i am flying 41,000 feet over arcadia, to the isle of grimaldi, with arcadia's sweethearts, cielo's 'it' couple - kathleen "the doll" grace and her bad boy paramour joey kiss - and we are all about to die.
a hurricane is on the rise and heading for grimaldi, the captain warns overhead. joey looks around, as if waiting for an overwhelming panic, shrugs and lights a cigarette. perhaps his last before the final stoney steps towards the grave that awaits him and its grisly load. the plane bounces, jerks and then subsides into the stormy, grey clouds. kathleen is fast asleep, silky mask secured across her eyes and ear plugs in place. joey removes the mini champagne bottle she had been clutching before finally giving in to slumber, lest she would still be holding it, à la neely o' hara, minus the pills. he downs the rest of it and nervously fiddles with his safety belt under the ride becomes smooth again.
outside the airport, kathleen's famed handler, headlock, is waiting. as soon as the moist grimaldi air hits her, kathleen takes a breath of freedom and lights a cigarette after glancing nonchalantly at the 'no smoking' sign. she then nods to joey kiss to schlep their luggage in the car. he does so without a grunt or even an under the breath comment.
as he is doing so, a young teenager strolls up to him. "you're joey kiss, aren't you?"
"sure am buddy," joey says in a very leave-it-to-beaver kind of way, as if he was about to reach out and tousle the kid's hair.
"wow, you play for the lost boys don't you? they are the coolest band, i just love the lost boys." joey basks in the attention, beaming a grin, until the fan says, "didn't you try to, you know, kill yourself?"
the smile fades from joey's lip and he curls into his famous sneer. he playfully grabs the kid's collar and says, "to think i was about to give you my autograph."
kathleen, obviously having watched the entire scene play out, rolls down her window at this point and chimes in, "and it wasn't a suicide attempt - he took too many pills, okay? mind your own beeswax, you little brat!"
she flicks her cigarette in the kid's direction and slips back inside the towncar, bound for a destination known only to the driver. joey slams the trunk satisfactorily and lights his own cigarette. he clambers into the seat next to her without so much as a "scoot over." perhaps the near death experience made joey a changed man : a person the tabloids describe as a 'loser baby daddy' who was basically a hanger-on of the doll. or perhaps he truly does love her?
headlock pulls up to a gate, behind a beaten, sandy driveway. he gets out of the car and walks to the speakerbox, says something quickly and then hops back into the car, as the ancient gate rattles open. he shifts the towncar into first and it sluggishly heads up the driveway.
behind the gate, there isn't much. i can't help but wonder what the purpose of the gate even is, considering the remains. the property consists of a derelict theatre, seated upon the sand, possibly an old drive-in or possibly an old outdoor acting arena; albeit, well past it's operational days. tall, flowering plumeria bushes grow all around, veiling us in privacy. vines weave their way through the cracked floorboards and up the walls of the structure. it looks as if it had withstood a hurricane and could collapse at any moment. behind what was once a screen is a glimmering ocean and a fading sun. seagulls chirp as they float on the breeze, scanning the beach for any potential crumbs left from its daily visitors.
the remnants of last night's bonfire crackle as the embers travel to their final resting place. dead soldier beer bottles outline the circular fire pit. a lonely whiskey bottle is lying near the shore; the incoming tide washes over it, nearly dragging it out to sea with the ebb and flow. soft music plays on the outdoor system - something from the post-woodstock, pre-punk era.
the tattered theatre chairs - once cushioned to support the bodies that occupied them, now ratted and forgotten - are covered in sheets and blankets, as if locals used the area as a makeshift shelter in times of need. candles burn on the stage, amidst fresh flowers, trinkets, charms and the like - an altar for the doll.
beside the theatre stands a moderately sized warehouse-seeming structure, most likely used for storing movie goods during its heydey; but has since been converted into a loft-style dwelling. inside, the space is sweeping and open.
joey, upstairs, leans against a rail. he is shirtless, hair dissheveled, in tattered blue jeans and is busying himself with rolling a joint. he looks like he could easily pass for an extra from any 70s nostalgia film about rock 'n' roll. as kathleen makes her way inside, he smiles, watching her from above. the smile wasn't an amused one, as if she had just said something comical; but familiar - like realizing one of her cute dispositions she possesed, like always biting the side of her lip when she was focusing on something, and how much he loved her for it. the smile was too loving and begged the question : how could they ever be apart from one another?
perhaps we truly do not know kathleen grace or joey kiss. perhaps they are not the figures, up high on the pedestal of arcadia and cielo, with pasts as dark as the midnight hour; therefore we know them not, and villians are they none. if anything, kathleen is magnet and joey is steel.
joey makes his way down the spiral staircase as headlock plops down the final bag and looks around. he is clear and concise. "why buy this piece of shit spot, even if it is next door?" and everything clicks. this is not just some hideout, under the radar, where the two young lovers could avoid the harsh scrutiny of press, opinionated fans and media alike. this property is sandwiched in between the ocean and the famed "coco cave" kathleen attained last summer. with this acquisition, she can finally breathe. a truly private piece of land.
across the way, beyond the out of control bougainvillea, orange touch-me-nots and lanky philodendrons, stands a four-story mansion, fit for a queen. the house, obviously empty, lurks like an abandoned museum in the dusk of night - creepy and still.
greek gods and goddesses line the entrance to the "coco cave" - 261 cocoanut gables lane and can be seen standing tall throughout the gardens, as if watching over the domain while the two kisses are next door. kathleen confesses that she has been studying greek and roman mythology for the past year and found herself inspired. she then adds, "well, that and the shining."
the home is nearly finished and will be furnished by the winter, she estimates. a mix between italian villa and french chateau; the estate is a total of 50 acres, 10 of which include the home and formal gardens and 40 acres are the native forest, as well as the cocoanut gables theatre. it was then i understood. she has shown me the doll in all her glory: the private jet, the mansion - her house on the hill - her rattling towncar, and at last, her hideaway.
it may not be much, or to some it may be a palace, but it is all for the doll.
