Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,34
him in the speech…” Ramona closes her eyes and begins to sway back and forth a little. “There was no answer. Nothing. I called our neighbor to run over and tell him the news, and she carried the phone there. The door was open. I was sitting there, watching Dylan raise the Oscar and wave as the music started playing, as they all applauded—and she screamed. Right through the phone. And my blood went cold. I knew…I just knew…”
I get out of my seat and crouch next to Ramona, putting my arms around her. She smiles through the tears that shake her body and takes a few deep breaths.
“It’s ok,” she says, patting my arm, “I’m fine. It’s just been a long time since I’ve told that story.”
“I…I can’t imagine what that must have been like…”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “A guy like Cal…it was always going to end up with something like that. Some bad ending. I just…it was such a waste, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say, softly.
“Dylan was even more torn up than me. He blamed himself for it, for not being there, as if he was the one who’d given Cal the overdose. Dylan changed completely. Started hitting the drink again, as if he was turning into Cal. He beat himself up about it every single day.”
“I think he still does.”
Ramona nods.
“You’re right. Like I said, they were two peas in a pod, and now Dylan’s the one who’s driving himself to ruin.”
I shake my head. “Why doesn’t he just come clean about the story? I mean, the papers are going crazy thinking that Ben is Dylan’s child. Why doesn’t he just tell them the truth?”
Ramona sighs.
“I guess he’s trying to protect Cal, somehow. And himself. Better for the press to think he’s an asshole father who abandons his kids than have them dig into old wounds, force him to relive the tragedy all over again.”
“But the paparazzi outside,” I say, gesturing towards the front her home.
Ramona raises her hand.
“I haven’t told Dylan about them. I don’t want him losing any more of his mind over this. He’s done more for me than I’ve ever really deserved. I don’t care if they take a few pictures. They’ll get bored eventually.”
I sit back in my chair and look at Ramona, trying to understand just a fraction of the pain she and Ben and Dylan have gone through.
“Look,” Ramona says, her voice full of the wisdom of pain, “Dylan’s a good man. He’s been like a brother to me through all of this. God knows he can be a prick sometimes. Stubborn-headed and completely out of line – but when it comes down to it, he’s the kind of guy who’d put himself through hell if it meant the ones he loves won’t feel a shred of pain. Even if they’re dead.”
I hang my head, a sense of shame and regret growing inside of me. We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us dealing with the regrets and hurts that the story has brought to the surface.
“I have to find Dylan,” I mutter, almost to myself. “I have to.”
“I think…I think I know where he is,” Ramona says.
I look at her, eyes already pleading. “Where?”
She stands up, steps over to a shelf where framed photographs sit proudly in full view of the room, and picks one up, walking back to me.
“Here,” she says, handing it over. “The Libro. It’s this shitty motel near the coast in Malibu where we used to go every once in a while, when things were good. Dylan and Cal always loved going there; I think they liked how shitty how it was, the ‘real’ America, they’d say.” She pauses for a beat, her smile dropping. “It’s where we spread Cal’s ashes. Dylan’s either there, or at Kavanagh’s, a bar in a bad part of town. But I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“The sun’s about to set. Cal always liked to watch the sun set from the Libro.”
I stand up, feeling some steel in my muscles and purpose gathering in my chest from the hope of finding Dylan.
“Thank you so much, Ramona. I’m really sorry to drag all of this back up again, but I’m only trying to do what’s best for Dylan. I really care about him. I want him to be ok.”
Ramona smiles. “I know you do,” she says, as she stands up and leads me back to the door in the fence. “You’d better go out this way again, the rats are probably