Say My Name

Page 81

“Is it true you punched out the screenwriter?”
I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Please tell me you didn’t read that in the gossip rags.”
“No, I heard it from Jamie. She heard it from a friend. Said it was very hush-hush.”
“Good. I paid a lot of money to keep it hush-hush.”
“So you really did punch the guy.” I’m oddly fascinated by this. “I thought you were all about boxing clubs and not smacking down innocent people.”
“Trust me,” he says darkly. “That asshole was not innocent.”
I decide not to press that point, but I can’t stop thinking about the movie in general.
“What?” he says after we’ve driven about five miles in absolute silence.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but your thoughts are deafening.”
“I just don’t get it,” I admit. “That house is spectacular, and it’s what put your career on the map. I know there was a tragedy there, but that was long after the house was completed and you were in Vegas working on the Union Bank building. So why does the thought of a movie bother you so much?”
“Because it’s private.” I hear the sharp edge to his voice and wince a bit. He notices, and I watch as his shoulders sag. “Sorry. But the whole project is surrounded by tragedy, and the damn producer who’s interested in the film is sticking his nose in where it doesn’t need to be. It’s personal. It’s private. And there are real people with real lives who are going to get hurt if the damn thing gets made.”
I still don’t understand, but I’m not going to push. It’s clear enough to me that Jackson hasn’t told me the entire story. But considering I’m hanging on tight to secrets of my own, I can hardly bitch too loudly.
I reach over and brush my hand over his shoulder. “I may not understand why, but I get that it’s important to you. And I hope you get the movie shut down, too.”
His smile is one of thanks and acknowledgment. “Speaking of movies, Michael is hosting a fund-raiser at his house Friday night. For the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project. It’s a good cause, and he’s a good guy. Will you go with me?”
“Of course.” I wriggle a little in my seat. Considering everything we’ve now been through together, it’s probably silly. But the thought of going on a proper date with Jackson makes me undeniably happy.
It’s only then that I notice that he’s slowed to make a right turn. I glance around, then look to him in question. “The Palisades?”
“You’ll see.”
He turns, and I pay attention as he climbs the canyon road, then turns and doubles back toward the ocean until the road makes a sharp right and we follow it, essentially traveling parallel to the coast highway, but well above it in the hills.
I actually know this neighborhood, as I’ve spent a lot of time driving in these hills searching the facades of these beautiful homes for that unknown something that keeps eluding me.
The houses here are spaced far apart, with each lot taking up anywhere from one to three acres, most of that land allocated to the backyard. The place has a friendly, neighborhood vibe, but doesn’t feel like suburbia. The houses are private and expensive, and that gives the area a quiet, exclusive feel. And because each lot on the west side of the road overlooks the coast highway, each home has a view of the ocean that is positively to die for.
“Let me guess,” I say. “We’re going trick-or-treating early.”
“We’re not,” he says. “But feel free to put on a costume anytime you want.”
I raise my eyebrow. “I just might do that. But not if you don’t tell me what you’re up to.”
“Just a little farther.” As he speaks, the road curves sharply. He makes a left turn into a vacant lot, then stops the car.
I glance around, confused, and am about to ask Jackson, but he’s already getting out of the car. I do as well, then follow him deeper into the property, delighted to see that although it has no structure on it, some early developer terraced the hill so that there are stairs leading down to what will essentially be a private backyard to whatever house is ultimately built on the lot above.
“This is amazing,” I say, turning around and realizing that I have no line of sight to any of the houses on the street above. As for the coast highway, it is mostly camouflaged by the trees and brush that slope away from the area on which I now stand, which means that the dominant view is of sand and ocean. “I can’t believe this lot hasn’t been snatched up.”