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his crossroads。 And then the young priest understood everything。
〃These wraiths were the spirits of the monks。 Unleashed as they slept； freed from the bonds of their daytime work； these spirits were prone to the chaos that lurked within the innermost recesses of even the most disciplined mind。 They lacked but a single soul…a kind of Zen policeman…to see them on their proper paths； to keep them from the dangers inherent in chaos。''
Tori and her father had e to the far end of the pergola。 He turned around； took one last look at the statue of Diana； cloaked now in the robes of twilight。 He said； after a long silence；''Does that answer your question as to how I have survived in Diana's Garden？ I learned that I had to change in order to survive the demons peculiar to your mother's genius。''
Tori thought for a long time。 It was an amazing story； and even more amazing that it had e from her father。 She simply had not thought he had such subtlety in him。 The story also explained many things about her parents' relationship。 But it also brought into focus some of her own childhood concerns。 She said carefully； 〃I worry sometimes that I。。。 Well； I still sort of lose myself when Mom's around。 There's so much of her…her personality； her aura； her wa； as the Japanese would say…that there often seems no space left over for me。〃
Her father said； 〃You should try to understand your mother more。 If you did； I'm sure you'd find it worth your while。〃
〃I'm not sure you heard what I said。'' Tori was struggling to find a basis for municating with him； but either he was misunderstanding her or being willful。 Still； she pressed on。 〃I often end up not knowing how I feel about her。〃 She looked at him； at that noble； almost primitive profile。 〃Do you love Mom？〃
Ellis Nunn turned to his daughter。 〃I understand her。 Tori。 I think； in your mother's case； that's the same as loving her。〃
〃Is it？〃
〃Well； you tell me； then；〃 Ellis Nunn said testily。 〃How else do you love an icon？ How do you bring something so monumental； so universally adored； into your reality？ The answer is； you don't waste your time。 Instead； you enter into its reality as best you can。〃
〃I don't…〃
〃Look； my marriage survived where the marriages of people like DiMaggio and Arthur Miller did not。 I've e to see that as acplishment enough。〃 He looked away toward the pool； as if he wished he were in there now。 〃Your mother needs to be what she has bee in the same way you and I need air to breathe。 Once you understand that； you understand everything。〃
Tori looked up into his face。 There was just enough light left so that the reflections from the pool lit up his face and she was reminded of the photos of Greg； poolside； fresh from some diving triumph； his angel eyes aglow with the victory fever。 Greg。 It was always Greg。 Even death could not stop them all from talking about him； thinking about him； trying to live up to the shining potential of his angel eyes。
〃Spoken like a true Zen policeman；〃 she said with all the irony she could muster。
Evening approaches。 Tori； hidden away from her mother； behind the massive carved oak doors to the library； is again feeling trapped in Diana's Garden。 She remembers a time of adolescence。 She is trapped in the big house in L。A。； in the sunshine； in her sleek tanned body。 She is pinned by her beauty to the imagined future； the foregone conclusion that her father wants for her； that boys her own age imagine is already hers。 They are the same； these images； and they dominate her life like a nun's vows。
She has all she wants within Diana's Garden； and increasingly she feels that there is no reason to venture outside its perfect； all…enpassing environs。
Until； one night during a party given by her parents； she discovers how pletely she has fooled herself。 Just about everyone who matters in Hollywood…except enemies…has descended upon the manor house； and the rooms are full of familiar faces； screen legends； movers and shakers。 There are the money men and their exquisite women； as polished as gems； seemingly pulled out of the men's pockets like an expensive watch or a roll of thousand…dollar bills。
Gossip； which is the only approved mode of munication at affairs such as this； centers around who is sleeping with whom； and who is pregnant by whom。 Gradually it dawns on Tori that these people who inhabit Hollywood like a race of gorgeous troglodytes run their private lives in sync with their professional careers。 Love affairs； marriages； seduction…whatever the current voguish designation…last among these strange； alien life forms only as long as it takes to make a film。 These people meet on the set； bee immersed in each other in the same manner in which they bee immersed in their roles； in order to differentiate reality from fantasy； however； they feel pelled to make tangible their love for one another； if not their mitment。 A child follows； as surely as the night the day。 But； invariably； with the advent of the baby； the love affair； marriage； seduction loses its luster。 A mother is never as exciting as a lover； three takes the edge off the heat generated by two。
Tori understands at last that she hates these people； that she feels their ing as an invasion。 That night； whether in the living room； the study； the library； the throngs of people overwhelm her。 She feels suffocated。 She flees the house； but the grounds； too； are choked with celebrities； and still she cannot breathe。 Bent over by the side of the lighted pool； her sanctuary； where she had always felt closest to Greg； she wheezes like an asthmatic。
At last she stumbles to her car； a new Thunderbird； convulsively turns the ignition and； scattering gravel in her wake； speeds away into the night； the neon light of Los Angeles。 Not Beverly Hills or Westwood； but beyond； where people who are not rich； pampered； privileged； work and play。
There is a rage inside her she can neither explain nor face。 She feels inadequate in the face of it； and at the same time ashamed of it； as if part of her mother has broken off and； like a poisoned arrowhead； has embedded itself in her brain。
She hates the shame most of all； because it keeps her from embracing her rage； owning it and； thus； understanding it。 Kept at a distance； it is nothing more than an arcane artifact living at the edge of her emotional horizon； a glyph…covered stele； marking what？ She does not know； but tonight she is determined to find out。
Down twisty Mulholland to the freeway； rolling over the edge of the glen； ing upon the wide swath of smeary lights glowing in the Valley。 The pollution； trapped by the air inversion between high ground； makes her eyes tear； her skin itch。 She depresses the accelerator； bringing the horizon closer。
At a seedy bar she pulls in beside a line of scruffy Harley…Davidson motorcycles。 She sits listening to the hot engine of the T…bird ticking over as if it is the beating of her heart。 Sadness mixes with her rage； and she wishes that Greg were with her； Greg who is always willing to listen to her； the one person in the world who accepts her as herself and nothing more。 But Greg is away at Cal Tech； studying for finals which he takes more seriously than God。
I am alone