by Doug Cooper
Marcus waits for the head deputy to pass then follows, remaining silent and deferring to him to lead the discussion. Marcus can tell he already knows and clings to the hope that he also hasn’t already decided what to do.
Peeling off his jacket, the head deputy says, “I heard it was quite a scene down at the detention center last night. At least I know now why you were so aggressive on this case. I just can’t figure out why on Earth you didn’t say anything.” He picks up the mug of coffee from the desk and veers around Marcus, who is standing in the middle of the room, and continues on to the sitting area with a leather loveseat and two chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs, he directs Marcus to the loveseat. “You’ve really tied my hands here. If I drop the charges, I look like I’m cowering to a celebrity.” Marcus stiffens at the comment but the look from the head deputy conveys it’s not his time to speak. The head deputy says, “If I do nothing, the defense will use this to turn the case into a circus. If I remove you, I look like an idiot for not knowing and letting you pursue in the first place. I’m going to ask you this one time and you better be fucking honest with me. If you’re not, I’ll personally make sure you never work in California again. Is this about you or him?”
“Sir, I’m sorry for not disclosing the connection before. It’s just—”
“Answer the question,” the head deputy booms.
“Him, sir. He’s guilty. No doubt about it. This case is airtight. I’ve got the pictures and witness to corroborate what’s in them.”
The head deputy drinks from the mug, holding the warm coffee in his mouth while contemplating the course of action. “Can you pin anything else on him?”
The question confuses Marcus. The interaction has already gone on longer than he expected. He thought he would be cleaning out his desk by now. “Connected to this case?”
“To anything?” The head deputy leans forward, placing the mug on the glass coffee table between them. “We need to double down and raise the stakes. If the defense wants to turn this into a circus, we’re going to be the ringmaster. Let’s put them on the defensive.”
“Sir?” Marcus asks, still not following. But now it’s not because he doesn’t understand. He’s just surprised. It’s too good to be true. It’s exactly what he has been longing to hear. “Are you saying—”
“Dig up everything you can. What else do you think he was into? Do you think we would find anything with a search warrant?”
“There’s definitely a pattern of escalation, but this is the first thing we can prove.” Marcus sits up, fully engaged. The head deputy stands and walks toward his desk. Marcus follows, stopping in the middle of the room. “There has been some chatter of a missing photographer who was last seen outside Levi’s house, but no one has filed an official missing person’s report.”
“Find someone and use it to get a warrant.” The head deputy picks up his coat and hangs it on the back of his chair, ready to officially start his day with the file laid out on his desk. “Go back to Judge Romans. She’ll keep backing you as long as you keep delivering.” He looks up from the file. “You thought you were getting fired, didn’t you?”
Marcus nods. “Yes, sir. I did.”
“Keep thinking that. If you don’t find anything, we both will be gone.”
Chapter 21
In the studio Gabe lifts a chocolate suede blazer from the back of his chair and slides it on over his blue and brown plaid shirt. He moves to the worktable and packs his camera and several lenses into his bag. Abbie enters from the kitchen. Her oversized T-shirt drapes from her narrow shoulders, contrasting with the tight leggings on the bottom half. She says, “Kind of a nice jacket to be going out for a shoot in, isn’t it?”
Gabe fastens the flap on the bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I picked up another gig.”
“What excitement are you capturing this time?” Abbie asks. “A fiftieth wedding anniversary party? A bat mitzvah? A retirement dinner?”
“For your information, Miss Funny-Pants, it’s some celebrity shots of your hero Emily James and her fake boyfriend Ira Bethel at Chateau Marmont.”
Abbie stands motionless, jaw agape. “But, but, I thought,” she stammers. “I didn’t think you did fluff shots.”
Gabe walks by her toward the door. “I didn’t. But with everything that has happened, I figured I really can’t afford to turn down easy money. Maybe some good can come out of all this mess after all.”
“Y-y-you have to let me come with you.” She chases after him. “Let me be your assistant or something. Come on. Just this once.”
“But I don’t need an assistant,” Gabe says, stopping at the back door. “Interesting how you never asked to come with me before on any other shoot.”
Abbie grabs his hand, swinging it side to side. “Pleeeease. I promise I’ll never ask another favor for as long as I live.”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t even make it two days.”
“I got something,” Abbie says, jumping up and down. “How about I work at the stand for two weeks for free? I’ll work all the same regular hours, but you don’t have to pay me at all.”
“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “It doesn’t look too good for me to show up with my kid sister—”
She cuts him off. “They won’t even know I’m there.”
“It’s not that. What I was going to say is, it doesn’t look too good for me to show up with my kid sister…dressed like that. This is the Chateau Marmont after all.” He tugs at her oversized T-shirt. “I have my image to think about.” Now it’s Abbie’s turn to glare at him, her jaw again going one way and eyes another. He shakes her from her stupor. “If you’re going, you better hurry up and change. I can’t wait all night.”
“I can’t believe it. You’re the best.” She lunges and kisses him on the cheek. “Be back in a flash. I know exactly what I’m going to wear.” She runs into the house and returns a few minutes later in a sleeveless olive-green knit dress with a rounded neckline and leather ankle strap heels. A tan leather jacket hangs over her arm with a matching clutch in her hand.
Gabe, not expecting to see her so quickly, had moved over to his desk to do some work while he waited. He looks up from the computer screen. “We’re going to work, not have dinner.”
She spins to offer a total viewing. “I figured if you were going suede, we might as well match.”
An hour later with Abbie at his side, Gabe breezes past a swarm of paparazzi lingering on the Sunset Strip sidewalk in front of the entrance to the Chateau Marmont. He approaches the valet stand and shows Eva’s card to the comely twenty-year-old behind the podium. The young charmer flashes a full mouth of bleached enamel at Abbie, who self-consciously looks away. Reviewing the card, he waves them up the tree and shrub-lined drive that serves as the carport for arriving and departing guests as well as the entrance to the parking garage. The Pirelli tires of a glossy black Aston Martin Vanquish squeak against the small, square paving stones as the car pulls out of the garage and turns down the driveway toward the street.
Admiring the well-dressed, polished patrons positioned along the path, Abbie says, “Aren’t you glad we spiffed up? Just because we’re working doesn’t mean we have to look like we are.”
Gabe still feels out of place as they walk into the iconic William Douglas Lee-designed property modeled after a French royal retreat. “In and out,” he whispers to Abbie. “We’re just taking the photos and leaving.”
At the maître d’ station, Gabe waits for the silver-haired man, who seems to be in charge, to finish directing a svelte young girl to seat the couple in front of them. Still clutching the card with the hundred-dollar bill clipped to it, Gabe presents it to the maître d’, who, seeing the name on the card, slides it into his pants pocket. “Ah yes, Monsieur Adams. Ms. Florez informed me you would be coming. May I remind you to please be discreet. We rarely allow photographers inside, but Ms. Flor
ez is a longtime friend of the Marmont, and we like to keep our friends happy.” He raises his arm, lightly snapping his fingers. Another tall model-type female approaches. The maître d’ says, “Jacqueline, please show Mr. Adams and his companion to Ms. James’ and Mr. Bethel’s table on the terrace.” He shoos her away with a nod, immediately looking past Gabe and Abbie toward the people standing behind him.
Gabe and Abbie follow Jacqueline through a casual dining area with high ceilings and pointed-arch windows. Guests fill padded chairs and sofas arranged to create intimate enclaves in the dimly lit open space. Passing outside to the terrace, the bamboo palms positioned around tables seclude each one, offering brief glimpses of diners as the multiple stems and long, pinnate leaves shift in the breeze. Gabe spots Emily, with someone he presumes is Ira across from her, seated at a small round table under a white parasol. Emily recognizes Gabe and reaches across the burgundy and cream thatched whicker tabletop, grasping Ira’s hand.
At the table Jacqueline presents Gabe and Abbie to Emily and Ira and promptly leaves. Uncontrollable excitement effuses from Abbie. Gabe grasps her hand to help her hold it together. “Good evening, Ms. James. Nice to see you again.” He lets go of Abbie’s hand and shakes Emily’s then turns to Ira. “Mr. Bethel, pleased to meet you. Eva just raves about you.”
“You brought your sister along,” Emily says, mumbling to herself. “That seems professional.”
“And who is your lovely friend?” Ira says to Gabe. His politeness neutralizes the momentary awkwardness caused by Emily’s boorish reception.
Abbie doesn’t wait for Gabe to introduce her. She fires her hand into his. “I’m Abbie, Gabe’s sister. I just have to say, I’m such a big fan of yours. It’s really an honor to meet you.” She lets go of his hand and looks over at Emily. “Of both of you, actually. Nice to see you again, Ms. James.”
“Yes, yes, we’re all big fans of one another here,” Emily says. Not liking the obvious flirting going on between Abbie and Ira, Emily reaches across the table and again grabs hold of Ira’s hand, this time to remind everyone it is the two of them on the date. “So, I think five pictures should do it. Take one from the entrance where you just were; one from behind me at him and the other way around; one by that tree over there; one looking back with the arches and columns so people know where we were; and one by those bushes over there.” Gabe is silent, looking around at the suggested spots. Abbie’s eyes drift toward Ira, then when his fall on her, she looks down with a sheepish smile. Emily says, “What are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with. Come back and let me see them before you leave.”
Gabe, with Abbie next to him holding his bag, moves around the terrace area, snapping pictures as directed. Emily and Ira feign intimacy, smiling and laughing, always touching one another, eyes transfixed. Abbie says, “God, they’re good. Amazing how they can turn it on and off. It all looks so natural.”
“That’s why you never trust actors,” Gabe says, snapping the final shot. “They can become whoever they want to be.”
Returning to the table, Gabe accesses the pictures on the camera screen. The warmth and affection evaporate from the table. Gabe flashes an I-told-you-so look at Abbie.
Emily reaches for the camera. “Just give it to me.” She flips through the pictures, her face changing in response to each one. “This one is good, fine for these two. This one, you can’t even tell it’s us. I thought you were a competent photographer. I can do better with my phone. Can’t you get more light in it? Last one is all right, I guess. Just redo the one, and we’re good.”
Ira smiles at Abbie, apologizing for Emily’s insolence. Abbie responds with the same demure glance she has worn since their hands first touched.
Gabe doesn’t say anything. He just takes the camera from Emily and moves to reshoot the photo. A few steps away he realizes Abbie is not following. He stops, turning back toward the table. “Ab, let’s go. We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“Of course,” Abbie says. “Really nice to see you again, Ms. James.” Emily just nods back with a fake smile.
Ira stands from the table. “The pleasure was all ours, Ms. Adams. I do hope we’ll see you again sometime.” He takes her hand, leans in, and plants a kiss on each cheek.
Abbie, glowing from the interaction, joins Gabe positioning for the makeup shot. He reduces the f-stop to increase the aperture and let in more light. Looking through the lens, he sees some harsh gesturing from Emily to Ira, then the fake fondness returns. Gabe snaps several more photos. He whispers to Abbie. “What the heck was all that about? You practically climbed on his lap.”
“We had a moment,” Abbie says. “I think in the business they call that a meet-cute.”
◆◆◆
After dinner Ira drives Emily home to Century Tower. She has been quiet most of the ride, which Ira views as a blessing because all she did through dinner was complain about how stupid and boring people are. He steers his Porsche through the travertine gates and toward the front entrance. Emily puts her hand over his on the gearshift. It was the first warmth she had shown toward him. “You want to come up for a swim?”
“You must be joking,” Ira says. He shifts the car in park and looks around. “Or is there another reason we need to keep faking it?”
Emily traces her finger up and down his arm. “Why are you being like this? Don’t you like me?”
Ira waves off the approaching valet. “You hardly said ten words to me all night except to talk about yourself or criticize others. Now you expect me to come upstairs? I’m glad we were able to help each other with the photos, but I think it’s best if we call it a night.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily pouts. “I get nervous and ramble about myself when I really like someone. Plus, you made me a little jealous flirting with that other girl. If you like the skittish schoolgirl, I can be that too.” She droops her eyes and pushes out her bottom lip.
Ira flops back in his seat. “Who? Abbie? I was being kind because she seemed like a nice person. You might try it sometime. It was refreshing to meet someone normal.”
The last word sets Emily off. The simulated sweetness she had been showing subsides. “You’re saying I’m not normal? Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me?”
The sudden spite shocks Ira. “Easy. I’m not implying that at all. I just meant someone from outside the business. It was nice.”
“Is that where you’re going now?” Emily rants. “To meet up with Little Miss Normal? Are you going to take her out for a piece of pie?”
“Are you fucking insane?” He leans away from her against his door. “I just met her. You were there the whole time. Do you think somehow we communicated telepathically and arranged to meet up?”
“I don’t care what you say, something was going on.” Emily crosses her arms and looks out the window. “Pretty rude to do that right in front of me. I mean, we were on a date.”
“A fake date,” Ira says. “Arranged by our agents. I’m not sure what you’re so upset about. I had a nice time, but it’s late and I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Fuck you, it’s late.” Emily pushes open the door and swings her legs outside, looking back over her shoulder at him. “Do you know how many guys would kill for the opportunity I’m giving you? You know what, just forget it.” She pushes out of the low bucket seat then leans her head back into the car. “I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time with a little boy like you.” She steps back and slams the door.
Ira just shakes his head, watching her storm off into the building. He activates the voice command in the car requesting a call to Eva as he pulls away.
Eva answers on the second ring. “How’d everything go?”
“Pictures went fine, but Emily sure is a piece of work.” He pulls onto Avenue of the Stars. “She completely flipped out on me when I didn’t want to go upstairs with her for a swim afterward.”
�
��I don’t think she hears no very often,” Eva says. “But the photographer was good?”
“Yeah, he was great. What do you know about his sister?”
“Abbie was with him?”
Ira nods even though she can’t see him. “Yeah, attractive blonde about my age I think.”
“I only met her once, but she seems really sweet. Why?”
“Do you think you could get her number for me? I’m just so sick of all the drama with these other girls. All they do is talk about themselves or bitch. I don’t know. Abbie just seems different.”
“I totally get that,” Eva says. “If they’re not crazy to begin with, this business will turn them that way. Let me talk to Gabe and see what I can do.
◆◆◆
The next morning Gabe arrives at Eva’s office before nine with the three poster-sized pictures that she selected in his studio. Each is individually wrapped in brown butcher paper. Joelle informs him that Eva is not in yet. Gabe sits and waits, flipping through the pictures on the camera from his morning shoot of early surfers at Pacific Palisades. He figured if he was coming to the west side, he might as well use the opportunity to take some pictures.
Forty-five minutes later, Eva, her purse over one shoulder and computer bag over the other, rushes into the reception area. The straps of the two satchels cross like holsters across her chest. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Had a breakfast meeting that ran over.” She waves the to-go coffee cup clutched in her hand toward her office. “Let’s go in and review the pics you sent over.”
Gabe tucks the wrapped prints under his arm and follows her into the office. “Everything went just as you said it would.”
“It should,” Eva says, stripping off her leather totes and placing them on her desk. “I pay those guys enough to make sure it does.”
Gabe scans the room, noticing all the framed movie posters filling the space on the walls. “I didn’t realize all that stuff is so orchestrated.”