New Olympus Trilogy: Teenage Goddess Teenage Star Hell on Earth (14 page)

4

The next morning officially began with an interview for TIME. Alice had sent me a long email with do’s and don’ts, speaking points I was supposed to drop into the conversation, and subjects to absolutely avoid. She’d already negotiated with them that my relationship to Myra was off-limits.

The interviewer was a young blonde woman, Helen
Burron, whose sweet smile no doubt masked her dangerous nature. I had long experience at this sort of thing, so I was not too worried. She’d brought a photographer who kept fiddling with the lights. Helen and I sipped mineral water and chatted while he set things up to his satisfaction.

“So, Jason,” she finally began, “what effect is your recent tragic experience having on your career?”

“I have been inspired to write some songs of my own, and I’m planning to produce them independently in the near future,” I told her, departing from Alice’s script.

“Ah - very interesting! I was going to ask you about that incredible song you put up on YouTube. Is that one of the songs you wrote? The title “Not the End”, does that refer to your history with your vanished girlfriend?”

“I only wrote the words for that one, but my latest songs are written and composed entirely by myself. The style is somewhat similar, I suppose. You will be able to hear the results of my work soon enough.”

“That’s really unusual – you act, and sing, and now you also write and compose? Where did you get so much talent in one handsome package?”

“I believe most people are far more talented and creative than they know. I’ve been very lucky in that I’ve been encouraged to develop my talents from an early age.”

“What next – are you going to write a book?”

I laughed. “Maybe at some point. Right now I’m too busy.”

The interview went well, from what I could tell. After the journalist wrapped it up and put the microphone into her gleaming green handbag, she gave me a sympathetic glance. “I promised not to ask you about the disappearance of your girlfriend, but I can imagine that this must be a difficult time for you. You have my sympathy.”

“Thanks.”

“So, from what you told me, you’re planning to stay in L.A.?”

“Or at least in California. Yeah.”

“Well, the winter should be more pleasant than in Colorado, in any case.” She hesitated a moment, then added, “Maybe living here will make it easier to keep an eye on your agent, too.” She waved to the photographer and they shook my hand, taking their leave.

What had she meant with that remark about my agent? It reminded me uncomfortably about A.P.’s warning that agents sometimes ripped off their clients. Did they know something I didn’t? My gut churned at the possibility. 

She wouldn’t have told me to keep an eye on my agent without good reason. I’d better do something about it.

What, though? I paced through the suite’s sitting room, circling the super-wide leather couches, unable to sit down until I had brought some order into my thoughts. What would Myra advise me to do in this situation? I took out my phone and looked at her smiling face. It never failed to quiet me down when I was upset.

Just as I came to a decision about Murdock, the door opened and a young man in a turquoise silk shirt and cream-coloured linen pants squeezed in, laden with numerous clothing bags.

“Hello, Mr. Mackenzie,” he greeted me, and gave me the eye. I had been ogled by gay men before but was not in the mood for it now; I frowned at him till he averted his eyes, at least for a moment.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Terry Williams, Alice sends me. I volunteered to fill in for Onyx.”

Onyx was my personal shopper. “I see. Alice didn’t tell me you were coming now.”

“I understand she sent you a message,” Terry said, unabashed. “Anyway, here I am, with an excellent selection of clothes for casual and formal occasions. I do hope the measurements we have on file are still current.”

“We’ll see. Where’s Onyx?”

“She went on location to do the costumes for a Paramount production.”

“Good for her.” I’d known she wanted to break into wardrobe in movies, and it looked like her ambition was paying off. “Is it a permanent job?”

“It looks likely. In which case I’ll keep shopping for you. It’s a real pleasure to get clothes for a guy who sets them off the way you do.”

“Enough with the flattery, let’s see what we’ve got,” I decided.

I told Terry to deposit his selections in my bedroom, and had him sit on the sofa outside while I put them on, one after the other, so he could check the fit from all directions. There were a few things I didn’t like the looks of, so I left them out, but on the whole I had to admit that Terry knew his job, and had picked the styles I liked and usually wore. Getting new outfits regularly was an absolute necessity for publicity reasons. With fans crowding me every time I ventured into a mall or shop, this was the most effective way to add to my wardrobe.

In about an hour we settled on eight different outfits, and Terry had re-measured my shoulders and legs. The legs were slightly longer than two months ago, the shoulders a smidgen broader, not yet enough to require a larger size.

“We need to adjust the trouser length anyway, it makes little difference,” Terry noted, jotting down the new measurements. “The things which need alterations will be ready by tomorrow night.”

“OK, thanks
.“

“Bye – and my sympathies for your loss. It’s amazing how well you are carrying on under the circumstances.”

I smiled. Since he was a stranger, I was not going to tell him that I didn’t believe Myra was dead, and that I had imagined her sitting there in the suite, looking at me in my new outfits.

The moment he was gone, I pulled out my cell phone and called Father. He could be difficult to reach, but for once answered his private phone.

“Hello, Jason, is this some kind of emergency?” No wonder he thought so, I hardly ever called him directly. Emails every other week were more our form.

“I have a couple of things to discuss. First of all, I want to stay here in California and finish my schooling with private tutors. The commuting is getting too wearisome. I’ll need to rent a house. We talked about it at Christmas, remember?”

“Yes, you mentioned it.”

“I do realize that I’m still a minor legally. You may need to sign contracts on my behalf. I just wanted to check if there’s enough cash on hand and whether you had any problem with these plans.”

He thought about it for half a minute, while I waited. “It makes sense that you’d want to live close to where your work is. There’s plenty of money to rent a house, or were you thinking of buying?”

“No, renting will do fine for now. And I’m not going for anything too big or fancy, just comfortable.”

“Don’t take anything too small, though – you must keep in mind that security is essential. Hire a reputable 24 hour security service. I’ll send instructions to my bank’s branch in L.A. to let you have the necessary funds.”

“That reminds me, Father. I’ve heard warnings from two different sides that I should keep an eye on my agent. I want to check up on him.”

“An audit, you mean?”

“Yeah. Maybe he has just been bad-mouthing me, but I want to cover all the bases.”

“Very sensible. You were still a child when he started to work with you. It can be a difficult adjustment when a client grows up. I’ll make the necessary arrangements – in case it turns out to be baseless, it will be better if the audit comes from me, rather than from you.”

“I appreciate it. Please let me know right away what your people find out.”

“Jason, if you find he has been bad-mouthing his own client, that would be just as bad as stealing your money. In my experience there is rarely any smoke without fire. Look around for a replacement just in case, discreetly of course.”

“Yeah.” It seemed at sixteen I was deemed ready to pick my own house and new agent. Hooray.

“I’ll tell your mother about your plans. When you have your house, we may come for a quick visit.”

“That would be good.” It felt strange to think of myself playing host to my parents. “Thanks.”

“It’s ok, that’s what parents are for, after all.” He rang off. For all his formality and frequent absences, it was good to have him in my corner. As an experienced CEO he certainly knew how to make things happen, and seemed to expect the same from me. Well, why not?

I fished out the card I’d got from that real estate agent the other day, and checked out his firm on the internet. Then I wrote a to-do list.

House hunting. School. Exams. Songwriting. Recording. Checking out of Rockview, have them send my things. Hire guards, a staff for the house when I’d found it.

So this was what being grown up was like.

Scary and exhausting but – yeah – great!

5

The search for my own house was fun. I set a budget and sketched my requirements to the property agent: rental, quiet, secure, garden, pool, good-sized master bedroom and living room, place for live-in staff, a decent neighbourhood. The fifth house I saw was perfect and I had them send the contracts to my father to sign. It was light and airy, only ten years old, and in excellent condition. There were six bedrooms, a bit more than I needed, but the rent was reasonable at only 8000 dollars a month. I planned to dedicate one room to education, another to music, yet another to fitness and exercise.

I’d have preferred to sign the contracts for myself, since I was spending self-earned money, after all. Still, it wouldn’t take long now until I could do that, too.

Not all guys my age would even want to, I supposed. Many were happy living at home, and had parents that stayed put instead of jetting around the world all the time. If I ever had children I’d not do that to them. They would be welcome to live with me – and my hypothetical wife, who strangely resembled Myra – for as long as they wanted. 

Fortunately that could wait. Ten, twenty, even thirty years – men didn’t have any particular time pressure to have families, and I would not want to start too early.

What would be Myra’s views on the subject? She was very young still. Waiting a while would seem best to her too, I was sure.

Since the house came unfurnished, I needed to get some stuff – beds, sofas, chairs and a kitchen table. Those should do for a start, together with the existing walk-in closets, quite ample for my collection of clothes and shoes. There even was space for future additions.

I’d never bought furniture before. As this was only a rental, it hardly seemed worthwhile engaging an interior decorator, unless I wanted to entertain. But there were restaurants and other places for that. I did not want people I disliked to invade my home, even for the short time span of a party. The memory of that woman in red at my parents’ Christmas party still made me queasy. Only my friends or employees would be allowed into my space, I felt very clear on that.

I called Terry. “Hey, are you very busy? I have another job.”

“Never too busy for you, Jason. What can I do?”

“I’m tired of living in the hotel and have rented my own place. I need some basic furniture, quickly. I plan to move in on Monday, even if I have to sleep on the floor. Can you meet me there tomorrow morning and we’ll see what I need most?”

“It sounds like fun. I’ll bring my pal Jonathan, he knows more about furniture. The good stuff has fairly long delivery times, you know.”

“Well, a few basic items can surely be found immediately?”

“There are places that rent furniture,” Terry started.

“No. I don’t want anything rented. I don’t care if it’s used or from Ikea, I want things that are
mine
.”

“I’ll start researching right away,” Terry promised. “We’ll have some options to suggest by the time we meet you tomorrow – at nine?”

I have him the exact address and we rang off.

Apart from my parents, who should I invite to stay with me? P.A. came to mind – surely he’d like to help me try out the big room I had chosen as my music studio. And Hell and Melinda might come for a visit the next time they had a vacation…

School! How had I been able to forget all about it? I needed to graduate from high school, and I disliked the idea of enrolling in some L.A. school. With my high public profile and constant need for travel, it was just not feasible. And getting to know a new set of students, another Christabel if I had bad luck – no. Not at any price.

As I pulled out my phone to settle the issue of my education, it occurred to me that I was dealing with matters much as my parents did – finding some expert with the right credentials, and delegating the job to him, or her. Well, it worked for them. It could work for me too.

If only I could have delegated the learning and studying. But that would be unfair to other students, even if it could be done. Compared to the majority of teenagers in my country, I already had all too many advantages.

After checking the various possibilities on the internet, I decided to try out an institution offering “home-based secondary education for special cases,” which I gathered from their website, included students with severe health issues. They promised to send a representative to discuss schedules and tuition the next afternoon.

Next on my agenda was a call to Alice, to tell her about the impending changes of address and schooling. No need to publish these details just now, but she had to be up to date on my movements. A blindsided publicist is a furious and ineffective publicist.

She was quite approving when I’d brought her up to speed. “I’ll arrange an interview – on TV, I think – when it’s all settled, so you can announce the move to California”, Alice told me. “This can be spun as Jason getting on with his life and fully committing to his acting and music career. The image of you attending school was interfering with my best work, though it did allow me to present you as just a normal youngster – but we’re beyond that image-wise; you are extraordinary, not normal any more. So, on the whole I’m glad you’re not going back to that school.”

“Okay. It was getting to be too much flying, on top of the other commitments, and the place now has sad memories.”

“Forget about that. Now all we need is to get a new romance going with a glamorous young starlet. I have just the right candidate in mind.”

“No way. Alice, you know how I feel about this. I’m not willing to have my name linked to anyone just yet.”

“You don’t have to sleep with her, Jason. You’re still too young for anything serious, or so your older fans believe, but you need to be seen flirting and kissing another girl.”

“No. I categorically refuse.”

She laughed indulgently. “Jason, with your stunning looks and style, there will always be questions about your sexual orientation. We need to feed a constant succession of girlfriends, or at least amorous interests, to the media. It’s all part of the game, you know that.”

“It’s a game I’m not interested in playing at the moment. I had Myra, isn’t that enough for people to know I’m interested in girls? If not, let them wonder. Let them go to hell as far as I’m concerned.” I switched off the phone, regretting that these cell phones could not be violently slammed down, like the old-fashioned models I’d used in the historic action movie
War of Attrition.

The hotel phone rang.

“Yes?”

“There’s a gentleman, Sir, a
Dr. Mellover, who says he needs to see you on an important medical matter. He’s coming up now in the elevator.”

“Okay.”

What could this man want with me? Was there some news about Myra’s fate? At the mere possibility, my heart began to race.

Escorted by a hotel employee, since my floor was off limits to casual visitors, my visitor soon arrived. He looked quite harmless, about fifty-five, with greying hair, portly. The employee left at my nod.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me without appointment. I am a psychiatrist working with Miss Christabel Lennox. “

Had I known that, I would have refused to see him. I still could not think about Christabel without fury and disgust.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t send her good wishes. How is she? Still in legal troubles?” This guy was probably hired to get her off with some medical excuse. I was not going to help him with that. 

“My work with Miss Lennox is progressing in an unexpected direction, and I need to ask you a couple of questions. It was quite difficult to track you down.
" He sounded aggrieved.

“I don’t feel very charitable towards your patient, but I’m willing to listen, now that you’re here.”

“Right.” The psychiatrist passed a handkerchief over his temples. “This is confidential – but necessary, from my point of view.”

“Go on.”

“The case of Miss Lennox is quite extraordinary. I’ve conducted a whole battery of tests, and the results are very clear: she is compelled to tell the truth, as she understands it, even when she strongly tries to prevent it. I’ve never seen anything like it, and given this new condition the provisional name of “Veraciphilia.” I am writing an article on the case, to be presented at next year’s Psychiatric Convention in Philadelphia.” His eyes gleamed with scientific enthusiasm.

“I wonder how Christabel feels about making medical history.”

“Of course in my paper I’ll use a different name. You have known my patient for several years, I believe?”

“Yes, during the whole time I went to the Rockview Academy. About four years in all.”

“Has she been like this in the past?”

“You mean, unable to lie?”

“It’s more than that. She cannot even remain silent, no matter how hard she tries.”

“I remember several occasions when Christabel told fibs most convincingly. The last time was around the beginning of this school year. That would have been only a few weeks before her attack on Myra, my girlfriend.

The doctor took out a notebook and felt pen and wrote a couple of lines.

“So this behaviour is definitely new? That would fit in with what her friends and family say. According to them, this compulsion came upon Miss Lennox quite suddenly. Or rather, her former friends, since this truth-telling has alienated every single one of them. Even her family is shunning her.”

“I’m not surprised. How does she herself explain it?”

“Miss Lennox blames Myra and
Hellmuth, Myra’s brother, for her mysterious condition.”

How very strange. “Why would she do that? It makes no sense.”

“Indeed. She’s afraid of these two students’ “powers”.”

“Doesn’t she believe Myra is dead, then?”

“She does not. She believes Myra to be a witch, who saved herself after her fall.”

“A witch!” The very idea was ridiculous. “If anyone was a witch in that confrontation, it would have been Christabel herself.”

“I suppose it is a case of projection,” the psychiatrist agreed, nodding. “Not that witches exist, of course, but they are a metaphor for the overpowering negative feelings which led to this tragedy.”

“So what did you need to see me for, doctor?”

“Christabel absolutely believes that there was something uncanny, or supernatural, about Myra. Although I realize it is unlikely in the extreme, I had to check if you could support her claim in any way.”

“I’m sorry, Myra was – is – a wonderful girl, but not in the least uncanny or supernatural. Her brother, who’s still at the school, would know better than I. Anyway, in those weeks as her boyfriend I did not see Myra do anything out of the ordinary. Unless you count the way I fell in love with her very suddenly, from one moment to the next.”

“I’m afraid love is a perfectly normal phenomenon, based on hormones,” the psychiatrist said, disappointed. “I’m sorry, but I had to know, in order to determine the right course of treatment.”

“Good luck with that.” I offered him a drink, but he declined and left right away.

I took a soda myself, and looked out the window, pondering Christabel’s delusions. Was there the slightest chance that she had noticed something about Myra that I hadn’t? I’d been blinded by love and lust, in retrospect that had become appallingly clear. I cringed when I remembered some of the things I’d said and done – in front of witnesses and cameras, too! Apparently all my cool and experience simply evaporated when I was close to Myra.

Uncanny? Supernatural? Surely not. But was I as sure as I’d declared just now, that Myra was an ordinary human girl? Didn’t that dream I had after she’d gone, and my conviction that we would meet again if I remained loyal to her, point in a similar direction?

Was I as delusional as Christabel?

No time now to indulge in wishful thinking. I needed to get my act together and push ahead with my artistic agenda. Out came my trusty cell phone. After a moment of contemplating Myra’s picture, for luck, I called a musician I’d worked with the previous year, who had impressed me with his versatility and verve.

“Hey, Spike, I need the band and a place to record. When are you free in the coming weeks?”

We quickly agreed to work on the new songs I’d written and composed, with P.A.’s help in most cases. I was getting better, though – two of the tunes and arrangements were all my own, with no help, and they’d turned out pretty good as well; at least I thought so. I wondered how Spike and his band would like them.

Jerry Murdock was still strongly opposed to the idea of my going independent. He’d never even seriously discussed the merits of my plan. Did the record label have him in their pocket somehow? I hated feeling these doubts about the man, he’d been such an important part of the last few years, hanging around me and calling much more often them my own parents.

Last year, I’d have let him take all these decisions, and torpedo my own wishes in his constant quest of higher paying gigs. Now I was getting stronger, better able to know my own mind. Could our working relationship survive this change? Should it?

My gut told me that it was time to take a risk – considering my wealth it was a small risk anyway – and invest in myself, as a creator and not just performer. There was something incredibly satisfying about performing a song I’d written and set to music myself.