From Santa Monica in Los Angeles, heading west along California Highway 1 for over twenty kilometers brings you to Malibu.
The 1980s marked a peak in the U.S. real estate boom, and the scenic Malibu inevitably became a prime target for developers. It was during this time that countless luxury villas sprang up along the Malibu coastline, gradually turning the small town into a haven for Hollywood stars and celebrities.
But in 1986, Malibu hadn't even been officially designated as a city in Los Angeles County. The entire Malibu area, stretching from Santa Monica in the east to Ventura in the west, spanned a long forty-kilometer coastline with fewer than 8,000 permanent residents.
Right in the heart of Malibu was the famous Point Dume State Beach. Perched on the seaside cliffs flanking Point Dume were some of Malibu's most opulent ocean-view mansions.
It was past midnight, yet lights still glowed in a cliffside villa east of Point Dume.
Fresh from a party in the city, Janet Johnston luxuriated in a comfortable bath before emerging from the bathroom in a light robe.
In the living room, Catherine was still dressed in her party outfit—a shirt and slacks—sitting on the sofa flipping through the updated budget for Night of the Living Dead. With the investor's finances worsening, the film's budget had dropped from $6 million to $5 million. Catherine had just gotten the new figures from the producer at the party and was now frowning as she reviewed them.
[TL/N: Catherine = Kathryn Bigelow, will edit her name in later chaps.]
Janet eyed Catherine on the sofa, her back habitually straight, exuding a quiet, restrained aura, and instinctively lightened her steps.
Sneaking up like a cat, her little hands nearly reaching Catherine's waist, when Catherine turned her head, shooting her a helpless glare. Janet giggled, completely unashamed of her foiled prank, and plopped down ungracefully beside her.
Twirling a strand of Catherine's long hair, Janet said, "Kate, I don't like that guy at all. How about you stop dealing with him from now on?"
Catherine turned a page in the budget. "Jim's a decent guy, and we're just regular friends."
Janet pouted. "You think I'm blind? At the party tonight, even a ghost could see he was flirting with you. Worst of all, he's married."
Hearing that, Catherine paused, her gaze still on the budget but her eyes drifting. After a moment, she said softly, "Jenny, I know."
Sensing Catherine's sudden dip in mood, Janet tilted her body, then tilted some more, until she was lying down with her head pillowed on Catherine's lap, blinking up at the woman above her. "Kate, actually, us two living together like this forever wouldn't be bad at all. We don't need a man one bit."
Catherine set the budget aside, smiling. "Jenny, you're talking nonsense again."
"Not at all," Janet nestled closer against Catherine. "This is me officially confessing to you. If you say no, I'll be heartbroken."
Catherine gently stroked Janet's fair cheek. "If you're heartbroken, go to bed—a good sleep will fix it."
"Wah, you heartless woman—I hate you."
Watching Janet nibble her fingers like a little mouse, Catherine laughed. "Haven't you ever thought about finding a boyfriend?"
"My standards are too high—I can't find one."
Catherine grew curious. "I've never heard your boyfriend criteria. Spill?"
"Hmm," Janet pondered. "First, he has to be handsome—having an ugly boyfriend would totally ruin my mood. Second, he needs to be younger than me; eighteen's fine too. I don't want to grow old with some guy—that's terrifying. Third, um, not too normal; best if he's a bit crazier than me. In movies, one crazy person gets taken out by the hero, but two can destroy the world. Finally, to destroy the world, his talent has to be just a tiny bit higher than mine."
Listening to Janet's whimsical ramble, Catherine's smile widened. When she finished, Catherine said, "I think I know someone like that—practically custom-made by God for you."
"Simon Westeros?" Janet rolled her eyes. "Pfft, no way."
Catherine kept smiling. "Simon fits your four points perfectly—how not?"
"He's too mature, no edge at all," Janet circled her slender finger in the air. "Claims he came from a mental hospital, but I say it's more like a nursing home. And such a pushover—I bet he's never even been in a fight his whole life. I don't want a boyfriend younger than me who treats me like a kid."
Catherine recalled her time with Simon and couldn't help defending him. "Simon's a gentleman, not spineless. And isn't that good? Or do you want a boyfriend who hits you?"
"Of course," Janet nodded, looking hopelessly expectant. "If he really loves me, a little domestic violence once or twice a month is fine."
Catherine felt her worldview cracking, weakly countering, "People who truly love each other don't hurt one another."
Janet shot back, "Wrong—only when there's zero feelings left do people not bother hurting each other."
"Fine," Catherine surrendered, shaking her head. "I shouldn't chat with you anymore—or you'll warp my worldview completely."
Janet giggled triumphantly, then grabbed Catherine's hand with a serious face. "Kate, I'm serious. When single, anything goes, but once married, women shouldn't be too dominant—or it'll end badly. A lot of times, you're just too strong-willed."
Catherine listened earnestly, then playfully shoved Janet still lounging on her lap. "Get up—I don't need dating advice from someone who's never even been in love."
"That's prejudice," Janet huffed indignantly. "Who says you can't empathize without experience? This stuff's etched in my bones."
Catherine eyed Janet's expression and realized, "It suddenly clicks—no wonder you're so against boyfriends. You've got trauma."
Though she said that, Catherine tactfully didn't pry.
Janet fell quiet too, her gaze fixed on the expensive crystal chandelier overhead, the dense sparkles from its facets like fragments of past memories.
After a quiet moment, the living room phone rang.
Janet wriggled in complaint. "Ugh, so annoying—who calls this late? Kate, let's not answer, okay?"
Catherine hesitated, then nodded. "Sure—it's probably for you anyway."
So.
After a bit, Janet relented. "Fine, fine—hand it over."
Catherine smiled, grabbing the phone from the side table and passing the receiver.
But after hearing just a sentence, Janet shoved it back grumpily. "See? It's for you."
Catherine puzzled—who'd call her this late?
Putting it to her ear, she answered, and the other side started talking.
Janet, initially distracted, noticed Catherine tense up and sensed something. She sat up, ear pressed close.
Before she could catch much, Catherine said, "Okay, I'll get there soon. UCLA Medical Center, the one on 15th Street, right... Yeah, goodbye."
Hanging up, Catherine glanced at Janet's concerned and curious eyes, her expression turning ambiguous. "Simon got in a fight, got arrested by the police—now he's at the hospital."
Janet blinked, then pursed her lips in disdain. "Really useless."
Even so, as Catherine stood, Janet quickly changed clothes, and the two women drove together to UCLA Medical Center in downtown Santa Monica.