Helena Goes to Hollywood: A Helena Morris Mystery

by CC Dragon

  “Don’t worry, Sonia is smart about her job. She’s right over there with her co-star and the executive producer. It’s the director’s house. No one would be dumb enough to go after her here. There is security blended in with the groupies.” Jordan sipped a pink bubbly drink.

  “How long have you known my sister?” I stirred my drink and studied the crowd for anyone I didn’t like the looks of. People dressed to appear wild and dangerous, but their attitude and walk told me a lot. That and good old gut instinct were all I had.

  “Since we started on this show. She’s sweet deep down. Poor thing gets a big break and her husband acts up, her fans get upset, and now this stalker thing. She’s trying to be tough.”

  “I’m here now. I’ll keep an eye on her. Number one on my list of people to talk to—Danny,” I said. Jordan got sidetracked guy watching while I lost sight of Sonia in the crowd and moved forward to find her.

  I grabbed an eggroll off a passing waiter’s tray as I wandered through the crowd. Let the others suffer to be a double zero. If it weren’t for my sister I’d never have known there actually was a size smaller than zero. No way would I ever wear it.

  “Hell yeah, now this is a woman.” The voice came from behind me as an unauthorized hand grabbed my ass.

  My elbow flew back and up, connecting with the nose of the attacker. Dropping the eggroll, I turned fully when I heard him cry out. My feet spread in fight stance, not at all ladylike. My hands were up and in front of me, Sonia’s sparkling Marc Jacobs black bag hung at the crook of my elbow. If I got blood on it, Sonia would probably have a fit but she’d live.

  Two large Latino men traded words in Spanish as they helped my attacker stay upright. From their accent I knew they were Puerto Rican. I couldn’t turn off my instincts. They weren’t a real danger. I could take all three but none of them made a move. My attacker’s nose dripped blood. Maybe my reflexes were a little too high strung because of Sonia?

  Nah...he grabbed me and that was out of line.

  “What’s your problem, bitch? That was a compliment.” One of the friends gave me a dirty look.

  “Really? The Puerto Ricans I know don’t go ass grabbing strangers. Maybe they just respect women more. Your friend can’t take a woman defending herself?” I mocked.

  Sonia and Jordan arrived. Apparently I’d drawn a crowd.

  My sister gasped. “What did you do?”

  “He started it. What kind of parties do you go to? Men just start grabbing women’s asses at random?” That came out a little too much like a Mom lecture. I relaxed my fists and stood normally since the threat had been neutralized.

  “He’s a rock star and they’re different.” She rubbed my elbow, which apparently had blood from my attacker’s nose on it. Sonia tried to pull me away. “Come on.”

  The rocker sniffed and stepped up. “No, it’s good. Tough chicks are hot.”

  “I think I’m too old to qualify as a chick.” I never expected to get a compliment after an assault. “Look, but don’t touch.”

  “You made your point.” He dabbed his nose with his sleeve to be sure the blood was gone. “How do you know I’m Puerto Rican?”

  “Hel, it’s Latino.” She turned to him. “Sorry, she’s not from around here.”

  Sonia always worried I’d ruin her image. I could do so much more damage if I wanted to mess with her.

  Jordan cut in. “Puerto Rican is not an insult. Come on, they need you for pictures, Sonia.” He led her off, but not before Sonia gave me a sharp look about not embarrassing her again.

  “The accent is different. It doesn’t look like I broke your nose. You should be okay.” I turned to find some ice for my elbow.

  “Wait. You knew from my accent. Half the people around here barely speak Spanish. Well, they think they can. Everyone assumes we’re Mexican.” He caught up with me and spoke with intelligence and respect now, not to mention with a perfect American accent. He was raised in the States.

  I shrugged. “I speak Spanish. High school classes and the neighborhood. I grew up in Chicago which has Mexicans, Cubans, and Puerto Ricans. If I couldn’t tell the difference I’d have been in trouble.”

  I looked him over. Worn jeans, tattered T-shirt with an outline of a naked girl on it. Why couldn’t I dress like that here? With a different image on the T-shirt, of course. At least I’d be comfortable. My sister’s twelve hundred dollar three inch Louis Vuitton heels were killing me. As different as we were, we wore the same size shoe.

  “With that body? I don’t think so.” He held up his hands. “Looking, not touching.”

  “You learn fast.” I studied his face. He was mid-twenties by my guess, but his dark eyes held deeper hints than ass groping. An attractive package and plenty of girls waited in the wings for his attention. “I really need some ice.”

  “What do you do in Chicago?” He followed with his buddies in tow.

  Might as well establish my cover now and not spread the stalker talk beyond the necessary circles. The more people knew, the less I controlled the situation.

  “I live in Vegas now. I’m just here visiting my sister.” A kind bartender gave me some ice wrapped in a towel and I held it to my elbow. “Thanks.”

  “You’re a cop?” he guessed.

  I smiled. “No, martial arts instructor.”

  “Damn. I could’ve gotten myself in real trouble,” he blushed.

  “I could put you in the hospital if I wanted. Not good for a man’s ego.” I iced my elbow. Our height difference meant my shot wasn’t clean or as hard as it could’ve been, but it’d been effective. Normally I didn’t fight in heels so my balance was off.

  “So you’re in the band for this theme song on my sister’s show?” Small talk wasn’t my gift unless I needed to get info out of someone.

  This guy posed no threat. I had a good view of Sonia getting her picture taken with her co-stars and a cold drink from the bar in my hand. My set up for surveillance proved ideal.

  “He’s the lead singer,” one of his buddies said condescendingly.

  I directed my conversation to the flirty leader who had manners. “I’m not up on music or Hollywood. Are these your bodyguards? Because they didn’t do much when I elbowed you in the face.” No matter how many times it happened, I loved getting the drop on men and beating them up. Only the bad ones, of course.

  “No, they’re my cousins. They like to think they’re bodyguards but I don’t need it. I’m John Martinez.” He held out a hand.

  “Juan.” His cousin insisted.

  “Same difference,” I shrugged. “I’m Helena Morris.”

  “It’s image. Lots of Latino fans. Whites like the music too. I had one fan ask if I was legal.” John rolled his eyes.

  I nearly spit out my drink as it caught in my throat. Laughing and drinking—not a good combo. “Puerto Rico is part of America.”

  He handed me a few napkins. “They don’t care about the details. You’d be amazed what fans will ask—boxers or briefs. What I like in bed. I mean, anything personal is fair game to them. Like they own me because I’m in a band.”

  “I don’t have that problem but my sister does. Don’t you have to play a song or something? I won’t keep you. Getting beat up by a girl is probably not good for your image.” I noticed the increased activity on stage.

  “I play in a bit. It’s not exactly a challenge. Good press.” He handed me a card. “If you need a friend or a hand while you’re in L.A. I like getting to know real women.”

  Was he flirting or mocking? I couldn’t tell. I took the card. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Obviously, but Hollywood isn’t like the real world. You might need a friend who likes how you fill out a dress and can be more subtle.” He winked and walked away.

  I shook off the weird exchange and gave the ice pack back to the bartender. “Thanks.”

  Grabbing my drink, I wandered until I found Jordan. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing. I told you the show ma
chine has her on schedule and working hard. So far the stalker stuff has all been at her home.” Jordan didn’t seem concerned. “Was that rock star MILF diving?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I was no one’s mother but I didn’t need to get graphic.

  “He was into you.” Jordan sounded certain.

  “Cougaring random hotties isn’t part of the plan. Back on topic, here. You think the stalker is Danny?” I needed insider info, not a date with a twenty-something.

  He gave me a half shrug. “It happens with Hollywood divorces. Most of the time it’s handled quietly but that’s not Danny. If it’s a fan, when they see the new show they’ll love it and stop. I can’t think of anyone else who’d do this to her.”

  I nodded, not buying a word. Stalkers didn’t stop; they were caught or their behavior escalated. A fan might change their tune but they’d want to get closer and closer to their obsession.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I‘ll be bored on set while Sonia is shooting anyway.” I twisted my arm and tried to look at my elbow. It was a little tender. “Can you see if there’s any blood left? I think I’m going to have a bruise.”

  “You’re good, Helena. You’re as unusual as your sister said.” Jordan sipped his drink.

  “This is nothing. I’m used to people fighting back. But I need pumps—these heels are messing me up.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Your legs pop in those.” He studied my calves.

  So far I liked Jordan. He cared about my sister but he knew more than he’d shared. Life with Sonia was never dull...I needed all the allies I could get.

  Chapter Six

  Last night I’d been so tired I hit the guest bed like a rock as soon as I was sure every door and window was firmly locked. The sheets were super high thread count and so soft, the bed so ultra-comfortable, that I was out like a light. I woke to Sonia rustling around before five a.m. Guess sleeping in wasn’t a Hollywood perk.

  Snapping on the bedside lamp, I realized the room was huge for a guest. Although my sister owned a mansion, somehow that had yet to sink in. She’d always be the little pain who stole my lipstick.

  Finding a bathroom connected to my bedroom, I did the shower thing. Her high price salon products were names I’d never heard of and I wondered what my hair would do with all the luxury. I dried off with the softest black towels and wanted to keep them.

  A little gel, a quick blow dry, and my hair was done. I grabbed my bag of toiletries and did the moisturizer and foundation thing. A little eyeliner and a layer of lipstick, all bought from a local drugstore, made me look presentable. I sprayed on some Estee Lauder perfume and used their powder to set my appearance. That was as close to designer as my routine got.

  I dressed in jeans, a fitted gray T-shirt, my black boots, then checked myself in the mirror. Normally I’d just go on with my day but I had to go to a Hollywood television set today. Odds were my wardrobe would get dirty looks. That’d be my entertainment.

  “Ready?” I called.

  “Just need to feed Fluffy,” Sonia shouted back.

  That was fast for my sister; she always took forever on her makeup and hair. Maybe a work schedule had forced her to get moving. Thinking of her as a grownup was hard sometimes. She was eight when I went off to college.

  I hung up my towel to dry and neatened the counter with my travel size products before straightening the bed. Some things were odd habits and making my bed was one. Mom wasn’t the stickler, which was why when I passed my sister’s room the sheets were a tangled mess. It didn’t bother her.

  I actually envied her. Sonia was free and happy in ways I’d never know. Too bad you couldn’t undo your past. No matter how much Mom tried to pretend Dad never existed, he did.

  I walked down the stairs and spotted Sonia in jeans, a blouse, and sandals. Her hair was washed, clipped up, and she had a pink scarf with black dots wrapped over her head like some Euro chick. When she turned from petting Fluffy, I saw that she had no makeup on.

  “You’re leaving the house without makeup?” I asked.

  “The Mercedes has tinted windows,” she shrugged.

  “We’re taking my car because yours is evidence until the cops check it out. Besides, you never go anywhere without makeup.” She’d started at ten with lip gloss and Mom thought it was cute. I had to wait until age fourteen for any makeup beyond Chapstick and zit cream.

  “They do my makeup at the set. Want something to eat? Lupe is picking up my dry cleaning so she isn’t here to cook but there is some fruit and yogurt.” She opened the fridge and studied it uneasily.

  “I’m good.” Usually I ran in the mornings or used a treadmill when the weather was bad. Food came later once I was at work.

  “Ready?” She walked toward the back.

  “No, my car is out front.” I headed in the opposite direction.

  “You’re not serious about that. My windows are tinted. I can’t be seen like this,” she stomped.

  “I don’t care if your windows are frosted like cupcakes. We’re taking my car. Better no one knows what car you’re in anyway. I’m trying to outsmart the stalker, Sonia. It’ll mean shaking up your routine, so deal.”

  “Fine. I just want to be normal again.” She followed me out but the huff she made let me know she wasn’t going to go happily.

  “That’s what I want too, but you’ll never be normal. All this designer crap gives me hives.” I unlocked the car after a quick walk around it to be sure nothing awaited me.

  “You’re not even wearing designer. You can’t at least go Tommy?” She rolled her eyes at me as I drove.

  “Who cares?” I didn’t want to embarrass her but I wasn’t blowing money on a new wardrobe for here. I’d be in debt for no reason.

  Sonia shrugged and gave me directions to the studio. My ID was checked as we went through security. They never searched us so they didn’t find my gun but I was with a lead actress. On the plus side they did keep a log of who was in and out and what stage they headed to. I felt a little better about that.

  Once parked, Sonia led the way into the big sound stage.

  “I’ll take you to Jordan—he can keep you company. I have to go to makeup,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about me. As long as you’re safe I won’t punch or shoot anyone.” I made mental notes of faces as we passed. I’d get a full list of people on the show eventually.

  We finally made it into the back and through a door marked Wardrobe. Jordan was organizing things but his outfit made the clothes he arranged look FBI drab. Bright pink capri pants and a black shirt with metallic pink trimming screamed Jordan.

  “Hey,” I said, trying not to shade my eyes against the glare of his pants.

  “I’ve got to go to hair and makeup. Do you mind?” Sonia waved and was gone before Jordan even said a word.

  “Outfits are in your dressing room,” Jordan called after her then turned to me. He gestured to bright aqua blue and white striped chairs. “If you’re excited about seeing a set, don’t be. It’s dull. Lots of waiting around.”

  I sat. “I’m not excited about anything. I’m just security.”

  “Then it’s back to Sin City?” he asked.

  “Yep. I don’t fit in here.” I looked down at my clothing and back at him.

  He stood in front of me and surveyed my outfit. “Yes, I see that. Luckily it’s just your clothes. That can be changed.”

  I laughed. “Not just my clothes. The world here revolves around being popular and making money. I never cared too much about being popular, and never expected to make a lot of money. Sonia likes it here and as long as she’s safe, that’s all that matters. Can you tell me if there’s anyone who has a problem with her on set?”

  Jordan nodded. “Believe me, Sonia’s safety is number one. But can I give you a tip? Only wanting to help.”

  Chapter Seven

  I shrugged and suppressed a sigh. “Sure.”

  “If you don’t fit in here you’re not going to get very far. People inst
antly judge on appearance. I don’t mean being popular or getting good press for your sister. I mean, no one will talk to you if you’re dressed like a normal person on a studio tour. They’ll think you’re a fan or a flunky. Big names can dress like that and people will think they’re down to earth. Not you.”

  “You’re serious?” I asked.

  “You’re nobody in these circles. You’ll survive—being Sonia’s sister people will be polite to you. Normal people live in Los Angeles, but not in Sonia’s world. People will be talking about you. You made a rock star bleed and shot at a tabloid creep. If you want to help your sister and protect her, then you need to navigate her terrain for now. Doll, you can’t do that in normal clothes.”

  “I appreciate the advice but I can’t blow my savings on high fashion I’ll only wear here. I don’t have some fancy job with a big salary.” I did see Jordan’s point. Everyone had a uniform of sorts.

  I fit in with the martial arts world. When I taught a Krav Maga class my students and I dressed for martial arts, not aerobics. Still, those clothes wouldn’t wipe out most of my savings.

  “You think I didn’t buy normal clothes for that up and down actress? They’re not quite this season, but you’ll pass.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back to a room marked Fittings. “Enough to outfit you in the short term.”

  I sorted through the stack of clothes he came up with for me. Four pairs of dark wash jeans, three pairs of black pants. White, black, and gray cotton shirts that were casual yet perfect under the black blazer he pulled off a rack.

  “Now this is a style I can live with. You’re sure no one will mind?” I asked.

  “Nope, bought and paid for. I adjusted the hems for your height. The actress tried them on but it all went to hell. She kept gaining. Swore she’d lose it to fit back in these. I returned the other stuff but we held on to this size. Ten was as big as she could get and stay within the terms of her contract. Too late to return them now and it was a drop in the bucket compared to getting rid of the drama she created. I’m glad someone can use them. They were washed and everything.” He waved at me with his candy-cane-striped nails. “Go on, try.”