The Case of the Rising Star

by Zavo

  “Come in.”

  “Any luck with the photograph?”

  “It should be ready in a few more minutes.”

  I gave him a quick rundown of the situation. “Thanks, Nathan. I’ll try to get her out of here as quickly and quietly as I can.”

  When I returned to my office, Vivian was swaying slightly in her chair, and crying softly. Looking at her, drunk, with tears in her eyes, I felt a sudden and deep hatred of Stanley. Vivian didn’t deserve this. If he didn’t love her anymore, then he should divorce her. He certainly knew the routine. This was not going to be good, by any stretch of the imagination. I lit a cigarette of my own and launched into my story, relaying to her what I had seen the previous evening. When I revealed to her that her husband was not boffing his secretary, she seemed relieved. But also a little disappointed. However, as I continued my story, her hands began to shake. She set the coffee cup on the table and pulled a different flask from her purse, albeit a smaller one, opened it, and drained its contents in one long gulp. When I had finished, she looked at me with wide-eyed surprise.

  “Stanley with another man? I’m sorry, Derrick, but I find that hard to believe. Simply impossible, actually. Being in the movie industry, I know this type of relationship exits. But Stanley? He’s always been a ladies’ man. He’s been married three times.”

  I certainly didn’t need nor want all the details of their sex life, but a question was begging to be asked.

  “Has he been inattentive or lacking in matters of the bedroom, Vivian?”

  She knew what I was asking, and didn’t blanch at my candidness.

  “During our marriage we never had sex often enough during the week to suit me, but I figured that eventually happened to all married couples. Especially given his age. When we were together, he got the job done. He had all the necessary equipment, if you know what I mean. There were certain things he wouldn’t do, but I just grew to accept it.”

  A sudden thought popped into my head I knew I should have asked much earlier.

  “Vivian, you don’t have any indiscretions you need to share with me, do you?”

  She looked at me steadily as she stubbed out her cigarette and lit a second one.

  “Nothing that we’ll need to worry about, Derrick. Let’s leave it at that.”

  So, the old gal hadn’t been idle while Stanley was gadding about. Good for her.

  “If Stanley has any evidence of you with another man, Vivian, a divorce could quickly prove nasty.”

  “You let me worry about my divorce, Derrick. I just need the ammunition you potentially have to bring Stanley to his senses. If that doesn’t work, then divorce.” When she finished speaking, she finished her coffee in addition to the contents of the first flask. I wondered how many others were safely tucked away in her purse.

  “Now, what proof do you have for me, Derrick Steele, that I can show my lawyer?”

  Surprisingly, her voice had taken on a newfound steadiness.

  “Hold on a minute, Vivian. I’ll be right back.”

  This was the part of this type of case I always dreaded the most: when they asked for the photographic proof. Who wanted to see their loved one in a less-than-nice position? Especially the one I had caught Stanley in.

  I left my office a second time and went to Nathan’s. When I entered, he was just exiting his darkroom.

  “It’s done, Derrick. Pretty hardcore stuff here.”

  He handed me the photograph. There was Stanley, naked and on all fours. His face was turned to the camera. I’d snapped the photograph on one of the young man’s heated plunges; there could be no doubt where his cock was headed.

  “Thanks, Nathan. I’m not looking forward to showing this to Vivian.”

  When I returned to my office, Vivian was smoking another cigarette. Yet another flask was cradled in her lap. Without speaking, I placed the photograph on my desk in front of her.

  Her eyes turned to big Os, and her face turned ashen. She tried to speak but no words would form.

  Finally, she was able to sputter, “Is this for real?”

  “I’m afraid it is, Vivian. It was taken last night at the address you provided. Do you know the young man in the picture?”

  She seemed not to hear me at first, so I gently repeated the question. For a second she appeared not to recognize me. That was when Vivian VanHauser pulled herself together as the professional so many of her fans knew her to be.

  “I’ve seen him before, but I don’t recall his name. He works in Stanley’s office.”

  Betty arrived with a pitcher of water and two glasses. She filled both of them and shot Vivian an encouraging smile before leaving.

  I handed Vivian a glass. She drank some of it, after which she produced a lace handkerchief. As on the previous day, she blew her nose in a very unladylike manner, which made me like her even more. When that business had been attended to without any embarrassment or pretense, she produced a small white pill from the treasure chest that was her purse. She swallowed it with a sip of water.

  “Derrick, is there a ladies’ room where I may freshen up? I can’t let my driver see me like this. He’s loyal to me, but the less he knows, the better. He thinks I’ve hired you to locate my long-lost mother. Who, by the way, passed away several years ago.”

  We both laughed, and I was certain Vivian VanHauser was going to make it through this okay.

  “Yes, right this way. Betty, could you show Mrs. VanHauser to the ladies’ room, please?”

  “Right away, Derrick.”

  As Betty escorted her to the restroom, Nathan joined me. He waited till they had both gone in before asking me, “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s holding up okay. I think she’s relieved her suspicions have proven true. The photograph did come as a shock to her. She’s finding it hard to believe Stanley was seeing a man. How many copies of the picture did you make?”

  “Three. One for Vivian, one for the office files, and one for the home files.”

  Just then Vivian and Betty emerged from the ladies’ room. Vivian had dried her tears, reapplied her makeup, and pulled herself together. Again, I was seeing the actress, not Vivian VanHauser. I thanked Betty as she returned to her desk.

  “Vivian, this is my brother, Nathan. He’s co-owner of the agency.”

  She held her hand out to him and Nathan kissed it gallantly.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. VanHauser.”

  “Likewise. Please, call me Vivian. Derrick, let’s finish our business, shall we? I have an appointment with my divorce lawyer.”

  She smiled as she said this, and I followed her back to the conference room, where she took a seat once more.

  “Is this the only copy of the photograph, Derrick?”

  “I have a copy for our office files, Vivian, and one for the files we store at an off-site location. Both will be locked away, never to see the light of day unless you so request it.”

  “Thanks for your efforts, Derrick. I feel certain I can count on your discretion in this matter. I will let you know how this turns out.”

  “Of course, Vivian. Let me show you to the door.”

  As I locked arms with her, she thanked me again. At the same time, she also scooped up the photograph and almost gleefully stuffed it inside her purse. I felt sorry for Stanley VanHauser. I went with Vivian as far as the sidewalk and watched as she headed to her driver. Her head was held high, although she was still a little unsteady on her feet. When she reached her car, she turned and waved. I waved back.

  I went back into the office. Nathan was on the phone again. Most of his time these days was spent procuring new clients and continuously getting the word out about Steele Investigations.

  I returned to my office to write my closing notes on the case. Nathan popped his head in to announce he had a lunch appointment with a new client. I was now alone in the office. I was just thinking about pouring myself a bourbon when I heard the office door open. I looked up and saw a young man entering. He was close to my heigh
t and solidly built. I pegged him as ten years my junior. He was wearing a hat that almost hid his eyes, and dark sunglasses. Expensive ones at that. When he stopped and spoke to Betty, he removed his hat and glasses, revealing blond hair, well trimmed and greased, and light brown eyes. My heart began to pound in my chest.

  The man was Gordon Maxwell!

  Betty turned and pointed to my office. She started to rise, but he smiled and said something to her, and she sat back down. He was wearing an expensive white button-up shirt and tan dress pants. His shoes were the latest fashion, as was his finely cut sport coat. He looked around the office, judging its worth. He focused his attention on me. As he walked to my desk we fully made eye contact. I tried to conceal any signs of recognition from my face. I could hardly wait to hear why this young man would be in need of my services. He gave me a winning smile, filled with two even rows of sparkling white teeth. It was a smile I had seen dozens of times on the screen at the Valentino Theater. When he reached my desk, I was delighted to see that the silver screen had not done him the justice he deserved. He was even more handsome and dashing in person. He was several inches shorter than me, and several pounds lighter.

  “Good morning, Mr. Steele. My name is Gordon Maxwell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The sound of his voice literally sent chills down my back. Christ, I was acting like a silly schoolgirl. He had extended his hand, and I sat there, simply staring at it as if I was daft. The beautiful smile appeared again.

  “You are Derrick Steele, are you not? If not, your secretary is severely misinformed.”

  I laughed as I stood up and grabbed his hand. Perhaps a little too forcibly, I thought. However, he wasn’t alarmed, nor did he take offense. He seemed quite amused. I’m sure he was used to this from his adoring public.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maxwell. Yes, I’m Derrick Steele. I’m one of the owners of Steele Investigations. Not to mix business with pleasure, but I’m also a big admirer of your motion pictures.”

  Even as I said this I could feel my cheeks turning bright red. God, could I be a bigger loser?

  “Please, call me Gordon. Thanks, Mr. Steele. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

  “Please, call me Derrick. Why don’t we adjourn to our conference room so we’ll be more comfortable?”

  “After you, Derrick.”

  As I walked to the conference room I was certain his eyes were boring into my back. Betty couldn’t take her eyes from him, and a large smile was pasted on her face.

  Gordon remained relaxed and simply beamed his big smile back at her. I closed the door behind us, and as he sat down I took a seat across from him. He was one of the best-looking men I had ever seen. I noted immediately he was very poised and at ease, something you typically didn’t find in a person his age.

  Over the past year, as my “crush” had blossomed, I’d read all I could on this handsome young actor. Gordon was from a small town—Sawyer, Louisiana. There was not a trace of an accent or drawl in his speech. Gordon had left Sawyer two years ago to move to Los Angeles and find fame and fortune in the motion picture industry. He had the good looks and talent audiences craved.

  “Thanks for seeing me without an appointment, Derrick. From what I’ve been told, the detectives at this agency are top-notch, and their services are always in high demand. After meeting you, I can certainly see why.”

  He looked me straight in the eye as he finished speaking. I was unable to hide my smile at this young man’s blatant flirtation with me. I also knew, through several discreet inquiries, that Gordon Maxwell liked to “dally with the boys,” as the saying went.

  “May I get you something to drink, Gordon? Water, or perhaps something stronger?”

  “Water is fine.”

  As expected, Betty was watching us avidly. When I made a drinking motion to her, she quickly brought the pitcher and glasses. She filled both before she left, hardly taking her eyes off Gordon. Gordon removed his coat and laid it across the chair next to him. I don’t know if I hadn’t noticed this before, or if he had purposefully, discreetly just undone his top shirt button, revealing a patch of blond hair. I handed him a glass.

  “Thanks, Derrick.”

  “What brings you to Steele Investigations, Gordon?”

  He took a long drink of water, and stared out the window a moment before answering.

  “I’m here, Derrick, because someone is threatening me. They want me to quit Men of the West!”

  Chapter Three

  I was unable to hide my shock.

  “Someone wants you gone from the picture? For what purpose?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, Derrick. The note I received didn’t go into that much detail. This past Monday I started work on a new picture, a Western, Men of the West. Under my current contract, it’s my biggest project to date. Plus, there are a lot of major players involved, including the actors Jerome Sinclair and his wife Shelly Langton, and Stuart Douglas is directing.

  “I’m not sure how much you follow the motion picture gossip rags or the movie trade magazines, but competition for the lead was extremely fierce. Douglas is a much-sought-after director to work with. And Jerome is a major star. Not surprisingly, Jerome and I became the final choices for the lead. It’s no secret Jerome Sinclair and I have been vying for many of the same parts for the past two years—ever since I starred in The Lawless Trail with him.”

  I did read some of the motion picture gossip magazines, and the Los Angeles Herald Express, but not religiously. However, my mother did, and I had found myself leafing through them for tidbits on Gordon. In doing so, I had come across several articles pertaining to him and his rival, Jerome Sinclair. While Jerome had been the established star of The Lawless Trail, it was Gordon who had won the Best Actor Oscar. Jerome had been aced out. The rumor mills were churning that the writing was on the wall for the charismatic star.

  That was when the bitter rivalry had begun between the two men. This fact had been bolstered by numerous well-publicized public altercations, most of them resulting from too much alcohol, and a constant barrage of insults and recriminations against each other’s acting abilities. For film fans it was the juiciest rivalry in the business. A picture starring these two would bring the moviegoers in droves.

  “Anyway, I found an envelope in my mailbox yesterday morning. It had only my name on it. Inside the envelope was a handwritten note. It flatly stated that if I did not quit Men of the West immediately, my life would be in imminent danger. Here’s the note.”

  He pulled a piece of folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded it and quickly read the note:

  Gordon Maxwell,

  This note is a worning to yu.

  Iff yu don’t quitt Men of the West,

  yur life wil be in dangerr.

  XX

  I studied the note for several minutes before laying it on the table.

  “Do you mind if I keep this as evidence? Also, do you still have the envelope?”

  “Be my guest. Yes, the envelope is at my house. Perhaps you could stop by and pick it up later today.”

  The invitation was not lost on me—nor the smile with which it was offered.

  “Please, write down your address.”

  I slid a pad of paper and a pencil to him. When he was done, he slid it back to me.

  “What are your immediate thoughts on this, Derrick? Will you take my case?”

  Is he kidding? Of course I will!

  “I’m happy to take your case, Gordon. The first obvious thing is the note writer is a horrible speller. Either that, or he purposefully misspelled those words to try to hide his identity. That may indicate you know him, or knew him in the past. Another option is that he’s a complete idiot.”

  Gordon laughed. His laughter was deep and rich.

  “Either way, Gordon, I would say he or she is dangerous. We need to take this note seriously. What type of security do you have at your home? Also, have you shown the note to the police y
et?”

  “I just moved into a new estate in the Hills. It’s surrounded by a high stone wall, and the driveway is gated. That’s it. A determined intruder could certainly gain access. I have two security guards, and I’m in the process of hiring additional ones—more so now, after this note. As for the police, no, I haven’t notified them. If at all possible, I’d like to keep this out of the papers.”

  “No worries, Gordon. I have several discreet officers I work directly with. Nothing will get leaked. This may sound like a stupid question, but can you think of anyone who would want you off this picture?”

  Another burst of wonderful laughter followed my question.

  “There are several people who would love to see me bow out of this picture. First and foremost is Jerome Sinclair. In this cutthroat business, everyone is out to either use you or climb over you to the top. I’m not sure if you’re aware of my back story. I’m from a small town in Louisiana. Sawyer, to be exact. It has more alligators than people. Two years ago I packed what few belongings I had in my suitcase and bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. My mother had passed many years earlier, and my father was glad to see me go. I’d never had any acting experience, but I read all the movie magazines religiously, and I dreamed of becoming a star of the silver screen. Well, after a few weeks in Los Angeles, it quickly became clear I was only one of hundreds of other young hopefuls looking for their big break. I did odd jobs to make a little money until I met the right person and got a job as an assistant—a story better told once we get to know each other a little better.

  “That person saw my potential and landed me a small part in a detective picture. This led to other small parts, and so on. I got my first big break in The Lawless Trail. I’ve become very familiar with the ins and outs of the industry. Again, no one is your friend, and everyone is out for themselves. To get back to your question, I would say there is a long list of people who I’ve pissed off in this industry. Not to sound too full of myself, but I have passed many actors who’ve been struggling for years. Yes, I’ve had issues with producers, agents, directors, and costars. They’ve mostly been creative differences, shall we say. But as for anyone wanting me off this picture, I’d say that would only be a handful. Jerome Sinclair, my current costar. His wife, Stella Langton. Stuart Douglas, the director, and Harry Simms, his personal assistant. Those would be my top choices.