Belinda Book 2 the last part

I don't think I looked up from my work until a good two hours had passed. The

pool was empty, had been for some time. But Alex was walking towards me

across the redbrick terrace, and smile or no smile, I could tell he had

something on his mind.

"Hate to break in on you, Jeremy," he said, "but it's time for a little

conference with your little girl."

When I came into the living room with him, I knew by the look on Belinda's

face that something bad was happening. She sat there in her white tennis

skirt and cotton pullover with her hands on her naked knees, not looking at

anyone. Her hair was in braids, the way I especially loved it, but it left

her face defenseless. She looked like someone had hit her one fine blow

between the eyes. She resembled Bonnie when she had that expression, shocked

and unable to react. G.G. was sitting beside her. He was holding her hand.

"Ash Levine and Marty are on their way over here," Alex said. "Marty has a

deal for Belinda... you know, how to make everything OK for Bonnie and him

now. You know."

Did I? I think I was a little too stunned to respond. It wasn't merely what

Alex had just told me, it was the way he seemed to take it himself. Had

everybody known this was going to happen? I had not.

I turned and looked at Belinda. G.G. looked easily as unhappy as she was, but

then he said: "Belinda, just see him. See what's he got to say. Do that for

yourself." I understood what G.G. meant.

Ash Levine and Marty arrived fifteen minutes later. Belinda wanted me to

remain in the room. But G.G. and Alex disappeared.

This was the first time Marty and I had laid eyes on each other, and I think

I was unprepared for the unbroken assurance with which he grabbed my hand and

smiled.

"Nice to see you, Jeremy." Was it? He was like a man running for public

office rather than a man fighting for his job. The silver gray suit, the gold

jewelry, it was all there, along with the jet black hair and the eyes that

locked onto you with the feverish look of an addict. You could feel this guy

all right when he was still two feet away.

"Hi ya, sweetheart!" he said to Belinda with the same "spontaneous"

affection. "So good to see you, honey!" Then he sat beside her, his arm on

the couch behind her. But I noticed he did not touch her.

Ash Levine-dark tan, navy blue suit, prematurely gray hair, reed-thin body-

had settled in the leather chair by Alex's desk, and he was the one, white

teeth flashing, who began to talk.

"Now, Jeremy, the important thing here is for everybody to come out of this

smelling like a rose. That's what we're all here for, right? You know how

much we admire Alex. We really like Alex. I mean Alex is Hollywood, they

don't make stars like Alex anymore, right? But thanks to 'Champagne Flight'

he is in the midst of a pretty damned exciting comeback and I think Alex

would be the first to admit that what's good for 'Champagne Flight' has been

pretty damn good for us all, right-?"

On and on he went as I looked at Belinda and Belinda slowly lifted her eyes

and looked at me. A touch of a smile at the end of her lips for only an

instant. Then it was lost. But not on Marty, I didn't think. Marty was

watching both of us, eyes darting back and forth.

"-a couple of episodes of 'Champagne Flight' featuring Alex and Belinda," Ash

Levine was saying, "I mean, the publicity would be fabulous for Alex after

all that's happened, and for Belinda! It would be terrific for Belinda. I

mean, they've heard about Belinda, and they've seen pictures of Belinda, and

then, hey, they'd see Belinda-and not in some grainy foreign film, some

glitzy mink advertisement, hey, prime time, it's Belinda. And the focus is on

her. We're talking number-one show in the country and, when we go back on the

air, hey, we'll break all the records, I mean, the fan mail has been

fabulous, simply fabulous, I mean, the fans are outraged that 'Champagne

Flight' was preempted, the fans simply don't understand. I mean, if the

network won't play ball, hey, we're getting offers from cable, the

independents, we can sit down and create our own network for this thing just

with the independents, hey, Alex and Belinda in the same episode, give them

back the man they miss and Belinda? I mean we're talking not just number one,

we're talking special event!"

Belinda's face was changing. She wasn't smiling, no, but her eyes had the old

steadiness. She looked at Ash. She looked at him for a long time, and then

slowly her eyes shifted back to me. That curl of a smile again. Bitter?

Frankly amused? Was she ready to let out a high-pitched scream?

"Hey, Ash!" Marty said, gesturing for silence. "Hey, no need to address these

remarks to Jeremy, hey, Belinda's a smart girl, aren't you, sweetheart?

Belinda knows what we're talking about." His voice had changed suddenly with

the last phrase. He turned to Belinda. Silence. Silence with Ash sitting

there with his fingers laced together on his knee. And me saying nothing as I

watched all of them.

"Honey," Marty said, "do this for Bonnie. That's what I'm asking. We can cut

the crap, honey. Do this to straighten things out."

Belinda didn't answer. But she had lost the shocked look utterly now. She was

looking through the French doors at the garden, at the distant green house

maybe. It almost seemed that she hadn't heard Marty. That she was alone in

the room.

Marty was looking at me. No expression really, just looking, the face

amazingly calm compared with the body, which had the look of an animal about

to pounce.

"Let me talk to Jeremy alone a moment, Marty," Belinda said. She got up and I

went with her into the hallway. But she didn't say anything to me. She just

looked at me, as if she expected me to talk, and so I did. I put my hands on

her shoulders.

"You remember what Ollie Boon said to you about power," I said "-all you

wrote to me in your letter about that?"

She nodded. The numbed expression had definitely melted, and her eyes were

quick though not untroubled. She waited for me to go on.

"Honey, he was right," I said. "You don't like to have power over people. And

you don't like to use it."

Again she nodded, but she did not give anything back. She was studying me,

and as always, with her hair pulled back and up into the tight braids, her

face had a simultaneous innocence and determination.

"But I think this is a time," I said, "when you can go against that

inclination again, and use the power that you have." Again no response.

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "You're thinking about G.G. and the

rumors. You're thinking about the call you made to your mom."

"And about you, Jeremy," she said. "What they tried to do to you, too."

"I know. And nobody's going to blame you, honey, whatever you decide. But

what I'm saying is, if you do this, if you just do what they want and make it

all right for them-two episodes of this 'Champagne Flight' thing-well, then,

all your life you'll know you got them off the hook and what happens to them

after this is their affair."

Her face registered the most subtle surprise. It brightened visibly. It was

like watching morning sun slowly fill a daylighted room.

"You mean you're saying do it?" she asked me. Amazement just like when we

were riding in the van out of San Francisco only a few nights ago.

"Yes, I guess I am. Bail them out. And then you really can just turn on your

heel and walk away."

She looked up at me, wonderingly, confused.

"I thought you wouldn't want me to do it," she said. "I thought you would

never forgive me, never understand."

"Look, as it stands, there's still a chance to get everybody out of this in

one piece-and then we'll all be free."

"Oh, Jeremy," she whispered. She stood on tiptoe and kissed me. "Thank God."

And for the first time since she'd come back, I thought I saw the radiance of

my Belinda. The anxiety and the darkness were almost gone.

Bonnie was waiting in the dark limousine just inside the gates. And when we

went outside, we saw that Alex was with her. He was sitting in the backseat

with the door open, talking to her, and I heard him say, "Excuse me,

darlin'," as he got out.

I stood with Ash as Belinda and Marty went towards the car, and then Marty

got in. Alex had come to join us and Alex shook Ash's hand and said how

beautiful Bonnie looked, that she was really a vision, and Ash said what a

pleasure it was to see Alex, always a pleasure, of course.

Marty was now getting out of the car. He looked at Belinda, who was standing

there waiting, her braids twisted a little as they came down to her

shoulders, her head slightly bowed. He reached out to touch Belinda's arm.

"Get in and talk to her, honey," he said.

I felt myself tense all over as Belinda got into the car. I walked down the

gravel path slowly until I could hear her voice, thin and low, but distinct

nevertheless.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hello, darlin'."

"You feeling better now, Mom?"

"Yes, darlin', thank you. I'm so glad you're all right."

"Mom, is it OK if maybe, to smooth things over, you know, that I could be in

one of the shows?"

"Sure, darlin', that would be nice, just real nice."

"You know, just a small part. They were talking about maybe me and Alex

Clementine-"

"Sure, darlin', whatever you want."

Another car, a shiny little BMW, was nosing up the drive. It came to a halt

on the other side of the open gate, and Marty made a gesture to the men

inside. Three of them got out. They were photographers, one with the old-

fashioned accordion-style camera, the other two with Nikons and Canons on

black straps around their necks.

Then Marty asked Bonnie and Belinda to step out of the limo, and Belinda came

out first and then helped Bonnie, who blinked and lowered her head as she

stepped into the bright sun.

A vision she was, truly, even her pallor was exquisite, set off by the vivid

red of her carefully tailored wool suit. Her hair was a sleek mass of black

silk curving just at the shoulders. Through the thick lenses of her glasses,

she appeared to look past us, unseeing, as she put her arm around Belinda's

waist. Belinda slipped her arm around her mother. Belinda inclined her head

towards her mother ever so slightly. And the photographers went to work.

It couldn't have taken three minutes. The yard was deadly quiet except for

the snapping and grinding of the cameras. Then the men got back into the car,

and the BMW made a sharp U-turn and drove away.

Belinda helped her mother back into the car and sat beside her again.

And I looked at Marty and realized that we were standing very close to each

other, maybe no more than three feet apart. He had his arm resting on the top

of the limo. And he was staring at me, maybe had been for some time. He was

just looking at me in a sober, detached way, his black eyes fixed, but rather

relaxed.

"Bye, Mom, it was so good to see you," Belinda said.

"Bye, darlin'."

I couldn't tell whether Marty was even listening to them.

When Belinda got out of the car, he continued to look at me, and I saw him

give the smallest little nod of his head. I didn't know what it meant. Maybe

I never would. But when he reached out to shake my hand, I tried to respond

as best I could. We looked at each other, shaking hands, and that was all.

Nothing was said.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said to Belinda. And he pointed his finger at

her. "I promised you once I'd write a bang-up episode for you, didn't I?

Well, you wait and see."

"Don't make it too good, Marty," she whispered. "I'm on my way to Rio. I

don't want to be a TV star."

He smiled, very wide, very genuine, and then he leaned over and kissed her on

the cheek.

Then the limousine was rolling out the gates and down the canyon road through

the dappled sun and out of sight. I put my arm around Belinda, felt her lean

against me gently, felt her head against my cheek. Belinda was watching the

darkened windows, the windows we could not see through. Then she lifted her

hand as if she had seen somebody, which clearly she hadn't, and she waved.

The car was gone. Then she turned to me, and the old Belinda was suddenly

looking right at me out of her face.

"Hey, Jeremy, let's do the Rio thing," she said suddenly, "I mean, you're

coming to Rio with us, aren't you? I'm going to call Susan. I mean, this

picture is really truly on, isn't it? We're going to go!"

"You bet, baby darling," I said.

I watched her turn and all but dance up the driveway, snapping her fingers,

braids swinging.

"I mean, after, you know-what, two episodes with Mom and Marty?-then we're

off." And she vanished into the shadows of the house.

Late that afternoon came the inevitable press conference. It had to be

announced, didn't it? She had to sit in the den with G.G. beside her and give

a statement before the inevitable video cameras and lights. They were asking

as many questions about G.G.'s new salon in Beverly Hills as they were asking

about the show.

Susan had come over with Sandy Miller "to watch the circus." And Alex sat

with them out on the bricks by the pool. In pearls and summer lace Sandy sat

there with her long fingers curled around Susan's arm. A tomato, is that what

Belinda had called her? Sandy was a tomato, all right. And did she ever play

up to Alex. Susan just watched the whole thing with a patient smile.

Alex was having a wonderful time entertaining her with stories, and then

Susan kept chiding him about upsetting her "price scale" with his demands for

Of Will and Shame. He teased her back, telling her she hadn't been in this

business long enough to get him to make a deal without his agent at a

poolside table in his own backyard.

"You want to be remembered for 'Champagne Flight'? I'm offering you a movie,

Clementine, a bona fide movie like they used to make in the old days,

remember, plot, character, style, meaning, one hour and forty-five minutes

without a commercial break, you get my drift?"

I went into the living room and stood for a long time looking up at the

portrait of Faye Clementine that I had painted twenty-five years ago. It

still hung above the fireplace where I had put it myself before I left for

San Francisco on that last day. Over the years the little mistakes I'd made

in perspective had always tormented me when I saw them. But I liked the

painting. I felt good about it. I always had.

And now, as I studied it-Faye's dimpled cheek, the way her carefully modeled

hand rested on the pink fabric of her dress-I felt a gentle surge of

excitement that no one around me need know of, or try to understand. This

wasn't a great painting. It didn't have the hallucinatory vibrancy of the

Belinda works. But it had been a true beginning, one that I was only fully

understanding now that I had come full circle to stand in front of it again.

I didn't hear Alex come up behind me. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and

when I turned, he smiled.

"Go ahead," he said. "Say I told you so. You've got a right."

"You mean our old argument? Some little old talk we had about art and money

and death and life?"

"Don't leave out the word, truth, Walker. When you don't throw the word truth

into every second sentence, I get afraid."

"OK, it was about art, money, death, life, and truth. And now you're telling

me I was right."

"I just didn't know how you were so sure it was all going to turn out the way

it did."

"Sure? Me? I wasn't sure at all."

"I don't believe you," he answered. "That was Clair Clarke, your agent, on

the phone right now. She's talking to me 'cause you won't take her calls."

"Right now," I said, "I don't need her calls."

"-and you know what she wants, don't you?"

"Belinda as a client. I told Belinda. Clair can wait till Belinda decides."

"No, dear boy, though she'll want that in the bargain, too, obviously, if she

can get it. She's getting offers for your story from all over. She wants to

know if you want to sell the rights."

"To my story!"

"Yours and Belinda's-the whole kit and caboodle. She wants you to think it

over. She doesn't want somebody to rip it off because you're public figures

now. You know, the quickie TV movie. They can do that, using your names and

all. She wants to scare them off with a major package, seven-figure deal."

I laughed. In fact, I really came apart.

I had to sit down, I was laughing so hard. I wasn't laughing all that loud.

It was a different quality of laughter. It went way deep down inside me and

it was bringing the water up into my eyes. I sat there staring at Alex.

He was grinning at me, hands in the pockets of his blue-wash pants, his pink

cashmere sweater tied over his shoulders, his eyes full of mischief and pure

delight.

"Tell your wife about it, Walker," he said. "Rule of thumb in Tinseltown.

Always tell your wife before turning down a major package, seven-figure

deal."

"Of course, it's her story, too," I said, when I was finally able to catch my

breath. "Oh, you bet I'll consult her. Just wait."

"It worked out just like you predicted, gotta hand it to you. It really did.

Must have been the right dirt in the right measure after all, don't you

think?"

But then his face darkened a little. The worried look. And it was hardly for

the first time.

"Jeremy, are you really doing all right?"

"Alex, don't worry about me, seven-figure deal or no seven-figure deal, I am

just fine."

"I know you keep saying that, Jeremy, but I'm just keeping an eye out, OK?

You remember Oscar Wilde, when he'd go around with the tough young hustlers

in London, he called it 'feasting with panthers.' Remember that, hmmm? Well,

you know what this town is, Jeremy? It's 'phone calls from panthers, and

lunching with panthers, and cocktails with panthers and "catch you later,"

from panthers'-you have to watch your step."

"Alex, you're being deceived by appearances," I said. "It's not like I'm here

suddenly instead of up in San Francisco with all that Victorian trash. I

haven't swapped the kiddie books for Tinseltown, it's not like that at all.

I've come back to some fork in the road I never should have passed up the

first time around. And it hasn't got much to do with Hollywood really. It's

got more to do with time and what's directly in front of you and the way you

use it, which is why I'm perfectly all right."

"Now that sounds like the old Jeremy," he said, "I have to admit. Throw a

little truth into it for me and I'll be convinced."

He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and then he started back out to the patio,

where G.G. was sitting with the ladies by the pool. The reporters were gone

now. Belinda had come out, peeled off her jeans and shirt to reveal nothing

but that wicked little Brazilian bikini before she carefully aimed her sleek

breathtaking little body, arms first, into the pool.

Just me and Faye again. OK. I love you, Faye.

I looked up at her, and I was thinking pictures again, my kind of pictures,

full of incandescent power and gradations of darkness, burning studies of

Alex, Blair, G.G., and Belinda, yes, Belinda in some wholly new context, some

new adventure utterly transcending what had gone before.

The contour of glitz, yes, I wanted to get it, and the discovery of the

shadows that the spotlight always washed away. The color and texture of

California, all that I had to do.

But these gilded images were but a small part of what was yet to come for me.

The fact was, my world was now filled with a thousand beings of all ages,

shapes, attitudes, a thousand settings, patterns of past and present and

future unexamined and unseen before. For the first time I could do anything I

wanted.

I had passed-thanks to Belinda-out of the world of dreams into the brilliant

light of life itself.
The End