Innocent Little Crimes (6 page)

“So, what do you do, Della?” Cynthia
said.

Della forced a smile. “Nothing at the moment.
I think I’m looking for a new career.” She reached into her bag and
fumbled for another cigarette.

Cynthia excused herself to browse through the
travel brochures on the wall rack.

Della sat down in a plastic chair and
listened while Davis told her about his life in Marin and how he
met Cynthia. She smiled politely, but the sound of his voice after
all those years triggered so many memories—memories of such a
different life—that she found it hard to believe they were hers.
She had nursed a lingering image of his conceited smugness all
these years, only to be abruptly reminded of his charm. Maybe he
had changed, she thought. People
do
change—and some for the worse, she berated herself. But,
wasn’t it easy to be happy when everything in your life went right?
And Davis still seemed like the boy with the golden
touch.

“I forgot how much I hate this weather. You
should come down to Marin County. Maybe it’s all that east coast
cold and snow that’s depressing you. California sunshine. That’s
the cure.” Davis laughed, but Della felt a wave of despair wash
over her.

“My life’s been hell, Davis. You don’t want
to know what I’ve been through.”

Davis sat next to her and spoke quietly. “I’m
sorry, Del. You had everything going for you.” He lifted her chin
with a finger and Della trembled. “But, hey, you’re still young.
You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, right?”

“I always wondered if you stayed mad at
me.”

“What for?”

“You know—the thing with Jon. I didn’t mean
to hurt you. I was young and stupid, I guess. I didn’t think about
anyone’s feelings.”

“Hey, darling, that’s ancient history. Sure,
I was jealous for a while, and you pulled a few nasty punches, but
it was no big deal.” Davis shrugged. “We were just kids then. What
did we know about life?”

Della nodded. What did she know about life
now? Obviously nothing. She dumped a guy who was crazy about
her—and why? Because she was restless and bored. She could have had
a safe life with Davis. He would have taken care of her, pampered
her. Another stupid choice she made along the way. She inhaled
deeply off her cigarette, flicking ashes onto the floor.

Della changed the subject. “So what do you
make of this mysterious reunion?”

“I think it’s terrific.”

“Come on,” Della said, “don’t you find it
strange that she’s invited us all, after all these years? And why
now?”

“Maybe it’s her way of thanking us.”

“Davis, get real. We’re just peons who shared
a short year of her life. God knows we weren’t any real friends of
hers.”

“Probably wants to rub her success in our
faces. So, let her gloat.”

Della thought for a minute. “Did you ever
find out what really happened on opening night?”

“She got stage fright; isn’t that obvious?
But it didn’t keep her from getting into show business. It’s
unbelievable isn’t it? Lila—a star.”

“Talk about people who’ve changed.
Remember what she used to be like? A little mouse, afraid to say a
word to anyone. Would you think she would,
could
, ever use the kind of language she uses
now?”

“Hey, the boat’s coming in.” Davis pointed to
the multideck, green-and-white ferry edging up to the landing.

Davis and Della joined Cynthia on the
observation deck. Rain splattered against the glass as they watched
men in parkas connect the boat to the ramp. Cars and trucks began
pouring out of the ferry, driving toward the highway. Davis looked
around him.

“I wonder who else from the old group is
coming?” The loudspeaker announced the boarding for Orcas and San
Juan Islands. “Come on, Del, let’s get on board.”

Della watched Davis wrap his arm around
Cynthia and lead her to the ferry. A pain wrenched her gut—the
feeling you’d get standing on a deserted shore, watching the last
boat sail away, leaving you stranded for the rest of your life.

She hesitated, wishing she could walk off the
ramp and into the sea. But, instead, she hefted her suitcase and
trudged after them.

Chapter 8

The jet taxied over to the gate where airport
personnel hurried to attach the staircase. Jonathan and his current
girlfriend emerged from the plane, breathing in the fresh, salty
Seattle air. Dark roiling clouds hung overhead and a biting wind
whipped at their faces.

Melodie, twenty-four and heavily made-up,
struggled in her spiked heels on the metal steps. She tugged her
fur-lined coat close to her neck.

“Oh Jonny, it’s cold up here.”

He waited at the ground level and helped her
down. “What did I tell you? This is the Pacific Northwest. Or as we
used to call it, the Pacific Knockwurst.”

Jonathan chuckled, feeling happier than he
had in ages. He clasped her hand as they hurried to baggage claim,
but she had trouble keeping up. Water seeped into her open shoes.
She yanked them off and ran in her stocking feet. She didn’t ask
Jon why he was in such a hurry.

As they waited for their luggage, Jonathan
scrutinized her. Melodie had streaked blonde hair, cut stylishly at
the Beverly Hills Vidal Sassoon salon. She stood five feet eight in
her heels, dressed in a sequined black pantsuit that accentuated
her extremely thin frame. Jonathan liked the feel of Melodie’s
sinewy limbs, and the way she held her head aloft really turned him
on. She was another studio conquest. Universal thought she had star
quality and they were grooming her for the top. It wouldn’t hurt
him any if she really did make it big in features. Those big stars
got to choose their own directors. The thing he liked most about
Melodie was how different she was from Vanessa, his third and most
recent wife. Nessie, the sea monster. Good riddance!

Jonathan had been through three successively
younger wives during the last ten years of his aspiring career in
Hollywood. But they all had one thing in common—they were gorgeous.
They looked good on his arm when he attended the DGA awards
dinners. And looks were everything in Tinsel town.

After picking up their suitcases, Jonathan
walked over to the car rental desk.

Melodie pointed to the Avis sign overhead.
“Why are we here? I thought you arranged a limo.”

“The limo services were all booked for the
weekend. Can you believe it?” He adjusted his dark glasses. He wore
them all the time, inside or out. He figured somebody, somewhere,
might recognize him, and he wanted to travel incognito. But,
lately—he admitted to himself—he was lucky if anyone even
recognized the shows he did, let alone his own name.

What the hell was happening in Hollywood?
Most of his friends were swamped with offers—and look at Lila, with
a hit show. Why, just two years ago he came close to being
nominated for an Emmy. Pretty good money for a kid from the lower
East Side. A kid who grew up in a schlock neighborhood, engulfed by
the abominable smells of rotting garbage and the roar of the Third
Avenue El trains that shook his crumbling apartment and drove his
family to constant argument. A kid who worked every spare minute in
his parents’ deli downstairs, and ate enough corned beef and
pastrami to fill the Vatican. He worked his ass off— no thanks to
his tight-wad family—and got through college, grad school, and
finally in through the studio doors. He shmoozed his way to the
top—like everybody did—and look at him now.

Right after the near-Emmy nomination, he
bought his Mercedes, his house in Benedict Canyon, married Vanessa,
(a big mistake, but, what did he know then?). He was on top of the
world. But within two years, his lofty perch came tumbling down.
Vanessa left him for that shmuck cinematographer with the biceps, a
kid fresh out of UCLA. Ungrateful tramp. Now his business manager
was on him to stop blowing money, warning him he was about to spend
himself right out of his last pair of designer jeans. But you
couldn’t deal in that town without throwing money around. You had
to wine and dine ’em at Campanile, throw lavish parties, wear
Bijan’s suits. His manager was a cheap tightwad anyway. Always
wanting to meet him for lunch at Solly’s in the valley, when he
knew how much he hated deli.

Melodie barely masked her annoyance, pacing
impatiently while Jonathan filled out the forms for the rental. He
glared at the agent behind the desk.

“Can’t you hurry up? We’re not accustomed to
waiting.” He figured by now the woman would realize they were
important people. But she kept typing at her slow speed.
Eventually, she handed him his keys and rental agreement and
pointed to the door.

“Your car will be around momentarily. A white
Ford Escort.”

“A Ford?” he said, slapping the counter with
his palm. “I reserved your best car.”

The woman scanned her computer screen. “All I
see on here is ‘economy two-door.’ That’s all we have left and
that’s what you get.” She gave him a look which dared him to
challenge her.

Jonathan gritted his teeth. Melodie, standing
off at a distance, drank water from the Evian bottle she always
carried. It drove him to distraction that she was a health food nut
and a vegetarian, which made choosing restaurants a source of
aggravation. She always carried a pouch of trail mix, like it was
manna from heaven. He couldn’t understand her obsession with
resisting impurities since she snorted coke at every
opportunity.

“
Come on,” he called over to her as the
car stopped at the curb. She hesitated, then followed him out to
the street, pulling her luggage behind her. Jonathan loaded the two
suitcases in the trunk and got in without a word.

They drove north. Mount Rainier loomed behind
them, its peak buried in storm clouds. After merging onto the
Interstate, Jonathan started to relax. The day was certainly not
off to the best start, but he’d turn it around. In only a few hours
he’d be at Lila Carmichael’s island hideaway.

He looked over at Melodie, who stared quietly
out the window. “Fix your hair, baby.”

Melodie pulled a compact out of her purse and
put everything in place. Jonathan smiled. This one knew who was
boss, never an argument or a nasty word. Although sometimes her
cold silences drove him crazy with curiosity. What did she really
think about him? These days he wondered what everyone was thinking.
So often, even with those he considered his closest friends, he
found cold eyes behind warm, phony smiles. He couldn’t trust anyone
anymore.

He turned his attention back to the road. It
gave him a rush to drive through the familiar terrain of his
college days. He hadn’t been back since the year they all
graduated—fifteen years already. As they headed north through the
Skagit valley, Jonathan noticed the flatlands flooded from recent
rain. The four years he spent in Olympia had been unbearably damp
and wet. Not as cold as New York, but worse, because you were
always wet, through and through. At The Evergreen State College,
when he wasn’t inside for rehearsals, he was warming the chill out
of his bones in the sauna. He swore he’d never live in a cold
climate again.

And now, looming out the window, was that
familiar gray blanket of clouds. He cranked the heater.

“So,” Melodie said, “tell me about Lila.” She
stared out at the passing scenery without comment. “Is she
everything they say?”

“Meaning?”

“A ball-busting snake with a short fuse.”

“Well, she’s definitely that. But I find her
quite charming at times.”

Jonathan hadn’t spoken to Lila since college,
but Melodie wouldn’t know that. “Whenever I run into Lila, she’s
all smiles for me. I directed her first play, you know. She was
different back then—you wouldn’t have recognized her. Shy, but
smart. Memorized every line of every play we did. No one wanted to
give her a chance to act, because she was, well, fat and homely,
but I could tell she had talent, big talent. I gave her first break
and look at her now.”

Jonathan smiled, indulging in a little
fantasy regarding the manila envelope lying on top of his clothes
in his suitcase. He rambled on while Melodie pulled out her compact
and reapplied her dark red lipstick. Jonathan reached over and ran
his hand up the inside of her thigh.

“So what was the play?” she said.

“The play?” He’d already lost his chain of
thought. He was heating up.

“The one you directed Lila in.”

He pulled back for a moment. “Inge’s
‘Picnic.’ A silly little romance. You know—that corny college
stuff. After I did that play, though, I knew I was destined to
direct. When the semester ended, I headed for USC film school and
as they say, ‘the rest is history.’ ”

“So, I don’t know that play,” Melodie said,
ignoring his roaming hand. “What kind of part was it?”

“Well, actually, we gave her the lead.
Madge.” Jonathan laughed. “Madge is this pretty, naive small-town
girl. She gets swept off her feet by some smooth-talking city kid
who blows into town. We thought it’d be a kick to give homely Lila
the lead.”

“So, how’d she do? Did she bring down the
house or what?”

Jonathan hesitated. “Well, that’s a story for
another time, babe.” He inched his hand further up her thigh.

“It makes me nervous to do this while you’re
driving,” she said.

Jonathan reached for the zipper of her
pantsuit. “There’s nobody on the road. I’ll drive slowly. Come
on.”

Melodie kept her mouth shut while Jonathan
unzipped her pants. He slid his hand down. “That’s more like
it.”

Traffic passed them on both sides. Jonathan
breathed heavily and rolled his eyes. Melodie broke his reverie
with a shout.

She pointed at the exit sign. “There’s the
turnoff.”

Jonathan caught a glimpse of it as he sped
past.