Authors: Linda O. Johnston
Never Say Sty (5 page)
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said with all certainty. In fact, I was looking forward to it.
In a while, Dante was gone. So was Glen. And my peace of mind fled with them.
So what did I do? I went to my office. Made a phone call I had no business making.
I thumbed through the stuff in one of my too-tall piles, giving my nervous fingers something to do as I spoke. “Hi, Althea,” I said too brightly. “This is—”
“You think I’d forget your voice this fast, Kendra?” she demanded dryly. Her tone softened. “Good to hear from you. How are you?”
“Fine. And you?” We went through all appropriate amenities . . . except for ignoring the six-hundred-pound gorilla in her office that neither of us mentioned.
Actually, her boss, Jeff Hubbard, head of Hubbard Security, wasn’t so huge or ugly. He was a great-looking guy, muscular and not an ounce overweight.
He was also my former boyfriend, whom I’d dumped because of his really awful attitude toward me during a recent situation. One in which, yes, I’d been a murder magnet.
“I’m calling to ask a big favor,” I finally said. “It’s made bigger by the fact that I don’t want you to—”
“Tell Jeff,” she interjected. “Right?”
“Right.”
“Well . . .” She didn’t sound excited. “Tell me what it is.”
“I’m negotiating a transaction that involves Dante DeFrancisco. I’ve done all the initial Googling I can, but your sources are a whole lot better than mine.”
Mainly because they were supersecure. Althea, a really attractive grandma who’d become my good buddy over the last many months, was an A-one computer hacker.
“That rich guy with all the pet stores?”
“That’s the one. Will you do it?”
“I admit I’m intrigued. He’s interesting. But . . . okay, I’ll do it . . . on one condition.”
“What?” I anticipated what she would say—and it wasn’t something I’d like.
“You’ll talk to Jeff. Maybe have lunch with him or something. See if there’s any way to mend fences.”
“There isn’t, Althea,” I said. “But if that’s the only way I can get your help, I’ll speak with him. We’ll have to figure out a reason, though, besides my enlisting you to do something he’d never approve if he knew.”
“We’ll think of something,” she said.
I knew we would. But I wasn’t exactly excited about talking again, even one more time, with Jeff Hubbard. Maybe I could put it off while Althea worked . . .
Like forever.
Chapter Four
“THIS IS UTTERLY amazing,” I stated to Lexie at one o’clock the next afternoon. We sat in my office at the Yurick firm. Although we’d had our usual great time pet-sitting first thing that morning, I hadn’t accomplished a whole heck of a lot of lawyering, since my mind was whirling around what would happen later in the day.
A piggy audition.
But before I could pack up my pet paraphernalia and head to the new filming location in Studio City—yes, Dante had come through that fast in booking the perfect spot—I’d gotten an e-mail with an attachment from Glen Elizarian. Dante’s attorney had put together a revised version of our agreement.
I’d opened it, and had simply stared as I perused it. It looked exactly like what we’d agreed to yesterday. No attorney gamesmanship as I compared it with the prior version and my meeting notes. Fantastic!
I phoned Glen immediately. I didn’t project my enthusiasm about his excellence in judgment, though. No sense giving the guy more of a swelled head than he already had.
“It looks acceptable,” I opined. “I’ll go over it with the other members of the LLC later, at the filming. If all goes as I anticipate, I’ll get their signatures then.”
“Good,” Glen said. “Dante’s ready to execute, too. He’ll be there, so we can put this puppy to bed. So to speak.” He talked a slangy sort of legalese, but must have figured someone with my canine connections would assume he meant genuine puppies.
“Great.” As I hung up, I remembered the other thing this meant: I might be committed to having dinner tonight with Dante. I’d told him I’d do it again once we had a signed contract.
How did I feel about that? It had been on my mind a lot, but I couldn’t state my opinion with certainty. No matter. For now, I had potbelly pig auditions to attend.
One more call before we left—to my friend and piggy expert, Avvie Milton. She’d been an associate at my former law firm of Marden, Sergement & Yurick. She still was, although it was now just Marden & Sergement. Bill Sergement, the senior partner who’d seduced first me, then her, had recently dropped her in favor of his wife. Right now, I figured Avvie wasn’t long for that firm.
“Hi,” I said when she answered her cell phone. “You on your way?”
“I sure am. I wouldn’t miss this experience.”
“But you still don’t want to enter Pansy in the audition?”
“Nope,” she said. “It would be unfair competition. I’m friends with the management—that means you. Plus I know some of your other friends. And . . . you want to know the main reason?”
“What’s that?” I inquired.
“My potbellied pig is the smartest of all, and she’d win no matter who else is there. That’s what would really make it unfair.”
I laughed as I hung up, but couldn’t disagree. I’d met Pansy. Had pet-sat for her a few times. Had seen how smart she’d gotten as she grew bigger, the amazing tricks she picked up awfully fast. It might indeed skew the competition to toss her into the mix.
I peeked into elder partner Elaine Aames’s office to exchange goodbyes with her—and with Gigi, the Blue and Gold Macaw. I waved at the Yurick firm staff as I hurried out the door.
Then, I drove my ugly little rental car east from Encino, toward Studio City.
Do you get the impression I wasn’t happy with my ride? I was narrowing down the search for a replacement for my beloved but totaled BMW. I couldn’t afford a new Beamer without a lot of economic pain, and the lovely sedan I’d had before didn’t suit my lifestyle of today. I now had my sights set on a small-to-midsize SUV, one that didn’t guzzle too much gas. Maybe a hybrid. But till I made up my mind, I was paying for the rental, since my insurance had run out.
On the way to the studio, which wasn’t far from CBS, I dropped Lexie off at Darryl’s, partly because I didn’t think she needed to participate in a pig audition. And also so I could sneak in and see my buddy Darryl again, maybe catch him off guard, get him to spill his guts and give up the name of his new girlfriend. But he was busy interviewing potential new employees, so though he waved through his office window, he didn’t step out to say hello.
So I went to the studio somewhat miffed. But mostly a whole lot excited. Amazingly, Charlotte had already received a commitment from a notable cable network to air episodes starting with today’s. Almost live—taped this afternoon, and shown in a scheduled spot tonight. Tonight! They’d taken a chance on us getting a sponsor so fast, and now we had one—as soon as we executed the contract with Dante.
Which had me wondering. Which came first? Had Dante engineered this exciting twist even as we were negotiating?
There were several buildings on the SFV—San Fernando Valley—Studios lot. Our show was to be shot in the first. It was sexier than most I’d seen: three stories, with offices inside at the front and the rear converted into several smallish sound stages. One side of the frontmost sound stage contained stars’ dressing rooms. Fortunately, they were versatile, since at this moment the stars housed were of the porcine persuasion.
Ten potbellied pigs were about to start their audition adventure. They’d been recruited fast, thanks to assistance from a local pig owners’ club. From what Avvie had told me about piggies, although they were pack animals of sorts, it sometimes took them a while to warm up to strangers of their own kind.
Charlotte LaVerne, now the reality show maven of L.A., had dressed for her producer activities in a sleek and silky peach pantsuit. She held a clipboard in her hands, and the instant she saw me, she dashed over and gave me her usual effusive hug. “Oh, Kendra, I know we put this together quickly, but it’s going to be great! As long as . . . ?”
I knew what she was inquiring about. “Yes, we’ve got a deal with Dante.”
“Wonderful,” she squealed, and hugged me again. “They were asking.” She tilted her head toward some guys gabbing nearby who wore blue knit shirts with Nature Network logos. My surmise about Dante’s fixing this with the cable station was most likely correct.
Of course, since Dante hadn’t yet arrived, we’d have to execute the agreement later. But apparently that hadn’t stopped him from setting everything up.
My pet-sitting assistant, Rachel, was in attendance as well. She was less demonstrative but equally enthusiastic as she greeted me. “All the contestants are here,” she said. “So are the Hayhursts.” The Show Biz Beasts principals were to teach pet owners to train their charges to participate in scenarios created for this ambitious but potentially excellent reality show.
I stuck my nose into a couple of dressing rooms and laughed at the large, adorable noses that seemed to study me as well. The pigs, primarily black, white, or a combo, appeared to be mostly belly and nose, although each also had interested eyes. And thin, wagging tails, though their nether appendages weren’t as expressive as doggy tails.
At the third room, I stopped. And stared. There were two people inside, and two pigs. One of the people was someone I’d met up with often—perhaps more to his chagrin than mine.
“Hi, Ned,” I said to Homicide Detective Ned Noralles of the LAPD. “What are you doing here?”
“Kendra! I hoped I’d see you.” He headed toward me and shook my hand heartily.
Ned was the detective I came up against most in my unwanted sideline of being a murder magnet. The first time was when this nice-looking African American cop had tried his damnedest to prove I had slain two people. I was able to uncover the actual criminal. Since then, he had been involved in many cases where I helped friends and acquaintances who were accused of murder . . . sometimes by him. I absolutely identified with their angst, so what could I do but assist them?
He’d been sympathetic when my former boyfriend, Jeff, had apparently disappeared, even though the two of them had been enemies of sorts. Ned and I had developed a mutual respect, or so I thought. But now . . .
“Is everyone around here okay?” I asked in a lowered voice.
“Oh, he’s not here as a detective,” said the woman with him. She was attractive and poised and seemed to resemble Ned. His sister? She confirmed my conjecture as she approached with her slender hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Nita Noralles. This guy’s my brother. And don’t you think it’s the cutest thing ever? My brother the cop isn’t just a pig. He owns one. So do I.” She introduced me to the two cute black-and-white potbellies on the dressing room floor. Porker was Ned’s, and hers was Sty Guy.
“So you’re here because . . . ?” I began, although the answer was pretty obvious. I looked at Ned.
“We love our pigs,” Nita responded. “And we live near enough to Hollywood to get involved in stuff like this. We’d love to become stars—or at least for our pets to succeed.”
Ned’s smile was a whole lot too bright. Somehow his sister had coerced his participation, and I guessed he wasn’t overly excited about it.
Maybe it was because any of his cop friends or superiors who didn’t already know of the irony of a policeman having a pig for a pet would learn about it now.
“Isn’t that right, Ned?” Nita goaded.
He said strongly, “Absolutely.” One thing I’d learned about Ned: he could be a good sport—if he wanted to. Even when he was shown up by someone else solving the crimes he was assigned to. Like me.
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “I’ll look forward to seeing how you do.”
Things were getting organized around the sound stage. Rows of seats were set up for an audience, which for now would probably consist mostly of contestants’ friends and families. I saw several familiar faces, including cops who’d obviously come to cheer Ned on.
As on many reality shows, a line of tables was set up for judges. The center stage was the focus of the cameras. And soon, the animal stars would emerge.
Charlotte buzzed around, speaking with people, appearing official. And frazzled. I found myself a folding chair along the fringes of the room, out of the way and most especially out of camera range. Then, it was time to begin.
A man in a suit strutted into the main area. “Hi, everyone. I’m Rick Longley, host of
Animal Auditions
.” He looked slick and smooth, used to facing the TV camera, but I instinctively glanced for a nonexistent weather map behind him. I’d never met him but knew him by reputation. He had been a successful local weatherman who’d heeded the call to potential fame and sallied forth to New York for a slot on network TV. Unfortunately, he had washed out. His slink back home had been about the time Charlotte starred in the reality show in which she’d had to choose between ostensibly true love and heading her own production. She’d smartly chosen the latter, and Rick had apparently enlisted to host anything Charlotte got involved in.
Animal Auditions
.” He looked slick and smooth, used to facing the TV camera, but I instinctively glanced for a nonexistent weather map behind him. I’d never met him but knew him by reputation. He had been a successful local weatherman who’d heeded the call to potential fame and sallied forth to New York for a slot on network TV. Unfortunately, he had washed out. His slink back home had been about the time Charlotte starred in the reality show in which she’d had to choose between ostensibly true love and heading her own production. She’d smartly chosen the latter, and Rick had apparently enlisted to host anything Charlotte got involved in.
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