If the exterior of the building was uninspired, the interior didn’t offer much more in the way of aesthetics. Dirty beige walls, dirty beige floors, gunmetal gray desk where I had to show my ID and be checked into the visitor’s system. Then a guy who looked like he could just as easily be on the locked-down side of the prison bars instructed me to empty my pockets and turn my purse inside out. After ascertaining that I didn’t have any files baked into cakes with me, and after making me remove my shoelaces (the ultimate weapon), he let me into the visiting room, which consisted of two rows of tiny little cubicles with telephones on each side, between a layer of bulletproof glass.
I sat down at the station the guard indicated on the end of the first row. The glass was smudged with something I did not even want to speculate about. Instead, I clasped my hands in front of me, trying hard not to touch anything.
I waited, listing to the muffled sounds of the other conversations in the room. A man telling his brother that Mom was not sending any more gum unless he took his GED course seriously. A woman telling a prisoner that if he didn’t start writing every weekend, she was gonna start seeing Joaquin, and there ain’t nothing he could do about it.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a figure in an orange jumpsuit approached my window. Hunched over, shuffling, gray skin, pronounced wrinkles, three days past needing a good shave.
Pines.
He sat down slowly, then gave me a long look as if trying to decide if he should know me, before picking up the telephone extension on his side of the glass.
I did the same, listening to his ragged breath on the other end.
“Hiya,” I said, doing a little wave.
He stared at me just long enough to hammer home what a ridiculous greeting that was, then answered back, “Who the hell are you?”
I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “Uh, I’m…Daisy.”
“Daisy what?”
“Moses.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Daisy Moses was the granny’s name on The Beverly Hillbillies.”
I was impressed. He knew his classic TV.
“Okay, fine. I’m not Daisy.”
“Obviously.”
“But it’s not important who I am. It’s important what I can do for you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And that would be?’
“Look, I…have a friend…who works for a major publication here in Los Angeles.”
“Great, a fucking reporter.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and moved to get up.
“Wait!” I shouted, banging on the glass.
“Don’t touch the glass!” the guard behind me boomed, prompting both the gum-less brother and Joaquin’s new lover to glance my way.
“Sorry,” I said, holding both hands up.
But, luckily, it had gotten Pines’s attention, too. He sat back down, putting the receiver to his ear again.
“What.” More of a threat than a question.
I swallowed that dry lump again. “Look, I can help you. At the moment, the public is ready to write you off. Let them hear your story.”
“I could give a shit what the public thinks,” he said. He was surprisingly spunky for a billionaire who had just spent the last week in jail.
“Fine. But the studio heads read the papers, too. You think you’re ever going to get a job in this town again? Let alone work with child actors?”
“I never touched no kids,” he argued.
I wagged a finger at him. “Don’t be naïve,” I shot back. “You know as well as I do that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It matters what people think you’ve done. Guilty until proven innocent. And,” I added, “it’s my job to tell people what to think.”
He paused, seeming to digest this for a moment. “What paper you work for?”
“The Informer.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, recognition slowly setting in. “I know you,” he said, his jaw clenching. “You’re that damned gossip columnist.”
“Uh…”
“I’ll tell you what you can do for me, Tina Bender. Go fuck yourself.” He slammed the receiver into the set.
“No!” I banged on the window again.
“Don’t touch the glass!” The guard’s hand hovered over his firearm.
I threw both hands up in surrender. “Sorry!”
But I was glad to see Pines hadn’t walked away. He stood, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring.
I gestured to the telephone and mouthed the word, “please.”
I attributed it to the fact that waiting back at his cell were hours worth of nothing that he reached for the receiver again.
“You have some nerve coming here,” Pines growled into the phone. “You’ve been crucifying me since day one.”
“I never printed anything that wasn’t true.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass, girl. You print rumors.”
I cocked my head to the side. “So, tell me a rumor, Pines.”
He shook his head back and forth, a big, creepy smile spreading across his unshaven face. “You know how many reporters, legitimate reporters, would give their left nut to get an exclusive with me? You think I’m just gonna give it to you?”
I took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Jake Mullins.”
“Who?”
“He was in your last film. Played the dad. OD’ed on sleep medication a couple of months ago.”
Pines paused. Then nodded as if reluctant to admit any connection. “Yeah. I remember. What about him?”
“I heard you two were pretty chummy.”
“We worked together.”
“But you knew he took sleeping pills?”
Pines narrowed his eyes. “So what if I did? The guy took one too many. It was an accident.”
“He took one handful too many. Where were you the night he died?”
“So you wanna pin this on me, too?” he asked, throwing his arms up.
“What I want is to know how well you knew Mullins.”
He paused. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well enough to know that he got what he deserved.”
My heart sped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned forward, his face inches from the grimy glass. “Look, kid, I think I’ve told you enough. You want to know about Mullins? I want something in return.”
“I told you I’ll print a positive story about—”
But he cut me off, waving his hands in the air. “No, no, no. I want something tangible. Something now.”
I bit my lip. “What?”
“Porn.”
I did a mental eye roll. “No way. I am not bringing you pictures of naked kids.”
He shook his head. “Boys, girls, men, women—I don’t care. I just need some porn! Look, I’m dying in here, all right? The hottest thing I have to look at are National Geographics with all the tits blacked out. I need something to get me through the day.”
I chewed my lower lip, doing a backward glance at the guard by the door. I was pretty sure that nudie magazines were up there with shoelaces on the prison nono list.
However, I could just imagine the look on Barbie’s face when I waltzed in with an exclusive from Pines…
I leaned in close. “Playboy or Hustler?”
“So, how’d it go?”
I slid into the passenger seat of the Hummer.
“He knows something about Mullins.”
Cal raised an eyebrow my way. “And?”
“And, if I want to know what it is, I have to bring Pines porn.”
“They allow that in jail?”
I shook my head. “He wants me to bring it to the preliminary hearing tomorrow afternoon. He says he can slip me in as some sort of counsel.”
Cal gave me a hard look. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“Relax. It’s a courthouse. His lawyer will be there. It’s perfectly safe.”
“It may be safe, but I still don�
��t like it.”
I looked down at the dash clock. “Well, Felix isn’t
going to like it if I don’t get this story typed up pronto. So less talking, more driving.”
Cal grunted something that sounded suspiciously like a dirty word but complied, pulling the Hummer back out onto the street.
Unfortunately, it was after five in Southern California, which meant all freeways and major arteries in the city became virtual parking lots, the average speed topping out at ten miles per hour. Not surprising, it was dark by the time we finally reached the Informer’s offices again. Immediately, I hit my computer, pulling up a word processing program to type up my Pines interview. I had just gotten the first sentence down when a breathy voice interrupted.
“Tina?”
I spun around to find Allie standing behind me, squinting at the screen over my shoulder.
Instinctively, I hit the “off” button on my monitor. “Did you want something?” I asked, pointedly.
She straightened up, focusing on me. “Felix said I should get with you on where we are with Pines.”
We. I hated that word.
“I am looking at a possible angle involving a coworker,” I said, emphasizing the pronoun in question.
“Who?” Without invitation, Allie pulled a chair up beside my desk.
The last thing I wanted to do was give Reporter Barbie my inside scoop. On the other hand, Felix had been pretty clear about us working together. And I had a feeling where I was concerned, lately his patience was thinner than an Olsen twin. So, I made a compromise.
“I talked to Pines.”
Allie’s eyebrows went north. “He gave you the exclusive story? I’ve been trying to get his publicist all day, and the best I got was ‘no comment.’”
“Well…it’s not exactly what I’d call a full exclusive…” I hedged, remembering the way he’d clammed up. “But he did tell me that he never touched any kids.”
Allie’s nose crinkled. “He’s not accused of touching kids.”
Picky, picky.
“Look,” I said, “I know you’re new here. But when we have a direct quote of any kind, we have a story. All we have to do is make a story around the quote.”
Again with the crinkle. I had to admit it was adorable. You know, in a unicorns-farting-out-rainbows kind of way that made me want to hurl.
“That doesn’t really make sense,” she protested. “I mean, is there a story or not?”
I shook my head. “So young. So naïve. Watch and learn, honey.” I cracked my knuckles and flipped my computer screen back on.
PINES PROTESTS INNOCENCE
FROM HIS JAIL CELL IN THE LOS ANGELES COUNTY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY, DIRECTOR TURNED FELON EDWARD PINES GAVE AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW TO—
“Wait.” Allie held up a hand. “I thought you said it wasn’t technically an exclusive.”
I shrugged. “I sure didn’t see any other reporters there.”
Allie cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t that lying?”
“I’m on the blonde’s side,” Cal piped up, coming up behind me and resting his butt against my desk.
“You would be,” I mumbled. He was male, she was stacked—you do the math.
I ignored them both, continuing with my article.
—AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW TO THE INFORMER. CLAIMING INNOCENCE, PINES TOLD OUR REPORTER THAT “HE NEVER TOUCHED NO KIDS.” THE BELOVED DIRECTOR’S LATEST FILM, STARRING CHILD ACTOR REED HARRISON, WAS A HOT PROPERTY AT THE BOX OFFICE, EARNING A WHOPPING $85 MILLION IN ITS OPENING WEEKEND—
I heard a low whistle from Cal. “Is that number right?”
I nodded. “I am so in the wrong business.”
“You and me both.”
—WHEN ASKED ABOUT HIS RECENT TROUBLES WITH THE LAW, PINES SAID THE MEDIA WAS “CRUCIFYING” HIM.
“Wait,” Cal interrupted again. “Didn’t he say you were crucifying him?”
“Yeah, and I’m a member of the media.”
He shook his head. “You have a way with words.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not sure that was a compliment,” Allie pointed out.
“Quiet. I can’t concentrate with all this talking.”
PINES IS SCHEDULED TO APPEAR IN COURT FOR A PRELIMINARY HEARING THIS AFTERNOON ON CHARGES OF POSSESSING CHILD PORNOGRAPHY. ALL PINES HAD TO SAY? “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.”
“Pines said the magazines were an accident?” Allie asked.
“Well, not exactly. But, he did say those words during our interview.” I didn’t mention that they were in reference to Mullins’s overdose.
“They’re out of context? That’s so unethical.”
“That’s how we do it at the Informer.”
Cal shook his head, mumbling something about journalistic integrity. Allie just stared at the screen, her nose permanently crinkled.
“When did you get this interview?” she asked.
“Today.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Felix said we were supposed to work together on this story. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“And if I hadn’t wandered over here? Whose name would have been on the byline?”
“Both of ours?” I said. Though it came out more like a question. One that did nothing to convince Allie of my honorable intentions.
Probably because I didn’t have any.
She stuck her hands on her round hips and narrowed her big blue eyes at me.
“Look, I know you don’t like me very much.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“Spare me,” she said, plowing ahead. “I’m not stupid. I can feel you shooting daggers at me from across the room.”
I shut my mouth. What can I say? Subtlety was not one of my finer points.
“That’s fine,” she went on. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make news. Pines is big news, and you’re not blowing this story for me. Not by printing half-truths and quotes that may or may not be taken completely out of context. From now on, I want to hear the context myself. I’m going with you next time you talk to Pines.”
“Like hell you are.”
She thrust her chest out toward me in a combative stance. “Oh, I am. Or I’m going to Felix.”
I ground my teeth together. While being shadowed by Barbie sounded about as pleasant as a root canal, I knew she had me. I was on shaky ground with the boss as it was. Any shakier, and I just might find myself replaced entirely by Miss Jugs.
“Fine,” I finally spat out. “Two o’clock. Before the trial. I’m meeting Pines at the courthouse.”
Her perfect ocean blue eyes lit up, and she smiled so wide I could see all five hundred of her bleached white teeth. “Great, see you then. Partner,” she added with a wink.
It was official. I hated blondes.
By the time I emailed our story on Pines to Felix, hopped in Cal’s Hummer, and braved the L.A. traffic home, it was late, I was beat, and nothing sounded sweeter than a long, hot meal followed by a long, cool swim.
“You coming in again?” I asked Cal as he pulled the Hummer down Oasis Terrace.
He shrugged. “You need me to?”
Yes.
“No.”
Okay, did I need him? No. Had I enjoyed having someone in the house last night who carried a big scary gun? Yeah. A lot more than I wanted to admit.
“I’ll hang here for a little while, then,” he said, adjusting his seat back and flipping the radio on.
“Suit yourself,” I replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “But,” I added, “no binoculars this time.”
He grinned. Then leaned his head back and slipped on his shades.
I left him at the curb and made my way up the walkway. Unfortunately, as I walked into the house, I quickly realized that whole hot meal thing was a pipe dream.
“What’s that smell?” I asked, wrinkling my nose as I followed the offending odor to the kitchen. On the stove a muddy brown m
ixture bubbled to a boil in a large pot.
“Your Aunt Sue made goulash,” Aunt Millie proclaimed, shuffling into the kitchen, Aunt Sue a step behind. Millie squinted down into the pot behind her monstrous glasses. “It looks delicious to me.”
That wasn’t saying much.
I got closer to the pot and sniffed. “What did you put in it?”
“All the usual stuff,” Aunt Sue answered. “Onions, potatoes, paprika.”
That didn’t sound so bad.
“Oh, but we were out of beef, so I dumped a can of Spam in instead.”
I felt a gag reflex kick up in the back of my throat.
“Actually, I’m really not that hungry tonight. I think I might just go for a swim.”
“You’re too skinny. You need to eat,” Millie protested.
I looked down at her shrunken form. “I’ll eat later,” I promised.
“Suit yourself,” Aunt Sue replied. “Millie and I are going down to the community room. They got bingo tonight.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” The idea of the hear-no-good, see-no-good twins gambling didn’t strike me as stellar.
But she waved me off. “Don’t worry, I only got ten bucks in my pocket. The way I play, I’ll be home by the time Jeopardy! comes on.”
“Have a ball,” I said.
“What?”
“Have a ball!”
“Well, sure you can go to the mall! Honey, you’re an adult, you don’t need to ask my permission anymore.” She kissed me on both cheeks.
Swell.
I saw them out the door, then slipped into my bedroom. It was still in a state of mild disarray from the night before, piles of clothes off their hangers, two slashed pillows facedown in the corner, the top of my dresser littered with the entire contents of my desk. I ignored it all, the sight just adding more tension to my already overtaxed shoulders. Instead, I waded through the chaos to my dresser, threw open the top drawer and, after digging only a few minutes, found my pink, polka-dotted bikini. I threw it on, added a pair of cutoff shorts, flip-flops and a towel and headed out, locking the front door behind me.
I slipped out the back, not wanting another confrontation with Cal, and headed toward the pool.
The Palm Grove complex consisted of thirty-three units, set in a series of connecting lanes that made a circular pattern. In the middle was a community center where senior yoga was taught in the mornings, watercolors in the afternoons, and movie nights and bingo in the evenings. Next to the center was the swimming pool that was largely occupied by aqua aerobics by day, but once the sun went down and the temperature dipped below eighty, was virtually abandoned. Like now.
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