Chapter 50
50
JESSE
Now
On Tuesday morning, Jesse woke up with a sore skull, lamenting having mixed his vodka with his absinthe with his IPA, and decided he needed to see the ocean and clear his head with sea air. He got an Uber to Venice Beach where the sensory overload of skaters, smells of skunk and psychedelic colours woke him up and he walked past impressive murals and even more impressive muscles at Muscle Beach. He wandered past a skatepark whose concrete curves were as beautiful as the athletes rolling them.
He walked for an hour along Venice Beach to Marina del Rey, watching surfers gliding towards the vast expanse of dirty blonde sand. At the peninsula in the distance he wondered whether, if he walked that far, he would be able to see Mexico. It certainly felt as if he were on a map’s edge, watching himself moving as if he were able to look down over the scene. He decided to check in with Max and FaceTime her on the walk back to Venice Beach, while she might still be at work, and was heartened to see she had left the office and was out in the early evening sunshine.
‘Where are you?’ Jesse asked. ‘Looks ace!’ Max was lit by a London sunset, standing in front of a peach and navy wall, with ‘BIENVENUE AU PARADIS’ written across it, in a bold and brazen font Jesse loved the look of and wished was one of his. He could see The London Eye glistening down the river over her shoulder.
‘A rooftop bar in Waterloo. I bumped into Kenji…’ She had a rare and wicked twinkle in her eye.
Kenji came into view, his arm slung around Max’s shoulder. He peered into the camera.
‘Hey, buddy, what’s up? How’s LA?’
Kenji had a sparkle about him too. Or perhaps that was the golden hour making them glow. Jesse exhaled to the sky, a lightbulb moment. A how wonderful; why didn’t I think of that moment, which sent his heart soaring into the California sky.
He tried not to make a big deal of it, tried not to get carried away, so he told them about his art odyssey and how he had caught up with Will and Lloyd, but something urged him to get off the phone and leave them to it.
‘Just wanted to check in, see everything was OK.’
‘Yeah, it’s great!’ Max said, looking as delightfully surprised as Jesse was.
Back at Venice Beach Jesse decided to walk to the end of the pier, remembering one of his favourite films shot there: Falling Down , and the protagonist, Michael Douglas’ character, who met his not-so-happy ending off the end of it. Jesse loved that film. It came out the year Jesse was born and when he was fourteen, Lars told Jesse about it; that the central character had inspired the famous Dash Draxler, a cop on the edge, who was the star of five of Lars’ bestselling books.
‘I owe a lot to Joel Schumacher, to D-Fens…’ Lars said, as he’d enlightened Jesse one Friday family film night. Caryn didn’t enjoy it, she found it too stressful, but Jesse had marvelled at how his dad let him watch a film with so many swearwords in it, loving that feeling of trust and maturity. Walking the pier felt like something Jesse ought to do to honour Dash. To honour his dad.
Jesse often thought about his dad’s revelation: that people can inspire you. The snarl of someone you know; the laugh of a person you love. A madcap character in a film about a man on the edge. The font of a soda brand; a newspaper headline typeface. It made Jesse realise, in an industry where it was difficult to have a completely original idea and concept, you could be inspired, you could make something your own, you could make it better. Dash Draxler was brilliant and original and people all over the world loved reading about him.
Jesse walked down the pier, looking at the fishermen standing patiently at the end. He remembered his own meltdown. Not quite as catastrophic as Michael Douglas’ in Falling Down , but at Bondiga’s Books, the day Minnie had reappeared like a genie out of a bottle.
After lunch in a past-its-best diner, Jesse took a cab back to the hiking trails in the hills and walked the shorter route to Griffith Observatory. When he arrived at the summit, he went up to the West Terrace, which gave a panorama over people arriving; it overlooked the Hollywood sign. From his vantage point, leaning against the edge, Jesse remembered: this was where he’d stood as a child. This was the spot he had taken in the sparkling Los Angeles skyline with the security of his mother and father behind him, leaning, elbows propped on the pristine white wall.
Six o’clock came and went and Jesse watched the sun lower behind the city, beyond it, an ocean.
She clearly isn’t coming.
Just after 7p.m. Jesse dared to look at Minnie’s Instagram. A new story! He clicked tentatively on the small circle with the pink and orange glow around it. Four hours ago. ‘Getting red-carpet ready!’
Three hours ago: Minnie in the back of a car, hair and make-up making her look like a movie star. Red lips. Her black hair smoothed into a soft wave against her face.
Sixteen minutes ago: a shared story someone else had posted, of the cast, director and producers of Summer of Siena on the red carpet. One of the producers was a Hollywood A-lister who had stumped up the money to get the book made. Her showbiz smile echoing Minnie’s more cautious, smouldering one. Minnie looked sensational.
No, Minnie definitely wasn’t joining him tonight.
With a heavy heart, Jesse went to catch the second half of LA Galaxy vs. Vancouver, which he thought might help his World Cup research, but the flat goalless draw at the stadium in Carson City was so uninspiring he came out with a foam finger and no ideas.
He thought about Artie Donner’s proposition the night before. After their moules frites she’d invited him back to her place for a nightcap as her fingertips touched the edge of Jesse’s, and he’d considered it for a second, before saying he had to get back to his hotel.
‘Can’t blame a girl for trying,’ she said, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.
‘I don’t.’
‘Well call me if you change your mind,’ Artie said as she planted a kiss on Jesse’s cheek and skipped off, in the direction of her condo.
As Jesse came out of the stadium at Carson City he looked at his phone.
He realised Ida would be up and dressed and heading out to school.
‘Hey sweetpea, how are you?’
‘It’s dark there, Daddy!’ Ida said, utterly surprised.
Jesse pointed the foam finger he had bought her, up to the sky. ‘Yes! It’s still last night here!’
Ida giggled as she held Henrike’s hand and clutched her nanny’s phone. ‘But how can that be?’
She looked closer at the screen, in awe of her father, as if he were a magician who could time travel.
‘It’s very clever and I will show you how one day!’