The Hollywood Hills

Short Story

In the wood-furnished dining room with large windows looking out onto the front lawn and the clouds beyond, several people were milling around between the dining room table and the sedan talking about nothing which was something if they all agreed on it. The sign overlooking the driveway said 1352 as the address and letters which could not clearly be read. Out in the distance were the hills lined the East.

Clothes were somewhat dressed up but not exceedingly so because this was not a party but merely a soirée with a dozen people scheduled to attend but the hostess felt that to were not coming because they did not like the company. The hostess had invited them out of good manners hoping that they would not attend, and her hopes were assuaged. And she was gratified but only showed it in the tiniest amounts because more would have been aggrandizement of her ego.

This would never do.

Instead, she announced: “Everyone, the mushroom soup is now being served.” With this most people came in. Two remained out in the living room which was not luxuriously decorated but far from spare. The hostess preferred Edwardian pieces and a large brick fireplace.

One man was the host – but neither he nor the hostess accorded that much concern. Both of them knew who the boss was. And she wore dresses.

He lit a Lucky Strike cigarette and offered his colleague one. The colleague produces a pipe with a Mahogany bowl. It reeked of the last decade, but he did not care. “That alright I’m good. But you are the salt of the lab having people over on such short notice.”

He was about to say something else when the hostess peered through the double-wide doorway. “Forward march, I work my fingers to the bone to make the food.”

The host put out the cigarette. “Yes, dear.” Where the words meant the exact opposite of what was said.

She herded them through the hall to the dining room—all of the other people were sitting down already and consuming the broth. The two men took their seats.

After a couple of moments of eating the hostess asks the wife of the newlywed couple: “You must have had a long drive here.”

With great aplomb, the wife dabbed her lips and replied: “The Hollywood hills make it such a pleasant drive that I don’t think that it doesn’t seem as long when the two of us drive it.”

Her husband chimed in: “It is the way down to the beach to watch the sunset.”

Ribbing back the host cracked: “Our friend has a Corvette with fuel injection.”

“It makes you feel too far from roads. Just a cruise from the railroad crossing.” And the husband nodded to his wife in her diamonds and frills. It was clear the midwestern accents would not be hidden as he said these words.

However, then it was the husband’s turn to be demure: “It isn’t a Ferrara, but it is quick enough. Especially because we don’t have children yet. By the way, where are your children?”

At this point, the hostess uttered: “We sent them out with their aunt for a movie and afterward for dessert.” But then she went to get the main course which was pork chops and mashed potatoes with green beans and corn. Everything had been made fresh and there was not a single can from the pantry.

The host took a morsel from the pork chops and nodded. The cooking was superb as always. The hostess beamed because it was clear that she had been working at this the entire day.

Then the wife asked: “How do you do all of this? I am barely able to make TV dinners in time. This is just fabulous.”

Turning to the wife the hostess said: “You have to be able to discipline yourself and have a routine. It is really like the Army: discipline, order, and preparation.”

It was at this point that the wife knew that the war still held a place in her older companions, even if it did not have such a grasp on the younger members who were present.

As the meal went on the conversation devolved down to all of the triviality that suburban life could muster. And then when dessert came out it was Carrot Cake rolling over the edge, which all of the diners truly loved. It needed not to be said that this too, was homemade.

But then from out of the windows came a flash without any sound. Then several minutes later the rumble which came much later plastered the glass inside the walls with a wave of hills out of the East. Branchs came through panes and glass stuck in the panels.

Then a foot crawler started from the bottom of the screen warning about how destructive nuclear weapons were and how the threat could come at any moment.

The tape revealed and spun up on the spindle. There was a distinct quiet between the two uniformed men and the blue-striped politician. It was clear that the film had not gone over well but no one was willing to make the first criticism.

But then finally one of the two military men said: “The president wants people to believe that a nuclear war will be survivable. And this is not what he had in mind.”

There was again quiet as the lights went on. The two men from the film laboratory needed their hands together realizing that this was a directive from high up and it disagreed with the suggestions from the scientists and others about what would happen should a nuclear war begin.

“How long before some new films will be available?”

“Hard to say, people here are working tirelessly with cutting-edge technology that even the commercial studios do not yet have available.”

The uniforms and the politician conversed with each other. The filmmakers only heard a few pockets of the conversation: “demographic”, “reaction”, “activity.” In fact, their conversation came to a whisper.

Then one of the filmmakers said: “Why don’t you draft a document on how you want us to portray nuclear war and we will of course always go to the letter.”

They shook hands because this was a new kind of war and they wanted to part on good terms.