River’s End

trembling and swaying, at the benevolent and beautiful face of the Blue Fairy poised atop the music box.

Twenty-four
    “I never wanted to be alone.” Sam held the coffee Noah had given him and squinted against the sun. “Being alone was like a punishment to me. A failure. Julie was good at it, often preferred it. She didn’t need the spotlight the way I did.”
    “Did or do?” Noah asked, and watched Sam smile.
    “I’ve learned there are advantages to solitude. Julie always knew that. When we separated, when I bought the place in Malibu, the prospect of living there alone was nearly as terrifying as living without her. I don’t remember much about the Malibu house. I guess it was similar to this.”
    He glanced back at the house, the creamy wood, clear streams of glass, the splashes of flowers in stone tubs. Then out to the ocean. “The view wouldn’t have been much different. You like it here, being alone?”
    “My kind of work requires big chunks of solitude.”
    Sam only nodded and fell silent.
    Noah had debated the wisdom of conducting the interviews at his own place. In the end, it had seemed most practical. They’d have the privacy he required and, by setting up on the deck, give Sam his wish to be outside. He hadn’t been able to come up with a good argument against it, as Sam already had his address. He waited while Sam lit another cigarette. “Tell me about the night of August twenty-eighth.”
    “I didn’t want to be alone,” Sam said again. “I wasn’t working, had just fired my agent. I was pissed off at Julie. Who the hell did she think she was, kicking me out of the house when she was the one fucking around? I called Lydia. I wanted company, I wanted sympathy. She hated Julie, so I knew she’d say what I wanted to hear. I figured we’d get high and have sex—like old times. That’d teach Julie a lesson.”
    His hand bunched into a fist on his knee, and he began to tap it there, rhythmically. “
    She wasn’t home. Her maid said she was out for the evening. So I was pissed off about that, too. Couldn’t depend on anyone, no one was there when you needed them. Worked myself up pretty good. There were others I could have called, but I thought fuck them. I did a line to prime myself up, then got in the car and headed into L.A.”
    He paused, rubbing lightly at his temple as if he had a headache brewing, then went back to tapping his fist on his knee. “I don’t know how many clubs I hit. It came out in the trial, different people seeing me at different places that night. Saying I was belligerent, looking for trouble. How did they know what I was looking for when I didn’t?”
    “Witnesses stated you were looking for Lucas Manning, got into a shoving match with security at one of the clubs, knocked over a tray of drinks at another.”
    “Must have.” Sam moved his shoulder casually, but his hand continued its hard, steady rhythm. “It’s a blur. Bright lights, bright colors, faces, bodies. I did another line in the car. Maybe two before I drove to our house. I’d been drinking, too. I had all this energy and anger and all I could think of was Julie. We’d settle this, goddamn it. Once and for all.”
    He sat back, closed his eyes. His hand stilled, then began to claw at his knee. “I remember the way the trees stood out against the sky, like a painting. And the headlights of other cars were like suns, burning against my eyes. I could hear the sound of my heartbeat in my head. Then it goes two ways.”
    He opened his eyes, blue and intense, and stared into Noah’s. “The gate’s locked. I know he’s in there with her. The son of a bitch. When she comes on the intercom I tell her to open the gate, I need to talk to her. I’m careful, really careful, to keep my tone calm. I know she won’t let me in if she knows I’ve been using. She won’t let me in if she knows I’m primed. She tells me it’s late, but I persist, I persuade. She gives in. I drive back to the house. The moonlight’s so bright it hurts my eyes. And she’s standing in the door, the light behind her. She’s wearing the white silk nightgown I’d bought her for our last anniversary. Her hair’s down around her shoulders, her feet are bare. She’s so beautiful. And cold, her face is cold, like something carved out of marble. She tells me to make it quick, she’s tired, and walks into the parlor.
    “There’s a glass of wine on the table, and the magazines. The scissors. They’re silver and