“I am so glad you could make it,” he tells me.

“Can I make a prediction?” I say. “Oscar nom.” I poke his chest. “You were brilliant, Rich. You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“I appreciate that. And who is this?” he gestures to Kara.

“Rich, meet Kara.”

“Kara,” he takes her hand, “it is such a pleasure to meet you. I’m thrilled you could come. This is Margot.”

Margot smiles and steps forward in a glittering white evening dress. She shakes Kara’s hand, then looks at me. This may sound crazy, but from the way she looks at me, I think  we may have something going on.

“Jim,” she extends her hand, and I take it, exactly like Rich took Kara’s, “does he have to make a movie for you to come to our house?”

”Of course not.” I smile. “But it helps.” Winning smile. Laughs all around.

Rich tells us to go on in and he’ll be along shortly.

As Kara and I step through the monstrous front door, I get the feeling that Rich and I used to be very close. I wish I could remember what happened. I should probably tell my doctor about this awful amnesia.

You wouldn’t believe that someone actually lives in this palace. You walk through the front door into this gardened atrium. Whole trees are growing out of the floor, and up above, these skylights let moonlight in.

We pass through the atrium, where guests mingle, sipping drinks by candlelight and moonlight. Staircases curve up on either side and meet at the second floor, where four large oil paintings adorn the wall. They each have their own lighting system, so even though the hallway is dark, they seem to glow.

Beyond the atrium, we enter a long family room with fireplaces on either end so tall I could stand up inside them. The kitchen shines beneath inlay lighting—steel appliances, black marble countertops, and a brick oven that puts mine to shame.

We hear the music as we approach French doors leading out onto the veranda. A server opens the door for us, and placing my palm on the small of her back, I lead Kara out into the eye of the party.

When she sees the view, she whispers, “My God.”

The veranda of Rich’s mansion is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It runs the length of the house, and at fifty feet wide, it’s crowded with partygoers, a jazz band, three bars, a life-size bull made out of butter, a chocolate fountain, and several tables of exquisite hors d’oeuvre.

Kara practically drags me over to the stone railing. It comes to our waists, and we lean against it and look straight down seventy-five feet to a rocky beach. The moon has just begun to silver the inky sea, and we stand watching the waves far below, and gazing up and down the Malibu coast, at the lights of other cliff-top mansions.

It’s kind of funny. No one else at the party seems even halfway enchanted with the extraordinary view. I mean, this is one of the most beautiful things Kara and I have ever seen, and no one really cares.

“No one else even sees this,” I whisper.

“What?” The sea breeze stirs her hair.

“This view. They might as well be in some stuffy room. Do you see it?”

“I see it. And I see you.”

I stare into her eyes, dark jewels.

“You want to dance?” I ask her.

“No.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Go home with you.”

“That can be arranged.” We laugh, and touch noses, and kiss.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I tell her. “Can I bring you back something?”

“Glass of white wine would be nice.”

“Okay. You’ll be here?”

“Right here.”

I make my way toward the nearest bar, avoiding eye contact with anyone. I order my specialty and a glass of white for Kara, and while the bartender fixes the drinks, I survey the crowd, not recognizing as many faces as I thought I might. Jan Bollinger, the actress, is dancing with a tall, Italian man who can’t be more than twenty-two. She’s fifty-five, by the way. She does a little finger-wave to me. I finger-wave back.

“Here you are, sir.” The bartender hands me my drinks.

I try to tip him, but he won’t accept my money.

As I start to walk away, someone grabs my arm, and I nearly drop the glasses.

A youngish man, maybe twenty-five, stares angrily into my eyes. He’s still holding my arm. He wears a black, silk shirt and leather pants, similar to what I might sport when I go clubbing with the commoners.

“There a problem?” I say.

He gets right up into my face, whispers, “Least you can do is mail it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. His face is tan, angular.

“I’ll bet. What are you afraid I’ll spill it here? That ain’t going to happen.”

“If you don’t let go of my arm, I’m going to throw you over the fucking cliff.”

He lets go of my arm.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t…I let my temper get away from me.” He fixes his collar, takes a deep breath. Smoothes his hair. “I guess should just be thrilled that the great James Jansen let me suck him off in a prop closet,” he says, a little loud for comfort. “You didn’t have to feign interest in my script, you know.”

Now I step into the young man’s face.

“I don’t know how you got in to this party, but if you ever speak to me again, I’ll have you run out of this town.”

He looks pretty scared when I say this, so I must’ve played it right. I turn and walk toward Kara without looking back, though I can feel his eyes on me, and my heart going like mad.

Chapter 23

Margot and Kara view the Manet ~ Jim’s vodka commits suicide ~ gets pitched by Harvey Wallison ~ feeling pretty shitty

Rich and Margot are talking with Kara when I return with her wine, and she’s telling them all about her studies in the art program at UCLA. She’s very engaging. Rich and Margot talk to interesting people all the time, and I’m telling you, they’re riveted.

“Well, you need to come up and see out Manet,” Margot says.

“You have a Manet?”

“Oh, it’s breathtaking. If you looked up toward the second-floor hallway when you first came in, you’d have seen it. Come on! Let me show you!”

Kara looks at me, glowing, and takes her wine.

“Gentlemen,” Margot says, taking my date by the arm. “Think you can entertain yourselves while we’re gone?”

The ladies head off through the crowd toward the house.

Rich and I lean against the railing and stare out to sea.

A mile out, a yacht cruises off the coast.

“She’s adorable, Jim,” Rich tells me. “Where’d you two meet?”

“At La Casa actually. Night I saw you there.”

“Oh, a new romance.” He sips what appears to be a Perrier.

Somewhere in the crowd behind us, a woman screams: “Oh go to hell!”

“So what’s up with that?” Rich points to the glass in my hand.

“What, this?”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just a vodka with—”

“Look, maybe it’s not my place, but…” He doesn’t finish the thought.

“What?”

“You’re going to kill yourself. Let me have that.”

“Are you kidding?”

He takes my glass and throws it over the railing.

Two seconds, and I hear it shatter on the rocks below.

I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything.

“How’s the script coming?” he asks.

“It’s coming.”

“Yeah? You going to star?”

“Who else? You?”

“Hey, come next March, I might be the hottest ticket in town.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

Rich finishes off his Perrier. “You want one of these? I’m going to go for another.”

“No thanks.”

Rich adjusts his bowtie and sort of just takes me in.

“I don’t know what it is, Jim, but you seem different somehow.”

My stomach comes up my throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the girl, but you seem more grounded. At peace even.”