Malibu, California
December 23, 1996
12:58 P.M.

The mid-day sun shone down across the Pacific, painting it the magnificent, dazzling blue that drew so many West. It was seventy-eight degrees and California-perfect outside, two days before Christmas.
       Shane Doleman pulled the mirror-black Mercedes convertible into the beach house's main drive, and cranked the wheel to make the turn into the carport. He wore a white shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up, a pair of khaki shorts, and recently-purchased blue Nike sunglasses (Nike had just started making sunglasses this year, and he’d been meaning to get some). They were the clothes he'd put on the previous day. He wasn't so much lost in thought as peacefully wading through it. He had a lot on his mind, but he'd managed to make cordial friends with that state, and not let it consume him. He'd let his worries fade to a comfortable gray, and tried to regard them in a detached way. It was too perfect of a day to get bunged.
       He parked the car and the Gin Blossoms switched off with the engine. He went ahead and left the keys in the ignition as he grabbed his bag and climbed out. With a security gate and alarms on the whole area, car theft wasn't a big concern. One of the perks of Malibu living he was growing to enjoy—even if he'd only be living there another ten days. And he didn’t plan to be “home” very long today anyway.
       He did have the house key in the pocket of his shorts, since he hadn't bothered to put it on the same ring as the Mercedes keys. But he assumed, and correctly, that he wouldn't need it. The front gate at the entry was open, and he was pretty sure the door would be, too. The BMW parked in the drive had told him that much.
       He walked in, immediately greeted with the view of the beach and the ocean that the western wall—made almost wholly of glass—showed him. He stepped up to the railing that overlooked the living room below.
       Jerry sat there on the couch, wearing only his wrinkled pants. His hair was disheveled, and he was hunched over, his hands on either side of his head. There was a bottle of Peptol on the coffee table in front of him, and the distinctive smell of vomit was lingering from somewhere in the house.
       "Oh, yeah," Shane said wryly, leaning on the rail. "This is a side of you I need to see."
       Jerry looked up, slowly, wincing, and his otherwise suffering face cracked a weak smile. "Hey, brutha. Top of the morning."
       "Afternoon, actually," Shane said, taking the stairs down to the lower floor.
       "Really?" Jerry said, smacking his lips unpleasantly. "Imagine that."
       Shane stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a cold Mountain Dew. The stock had been getting a little low, but sometime since he'd last been there, the catering service had filled the fridge up again. Not a worry in the world with Terrance Cross paying the bills.
       "Oy," Jerry said, moaning a little. "The ocean is not what I need to be looking at right now. Can we call Terrance and have him make it stop moving like that for a while?"
       Shane took a seat in the room's comfortable white chair, dropping his bag next to it for the moment. He caught a view of the deck out of the corner of his eye as he sat, and noticed a couple of empty wine bottle lying near the hot tub.
       "Long night?" he asked, popping his can of Dew.
       "Oh, man," Jerry breathed, leaning back on the couch. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you. Oh, wait…I am telling you. This party was...amazing. I keep thinking I've seen it all, and then the next party comes. Lenny Kravitz was there. And his chick drummer. What a great guy. And Shane Black. How many movies do we own that he wrote? We got talking down by the pool table—oh, we were at some producer's house—and like an hour went by before I knew it. We talked about writing, the business, the studios. Lots of good advice. He gave me his number and everything."
       "Wow," Shane said. It was a different 'wow' than he would have used a week ago. These kinds of stories had become something close to common around their temporary house.
       "Aw, it was great," Jerry said, scratching his head tiredly. "But then I overdid it a little. I don't know how Connie and I got back here in one piece. Sure glad I left the Ferrari at home."
       Sure glad you didn't kill yourself, Shane thought, and imagined what it would have been like having to tell Jerry's mother. He hadn't been completely joking up at the rail. This was a side of Jerry he'd never seen, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. His best friend had never had more than a few sips in his life, and always had a few unkind words to say about the raging drunk frat boys who showed up and made a mess of things down at the clubs on Mill Avenue. He was a grownup and all, and was committing no crime (except for only being twenty, of course), but it was just...unsettling, he supposed, to see someone you knew so well becoming someone different in so little time. He just would have liked a little more time to adjust to the change.
       "Hey, and speaking of long nights," Jerry said, slowly sitting back up. He gave a sly grin. "Somebody didn't come home last night. What's up with that, dude?"
       Shane shifted a little uncomfortably. "Come on, man," he said. "It wasn't like that."
       "Well, how was it, then, exactly?" If his eyes weren't so tired and bloodshot, and if it wasn't so cheesy, Jerry might have even thrown in a wink.
       At peace with his worries or not, this was still a sensitive area for him. He'd spent the night at Delight's loft in Venice Beach. Since they'd first seen each other, three days ago, he'd spent every evening with her—and much of the days. But he'd always come home at the end of the night. Not that the same could have been said for Jerry...
       "We just got to talking, and she didn't want me to go," Shane said. "We fell asleep on the couch. That's all. We just talked."
       "Just talked?" Jerry asked, with a questioning look. And not a very believing one.
       Shane's eyes wandered for a moment. A quick barrage of images pelted him. Her beautiful eyes looking at him over a table of Mexican take-out. Her curled up next to him on the floor in front of an old movie on her big TV, wearing an oversized tee shirt and socks. Her waking him with soft kisses sometime before dawn...
       "We just talked," Shane repeated, quietly.
       Jerry shook his head (carefully). "Just talked. Hottest download on the internet, and what does he do with her? He just talks. On behalf of red-blooded American males everywhere…lllllloser!"
       Shane grinned a little at this. He knew it was a joke, and how Jerry meant it. But still, he suddenly wasn't feeling quite as much at peace.
       "Come on, I'm just yanking you, man," Jerry grinned. "I'm not your mother. All respect to Mom, of course. You're a big boy. I’m sure you got it handled."
       "Yeah, I know," Shane sighed, leaning back in his chair, leaving his Mountain Dew on the corner of the table. "I'm just still not too sure what I'm doing."
       "Then don't know," Jerry offered. "We're in California. Plenty of time to figure it out back in Arizona. Autopilot's working just fine for me."
       A voice came down from the top of the stairs. "Hi, boys."
       Yes, Shane thought, looking up. It looked as though it was.
       Connie, in another of her seemingly endless supply of short dresses, sauntered down the stairs. Her hands were up at her left ear as she worked an earring on. Shane guessed that she must have showered and gotten ready up there, because no woman could possibly look that good right out of the gate.
       "Hey, you," Jerry said, stretching and smiling. His voice was a little strange to Shane; again, not like the Jerry he knew. This new tone was...what was the word that came to mind...swanky?
       "Hey, yourself," she purred, crossing the room. She tossed Shane a coy glance as she did. "Morning, Chris."
       "Morning, Connie," 'Chris' said. He'd thought he'd have gotten used to the necessary fake name for this trip by now, but he and Jerry were actually together so little of the time, he hadn't gotten a proper chance. He'd thought, when they'd talked over all their plans before the journey, that they'd have been together most of the vacation. Things certainly hadn't worked out that way...and the blame was really on both of them. Maybe it was better that way. The less people saw them together, the less the chance of his secret getting out. But for some reason, it still made him a little sad.
       Connie sat and slid over to Jerry, and put her arms around his neck. Without a word, she pulled him close and kissed him sensually. Shane found himself shifting again. Um...check, please?
       She pulled from Jerry's lips with a final smack and smiled at him, looking satisfied. "Feeling any better, baby?"
       "I am now," Jerry said, sounding...'swanky' was the word, wasn't it?...again.
       She smiled at this and kissed him again, once. She slid her hand across his chest and looked at Shane. "Our Jerry got a little out of control last night. I told him he'd pay for it in the morning, but there was no stopping him. You know how he is."
       Shane made a polite laughing sound. Yeah, sure. That's 'our' Jerry for you.
       "And, hey," she said, running her fingers though Jerry's hair as she spoke to Shane. "I notice you were absent last night. Somebody get lucky?"
       A very uncharacteristic unpleasant thought popped into Shane's head. Jerry, would you mind asking your skank to leave? She's getting on my nerves. Jerry stepping on tender ground was one thing. This bimbo, who he was still very unsure of and very suspicious of for her sticking to his friend like a cheap suit, didn't have the history to get cut the same slack. He pulled another forced smile and semi-laugh, but that was all.
       "Well, everybody's got their own definition of 'lucky'," Jerry grinned.
       "Well," Connie sighed, still playing with Jerry's hair. "I've got a late lunch meeting, so I'm going to have to leave you two alone."
       Thank you, Shane thought, with cruel relief.
       "So soon?" Jerry asked, disappointed.
       "You," she told him, touching the tip of his nose, "need some more sleep anyway. We've got a big night ahead of us, and we don't need you looking quite this cat-dragged-in."
       "I guess you're right," he conceded, smiling tiredly.
       "Of course I'm right," she smiled. She ran her finger under his chin and slanted her head as she looked at him with sultry eyes. "Don't worry. I'll be back later to wake you up."
       "Promise?" Jerry asked.
       "Promise," she answered in whisper, and started kissing him again. Shane started looking elsewhere—anywhere else. My, that was a fine wax job on those stairs, wasn't it? Yes, indeed.
       Thankfully, it ended quickly. Connie got up and climbed the stairs, slowly and deliberately, and cast them a last look over her shoulder. "Bye, boys."
       "Bye," Jerry breathed. Shane just waved, and felt a weight lift from him when he heard the sound of the front door shutting.
       "Mercy," Jerry said, leaning back. "She's something, isn't she?"
       "She's something," Shane agreed. As long as he didn't have to define the kind of 'something' he was thinking of, he felt he wasn't being dishonest saying so.
       “And she’s really hooking me up. We’ve got a lot of plans for the future. She’s been setting me up with the right contacts, working the right angles… I’ve got this town wired.”
       “Wow,” Shane said, a little surprise in his voice. “You’re really going all into this. The whole screenwriting thing.”
       “Yeah,” Jerry laughed, like Shane had just stated the really, really obvious. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”
       Well, okay, that was true, Shane had to agree.
       “Look at what’s going on. Your boy’s a player now, Shane. I’ve got the hookups. I’ve got people—big people—lining up to get a piece of me. I’m in the game.”
       Shane grimaced a little, thoughtfully. “So that sounds kind of like a decision. I just didn’t think you’d be making it this soon.”
       “Things are moving fast, man, what can I tell you? A lot’s changed since we got on that plane. Everything’s changed. I can’t ignore what’s going on.”
       This was just supposed to be a vacation, Shane thought helplessly, feeling the unpleasant weight of change.
       “Connie thinks I ought to move out here.”
       Unpleasant went to crushing in just a couple of heartbeats.
       Shane looked up, and could see Jerry studying him. Jerry had obviously been building up to springing this one him.
       “To L.A.?” Shane asked, as if clarifying might somehow make Jerry realize what he was saying.
       “It makes sense,” Jerry said. “I mean, if I’m really going to get serious about it. You’ve got to be in the middle of things to really make the moves.”
       “You know you’re not going to get to keep the house, right?” Shane half-joked to break the tension.
       “Yeah, I figured that,” Jerry answered with companionable sarcasm. “Connie said she could help me find a place. I mean, you know, if I did it. I’d have some good start-up money with the first screenplay sell, and a couple of contract deals that might just be in the works. After that…shoot, I may be able to buy one of these myself in a couple of years.”
       Shane’s brain felt like there was something like a whirlpool in it. “I mean, what about…what about school?” And what about our apartment?, he also wanted to know, as he once again felt the life he thought he had control of being taken away, piece by piece.
       “School?” Jerry laughed. “Can I point out again where we’re sitting right now?” he asked, motioning to the house in general with his hands. “And what’s going on here? School’s a means to an end, Shane. This is the end! This! Money, fame, hot women, and not to mention all this coming from me being able to write. Do you think they ask to see your bachelor’s degree before they hand you the Oscar?”
       “No,” Shane agreed, tiredly. “I see what you’re saying.” Of course he did. And of course, it was a great thing for his friend. He should be happy. He’d brought Jerry into this situation, and wasn’t this the whole point? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d just wanted company so he wouldn’t have to face his own major life decision all alone. And maybe it was just bugging him so much because Jerry was part of that old life (was it already considered an “old life”? Was it gone already, this quickly?) that he was trying to cling to, and now that part of it was jumping right over the fence and leaving the other side looking less and less as it had when he’d left it—he’d hoped safely—behind for a time. Everything seemed to be pulling him this way—Terrance, Delight, even Bruce Willis, for crying out loud…and now Jerry. It was all starting to feel uncomfortably like destiny.
       But that didn’t give him the right to try and affect Jerry’s decisions. That was just plain selfish, no matter how he looked at it, and on top of everything else he was feeling, he didn’t need to feel like a heel for that, too.
       “It’s just something I’m thinking about,” Jerry offered, trying to take a little of the obvious panic out of the discussion. “But you see what I’m saying, right?”
       “Sure,” Shane nodded, calming down. “Totally do, man. And hey, that’s great. I mean it. Nobody deserves it more than you. We both know that.”
       “Yeah,” Jerry nodded thoughtfully with a grin, “I guess we do.” He leaned forward and picked up the bottle of pink Peptol and raised it in a weak toast. Shane laughed a little and reached for his Dew and raised it, likewise, and they both drank. Both for very different reasons.
       Jerry grimaced at the chalky aftertaste and shivered involuntarily. “Ugh,” he moaned. “Connie’s right. I need more sleep.”
       “Yeah,” Shane said, checking his watch. “I need to grab a shower anyway. I’ve got a late lunch with Terrance and Chester, and then I’m meeting back up with Dee. We’re doing some clubbing tonight.”
       “So, hey, when are you bringing her by?” Jerry asked, leaning back and yawning and rubbing the back of his head. “Am I going to finally get to meet the wonderbod or what?”
       After that comment, Shane thought, instantly losing any good cheer and somehow feeling like Connie was back in the room, probably not. Ever.
       “Um, I don’t know,” he said, standing up suddenly, taking his Dew and grabbing his bag. “We’ll see, you know? It’s kind of touchy with her.”
       “Apparently not as touchy as it could be,” Jerry grinned.
       All at once just needing to be out of the room—and away from Hollywood Jerry—Shane turned his back and headed up the stairs. “Yeah, right,” he answered over his shoulder, forcing a semi-laugh. “Anyway, I gotta shower.”
       “All right,” Jerry sighed, gingerly lying down and stretching out. “Just make it a quiet one, will you?”
       Feeling oddly hollow, Shane started heading for his room, but stopped as the doorbell rang as he passed their front entry.
       “Ow,” Jerry griped from down below.
       Shane backtracked and reached for the handle, certain—with a tired annoyance—that it was Connie coming back for something (maybe they hadn’t stared at her enough and she was coming back for a self-esteem refill). But, to his surprise—and gratitude—he’d predicted the wrong girl.
       There stood Ash Gibson, Terrance’s personal assistant, wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a cartoon of a wealthy-looking starlet with shopping bags in her hands—and clown makeup on her face—on it. The fancy lettering below the drawing read “Rodeo Clown”. Ash’s sunglasses were atop her head, pushing her short black hair back, and she was smiling. And, seemingly as always, her day planner was in her hand.
       “Hey, Ash,” Shane smiled, brightly.
       “Hey, Chris,” she smiled back. She looked down at the bag in his hand. “Oh, just leaving?”
       “Oh, uh, no,” he said, looking down at it himself. “Just getting home. I’ve got to get a shower and—” He almost said and meet Terrance for lunch. Nice. Double-O-Jackass strikes again. “And, uh, meet up with some friends.”
       “Oh, good,” she said, enthusiastically. “You’re making friends. You having a good time?”
       “Yeah, great,” he nodded. Didn’t I look like I was having a good time on national TV a few days ago? “Met some great folks.”
       “Cool. Glad you’re enjoying yourself. That’s what Terrance wants.”
       He nodded again, smiling, and the conversation came to a stall.
       “Oh,” he said suddenly, a little embarrassed, and opened the door wide. “You want to…?”
       “Yeah,” she laughed. “Thanks. I just need to pick something up, if that’s okay.”
       “Sure,” he said, stepping back and letting her in.
       “There’s a first edition Hemingway in the bookcase in the master, and Terrance wants me to wrap it up for someone for a Christmas present,” she said as he closed the door behind them.
       “Do I get to ask for who?”
       She turned and grinned at him. “Let’s just say someone who’s big on race cars and salad dressing.”
       Shane smiled and shook his head. “Guess I’m about done being surprised.”
       “Hey,” she said, all of a sudden, “it’s been a week now and I haven’t gotten woken up by you guys calling at three a.m. yet. What’s up with not being demanding and needy?”
       He shrugged. “We’ve been doing just fine.”
       “No asking for bail money, no after-hours shopping sprees, no requests for actress look-a-like hookers… You guys are making me look bad. You’d think you’re from Phoenix or something.”
       Shane laughed lightly and she did so back. Then she narrowed her eyes a little.
       “You do know I don’t get hookers, right?” she asked, seriously.
       “Yes,” Shane answered quickly, nodding.
       “Good,” she said, seeming relieved. “Seriously, though. I meant it about calling. You need anything? At all?”
       “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Doing great. I mean, come on, we’ve got this house and a Ferrari. What else could we need?”
       “You’d be surprised how few people I deal with would think to ask that question.”
       He raised his hands to close the subject. “We’re golden. Swear. We’re having the time of our lives.”
       “You’d better,” she grinned, poking his shoulder. “I’m supposed to be making sure of that.”
       “Then you’re doing your job just fine,” he smiled.
       “Okay,” she sighed, still seeming concerned about it. She looked around. “So where’s your writer buddy?”
       “I don’t know,” Shane mused, turning his eyes up. “Let me check.” He pulled in a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could. “JEEEEEERRRAAAAYYYY!!!”
       “Owwwwwdamnit!!” Jerry’s voice barked from down in the living room.
       Ash’s face stretched into a silent, long laugh, and Shane joined her, guiltily.
       “Ah,” she nodded after finally taking a breath. “Let me guess. Connie.”
       “Yeah,” Shane whispered, losing some of the humor. He liked that she seemed to be in tune with him on how he felt about that name, though. He could read it in her expression.
       “Yeah, I passed her on the way in,” said, quietly. And with that same expression, she added, “Guess Jerry’s got everything he needs, too.”
       “Seems like it,” Shane nodded, and the glance they shared convinced him more that he wasn’t alone in his feelings. That was good. It made him feel less like a turncoat.
       “Well,” she sighed, apparently deciding to leave the subject.
       “Yeah,” he said, going back to a more normal volume and taking the cue. “I’d better go get that shower. I’m gonna be late. You can go in and get the book. I don’t think Jerry’s gonna to make it to his room anytime soon.”
       “I’d better go check in on him first, but thanks. He’s kind of my responsibility, so I’d better make sure he’s not permanently damaged.”
       “I make no guarantees,” Shane grinned. “Hey, really good seeing you, Ash.”
       “You too, Chris,” she smiled, backing toward the stairs. “And if I’m gone before you get out, have good time today. Oh, and if I don’t see you before, Merry Christmas.”
       “Thanks. You too.”
       “And call me,” she said, with her hand on the railing. “For whatever. Okay? You’re not just the writer’s roommate. You’re Terrance’s guest. He wants you to feel like a star, too.”
       Oh, sweet irony.
       “I’ll remember that,” he smiled, backing down the hall with his bag. But a thought hit him and he stopped. “Um…you know, maybe there’s, like, one thing…”
       “Finally!” she said, noticeably pleased. “The boy has needs! What can I do?”
       “Um,” he said, and moved to scratch his head, but remembered there was a Dew in his non-bag hand. Clearly embarrassed to be doing so, he asked anyway. “Is it, like…really hard to get in to the Viper Room?”
       Her already dawning smile got wider. “Not for you it’s not. Tonight?”
       “Yeah,” he said, happy that that had been easier than he’d thought.
       “How many?”
       “Uh…just two.”
       “I see,” she teased, a little. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
       From her, the question felt okay. There didn’t seem to be any sleaze attached to it. “Just…a friend of mine.”
       “A special friend?” she asked with a knowing twinkle in her eye.
       Hmmm. Let’s see. Can fly. Shoot light from her hands. Does that qualify as ‘special’?
       He shrugged and grinned. “Kind of. Yeah.”
       “Well, she’ll feel special tonight. Not a problem at all. I’ll call it in.”
       “Thanks,” he said, genuinely. “That’s really cool of you.”
       “That is so the shortest arrow in my quiver. You have no idea. But that’s what you want, it’s yours. Just walk up to the door guy like you own the place and give him your name. You’ll be on the list.”
       “Won’t they—” he realized out loud, too late to understand he shouldn’t have said it. “—ask for I.D.?” Chris Johnson’s name would be on that list, but Shane Doleman was the name on his driver’s license.
       “Oh, that’s right,” she grinned. “I’m dealing with minors. They won’t. Trust me. No one’s carding you in there tonight. You have my word.”
       Grateful that she had read his question wrong, he relaxed.
       “You need directions?” she asked.
       “No, I can find it. I saw it on the ride in from the airport. I’m sure she knows how to get there anyway.”
       “I’ll see if the booth is open.” Realizing she needed to explain that, she added, “Oh, Johnny keeps a booth reserved for his agent downstairs. But he’s almost never there, so Johnny loans it out if the right person asks. And I happen to be the right person.” She gave him a comical wink. “Someone inside will lead you to it if we’re a go.”
       He was actually talking to a girl who knew Johnny Depp on a first-name basis.
       “And if Johnny happens to be in town,” she added, “I’ll see if I can get him to walk over and say hi and impress your girl. If that wouldn’t threaten you too much.”
       Shane laughed and looked at her, marveling. “You are too much, Ash.”
       “Always have been,” she said, playfully, “always will be.”
       “Thank you,” was all he could think to say.
       “You deserve it,” she smiled. “And so does she. You guys have a great time.”
       “What are the chances of that not happening?”
       She started down the stairs and looked at him over her shoulder, and made a ‘very little’ gesture with her thumb and forefinger. Then she smiled and waved good-bye, silently. Shane waved back as best he could with the Dew hand, smiling back her at.
       His spirits raised again, he went to his fancy bedroom (sure, it wasn’t the master, but it was still the nicest he’d ever slept in) and dropped his bag on the floor by his bed. He checked his watch. He was running short on time. He went to his closet and rummaged through both the clothes he’d brought with him and the ones Delight had taken him shopping for. He selected the green silk shirt and black slacks she’d liked so much and figured they’d be workable for a night at the Viper. Holding them up, though, he thought his selection through. He was going to have to park and change into his costume to fly over to Terrance’s, and it was a little warm outside to be driving around in the club clothes. He preferred the thought of another pair of shorts and a more casual shirt for the afternoon. And since he really didn’t want to come back here and deal with seeing Jerry and Connie together again, he’d have to take the night clothes with him.
       He walked over to his bag with the stylish threads and unzipped it, then gave the idea some thought and realized they’d be a wrinkled mess if he folded them up in there. Instead, he kicked his open bag under the bed and hung the finery on his doorknob. He’d have to carry them with him, probably change at Dee’s place in Venice Beach when he went to pick her up. Or in his car, something he was used to doing back home when he was out Windjamming, but it was a lot harder to find a quiet, out-of-the-way spot to do so in this town.
       He pulled a tee shirt off a hanger, and some shorts, grabbed some fresh boxers from a shelf on his armoire, and headed to the bathroom he had taken over across the hall, closing the door to his upscale room behind him.

       “What’s up, party boy?”
       Jerry, stretched out on his back on the couch, lifted his head carefully, just enough to see the grinning Ash reaching to bottom of the stairs.
       “Hey, it’s Girl Friday,” he said weakly, smiling at her.
       She walked over and dropped her planner on the coffee table and took the chair Shane had been in minutes before. Putting her elbows on her knees, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them and regarded Jerry.
       “So. You and Hollywood have been properly introduced,” she said.
       “Yeah,” he said, kind of regretfully, clenching his brow a bit. “Maybe we should have just tried being friends first.”
       She snickered at him. “Looks like you didn’t just hit the town. Looks like the town hit back.”
       He nodded, cautiously.
       “Well, pace yourself, slugger. Still plenty of time left. You don’t want to spend the rest of your trip praying to the porcelain god.”
       “Not chance,” he said, yawning. “Just getting my second wind is all.”
       “So you’re having a good time?” she asked.
       “Amazing time.”
       “Good,” she said with a small smile. “That’ll make the boss happy. You meeting the right people?”
       “Oh, yeah,” he grinned. “Connie knows everybody, and she’s making sure I meet all of them.”
       “Hmm,” she said, and he couldn’t quite read what was behind the hmm. “Yeah, she’s definitely the right tour guide. She’s got it all dialed in.”
       “She does,” he agreed, with a little pride. “We’re really making things happen. I feel like my writing career’s already started out here. Tell you the truth, I’m already starting to think about moving.”
       She blinked at him. “That’s pretty fast.”
       He shrugged with a modesty he didn’t actually feel. “You know how it works. Door opens, you jump through. Seems be opening pretty wide for me.”
       She let out a little sigh, one that, again, he couldn’t translate. Especially not with his head as muddy as it was. “That’s true,” she said. “Sometimes it happens that way. You certainly wouldn’t be the first one lightning’s struck after a few days in town. Sounds like it’s your turn.”
       He smiled, knowing full-well that she was right. “Guess I’ve just been waiting to be in the right place at the right time. That’s what Connie says.”
       “Yeah,” she said, sitting up a little and taking her sunglasses off her head and starting to fold and unfold them in her hands. And looking out at the ocean for a moment before continuing. “Listen, Jerry… Um… This really isn’t my business, but…just kind of be careful with Connie, okay?”
       “What?” he asked, confused, and suddenly a little defensive at whatever she seemed to be saying about his…well, his what, he wasn’t really sure, but she was his. “What do you mean?”
       She sighed again. “Look,” she said, carefully, clearly not comfortable with this, whatever this was. “Connie’s great at what she does. That’s why Terrance needs her. She’s a player, and a winner. She’s awesome. No doubt. KnightCross couldn’t along without her. It’s just…people in this town have agendas. You know?”
       He clearly didn’t know, and was still feeling defensive.
       “I’m just saying…” she said. “Okay, I don’t know what I’m saying. Um… I guess I’m just saying remember that this isn’t Arizona. If you’re a property, people tend to see you as that, and not so much as a person. You have to be aware of that and watch what’s going on. It’s just S.O.P. for Hollywood survival.”
       He was starting to get offended—both at seemingly being talked down to and the suggestion that Connie was somehow part of the thing Ash was describing, and that Connie was seeing him as anything besides the wonderful guy that she seemed unable to get enough of—when his mind offered him another interpretation of what was going on here. One that made a lot more sense in the context of how he was currently seeing himself and his life.
       It seemed there was a little jealousy going on.
       And why not? He was a catch. He had what seemed like the whole of Tinseltown lining up to get a piece of him. And women like Connie wanting to be with him. And women’s brains worked that way, right? If they saw a guy with a hot chick, that made them want him for themselves even more. So was it too big a stretch to think that Ash was feeling like she’d missed the big Jerrytrain and was looking to see if she could still get a ticket?
       Losing his bad feelings, he relaxed and smiled, and put his hands behind his head, suddenly enjoying his shirtlessness in front of her. “That’s sweet of you,” he told her, and now he was the one doing the talking-down. “I really appreciate your concern, Ash. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got it under control.”
       She looked at him with what might have been a little sadness, but he was coming up with his own translations of the sadness. “Yeah,” she said, watching him, and wearing a smile that seemed to come hard. “I’m sure you do. Forget I said anything. Just…doing my job. Looking out for you.”
       “And I like having you look out for me,” he smiled, noticing the curves of her lips and smoothness of her neck. “It’s good know someone’s got my back. I can see why Terrance trusts you so much. You’re very good.”
       That smile of hers seemed to hold with a kind of cement. “Well, thank you, Jerry,” she said, with a tone somewhere between professional and…something else that he couldn’t quite make out, since it didn’t quite fit into his current view of what was happening, so he ignored it. And with that, she quickly looked at her watch. “Listen, I need to run, but like I told Chris, Terrance wanted me to pick up a book for him. Is it okay if I raid your room before I go?”
       “Sure,” he said, magnanimously. “Make yourself at home.”
       “Thanks,” she said, standing up and grabbing her planner. “So,” she added, “is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”
       “Nah,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m in good hands. But thanks. If I think of something, I’ll give you a call, okay?”
       “Okay,” she said. She looked like she wanted to add something else, but instead said, as she turned and started toward the stairs, “Get some rest. Remember. Pacing.”
       “Got it,” he said with a grin, and watched her jeans closely as she climbed the stairs.
       He closed his eyes and sighed as she disappeared from his sight, and smiled despite the low throb still in his head. He entertained the thought that if he went up to his room in a few minutes, he might find her waiting up there for him. Maybe wishful thinking. Maybe. It was kind of hard to tell with his new life being what it was. Things that used to seem impossible didn’t seem quite so much anymore. There was definitely a new Jerry Lowell. And it was a Jerry Lowell that he liked being. A lot.

       Wow, Ash thought. From zero to asshole in six days flat.
       It certainly wasn’t any kind of record in this town, she knew, but was still disappointing. She’d seen it before. More times than she could count. But she’d been pretty impressed with Jerry when they’d met. He’d seemed to really have his head on straight. Like he might actually be able to keep his head on straight when the big wheel started spinning. Apparently not.
       It was as shame, she thought, as she stepped into his room and noticed the wadded sheets, which suggested something that she really didn’t want to think about. She really did think he was a good writer. His plays were really something. They’d suggested things about the guy who’d written them, a depth of character and emotion and a refreshing view of the world. And he’d seemed to be that guy when she’d first met him on his first day in L.A. And now, days later, after a few nights of wining and dining and Connie’s legs wrapped around him, he’d become the guy whose eyes she could actually feel on her ass when she was climbing the stairs.
       Oh, well. A story as old as Hollywood. It wasn’t her job to worry about such things. Her job was to cater to people like him and keep them happy while they sold their souls for money and fame and immortality. She actually wasn’t normally that jaded in her thinking. She was pretty immune to the process by now. But every once in a while someone came along who made her wonder if she might have been better off just staying in Tampa and doing something else with her life.
       Wanting to be out of the room quickly, she went to the bookshelf and scanned it and found the copy of “For Whom The Bell Tolls” that Terrance had sent her for. However, he had sent her for two reasons. He really had wanted the book, but she was here at the house to deliver as well as pick up.
       She opened her planner and pulled out two envelopes, one with the name “Jerry” on it, the other “Chris”. The cards within contained Terrance’s holiday gifts to the guys, and he’d wanted to sneak them in and let them be something that surprised the both of them. So they were both home, but both out of their rooms, as she’d hoped to get them, so she could leave the cards and be on her way and let the surprise factor kick in per Terrance’s wishes. She grinned a little. Her boss was a very powerful man, and very wealthy, but she loved the way he still got a kick out of taking care of people, the pleasure he took in figuring out the best way to do so. It was like a game to him, getting to know people and working out what gift would make them happiest, a rare trait in a town that thrived on impersonal Gucci gift baskets. In the case of these two Phoenix boys, she’d (again) been impressed with his choice. The big man was good.
       Trying to ignore the state of the bed and not look too closely at the sheets, she placed Jerry’s envelope on his pillow. His contained a Chanukah card, unlike Chris’s yuletide one, as Terrance didn’t miss details like that. Inside the card was a pair of all-access tickets to the L.A. broadcast of Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. Dick would, himself, of course be in New York, but the L.A. party was arguably the bigger one, and was this year being hosted by “Clueless” stars Stacey Dash and Donald Adeosun Faison, who would be introducing the musical guests, which included The Presidents of the United States. It would be a star-studded, major bash, and while some of the more elite celebs in town would turn their noses up at it and think it crass, guys like Jerry and Chris (and girls like Ash) grew up watching Dick Clark on New Year’s and dreaming of one day being at one of those things. She was in agreement with Terrance that that would be the perfect capper for their trip. New Year’s Eve at the Shrine, getting to be backstage and meet the bands and the stars, dancing the night away with their dates—which Ash noted with some bitterness would be Connie in Jerry’s case. They were going to nut out, she was sure. Another big win for Terrance Cross, Hollywood Santa.
       She left Jerry’s room and walked by the hall bathroom, careful to listen and make sure Chris was still showering in there. When she verified this, she crept into his bedroom and placed his card on his pillow. Doing so, in his case, made her smile. Chris seemed like a really sweet guy, and managed to still be after a few days in SoCal (he wasn’t, of course, getting the same ego-stroking that Jerry was, so his chances had been a little better anyway). She was sure he’d be ecstatic about the gift, and that he and his special girl would have a wonderful time. As he was helping her to hold onto her faith in humanity as a whole right now, that made her feel good, and she couldn’t wait to get into her car and get on her cell and track down Depp. If he was in town this week, she was going to make sure to use all her pull and charms to get him to at least stop by his club and say hi to Chris and his girl, and make Chris look like a stud to her. She had meant it—he deserved it.
       She turned to go before one of the two of them caught her, and as she did, her foot hooked on something on the floor, and she fought to keep from tripping as she dragged it with her. She looked down and saw that it was the same bag Chris had been carrying earlier, and she’d pulled it out from under the bed and spilled it over. She bent down quickly to put it back. He was going to know she'd been in his room when he found the card, of course, but she didn’t want him thinking she’d been using the opportunity to rummage through his things.
       The bag was open, and there was some kind of blue and white fabric visible in it, and what looked like the fingers of a blue glove. Somehow, in her rush, this didn’t strike her as odd, but she reached for the one thing that had fallen completely out, and her hand stopped just before reaching it.
       Every muscle in her body, except the ones used to widen her eyes, froze just like her hand.
       It was a mask. A blue mask.
       It all fell into place quickly, and her hand somehow found its way to her mouth without her meaning for it to. Why Terrance had kept her in the dark about the big surprise at Planet Hollywood. What secret project Jerry was in talks with Terrance about. All the secrecy surrounding the pair of guys from Phoenix. From Phoenix.
       Chris was Windjammer.
       Of course his name wasn’t really Chris. Of that she was instantly sure. Suddenly even his I.D. question from earlier made sense. Terrance had made it sound to everyone like Windjammer had flown in for the fundraiser and headed right back to Arizona. But he hadn’t. He was in town for the holidays as Terrance’s guest. Secretly. A secret even kept from her. He was still here, and he was showering right across the hall from her right now.
       She couldn’t breathe. The implications wouldn’t let her. Arguably one of the biggest things to happen to the world—to humanity—in history was this blond kid who could fly and control the winds. It—he—was a phenomenon wrapped in mystery and secrecy, and suddenly she, Ash Gibson, found herself right in the middle of it. She was looking down at his mask. She had seen him without his mask. In her job she dealt with Hollywood royalty all day long, talked with people every day that the rest of the world could only read about in magazines and watch on the screen, knew insider secrets that the public would never know. But all that seemed suddenly fake and silly. This was real. This was what really big meant. This wasn’t a matter of celebrity. This was something closer to divinity.
       And she was now, accidentally, somehow a part of it.
       She heard the shower stop.
       Panic yanked her out of her racing thoughts. She grabbed the mask—strangely afraid to touch it—and shoved it in the bag. She almost zipped the bag shut, but remembered it had already been open, and she pushed it, as it was, back under the bed, in a spot she prayed was where he had left it. She jumped up and all but ran out of his room, having to fight to keep from slamming the door shut behind her. She managed to close it quietly, watching the bathroom door and expecting him to come out of it and catch her and see the look she surely wouldn’t be able to hide from her face. He didn’t, and she quick-stepped to the front door and pulled it open. She almost called a good-bye down to Jerry, to try and sound like everything was casual, but she was sure her voice would betray her. For no real logical reason, she was terrified.
       Again fighting the running urge, she walked quickly to her Volkswagen convertible and got in, and found her hand was shaking as she tried to get the key in the ignition. She got it started and backed out quickly, almost ramming a palm tree as she did. She gunned the engine and sped through the curves of the winding path back up to the P.C.H., and managed to squeal the tires as she jumped onto the famous stretch of highway. Slowly, she got herself—and her heart—under control as she drove, and was able to loosen her white-knuckle grip on the wheel some.
       Windjammer.
       Terrance, what the Hell have you gotten me into?