The Wrong Apartment

 The wrong apartment

He died at the turn of the century.

His death was momentous, not just for me, but for generations of sports fans who had followed his rise from humble beginnings to become one of the greatest baseball players of all time.

When I got the call from the hospital that Josh Hartnall wanted to see me, I knew my wife would never forgive me if I went. Her opinion of the man was mixed at best, and I was supposed to be heading to Disneyland with her and the kids in an attempt to save our ailing marriage; she certainly wasn’t going to be up for any last-minute messages cancelling the trip. According to her, it was my obsession with work that had led to our problems in the first place. She often complained I cared more for my clients than I did for her. It wasn’t true, even if she saw it that way.

“If you’re not at the airport by 5, that’s it,” she’d texted.

Instead of replying, I found myself at the bedside listening to the ramblings of an old man.

Except he wasn’t just any old man. Being a lawyer with a photographic memory, I was able to record most of Josh’s words in my diary later on.

Notes from diary, New Year’s Eve, 1999.

Seated beside his hospital bed, he kept licking his lips, and I found myself straining to hear him.

“Can’t stop caring…crazy about her…still.”

“Josh?” I leant forward. “I’m here. Can you hear me?”

“Fame: bittersweet, brutal.”

The eyes flashed open, burning with passion.

“I’ve not much longer for this world, Zach.”

“Don’t say that…”

“It’s true.”

This was Josh Hartnell – a man who’d triumphed against all odds, revered by many, speaking from the dark hall of his mind, with nothing left to lose. Except maybe reputation? That still seemed to matter.

***

For the record, my name is Zack. Until I retired, I was the lawyer who took care of the rich and famous. At one point, I was the closest thing to being Josh’s friend.

As I watched the great man in his final struggle – the one he could never win – the pump kept pain at bay. If death could not be blotted out in that exclusive suite, fame made it more bearable. 

**

So many times, Josh spoke of that sign in the hills – how driving past it made him think of her. I looked it up once, found it had originally been put up to advertise exclusive homes. “Hollywood land,” was eventually shortened to “Hollywood,” – icon to the movies and the American dream.

Always dreaming. That was Josh.

Me too, I guess. I worked damn hard to get where I did. One of the best in my field, always discreet, getting the rich and famous out of scrapes. Playing down scandals, feeding the media all the right sound bites. That’s what I did.

***

All I could do was hope and pray Josh found comfort in having someone from the “old days” with him in his final battle.

He’s murmuring again.

“Dropped shabby people. Couldn’t bear it …”

Hovering between this life and the next, catching snippets. Something about the night Josh and Rick, an old pal and Broadway actor, were given a table in a Beverly Hills restaurant, long extinct. Breathing in the myth of the desert – it was after all, the mighty aqueduct that made Los Angeles possible – he talked of palms silhouetted against an inky orange sky. Against such backdrops, he vowed never again to be crushed by poverty, and to make his family proud. Having a seat at the top table in this place of dreams and angels, he had to pinch himself in case it wasn’t real.

I pressed my ear close to his.

“Speaking of dreams and angels…” his voice tailed off.

***

Everyone knew there had only been one angel in Josh’s life, that he’d been at his happiest when he was with Lola Lytess. She was the angel that kept surfacing, possessing him like a dream he could never wake from.

Or was it a demon?

I remember Josh telling me about the evening when the air had pulsed with the hum of cicadas; their timbal rhythm had filled him with joy. I imagine it was the night two became one, but he was always discreet about that side of things; she less so. No matter how many times they asked, he refused to betray Lola to the press.

“Only hired the agency to keep her close,” he mumbled in the trolley bed.

“Sorry…”

But back to that infamous evening when he sat chewing the fat with his old friend Rick, the actor, in the Hollywood restaurant. Rick had only wanted a drink, but Josh had other plans. “I’m going to sort this out, once and for all.” There was no stopping him once he’d made his mind up.

“Ok, but why not leave it to the experts? That’s what you’re paying the agency for.”

Rick had pointed out.

Time shifting like sands, maybe Rick’s suggestions sound more reasonable now.

“But he wasn’t into Lola like I was,” Josh said.

Undoubtedly that was true.

Anyway, that evening, the sky turned a deep magenta – with only a light sea breeze to cool the balmy air. At some point, a Cadillac drew up in a respectable West Hollywood Street and out jumped four men, two poorly disguised in peaked caps and long anoraks, a third with lock-picking tools and a small axe. The fourth, decked in a trench coat, carried a heavy camera.

It seemed the two agency guys had worked together before. Informed by a reliable source that Lola would be at the apartment, Josh had insisted on being there too. His facial muscles would have been twitching like mad and Rick would have been smoking like a chimney. That’s how it was then.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Josh admitted he’d practically been tearing up the sidewalk that evening.

Rick was more concerned about being recognised. “The press will have a field day! Do you even know which apartment Lola is in?”

“Quit worrying. She’s in Kelly Oak’s apartment. Apartment 8105.”

“If she’s with a woman, what’s the problem?”

“It’s a cover for her trysts with him!” Josh couldn’t bring himself to utter the man's name. Wisely Crannock. It stuck like a craw. Why would she want to hang round with a squirt like that?

“Is this such a good idea?” Rick asked. “I mean it’s not as if you’re with Lola anymore.”

“Technically, we’re still married. In my eyes that means we are.”

“Sure, but she’s seeking a divorce. So maybe not so much in hers.”

He didn’t want to hear it. He never wanted to hear it.

***

As the drama unfolded, a new problem loomed.

“The apartment has three units,” Rick blasted. “She could be in any one of them.”

“We were only told of one.”

The photographer who was employed to get proof of infidelity pics, was getting snappy in more ways than one.

“Don’t worry, we’ll work it out,” the detective from the agency reassured Josh.

He knew the tog had to get a picture. Wouldn’t get paid, otherwise.

Even in death, that was all any of them ever cared about, Josh said bitterly.

***

Maybe the glow from the upper floor reminded Josh of his first time with Lola. Once she must have cried and soared; now some guy in need of a wig chop – his exact words – was up there with her!

**

Inside the apartment, the flashlight beamed onto an empty flight of stairs. The final door burst open onto an elderly couple sleeping. A lamp glowed amber on their bedside table.

The woman blinked, overwhelmed by the tog’s flash. Her husband woke to find four men in his bedroom.

“What the hell?” The man shouted. “We’ve got nothing worth taking!”

“We don’t want anything. We just want Lola. Where is she? Are you hiding her here?”

“What are you on about?” Out came a gun. “Get the hell out, or I’ll shoot.”

“It’s obvious she’s not here. We must have got the wrong apartment,” Rick stepped back, embarrassed.

The man took aim. “Beat it, you blunder heads!”

“Hey!” The woman was stupefied. Fame sure does funny things to people. “Aren’t you married to that famous movie star?”

“Let’s get outta here. Real sorry for the disturbance, folks. We’ll get the door fixed and then some…” Rick promised.

**

On the sidewalk, the tog had scratched his head. “Definitely the right apartment. I got it on good authority she was seen coming here. With a man.”

“Let’s go.” Rick grabbed Josh and his fist spun out in the moonlight.

“Arg.” Rick cradled his face. “What was that for?”

“You got too close! Way too close!” Josh barked.

“Let’s get in the car!” Rick said, pissed.

Josh apologised but it was too late.

“If this is what you’re like round Lola, no wonder she’s had enough,” Rick flared. “She always said you had a temper.”

You just hated men gawping at her, didn’t you Josh?

Then you accused Rick of sleeping with her.

**

Weaving in and out…

Yeah, you got therapy to win back Lola. It turned out you were wrong about Wisely, and she’d only slept with Rick the one time. Back before you knew him.

Like a rabbit caught in headlights, fame devoured. 

Like a knight of old, you’d have scaled any wall for her! Except how could you climb walls you couldn’t even see?

One day they found her dead in the only home she’d ever owned, and then it really was all over.

***

Turning back to the diary, I’d written:

I held Josh’s hand and asked him how he felt.

What I really wanted was to know what dying feels like. Claiming his last thoughts for posterity was all I had left to give him.

“… I should have known better. I should’ve known she wouldn’t have cheated on me.”

As my breath fanned his face, tears spilled into hollow cheeks. I knew then that some part of me had always cared for him. Not the flashy sports guy persona that stunned the world with his prowess. Not him. For me, the shy one who cared too much was always the real one.

Drifting away, mouth shaping words that won’t come. Last gasps leaving words hanging like moths.

“In my will… I’ve left you…. there’s enough … you could give up lawyering. Paint the pictures you’ve always wanted, but never had the time.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. True friends stick together. Honour a dying man’s wish and maybe try giving your marriage another go.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Then:

“Always-I’ll-always-care. Don’t mind about dying – so long as I get to be with my Lola.”

His last ever words.

I felt so much.

Why didn’t I just come right out and say it?