What Venus Maria was doing was fucking one of Cooper Turner’s best friends. A married man. A very married man. And Cooper found himself in the ridiculous position of being the beard.
Cooper Turner!
The beard!
What a laugh!
He looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. He was dressed for the Stolli dinner party in a dark blue Armani suit, white shirt, and loosely knotted silk tie. The well-cut suit got ’em every time. Women loved a man they thought they could rumple.
Cooper ran a hand through his brownish hair. There were traces of grey along the sides – but nothing a talented hairdresser couldn’t disguise. His eyes remained an intense blue. His skin was lightly sunkissed.
Cooper knew he looked good. He wasn’t twenty-five, but he was still a killer.
Venus Maria had no idea what she was missing.
Chapter 24
Steven Berkeley took it upon himself to visit Deena Swanson. He didn’t tell Jerry. He didn’t even confide in Mary-Lou. He phoned Deena and told her they had to meet. She almost objected, changed her mind, and asked him to be at her house at ten o’clock the next morning.
He was there.
She greeted him in a lime-green tracksuit, a matching headband holding back her pale red hair, running shoes on her feet. She looked thin and attractive and not at all athletic.
She proffered a delicate hand.
He shook it.
Limp handshake. No character.
‘I found our last meeting very disturbing,’ he informed her, getting right down to business.
She raised a thinly pencilled eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘We’re talking about murder.’
‘Survival, Mr. Berkeley.’
‘Murder, Mrs. Swanson.’
She clasped her hands together and lowered her eyes. ‘You defend people all the time. What’s the difference if you get a little warning up front?’
Her attitude was bizarre. The woman was strange. ‘Are you kidding me?’ he asked.
‘Would it make you happy to know that I didn’t mean it?’
‘Did you?’ he persisted.
She looked up at him. Dead blue eyes in a pale face. ‘I’m considering writing a book, Mr. Berkeley. I needed a genuine reaction. I’m sorry if it disturbed you.’
‘So you’re not planning to kill someone?’
A low, throaty laugh. ‘Do I seem like the kind of woman who would plan such a thing?’
‘How about the million bucks you deposited in our company account?’
‘Now that the game is over, I’ll expect it back. Naturally I’ll pay a handsome fee for your time and trouble.’
Steven was angry. ‘Your game is not funny, Mrs. Swanson. I don’t appreciate being used for research.’
He got up to leave.
She watched him go. A lawyer with principles, quite unusual. No wonder he was so good.
She waited a few minutes then picked up the phone.
‘Jerry?’
‘Who else?’
How sensible of Jerry Myerson to have a direct line.
‘I said what you told me to.’
‘Did he believe you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Sorry about this, Mrs. Swanson. The trouble with Steven is that he has a conscience.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘I abide by a rule I never break.’
‘And that is?’
‘The client always comes first.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ She paused for a moment, and then added casually, ‘Oh, and by the way, if anything was to happen…’
‘Steven will defend you.’
‘Can I count on that… Jerry?’
‘Absolutely.’
Jerry Myerson replaced the receiver of his private line and considered what he’d just done. He’d jollied along an eccentric woman and saved the firm a million bucks. Not bad for a morning’s work.
* * *
Later that night Steven regaled Mary-Lou with the story of his visit to Deena Swanson.
Mary-Lou was engrossed in a television movie starring Ted Danson. She was eating a Häagen-Dazs ice-cream bar. She was contented and pregnant and getting larger every week.
‘One of these days you’ll learn to listen to me, Steven Berkeley,’ she scolded. ‘I told you that woman was putting you on all along. And you’ve been worrying about it. What a stiff!’
He felt relieved, and yet…
‘Yeah,’ he said, not fully convinced.
‘Did you tell Jerry?’
‘I sure did.’
‘And what was his comment?’
‘He hated to lose a million big ones. You know Jerry.’
Mary-Lou licked her ice-cream bar. ‘Sure, who doesn’t know Jerry? He must have been very disappointed.’
Steven walked to the bedroom door. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, lingering, hoping she’d offer to make him something to eat.
‘That’s a good sign,’ she replied, not taking the hint.
He came right out with it. ‘Make me a sandwich?’
‘Honey,’ she said patiently. ‘We ate dinner two hours ago. You had steak and fries. You had cake. You had ice-cream. I’ll make you a sandwich when I’ve had the baby!’
* * *
‘I have to fly out to the Coast for a few days.’
Martin Swanson walked into the bedroom to make the announcement. Deena stared at her husband. Mister Handsome if you were partial to weak chins and watery eyes. Mister New York if you could stomach the self-promoting charm. Mister unfaithful, lying, cheating son of a bitch. But he was her son of a bitch, and she loved him. She had no intention of losing him.
Deena smiled. She had very nice even teeth – all her own – no Hollywood movie-star caps for Deena.
‘Perhaps I’ll come with you,’ she suggested.
‘Too hectic,’ Martin replied, cool and controlled. ‘I’ve got meetings on that studio takeover deal I told you about.’
Oh yes, the studio deal. The studio Martin wished to control so he could make movies starring his little tramp.
Martin didn’t think she knew. It was better this way. Keep him in a fog. Confuse him with kindness.
‘When will you go?’ she asked.
‘Thought I’d fly out tomorrow.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’
‘I’ll manage.’
Oh yes, he’d manage all right, with a hard cock and The Bitch waiting for him with her legs spread.
‘You’re going to throw half the hostesses in New York into a panic. There’s the opera tomorrow night. A lunch for the mayor on Thursday. Gloria’s party. Diana’s dinner.’
Martin could care less. ‘You’ll go without me. They love you.’
They love you better, Deena thought. How many of them have you slept with? Only the famous ones, or do money and position count too?
‘I suppose so. If I feel like it.’
He walked over and kissed her. More a peck really, an unaffectionate peck on the cheek to say goodbye. ‘I’ll be leaving early in the morning.’
Deena stood up and with one fluid movement unzipped her dress. Underneath she wore a black lace garter belt, silk stockings, and a half-bra.
Martin took a step back.
Deena could remember their early days together. Once upon a time she’d always been able to excite him.
‘You won’t be here on Sunday,’ she said pointedly, walking slowly towards him.
Chapter 25
The dinner table conversation was going nicely. Abigaile glanced around at her guests. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves. The black politician was deep in conversation with the famous feminist. The hot young director had zeroed in on Venus Maria, while his girlfriend enjoyed the attention of Cooper Turner. Ida White chatted in her stoned way to the rock star and his exotic-looking wife, while Zeppo and Mickey were head to head.
Abigaile breathed deeply. She could relax.
‘
CUNT!’
The forbidden word, said loudly and with great venom, shocked the entire table into silence.
‘What did you call me, you black prick?’ screamed the feminist, clearly in a fury.
‘I called you a cunt, and that’s what you are,’ the black politician yelled back.
It was quite obvious that neither of them gave a damn about the rest of the guests, let alone their host and hostess.
Witnessing a calamity about to happen, and a speechless Mickey sitting there with his mouth hanging open, Abigaile leaped to her feet. ‘Now, now,’ she said, in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. ‘Let’s quiet our tempers down.’
‘Fuck you!’ from the feminist, shoving her chair away from the table. She had alabaster skin, sixties straight hair, and a direct gaze. She was fifty, but looked ten years younger. ‘I’ve had it with this phony full-of-shit skirt-chasing bum!’
Mickey forced himself into action. ‘Mona,’ he said, taking the feminist’s arm, ‘if you’ve got a problem here, let’s go in the other room and discuss it.’
Mona Sykes withered him with a look. ‘A problem, Mickey?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Why would I have a problem? I love being called a cunt by this womanizing piece of excrement.’ She pointed accusingly at the black politician, whose name was Andrew J. Burnley.
Andrew J. did not take her last remark well. He too rose to his feet. He was six feet three with a semi-Afro hairstyle, a round face, protruding eyes, and honeyed voice. He was fifty-two years old and had a wife and five children who resided in Chicago and never came with him on his frequent trips to L.A.
‘You girls are all the same, baby. If you’re not gettin’ fucked you’re lookin’ to fuck everyone around you.’
That did it. Mona picked up a full glass of red wine and hurled it across the table at him, glass and all. The glass fell to the Italian limestone floor and shattered. Unfortunately most of the wine landed on Ida White, sitting there, pleasantly stoned, minding her own business as she waited to be taken home.
Now it was Zeppo’s turn to jump to his feet, all five feet four inches of him. ‘Can’t you people behave like human beings?’ he snapped, waving his short arms in the air. He directed his scolding at Andrew J., who immediately took it as some sort of hidden racial slur and retaliated accordingly.
‘I don’t need this crap,’ he shouted, stalking towards the door.
‘Neither do I,’ hissed an angry Mona, following him.
And before anyone could say another word they were both out the door.
Abigaile rose to the occasion magnificently. ‘Civilians!’ she sniffed. ‘Never did like ’em!’
Venus Maria felt as if she’d been watching a particularly fast tennis match. It was certainly more entertaining than the rest of the evening, although the young director on her left was kind of cute, and she’d been leaning towards him as opposed to her host, Mickey Stolli, who bored her into cross-eyedom.
‘What was that all about?’ the rock star asked quizzically, as Firella and Consuela mopped Ida White down.
‘Peasants!’ snapped Zeppo. ‘Hollywood used t’be a place where people had manners and knew how to entertain.’
Abigaile wasn’t going to take that kind of typical Zeppo White remark without a fight. The man was the most appalling snob. ‘My grandfather told me you started your career selling fish from a cart in Brooklyn,’ she said sweetly. ‘Is that true? I find it a most fascinating story, Zeppo. Do tell us all about it. I’m sure we’d love to hear.’
Zeppo glared at her. He could make a good story out of almost anything except his humble beginnings, which he preferred to forget.
Cooper Turner saved the moment. ‘The two of ’em are in bed together, y’know,’ he announced with a nod of his head and a slight smile.
‘What?’ cried Abigaile and the rock star’s wife in unison.
‘Really?’ said Venus Maria, intrigued. Now that she thought about it, Cooper was probably right. He knew about such things.
‘Who?’ demanded Mickey.
‘Andrew J. and Mona,’ Cooper said, grinning.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ exclaimed Abigaile.
‘Abby, would I put you on?’ Cooper teased. ‘They’re making out. It’s obvious.’
Everybody started to talk at once.
Abigaile’s dinner party was a success after all.
* * *
Lucky drove home slowly – home being the rented hide-out in the hills where she had only Boogie for company.
She missed Lennie. She missed Bobby. She missed Gino. She missed her life.
And then she remembered that Gino was in town, and it wasn’t too late to call him. Maybe he’d come over. She couldn’t risk being seen out anywhere in case she ran into someone who knew her and would report to Lennie that she’d been spotted hanging out in L.A. Too bad. She felt like visiting a club and listening to some good soul music – one of her passions.
What if she put on her disguise and sneaked into a club?
No way. She wasn’t going to wear that god-awful disguise any more than she had to. When all this was over – burn, baby, burn!
The house Boogie had rented for her was discreetly tucked away at the top of Doheny Drive. There was a drive-in garage with a door leading directly into the house. As she turned left and drew into the garage she had a sense of another car right behind her on the street, slowing down. Probably because she was making a left. Unless Abe had had someone follow her home.
Why would he do a thing like that? Was she getting paranoid? Been reading too much Ed McBain, she thought with a laugh.
Boogie was in the kitchen flicking through car catalogues.
‘Do me a favour, Boog. Drive down to Tower Records and buy me some sounds. I’m getting withdrawal symptoms!’
Boogie raised his lanky frame. ‘Sure. What do you want?’
‘I’m in the mood for Luther, Bobby Womack, Teddy T., Marvin, and Isaac.’
Boogie knew exactly who she meant. ‘No Billie Holiday?’ he asked.
‘Only when Lennie’s around,’ she replied with a wry grin.
Boogie hurried off. Lucky picked up the phone and called Gino. There was no answer from his suite. She didn’t leave a message.
* * *
Harry Browning sat in his car outside Lucky’s rented house and waited. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. In fact he didn’t know what he was doing at all. But whatever it was, he had a full charge of excitement coursing through his body. This was the best he’d felt in years.
He’d been following Luce all night. On impulse he’d trailed her from the studio. He’d always thought there was something odd about her, and he was determined to find out more. Was he the only one to notice that she wore a wig? And when he’d screened the movie, she’d taken off her glasses and not replaced them with another pair. Also, her clothes were worth noting. They hung on her as if she was trying to hide beneath them. And who – in 1986 – wore clothes like that? Especially at her age, because she was quite a young woman, and – if you looked closely – a good-looking woman.
Harry Browning had not sat in a projection booth for thirty-three years screening every movie Panther had ever made without learning plenty about women’s beauty.
And then there was the Sheila Hervey connection to consider. Luce claimed to be Sheila Hervey’s niece – but Sheila had no living relatives other than her childless sister. She’d told him enough times when she’d been after him to take her out on a date. Of course, that had been quite a few years back, but Harry Browning did not forget. He had an excellent memory.
If Luce had left him alone he probably would have left her alone. But no. She’d invited him to dinner, and out of curiosity he’d gone, and that’s about all he remembered. He’d woken up in his own bed the next morning with a dry, parched mouth, a throbbing head, and an urge to wreak some kind of punishment on the woman who had lured him to start drinking again.
Harry Browning had been dry for nineteen years. But he was
an alcoholic all the same. You never stopped being an alcoholic.
He thought about having a drink now. A cold beer, or a glass of wine, maybe even a shot of scotch.
The thought tempted him, but he was determined never to give in to temptation again. Never.
Following Luce had turned out to be quite an evening. First he’d trailed her to this house – the same house he was parked outside now. And when her car emerged, he’d followed her to Abe Panther’s mansion on Miller Drive. He knew it was Abe’s residence, for he’d spent numerous evenings there screening movies in Abe’s private theatre. That had been many years ago, but he was sure Abe Panther still lived there. Harry knew, because every year he sent the great Mr. Panther a Christmas card signed Harry Browning – your loyal employee.
And he was loyal, for it was old Abe himself who’d stopped them from firing him when he was caught drunk on the job one day. ‘Get yourself over to AA, Harry,’ Abe had told him. ‘Take a couple of weeks off and come back a new man.’
Harry Browning would never forget Abe Panther’s kindness.
Luce stayed inside the Panther residence for two hours. Harry had waited patiently on the street outside the fancy gates. When she left, he’d managed to catch a glimpse of her as she drove past his parked car.
Luce looked different, although he was sure it was her. The wig was gone. No glasses. Her mousy hair was now jet black and glossy.
That’s all he could see.
He followed her back to the first house, and now he waited, patiently – for Harry Browning was a patient man, and he knew he was onto something.
The only problem was – what?
* * *
Cooper Turner drove Venus Maria home. They laughed all the way.
Venus Maria: Did you see Abby’s face when Andrew J. yelled the C word?
Cooper: Didja get a look at Ida when the wine hit?
Venus Maria: I thought she was going to come!
Cooper: First time in twenty years!
Venus Maria: Thirty!
Cooper: Forty!
Venus Maria: Fifty!
Cooper: A hundred!
Venus Maria: And Zeppo, when Abby threw the Brooklyn fish cart shit at him?
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