She went to bed and I took Niall for a walk up to High Tower Elevator. It was a cool evening, but the lights from the houses and their gardens gave the pathway a warm and sensual glow.
“I’m glad you finally brought me here,” he said. “Though after reading A Woman Scorned I’m a tad frightened that you mean to shove me down the elevator shaft like the fictional Clara planned to do.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of killing you, unless we’re married.”
“How reassuring!” he said and grabbed hold of me.
“But only if you leave me for a blonde,” I said and poked his chest hard with my index finger. “Or a brunette or another redhead, for that matter.”
“I promise you won’t need to worry about that with me,” he said. “Though despite what happened, your father made his way back in the end. You better not take Dean back when you’re old and have had a heart attack.”
“Never!” I answered with a laugh. “Though I must say I’m happy for my parents.”
“You should be,” he said.
I walked towards the staircase. “I want you to come somewhere with me,” I said.
“Anywhere you say,” he answered.
I smiled at him. “We’re going for a drive.”
We hopped into my father’s two-seater coupe and headed for the hills. Not just any hills either; I drove expertly along Mulholland Drive where it gets wild and unyielding east of the 101. When I’d driven as far as I could, I stopped the car. We were just short of security camera range.
“That was quite the drive,” he said, looking a little green. “Lots of twists and turns.”
“This is where the Hollywood sign sits,” I told him and got out of the car. “We can’t get closer than this, but you get the drift. You’ve read the script.”
He stepped towards the edge of the road and peered over cautiously. It was so black outside you couldn’t see the bottom of the canyon. He shivered. I took the script out of the car and turned to the last page.
“You’re not tossing it over the side are you?” he asked, alarmed.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. What I was going to do could be considered as silly, though not to me. “I’m going to read the last scene out loud. My grandmother died on this road. She never got to finish the screenplay, and I want her to hear how I ended it.”
His head moved up and down ever so slowly. “Would you like me to sit in the car?”
“Please stay and listen. I want to share it with you.”
“I’d be honoured.”
I stepped off the road onto the dirt. The ground felt loose and unstable beneath my feet; then again, the side of a mountain wasn’t optimum footing for high heels. I turned on the flashlight and started to read. The breeze picked up my words and carried them across the cool air and down the canyon.
A dark-haired man, ROD SLATER, is sitting in a grey sedan. He’s smoking a cigarette and waiting for something to happen. Then it does.
POLICE SIRENS are coming up the hillside towards him. Rod steps out of the car.
SIRENS getting closer. Rod stamps out his cigarette.
TWO POLICE CARS pull up in a flurry of dust.
A UNIFORMED COP and a DETECTIVE in plain clothes exit one of the cars.
ROD
You took your time getting here.
DETECTIVE
Just like you to be in a hurry. Who is it this time? Another blonde?
ROD
You’re a real sentimentalist, aren’t you?
Rod moves down the side of the mountain with the detective, always several feet ahead, anxious and tense. The two men stop abruptly at the foot of the letter “H.”
The detective wipes his forehead and scowls.
I was right. Another blonde. What a shame.
Rod looked down at the broken body of the YOUNG WOMAN. His expression of fear turns to relief.
ROD
It wasn’t who I thought it was.
He began to climb back up, passing TWO POLICEMEN with a stretcher heading down.
INT. ROD’S APARTMENT, LAUREL CANYON—NIGHT
Rod is staring at a small pink envelope on his kitchen table, an empty bottle of Scotch beside it. He’s finally drunk enough to open it. The handwriting is neat, feminine, and the letter is brief.
Dear Rod,
By the time you get this, I will be long gone. I took your advice and left this God-forsaken place. This hell they call the Golden State. I know you’ll worry. I heard about a woman leaping to her death from the Hollywood sign, and knew you’d think the worst. It could have been me, once. But you saved me. You showed me that I didn’t need my husband or his money, or revenge. I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t harm her, because you asked me not to. Now I’m free. And I want you with me. Take a plane to Mexico. The exact address is on the other side of this note. We can start over. I love you. Your redhead, Clara.
Rod folds the note and goes to his closet. He takes down a suitcase. He starts to pack.
EXT. OCEANSIDE CLIFF–MEXICO–MAGIC HOUR
Clara is standing in a long satin evening gown alone by the ocean. She is drinking champagne. She smiles when she hears footsteps. She turns around to see Rod walking towards her in a tuxedo. They embrace.
THE END
I looked at Niall. “She doesn’t die. I gave her a happy ending,” I said triumphantly.
“Everyone deserves a happy ending. Even the femme fatale,” he agreed.