Devil's Dance

by Daniel Depp

  ‘What is it you want,’ Spandau said wearily.

  ‘We’ve talked about this before. You need to get out. It’s time you branched out on your own.’

  ‘I’m not going to set myself up in competition with him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be. No investigative work at all, strictly security. Personal security and security for film sets, performances, and so on. We both know there’s a fortune to be made in it for somebody like you. I’ll lend you the money. You can pay me back.’

  ‘Ah god, Anna …’

  ‘You’ve said it yourself. It’s the investigative stuff that’s killing you. All you ever see, all you deal with, is the worst side of people. It can’t help but hurt you, mess up the way you see life. Why do you think Walter is this way? You keep talking about how you hate this place, how you hate the business, how you’re looking for something to believe in. You’re not going to find it where you are and you know it. This is killing you. So try something else.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

  ‘Yes of course. You think about it. You just think about it and get back to me in, say, a thousand years.’

  ‘Have we moved onto accusations of passive-aggressive now?’

  ‘You said it, not me.’ She shivered. ‘I’m going inside for a heavier sweater.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to just move the whole thing indoors?’

  ‘If you don’t want to be out here,’ she said, ‘why don’t you just say it?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Spandau, holding up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m just swell.’

  ‘Let’s be nice,’ she said. She kissed him. ‘At least there are no fucking phones.’

  She walked toward the house. When she was out of sight, Spandau pulled out his cell phone and checked the messages. Two texts and one voice mail from Pookie on the office number. He phoned her.

  ‘Talk quick,’ he said when she answered.

  ‘She’s gone to the little girl’s room or something?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I won’t say you’re pathetic or anything, since I happen to be very low on the corporate scale, but …’

  ‘Just give me the goddamn message, will you.’

  ‘I’ve been hounding Rosenthal’s office for days now and it’s no go. He’s not going to see you, and, frankly, I can’t think of any reason he should. Can you?’

  ‘Not really,’ admitted Spandau.

  ‘I suggest a rethink on your strategy.’

  ‘Thank you, Carl von Clausewitz. If you come up with anything brilliant, you’ll let me know, won’t you. Look, for the rest of the evening, if you need to talk to me just text. I can sneak glances at the phone, I think.’

  ‘There’s one other thing.’

  ‘Hurry up, will you? She’s coming back.’

  ‘Dee phoned. She wants to see you. She says it’s important.’

  ‘Ah, Jesus.’

  ‘She said to tell you no one is sick or dying, because that’s the first thing you’d think. But she says it’s important and wants you to call her.’

  ‘Right,’ he said.

  ‘You going to be okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No you’re not and I almost told her to leave you alone. You’re happy now and it’s not fair, David, it just isn’t.’

  ‘I thought you always liked her.’

  ‘I do like her. But I like you more.’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘You’re not going to start drinking, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Promise?’

  He heard Anna coming and shut off the phone and dropped it in his pocket.

  ‘You weren’t on the phone, were you?’

  ‘I was just admiring the stars,’ he said.

  She sat down as Spandau poured another glass of wine.

  ‘I need a favor,’ he said.

  She put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. Looked at him. Didn’t ask what it was, didn’t say sure why not, didn’t say anything. Waited.

  ‘I need to talk to Mel Rosenthal.’

  Again, nothing.

  ‘You know him. I was wondering if you could help me out.’

  ‘Everybody wants to talk to Mel,’ she said. ‘Nobody just waltzes in, not even the A-list. Certainly not me. I’m not on anybody’s fucking list anymore. You forget, honey, I’ve been shunted back to the minors.’

  He studied her for a bit. She made a point of looking him straight in the eye, as if challenging him to prove she was being straight.

  ‘Who called you?’ Spandau asked her after a few moments. ‘Was it him? What did he do, threaten me? Threaten you? You’ll never work in this town again?’

  This time her eyes broke away. She started to light a cigarette, then changed her mind on that as well. She leaned back in her seat, gaining some distance.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said. ‘Neither of us is important enough to threaten. And if you think Mel Rosenthal ever does his own dirty work, you seriously are naive. I had lunch yesterday with a mutual friend. Somewhere between the crab salad and the coffee, she said that Mel had related to her – in the strictest confidence, mind you – that your office kept calling to set up some sort of meeting, and that Mel was very sorry but he’s very busy right now and he doesn’t want to be rude especially since he knows you’re my boyfriend but he wishes that you would stop. End of message.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told her you were a grown-up and anyway we had a kind of unspoken pact we’d never stick our noses in each other’s work.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. It seems a little cheap to me.’

  She was staring at him again. This time he couldn’t meet her eyes, stared off at the lighted pool.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m having a week full of new lows.’

  ‘Well, now that the cat is out of the bag,’ she said, ‘you need to stay the hell away from Mel Rosenthal. I mean it.’

  ‘You’re already in production and as far as I know he doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it. He’s not going make the effort of trying to shut you down just to get to me.’

  She laughed and shook her head. ‘Fuck you. You think it’s career anxiety I’m worried about?’

  She came forward, leaned on the table toward him.

  ‘You’re right about one thing. Mel is notorious for holding grudges, and yes, he probably can’t touch this picture but it is likely I may have to kiss his ass sometime in the future. But if you think that’s why I’m warning you, we really haven’t got a goddamn thing to say to each other anymore.’

  She got up to leave.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for a lovely romantic evening.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘don’t go. Please. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be sorry,’ she said. ‘I want you to be able to climb into bed with me at night with your head and major bones intact. Mel is a piece of work himself, but his friends are even nastier. He’s not going to come after me. Too many people are looking and Mel just hates that kind of attention, which is why he’s trying to warn you off. He’s asking you in a very nice way, probably for my sake, to back down and leave him alone.’

  She looked down at him. Suddenly the anger melted. She sighed and her shoulders fell and she seemed to grow older. She sat back down.

  ‘For me,’ she said. ‘Just for me. For no other reason, other than I’ve asked you.’

  ‘So what am I supposed to tell the client I’m working for? Sorry, my girlfriend says I can’t work for you?’

  ‘Yeah, why the fuck not. That will do for a start. Just walk away. Say, sorry, I’m not the right guy for you. Let somebody else do it. Let Walter send somebody else. Or better yet, let Walter rouse himself from his customary drunken stupor long enough to do his own shit work for a change.’

  Spandau said nothing.

  ‘Thank
you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for sparing me your interminable and naive fucking lecture on why you should receive a knighthood. Those of us who live in the real world admit we have to back down every now and then. So few of us lesser mortals have the option of fucking up our lives in search of the Holy Grail.’

  ‘Like the man said, you knew what you were signing on for.’

  ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You know why I fell in love with you? Because you never used to say macho bullshit like that. What the fuck is happening to you?’

  She left. Spandau drained his wine and smoked a cigarette. Then he drank another glass of wine and went down to the car and drove down Sunset toward the beach. When he hit the PCH at Malibu he pulled over and sat on the hood of his car and smoked and stared at the water. Then he called Dee.

  ‘Hello, David,’ she said.

  His voice was soft, sad, and faraway. It was a moment before he could speak. Whatever it was he was going to say, he couldn’t say it now.

  ‘David?’ she said.

  ‘I got your message. Are you okay?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Charlie’s missing. He’s been gone for three days.’

  ‘He hasn’t called or anything? You don’t know where he is?’

  ‘He just disappeared and I haven’t heard a word.’

  ‘Was there a fight or something?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘David, I can’t call the police.’

  ‘He’ll turn up. He’s what? Forty-five? Maybe midlife crisis has finally kicked in.’

  She was quiet and he knew she was crying.

  ‘It’s been a year,’ he said. ‘Not a word. You didn’t want to speak. Now you call me and tell me the guy you left me for has gone walkabout. I’m having a hard time searching for sympathy.’

  ‘There’s no one else I can call, David. He owes a lot of money. Some men came to the house. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘What kind of money?’

  ‘Gambling, apparently. It’s a lot, we don’t have this kind of money, he’ll never be able to give it to them. Oh god, David, I hope they haven’t hurt him.’

  ‘When did they show up?’

  ‘This afternoon. Three of them came to the door.’

  ‘If they’re looking for him, he’s probably okay. It means he’s dodged them so far.’

  ‘I need to talk to you, David. Can you help me? There’s nowhere else I can go, David. There’s no one else I trust.’

  ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘I can’t see you now. Just stay by the phone and he’ll probably call. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding and he’ll turn up by morning.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Sure,’ he lied. ‘This sort of thing happens all the time. He’s got into a little trouble and he’s panicked, thinking it’s worse than it is.’

  ‘You’ll help, then? You’ll find him for me?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said.

  ‘Where are you now?’ she asked. ‘Can I see you?’

  ‘The last thing you need is for me to be there when he walks in. Are you working tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m taking some personal days. I’ve just been walking around the house, waiting.’

  ‘We’ll meet tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you in the morning and if he’s not contacted you by then, I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘You’ll find him? You’ll make sure they don’t hurt him?’

  ‘I’m sure this is nothing. The bastard will probably stumble in pissed as a newt any time now. You can both have a big forgiveness hug.’

  Silence. Then:

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’

  ‘Try to get some sleep,’ he said. ‘If he shows up in the middle of the night, just send me a text or something.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, sure. Just get some rest.’

  He rang off, watched the waves a while longer. Thought. The message tone sounded on his phone. He looked at it. Anna.

  Come home, it said.

  SEVENTEEN

  In the morning when he woke there was a text from Dee saying she’d heard nothing. He dressed and went down to the kitchen, where Anna was already at breakfast. Anna liked breakfast alone so it was always a simple affair unless one of them felt like frying eggs. Anna ate yogurt and fruit. Spandau sat across from her and poured a mug of black coffee and slathered some jam on toast.

  She kept looking at him and smiled and then finally said:

  ‘Why is makeup sex always the best?’

  ‘You think it’s the best?’

  ‘I think it has something to do with the idea of guilt and forgiveness. When you come during makeup sex, you always feel as if you’ve really earned it.’

  ‘You don’t normally feel like you’ve earned an orgasm?’

  ‘Not always.’

  ‘This sounds like some deep insight into the female psyche I’m not sure I want to know about. Maybe you should discuss this with your therapist.’

  ‘When I was in therapy all we talked about was sex. No – fucking. It was a male therapist and he felt it was somehow more liberal to call it fucking rather than sex or making love. I once pointed out to him that there was a difference between just having a casual bonk and making love. He rather curtly reminded me that one of the reasons I was in therapy in the first place was that I couldn’t tell the difference. He said fucking was an umbrella term that covered all the variations.’

  ‘It’s 7 a.m.,’ said Spandau, ‘and you are telling me this why?’

  ‘Because it was really great with you last night,’ Anna said, ‘and because with you it always is making love.’

  When she talked like this he never knew what to say or how to react. It was one of the few things that could make him shy, one of the reasons she loved him. He looked down at the table but he was smiling.

  ‘I was pissed off at you last night and I was hurt. I stewed about it but the longer I stewed the more I realized I just wanted you to make love to me. In a way I was glad you left because I’d have done you right there on the pool deck but I wouldn’t have known why. By the time I texted you I’d figured it out.’

  ‘You wanted to be forgiven?’

  ‘No, fuck you. You were the one who was wrong and I still think you’re an asshole about it.’

  ‘This is going off in a whole new direction.’

  ‘I just realized how scared I was,’ she said. ‘How scared I am lately sometimes. About us. I realized I was scared to death and all I wanted to do was draw you close to me again.’

  ‘This explains those Kegel exercises you were doing?’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ she said, ‘those weren’t even voluntary, that’s how hot it was.’

  He laughed.

  ‘You wait,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to peel a banana with it yet.’

  ‘One of the things I love most about you,’ he said, ‘is how poetically sappy you get about sex.’

  ‘I’m a Texas girl. My granny used to say that a true belle never underestimates the value of a tight snatch and a cocktail dress that’ll hide your love handles. Oh shit,’ she said, and went back into her office to retrieve her bag. She stood at the door and did the inventory: laptop, phone, cigarettes, scripts. Then came back and kissed him. Started out again but turned suddenly. ‘We’re okay, you and me, right?’

  ‘This means I’m forgiven for last night? The pre-sex part, anyway.’

  ‘Hell no. You’re still an asshole about that. But I just want to establish that you’re at least still my asshole.’

  She batted her eyelashes at him then made a tight circle with her thumb and forefinger, which she kissed with a large smacking sound before she sailed out the door with a backward ciao. It might be said she had faults, Spandau thought, but not knowing how to make an exit was not one of them.

  EIGHTEEN

  He met her in the park at Malibu Lagoon, a mile down the road from where he’d been sitting last night. He pulled off the coast highway and parked in the lot. It was ea
rly and hers was the only other car there. He followed the path out to the guard station and the beach. She was standing at the edge of the water just beyond the reach of the surf, staring across the water at Santa Monica pier. He called her name, gently, careful of scaring her. She wasn’t easily frightened, was Delia, but she hated surprises. She turned.

  ‘This is a kind of ironic joke?’ she said, as he trudged across the sand to her.

  It was, of course. But he pretended he didn’t catch her meaning.

  ‘This is where you took me on our first date,’ she said. ‘Don’t try to tell me that escaped you.’

  ‘It didn’t,’ he said.

  She opened her arms in a gesture of surrender. ‘Well, here I am. You’re angry, take your best shot. I left you, you want payback, now is great. You want me to screw you, I’ll do that too. Whatever it takes, let’s just get it over so I can find my husband.’

  Oh that word husband. It hurt and she knew it would. It was just like her to set the terms, to get the hard part out of the way as quickly as possible. He went up to her anyway and kissed her softly on the cheek. Then she was in his arms. Neither was quite sure how that happened, her standing there crying with her head on his shoulder. He’d thought about something just like this for more than a year, ever since she’d left him. But she wasn’t crying to come back, she wasn’t crying for him. As much as he wanted to believe it was, he could feel in the taut curve of her back her refusal to let her body press too closely against him. It was not love she wanted, at least not that kind of love, and this small honest gesture hurt him more than anything else she could have said or done. She stepped back away from him, brushing at the tears with the tips of her fingers.

  ‘I can’t call the police,’ she said, reading his mind. ‘I don’t know exactly what he’s done.’

  ‘If he’s hiding from these bozos, it’s probably not a great idea to have the cops looking for him anyway. They’re not exactly discreet. All you’re doing is fingering him for the bad guys. Anyway there’s no law that says he has to come home. Are you sure it’s gambling?’

  ‘It can’t be anything else.’