Chapter 25 A World That Won’t Stand Still
A World That Won’t Stand Still
Early morning is when the studio and all its facades feel real.
There are no yelling directors or frantic script supervisors, no makeup artists chasing after actors, no producers in fancy cars, no one at all to interject reality into this world of pretend.
Empty, the lot is acres and acres of magical playground, the perfect setting for an imagination to run wild.
Anything that can be built can be believed, Nico used to tell her.
It’s not often that Frankie arrives before Betty, but today she’s determined to be the first in the office.
Outside the gates, security’s cleared a wide area so protesters can’t set up, and in front of their building, a man sweeps the sidewalk, pausing to let Frankie pass, then pulling on the brim of his hat in a greeting.
Another man washes windows, old newspapers stacked at his feet.
Somewhere in the trees, a bird calls, the sound like Romeo and Juliet, and Frankie wonders whether it could be the parrot Betty claimed she saw.
Right as she opens the door, she spots a poster of Jack and June on a wall, one of the ads for Desert Son.
Beside it is an even larger image of Dede Domenico, the poster three times the size of Jack and June’s.
Dede. Fifteen years old. Innocent enough to want to fly through the world on roller skates, and young enough to not be afraid.
Once Frankie found the girl in the prop house playing a Steinway with a sword hanging from her belt.
To be a kid and have access to this world would be amazing.
But how much longer will Dede have that innocence?
Maybe it’s gone already. Frankie sees Dede in her skintight dress at the premiere, teetering into a new world, dressed to the nines while sipping on a kid’s drink.
Inside the office, Frankie opens Romeo and Juliet’s curtain.
The birds eye her and stretch their wings, neck feathers ruffling.
She’s riffling through messages at her desk when Betty arrives, spots Frankie and stops short, then gives the birds a dirty look.
On cue, they start their chatter. Slowly other people trickle in.
Frankie keeps an eye on the office door till she sees Nico enter, and then barges into his office, closing the door behind her.
“We have a problem,” she says.
Nico’s still hanging up his coat. “I figured we did when Betty called to tell me you were here before she was. Also, before I forget, Angela hates our couch, so it’s yours if you want it. Which means she gets to buy a new one.”
“Great, all right. I’ll take it. But there’s a rumor that June was in love with someone else and Jack killed her because he couldn’t have her, like in The Last Chance.”
For a second he says nothing, and then he breaks into a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s too ridiculous for me to make up.”
“So, he was inspired by his own role? Should we see if June left a Christmas present somewhere that implicates him, like her character did with Charles?”
“People are convinced it was him.” She watches him sit at his desk and swivel his chair as he flips through messages. She needs to bring up Darlene and the phone call. The words are there, weighing on her chest. At last: “Darlene said she called you. After the gunshot.”
He nods. “That’s what she says, but my phone never rang.
And you know that thing rings loud. Next time you see her, ask her what number she called, because I asked Angela, and she heard nothing.
I was hoping she did hear it, because at least that would give us the time it happened.
And you know Angela wakes up if the neighbor sneezes. It was late, though—mistakes happen.”
Frankie considers this. “And your number’s not listed.”
“Right. I don’t get people calling me at all times, but it does have its downside.”
She hadn’t thought of it being a mistake. But late at night, it’s conceivable.
Nico indicates a message on his desk. “Neighbor says she’s no longer sure what direction the man went in after the shot.
Guessing that had to do with you, since it sounds like you spoke to Darlene?
” She nods. “Good work. That helps. A little kink in the Jack shot her and hid in bungalow two till the morning theory.”
Frankie looks out the window, at a man who’s pulling a dolly with a tree on it.
“But here’s the real good news,” Nico continues. “He’s getting out today.”
She knows Nico’s essentially thrown flowers at bees and distracted her with something good, but she doesn’t care. Jack is getting out. “He is?”
“I was on the phone with Mickey till late. Fred’s sticking to his word.
” He laughs. “You might want to tell your roommate to reconsider the breakup—with what we owe him, he’ll be running the studio soon.
But Tank’s getting out too—right about now, unfortunately.
I’m not too happy that he’s out before Jack, but not much I can do. ”
“Jack didn’t leave his bungalow that night.
I wanted you to know. The dog didn’t bark.
Darlene’s dog, the one that makes all the noise?
It didn’t wake her up before the shot. If someone came from the second bungalow and walked past his fence, that dog would’ve had a fit and she would’ve been awake before the shot, not because of it. ”
Nico nods, his attention back to his messages. “Good. From here on out, though, let’s steer clear and let the police do their job.”
“Are they, though?”
But he just stares at a message in his hand. Then he shakes the note. “This has to do with you. My friend in records. Looks like he learned something about your birth certificate.”
“I had one?”
“Says right here he found an original.”
“And it would list my parents’ names?”
“At least your biological mother’s, I would think.”
She feels as though she’s been caught with empty pockets, staring at a pie case, and tries to put any eagerness she feels into perspective.
“They aren’t family. After what they did, there’s no way they’d be family.
But I don’t need that. This is just for me to fill in the blanks and get answers. Don’t worry.”
He smiles. “Well, now I’m worried. And I’m hoping it’s only me you’re lying to. Because it might not work out, that’s true. And it might just be more hurt. But I can’t imagine living in a world where there’s nothing—or no one—worth wanting.”
When Betty pulls down the shade to block the late-afternoon light, Frankie makes up an errand so she can leave.
All day her mind has circled back to her birth family, drawn to what feels like an off-limits topic.
What she’s always told herself is that she wants answers.
That’s it. Not another family, not another chance.
Just answers as to why they’d give her up at age five.
But is Nico right? Has she been lying to herself?
When she gathers her bag, Romeo and Juliet turn their heads, watching. Waiting. “All right, all right,” she says, and finds a carrot that she breaks in two. She’s just given them the pieces when the phone at her desk rings.
“Is this Frankie?”
A man. A voice she doesn’t know. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond.
“Don’t hang up. This is Tank.”
Her eyes widen. She’s never spoken to him directly. She angles herself so Betty can’t see her face. “Why are you calling me?”
Through the phone, she hears Tank take a sip of a drink. Ice cubes rattle and chime. He just got out today, she remembers, and from the sound of it, he immediately found a bottle of booze.
When he speaks, his voice is deep and his words heavy, as if each is being dropped from a high place. “She said she liked you.” Silence as the words land. “Maybe you’ll tell me. Because he said she didn’t love me.”
There is distress in his voice. A loose sort of agony.
In a whisper, she says, “Tell you what? That she loved you?”
“You hate me too. I hear it. Don’t blame you. I messed up.”
Now her heart races. I messed up. This is the unhinged man people warned her about. “What did you do?”
There’s fumbling as if he’s dropped the phone. Then: “She loved me, right?”
Plaintive. Desperate.
“I’ve stayed quiet,” he continues. “I did my part. At least tell me.”
Did my part.
Frankie doesn’t know what to do. Most likely the operator’s listening, so prodding him for more isn’t safe. Best to hang up and let Nico handle things. And she’s about to do this, but something stops her. Some feeling that he’s on the verge. She settles on the truth. “I don’t know how to help you.”
But she must have said the wrong thing, because when he speaks, he’s angry. Resigned. Someone told they’ll never have what they want. “All right. If that’s my lot in life, then all right.”
Then he’s gone.
“Who was that?” Betty asks casually.
For a bit, Frankie’d forgotten about her. Betty, who knows when to be quiet and is always listening. Will the operator say anything? Report back to Nico? “Someone who thinks they know me, asking for a favor.”
Betty laughs, flipping through papers on her desk. “People sure come out of the woodwork when they hear you work in Hollywood, don’t they?”
What did Tank agree to?
I did my part.
She glances at her watch. She needs to tell Nico about this, to see what he thinks.
Right about now, he should be picking Jack up at the station.
Jack, who will be free, but not free. He was right—the shadow of this accusation will follow him.
Until someone else is convicted, it will always be Jack.
And now, even though Tank’s alibis have checked out, Frankie knows he had something to do with it, because what she heard wasn’t just the voice of an unstable man but that of a man filled with remorse. A man who regrets something he did.