Rhapsody in Blood

Chapter One All I wanted when Alexandra Templeton invited me to join her for a brief getaway was a little rest and relaxation. Fresh air, a change of scenery, a few carefree days out of town, and the kind of sleep a writer doesn't get when he's on deadline with an important project. At least not a writer like me, the type who takes his work to bed with him: tossing and turning night after night, rewriting gibberish in his troubled sleep, searching for words that don't exist, frantic to finish a story that makes no sense and has no ending. I'd just spent a couple of months like that as I'd worked feverishly to finish my autobiography and turn in my first draft on time. Now my friend Templeton was offering me a short road trip to decompress. We tended to get on each other's nerves if we spent too much time together---my fault more than hers---and the notion of several days in the same place seemed problematic. Still, I needed a diversion from West Hollywood and my life there, such as it was, and her invitation sounded tempting. "We've never taken a trip together, Justice, not a real one," Templeton said, as we shared lunch with my elderly landlord Maurice at La Conversation, our favorite West Hollywood cafe. "Just the two of us, on the road---think of how much fun we can have." "I snore, you know." "I'm not suggesting we share a room. I'm not a masochist." Maurice slapped me lightly on the arm. "How many times have I told you to sleep on your side, Benjamin, and not on your back? I started rolling Fred over on his side thirty years ago. Trust me, it's one of the secrets to a long marriage." "I'm not married, Maurice, like you and Fred. I've got nobody to roll me over in the middle of the night when I start snoring like an old bear." "Only because I haven't found the right man for you, dear boy." "Anyway," Templeton said, trying to reclaim the conversation, "we're taking separate rooms, remember?" "I don't recall agreeing to go." "Don't be silly, Benjamin," Maurice said. "Of course you're going. This trip is just what you need after all the hard work you put in on that wonderful manuscript of yours." "You're jumping to conclusions, Maurice. I just mailed off the first draft two days ago. Who knows? They may reject it and refuse to pay me the rest of my advance." "Nonsense! I don't have to read it to know that you did a fine job. You're long overdue to be published again. Those problems you had are years behind you." "Those problems will never be behind me, Maurice." He waved a bony finger at me, causing the bracelets on his narrow wrist to jingle. "Stop stalling and tell Alexandra that you'll be joining her on this fabulous trip!" "You'll have another author to talk to," Templeton said, resuming her sales pitch, as her brown eyes sparkled within the lovely confines of her darker face. "Richard Pearlman---he wrote A Murder in Eternal Springs, the book I told you about. He'll be there." "Does that mean I have to read it? Maurice says it's heavy on Hollywood trivia and lore. Not something I'm terribly interested in." Templeton sighed, exasperated. "Not if you don't want to." "You'll drive?"[read more]