The New Elvis Page 11

  Ryan looked over at Bea. She had fallen asleep with her mouth open. He read one last post, this one by a sad-looking woman who went by the handle FindYou15.

  “I have wanted to find my biological dad for years, but my mom won’t let me. She is afraid of losing me. We don’t have much money, and unless I get a scholarship, I won’t be going to college. How does she know my dad wouldn’t be able to help me? Help us? She has been a single mom all these years to my sister and I, and I am ready to give up. I have spent my whole life fantasizing about the father I don’t know. Does this happen to boys who don’t know their fathers, too?”

  A tear leaked from corner of Ryan’s eye. He brushed it away, covered Bea with a peach-colored throw blanket, unplugged the laptop, and went home.

  Chapter 40

  Just as Don Draper and his friends pulled together their own agency from the spoils of Sterling Cooper, twelve years into the new millennium, Nicole “Marilyn” Coffey left the cutthroat environs of Flash to start her own tabloid in the last rent-controlled apartment complex in the Valentino Heights section of the Hollywood Hills.

  The show of solidarity began the week Marilyn blasted a hole through the back of her bedroom closet, old-England-countryside style, so she could connect her unit through the back of Tobias Vada’s bedroom closet into his one-bedroom unit and then forge a hole through the back of Tobias’s living room closet in through the back of Pia Sutherland’s living room closet, creating one giant living space shared by friends. The three had been lucky enough to rent apartments in The Argyle Arms, a strangely named complex that had been rent controlled since the seventies. When next-door neighbor, Ira Jarvis, died in 1986, Tobias, who had been living in the complex since 1982, convinced the on-site landlords, Bob and Ethel Hector, to rent the unit to Pia, who had just moved to Hollywood from San Francisco. Then, in 1998, when another neighbor, Hugh Braxton, was ready to give up his one-bedroom to move into his boyfriend’s two-bedroom condo in West Hollywood, Tobias asked Marilyn, who had just moved to Hollywood from Vegas, to take Braxton’s pad.

  The three had worked together at Flash—Tobias since 1983, Pia since 1986, and Marilyn since 1998—but of the three of them, Marilyn had had the roughest go. When she’d walked into the offices at Flash on Hollywood Boulevard thirteen years earlier, she had been the tender age of twenty, having left home in Milwaukee at eighteen, heading to Vegas, where she spent two years as a Monroe look-alike in the Legends Live Tribute at the Kalahari Hotel & Casino on South Las Vegas Boulevard.

  Nicole was Marilyn incarnate, from the platinum blonde hair, pert nose, full mouth, and curvaceous figure, right down to the little-girl voice. Her nails were always immaculate and polished with Chanel Le Vernis in a constantly changing palette—her favorite shade being number 209 Marilyn, a hot pink Monroe would have loved. Flash sent their Marilyn, whom they never called Nicole, on jobs that compromised her sexually, and after two years of this, Alastair Neville, owner of Flash, flew in from London expressly to see her. Her assignment was to spend the weekend with him in his deluxe suite at the Mondrian, theoretically taking notes on the redesign of L.A. Bureau Chief Cecil Bertrand’s office. That had been the final straw.

  Tobias dropped onto Marilyn’s white sofa and kicked off his flip-flops before he put his feet up on the cushions. Everything about him was long, from his face to his arms to his legs to his hair, which he tied back in a thick brown, gray-streaked ponytail. He had a doctorate from Columbia in political science and a quick mind. How he’d ended up writing for the tabloids had nothing to do with his intelligence and everything to do with his joblessness at the time Flash had offered him a cool grand a week to chase down pregnant starlets and drug-addled producers.

  Pia lifted Tobias’s feet, plunked herself down on the sofa, and repositioned his feet on her lap. At six feet tall, she drew attention wherever she went, and she accented her height by wearing heels from her extensive collection of Miu Miu, Prada, and Casadei designer pumps. Her dark blonde hair had been frosted since the early eighties, and she never missed her monthly touch-up with her hairdresser, Dmitry, a one-name wonder in the world of styling tresses who ran a salon in Toluca Lake. Like Tobias, she was well educated, having earned a master’s degree in psychology from Stanford. When Flash ran an ad in The Los Angeles Times looking for new reporters “with varied backgrounds”, she had applied and was offered the job. A thousand bucks a week seemed too good to be true. That was before she found herself on her knees, working for Daily Maids, cleaning stars’ homes while combing through their personal items.

  Tobias sat up. “Cecil told Genevieve you’re barred from the office, and he had Reuben go through your computer. Did you leave anything incriminating behind?”

  Marilyn smiled slyly and left the room. They heard the bathroom door shut, and a few minutes later, the toilet was flushed.

  She came back. “I’m sorry, what were you asking me?”

  “Anything on your computer?” Tobias was sitting up now, his bare feet flat on the hardwood floor.

  “Just a budget I worked out to start my own tabloid, who I would steal from Flash to come work with me, and how much we could pay ourselves after expenses.”

  “If you start a rival tabloid, won’t you be in breach of contract?” Tobias wondered.

  “Never signed anything. They were so anxious to hire me, they skipped that.”

  Tobias frowned. “They’re going to hack you.”

  “Bring it. We’ve got to get Logan on board. I’ve already spoken to Bob and Ethel about extra space. Next to the laundry, there’s a studio with a bathroom he can use, and I’ve already ordered the computers and software he’ll need.”

  The Logan in question was Logan Lockhart. After he earned his GED, he went to Fremont Tech, where Nancy worked, and graduated with a bachelor’s in graphic arts. Not long after that, Flash came calling, and he quickly became the graphics master who gave the weekly its eye-catching style. Even though he didn’t speak, everyone loved him. They knew that feeling close to his colleagues was essential to Logan’s happiness and, moreover, if he were to get his voice back someday, he’d love to become a reporter himself.

  Tobias wore a pensive expression. “They’ll set you up as the perfect example of why someone shouldn’t leave.”

  Marilyn ignored him. “What do you think about sealed stories with perforated sides, so that once you open them, you get a card stock photo and story printed alongside it? And on the outside, we’ll pose a tantalizing question alongside our logo, like, Who’s Been Spotted Whitewater Rafting Naked? You’d buy the issue and tear off the front to find a glossy photo of a guy like Scott Wardlaw whitewater rafting in the nude, along with the story. And I’ve already thought of the perfect name for our new tabloid: Daily Celebrity. What do you guys think?”

  Chapter 41

  Ryan could still manage to sidestep his father, since his father was avoiding him, but by the time high school graduation rolled around, he knew he had to make amends with his mother. He had been accepted at USC and was intent on studying performing arts education with the dream of someday being in charge of the annual musicals at a tiny, private school in New Hampshire. He didn’t know why he chose New Hampshire, but it seemed about as far away from California as he could get. But, to be at peace, he also needed to continue his search for his birth dad. And then there was the matter of Bea. She wasn’t getting any better, and he didn’t want to be stuck in a downtown Los Angeles dorm, wondering how she was every day. To commute was out of the question. Eleven miles east, the school might take only twenty minutes or an exhausting two hours to get to on the I-10, depending on the traffic, and then another twenty or two coming back from classes.

  The Monday after graduation, Ryan found his mother in the dining room, sorting and polishing silver. He watched as she spread it out on the dining room table, placing it in piles on different hand towels. She started on one group, dipping her cloth into the silver polish and rubbing each piece until it gleamed. These days, she looked o
lder, more careworn, but as beautiful as ever. New laugh lines had formed near her mouth and eyes. If her hair was going gray, she hid it with dye.

  Ryan spoke first. “You got a minute?”

  She looked up at him, broke into a smile, and her face was transformed from beautiful to radiant. Ever since Ryan found out he wasn’t Gene’s son, he had given her the brush-off any time she wanted to talk, which had hurt him as much as it hurt her. He had ignored Bea after he’d seen her with Kincaid, and he knew how much damage ignoring someone you loved caused. He sat down at the table.

  “Do you need any help?”

  She shook her head. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He was overwhelmed with relief. “Anything. Everything. Tell me about meeting dad. What were you like back then? What was going on?”

  She kept on polishing the silver. “The prequel, too?”

  He nodded, ready to listen. She told him she’d been engaged to a man before she’d met Gene. He’d been on his way to see her when he boarded a plane in Michigan that never made it past a grove of trees outside Detroit before it crashed. He’d been one of many fatalities. They’d been inseparable, like Ryan and Bea, and always knew they’d be together. “I was set on becoming the young Mrs. Enright. He gave me a promise ring our senior year. I’d never dated anyone else and had never wanted to. We even discussed how many children we’d have.”

  Ryan identified with that. His romance with Bea was unquestioned.

  “I was going to become the most famous female magician in Vegas—no small feat, considering the field is dominated by men—and he was going to have his own shop where he could do what he loved.”

  Ryan picked up a spoon she’d polished and studied his distorted reflection.

  “Which was?”

  “Oh, he was in love with cars. Second to me, of course, but he did love cars and had an uncanny knack of diagnosing whatever ailed them. I can’t even count how many times he stopped to help someone when we were headed out on a date.” Her mind was far away as she recalled the past, and Ryan sat in silence, watching as she picked up a ladle and examined it. “We spoke the night before his flight. We were going to find an apartment for him. The next day, I got a call from his father.”

  Ryan reached out his hand, and she held it for a moment before she resumed polishing. “It’s OK. It’s long-healed. When I think of him now, it’s all good, happy memories.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I was grieving. When they talk about an aching heart, they mean it literally. By the time the holidays rolled around, I had the notion to go see a fertility specialist I’d heard about from a waitress at The Flamingo. His office was off Las Vegas Boulevard, set back from the road on a little street called Harmon, squeezed in between two larger buildings. The cheerfulness of the Christmas lights and decorations gave me hope. I wanted a baby because I needed someone to love.”

  “What about a dog or a new boyfriend?”

  Zella laughed. “Tried a cat and a dog and a roommate, and had basically sworn off men. Mothers talk about the unconditional love they have for their children. I had that with Glenn. Even with him gone—especially with him gone—I felt a deep need for that again.”

  Ryan wanted her to know he knew more than she might think. “So, you went to Las Vegas Fertility Associates to see Dr. Wendall Johns.”

  Zella didn’t seem surprised he knew the name of both her doctor and the clinic. She knew Ryan had overheard his dad and grandparents talking and was aware he’d found the business card clipped inside her old calendar.

  “He had a Christmas tree with ornaments made of clay impressions of handprints, with names and years of births. Each print was impossibly small, no larger than a plum, and perfect. I knew as soon as I saw that tree, I wanted him to hang an ornament for you as soon as you were born. I had money from Glenn’s family, so I could afford artificial insemination. I decided to let the doctor select the father, and he did.”

  “And he never told you who it was?”

  Zella put more polish on the cloth. “One can only imagine. I met your father not long after I’d become successfully impregnated with the donor sperm. Oh, your dad was so handsome back then. He had just a touch of gray in his hair, and he was thinner, less stressed. I don’t know if things will get better or worse when he retires. I really don’t think he should, entirely. He’s so driven.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Zella put some of the clean silver back into the velvet-lined case that stood open on the table, its hinges yawning wide. “So, we fell in love and got married and you were born, end of story.”

  “Don’t you ever wonder who he was?” Ryan asked.

  “Who?”

  “My real father. You must have some idea.”

  Zella closed the lid on the silver case. “Dr. Johns keeps those matters confidential. If you’ve met him, you already know that.”

  Chapter 42

  Tobias Vada had a lunch interview that day with Helen Hester at a new restaurant called The Topiary on Beverly Boulevard, but first, he wanted to stop by Flash and convince Logan to jump ship and join his friends at the new Daily Celebrity.

  He was forced to turn in his parking pass when he quit to go work with Marilyn, so he parked his black Fiat Croma on Sunset, across from the garage entrance, and waited until Cecil Bertrand peeled out, the tires on his Mercedes squealing, heading east, destination unknown. There was a fire door in the back of the building that remained unlocked and led to a stairwell that served every level and led to the roof. With long strides, Tobias took the steps three at a time ascending to the eighth floor, where he poked his head out into the hallway and approached the front desk, where the receptionist, Genevieve Krantz, usually sat, combing through rival tabloids, marking stories Flash should follow up on. As luck would have it, she was away from her desk, so Tobias snuck down the hall and poked his head into Logan’s office, making sure Logan knew he’d arrived by walking around the partition and tipping the brim of his houndstooth driver’s cap, knowing the movement would catch his eye.

  Logan had selective mutism, and while few had asked him about it, Tobias and his colleagues discussed his disorder endlessly. While most cases of SM allowed sufferers to speak in certain situations or to a privileged few, Logan’s case was so severe he never said a word. His condition co-existed with persistent anxiety and social shyness to the point where he often stopped working when someone came into his office because he could no longer focus on what he was doing. To communicate, he had upgraded from his old tablet to an iPad, opened to the Notes Plus application. He reached beyond his pen mug for it now, typed a message, and passed it across the desk to Tobias.

  How did you get in?

  Tobias laughed and typed his reply. Waited for Bertrand to leave.

  Logan responded, Let’s go down to the courtyard. It’s not safe here.

  Tobias raised his eyebrows.

  After locking his office door, Logan led Tobias to the elevators across from the receptionist’s desk. Genevieve had returned to her post, and her jaw went slack when she saw Tobias, who smiled and nodded politely. Something about hanging with Logan reminded Tobias that talking was incredibly overrated.

  As they descended to the ground floor, they stood beside each other, unable to avoid glancing at the mirrored elevator walls facing them on three sides. Tobias looked like a stretched-out, pale Gumby with a long ponytail, pushing fifty, and tired. Logan, half his age and half a foot shorter, looked like a prep school kid in a lavender Izod shirt, his chestnut hair carefully styled into a spiky fauxhawk rising to a peak three inches from the top of his head. Even their footwear was drastically different. Tobias wore sandals, showing off his bare feet, while Logan wore canvas high-tops laced past his ankles beneath the cuffs of his skinny jeans.

  They walked through the lobby and went out the massive glass doors into the courtyard where plastic tables and chairs were arranged in groups around stainless steel trashcans fitted with metal ashtray li
ds. We took seats at a table in the center of the open space, where the scalding sunshine felt as merciless as a four-hundred-degree oven.

  Tobias stripped off his jacket while Logan typed a message, passing him the iPad when he was done. In order to read the screen, it was necessary to hunch over, creating a shadow to block direct sunlight from bleaching the words on the screen.

  How are you?

  Tobias smiled and typed his response. I’m good. And you?

  Need to get out of here. The place went nuts after you all left.

  That’s why I’m here. We want you and Dan to join us.

  I thought you didn’t ask because you didn’t want us.

  Don’t be silly. Dan is an asshole, but he’s great reporter.

  And me?

  The best graphics guy ever.

  Great. Let me go clean out my desk.

  Aren’t you going to ask about money?

  No. I would pay you guys to get me out of here right about now.

  Then I won’t bother telling you you’ll be getting three grand a week.

  Logan broke into a wide grin. Twice what I’m making now.

  Don’t tell Marilyn that.

  I won’t.

  When they got back upstairs, a security guard was waiting by the eighth floor elevator doors. He was as buff as a club bouncer, dressed in a dark blue uniform. “Tobias Vada?”

  As Logan exited the elevator, Tobias shrank back and pressed the down button on the wall panel. “Just leaving,” he said.

  “Mind if I escort you?” The guard stepped into the elevator with him, and the doors closed.

  At her desk, Genevieve looked guilty. “I had to call Cecil. Tobi doesn’t work here anymore.”

  Logan scowled at her, went to his office, unlocked his door, and headed to his desk. After scooping his spare sweater into his backpack, he sat down at his desk and copied his hard drive. He pocketed the thumb drives, pushed his desk chair in, grabbed his iPad and backpack, and headed out, leaving his office unlocked.