by Lou Harper
Life went on in much of the same humdrum manner all the way till Friday afternoon. I was stocking boxes of green tea and mango-flavored mochi ice cream in the frozen-food section when I heard a faintly familiar voice say, “Well, there you are!”
I looked up and saw what’s-his-face from Carson’s house standing there. What the hell was his name? Oh yeah, Warren. He appeared pretty much the same as I’d last seen him. He still wore a gray suit, albeit a shade darker, and his maroon bow tie had tiny white polka dots. He also had the same wire-rimmed glasses with tinted lenses.
“Can I help you?” I asked in the friendly tone all FTP shoppers had the right to expect.
His lips quirked as he held out a folded black card to me. “Maybe I can help you.”
Nonplussed, I took it. “What’s this?”
He gifted me with another one of his condescending smiles. “That, my friend, is a hard to come by invitation to a very exclusive Hollywood party tomorrow night. Clay will be there.” He must have seen the confusion on my face, because he added, “You said you wanted to meet him. Now you’ll have your chance. Make the most of it. Oh yeah, wear something nice.” The smile still playing on his lips, he strolled away.
I stared after him till he disappeared, and then tucked the card in my back pocket and went on with my business. Fridays were always busy, and I didn’t get a chance to take a better look at the card till later, when I had my next break. I opened the slender card and saw only a date and a Beverly Hills address, embossed in gray ink. Understated yet rich. This was my opportunity to meet Clay Carson face-to-face and hobnob with beautiful people. Who knew, I could end up snorting cocaine with someone famous. Exactly the kind of thing to make Nick blow a gasket.
I kept daydreaming… If life was like the movies, I’d go, get in trouble and get rescued by Nick. No wait, if life was a movie, I’d be the expendable gay friend and Nick would rescue the sexy blonde girl. Gross. Going to the party was out of the question.
“Hey, what’s with you now? You’re scowling again. Seriously, whatever you did to piss off your hunk, just apologize.” Olly drifted into the break room, took a swig of his organic kombucha and flopped next to me on the manure-colored couch. “Whatcha got there?”
“A party invitation.” I let him take a look.
Olly made a surprised squeal at the sight of the address. “No fucking way. This must be some fancy shindig. How did you score this?”
I winked at him. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Asshole,” he said affectionately.
“Do you want it?” It made sense. Why waste a perfectly good invitation, right? Olly would fit in that crowd so much better than I.
His eyes lit up like a couple searchlights. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. It’s not my kind of thing. Have fun.”
Olly wound his skinny arms tight around me and planted a sloppy kiss on my left cheek. “I love you! I’m sorry I called you Princess Fussy Pants.”
“You haven’t,” I pointed out.
“Not to your face,” he said, dimpling, and I was fairly certain he was joking.
My ten-minute break was almost over, but I had something on my mind. “Olly, when you were up there at Carson’s house, did you run into anyone?”
He grimaced. “Yeah, the new wife.”
“Kate something, right?”
“Kat Fontaine. Don’t you know anything?” He gave me that pitying look that he had whenever local celebrities came up in a conversation and I revealed my ignorance. I was used to it.
“I know lots of things, just not about Hollywood. That’s what I have you for. So what’s she like?”
“Pissed. At least she was when I saw her. Carson’s manager was there too, and the two of them were having a bitch fight.”
“Weird little guy with a bow tie?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Warren Warrick. It sounded like Kat was ripping him a new one, and he didn’t appreciate it.”
Olly knowing Warren didn’t surprise me much. Being a smart cookie, he not only kept tab on celebs but their agents and managers too. Possibly their pets. “What did they argue about?”
“No clue. I only caught a snatch, but she used the words voyeuristic and fetish in the same sentence.”
“Them’s big words.”
“Fighting words. They didn’t see me, so I plunked the groceries in the kitchen and got out of there as fast as I could. Do you think Warren was peeping on Carson and Kat doing the nasty? That would be totally sicko. She certainly looked ready to murder him. Kat’s small, but if it came to brawl between those two, I’d put my money on her. That pussy has claws.”
“Ow! Watch the puns. Those things are sharp. You could put someone’s eye out.”
Saturday crawled by uneventfully. I went for a swim, dropped off the bag of old clothes at Goodwill, did a load of laundry and even folded it. Then I read till it was time to go to bed. First thing on Sunday morning, I checked my phone. No calls, no message, no email from anybody, especially not Nick. That was proof enough that my curse still held. I drove to work extra carefully.
I started at the twelve-items-or-less lane, which I liked best because it moved fast. I saw Olly out on the floor, charming customers and asking them if they needed any help. If he’d stayed out late the night before, I couldn’t tell. He seemed as spry as a head of butter lettuce straight from the farm. Simply looking at him made me feel old.
I didn’t catch up with him till lunch at three o’clock.
“So, how was last night?” I asked while taking a container of chicken and rice out of the microwave.
Olly was already halfway through his salad. “It was fantastic! You should’ve seen the house—exactly like in the movies. There was an infinity pool hanging out over the side of the mountain. I got vertigo just looking at the thing. I couldn’t imagine swimming in it. The Silicone Valley had no problem, though.”
I sat across from him by the table. “The what?”
“You know, the Playboy-bunny types with the implants.”
“Oh, so it was that kind of party.”
“Lots of beautiful people. If you saw someone ugly, you knew he had to be a big-shot producer or something. I got propositioned by one of them.”
Olly scowling looked as threatening as a kitten. “It really pisses me off when people take me for a dumb tart just because I’m young. Like I was gonna bend over for him and then wait for that casting call. Do people really fall for that crap anymore?”
“Probably. Did you see Carson?”
“Yeah, but I wish I hadn’t. He was totally creepy. Like my first time at Disneyland when I met Goofy and realized it was just a guy in a suit.”
“You mean there was a man in a Clay Carson suit?”
“No. Well, maybe.” He stared off into nothing as if looking for the right words. “You know how on screen he’s always so together? In flesh he was…I dunno, different. Shorter than I thought but mostly just wired up like he drank a gallon of coffee before the party.”
“Or took drugs.”
“Maybe. I didn’t expect him to notice a total nobody like me, but I worked up the nerve to walk up to him and compliment him on the movie. Next thing I know, he’s talking to me three hundred miles an hour, flashing his teeth every couple of minutes like some overly happy shark. And he kept touching me. I don’t think he heard a word I said either. He just blathered on, and I was getting these weird vibes from him. Thank God the wife-thing showed up and towed him away.”
I was feeling better and better about my decision not to go. “I’m sorry. That must have been a disappointment.”
He shrugged. “I’ll get over it. I got over Goofy too.” He grinned and stuffed a forkful of salad in his face.
We ate in silence for a couple of minutes, but then Olly perked up. “Oh, I almost forgot! I met Sandy Baker!” From the amount of his enthusiasm, I knew it was supposed to mean something to me.
“Who?”
“She’s on th
at HBO series, Fangs.”
“Oh yeah, I like that one. Who does she play?” Fangs had a ridiculous and overcomplicated plot with werewolves and other paranormal creatures, but it was also great fun and full of eye candy for viewers of every gender and sexual orientation.
“Glynne, the super-bitchy vampiress. The one that keeps screwing everyone, one way or the other.”
“Oh yeah, she’s quite a character.”
“In real life, she’s down-to-earth and totally funny. She said her character will do some wicked shit next season but wouldn’t say more. We talked for like an hour. I love her! I told her I’d be her gay for life.”
“Oh really? What does that entail?”
“You know. Gossip, fashion advice, the works. I’m so qualified.”
“I concur.” I was glad Olly found someone else to transfer his affections and obsessions to. God help Sandy—unless she wanted an overeager, gay twink lovingly stalking her. Who knew, she might. Those Hollywood types were nutty that way.
Chapter Seven
I didn’t expect to be stalked myself, especially by a Hollywood type. It was all backward.
Employees of Fred’s Trade Post had to leave their cars at the far end of the parking lot, so customers could have the good spots. So seeing another car parked next to mine struck me as unusual. However, it wasn’t a black SUV, only a lemon-yellow Mini Cooper. Not the color of the delicate Meyer lemons, but the cooler hue of its thick-skinned cousin. I cast misgivings aside and clicked my car’s door open with the remote. I wanted to get inside and crank up the A/C. We were having a heat wave, and simply walking from the store to the end of the parking lot got me sweaty. Good thing I’d remembered to put the sunshade in the window, or I wouldn’t be able to touch the steering wheel.
The petite blonde woman popping out of the Mini and trapping me between our cars nearly gave me a heart attack. I was as shocked as a hiker getting jumped by a mountain lion. Physically, she wasn’t that imposing—skinny body, big head, like a human lollipop. A very angry lollipop.
She pointed a long and lethally pink fingernail at me. “You little twat!” She must have been normally very pretty, but at that moment, fury twisted her features. She scared me a little. Okay, a lot. She could’ve had a gun; she could’ve been crazy. She clearly didn’t like me.
I smiled feebly. “I’m sorry, ma’am…miss, you must be confusing me with someone.”
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t play innocent with me. You were at the house, chatting it up with that slimeball, and I saw your little friend last night. I’m on to your little game, and I can tell you it won’t work. You’re not gonna entrap Clay. Whatever you might have heard about him are lies. If I ever see either of you sniffing around, I’ll have you put down like the mangy dogs you are.”
Clues lit up my brain. “Kat? Kat Fontaine? Wait, you were in the store, weren’t you?” I remembered her now—mostly because she’d worn a dress almost the same shade of yellow as her car—wandering around the store earlier. She’d had giant sunglasses on then.
“Of course, I was, you idiot. That’s how I know you and that blond jailbait are scheming together. It’s just too much of a coincidence for the two of you to work at the same place. It makes sense too—you must’ve realized you were too old for—” She quickly clamped her pink lips together.
I wasn’t the smartest cookie in the box but finally started to work out that she thought I was after her husband. The blond jailbait had to be Olly. I guessed, from a certain light, it could’ve seemed that way, but that would’ve meant Clay Carson was susceptible to the charms of young men. Maybe it had been him in that photo after all. I would’ve very much liked to ask her more about that but remembered Nick’s warning to keep my nose clean. And she seemed liable to eviscerate me if I got too inquisitive. Better calm her down. “Ms. Fontaine, I can assure you, neither of us has any designs on your husband, and I promise you’ll never see us again. I swear.”
She studied me with eyes narrowed to slits, as if trying to figure out if I’d been putting her on. I did my best to look earnest. It wasn’t hard. All I wanted was to be as far away from her as possible. I must’ve convinced her, because, mumbling obscenities under her breath, she got into her car. She reversed out of the parking spot, but before taking off, she yelled out the window, “You! Remember to keep away, or you’ll regret it.” She formed the shape of a gun with her fingers and aimed it at me. The look in her eyes let me know she wished it was a real gun.
I watched her zoom out of the parking lot in a yellow blur. Yellow—never my favorite color. Too full of envy and jealousy.
I took the surface streets home, because if I was going to get into an accident—and the way things were going, that was a distinct possibility—I’d rather not have it happen on the freeway. My brain was overflowing with unhappy thoughts already. It seemed like no matter what I did or didn’t do, I kept getting into trouble and cheesing people off. Like a good boy, I hadn’t gone to that damn party and still got burned. If this wasn’t proof of the curse, I didn’t know what was.
Getting back to Burbank unscathed was at least a good sign. I checked in on Mrs. G, who was sitting outside in her usual chair in that weather. Old people were a lot like cats—they loved heat. I asked how her day had gone, and she rambled on about Bertie Wooster, the gas-company man, and the green parrots that had recently moved into the neighborhood. The birds made an awful racket, but only during the day. According to Mrs. G, they were house pets gone feral.
I puttered around the apartment and then had mac and cheese for dinner while watching the evening news. It was the usual mix of natural disasters, murder and politicians, but at least the weatherman promised a break in the heat by midweek. When the commercial with that stupid lizard came on, I scrambled for the remote and managed to knock my juice glass on the floor. At the sound of shattering glass, I burst into a string of heartfelt obscenities. I had to take several deep breaths and fight back the urge to grab whatever was at hand and hurl it across the room. It would’ve felt gratifying for a moment, but not worth the trouble of scrubbing melted cheese off the wall.
At least I had hardwood floors so I didn’t have to deal with soggy carpet. I cleaned up the mess and threw the rest of my dinner away. I’d lost my appetite. Back before Pancake had run away, this would’ve been a time when she sat in my lap purring while I scratched her head and felt less alone. I thought of calling Charly, but I didn’t want to whine about Nick, and I was even less keen on discussing Riley’s murder and how it might have had something to do with Clay Carson.
If Riley did blackmail him, that was a motive for murder, for sure, and Carson would’ve been on the top of my suspect list. However, after today’s performance, I put Kat Fontaine right behind him. A scandal would’ve been a death blow to her career too; she’d been a virtual unknown before the marriage, and Carson was her meal ticket. And then there was the manager—Warren also had plenty to lose, and he seemed peculiar enough to be a James Bond villain.
I wondered if I should let Nick know about the strange incident in the parking lot. What would annoy him more, if I did or if I didn’t? The desire to hear his voice won out.
I got to hear it only on the voice mail. I left a message. “Yo, Nick, it’s Jem. You told me to call you if something happened that was important but not an emergency, and something happened today and maybe it’s not important at all, but I thought you should decide, because maybe it’s nothing, but who am I to know, and if I don’t tell you, you’ll just get upset again.” I stopped my rambling and took a deep breath. “I got ambushed by Kat Fontaine after work. She seemed to think that Olly and I had designs on her husband, and she wasn’t happy about it. I swear I didn’t do anything, but you probably don’t believe me. Why would you? I’m just a screw-up to you. You know, sometimes I get real fucking tired of…oh, whatever.” I quickly hung up before I could get more bitter and maudlin.
I laid the phone on my chest and turned my attention to the TV, but my eyelids were
getting heavy. I should drag my carcass to the bed, I thought, but didn’t get around to it.
The next time I properly gained consciousness, I found myself surrounded by asparagus-colored curtains and the stench of medicines and disinfectants. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word to express how I felt about hospitals. There was no proper word for that sticky blend of loathing and dread they evoked in me. So finding myself in a hospital bed nearly sent me into a panic attack. I had a blurry recollection of getting there. Something about Nick, flashing lights and me vomiting. Where was he, and why the hell was I here?
Memories of my last hospital stay flooded my mind. Oh gawd, was there an earthquake? Did a house fall on me again? No, even I couldn’t be so cursed. Or could I? I lifted my arms—no plaster cast, only an IV needle in the left one. So far, so good. I tried to wiggle my toes. Success! Phew. I felt like shit, though.
Noises of people and machines filtered through the screens, but I couldn’t see their sources. I pushed myself into a sitting position and cautiously shuffled my weight around till my feet dangled in the air.
“Jem! What the hell are you doing?” Nick swept through the wall of curtains behind me. He swiftly came around pushed me back on the bed.
I was so happy to see him, I didn’t resist. “Nick! What happened? Why am I here?”
He towered above me with a sharp look on his face. “You don’t remember taking the sleeping pills?”
I had to find my way through the fuzz in my brain to recall details of the night. “I didn’t take any.”
“Jem, I know it’s not easy, but it’s time for honesty. I found this in your bathroom. Empty.” He pulled an orange pill container from his pocket and held it out.
I took a closer look. “Yup, that’s mine, but it’s been empty for a week.”
He didn’t seem to believe me. “You had an empty bottle sitting on your bathroom counter for a week?”
“Sure, why not? I meant to throw it into the recycling bin but kept forgetting. Sometimes I don’t put the laundry away for days.” As I watched his still-doubtful expression, the meaning of his questions clicked into place. “You thought I tried to kill myself?”