cb.coldheart canyon-第34节

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　now。
　 〃Animals？〃　she　said。
　 He　looked　at　her　with　those　sorrowful　gray　eyes　of　his。　〃Sometimes　animals；　yes。　Sometimes　worse。〃
　 〃I　don't　understand。〃
　 〃Perhaps；　with　respect；　it　would　be　better　not　to　try；〃　he　advised。　The　stillness　seemed　to　be　deepening　around　them；　the　absence　of　sound　being　heavier；　if　that　were　possible。　She　didn't　need　any　further　encouragement　from　Zeffer　to　stay　close　to　him。　Whatever　this　stillness　hid；　she　didn't　want　to　face　it　alone。　〃Just　take　it　from　me　that　Coldheart　Canyon　has　some　less…than…pretty　occupants。〃
　 Something　behind　the　cages　drew　Zeffer's　attention。　Tammy　followed　the　direction　of　his　gaze。　〃What　were　the　cages　for？〃　she　asked　him。
　 〃Katya　went　through　a　phase　of　collecting　exotic　animals。　We　had　a　little　zoo　here。　A　white　tiger　from　India；　though　he　didn't　live　very　long。　Later；　there　was　a　rhinoceros。　That　also　perished。〃
　 〃Wasn't　that　cruel？　Keeping　them　here；　I　mean？　The　cages　look　so　small。〃
　 〃Yes；　of　course　it　was　cruel。　She's　a　cruel　woman；　and　I　was　cruel　for　doing　her　bidding。　I　have　no　doubt　of　that。　I　was　probably　unspeakably　cruel；　in　my　casual　way。　But　it　takes　the　experience　of　living　like　an　animal…〃　he　glanced　back　at　the　cage　〃…to　realize　the　misery　they　must　have　suffered。〃
　 Tammy　watched　him　scrutinizing　the　shrubbery　on　the　far　side　of　the　cages。
　 〃What's　out　there？〃　she　said。　〃Is　it　animals　that…〃
　 〃e　here；〃　Zeffer　said；　his　voice　suddenly　dropping　to　an　urgent　whisper。　〃Quickly。〃
　 Though　she　still　saw　nothing　in　the　shrubbery；　she　did　as　she　was　told。
　 As　she　did　so　there　was　a　blast　of　icy　air　down　the　narrow　channel　between　the　cages；　and　she　saw　several　forms…human　forms；　but　distorted；　as　though　they　were　in　a　wind…tunnel；　their　mouths　blown　into　a　dark　circle　lined　with　needle　teeth；　their　eyes　squeezed　into　dots…e　racing　towards　her。
　 〃Don't　you　dare！〃　she　heard　Zeffer　yell　at　her　side；　and　saw　him　raise　his　stick。　If　he　landed　a　blow　she　didn't　see　it。　The　breath　was　knocked　from　her　as　two　of　her　attackers　threw　themselves　upon　her。
　 One　of　them　put　a　hand　over　her　face。　A　spasm　of　energy　passed　through　her　bone　and　brain；　erupting　behind　her　eyes。　It　was　more　than　her　mind　could　take。　She　saw　a　white　light；　like　the　light　that　floods　a　cinema　screen　when　the　film　breaks。
　 The　cold　went　away　in　the　same　instant：　sounds　and　sights　and　all　the　feelings　they　posed；　gone。
　 The　last　thing　she　heard；　dying　away；　was　Willem　Zeffer's　voice　yelling：　〃Damn　you　all！〃
　 Then　he　too　was　gone。
　
　 In　the　passageway　in　front　of　Katya's　long…abandoned　menagerie；　Willem　Zeffer　watched　as　the　forces　that　had　broken　cover　carried　Tammy　Lauper　away　into　their　own　horrid　corners　of　the　Canyon；　leaving　him…as　he　had　been　left　so　often　in　this　godless　place…helpless　and　bereft。
　 He　threw　the　stick　down　on　the　ground；　his　eyes　stinging　with　tears。　Then　the　strength　ran　out　of　him　pletely；　and　he　went　down　on　his　knees　at　the　threshold　of　his　hovel；　cursing　Katya。　She　wasn't　the　only　one　to　blame；　of　course。　He　had　his　own　part　to　play　in　this　tragic　melodrama；　as　he'd　admitted　moments　before。　But　he　still　wanted　Katya　damned　for　what　she'd　done；　as　he　was　damned：　for　the　death　of　tigers　and　rhinoceros；　and　the　murder　of　innocent　women。
　
　
　PART　FOUR
　LIVE　AFTER　FAME
　
　ONE
　 Three　days　after　Tammy　had　pursued　Marco　Caputo　up　Sunset　Boulevard　and　into　the　mysterious　arms　of　Coldheart　Canyon　was　Oscar　Night：　the　Night　of　Nights；　the　Show　of　Shows；　when　billions　of　people　across　the　world　turned　their　eyes　on　Tinseltown　and　Tinseltown　did　a　pirouette　and　a　curtsey　and　pretended　it　was　a　lady　not　a　five…buck　whore。
　 Todd　had　known　from　the　start　that　there　was　no　chance　of　his　attending　the　ceremony。　Though　he　could　now　see　that　his　wounded　face　was　indeed　healing　properly；　it　was　plain　that　he　was　in　no　condition　to　step　into　the　limelight　anytime　soon。　He　had　briefly　considered　hiring　one　of　the　great　makeup　men　of　the　city　to　disguise　the　worst　of　the　discoloration；　but　Maxine　quickly　dissuaded　him。　Such　a　plan　would　require　them　to　share　their　secret　with　somebody　else　（this　in　itself　was　risky：　makeup　personnel　were　legendary　gossips）　and　there　was　always　the　chance　that；　however　good　the　cover…up　was；　the　illusion　of　perfection　would　be　spoiled　under　the　blaze　of　so　many　lights。　All　it　required　was　one　lucky　photographer　to　catch　a　crack　in　the　painted　mask；　and　all　their　hard　work　would　be　undone。　The　rumor…mill　would　grind　into　motion　again。
　 〃Anyway；〃　she　reminded　him；　〃You　loathe　the　Oscars。〃
　 This　was　indeed　true。　The　spectacle　of　self…congratulation　had　always　sickened　him。　The　ghastly　parade　of　nervous　smiles　as　everyone　traipsed　into　the　Dorothy　Chandler　Pavilion；　the　shrill　laughter；　the　sweaty　glances。　Then；　once　everyone　was　inside；　the　circus　itself。　The　lame　jokes；　the　gushing　speeches；　the　tears；　the　ego。　There　was　always　a　minute　or　two　of　choreographed　mawkishness；　when　the　Academy　carted　out　some　antiquated　star　and　gave　them　a　last　chance　to　flicker。　Occasionally；　when　the　taste　level　plummeted　further　than　usual；　the　Academy　chose　some　poor　soul　who'd　already　been　stricken　by　a　stroke　or　was　in　the　early　stages　of　Alzheimer's。　There'd　be　a　selection　of　clips　from　the　poor　victim's　great　pictures；　then；　fumbling　and　bewildered；　he　or　she　would　be　led　out　to　stand　alone　on　the　stage　while　the　audience　rose　to　applaud　them；　and　you　could　see　in　their　eyes　that　this　was　some　kind　of　Hell：　to　have　their　finest　moments　thrown　up　on　a　screen…their　faces　strong　and　shining…and　then　have　the　spotlight　show　the　world　what　age　and　disease　had　done　to　them。
　 〃You're　right；〃　he'd　said　to　Maxine。　〃I　don't　want　to　be　there。〃
　
　 So　why；　if　he　truly　didn't　want　to　be　there；　was　he　sitting　at　his　bedroom　window　tonight；　staring　down　the　length　of　the　Canyon　towards　the　city；　feeling　so　damn　sorry　for　himself？　Why　had　he　started　drinking；　and　drinking　hard；　at　noon；　and　by　two…thirty…when　he　knew　the　first　limousines　were　beginning　to　roll　up　to　the　Pavilion…was　he　in　the　depths　of　despair？
　 Why；　he　asked　himself；　would　he　want　to　keep　pany　with　those　hollow；　sour　people？　He'd　fought　the　battle　to　get　to　the　top　of　the　Hollywood　Hill　long　ago；　and　he'd　won　it。　He'd　had　his　face　plastered　up　on　ten　thousand　billboards　across　America；　across　the　world。　He'd　been　called　the　Handsomest　Man　in　the　World；　and　believed　it。　He'd　walked　into　rooms　the　size　of　football　fields　and　known　that　every　eye　was　turned　in　his　direction；　and　every　heart　beat　a　little　faster　because　he'd　appeared。　Just　how　much　more　adulation　did　a　man　need？
　 The　truth？
　 Another　hundred　rooms；　filled　with　people　stupefied　by　worship　would　not　be　enough　to　satisfy　the　hunger　in　him；　nor　another　hundred　hundred。　He　needed　his　face　plastered　on　every　wall　he　passed；　his　movies　lauded　to　the　skies；　his　arms　so　filled　with　Oscars　he　couldn't　hold　them　all。
　 It　was　a　sickness　in　him；　but　what　was　he　to　do？　There　was　no　cure　for　this　emptiness　but　love；　love　in　boundless　amounts；　the　kind　of　love　God　Himself　would　be　hard…pressed　to　deliver。
　 As　the　cloudless　sky　darkened　towards　night　he　started　to　pick　out　the　Klieg　lights　raking　the　clouds：　not　from　the　Pavilion　itself　（that　lay　to　the　west；　and　was　not　visible　from　the　Canyon）；　but　from　the　many　locations　around　the　city　where　his　peers；　both　prize…winners　and　losers；　would　in　a　few　hours　e　to　revel。　Members　of　the　press　were　already　assembling　at　these　sacred　sites…Morton's；　Spago's；　the　Roosevelt　Hotel…ready　to　turn　their　cameras　on　the　slick　and　the　stylishly　unkempt　alike。　A　smile；　a　witticism；　a　look　of　glee　from　those　burdened　with　victory。　They'd　have　it　all　in　the　morning　editions。
　 Picturing　the　scene　was　too　much　for　him。　He　got　up　and　went　down　to　the　kitchen　to　fix　himself　another　drink。　By　now　he　was　on　the　second　cycle　of　intoxication；　having　drunk　himself　past　the　point　of　nausea　by　mid…afternoon；　he　was　moving　inexorably　towards　a　deep　luxurious　drunkenness；　the　kind　that　flirted　with　oblivion。　He'd　suffer　for　it　for　whatever　part　of　tomorrow　he　saw　of　course；　and　probably　the　day　after　that。　He　was　no　longer　young　enough　or　resilient　enough　to　shrug　off　the　effects　of　a　binge　like　this。　But　right　now　he　didn't　give　a　rat's　ass。　He　simply　wanted　to　be　insulated　from　the　pain　he　was　feeling。
　 As　he　opened　the　immense　fridge　to　get　himself　ice；　he　heard；　or　thought　he　heard；　somebody；　a　woman；　say　his　name。
　 He　stopped　digging　for　the　ice　and　looked　around。　The　kitchen　was　empty。　He　left　the　fridge　open　and　went　back　to　the　door。　The　turret　was　also　deserted；　and　the　dining　room　dark；　the　empty　table　and　chairs　silhouetted　against　the　window。　He　walked　on　through　it　into　the　living　room；　calling　for　Marco。　He　flipped　on　the　light。　The　fifty…lamp　chandelier　blazed；　illuminating　an　empty　room。　There　were　several　boxes　of　his　belongings　sitting　there；　still　unopened。　Moved　from　Bel　Air　but　still　unpacked。　But　that　was　all。
　 He　was　about　to　go　back　to　the　kitchen；　assuming　the　voice　he'd　heard　alcohol…induced；　when　he　heard　his　name　called　a　second　time。　He　looked　back　into　the　dining　room。　Was　he　going　crazy？　〃Marco？〃　he　yelled。
　 There　was　a　l