Chapter 54 1966 #2
“All that screaming, and Pilot and the fire in Win’s room, and the other stuff…” She pauses. “I need a shot of whatever’s in that decanter.” She nods at the sideboard.
I stand, take the lid off the crystal decanter, and sniff. Tequila.
I pour two glasses. Swallow the contents of one, top it up, pass the other to Flitter.
“Bottoms up,” she says, and we both swallow and grimace.
Flitter puts down her glass. “First of all, Bob hated that Win kicked him out of his bungalow. He hated that, at the Marmont, Win had more power than him. So he started using a special-effects machine to let screams and voices out into the Marmont at night. He hoped people would leave the hotel—or that Win would. And then Bob could be king again. Then that night when you went for a ride on Win’s bike—the night Bob thought Win would throw you out for not telling him about Adele sneaking out—that’s when Bob realized you might have more power than he wanted.
He figured out that Win must have feelings for you, could see that you were starting to be properly happy.
So he pounced. He lit the fire in Win’s room with special-effects fire—the same stuff I used at Calliope’s party.
He poisoned Pilot, killed your bird, made sure the door of your room was unlocked—he wanted you to feel haunted. And you did.”
Yes, I did. Theo might have been worried the night of the fire that Marley was regressing, but all I could think about were ghosts.
Flitter crosses to the decanter and pours herself one more shot before continuing.
“Bob was planning to light another fire in Win’s room and plant some evidence to show that you, the madwoman in the turret, had done that and all the other things too.
He wanted everyone to think you’d gone crazy and then when the police investigated the fire, you’d be thrown into the loony bin.
What policeman in his right mind would take the word of a mad, friendless orphan over that of the King of Hollywood?
And you didn’t really help matters by living in a turret and getting around the Marmont with a shovel in your hand. ”
I remember Bob catching me in the dirt with a shovel. The Quaaludes he made sure people knew he’d left for me at reception. How easily he could have made out that the orphan girl with a mad addict for an aunt was a lunatic.
Flitter swallows her second shot before she goes on.
“I saw Bob coming out of Win’s room the night of the first penthouse fire.
I’d gone up there because…” She shrugs. “Because I was stupid. Anyway, the next day when I heard about the fire, I went to see Bob. Told him I was going to tell you that he did it. He laughed at me.”
Of course he did. Who’d believe Flitter, the woman who’d been dumped by her studio and who hadn’t ever had a part in a movie where she spoke more than a line?
“I knew he hated that you had that film of him and Calliope, had that little bit of power over him—proof that he wasn’t who everyone believed he was—and that you could unleash it at any time.
But I didn’t know what he was planning to do about it.
He told me that day. He said he could make it so it was just you who was the madwoman, or he could make it so I was too.
Turned out all I’d done by confronting him was to make everything worse for the two of us, but better for him.
Now he could get off on the idea of me knowing he was trying to ruin you.
So his ultimatum was that I could either help him and be complicit, or be deemed a lunatic.
Which is every woman’s dream set of choices. ”
Flitter reaches into her bag, pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a long, angry drag.
“So I told him I’d help. But”—she raises a hand to ward off my glare—“I was buying myself a little time. Wanted to see if I could come up with something that would hurt you enough to satisfy Bob, sure, but not get you locked away in a madhouse.”
“Every woman’s dream set of choices,” I repeat sarcastically. “To either be hurt or be lacerated.”
“You’re neither hurt nor lacerated,” Flitter says. “You have the moral high ground, there’s no need to be a drama queen too.”
I can’t help but laugh. Being told by an actress not to be a drama queen is like being told by Bob that murder is immoral.
She smiles a little. “Besides, I was a bitch back then. There was too much shit I hadn’t dealt with.
I needed to get out of that place as much as you and Calliope did.
I needed to see who Flitter Reeve was without Calliope Burns beside her.
It took seeing Calliope this past winter to understand that it doesn’t matter how famous you are, you can still get cancer and die.
That somehow, I’m the lucky one and Calliope isn’t. ”
So Flitter knows everything. And she’s kept Calliope’s secret. That means something. Besides, her words resonate. She did need to find out who she was without Calliope, just like I needed to find out who I was without Theo.
“All right,” I tell her. “I’m back to being Aria Jones, the least dramatic of the Three Sisters. Finish your story.”
Another smile. Bigger this time. “I snooped around. I was a little obsessed with Win back then, so I followed him one time to the bungalow. That’s how I found out Marley was there.
So I gave Bob his own set of choices. Choice number one: he’d give me the part in Jane Eyre.
I’d make sure you found out about Marley, and then you’d leave.
Bob laughed. In his eyes, that plan didn’t ruin you quite enough.
You’d be getting away with your reputation intact.
He’d prefer you had nothing. But I told him to hear me out.
Listen to option two and then he could decide.
So he indulged me. Option two, I said, would be me screening the entire film of him and Calliope.
I told him I knew where you’d hidden it. ”
I inhale sharply. “That would have ruined Calliope too.”
“You’re right.” She jabs her cigarette into the ashtray.
“But I was betting on the fact that he wouldn’t want anyone seeing the whole film—that he’d choose anything over that.
And I gave him option one because I got a starring role.
I had one moment of power in my whole life and I used it badly. I’m sorry.”
I tell her the truth. “If you hadn’t done what you did that night, then I might not be sitting in this office with an appointment book full of women who want me to represent them. You did a terrible thing. Luckily it worked out all right. And now…”
I pause as dramatically as Miss Devine Rey would. Surely I get to be a drama queen just once in my life? “I’m making a movie. Helen Burns. You’re going to star as Calliope. Because everything we do in the real world has consequences. This is your consequence.”
Flitter’s jaw just about hits the desk. I’ve never seen her speechless, and believe me, it isn’t her best look.
“Me?” she whispers.
“You,” I tell her. “Otherwise the Three Sisters end in betrayal outside a bungalow with Bob watching on. We deserve more than that. So you’re going to play Calliope and…
” I lean across my desk, palms pressed onto the wood and look her straight in the eye.
“You are damn well going to make her immortal.”