19. La Noir
LA NOIR
DR. HODEL MET ME at the back entrance of a nondescript office building off Melrose that might have housed a private clinic, or not. He seemed thoroughly unsurprised to see me, nor did he so much as blink at the damage that had been done to Teddy.
“What happened?” Hodel asked as two men silently loaded Teddy onto a stretcher. He’d been administered something for the pain upon arrival. I felt quite certain it was a sedative that Jude knew very well.
“He fell,” I said.
The doctor’s eyes were a watery, expressionless green.
“He’s not well,” he said. “Julian.”
“I’m aware.”
Dr. Hodel seemed as if he would say more, but stopped himself. “I’ll call you a car,” he said, freeing a cell phone from his pocket that I was comfortably sure was paid for by the de Witt family. “What’s your home address?”
I shook my head. “I’m going back to the villa.”
(This is the part where you cover your eyes; where you complain about me falling into an obvious trap or choosing to hide in a shed full of chainsaws.
I know, believe me, I know! Just remember, before you start feeling too clever, it’s easy to see the ending if you already know you’re in a story. I laid it out this way for you.)
Hodel paused then, his frame going slightly rigid.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” he said after a moment. “You’re a material witness. If you don’t explain what happened to the police, you could be held criminally liable. They might very well think you planned this, or even orchestrated it yourself.”
“I think we both know the police won’t be asking any questions about this.” I opened the door to Teddy’s car, climbing into the driver’s seat.
The doctor shifted to stand between me and the door.
“I don’t make these things go away,” he said.
“I administer care. I make things more palatable to explain. But this is not something I can explain for you unless you stay.” I understood then the presence of another layer, an element of desperation.
It wasn’t about me being here, it was about me staying away from the villa.
Hodel, who knew better than anyone what Jude was capable of, who had helped to build the lie that was Jude’s life, intended to keep me from the precipice of danger and thus the certainty of doom.
“What is it you think he’ll do to me?” I posed, looking up at him.
“You don’t believe me. You think he won’t hurt you.” Dr. Hodel’s mouth was grim. “This is not a fairytale. There’s a monster inside that man that cannot be mastered, not even by you.”
“What will he do to me?” I pressed the good doctor. “It seems to me that if you know something, you should be the one speaking with the police.”
“Maybe some other casualty could be dismissed, but that little princeling in there is going to file charges,” Dr. Hodel said with an air of exhaustion, gesturing to where Teddy had gone.
“And the de Witts will not allow any of it to touch them.” His face looked shadowed as he reminded me with a glance who was us, and who was them. The help, I thought again.
“I couldn’t have done any of that to Teddy. Look at me.” I leaned on my archetype then. Slight, idiotic, dainty. Realistically, I was a lot of terrible things, but not strong enough to follow through with most of them.
“Listen to me. Conditions are … not what they once were. The family is not—” He stopped himself just shy of an admission. “If you go back there, you will suffer the consequences.”
So, he was afraid. Of what end? I couldn’t have said at the time, though I already knew what kind of man Dr. Hodel was.
The kind who followed orders and punished himself only to resuscitate the pattern once the haze of remorse had eased.
The kind whose soul lingered in a purgatory of guilt, paralyzed by inaction.
He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing, but he also wouldn’t stop me. He had never stopped anyone before.
“Why are Jude’s pills prescribed to Killian?” I asked Hodel, who blinked.
But I didn’t really need the answer. Instead, I started Teddy’s car and put it in reverse.
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” I offered, adding gratuitously, “You tried to save me. You can always tell yourself that your conscience is clear.”
He heard the irreverence but stepped back, his hands conciliatory and limp at his sides.
I drove off, pausing for only a fleeting glance. When I looked in the rearview mirror, Hodel still stood there, staring into nothing, absolving himself of every harm, just as I had done.
It was the last time I would see him alive.
When I returned to the villa, Jude was nowhere to be found.
There were sounds from below, music playing, another of Emmanuelle’s parties commencing from the underworld of the house.
Wearily, I wondered how anyone could live the way she did, perennially diving headlong into oblivion.
What did a person have to see before they could no longer face reality head-on?
What would happen to me when I’d finally seen too much?
I was heading quietly for Jude’s room when I heard footsteps behind me, pausing me on the stairs.
“You know,” came the rasp of William de Witt’s voice, “I think you knew exactly what I meant when I asked you about your bloodline.”
I cleared my throat, turning to face him. “I just came back to check on Jude.”
“He’s asleep.” William’s eyes were unreadable, that familiar tidal wash that seemed so misplaced now, so inappropriate on him.
A layer of pretense had fallen away, in its place a measure of pivotal desperation, like he knew exactly where we stood along the precipice of what came next.
Now his lips were tinged a dark and mottled gray; he was losing saturation right before my eyes.
“Why don’t you come down?” he added, gesturing to the courtyard. “We’re all just discussing the film.”
“The film,” I echoed as if summoning a distant memory, a prior life.
“Yes. We’re due to start shooting soon.” His eyes were tracking all my movements, the stiffness in my shoulders, the uneasy way I had started to angle away from him. There was a stain on his shirt, a mildewy ricochet of something vaguely colorless.
“I didn’t realize there was a script,” I said, trying not to startle him. No sudden movements. No tiny betrayals of what I might do.
“Didn’t Emmanuelle mention it?” William gave me a pleasant smile before gesturing me down the stairs a second time. “Have a drink. Then we’ll call you a car, send you home. I’m sure it’s been a long night for you already.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to do that—”
“You know,” said William suddenly. “I’m sure you’re aware of my influence. In this city. In this industry.” His smile had never been real, but the fade of it from his face at that moment was pointed nonetheless, an artfully delivered threat.
Was he really that gifted, or was he just handsome? I wondered what made a movie star, exactly, and whether it could be naturally acquired.
“Just a drink. Emmanuelle’s insisting, and you know how she can be. Then we’ll get you home, safe and sound. Scout’s honor.” He winked, then turned and started walking as if he knew I’d follow him to the gallows.
Which I did, seeing no other options. Realistically, could I have run? Maybe so, within the bounds of a different story. But this one had already cast me in a very specific role.
THE GOTHIC HEROINE (beautiful and virtuous, easily overcome with
emotion, set apart by her tender heart)
I have no fear of death for I am destined to be saved by love!
In the courtyard were the familiar faces of Atticus, Fred the business partner, and—almost as an afterthought—Emmanuelle. She in particular looked drawn and tired, her eyes bloodshot when she reached for me.
For the first time, the composition of her face seemed noticeably off to me.
I’d always known she’d gotten work done, but now it seemed sinisterly obvious, like pieces of this face had always been plucked from disparate sources, a coalition of mismatched parts.
Whose eyes were those, whose nose, whose chin?
They’d almost begun to melt, a textured underlayer beginning to push up through the surface like a decomposing growth.
“Anya darling.” Her hands were tight and skeletal in mine.
“Thank god you’re here. It’s such a fucking boys’ club.
” Her voice was a sharp, impetuous whisper, something I would almost call keening.
A tiny howling at the moon. She sat before me as Frankenstein’s creature, molded and crafted for god knows what purpose.
The villa housed monsters all the way down.
“You already know Atticus,” William said, handing me a glass of something.
One of Emmanuelle’s smoothies, this one like a glass of mud.
Effortfully, I swirled the mixture of gels and frozen fruits until the usual fumes of putrid sweetness reached my nose, earthy and rotten like candied moss.
“And I believe you’ve met my partner, Fred. ”
Fred gestured vaguely, though I could tell I didn’t interest him.
He looked to me like he was on uppers, jittery and unable to keep still.
His eyes kept darting to Emmanuelle, a constant volley of repulsion.
There was a smile on his face, something ever so slightly deranged, like imagining how she might look without her limbs in this specific order.
He was also, I realized belatedly, holding a pistol loosely in one hand.
I didn’t bother to wonder where he got it. Only thought briefly, in silent retribution: He doesn’t look cool.
I sniffed the smoothie again. “What’s in this?” I didn’t expect an answer.
“Quaaludes,” said William. I flicked a glance at Emmanuelle, whose eyes seemed unfocused.
Her eyes drifted to the gun in Fred’s hand, though I couldn’t tell how clearly she saw it.
Where was the woman I’d come to know, the one who’d had William wrapped around her finger? I no longer had any idea what was true.
“What does Teddy do for you?” I asked, bringing the glass to my lips, vulnerable and harmless. My head already spun at the suggestion of its vapors.