The Yoga Club

by Cooper Lawrence

  “What are you doing here? Is that our champagne?” she asked in a nasty tone.

  “Yes, I hope it’s okay that I brought it to you. I ran into the room service guy in the hallway. I tipped him well, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not concerned that you didn’t tip well. I’m quite sure that you overdid it, if anything, but what exactly are you doing here?” she asked adamantly.

  “I felt like we got off on the wrong foot, so I wanted to come up and start over, maybe even escort you to the awards ceremony since your husband couldn’t make it,” Jordan said.

  “First of all, I have a date,” she said, motioning to CJ, who was now curled up like a cat in a big comfy chair. CJ waved a sarcastic little wave at the handsome young man. “Second of all,” she continued, “it’s really none of your business, but my boyfriend was going to be here, except he had an important business deal he was closing. Thanks for asking.” She looked at CJ, who rolled his eyes.

  “C’mon, let’s have one glass of champagne together; it’s on me. I had them charge it to my room,” Jordan said.

  Before Coco could answer, CJ flew out of his comfy perch, grabbed the bottle from Jordan’s hands, and chirped, “You don’t have to ask me twice. Drink up, honey.”

  And they did. Bottle after bottle after bottle. They “drank up” many times over and well into the night.

  At 7:00 the next morning Coco’s room phone rang in such a way that she was sure someone had brought a jackhammer into the room. Hotel room phones have a special way of being unpleasant. She reached over with her eyes still pasted shut and held the receiver to her ear.

  “Hmmgph. Cough. Hello.” She was near inaudible as words squeezed out of her painfully dry mouth.

  “Hi, it’s Rory!” he said, incredibly loudly and as if it was just one word, “HiitsRory!”

  “What?” she said. She couldn’t understand why the lights were on when the sun was shining through the window.

  “Whatcha doin’?” He sounded chipper. Too chipper, in fact.

  “Ummmm, sleeping?” she said.

  “Just making sure you’re okay. You missed the awards ceremony last night. I have your trophy and plaque,” Rory said.

  “What? Oh, god! Right, yeah, I guess I did,” Coco said as she put her hand to her forehead and moved her hair off her face in one motion. “Shit!” This woke up the warm body next to her, which in turn woke up the warm body next to the first warm body. She heard soft groans, painful ones.

  She continued, “Rory, let me call you back. I think I drank too much last night.”

  “Okay, but don’t worry about it, you didn’t miss anything. Just a bunch of suits congratulating themselves on a job adequately done. John O’Hurley bombed. They hated him. You missed nothing,” he reassured her.

  “Let me call you later,” she begged before hanging up.

  “We missed the whole event last night,” she whispered to CJ’s big head lying next to her.

  “Yeah, I know. You grabbed the fourth bottle of champagne, aimed the cork at that lamp,” he said as he pointed to the broken porcelain on the floor, “and said we should boycott the event on behalf of the Aborigines. You said something about giving ‘North Korea back to them because they canceled Arrested Development. ’ We drank to that too,” CJ said.

  “Looks like we drank to a lot of things,” Coco said as she surveyed all the empty champagne bottles and airline bottles of booze on the floor. “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

  “CJ’s been derailed and is off the tracks, honey. She’s nothing but a train wreck.”

  “Oh, my god, are you naked?” Coco gasped.

  “Of course! I have to be unencumbered, especially when I’ve been boozing it up. The skin has to breathe, you know!” CJ said it loudly enough that the body next to him stirred again.

  “Wow, I feel like crap. What time is it?” the raspy voice said.

  “Jordan?” Coco asked.

  “Yeah, hi…. Did you catch the license plate number on that eighteen-wheeler that ran me over?” Coco couldn’t believe he’d actually used that hacky old line.

  “You’re not naked too, are you?” She was afraid to know the answer.

  “What do you mean ‘too’? Who’s naked? Is everyone naked except me?” Jordan asked.

  “No! I am fully clothed,” Coco said as she peeked under the covers to be sure. “Fully. I still have my shoes on even,” she said, seeing her high heels peeking out from the other end of the bed.

  “Huh? Me too,” Jordan replied as he stuck his loafers out from the bottom of the covers on the king-size bed.

  “God, you guys are making such a big deal. Me, okay? I’m naked,” CJ said.

  “We missed the awards ceremony,” Coco told them.

  “Well, you were pretty adamant last night about not going. Your misaligned political views are obviously a strong platform for you. Something about your favorite TV shows and foreign despots. I thought that’s why we didn’t go,” Jordan said.

  “Huh, wish I could remember. I really must remember to eat before I drink. Well, Rory said we didn’t miss anything,” Coco said.

  “That’s good,” Jordan replied, suddenly becoming conscious of the naked man next to him.

  “Yeah,” she said, sensing his discomfort.

  “I’m gonna get out of bed now,” Jordan said awkwardly.

  “Oh yeah, so am—” CJ said, but before he could finish that sentence he was interrupted.

  “No, no, that’s okay!” both Jordan and Coco yelled as she reached down on the floor and grabbed CJ’s pants.

  “Here, put these on,” she insisted.

  “Let’s meet down in the fourth-floor restaurant. They have the best omelets,” Coco said.

  The mere mention of food made Jordan gag and hurry to the bathroom. Apparently omelets were not going to be in his immediate future.

  Coco watched as he closed the door to her bathroom. Why the fuck is he here? She dropped her head into her hands and felt the remnants of last night’s beautiful makeup.

  Bailey found herself once again driving down Sunset Boulevard looking for an address. There had been so many restaurant and club openings and closings she could no longer keep track of whether the place she was going was the old Forty Deuce or the old Halo. Tonight was a launch party for the much-hyped remake of the TV version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, produced by Gertie Whitmore’s production company and marking Jennifer Garner’s big return to television. Bailey had never met Gertie before, nor had she ever interviewed Jen Garner. For the first time in a long while, she was actually excited about a Hollywood event—if she could just find the damn place. That her GPS kept “recalculating” was of no help whatsoever. Shouldn’t it have been searching rather than calculating? She decided she would just drive around until she saw the red carpet, the fan pit, and the klieg lights shining all over the sky like a damn Bat-Signal calling all the wannabes, has-beens, and never-weres.

  After finally finding the place, Bailey went in a back entrance designated for press since she wasn’t covering the red carpet, only the party itself. Normally, members of the press are led to either a pressroom or a special holding area so that they can see the party but not actually be a part of it; it’s like they’re at some flamboyant aquarium watching the big fish swimming in their big pond. But tonight was different. It was just a party with everyone mulling about. No VIP area, no pressroom, just men dressed like pirates serving hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, in homage to Judge Reinhold’s job at the seafood restaurant.

  Bailey was standing at the raw bar collecting shrimp and oysters when someone came up behind her and put their hands over her eyes.

  “Guess who!” the voice said.

  Bailey had no idea who the mystery guest was, but by the feel of the little, delicate, moisturized hands she could tell it was a female.

  “C’mon, I hate this game!” Bailey pleaded.

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” said the hands’ owner as they fell away from Bailey’s
eyes. She turned around to see her dear old friend Christina Applegate.

  Before Bailey’s mom moved the family back to the manse in Greenwich, they’d lived in Hollywood, next door to the Applegates. Christina’s mom, Nancy, was best friends with Bailey’s mom, so the girls went shopping together, went out for lunch on Saturday afternoons, and the four even took a mother-daughter trip to Paris once. Bailey had fallen out of regular contact with Christina, which she’d always regretted. She suspected that had she not been such a lazy correspondent, Christina would have remained a close, constant friend.

  “What are you doing here? How are you? How’s your mom, your grandfather…. everyone? Do you still see Christian? Tell me absolutely everything! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Christina squealed as she hugged and kissed Bailey.

  Bailey was so accustomed to women not liking her, Christina’s greeting unexpectedly lifted her spirits.

  “Well, let’s see. I’m here covering the party for my news show in New York, Mom is her usual pathological self, Grandpa is doing great…. and no, Christian and I stopped talking after you guys broke up.” Bailey had cut Christian Slater out of her life after his rather ugly, far too public breakup with Christina.

  “Didn’t you date one of his friends?” Christina asked.

  “No, no, he tried to introduce me to Emilio, but we were never able to hook it up.” Truth be told, Bailey didn’t want to work her way through the cast of Young Guns. She’d already slept with Kiefer Sutherland while the movie was being filmed. It really would have been too awkward.

  “Gosh, I haven’t seen you since I was in New York doing Sweet Charity, and that was years ago,” Christina said.

  “I want you to know how sorry I am. I feel terrible that we lost touch and I wasn’t there for you.”

  “No, no, you were. I got your cards and flowers, I know you were thinking of me. Believe me, that’s a heck of a lot more than a lot of people did at the time. People get really freaked out by the C-word, but I’m fine, I’m fine. Oh, look, there’s Gertie,” Christina said as she waved at Gertie Whitmore. “Have you ever met her? She’s an amazing woman. A total angel.”

  When Christina said “amazing,” she closed her eyes for emphasis so that Bailey would understand that she wasn’t being all Hollywood about it, that Gertie was the genuine article.

  If Hollywood is America’s Camelot, then Gertie was the heir apparent. She came from a long line of not just stars but superstars. Her grandfather, Edwin, was the absolute monarch of Hollywood practically from its beginnings and starred in the most memorable and award-winning films of the 1930s. Her aunts and uncles, parents and siblings were littered through American film history. There wasn’t an era in which a Whitmore didn’t figure prominently. And now was Gertie’s time: She’d shown élan as one of the greatest child stars film has ever seen. By fourteen she was a tired old pro, already a rehab grad, and by eighteen she’d made her totally unexpected comeback in the biggest blockbuster of that summer. She’d been going strong ever since. She was a wonder.

  “We did a film together…. Gertie! Gertie! Come here.” Christina waved again, now more frantically. “I want you to meet someone,” she yelled above the music.

  Gertie came over and gave big hellos and cheek kisses to Christina before noticing Bailey’s plate of seafood.

  “Don’t eat that shrimp. I saw the waiter picking his nose before he put it out,” Gertie joked.

  “So that’s what that extra seasoning was,” Bailey fired back with a twinkle in her eye. “Delicious.” Gertie was sharp, witty, and familiar. She was as likable as Bailey had heard.

  “Well, if you like that, you’ll adore the oysters. You can’t begin to imagine where they were,” Gertie replied. She looked at Bailey as if she were trying to figure out if she knew her.

  “Yummy,” Bailey said, meeting her gaze. She felt an instant camaraderie…. and an odd surge of energy.

  “You must be important,” Gertie said flatly.

  “What makes you say that?” Bailey asked.

  “Because Christina never introduces me to anyone.”

  “Have you guys met before?” Christina seemed puzzled at their familiarity.

  “No. Gertie,” she said, holding out her hand to Bailey.

  “Bailey.”

  “Now we have. I have a secret for you, Christina, but can I trust Bailey to keep it?”

  “Oh, I don’t have loose lips. Had my plastic surgeon take care of that years ago,” Bailey teased.

  Gertie did a spit-take of a laugh and grinned widely.

  “Well, Sam Rockwell is here, and he just asked what your ‘story’ was!” Gertie told Christina.

  “I have a ‘story’? What’s my story?”

  “You know, he’s interested in you, silly,” Gertie said, throwing an elbow into her side.

  “That’s sweet, but no. I’m married, so don’t even ask. Rockwell obviously doesn’t read People. We’re done here,” Christina replied.

  “Jeez. Okay, okay. Lighten up, Bundy. So, how do you two know each other?” Gertie asked Bailey.

  Christina chimed in. “Bailey and her family lived next door to us growing up. Her grandfather is Mark Warfield from Eye Investigate. ”

  “Get out! He’s one of my favorite journalists. I own a kinescope copy of an interview he did with my aunt Diana,” Gertie said.

  “Really?” Bailey felt as though she needed to say something.

  “I’m having a brunch at my house tomorrow, you should come. I’ll show you the reel,” Gertie said, looking directly at Bailey as if there were no other person in the room. But then she noticed Christina and said, “You should bring her tomorrow.”

  “I would, except I wasn’t invited,” Christina said, rolling her eyes.

  “Shut up, of course you are.” Gertie punched Christina in the arm.

  “You know, I’m interviewing you on Friday,” Bailey said to Gertie.

  “Are you now? Well, that oughta be fun.” Gertie started to step away from them just as a man walked over, got her attention, and told her that she needed to greet a few more people. After all, she was the woman of the hour.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Gertie said to Bailey. Then she yelled over her shoulder as she was being dragged away, “See you both tomorrow.”

  “Boy, you two really hit it off,” Christina said.

  “Yeah, she seemed pretty cool. She calls you Bundy?” Bailey remarked.

  “Yeah, and I call her Toxie.”

  Bailey looked at her, puzzled.

  “You know…. from all of those Toxic Tonya movies she made?”

  “Right. Clever.”

  “Come get me on your way over there tomorrow. We can make an entrance together,” Christina said.

  After the party, Bailey went back to her hotel room. The light was blinking on the room phone, which was odd since she had her BlackBerry with her. She wondered who on earth would call her room. She dialed up the voice mail and discovered it was Saul King. He obviously knew where she was staying since they worked together, but why wouldn’t he have called her cell? He was a peculiar little man. The voice mail said, “Call me immediately. I have some very important information for you.”

  It was 3:00 A.M. Pacific time, which meant that Saul would be in his office in an hour. He was always there by 7:00. Bailey considered going to bed and waiting until she woke in the morning, but she knew, having heard his ominous message, there was no way she’d be able to sleep.

  Fourteen

  Yoga for Breakfast

  Hiya, toots, howya doin’?” Saul King asked.

  “I’m exhausted, Saul, it’s four A.M.,” Bailey replied.

  “Whaaa?” Saul said as he dropped the phone. “I’m back. Jeez, I’m sorry. These darned clocks.”

  “No, Saul, it’s four A.M. in Los Angeles. That’s where I am.”

  “Oh, for pete’s sake, of course, of course you are!”

  “I got your message, Saul. What did you find out for me?” Bailey was impatie
nt.

  “Okay, now wait a minute….” Saul sounded like he was all of a sudden across the room. “Let me get my index cards together. Yes, okay, here they are. That Bruno guy, the police chief? He’s dirty.”

  “Dirty? How so?”

  “Well, I did some digging, and though the records I found were sealed, I was able to learn that when he was in Kennebunkport he was some kind of informant. I’m thinking mafia. What other kind of rat could there be? Doncha think?” Saul asked rhetorically. “My guess is witness protection. He’s posing as Bruno, but his real name and identity might be something else.”

  “Get out. Really?”

  “Well, it’s just one theory.”

  “What would be another theory?”

  “That I’m totally wrong, and I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

  “What are the odds of that?”

  “About fifty-fifty, I’m guessing. But I surprise even myself sometimes.”

  “Oh, Saul. Did you find anything that could help us?” Bailey was a bit disheartened. This wasn’t going to help at all.

  “Well, this might be something. There are some documents that contain information on someone the Kennebunkport police are calling Blackbeard. This must be the person who knows all of the real information. I’m going to get to the bottom of it, toots, I promise you that. Just as soon as I sort out the orange cone caper I’m working on here. I’m so close.”

  “Oh, are you still working on the ‘Uncivil Servants’ feature?”

  “Yes, yes, I am, and I’m very close to Saul ving the question of who has been stealing the orange cones for their own personal use.”

  “Okay, Saul, good luck with that. Call me again if you find out anything else…. even if it seems like nothing. You never know.”

  “Oh, toots, I taught you well. Say hi to your lovely mother for me.”

  “Will do.”

  No sooner had she hung up the phone than Bailey picked it right back up to call Detective Casey. She hesitated for a moment because she felt both a little embarrassed by her behavior the other night and a little incredulous that he’d had the nerve —and the willpower—to reject her. Maybe CJ’s more his type? she wondered, still stinging from his rebuke.