Epilogue
No one can predict what will make another person change, make him see himself for the vulnerable human being he is. That weekend on the ocean beach, down the rutted path of Johnson Road to the Pacific's rugged fury, marked an unforgettable milestone in the life of each.
Predictably, Carla and Paul were married in a traditional church ceremony surrounded by flowers and friends. Paul continued his agency in Hollywood and to supplement their income, Carla took a position as photo-stylist for a Los Angeles based photographer.
Mae ceased posing for nude photographers and seeking pride in seeing her nakedly stretched out luscious in full-color glossies. Acting classes and singing lessons took up most of her time and, with Paul's aid, got a small part in a B-rated movie. The insecurities that haunted her, made her seem the empty-headed barbie doll, lifted and with a wider, more realistic view of life and the people who filled it, tempered her sexual proclivities.
As for Chet, no one saw much of him. He didn't stop drinking and he didn't stop riding motorcycles. He didn't get a job, that they knew. Some said he spent most of his time camping in Big Sur, along a lonely stretch of beach ... as if he'd left something there he needed, desperately, to retrieve.