The chaos of Mel Brooks' impromptu screening had dissolved into a warm, buzzing haze of laughter and camaraderie.
The grand lobby of the Carthay, so recently a tomb, was now filled with the echoes of its own resurrection.
But for Duke, the high of the victory was beginning to fall, replaced by the familiar, low energy of social exhaustion.
He found himself leaning a little more heavily on his cane, his ankle throbbing a dull reminder of the day's long hours.
Katharine Ross found him near the grand staircase, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand and a sympathetic smile on her face. She looked ethereal under the soft lobby lights, a stark contrast to the frantic energy of Brooks and the weary satisfaction of Nichols.
"Hey, war wound acting up?" she asked, her voice a gentle tease.
"A little," he replied, offering a faint smile. "Nichols and me were the ones that invited everyone but Brooks has a little too much energy."
"I can see, Brooks once spoke to me for 4 hours straight." She looked out at the thinning crowd."I think the party's moving on. I'm pretty tired of people, to be honest."
"I'm the same" Duke said.
She turned to him, her expression suddenly shy. "Would you mind terribly driving me home? My ride seems to have… assimilated into the Mel Brooks audience." She nodded toward where Brooks was now attempting to demonstrate a dance from the film to a captive, bemused group of people.
"It'd be my pleasure," Duke said. "Let me just make a call. Make sure my… other guest is settled."
He found a quiet corner and dialed his own home number. Eleanor Shaw, his unflappable assistant, had agreed to hold a late vigil in his home office to field any urgent calls.
The phone was picked up on the first ring.
"Ithaca Productions, Mr. Hauser's office."
"Eleanor. It's me. Any emergencies?"
"No emergencies, sir. A message from Mr. Walsh at the record label. He said 'Proud Mary' is officially wrapped. He sounded… exuberant. I've logged it. He wants to throw a party when they finish the album. Is there anything else?"
"Just checking in. I'm leaving the Carthay now. I'll be giving Miss Ross a lift home. Tell Nichols that the security guard has the keys."
There was the briefest of pauses on the line, the only sign Eleanor ever gave of processing information beyond the purely logistical. "I see. I'll note that you are unavailable for the remainder of the evening. Drive safely, Mr. Hauser."
He hung up, a wry smile on his face. He could almost hear her unspoken thought. At the same time just because a single guy and a single girl leave a party together doesn't mean anything.
He found Katharine waiting by the door. "All settled?" she asked.
"The empire is secure for the night," he said, leading her out to where his nightmist blue Mustang was parked.
He opened the passenger door for her, stowing his cane in the back before sliding into the driver's seat. The interior of the car was intimate, the scent of new leather and her faint perfume filling the space.
He started the engine, the powerful motor a subdued growl. "So where to?"
"Just away from here for a bit?" she said, not looking at him, her profile outlined by the passing streetlights. "I'm not quite ready for the silence of my own apartment."
He didn't answer, just pulled out into the light late-night traffic of Hollywood. They drove in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes, the city a blur of neon and shadow.
"You were good tonight," she said softly. "You also did pretty good as Carl."
"It's not a stretch to play a man who's sure of his place in the world," he replied, his eyes on the road. "It's the ones who aren't sure that are harder to find."
"Is that you?" she asked, turning to look at him. "Sure of your place?"
"Kind off," he said. "At least more than Hoffman."
He saw a sign for a classic drive-in burger joint, a relic that had somehow survived the decade's changes. On an impulse, he pulled in. "Hungry?"
She laughed, a genuine, surprised sound. "Starving. I think I was too nervous to eat at the party."
They ordered greasy cheeseburgers, thick fries, and chocolate milkshakes from a carhop, the food arriving on trays that hooked onto the half-rolled windows. It was absurd and perfect.
For the next two hours, they talked.
It was an easy, meandering conversation that flowed like the tide. They talked about the surreal experience of making The Graduate, the genius and madness of Mike Nichols, the oddity of fame.
"I though the lead on the Graduate would be different." Katherine said as they spoke in a parking lot. "There was a guy named Harrison Ford that did a screen test and we got along but Nichols insisted on Hoffman."
"Nichols told me, Hoffman got the role through pure acting skills even though he doesnt look like how the character should look." Duke pushed back defending his director a little.
"Yeah but he's just so short, I'm taller than him," she whispered, stirring her milkshake with a straw. "And he's supposed to be playing a debate captain, sport champion, handsome jock."
Duke nodded, understanding her completely. To be honest, he didn't like Hoffman casting but the only other actor that could act Benjamin Badrock were all too atractive in Nichols opinion.
When the food was gone and the conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence, he started the car again. He didn't ask for directions.
He drove with a purpose, up into the winding roads of Mount Hollywood Drive, until he found a secluded pull off he knew, a vantage point that looked out over the vast, glittering grid of the San Fernando Valley and the brighter cluster of downtown LA.
He cut the engine. The silence was immense, broken only by the distant, insect-like hum of the city.
They got out and sat on the warm hood of the Mustang, the metal creaking gently under their weight. The air was cool and clear.
"It's like a carpet of stars that fell to earth," Katharine whispered, hugging her knees.
Duke's gaze swept across the panorama, but then settled, pinpointing a location. He raised his hand, pointing toward the heart of Hollywood. "There. You see that cluster of lights, just to the left of the taller buildings?"
She followed his line of sight. "Barely."
"That's the Carthay," he said, his voice low and certain. "I'm going to make a movie here one day."
The place he took her was Cathy's Place, the iconic overlook from La La Land.
The statement hung in the night air, simple and unwavering. It wasn't a boast; it was a declaration of fact.
As they sat there, a sudden thought slithered into Duke's mind.
The Zodiac.
The name surfaced from the dark well of his future knowledge. Was he active yet? The first confirmed attacks were in the 1960s, he was sure of it.
The darkness in the bushes beyond the shoulder of the road seemed suddenly thick with potential menace.
He felt a primal urge to put Katharine back in the car, to lock the doors, to get her somewhere safe.
He glanced at her.
She was serene, lost in the view, completely unaware of what he was thinking.
He forced the thought down, locking it away. This moment was real. The threat was not.
"It's getting late," he said, his voice slightly tighter than before.
She seemed to sense the shift in his mood. "It is," she agreed softly.
He drove her back to her apartment building in Westwood.
He walked her to her door under the buzzing fluorescent light of the portico.
"Thank you, Duke," she said, turning to face him. "For the escape. And the burger and the view."
"Anytime, Katharine," he said.
She stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek, her hand resting briefly on his arm. "Goodnight, Carl Smith, call me next time." she whispered with a smile, before turning and slipping inside her apartment.
He stood there for a moment, the felt of her touch on his skin, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
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Maybe new chapter in a couple hours