Demonologist (6 page)

Within a month’s time, Bev had discovered a newfound interest in music. He’d never sung a note before in his life, but now had the ability to carry a tune across three octaves in a voice comparable to the seventies rock gods that he and Julianne enjoyed listening to so much. Soon thereafter he began music lessons, and in a year had mastered the guitar and piano. Not once did he ever consider himself a prodigy; his talent had been sought out and extremely hard-earned. He’d struggled daily for months with his instruments and his voice, determined to learn the art of rock and roll so he too could entertain like Robert Plant or
Jimi
Hendrix had during the sixties and seventies. The message from Julianne had not been a gift of talent, but instead a catalyst leading him in a rightful direction, giving him
drive
, just as he invoked while meditating.

Later, Bev would convince himself that he had not made contact with Julianne, that he’d made contact with his inner soul, and thereby discovered his true purpose in life.

Still, there was the swan...and her voice
.

Driving by the park, he couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of walks he’d taken there, and of the day his life changed forever. He remembered the flush of joy he felt after leaving the park that day with Kristin in tow, how he’d told the then two-year-old that things were going to change for them now that daddy had ”found himself.” These memories had some mystical purpose behind them. He’d lost Julianne, but gained a goal and the drive to reach his newly found ambitions, that of a devoted father and an aspiring musician.

Ten minutes after passing
Alondra
Park, Bev pulled into the parking lot at
Danford’s
restaurant. The sand-strewn blacktop abutted Manhattan Beach, which ran a hundred yards to the crashing ocean. The shore glowed whitely beneath the high sun, scatterings of sunbathers and surfers and picnickers enjoying the afternoon’s pleasantries. Bev got out of his car and paced across the lot, hidden behind the nondescript privacy of Ray-Bans and a Dodgers cap. Celebrities in L.A. kept this tandem disguise handy. When wearing these, you didn’t necessarily hide the fact that you were a celebrity, it was
which one
you were that had those around you guessing.

A few children burst through the door of the restaurant as Bev walked in. Their playful shouts hit a shudder within him. He thought for a moment that the brain-fingers were returning. Thankfully they weren’t. But the piercing voices of the three kids and their pursuing mothers aggravated the looming headache he’d been trying to stave off.

Kristin was here, waiting inside. She greeted him in white nylon running shorts, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. She wore no makeup and her hair was tied up in a
scrunchie
. The thrown-together outfit reflected her frame of mind: tired and not in the mood for anything too important.

“Hi,” she said with a thin smile.

Bev beamed. Seeing his daughter dissolved his preoccupation; now there were no concerns about beetles or anxiety or ghostly headaches. They shared a hug; she retained an odor of last night’s party too. A chip off the old block.

“Guess I really did drag you out of bed.”

“It’s okay, it’s worth it...I’m so thrilled to have you home now.”

“Good to be home.”
Sort of
.

A young hostess escorted them to one of a dozen booths on the outside pier. They ordered a bucket of mini-Coronas and faced the healing vista of the ocean. Cool salty wind escaped the ceaseless motion of the surf and kissed their silent faces—nature’s rhythm, offering its comforting welcome, which they embraced. A waitress came and took their orders. While they waited, they drank and spoke of each other’s careers, Bev asking Kristin questions of her writing, and then, of her personal life. She revealed as much as she’d been willing, so it appeared, until he brought up the night before, and Rebecca
Haviland
.

“Dad, please...”

The waitress returned with their meals. Bev stayed silent until she finished serving them. Then he said, “Look, you’re my daughter. I raised you all by myself since you were a year old...I’m only looking out for your best interests, as much as I can.”

“You’ve mentioned that. A few times before.” She raised one eyebrow.

“Just want the best for my girl.”

“Understood. And I want the best for my dad. So...any women in your life?”

“How’d this get turned around?”

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

“Wise ass!”

“I can be. Sometimes. So...you hooked up with anyone, or what?”

“Jesus, Kristin. No, no one special.”

“Just your road hoes, huh?” She giggled.

“Kristin...”

“Woo-
hoo
dad!”

“All right, enough. I don’t do those things. Anymore. Frankly, I can’t handle it.”

“You
oughta
take out Rebecca
Haviland
.”

Bev eyed her suspiciously. “Rebecca?”

“Yeah...she’s available, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know that, nor do I really care. Actually, I thought that you—”

“Why not? She’s pretty. And she
kinda
looks like Mom, you know, from the pictures.”

Bev thought about it. The publicist
did
resemble Julianne a bit. Maybe just in the eyes. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed this until Kristin brought it up. “No one could ever replace your mother.”

The somber note segued into a few moments of silence where they enjoyed their meals. Bev ate a seafood salad while Kristin attacked a cod sandwich and fries.
Where does it all go?
Bev thought fondly.
In her brain?
The food, the cool wind, and the fresh air seemed to have revived Kristin a bit. She ate and smiled and chatted pleasantly between bites. When they were finished they lit cigarettes and stared back out into the ocean blue.

“That was good,” she said, and the way the sun hit her at that moment made her look more like Julianne than ever. The ache it brought struck him hard, and he looked down into his empty plate.

Suddenly, she revealed, “Last night, at the party, there was a man looking for you. Said he had something important to give you.”

Bev looked up at her, the night’s strange memories triggered like sudden explosives. With all the day’s distractions, the bugs and the odd physical discomforts, he’d forgotten all about it.
How could I?
He slid his hand into his back pocket. The envelope. Still there. “Son...of...a...bitch.” He pulled it out. Crisp. Beige. He unfolded it.

His scrawled name met his hesitant gaze. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably.

“What’d he look like, this man you spoke to?” His gaze was still on the envelope.

“I don’t know, didn’t really look at him too closely. Tall, serious.
Kinda
disheveled. Didn’t look like he was there to have a good time like everyone else.” She gazed inquisitively at the envelope in his hand.

“It’s the same guy.”
 

“Who?”
 

He shook his head. “He...this man you’re talking about...he followed me to the Ocean Crest Diner last night.” He held up the envelope. “He gave me this.”

“What is it?”

“A note, I suppose. Has my name on it.” He held it out for her to see.

“What’s it say?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t open it. Honestly, I’m not sure I really want to.”

“How come?”

“Well, it’s
kinda
creepy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, I suppose. But then again, it’s probably just a piece fan mail, you know? Guy figures that if he sends something to the fan club address, it’s gonna sit in a pile with a million other letters until some poor temp is hired to wade through the mountain and mail back Bev
Mathers
carbon-copy photos. That’s pretty much the drill, isn’t it?”

“I resent that. I read all my fan letters and respond to each one personally.” He grinned.

“Yeah, and I’m the President’s daughter.”

He frowned and tucked a finger into the tear he started last night, then ran it along the side edge. The folded edge of a letter peeked out. Simultaneously, last night’s scenario filtered back in flashes, the stranger and his low-profile delivery of the envelope.
Too strange
.

Bev shivered.

Did he really want to expose the contents?

Kristin waited, eyes roaming back and forth between Bev and the envelope. He reached in, pinched the beige parchment. Pulled it out. It was folded in thirds. He opened it. On it, typewritten text:

YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED FOR AN EXCLUSIVE GATHERING

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 10

A LIMO WILL ARRIVE AT YOUR RESIDENCE AT 6:00 PM

BE AVAILABLE

Kristin leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “So...what’s it say?”

“Looks like an invitation,” he replied, staring at his name.
Bevant
Mathers
. Nobody ever called him by his full name. Nobody.

Except that voice in his head.

He stared at the paper. Frowned. He didn’t like that last line.
Be available
. The invitation had requested his presence, but seemingly
demanded
he be available. It almost read as a...threat.

“C’mon...what’s it say?” she persisted, looking a bit nervous—apparently she didn’t appreciate Bev’s quiet reaction.

He handed her the parchment. She read it in silence. Hesitated. “Strange.”

“I agree, considering how it was delivered to me.” He explained how the man, after following him to the diner, discreetly slid the envelope across the counter to him before leaving.

“That
is
weird.”

“Think he’s a stalker?”

“If so, a very creative one.” She exhaled a plume of gray smoke into the wind.

“The man who asked for me last night, did you speak with him at all?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I was walking around the room looking for you, and he just came up to me and asked if I’d seen you yet, and I said “no,” and then he told me that he had something important to give you, and when I asked him what it was,
 
he just walked away. That was really it. Honestly, after that I got distracted and forgot about him.”

“You think he knew you were my daughter?”

“Hmm, not sure about that. Probably not. If he had, I suppose he could’ve just asked me to give you the envelope.”

Bev was unconvinced. “I don’t like this. Maybe I should call the police.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. There’s been no threat. And besides, if you do, the
tabloids’ll
catch wind of it and show up on your porch snapping pictures for their next issue, and then all your fans will come out from under their rocks and start stalking you for real.”

“C’mon, I’m not
that
famous.”

“I’d still steer clear of bringing it out into the open until...” She hesitated, then added, “You know, it’s probably only what it appears to be: an invitation. It says that they’re gonna send out a limo to pick you up at your place.”

“Which means they know where I live. Kristin, listen to me, this guy
followed
me last night, tailed me from the Forum to the diner. And let’s not forget that he managed to make his way backstage. That right there tells me he’s not working alone. Clearly he’s got some pretty resourceful connections, ones that gave him access to the Forum’s restricted areas. I mean, as far I know, there could very well be someone here right now, keeping tabs on me.” He gazed around the pier at the people dining in the booths. And then, toward the bar, where casually dressed men and women were socially clutched around every occupied stool.