Naked in LA (26 page)

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

I thought I’d made it clear enough that I didn’t want to be disturbed. Was it Frank again? Berating me wasn’t going to do any good. I wanted to get this picture finished same as everyone else.

More rapping on the door.

“It’s open!”

They knocked again, harder this time.

Dios mio!

I got up and threw open the door. There was a man standing there in overalls and a flat cap. He could have been one of the stage carpenters except he had no face; or rather there was a stocking where his face should have been. He dashed a glass of water in my face, then turned and ran off.

I was too surprised and too startled to react straight away. Finally I screamed and made to run after him. I tripped on the steps and fell headlong, knocking myself senseless. Security finally came running.

I pointed to the door leading out to the lot. “A man just attacked me!” One of the guards ran off in that direction, then Willy and some of the crew appeared, they’d all heard me scream.

“What happened?”

“A man just threw a glass of water in my face.”

Willy looked incredulous. “Why?” he said in his thick German accent, it sounded like “
Vy?”

“I don’t know!”

“What did he look like?”

“He had a stocking on his face!” I went back inside my trailer, got a towel, dried my face, it took off half my pancake. Great, now we’d have to do it over.

The assistant director found a glass lying on the ground by the steps. He picked it up and brought it over. “Look at this,” he said.

There was a piece of paper taped to the glass. On it someone had written two words in red capital letters: HYDROCHLORIC ACID.

I thought Willy was going to faint, he could see his picture vanishing in front of his eyes. Finally he remembered to worry about me. “Oh my Gott. Are you all right? Iz your eyes burning?”

“I’m all right,” I said. I understood what had just happened, this was just a warning.

“Vot the
fock
is going on?”

Security ran back, out of shape and panting hard. He shook his head. He’d found no one.

“How did he get in here?” I said.

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“This is supposed to be a secure lot. How could he just disappear?”

Everyone was staring at the glass, imagining what would have happened if the glass had been really been full of acid and not water. My knees started to shake and I sat down hard on the floor. Willy called for first aid. I had never fainted before but I started to see black spots in front of my eyes. I remembered thinking:
I can’t faint. I won’t give Angel the satisfaction.

It was the last thing I remembered.

When I woke up, there were half a dozen of the crew in my trailer and the first aid guy had me lying on my back with my feet propped up on cushions. I felt like an idiot.

It took a moment for me to remember what had happened. I turned to the side and saw the glass still sitting there on my dressing table. The letters were facing towards me.

HYDROCHLORIC ACID.

Angel would never do this to me, I told myself, no matter how many years have passed, or what we think of each other now, I could not believe he would do this. But he would, another voice said. There’s the evidence right there.

“Who would do something like this?” the assistant director said aloud.

The continuity girl saw me open my eyes. She squatted down beside me. “Are you all right, Miss Montes?”

I sat up, pushing away the nurse who came to fuss around me. “We have to get back to work,” I said.

“Willy’s already called the rest of the day off,” the assistant director said. “Everyone’s gone home.”

I looked around at all the frightened faces in my dressing room. “Did you find him?” I said, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that they hadn’t. “How the hell did he get onto the lot?”

No one knew. Angel had proved his point, he could melt through walls if he had to, there was no place I was safe. He was giving me time to think over his suggestion, but he was letting me know there was only one answer he was ready to accept.

The telephone rang that night in my apartment. I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” There was silence, but I sensed there was someone on the other end of the line.

I hung up. It rang again.

I ignored it. Whoever it was, they kept ringing, over and over.

I wouldn’t answer.

I did think about ringing Angel. But what would I say? If I accused him of anything he would deny it, and anyway, what difference would it make? He had made his point. I had to do what they wanted or my career and perhaps my life was over.

The telephone rang out. I waited. Then it started up again.

What was I going to do? Ring the police and ask them to arrest one of the highest ranking mafia figures on the east coast because of nuisance calls? They had already been called to the lot earlier that afternoon, and it was plain by the looks on their faces what they thought of us all: some bimbo actress was attacked with a glass of water.

You gotta be kidding me.

Should I take my story to the newspapers? They’d write me off as just another movie star high on poppers. Who could I go to for help and for protection? I didn’t trust anyone anymore. It sounded as if half of the government wanted their highest officials dead.

There was only one way to get out from under this: my salvation lay with the man who most hated my guts right now. I picked up the phone and dialled his number three times but it rang through.

“Please, Reyes,” I prayed, “please pick it up.”

A lot of phone calls going unanswered in Los Angeles tonight.

Chapter 36

I went to the window. There was a car parked down the hill with its lights off, as I guessed there might be. Angel intended to keep the pressure on.

I had a vodka to settle my nerves. I was angry at myself for being so weak this afternoon, for letting him scare me. Well, I wasn’t going to just sit here and let him intimidate me.

I thought of him sitting on the windowsill in Havana, he’d just screwed me and he picked that moment to tell me he was marrying some other girl. The prick thought he could do just what he wanted and I would fall into line. Well not this time.

Baby.

I went into the garage and got into the Spider, reversed out fast, squealing the tyres, then accelerated hard along Mulholland. They followed me, they had their orders, but I knew I’d shaken them up. They hadn’t expected that.

I remembered what Reyes had taught me; I slowed down to turn right at a stoplight, and just as the lights changed I turned the wheel hard and gunned the motor, headed straight through. I watched Angel’s stooges in the driving mirror, they pulled out after me and tried to follow. I heard a shriek of brakes as they collided side-on with a Cadillac that had anticipated the green light.

That would hold them up for a while. I didn’t suppose they would get out and exchange insurance details, but they still had to navigate the stalled traffic and a couple of irate drivers.

I thought I’d lost them, but when I turned onto Sunset I saw a Plymouth sitting right behind me, almost tailgating. How did they do that? Whoever was driving, he knew what he was doing and somehow they had a trace on me as well. I remembered what Reyes had said about smashing a taillight.

I saw a gas station and pulled in at the pump.

I pulled a silk scarf out of the glove box and put it on so no one would recognize me. After the McQueen movie I was getting more and more stares downtown, and I didn’t want to attract a crowd right now. A Galaxie with massive fins pulled in at the pump behind me. There were three guys out cruising. The driver jumped out to fill the tank. I called out to him, asked him if he could check my taillights. I pumped the brake. “No,” he said, “They’re working fine.”

I said thanks for your help and he gave me a wolfish grin. I let him see a little leg, then I walked around to the boot and bent over to check the bumper. There were two red luminous stickers taped to the chrome. I guessed that was how they were able to keep up with me through the traffic.

“Nice ride,” the guy in the Galaxie said.

“Thanks.”

“I bet you look real good in that with the top down.”

I looked him over; the answer to every girl’s prayer in a situation like this, a wannabe stud with tight jeans and greased back hair. He clearly fancied himself as the poor girl’s James Dean.

I looked across the road. The Plymouth was parked illegally on the crosswalk. I could make out the silhouettes of two men in the front, watching me.

“I’m being followed,” I said in my best little girl voice.

“Yeah?”

“Those two men over there,” I said and pointed them out. “They’ve been following me the last seven blocks. I’m really scared.”

“You need help?”

“They look really mean,” I said.

He thought about this while I played with a curl that had come loose out of my scarf. He went back to the Galaxie and talked the situation through with his two friends. “Leave it to us,” he said to me, and his buddies got out and they all sauntered over the road to talk to Angel’s goons. I would have liked to have been there for that conversation but I didn’t have time.

I left my car at the pump, ran across the street and tried to flag down a cab. The first one went right past. I looked over my shoulder, my new friends had reached the Plymouth and were leaning on the bonnet while James Dean had a conversation with the goon behind the wheel.

Angel’s guy got out of the car and one of them reached for the gun in his jacket.

I saw another cab headed in my direction. I ran into the street, both hands raised, but he already had a fare and he swerved around me, yelled something out his window as he went past.

Meanwhile my rebel without a cause was running for his life, his friends not far behind. I didn’t blame them. I saw another cab, almost threw myself under the wheels. He slipped into the kerb and I jumped in the back. “Airport,” I said.