Chapter Nineteen

J52

ten percent or more by simply planting about a hundred dollars' worth of annual flowers. " Allison reached four feet eight. " Flowers make a home feel lived in. Loved. So do growth charts. Growth charts indicate happiness, pride, devotion and stick-to-itiveness. Adds 5K to the asking price. "

" And where might we be moving? " asked Don.

" Wyoming, you cretin. Cheyenne, Wyoming. "

" Oh, Mom—not that again. "

" Yes, that, again. Houses are cheaper there. We'll have a guest bedroom and three bathrooms. And you, sweetie, can represent an entire state in the nationals. Only a handful of people live there. The competition's nil. Fifty-one gorgeous contestants and only one will win. Who will replace Susan Colgate as the next Miss USA? "

" We're not moving nowhere, " Don said.

" We're not moving anywhere, honey, and yes we are. This house is in my name, so off we go. "

" She's loony today, " Don said to Susan. " Leave her be. "

Susan went back to her tanning, and assumed the mania would pass. Later on, up in her room, she heard the normal clinks and clatters of dinner preparation below. Marilyn called Susan and Don to the table, and the tone of the night seemed altogether normal. Too normal. At that point, their ears roared and the house shook like a car driving over a speed bump. Susan's water glass tipped over and a framed photo fell from a wall. The three stood up—all was silent save for a faint hiss coming from the kitchen.

They walked through the newly scratched door frame to see a manhole-sized gape through the ceiling, and another one directly beneath it in the floor between the stove and the fridge. Don looked down: " Jesus H. Christ—it's a meteorite. "

Susan and Marilyn peered down at the blue-brown boulder that lay on the cracked concrete beside the deep free/e containing Don's venison from the previous fall. Don raced down the stairs, looked at the boulder and then looked up, speechless. The two women ran down to join him.

" It's a miracle, " said Marilyn. " We've been spared. It's a sign from the Lord above that we are on the correct path, an omen to fill us with respect. " She fell to her knees and prayed as she had once before when visiting her kin back in the mountains. Susan looked more closely at the boulder. " Hey—it's melting, or something. "

" Holy shit, " said Don, " it's shit. "

It was a fro/en ball of shit, accidentally discharged from the hull of an Philippine Airlines flight from Chicago to Manila, which paid for the new house in Cheyenne. Don called it " the shitsicle. " The airline setded swiftly and quietly. Within six weeks they were living in Cheyenne.

Chapter Nineteen

The police finished scrutinizing the Susan Colgate shrine in the car's back seat and left the property. John spent the remainder of the day spacing out in front of the shrine and phoning Susan's answering machine, hanging up on the beep each time. He tried sleeping but instead had choppy naps, like pieced-together cutting room floor scraps punctuated with frequent eye openings and anxious pangs. In the late afternoon he gave up, took a shower, drank an algae shake, had a quick chat with Nylla, who was just returning from her exercise class, then drove the car down to West Side Video. Ryan was with a customer.

Do you know the name of the movie, sir? " Ryan was asking the customer.

" Oh, you know—that movie. I think it came in a blue box. "

" Do you know who stars in it? "

" That guy. You know? "

" I'm not sure. Is it a comedy or a drama or—? "

" It's really good. "

" Okay—any idea who directed it? "

" That famous guy. "

" Right. "

John moved in. " Hey, buddy—go take a pill, and when your brain clicks in, send us a memo. " The customer was chuffed. " Excuse me. I'm trying to choose a movie, Mr. Whoever You Are. Do you have a problem with that? "

John looked the customer in the eye: " You care what I think? "

" Well, um, no. "

" Then why are you asking me? Scram. People who know what they want have to get on with their lives here. "

The customer skulked away, visibly distressed.

" Oh thank you, John, " said Ryan. " You've no idea how long I've been wanting to say something like that. "

" The sad residue of too many days lost in meetings with professional time-wasters. "

" If you ever decided to make a film titled You Know—That Movie, it'd be the most popular rental of all time. "

John scanned the store, then said, " Ryan—get off work and come on. We've got business to do. "

" Not now—it's the dinnertime rush, I have to phone in the over dues, and tonight is the 'Women Who Love Far Too Much' Special. "

" Ivan and I want to buy your script. "

Ten minutes later, in separate cars, they drove to the St. James Club bar. John arrived first, and ordered two scotches. Ryan arrived, breathless. " Before we discuss anything, John, I have to tell you that the police were in this afternoon and they were totally all over me about (a) my having built the Susan Colgate shrine, and (b) giving it to you. It was like I was strapped to an anthill and slathered in marmalade. "

" She's gone missing. She didn't show up for some Showtime Channel movie she was doing. The cops harassed me, too. But I had to explain to them what I was doing sitting parked outside her house for an hour in the middle of the night with a Susan Colgate shrine in the back seat. "

" Oh God—you're a freak! " Ryan laughed.

John didn't laugh.

" Aren't people supposed to be gone for at least forty-eight hours before they become a missing person? "

" I don't know. " John put his head in his hands. " Drink. "

Ryan drank.

" Nylla—that's Ivan's wife—before I came down here tonight, we were chatting about this and that, and she told me that after the crash Susan was gone for a whole year before she came back. I didn't know it was for that long! I didn't. And it turns out nobody has any idea where she went. Not even the cops. "

" But you knew she was in a crash. . . "

" I was in and out of Betty Ford so much in '96 I don't even know who was president, you little smartass. "

Ryan was slightly unsure of his footing with this powerful movie producer intent on buying his script, and didn't push the matter, but John went on. " This is to say that if Susan Colgate, who's like the patron saint of missing persons, goes missing, even for one day, then Missing Persons ought to get right on the case, right? "

Ryan asked, " When you two met, she knew who you were? How much did you guys talk? How did you leave it? What was she wearing? "

" We went walking. Must have been three miles. It was damn hot out, too. She didn't break a sweat once. It was like in high school, like we were off to get milkshakes with Jughead and Veronica. " Some cashews appeared on the table. " Ryan, do you know that before I made my decision to put myself out of commission I'd been really sick? "

" No. "

" I was. I technically kicked the bucket over at Cedars— that's what the doctors said. And you know what I saw when I

flat-lined? "

" What? "

" Susan. "

" What can I say to that? "

" You tell me. "

" John—come to the light! "

" Alright, so it was a Meet the Blooms rerun that was on the hospital TV a few minutes before I bottomed, but it took me months before I figured that out. But it was still her. You know what I mean? And I'd just gotten used to the idea that seeing her face and voice was meaningless, and then today happens—and now I don't think it's so meaningless anymore. "

A waiter came by. Ryan's drink was empty. He ordered another. " A Singapore sling, please. " He didn't know what to say to John.

" A Singapore sling? " said John. " Where are we? In a Bob Hope movie? I feel like I'm having drinks with my mother. "

" It's a jaunty ironic retro beverage. "

" You little twerp. I pioneered irony and retro back when you were shitting your Huggies. " John looked at the waiter: " A rusty nail, please. "

Ryan was fidgeting. John said, " Well, I suppose you probably want to discuss your script. We'll buy it. Don't get an aneurysm or anything. " Ryan looked relieved but nervous. John said, " You don't have an agent, Ryan, do you? "

Ryan's face was flushed. " Nope. "

" Good for you. You just saved yourself forty-five grand. "

Ryan's flush drained away. His face stopped.

" Oh, this is good, " said John. " I can see the little cartoon cogs and wheels in your head trying to do the arithmetic to figure out the offer. I'll put you out of your misery. Three hundred grand. "

" You're messing with me. " " You have a shitty poker face, Ryan. "

Ryan's drink arrived, but he pushed it away. " I want to remember this clearly. "

" You've got a stronger constitution than I ever had. " He held his glass up. " A toast. " They clinked glasses, sipped and then John said, " Ivan doesn't trust something unless it's way overpriced. If I told him I'd gotten 'Tungaska' for five grand, it would have ended right there. I pulled the number 300 out of the air. I could have made it more. "

Ryan sat, immobilized.

" Hey, c'mon, Ryan, " John said. " Sing—dance—do a little jig or something. Make me feel like an aging benevolent fart. "

" No. John. You don't understand. You've just changed my life as if you'd given me wings or blinded my eyes. I feel dizzy. "

" Believe me, this isn't the way it usually happens. Normally, Ivan and I would be trying to engineer some way of fucking you ragged on the deal. But I'm feeling mentorish. I'll hook you up with a lawyer. Sign the paper and you're set. "

A cocktail of money, shared secrets and ironic beverages made Ryan bold. " John—what was the deal with last year? I know about as much as anybody does who reads the tabloids. What happened? What was it you were wanting to do back then? "

John looked at Ryan kindly but sternly. " Not now. Not tonight. Tonight is about success. "

They soon split up, but some hours later, after zooming through Susan's tapes, John phoned to ask Ryan if he could take him up on his corny offer to indulge his feelings for Susan. It was past one in the morning, and Ryan was polishing " Tungaska" and didn't want an interruption, but John persevered. And then Ryan revealed he had to go out on an errand and would be busy.

" Okay, Ryan, you can just tell me your offer to riff about Su-

san was a courtesy, like telling some loser actor to come play squash sometime to get rid of him. "

" John, I've got to go help my girlfriend with something. "

" Girlfriend? "

" What's that tone in your voice? "

" Me? Nothing. All I said was 'Girlfriend? '

" You think I'm gay. "

" Did I say that? "

" It was in your voice. "

" Well, you are, aren't you? "

" No. "

" I don't believe you. "

" God, let me make a phone call. Hang up, eat a Scooby Snack and I'll call you in five minutes. "

John hung up. Three minutes later the phone rang. " Vanessa says you can come help us. "

" Help with what? "

" You'll see. " He gave John Vanessa's address in Santa Monica. They agreed to meet in one hour, but John was early.

Vanessa opened the screen door, calm and bookish in hornrimmed glasses and a wool sweater set imported from some other part of the century. John thought Vanessa looked like one of the murdered Clutter daughters of Kansas. She asked him to sit on a side chair. " Would you like something to drink, maybe? "

" Uh—a Coke. "

" Sure. "

She went into the kitchen. John heard the fridge open and close, along with other friendly kitchen sounds. Vanessa looked smart in a way John knew she was helpless to conceal. She had the laser-scanning eyes of the highest-paid personal assistants, the ones who single-handedly made Neanderthal teensploitation film producers seem classy and hip by scripting

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