City of Mirrors (10 page)

T
he Red Pepper was a pseudo-Mexican food chain restaurant with ropes of plastic red peppers hanging from the walls and waitresses stuffed into pseudo-Mexican fiesta skirts and blouses.

I slid into a booth.

Heath remained standing. “I'll be right back.” A cell phone rang in one of his pockets. It was a familiar ringtone. In fact it was my ringtone. He took my iPhone from the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. “It's for you.”

Anger gave my adrenalin a jolt. “You bastard.”

“You weren't going to drive back with me. I had to think of something.” He strolled off toward the restroom.

Glaring after him, I answered the call.

It was Zaitlin. “What did Parson say to you?”

“Robert, how could you let Parson have me driven to Santa Barbara without telling me where the hell I was going, who I was going to meet, or why? I thought I was being abducted.”

“Nothing I could do. Parson wanted it handled his way.”

“You could've said no.”

“It wouldn't have changed anything. There are some things you don't know, Diana, and some things it's better you don't know. And don't try to bully me about it. Tell me what you told him.”

Inwardly I sighed. “Exactly what I told you. But I think you should talk to Ben. He was at the club where Jenny was the night she died.”

“Did you say anything to Parson about Ben?”

“No.”

“Good. Tell Heath. If it needs taking care of, he'll do it.”

“I'm sure he will.” I looked across the restaurant through the service opening into the kitchen. Heath was talking intently to an older man in a chef's hat.

“Robert, Parson knew Colin. He had something on him. What was it?”

“I don't know. I wouldn't worry about it. Colin's dead.”

“That's not the point.”

“Tell Heath to bring you to the Formosa Café. Jake Jackson, Beth Woods, and I will be there around three o'clock. If you're late we'll wait.”

“You're replacing me with another actress, aren't you?”

“Jake Jackson wants to meet with you. That's all.”

“Just be honest with me. Save me the trip.”

“Sometimes we have to feed the beast, Diana. You know how the game is played.” He hung up.

I did know how the game was played. I also knew if you had to feed the beast, in this case Jake Jackson, there had to be prey and that was me. I was surrounded by bastards.

I Googled a Camarillo cab company on my iPhone. Ordering a car to pick me up, I gave them the address. Then I leaned back in the booth and waited.

Heath returned and sat across from me. Rubbing his hands together he said, “I ordered us chicken tostadas, they aren't bad here. Or don't you like men ordering for you?”

“No, it sounds good.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you'd be more upset.”

“You mean about my iPhone? I didn't expect less from you.”

“That was a well-placed jab to my chin.”

“Who were you talking to in the kitchen?”

“The chef. He's a client.”

“He can afford someone who has a fleet of expensive cars?”

“He's a good man who's in a little trouble. I'm just helping him out.”

The waitress brought our meal, two glasses of white wine, and the check, which she left on the table underneath two red and white peppermint hard candies.

“Wine?” I smiled my soft pliable you-can-do-anything-you-want-to-with-me smile.

Heath started to respond, then stopped, wary. “Tastes like water with a bite. But I thought maybe you could use it after what we put you through. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

We clinked glasses and drank. I ate my tostada. It's not easy to eat with clenched teeth.

“What did Zaitlin want?” He lustily shoved food into his mouth.

“How did you know it was him?

“Saw his name on your phone.”

“You don't miss a thing, do you? I told him about Ben. He said you would handle it.”

“Let's hope there's nothing to handle. I like Ben.” He broke off a hunk of tostada shell, dipped it into the salsa, and stuffed it into his mouth.

“So I take it you were in the military?”

He nodded, chewing. “Army CIU.”

“What's that?” I glanced out the large plate-glass window. No cab yet.

“Criminal Investigation Unit.”

“And who did you investigate?” Feigning interest. “The enemy?”

“The bad guys. Ours.”

I was genuinely surprised. “You mean
American
soldiers?”

“There are always a few bad apples looking to scam, to earn a buck on the side.”

“How?”

“One guy was selling arms our men had confiscated from the Taliban back to the Taliban. CIU wasn't too popular among the rank and file, even though they might agree with what we were doing. They always felt we were there to spy on them while they were getting their asses blown off by IEDs. And they were right.”

“They must've been confused about which side you were on.”

His head jerked back slightly. I had hit a nerve.

Finally, the cab arrived. I gave my lips a ladylike dab with the napkin and put it down. Then I grabbed my purse and slid out of the booth, glaring down at Heath. Raising his head toward me, he stopped chewing, balancing in midair a neat pile of chicken, lettuce, avocado, and sour cream on his fork.

“You're right,” I said in a low controlled voice. “I don't like men who order for me. I don't like men who lie to me. And you may have the biggest security firm in the world and help out a few people who can't afford you, but to me you're just another Hollywood player. A fixer getting paid the big bucks to clean up other people's shit. The army trained you well.”

I felt his eyes burning into my back as I stalked out of the restaurant.

 

Feeling miserable, I slouched in the corner of the taxi's back seat as the driver careered onto the freeway, honking his horn, tailgating, and mumbling to himself in a language I couldn't make out. I thought I'd feel vindicated walking out on Heath, but I didn't. Even though I had every right to. And now I was heading to my meeting with Zaitlin and Jackson, where I was probably going to have the proverbial rug jerked out from under me. Worse, I knew what was going to happen. Christ, how pathetic is that? But I had to play the game because if I didn't, there might not be the possibility of the next movie, the next role. Possibility and hope is what actors lived on.

Once we got onto Laurel Canyon, the cabbie was lost. I had to give him directions all the way into West Hollywood.

I took out my compact and checked my face in the mirror. Ignoring my sad tired eyes, I put on lipstick and lightly patted a little powder onto my shiny forehead and chin.

“You're an actress,” the driver said in his thick accent.

Purposely avoiding his reflection in the rearview mirror, I brushed my hair.

“An actress,” he persisted.

“Yes.” I snapped.

“How much farther to this Formosa place,” he complained.

“We're almost there. See the awning?”

“I don't know how to get anywhere in this town. I despise it.” He pulled up in front of the café and hit the brakes.

“Wait here,” I said. “I won't be long.”

“I should've asked for more money. I'm always getting cheated.”

“Welcome to Hollywood.”

T
he Formosa Café smelled of egg rolls and ghosts. Over the years the mahogany wood bar had been smoothed to a shadowy glint by the famous hands and elbows of Hollywood's heaviest drinkers. The Chinese décor, created with a set-designer's flamboyance, was bathed in a soft pinkish-red light that made all its patrons look younger. At least I had that to be thankful for.

At this time of day the place was almost empty except for a lone man at the bar and a couple huddled in a small both drinking their way through an affair. In a larger booth were Zaitlin, Beth Woods, and Jake Jackson, watching me walk toward them.

Jake, who was on the end, jumped up. “God, you look great, Diana.”

The compliment of death, I thought. “Thank you,” I said.

I slid in next to Zaitlin. Across the table from us was Beth. The spiked ends of her short henna-red hair looked as dull and blunted as useless knives. She took a long nervous draw from the straw in her Mai Tai. Jake sat back down next to her. The remains of pot-stickers, ribs, and rumaki lay cold in their dishes. Dipping sauce splattered the tablecloth. Zaitlin and Jake were nursing hot tea from small cups.

“We've been interviewing actresses for Jenny's part.” Jake's voice was glazed with a Southern drawl.

I nodded and smiled.

“Would you like something to drink?” Zaitlin asked, attempting to ease the situation.

“No.”

A faded Boston Red Sox cap was pulled low over Jackson's shaggy blond hair, shading his slightly crossed blue eyes. Somehow young girls and the camera loved him. He was the new Paul Newman, the new Robert Redford, the new Matt Damon, the new Owen Wilson, the new Ryan Gosling. He was new, new. Making me feel old, old.

“Jake has another commitment,” Beth said, finally looking at me. “We have a short period of time to finish shooting his scenes.”

“Where's Heath?” Zaitlin asked looking around.

“The last time I saw him he was in Camarillo, eating a chicken tostado and watching out a restaurant window as I got into a taxi. That reminds me, the driver's waiting for you to pay him.” I could still feel Heath's eyes burning into my back.

Zaitlin gaped at me. “You took a cab all the way from Camarillo? How much is that going to cost!”

“I don't know. Traffic was a bitch.”

“Goddamnit, Diana.” He leaned into me, struggling to get his wallet out of his back pocket. I could see he had shaved unevenly and what hair he had left was beginning to sprout on his usually smooth cranium.

He pulled a wad of money from his wallet and handed it to Beth. “Pay the cab.”

“I'm going to need him to take me back to Malibu,” I said.

He pushed more bills at her. “Tell him to wait.”

Jake stood up again to let her out.

“I'll drive you home,” she told me.

“It's out of your way,” I said.

“No, no. I'm glad to do it.” She hurried toward the entrance.

“Don't let her order another Mai Tai,” Jake said as he sat back down. “I can't stand women who drink too much. They get mouthy.” Jake's crumpled shirt hung out of his jeans. Except for his expensive Patek Philippe watch, you'd never know he was worth millions. He slouched down in the booth, moody under his cap.

“What else can't you stand, Jake?” I asked.

“Diana …” Zaitlin warned under his breath.

Jake adjusted the bill of his cap like a baseball pitcher right before he throws at his opponent's head. “This wasn't an easy decision for us.” His cupid lips drooped in sympathy.

“We haven't cast anyone yet. First we have to cast Jenny's role,” Zaitlin explained into his tea.

“You were brilliant in the part, Diana,” Jake said, “but it was the urn. Everything would've been cool if it weren't for you and the urn on the news. I mean, I just can't get my head around the image. And I don't think the public can either. Every time you appear on the screen they're going to think …
urn
.”

“You mean you couldn't' get
your
image around the image.”

He lifted his new, new chin. “There's no reason to make this personal.”

“You're an actor. You know exactly how personal it is. Or have you forgotten so quickly?”

I knew it was coming. But there is no way to prepare for the moment when the floor drops out from under you and you're freefalling through your own career, unable to grab hold of anything to stop the inevitable—rock bottom.

“Jake didn't have to be here,” Zaitlin said. “He wanted to tell you himself because he respects you as an actor and as a human being.”

Ignoring that piece of crap, I asked him, “Did you contact Sam?” Sam Haskell was my agent.

“Yes,” Zaitlin said. “But he wanted me to tell you.”

A coward for an agent. Why am I not surprised? “I guess my own agent doesn't respect me as much as Jake does.”

Jake was taking his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipping them on.

Beth returned, taking in our glum group. “I see they told you.”

“Yes.”

“I was against it, Diana. I think you're wonderful in the role.”

“Where's my change?” Zaitlin asked.

“There isn't any, and stop treating me like your gofer.”

“See what I mean about the drinking?” Jake got to his feet once more. “Well, I'm glad we got this all cleared up. I know we'll work together again, Diana.” Then he said to Zaitlin and Beth, “Catch you later.” And the new, new was gone, gone.

Zaitlin patted my hand. “I'm sorry. But one door closes, another opens. That's how I look at this business. That's how you have to look at it too.”

“Did you fight for me?”

“He did,” Beth said, still standing.

Now Zaitlin edged around the booth. It was only then that I noticed how tired he looked. He pulled himself to his feet as if he were an old man. He spotted the check on the table. “You'd think the little prick would pick up the tab, wouldn't you?” He grabbed it and went to the bar to pay.

Beth sat down and sucked up some more Mai Tai.

“Are you going to be able to drive me?” I asked.

She pushed the drink away. “Yes.” With the focused intensity of a woman who sees life through the frame of a camera, she watched Zaitlin pay, put his wallet back into his pants pocket, and trod heavily out of the restaurant. “He doesn't look good, does he?”

“No, he doesn't. Neither do you. It seems Jenny's murder has taken a toll on all of us, one way or another.”

“Do you have time for me to have a cup of coffee?”

“I'll have one, too.”

She got the waiter's attention and ordered. I broke into tears.

“Oh, Diana, I'm so sorry.” She reached across the table and held my hand.

I shook my head. “I've been crying a lot lately.”

“You're a good actress. I think you're better than your mother was at your age. You won't have any trouble getting work.”

“What if other people are like Jake and can't get their head around the image of me holding my mother's ashes? If I tried hard enough, I could blame her for all this and not Jake Jackson.”

“He's full of shit, and you know it. He'll be gone when he's thirty.”

“Not soon enough.”

Our coffee arrived. The waiter gave me an extra napkin and whispered, “For your tears.” Which made me cry even more because I was sure he assumed I was crying over a man and not my career.

“I may not have another job after this one either,” Beth said. “You know the gender politics in this business. How hard it is for a woman on the other side of the camera.” Beth reached for her Mai Tai and took another long suck.

I blew my nose and wiped my face. “Oscar Wilde said that when people talk about the weather he always thought they meant something else.”

Beth let out a throaty laugh. “Are you saying I'm not really talking about how difficult it is for women in Hollywood?” She paused, then admitted, “You're right. Jenny's death has taken a toll on me.”

“How?” I asked.

“I screwed up. Something good happens, and I find a way to destroy it. I hit on her, Diana.”

“It happens.”

“I degraded myself. I groveled.” She downed the last of her Mai Tai, not bothering with the straw.

I took a sip of my coffee and once again reminded myself never to order coffee in a Chinese restaurant. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you were one of the last people to speak to her.”

“If you're worried she said something to me, she didn't.”

“But if the police find out.”

“From what you told me there's nothing to find out. Making a fool of yourself is not against the law. Yet.”

“But rejection can be a motive.” She took the tiny paper umbrella from her empty glass and twirled it in her fingers. “I guess seeing what Jake did to you has freaked me out. Let's go before I order another drink.”

 

Even tipsy, Beth Woods drove better than the cab driver.

“Forget what I said back at the Formosa. Okay?” She smoothly shifted the gears of her dark blue 911 Porsche as we headed west on Santa Monica Boulevard. The traffic was bumper to bumper. In the daylight her skin looked puffy. Her brows too dark, too arched, for her pale worried face.

“But why would you think Jenny had told me about the two of you?”

“I thought she might try to use me in some way so Zaitlin wouldn't fire her.”

“In what way?”

“Forget I brought it up, Diana. I talk too much when I drink.”

“Zaitlin had no intention of firing her.”

“Why not?”

“I just learned her father was backing the film. Did you know that?”

“Yes, but I didn't think he had that much control. I mean, he's only one source of the money. There are other backers, including the studio.”

“One pulls out and they don't get somebody else, the movie stops dead. You know that.” Being a director, Beth dealt with the finances of what it would cost to make the movie the way she wanted to shoot it. And then she compromised. “At Ben's party you told me that Jenny was evil.”

“Maybe I thought she was evil because she made me feel like shit.”

“Have you talked to the police yet?”

“No. But they'll get around to me.”

“Do you have an alibi?”

“What lonely woman has an alibi for … when was she killed? Twelve or one or two in the morning?”

“Why are you so lonely?”

“Why are you?”

We grinned wryly at one another, then laughed. Female humor. My iPhone rang. I took it out of my purse and looked at the caller ID. It was Celia.

“Hi,” I answered in a guarded voice.

“I'm sorry, Diana, I was so mean to you and… . Oh, God, my entire life is falling apart. Can you meet me at the Bel Air house?”

“Why?”

“The pool man found a dead body there.”

“Oh, God.” My permanent chill woke up.

“They want me to see if I can identify it. I didn't know who to turn to. I can't involve Robert. He's so distraught over this Jenny Parson thing. I don't have anybody. I'm just now realizing how empty my life really is. I have no right to ask, but I need your support. I'm almost at the house now. I have to go.” She disconnected.

“What is it?” Beth asked.

“An emergency.” I looked out the window. We were passing the old Troubadour, where many famous folk singers got their start. Now scraggly young men stood outside the club, guitars slung over their backs, hoping something from the past would rub off and give them a future.

I didn't want to help Celia. I wanted to go home and nurse my own wounds. Hold my own hand. I sighed. “Can you take me to Bel Air instead?”

“Where in Bel Air?”

“On Stone Canyon. I'll show you.”

She didn't ask me what the emergency was; in fact she didn't talk at all after I gave her the name of the street. And I didn't believe her sudden muteness was due to her Mai Tai wearing off.