Focus Lost

by Doug Cooper

  At Olympic Boulevard, Levi turns left, accelerating and showing off the Bugatti’s zero-to-sixty in two and a half seconds. Another car a few lengths ahead forces Levi to pump the carbon ceramic brakes and switch lanes. Lowering the car into the handling ride height, he opens the front diffuser flaps and darts around another car. “Anything new with the photographer?” he asks, raising his voice above the deep, vibrating growl of the turbocharged engine.

  Eva squeezes her fingers around the leather door handle. “It won’t matter if you kill us first. Just because this car will go this fast doesn’t mean it has to.”

  Levi downshifts using the paddles on the steering wheel and settles in behind the SUV in front of them. “My bad. I’m just excited, and frustrated, I guess, if I’m being honest. We’re so close to getting everything we’ve been working for. I just can’t believe this shit is happening now.”

  “Even more reason why you need to chill the fuck out and stay out of the news. The Oscar stuff is probably already decided. People either voted for you, or they didn’t. Just getting nominated is a huge boost. I’m more worried about your next movie. You’re leveraged to the hilt in that. I told you, you should’ve let me bring in outside investors. Now with all this shit going on, no one is going to touch anything to do with you until they see how the public is going to react.”

  Levi speeds through the changing yellow light onto Peck into more congestion behind a moving truck unloading in front of one of the houses in the residential neighborhood. He bangs his hands against the steering wheel, leaning his head out the window to check for oncoming traffic. “We’ll be fine. Those investors wanted too much back anyway. I’m tired of having to share the profits.”

  “It’s more about sharing the risk,” Eva says. “If this movie fails to earn back, you could be in some serious trouble.”

  “Fuck it. I’ll just do another movie.” He eases the nose of the car into the opposite lane and still seeing no oncoming traffic, curves around the truck. The double wishbone suspension absorbs each bump and depression of the uneven side street. “Or I’ll just sell stuff. I came from nothing, so if I lose it all, I’m out nothing. I’m back to where I started.”

  “I don’t think you realize how difficult it is to leave the lap of luxury once you’ve lived in it.” She rubs her hand along the quilted leather seats. “But let’s hope it never comes to that.”

  “That’s why we need to get those pictures before this thing gets worse.” He rolls through the stop sign onto Wilshire then cuts across traffic illegally onto Dayton Way and parks in a reserved spot in front of SJK Style, an appointment-only designer shop just off Rodeo. Levi and Eva exit the car and enter the store. A few seconds later, Gabe drives by and turns into a public parking structure across the street.

  The inside of the store resembles a lounge more than a retail outlet. A bar runs along one wall with six stools and three high-top tables on the opposite wall. Artwork adorns the exposed brick walls. Male and female mannequins in designer outfits pose in casual interactions throughout. Two antique gold-painted wood and metal chandeliers hang from the stamped-beaded tin ceilings. A U-shape brown leather couch faces the back wall, which has a three-panel mirror on a raised floor partition in the middle and doors on each side leading to the men’s and women’s fitting rooms and restrooms. Five different suits hang from hooks on the right and the same number of dresses dangle on the wall to the left.

  The proprietor, SJK—the S stands for Steve even though only his family calls him that since the boutique opened—descends the brass spiral staircase in the right corner from the office up above. “Welcome.” Dressed in black from head to toe, he is long and thin with slick-backed raven hair and three days of stubble covering his sunken cheeks and chin. Immediately walking behind the bar, he says, “Some wine or maybe something stronger?”

  Levi hops up on one of the stools. “You know what I want.” Shuffling a handful of candied peanuts into his mouth, he turns to Eva. “Come on, we’re here to celebrate. Best bloody martini in Beverly Hills. You got to have at least one.”

  Eva says, “I’ll just have sparkling water if you’ve got it. I need to get back to work shortly.” Eva is skeptical of Levi wanting to use SJK for the Oscars. She preferred that they to go to one of the bigger name designers, who had been pitching her since the nomination announcement, but Levi would not waver.

  SJK pulls a bottle of wine from the cooler underneath. “How about a touch of white? Got a nice Pinot Grigio here.”

  “Just make her a martini,” Levi says. “We’re not going anywhere. Lakers tip off at four in New York. Might stay for that as well. SJK, how long have I been coming here?”

  “Going on ten years,” he says with a puff of the chest.

  “How on Earth did you two even meet?” Eva asks. “I thought I introduced Levi to everyone out here.”

  SJK fills a shaker with ice and pours Ketel One on top. “We met out at Santa Anita on a random Sunday afternoon.”

  “Both were losing our ass,” Levi chimes in. “I was down about five grand.”

  “Two for me,” SJK says, adding his homemade Bloody Mary mix to the shaker. “We got down to the last race. It was some shitty seven-furlong maiden-claiming race.” He puts the lid on the top and shakes the canister.

  From the sidewalk, Gabe looks in through the window, keeping to the side to stay hidden. Seeing them laughing and having fun intensifies his pain and confusion about what he’s even doing there. It’s like the pictures all over again. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself. He realizes, no matter what happens, he comes out looking like the crazy one. If they see him, he’s a stalker. If he goes in and confronts them, he is a naïve, moony fool. He knows that he’s got no one to blame but himself. If he hadn’t gone to the waterfall and taken the pictures, he would still not know who either of them are. Even if he didn’t intend for the pictures to get out, they did, and he is responsible. Watching through the window, he knows he just needs to accept that and deal with it. But he’s learning that knowing something rationally and being able to accept it emotionally are two different things entirely. Anytime over the past few days that he’s felt any bit of space and detachment from any of it, the intensity he experienced with Eva that night sucks him back in. Standing there, watching her through the window, he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay and confront her, to tell her how he really feels. But not in front of Levi. He knows there’s no way she would choose him over Levi. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s not worth it.” Forcing himself away, he heads down the sidewalk toward the garage.

  Inside, Levi continues the story about how he and SJK met. “All the horses were sprinters except for one. He hadn’t run anything under a mile and an eighth and had been leading early in all those races but faded at the end. His four-furlong workout had been the best of the day earlier in the week too.”

  SJK removes two chilled martini glasses from the freezer. Frost forms on the inside and out. He sets them on the bar. “The kicker was the horse’s name. Do you remember it?” Pouring from the shaker, he fills the glasses to just below the rim with the Bloody Mary mixture.

  “How could I forget?” Levi says. “Eternal Damnation. I put my last four hundred fifty bucks on it.”

  SJK garnishes the fresh drinks with two dill pickles and slides them across the bar. “I remember I had only two hundred and four dollars left. The last dollar was all change. The teller looked at me like I was a total degenerate.”

  Levi removes the spear and bites the end. “We figured if we were busting, it might as well be on a horse named Eternal Damnation.” He plops the pickle back into the martini and lifts the glass. “You’re not having one, SJK?”

  “I’ll have a splash of the white now and one of those when we finish.” Standing up a wine glass, he pours two ounces of Pinot Grigio and lifts it toward Eva and Levi. “What are we drinking to?”

  “W
hat else?” Levi says. “Eternal Damnation. May we all be so lucky to end up in the hell of our choosing.”

  “Chin chin,” SJK says as they all touch glasses.

  “Cheers.” Eva says, sipping from her drink. “I assume the horse won?”

  Levi gulps half his in a single swallow. “A fucking twenty-to-one long shot. I won nine grand.”

  SJK tops off Levi’s drink with the last of the shaker and empties the ice, beginning the process again. “I took home four thousand eighty. Tipped the teller the eighty. Said, ‘Aren’t you glad I scraped together that last four?’”

  “SJK invited me down the next day to have a drink at the store,” Levi says. “Ten thousand dollars later, it was the most expensive free glass of wine I ever had. Haven’t shopped anywhere else since though.”

  “I wondered why you always blew off meetings I tried to set with designers,” Eva says, relaxing by the second.

  Levi slugs more of the martini. “I told you I got a guy.”

  “Wait until you see what I have for you today.” SJK walks out from behind the bar with another full shaker of bloody martinis and heads toward the back. “Shall we?”

  Eva and Levi follow and sit on the leather couch. SJK fills their martini glasses again and sets the shaker on the rectangular teak coffee table. “You can see from what is hanging on the sides, I’m thinking blue. Most will go with black or white. Let’s add some color and set you apart. Just because it’s formal doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.” He walks over to the dresses. “I’ll show you my first choice, and we can work back from there.”

  Eva stands and walks along the dresses, touching the fabric of each one as she passes. “They all look lovely.”

  SJK takes the first one off the hook and walks toward Eva. “Based on your pictures, I estimated you at about a size four to six.”

  “With these hips, closer to an eight,” Eva says, slapping her side.

  SJK drapes the dress across his arms, presenting it to her. “I just love this strapless midnight blue Gucci Premiere gown. The sapphire silk crepe fabric and fitted bodice will showcase your amazing figure.”

  She runs her hand along the dress. A calm, astral gaze floats from her eyes. “This looks perfect.”

  “I thought you’d love it,” SJK says. “I’m going to have you slip it on and call up the tailor to get all the measurements. Don’t worry if it’s a little loose or tight anywhere. We can take care of all that.”

  On the couch Levi drains the rest of his martini and fills his glass from the shaker. He takes a glass vile of cocaine from his pocket and cups it in his palm. “SJK, okay for me to hit the head quick?”

  “Of course. Take your time.” He nods his head back toward the door to the men’s salon. “I’ll call up the tailor and get Eva taken care of, then we’ll get you going.”

  Levi rises and pads toward the men’s salon. “I’m well on my way already, so no rush there.” Glancing out the front window to check on his car before he goes in the back, he sees Gabe’s brown Suburban on the other side of his car waiting for traffic to move. “What the fuck?” he says, recognizing the older model truck is out of place in this part of town. He pivots toward the front. The Suburban rolls forward with the traffic. Levi quickens to the door and out onto the sidewalk. The Suburban approaches the intersection and turns right onto Rodeo. Levi jogs to the corner, but the Suburban is too far ahead to chase. He can make out only the first three letters of the license plate: 3AP. Repeating the sequence to himself, he treads back to the store.

  Eva and SJK stand in the middle by the bar. SJK says, “Did something happen to your car? Never had any issues with vehicles out there before.”

  Levi pants, slightly out of breath. “Eva, do you still have the license plate numbers I gave you of that photographer? Was it three-AP something?”

  “Yeah, it’s in the email from my police contact.” She angles to the bar and gets her phone from her purse. Locating the exchange, she says, “It was three-APR-one-four-four. Why?”

  “That motherfucker was just outside. Thought you said he wasn’t a pap. Sure seems like one. Pretty big coincidence that he would be in the same part of town as us at the exact same time. That’s it. I’m calling Mick. I’m sure he knows someone who can take care of this guy.”

  “Levi, you’ve already done enough to jeopardize things. For once just let me do my job and stay out of it.” She walks back toward the women’s salon to try on the dress.

  Levi trails behind, veering to the men’s salon on the right. “I guess we’ll see who handles it first.”

  Moments later, they both emerge from opposite doors, one barely able to move because of the tightness of the dress and the other unable to stand still. Firat, the Turkish house tailor, has also joined from his workshop in the basement. He has a tape measure draped around his neck and a cushion riddled with pins attached to his belt. His bright azure eyes soften the sadness in his sagging cheeks. Holding out his hand, he guides Eva up on the raised partition in front of the three-panel mirror. “Step up, please. Ah, yes. Very beautiful,” he says seeing her from all angles in the mirror panels.

  SJK steps up on the partition and stands behind Eva, straightening the subtle train. He reaches around and puts his hand under her chin. “Keep your head up, please.” He pinches some of the fabric in the back of the dress. “Take it in a bit here, don’t you think, Firat?”

  “No, Steve. No,” he says, obviously never buying that the initialed branding of the store applys to Steve as well. “Too tight below. She need to breathe.”

  “But it stretch,” SJK says, matching the cadence of Firat’s broken English. “Just a touch?”

  “No, Steve. No,” he says again. He takes out a piece of chalk from his pocket and makes several marks on her back and hips. “We let out here and here. Will be perfect.”

  “If you say so,” SJK says. “You’re the expert.” He steps away to the right, leaving Firat to finish with Eva and takes a suit off the first hook on the wall to the right.

  Levi, who had migrated up by the bar to make another drink and watch the beginning of the Lakers game, walks to the back. “You ready for me?”

  Steve carries the midnight blue suit toward him. “I’m telling you, you’re going to want to sleep in this suit. I had Armani custom make it for you based on your measurements. Check this out. It’s a one-button wool tuxedo with a cashmere peak lapel. Pair a crisp white shirt, navy blue necktie and some Brioni shoes, and you’ll absolutely own the red carpet.”

  Levi runs his hand over the cashmere lapel. “Yeah, this is perfect. Just perfect.”

  ◆◆◆

  The next afternoon, Levi eases into one of the private booths on the back patio at Big Dean’s on the Santa Monica Boardwalk. A hulking man in his forties with a buzzed head fills the opposite seat. His ears protrude, bending slightly forward, from the thin temples of the rimless mirrored sunglasses. He curls his thick fingers around a twenty-four-ounce PBR. “What’s going on? Mick said it was important.”

  Levi looks around to see if anyone noticed him slip in. “It’s a bit more than the usual security.” He removes a folded paper from his pocket and spreads it on the table. A grainy shot of Gabe printed from the Art on Traction website is on the front. “I need you to pay this guy a visit. He has some pictures of me that can’t get out.”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.” He spins the paper around. “How do I find him?”

  Levi says, “His address and the address of the gallery where he has an exhibition are on the back.”

  The guy tilts the oversized can toward his mouth and pours beer without the can touching his lips. “You know he’s probably not going to just give me the pics. It could get messy.”

  Levi again scans the area. “I hope it does. Do what you have to. This guy has created a shit storm for me.”

  “Hmm, let’s see.” The man scratch
es the stubble under his chin with the back of his fingers. “Going to cost you triple the daily rate.”

  Levi slides the picture toward him and puts his hands under the table to count out the money from his wallet. He leans forward and extends his hand. “Here’s fifteen hundred. That should more than cover it.”

  The man drops one hand under the table, keeping his other on the beer. He takes the money and just stuffs it in his pocket without counting. “What if someone is with him?”

  “Like I said, do what you have to,” Levi says. “Needs to happen right away. The sooner and rougher, the better.”

  The guy nods, jiggling his puffy cheeks. “Consider it handled. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  Chapter 12

  Gabe closes the front storm door of his house. Drops of dew collide and stream down the glass. The neighborhood still sleeps. White blossoms peek out of the dark green leaves of the Magnolia tree in the front. Fog coats the windows of the cars parked in the driveways and lining the street. A single chirping bird cuts through the crisp air. Swinging the camera bag over his shoulder, Gabe shuffles through the small patch of grass that constitutes their front yard. Water kicks up covering his shoes and the bottom of his pant legs.

  Walking toward his Suburban parked on the street, he presses the fob on his key chain to unlock the doors. The lights flash sending waves of red through the mist. He curves around the vehicle and stops at the driver’s side back door. Rapid steps scuff against the concrete street from behind. Before Gabe can turn around, tBig Dean’s thick hand grabs his shoulder and throws him to the ground. Rolling over, Gabe peers up at the foreboding figure looming over him.