Part 23 (1/2)

Regina sent us a postcard of the Grand Canyon from Arizona. They could have emailed or texted us, or posted on my wall on Facebook. But there was something about a postcard that seemed so perfect, like they were on vacation in some distant far-away place, completely out of touch from the place Kevin and I were. Which they sort of were.

The postcard read: Dear Russel and Kevin: Turns out there's life outside of Los Angeles! Who knew? We couldn't be happier. (But we still wish you all the best in the world and hope to see Russel's name on a movie screen very soon!) Much love, Regina and Gina * * *

Incidentally, I never heard anything else from the ghost of Cole Gordon, and I've never felt his presence again either. a.s.suming he ever existed at all, I have a feeling he's gone for good.

Somehow I also have this feeling I made him happy.

The biggest news of the last five months? It happened just yesterday morning.

I was waiting for Kevin when he woke up.

”Get dressed,” I said.

”What is it?” he said. ”What's going on?”

”Nothing. Now I have a surprise for you.”

”What is it?”

”Trust me, okay?”

Once in the car, we drove down Franklin, under the Hollywood Freeway, then took a left on Beachwood, heading up into the Hollywood Hills.

”I think I know what we're doing,” Kevin said.

I smiled to myself.

Finally, we pa.s.sed a metal gate and arrived at a dirt parking lot. It was early-ish on a weekday, so there weren't very many other cars.

There was a wide dirt trail - bigger than a normal trail, but not quite a gravel road - that wound its way into the hills, past the scrub and rocks. Unfortunately, it was completely covered with mounds of horse s.h.i.+t drying (and stinking) in the sun. It was seriously like walking through a field of landmines. I know Kevin saw it - he had to in order to avoid stepping in it - but he didn't say anything, which made me love him even more than I already did.

After a few minutes of hiking, the road rose, and the land beyond fell away, and we had this awesome view of the famous ”Hollywood” sign, on the hill just across from us.

Now Kevin smiled.

We kept following the road, avoiding horse s.h.i.+t, up hills and switchbacks. Then the way split again, the road continuing off to the right, but a trail heading over to the left.

I led Kevin left, finally leaving all the s.h.i.+t behind.

We hiked along the trail now, winding between more hills and up switchbacks, always ultimately in the direction of the sign looming above us. It blazed white in the sun, and it felt a little like a lighthouse leading us on, directing us home. With each step, little by little, that sign grew larger. The sun was brighter now, hot. We were starting to sweat, and I was glad I'd brought bottled water.

The dirt trail met a road - paved, but long since abandoned, cracked and covered with rocks. Now we followed that road as it climbed ever higher. At some point, the Hollywood sign disappeared from view.

Finally, up ahead, the road turned left. There was a chain-link fence all along the right side of the road, but it's not like there was barbed wire on the top or anything.

I grabbed Kevin's hand, and we walked closer. Out beyond the fence, the whole city rolled out before us, hazy and sprawling, so vast it felt like you could see the curvature of the earth, even though they say that's impossible except from outer s.p.a.ce. On the other side of that fence, down below us, the letters in the Hollywood sign towered upward. We were behind them, so we could see the metal scaffolding behind each of the individual letters. From below, the letters don't look that big, but up close, they're ma.s.sive: each one is maybe fifty feet tall. Somehow we were the only people there.

Here's where I could tell you the whole story of the Hollywood sign, but you've probably already heard it. Besides, it has nothing to do with the Big News I mentioned before.

There were signs on the chain link fence that said Restricted Entry: No Hiking Allowed to the Hollywood Sign.

If this was the end of a screenplay I was writing, I'd probably have us ignore the sign and hop the fence, then climb up the scaffolding of one of the letters - maybe the ”D” since it has the most room on top - and do the rest of this scene while sitting together looking down at the city. It'd make a great visual.

The truth is, people used to try to do that all the time, which is why there are motion detectors everywhere, and surveillance cameras on every single letter (with infrared for night viewing!), and even live microphones so the people watching can yell at you. They now take trespa.s.sing really, really seriously. If you climb over the fence, they immediately sense you, and they send helicopters to arrest you and issue you a ma.s.sive fine (and also make you pay for the cost of the helicopters).

This doesn't have anything to do with my Big News either, but I think it's really interesting.

”What movie was filmed here?” Kevin said, staring down at the sights.

”Who cares?” I said.

He looked over at me, confused.

I got down on one knee and pulled a gold ring out of my pocket, and held it up to him. ”Kevin Land,” I said, ”will you marry me?”

For a brief instant, he looked stunned. He'd expected us to come to the Hollywood sign, but he hadn't expected this, which is exactly what I'd wanted. As for the ring itself, was it an engagement ring, or the wedding ring itself? h.e.l.l, I didn't know, but buying it and giving it to him then somehow felt really right.

His smile broke through the haze of his face.

”Oh, G.o.d, yes,” he said. ”You didn't even need to ask.”

He pulled me up and planted one, way better than any perfect movie kiss, because it was real.

Los Angeles is such a G.o.dd.a.m.n a.s.shole. It's so fickle! It doesn't care whose dreams it breaks. Sure, it sometimes grants people's dreams. It has to do that, otherwise it would be a slot machine that never paid out, so people would eventually stop playing. And - let's face it - more than anyone I know, Otto really does deserve his success.