A scentof sagebrush filled the air.Glowing white flowers—oleanders,Laurie thought—concealed the iron fence around his house.On theterracotta gatepost, barely visible among the tumblingbougainvillea blossoms, a tiny display panel told him that he'dsuccessfully set the alarm systems for the house, pool and garden.Safe in his pocket was a monitor which would alert him if any ofthese were breached, and a set of key cards which would only workin conjunction with his thumbprint on the reader screens beside thedoors.
Sashahad his own cards, monitor and pre-set thumbprint access.Lauriehad been specific over that.He thought he'd sounded prettyreasonable the night before, sitting at the ironwood table in theirhuge, state-of-the-art kitchen, explaining what he needed to theIvory Gate housekeeping rep.Laurie had still been damp from theshower, Sasha conveniently passed out upstairs in jet-lagged,postcoital sleep.The house must be secure, Laurie had told therep, but Sasha, as his valued assistant and friend, had to be freeto come and go as he chose.
Lauriefound his car keys and clicked open the door to the Jeep Cherokeethe studio had provided.He remembered not to climb in on theright, and was glad of his presence of mind when an inconspicuousFord down the road flashed its lights at him in a prearrangedtwo-flicker greeting.Behind the wheel was an equally inconspicuouswoman, who could have been waiting for her kids or her partner butwas in fact one of the four security guards Laurie had also paidfor on the credit of his gifts.He nodded awkwardly.He started upthe jeep and pulled out into the motionless, desertedstreet.
He'd known, of course, that Sasha couldn't drive.He'd bankedon it.Yes, Sash had to be free to come and go, but with no accessto a vehicle, locked up in a gated estate three hot, dusty milesfrom public transport, where would he go?The house was beautiful.The penthouse floor was a well-stocked library, and the internetconnections were ridiculously fast.There was a swimming pool.There was a fridge and kitchen full of wonderful food, and theCalifornian equivalent of Mrs G to come in twice a day and cook it.Laurie would be home every night and would devote every minute ofhis off-duty time to him: in the evenings and at weekends they'ddrive out to the city and coast and live the carefully orchestrateddream.Sasha hadn't been well.Having little to do, and a warm andgorgeous place in which to do it, was exactly what he needed.Mentally Laurie crossed out the wordsexileandcaptivityfrom his mind and replacedthem withholiday.Withsalvation, ifhe came to think about it, because that, nothing less, was why hehad brought Sasha here.
Lauriepulled up at the gates.They were nine feet high and made ofreinforced steel disguised as wrought iron.Last night there hadbeen a friendly warden to check their ID and wave them through, butnow Laurie had to work out which of the half dozen cards in hiswallet would crack open their jaws.
It tookhim almost five minutes.By the time he had swiped the right faceof the right card across the right part of the gatepost reader, hishands were shaking, his arm tense with the effort of reaching thatfar through the window.A small queue had built up behind him.Suspicious faces had appeared around curtains in the houses nearby.No-one came to help him, to bail him out this once with a kindlyborrowed swipe, but they wouldn't, would they?That was the wholepoint of San Marco.Laurie was a stranger, and like everyone elsewithin the reinforced-steel paradise, had elected to view strangersas a threat.The damn gates opened at last.Jamming the Cherokeeinto gear, Laurie tore through them and off up the canyon road,taking bitter satisfaction in his own wild cloud ofdust.
Chapter Fifteen
Whatwith the gate, the traffic and the difficulties of following hisGPS on alien roads, Laurie was late for his first day on set.Anxiety clutched at him as he bounced the jeep through the maze ofalleys around the hinterland of the Ivory Gate lot.He’d been toldto report to the main entrance, but no sooner had he identifiedthat by its magnificent arch than he almost ran into the crowd ofkids filling the plaza in front of it.He jammed on the brakes.This mob seemed calmer than the one at the airport.Maybe it wasokay to smile at them, to wind his window down.
A burlybouncer in a headset mic appeared on the pavement, making franticgestures for him to turn around.Laurie obeyed, wavingapologetically to the leaping, dancing crowd in his rearviewmirror.A few hundred yards down the road, a smaller set of gatesswung wide at his approach, and he swerved inside withrelief.
Thegates must have been opened remotely from somewhere within thewarehouse-like building in front of him.The yard he’d arrived inwas empty, and when he switched off the engine, eerily silent.Thesquare of sky above the high, sand-coloured walls was so deep ablue he saw it as violet.As he watched, a huge bird sailed acrossit and began to circle on an updraft, casting a spiralling shadowon the yard.He got out and stood watching, holding the frame ofthe truck’s door for balance.
“Oh, crap.Fuck!”
Laurieswung round at the stifled exclamation.It was followed by a fit ofcoughing.There was one patch of shade in the bare yard, cast by asmall, scrubby tree, and there in the shadows was Bailey Price,perched on an upturned crate and clearly trying to conceal theremains of a joint.Laurie raised his palms placatingly.“Allright, mate.I’m not the drug squad.”
Baileyfell off his crate.He righted himself clumsily.“Shit, man!I’msorry.Don’t bust me, okay?”
“They’ve been pretty nice to me out here so far, but I don’tthink I’ve got powers of arrest.”Bailey gaped, and Laurie decidedhe’d better wear his red nose and clown shoes for any furtherstraight-faced British jokes.“I won’t bust you.What’s thematter?”
“I was meant to catch you on your way in.A bunch of Mooniesgot through the perimeter and they’ve blocked up the main gate.Didyou see them?”
“Moonies?”Laurie fought a surge of unreality, brought on bythe blazing sun and the rich tang of cannabis drifting in the air.“Are they still a problem out here?I haven’t seen any in London inyears.Their guy died, didn’t he—the Reverend Moon?”
Bailey looked bewildered.“Moonies, man.Blood Moonfans.What the hellareyoutalkingabout?”
Lauriedrew a breath to explain.Then he looked again at Bailey.He wasLaurie’s own age, but there was somehow a huge gap.His eyes wereoddly empty behind their gold-brown lights.“Never mind.Yeah, Isaw them.”He slammed the Cherokee’s door and went to set Bailey’scrate upright.He held him by one shoulder and absently dusted himdown, as he would have tidied Clara after a tumble.“They seemedpretty docile, though—not like the mob at LAX.Why don’t yoursecurity guys just round them up and send them backoutside?”
“Not this time.It’s called controlled invasion.If it’s a bigcrowd and they’re not too crazy, the studio lets them stay.Thepress picks it up and it makes us look good.Screaming fans raid Blood Moon set again, you know?Anyway, Libby sent me to stop you and bring you inhere.But I got sleepy, and I thought I’d have—you know—a smokebreak, that’s all...”
“Uh-huh.”Laurie, who didn’t care what he smoked, patted hisshoulder absently.“Relax.I got here, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.Oh, shit, I better take you in.”Suddenly his whole facelit up with a smile that made Laurie see how he’d ended up here inthe hot gaze of the world.“I’m glad they hired you for Devlin,dude!”He flung an arm around Laurie’s shoulders.“You’re a niceguy.I can tell.Normal.”
Lauriesmiled, letting himself be led off.Normal was fine with him, andby contrast with the glaring world around him, controlled invasionsand gated communities, he almost felt it.“Ta.Listen,though—you’re a pretty big deal around here, aren’t you?PlayingCalvin, I mean.”
“I guess.Why?”
“Why does Libby push you around?You’re a great big Hollywoodmegastar, not the production manager’s dogsbody.”
“Her what?”
Again,that startled vacancy, as if this sunshine-coloured boy had beenraised in a sealed flask, free from all cultural cross-pollination.Laurie searched his databanks for an alternative term.“Her gofer?Is that right?”
Baileyburst into laughter.“Exactly right.It’s okay—it’s all in mytherapy programme.I’m a recovering addict.”
Laurieglanced involuntarily back at the remains of the joint stillsmouldering in the dust.“Sorry,” he said.“I didn’t mean to pry.You don’t have to tell me—”
“Hell, I tell everyone.That’s part of the therapy too.Andthat spliff back there—man, that’s candy compared to the shit I’mrecovering from.”He keyed open a metal door with a security foband gestured Laurie inside.“Don’t look so worried, English—I’mgood.My therapist says I’ve spent so much time giving in to my ownimpulses, that’s just how my brain works now.So the best cure’s togive in to somebody else, let them take the place of mytemptations.So whatever they tell me to do around here—fetch cars,go with Libby to meet cute English guys at the airport—that’s whatI do.It keeps me busy.And clean.”
All thishad been delivered with a throwaway verve that almost passed forsincerity.Laurie had listened as sincerely as he could in return.Now, though, he shook his head and smiled at Bailey through theshadows of the cavernous space in which he found himself.“Okay.Good story.That’s got to be bollocks, though—hasn’tit?”
