New Olympus Trilogy: Teenage Goddess Teenage Star Hell on Earth (15 page)

Would my fans share in my enthusiasm? I hoped so, but at the end of the day, I did this for Myra, and myself. I had to, once I’d started the process. She told me to write my own music, and here I was, following her advice.

Where was she now? I wanted to see her again, play my songs for her, hold her in my arms, and kiss her breathless.

Not the End
. I had to believe there still was hope.

1

I don’t remember too much of the rest of that winter. It went by in hectic activities, studying, acting, singing – I had hoped that living closer to my professional duties would make things easier, but it did not work out like that. Alice scheduled lots of activities, and I had to argue with her more than once so that she let me off the hook now and then.

Studying at home turned out to be easier in some respects – I could concentrate on one subject at a time, my tutors focused on me alone, and I could study whenever I found some free time. But it was a lonely business. School, for all its drawbacks, had placed me in the company of young people my own age. I only appreciated now, after I’d cut loose, how much that had helped to keep me sane and normal. Well, until Myra’s arrival, at any rate. Without the rivalry of the class, my motivation to study was not easy to keep up.

P.A. dropped in twice, and we talked about music, poetry, and songs. I showed him what I’d done since his last visit, and he gave me some tips how to improve it further. That man had an absolutely sure instinct for music and lyrics. I couldn’t understand why he himself was not a mega-star – he had the looks, the voice, the presence and above all the talent.

“Been there, done that,” he merely said, when I asked him point-blank. But as his face was not plastered over the Internet and he wasn’t even featured on Wikipedia, I doubted that he meant the same thing I had in mind. Maybe he was right to keep a low profile, though; it got tired to have to sign dozens of autographs and trail one or two bodyguards whenever I left my house.

In March I flew to Cyprus for the shooting of
Hurricane Riders 2
. In the first movie, still doing very well in box offices all over the world, I’d co-starred with two older, established actors. In the sequel my own role was much bigger and had to carry the whole film. Again they had hired several stuntmen, who performed a series of improbably heroic moves pretending to be me. As far as acting went, the performance was not difficult – all the feelings I was allowed to show on screen were already part of my acting repertoire. The whole movie was just light entertainment with many action scenes, but as always I gave it my best.

I was thrown into the constant company of Amy
Thurlow, the female lead and budding femme fatale who enticed and betrayed me, the main character. To my regret, the producers had decided not to re-use Jennifer Crawley, and to hire someone with a higher profile. Amy was great, too, it turned out: despite an almost scarily convincing performance as a treacherous bitch, in real life she was a fun-loving and uncomplicated colleague. In our spare time we went out to small restaurants and talked a lot – about acting, future ambitions, joint acquaintances. She was four years older than I, but never let me feel it.

Alice was off my back at the moment, I hoped, and the album of my own songs was in production and being offered around to selected critics and media people. I wondered how it was doing; even if it flopped, as Jerry Murdock had angrily predicted, I was determined to go on writing my own music. It just felt right.

My parents sent some messages. They were spending a couple of months in China, where dad had to settle labour issues at one of the plants his company co-owned there. Workers had gone so far as to take their manager hostage, though he’d been released by now. I felt little sympathy with Father and his partners. If you outsourced production to a country with a completely different mind-set and culture, to save on costs and wages, problems were only to be expected. But I kept that opinion to myself. He had enough problems to deal with and if I knew him at all, would come out of the experience richer than ever.

“Let’s go out to a tavern tonight,” Amy suggested one evening, after long hours of filming the same couple of scenes over and over. “I need some distraction. Here in Cyprus you can have a beer at your age, it’s practically legal.”

“I’ll come but I’ll pass on the beer,” I said. “Who else is coming?”

George and Tony, two of the stuntmen, decided to join us. I was still trailed everywhere by a bodyguard – Murdock had negotiated him as part of my contract – so that made a party of five, with Amy as the only woman. We quickly found a nice little place with a seaside view. Sunset was just over, and there still was a little dim light, though the first stars were already visible on the darkening sky. The air was dry and warm.

“I’ll have a watered wine and some stuffed grape leaves,” I decided, when the waitress came to ask for our orders. The table had a red-and white checked cloth on it, and was simple but clean.  Amy opted for Moussaka, and the guys had lamb chops with polenta, a more substantial meal. I supposed the stunts they had been performing used up more calories than my own acting. We’d taken a table for four; the bodyguard hovered nearby at a separate table, as they tend to prefer.

A fiddler started to play in the background. The drinks arrived quickly, and I sipped my wine. It was not the first time I drank alcohol, though in the USA with their strict laws I would not have done it. Here, with the chalk-white buildings all around us, still reflecting the heat of the sunny day, I felt relaxed enough to do whatever came naturally.

“Is it true you are producing your own album?” Terry asked me. “Why would you do that? Is it very expensive?”

“I don’t yet know the full extent of the cost,” I said, “but I wanted complete artistic control over this album, as I wrote the songs myself.”

“What, music and lyrics?” Amy looked at me with respect. “That’s pretty neat at your age.”

“Well, I’ll be seventeen in just a few weeks,” I said. The other three guffawed.

“I suppose if it’s a success, this way you’ll keep a lot more of the earnings,” Terry concluded. “Does it work like self-publishing a book? I’m thinking of writing a book on how to be a stuntman and self-publish it.”

“That sounds like an interesting subject,” I agreed. “Do send me the link when you do, and I’ll be your first customer.”

“And me the second,” Amy added.

“Has there been any news about that girl who vanished in the Rockies?” Tony asked me. Amy glared at him – she’d avoided the subject, no doubt from tact.

I shook my head. “No, and after all this time they don’t expect to find anything. She simply vanished.”

“That must be tough on you. You loved her?”

“Yeah. Still do.”

There was a moment of silence, interrupted by the waitress bringing our food. She balanced three large plates at the same time, without spilling or dropping a thing.

“”Well, here’s to finding out the truth,” Tony said, irrepressibly, as he raised his glass of beer.

“I can drink to that,” I agreed, and then changed the subject to politics. Amy was passionately Democrat, Tony libertarian, while George and I were cynical about all politicians. George said he considered all of them crooks, and I agreed with him. 

“It’s easy to scoff,” Amy challenged me. “Why don’t you go into politics yourself, and show everyone how to do better?”

I looked at her incredulously. “But I can’t even vote yet!”

“Well, not right away, but in a few years’ time, then. You’re male, tall, rich, white, and world-famous already.” She smirked. “Who would have an easier time of it in politics than you?”

“None of that should matter,” I objected.

“Maybe not, but we all know it does. Especially the money.” 

I decided not to go there – she certainly had a point. “It might be fun to play the part in a movie, but not for real, keeping it up for years and years. That life is even more artificial than our acting. Well, maybe I’ll feel differently about it in thirty years of so.”

Though I doubted it. I couldn’t imagine Myra as a political wife.

2

The next morning started with a call from a journalist who must have bribed the hotel to put him through to my suite. “Congratulations on your new romance,” she said in a sugary voice. “How are you enjoying the Mediterranean?”

“No comment,” I growled, then switched on my laptop and searched.

Alice, that snake, had betrayed me. There it was - an article in
Hollywood News
.

“Teen idol Jason Mackenzie is consoling himself over his last girlfriend’s disappearance with rising star Amy
Thurlow. Their relationship is hot and heavy,” I read. It had Alice’s handwriting all over it, I even recognised one of her favourite turns of phrase.

This was too much.

I checked my email to see if she’d given me any warning of the new romance. Nothing from Alice. I instead I found an email with three attachments from my father’s accountants.

Report on the investigation into the business practices of J. Murdock and Associates
, was the ominous title.

I had no printer in my hotel room, so I was glad to find an executive summary ahead of the lengthy report. The contents were less satisfactory. As I read, my hands became numb and my head began to feel a furious pounding. If Murdock had been before me at that moment, I might well have thrown myself on him and tried to pummel him in my anger. Considering he’d been a professional boxer in his youth, this might not have ended well for me. A good thing I was in Cyprus rather than L.A., so I could regain my cool before doing anything I might later regret.

Murdock had been swindling me, skimming off part of the earnings from the music side of my business, with the apparent connivance of the record label. It had started when I was only thirteen. He owed me several million dollars,

So that was why he’d been so opposed to my going independent.

I felt like crying for a moment. It was not the money, of which I had enough anyway, but that they were just using me so cynically ---to be betrayed by Alice and by Jerry, and find out about both the very same morning, was tough.

I imagined Myra sitting next to me, on the rumpled hotel bed. What would she advise me to do?

“Nobody cares about me, it’s all about the money,” I moaned to phantom Myra.

She smiled and shook her head. “You deserve to be loved, Jason. Just remember to separate your business from your feelings. These people are not worth agonising over.”

Even in my imagination, she always had good sense and advice. Had she really been so calm and serene? I thought so, but could no longer be completely sure. The short time we’d known each other seemed hidden behind a mist of unreality.

I had no time that morning to do anything about my treacherous publicist and agent, as we had to resume the filming just then, but I stewed over the news over the whole day. A few good-natured jokes about my love life did not help. Amy assured me that she’d had nothing to do with the false leak, and I believed her. She had a boyfriend back in Toronto, and had to spend an hour on the phone during our first break to reassure him that the media had just printed nonsense.

Poor Amy. Her boyfriend was the jealous type. He was a baseball player, so in any physical confrontation I might be in danger. Maybe I’d better take up karate or Kung Fu.

No. Maybe I’d better fire my publicist and agent. I knew it had to be done, but despite the clear provocation felt very mixed up about the necessity.

It was like having to break up with a girlfriend when you see she double times you. You cannot immediately erase all feelings from one moment to the other. I’d never been in that position myself, but observed it in some of my Hollywood acquaintances.

As soon as we finished working I sent a message to my father’s lawyers to fire Jerry Murdock and Alice on my behalf, and sue Murdock for every cent he had embezzled. Alice would probably have counselled against it, and I knew that many of my actor colleagues would have preferred to hush up such a story as it would not be good for the image. To hell with that. If somebody took advantage of me, he or she would be persecuted to the end of the earth. That would prevent others from trying it also. If I
looked
a fool for being swindled, I would actually
be
a fool to forgive and forget.

“I’m going out,” Amy announced. I shook my head. After the fraudulent articles about our love story, the less we were seen together, the better.

But sitting around my hotel room when I felt upset was not attractive, either. With my bodyguard trailing behind me, I went for a walk along the pier, enjoying the bright houses, a spectacular sunset, and the raucous cries of seagulls whirling above me. Life was still beautiful. Much worse things happened to people of all ages all over the world every day. No need to be a crybaby.

I sat on a bench overlooking the harbour and watched the sailboats and yachts. Should I have one of those? Dad had a large yacht in the Bahamas that he rarely used. In my childhood I’d sailed on it a couple of times, but that had been years ago. Did he even still have it, or had it been sold? Replaced? If not, I could easily get him to loan me the yacht and crew for a few weeks. My hectic schedule did not really allow for it, but without Jerry and Alice to drive me on, I might carve out a bit more free time.

Maybe after finishing all the school exams and graduation might be a good time for a cruise. No fans, no strangers, just the deep blue sea, some uninhabited islands, dolphins, - all right, and storms, and possible seasickness. The sea could be wonderful but it was also dangerous and I might find it lonely. Now if Myra were also aboard….

Surely after all this time it was nonsense to still believe in her survival. If she was alive, she could have called, written, sent an email or text message. All I had from her was the memory of a vivid dream. Wishful thinking, to cope with my guilt.

I sighed.

“Hell, Jason,” a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts before they could spiral into full depression.

“Hello, P.A..” Somehow I was not at all surprised to see my composer friend here on this island. He was dressed in casual cream linen pants and a white shirt, and looked devastating. If I’d been into men, I would have drooled.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I said. “Do you like Cyprus?”

“It’s okay, though not my favourite island in this region.” He sat down next to me. “You have had some bad news, I take it from your long face?”

“You were the first to warn me about Murdock,” I remembered. “How did you guess? Or did you know?”

“I know the type. Greedy, always looking out for himself first. Though you were a goldmine for him, it still was not enough.”

“And I’m firing my publicist, Alice, as well,” I told
P.A.. “She invented a romance between me and Amy despite my repeated orders to the contrary.”

“Ah,” his glance swept over the rows of boats towards the horizon. “It’s been quite a while since Myra disappeared. A new love would be only natural.”

“For other guys, perhaps. I’m not over her. I don’t know that I want to be.”

“Would you want to meet her again?”

“That’s my greatest wish. Even if she had moved on, just to know that she’s all right would make the world a better place. These last few months have been difficult, not knowing if she’s still alive, fearing the worst.” My voice sounded a little hoarse. Screw that.

“Don’t worry,” A.P. advised me. “Everything will be all right.”

“Easy for you to say-” I remembered that he’d known Hell and Myra before I did. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I know a lot of things you don’t, Jason.” P.A. smiled. “I’m a great deal older than you, after all.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I do,” he admitted. “I know that Myra didn’t die on that mountain.”

I sucked in air in shock at finally getting a straight answer. My heart was hammering at double speed. It never occurred to me to doubt P.A. -  I believed him implicitly.

“Then despite all that happened earlier, this is a good day,” I said, half to myself. I’d fire a hundred agents in exchange for one encouraging word about Myra.

Still - “Why wouldn’t she send me a letter, a text, a simple postcard?” I couldn’t help asking, sounding pathetic to my own ears.

P.A. sipped from his red wine, looking thoughtful. “Son, I’m not in her confidence, but – I wonder – maybe she’s waiting for you to grow up.”

Should I feel insulted? “How do you mean?”

“You are talented and famous, but in her way Myra is very special, too.”

“I know
that.
”

“Well, at your age – sixteen, seventeen – girls tend to be ahead of boys in overall maturity. Are you still the same person today that you were on the day when you met Myra?”

I didn’t have to think even for a moment. “No, and wouldn’t want to be.”

“Mind you, I doubt Myra thinks about it in those terms. She probably just wants to give you some space and a chance to forget about her, if that’s what you choose to do.”

“Well, tell her from me, if you meet, not to be an idiot. I’m not going to forget her, but it would help if I got to see her again. Soon. I miss her.”

P.A. smiled and raised his glass. “In that case, let’s drink to a happy reunion.”