
"What have you been up to?" she asked.
“I talked to Lewis Sinclair. He was very chatty. But by the end of the conversation, I had the strangest feeling—”
A broad smile appeared on her face. It was infectious.
"What?" I said, chuckling in spite of myself. "What did I say?"
"You were talking to Lewis Sinclair, and had a strange feeling?"
"Yeah. I had the strangest feeling he was trying…he was trying to pick me up."
We both laughed.
“Not that I’m insulted or anything. It’s just…it’s just odd to be on the receiving end of a corny pick-up line…although, come to think of it, it was better than the one I used on—”
“Don’t you dare say it!” Judith said. Our laughter was out of control and the tension between us evaporated. It took several minutes to compose ourselves.
"Is it true?"
“What’s that?”
“You know.”
"Yeah, Lewis Sinclair’s gay,” she said. “He’s also quite the player, with the men. Not so much with women. To him, we’re little more than a nuisance.”
“The horror!”
“If you ever catch him even talking to a woman, any woman, you know he’s in a jam. I hope he didn’t offend you."
"Hell, I should apologize to him. I probably led him on without realizing it. I suppose everyone here knows."
"Only his closest friends."
“Really?”
“It’s his secret, as far as that goes. If he knew I was talking about it, he’d probably explode.”
"What about the tabloids? Isn't he afraid they'll find him out?"
"The tabloids are in the here and now business. They don't much care about some old and, let's face it, faded actor who hasn't been in the spotlight for twenty some odd years. Tell me, what was that corny line he used on you?"
“Come on.”
“Seriously. I want to know.”
"All right. He asked me if I was free.”
A smile appeared on Judith’s face.
“That’s it?”
“He said he could use some company.”
“Couldn’t we all?”
“Then he asked me to join him for a walk.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Judith was silent. The smile on her face broadened.
“That’s one hell of a corny pick up line,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate. I stared into her eyes and found my heart beating faster. Despite the cold, my body felt very warm. I wanted to reach out and hold her and kiss her.
“Would you…would you care to join me for a walk?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Judith said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We walked slowly down the street and held each other close. The town was empty and ours alone. At night time a magical serenity enveloped it like a comfortable blanket. I took it in and looked from dark shop window to window. A satisfied smile filled our reflections.
"I know why Lewis Sinclair moved here," I whispered. No sense in ruining the mood.
"How’s that?"
"He told me this town drew him in. I can see why."
Judith let out a soft laugh.
"Don't believe everything he says."
"What do you mean?"
"Lewis Sinclair, more than anything else, is a story teller.”
“I don’t—”
“He's a born performer, Robert. He has a knack for telling people exactly what they want to hear.” She shrugged. “Tools of the trade, I suppose."
"He was lying?”
“Probably.”
“You mean he doesn’t care about Viktor at all?"
“I’m afraid so,” Judith said. “The only reason he's still here is to be close to my Grandfather's estate."
"Why? What does he gain by that?"
"For the past couple of decades he's done jobs for my Grandfather. That was his only real source of income."
"What about his work as an agent and cinematographer?"
"He worked at both, for Granddad,” Judith said. “When Granddad moved, Sinclair followed. By that time he was a quasi-business advisor, hoping to get Granddad involved in his real estate ventures. Most of them were crap, but Granddad tolerated his presence."
"He didn't tell me any of that."
"Because it isn’t what you wanted to hear. It also paints an unflattering picture. Why deal with the dreariness of reality when you can indulge in a much more pleasant fantasy?"
"Then there's something to be said for dishonesty. He had me wanting to move here myself!"
"He convinced you?"
A mischievous smile appeared on her face. Her eyes were crystal clear in the night.
"Not as much as you," I said. “Tell me that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“As long as it’s what you wanted to say.”
We kissed, long and passionately. After a while, we broke away.
"I'm glad you came here. I'm glad we met."
"So am I," I replied. I looked back, in the direction of the theater. "What about the party?"
"The hell with it."
We kissed again, with even more passion. I hardly knew her and she hardly knew me and it didn't matter. Not at all. This was the way it was meant to be, us together, standing in the middle of this magical town.
We separated and held hands as we continued our nocturnal walk. Judith let out a giggle. Her breath was an icy frost. We eventually reached the south end of town and turned. Twice we passed the place where I saw the pharmacy and the young John Robinson. Both times I avoided it. Thankfully, there were no further visions or nosebleeds.
We continued our slow walk back to the party. We retraced our original footsteps and whispered and hugged and laughed at silly jokes. Everything was perfect. Perhaps too perfect.
"You again."
The voice was slurred and filled with anger. It was Nick Jones.
He breathed heavily. His clothing was light, too light for the cold, yet the temperature was the last thing on his mind. The closer he got, the more I smelled the alcohol on his breath.
"You were watching us?" Judith said.
Her voice was flat and unemotional, and for a crushing moment I again wondered if these events, the party, our walk, our kiss, were merely an act designed by Judith to get Nick back. Or was it to get back at Nick?
Nick ignored Judith and moved in on me. His hands were balled up into fists.
"I told you not to go out with him," he said.
"We're through," Judith replied. She grabbed Nick by his left hand. "Why can't you let it go?"
Rather than calm him, her words sent Nick into a fury. He swung at me wildly. I avoided his first blow, but was too slow for the second. It caught me
squarely in the nose. I fell to the ground, my back cushioned by the snow. A warm sensation filled my lips and chin. My nose was bleeding.
Nick stared down at me and I thought he’d continue his attack. Instead, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. His body shook with rage or regret. Maybe both. Tears ran down his cheeks.
"I told you," he babbled. "I told you..."
Nick Jones turned and walked away. Judith leaned down and helped me get back on my feet.
"You're bleeding," she said. She searched through her coat's pockets and produced a cloth napkin. She pressed it against my nose.
"I'm so sorry," she said. I attempted a smile.
"He saved my life on the slopes earlier today,” I said. “Bet he wishes he didn’t."
"You shouldn't kid around. I didn't think he was capable of this. I didn’t think he was violent."
Almost everyone is capable of committing murder, with the right motivation.
"He got carried away, that’s all," I said. I looked down at my hand. The blood soaked through her handkerchief. “You got any more of these?”
She pulled out a paper tissue. I bundled it around the wet handkerchief and pressed the two against my nose. A couple of drops of blood fell between my feet and onto the snow.
"It's not that bad," I said, trying to ease Judith’s concerns. "I’ve got a sensitive nose. It bleeds when I sneeze. Nick didn't hurt me. Really."
She nodded, but said nothing. It was the perfect end to a perfect evening.
I left her back at the party with more assurances that I was fine. By that time my nose stopped bleeding but my shirt and coat were a mess. Judith gave me her address and made me promise to come by her house the first thing in the morning. I had no problem agreeing to that.
I made my way to the Inn and stopped for a second in front of my truck. I stared at the empty space beside it, where Karl Walker’s car was parked, and the shoveled ground that once held his bloody corpse. I thought back to our meal at the Clement Restaurant and wondered what Karl did with the last couple of hours of his life.
