Sex and Violence in Hollywood Read online

  “It was so, so wonderful of you to say that,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t say it for points, Alyssa. I mean it. I could...” Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, he thought, but went on. “I could sit here and look into your eyes for hours. For...ever. If...if only we weren’t parked at a bus stop.”

  “Oh. Then we should skate.”

  She started to pull away, but he did not let her. He kissed her again, then held her tightly, chin resting on her shoulder. On the sidewalk, a homeless man wearing filthy rags stood beside the bus kiosk. He held a sign that read,

  LOST JOB, HOME—

  WILL DOCTOR SCRIPTS FOR FOOD.

  The homeless man watched them. When his eyes met Adam’s, he slowly lifted his right arm, extended his fist, and stuck his thumb skyward.

  “What would you like to do?” Adam asked when they were back on the road.

  “How about a movie?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Or we could go back to the bookstore and kill my parents.”

  Adam tried to laugh, but it sounded like he was clearing his throat instead.

  Smirking, Alyssa said, “Then we could go take care of your dad. And then...we could just run away.”

  “Run away where?” he asked, his mouth dry.

  “Anywhere! Everywhere! Just hit the road and ride. Just travel the country and save others from weird asshole parents. Like Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek in Badlands.”

  “Yeah! Or Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant in Notting Hill. Or...no, wait...” Alyssa laughed and he was relieved to change the subject. “What kind of movie do you want to see?”

  “Let’s go home and get my contacts. We can call from there for show times. I’m in the mood to eat popcorn and hold hands in the dark.”

  “Hey, if it’s dark, why stop with hands?”

  She touched a fingertip to his lips. “Good question.”

  TEN

  On the way home, Adam stopped at a florist and spent some of his dad’s money on a dozen red roses to be delivered to Alyssa at the bookstore. Then he stopped for a carton of frozen yogurt and went home.

  The garages were closed, so he could not tell who was home. Inside, he went to the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Yu in the breakfast nook, a newspaper spread open on the table next to a steaming mug. Smoke curled from the cigarette held between her thin lips.

  Adam pointed a finger at her and gasped loudly. “Mrs. Yu! Shame on you, Mrs. Yu!”

  Mrs. Yu took the cigarette from her mouth, laughed and shook her head. “You funny.”

  “I’ve never seen you smoke before.” He put the bags on the table, took a seat.

  “Becah yo fadduh no ret anybody smoke inna house. Missy Jurian, she light abou dat. Missa Jurian jus gonna haffa get used to some tings. I too old be smokin’ beside swimmy poo.”

  Adam’s laughter echoed off the surfaces of the kitchen. “How would you like a bowl of strawberry frozen yogurt?” He took the carton from the bag, put it on the table.

  Mrs. Yu picked it up as she put down her cigarette and stood.

  “No, no, Mrs. Yu, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Oh, no. No sugar for me, doctor say.”

  Adam scooped some of the yogurt into a bowl, put the carton in the freezer and returned to the table. “Is Gwen around?”

  “Missy Jurian go shopping. I rike Missy Jurian, she nice. I haffa give her exla dessuht.”

  Adam took his books and frozen yogurt upstairs. At the landing, just before he turned right to go to his room, he glanced absently down the hall to the left. Did a double take when he saw a flash of the bright, sworled colors of a Missile Pop rounding the corner at the end of the hall. Frowning, he went to his room.

  Gwen was shopping. Dad was at work. Mrs. Yu was downstairs and it was the wrong day for any upstairs cleaning. The only other person it could have been was Rain.

  He sat at his desk and tried to do some writing while he ate the frozen yogurt.

  What would Rain be doing in Michael’s bedroom? It was the only room past the corner on that side of the house, so if she went around the corner, that was where she was headed. It was Gwen’s room as well, but Adam did not think that excuse would go over with his dad. Michael Julian fiercely guarded the privacy of his bedroom.

  As a child, Adam had gone into his parents’ bedroom only when he knew his dad was not around and his mother was with him. He used to love watching her brush her hair at the vanity. Sometimes she would put the music box that contained Grandma’s jewelry on the floor and let him carefully examine the pieces. The jewelry box played “Lara’s Theme” from Dr. Zhivago. Whenever he heard it now, Adam thought not of Julie Christie and Omar Sharif, but of the colorful, sparkling jewelry that had been worn by his mom’s mother. Sometimes, Mom would lie down on the floor with him and tell him stories about some of the pieces. A couple times, she had brought out an old photo album filled with pictures of Grandma and Grandpa. Adam had tried to find some of the pieces of jewelry in the snapshots, but was distracted by the faces. They were all hard, unsmiling faces. Everyone in those old pictures looked as if someone had just said something that deeply offended them, and like they weren’t going to forget about it anytime soon.

  His dad had sometimes surprised them by coming home unexpectedly. “How many times have I gotta tell you, I don’t want the Goddamned kid fucking around in my room!” Depending on his mood, he would kick or hit Adam, and Adam would leave the room in one of three ways: he would crawl, be dragged, or picked up and thrown out. Usually, his dad had dragged him out by the hair.

  Michael Julian guarded his bedroom as if it contained his entire fortune. It did not, of course. But a small chunk of it was kept in a floor safe under the desk in his office, which he did not guard at all. Adam had been stealing marijuana, liquor, and money from his dad’s office since he was a little kid. The safe, which was always packed with bundles of cash of varying amounts, had been his livelihood. His dad never gave him money, because Adam never asked for it. He just went to the safe and took it. He was never greedy and only took what he needed, and never made a visible dent in the safe’s money. Michael had caught him red-handed a couple times, but was so delighted to see Adam poking around in his office—probably hoping a desire to write screenplays would rub off—he never seemed to notice.

  Adam finished the yogurt and left his desk. He did not care if Rain got caught in the master bedroom, but Gwen would be the one to take the heat for it.

  He went down the hall, past the stairs to the other end, around the corner. The door of the master bedroom stood open a few inches. It was always locked, so either Rain had stolen her mother’s key or picked her way in.

  Inside, he looked around cautiously. Gwen’s cavernous walk-in closet was open and the light was on inside. In the closet, Adam found Rain sitting on the floor, an open cardboard box on her lap. She was going through its contents, mostly papers and folders and fat envelopes.

  “Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?” Adam asked.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Douglas. Tree still up your butt?”

  “You know what my dad would do if he found you in here?”

  “Give me a spanking?”

  “You’d wish. Come on, let’s go.”

  “This is my mom’s stuff I’m going through, not your dad’s.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re in the room. How did you get in here, anyway?”

  She put a lid on the box and tucked it away on a bottom shelf. Standing, Rain said, “Locks don’t stop me, Big Brother. Get used to it.”

  “Come on, I’m serious. Out.”

  “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. She looked him up and down, smiling. “And here I thought you had a tree up your ass. You’re just afraid of Daddy.” She left the closet.

  Adam turned off the light, almost closed the bedroom door, but remembered the lock. Reached around to the doorknob on the other side and pushed the button in the center.


  “Fuck that kind of thinking,” Rain said as they went back down the hall.

  “What kind of thinking?”

  “Being afraid of your dad.”

  “You said that, I didn’t. I’m not afraid of my dad. I think he’s pathetic. Catch me in the right mood and I might pity him. But I’m not afraid of him.” Not anymore, he thought.

  “Then why play policeman?”

  “Because I know my dad and that’s one thing that makes him go all Carrie. I’m just trying to keep the peace, because for now, I live here. What were you doing in there, anyway?”

  “The usual. Looking to see if Mom had any money or pot or pills I could take. Hey, why don’t you—” Rain stopped in front of her closed bedroom door, but Adam kept going. “Hey. C’mon in.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then I’ll come to your room.”

  Adam sighed as she laughed. She opened the bedroom door and went inside. Not wanting her in his room, Adam followed her and said, “Okay, but just for a couple minutes.”

  The bedroom looked like CNN footage of a tornado’s aftermath.

  “Did your luggage explode?” Adam asked.

  “Mom told me to unpack. She didn’t say anything about putting shit away. So, Big Brother, why do you live here?”

  Still looking around the room, he shrugged. “Because it’s convenient for now. Don’t you have any posters or pictures? Bare walls are so depressing.”

  “What the fuck do I look like, a little kid?”

  “As a matter of fact, you do.” He meant it.

  Rain wore a tie-dyed tank top with Austin Powers 2: The Spy Who Shagged Me written over her left breast, denim cut-offs, and nothing on her tiny feet. With no makeup, she looked her age—a cute sixteen-year-old blonde, tanned, smiling, all-American California girl. But she wore it like a pair of shoes. No matter how perfectly they fit and matched everything she owned, they would never, ever be a part of her body.

  “Close the door,” Rain said.

  “I’m not staying.”

  “Fine, but close the fucking door until you go, okay?”

  Adam closed the door.

  Rain rested a hand on her hip. Her eyebrows rose high over her eyes and her mouth opened as if she were laughing, but didn’t make a sound. “Shit, man, somebody’s trained you well, Mr. Douglas!” she said.

  Adam smiled. “You told me to close it, so I closed it. No big deal.” He took a steadying breath and asked, “Any particular reason you wanted me to come in here?”

  “Yes, there was a reason, Big Brother.” The tie-dyed tank top was gone before she finished her sentence, and her cut-offs were open and on their way down her legs as she walked toward him.

  “No, uh-uh,” Adam said as he turned and opened the door. “No more of that.” The knob slipped from his hand when Rain threw herself against the door and slammed it shut.

  She leaned back against the door wearing nothing, and smiled up at him. “What board meeting are you late for, Mr. Douglas?”

  “Could you please do me a favor and call me Adam? My name is Adam. Not Mr. Douglas. Not Big Brother. Adam.”

  “Shit. You gonna sue me now?”

  “I’d just appreciate it if you’d call me—”

  “You don’t like me, do you, Adam?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that, I don’t even know you well enough to know if I—”

  “But you liked fucking me, didn’t you?”

  Adam stopped talking. He watched as Rain tilted her head back and swept the tip of her tongue back and forth over the bottom of her smile. Cocked a leg and pressed the bare sole of her foot to the door. Even that single, simple act oozed with wet, sticky sexuality.

  “Didn’t you? Adam.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I did, yes. It was...pretty amazing. I still may have to notify my insurance company, I’m not sure yet, but it was amazing.”

  “And you’d like to fuck me again, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d have to be brain-dead not to. But we can’t do it again, because it’s going to lead to nothing but misery and pain and ugly scenes you don’t want to see, trust me.”

  “I’m not gonna be makin’ any scenes.”

  “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about everybody else. If we keep fooling around, it won’t be long before everybody knows. It’s a big house, but it’s not that big. Can you imagine what’ll happen then? The yelling and fighting and crying that’ll go on past Christmas?”

  Rain kicked a path through the clothes and towels and underwear on the floor and sat on an old cedar chest at the foot of her bed. The chest had belonged to Adam’s mom, who had gotten it from her mom. Rain patted the empty space beside her on the cedar chest.

  Adam smiled and shook his head.

  “You can trust me, Adam,” she said.

  “No, I can’t trust you. Or myself. Could you put some clothes on?”

  Delighted laughter sprang from Rain as her face brightened. She pointed at the firm mound in Adam’s jeans next to the fly. “Look who showed up!”

  “Yeah, well, he can’t stay, either.” Adam opened the door.

  “Wait, wait! I’ll put something on.” She searched the floor, snatched something up and slipped it on—a silver terrycloth robe that fell mid-thigh and seemed to hang on her crookedly. There was something heavy in the right pocket.

  “Something?” Adam asked. “That’s hardly anything at all.”

  “How old were you when your dad started hitting you?” Rain crossed her legs properly and sat with her palms pressed flat to the cedar, elbows locked.

  Adam leaned back against the door. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t always hitting. Sometimes he kicked me, dragged me around by my hair. Can you believe that? Even when he was beating a little kid, the son of a bitch fought like a girl.”

  “Fought like a girl? You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re right, the guy fights like a pussy, but not like a girl. You’ve never seen girls fight because we only do it when you’re not around. It’s ugly and bloody and people get hurt. Fought like a girl, my ass. You know what I’d do in your position?”

  “The thought of asking terrifies me,” Adam said.

  “I’d wait for the right time, when Mom was out of the house, and he’d find me masturbating naked on his bed. I’d get him on the bed, give him head, and then I’d bite off his cock. I’d smile at him while he bled to death. Tell him it’s not such a good idea to go around pullin’ people’s hair, is it? Then I’d make it look like Mom did it and get that miserable cunt outta my life. Two turds with one boner.”

  “That wouldn’t work for me,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  He laughed. “I can hear it now. ‘Hey, Dad, let’s watch a game together. Or go shoot some hoops. Or...I know! Your favorite—I could give you a blow job!’ Uh-uh. He’d kill me. He’s not into that, anyway.”

  “How do you know? You don’t know what the fuck he’s into. He might take you up on it, ever think of that? Yeah, he might jump on it.” She smirked. “Bet that’ll fuck with your head for a few days. Don’t ever think you know what kinda sexual shit people are into, because you don’t. You only know what they want you to know. Most people, if they know they won’t get caught and nobody will ever find out, will do fucking anything if it looks like it’ll feel good. I say use what you got when you need to. If it ain’t their thing, maybe it’ll stir up a little heat they didn’t know they had in ’em.” She grinned.

  There isn’t a jury in the land that would convict me of statutory rape, Adam thought, shaking his head. No matter how solid the prosecution’s proof of her age, no one would believe she’s only sixteen.

  “Well, even if he was into it.” Adam said, “I’m not.”

  “Don’t know until you try it.”

  “Try it? Is that how you found your sexual identity, Rain? Fuck a few girls, a few guys, maybe a German shepherd or two, see which
one makes you squirt harder?”

  Rain shrugged.

  “Is there no end to your decadence, Rain?”

  “No end to my what? Speak fuckin’ English, will ya?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “I bet you’ve wanted to kill him, haven’t you? You’ve thought about it.”

  “Would you really bite his dick off?”

  “If I had to. Most people’d do anything if they really had to.”

  “No offense, Rain, but...you’re not like most people. And most people aren’t like you.”

  “That’s what my fuckin’ mother says. I think you’re a couple of shit-for-brains Teletubbies. You’re livin’ in Fantasyland, ridin’ through ‘It’s A Small World’ over and over.”

  Adam pushed himself away from the door and slipped four fingers of each hand into the back pockets of his jeans. Walked slowly toward her, trying not to step on any of her clothes. “Why do you hate your mother so much?” he asked as he sat beside her on the cedar chest.

  “The fuck do you care? You gonna try to fix me? Please, Adam, be anything you want, but don’t be one of those whiiining, booorrring assholes who wants to heal all my wounds so he won’t feel guilty when he finally fucks me. They’re so predictable.”

  “I’m just curious. I like your mother. I can’t figure out what she’s doing with my dad.”

  “You only think you like my mother, and I know exactly what she’s doing with your dad.” She turned toward him, put both feet up on the cedar chest and hugged her knees. “She’s shopping. Planning her future. Which doesn’t include him.”

  “Why would she do that?” he said. “If she was after money, she could’ve done a hell of a lot better than my dad.”

  “Maybe she’s done it before and has more money than she needs already. Ever think of that? Maybe she’s got a shitload of dead-husband money packed away and she just wants more. Wants it, doesn’t need it.”

  “Well, you should know if she’s done it before. She’s your mother.”