by Stuart Woods
The waiter appeared and began gathering their dishes. “How about some of our cheesecake?” he asked.
“Don’t say that,” Betty said, throwing up a hand. “I could gain weight just listening.”
“A double espresso for me,” Stone said.
“I’ll have a cappuccino,” she said.
The waiter left.
“I want to have a look around the back,” Stone said, rising.
She caught his sleeve. “Are you nuts?”
“I’m just going to the men’s room; I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked into the rear hallway, looking to the right and left. He passed the kitchen and came to the men’s room door, looked inside, found it empty, and continued down the hall, where he found a door marked STAFF ONLY. He looked over his shoulder, then walked in.
It was a good-sized storeroom, with refrigerators lining one wall and steel shelving lining the other. In the middle of the floor were empty crates with the remnants of vegetables stuck to them. Stone walked to the rear of the room and found a toilet and, across from that, a small office.
“Hey!” a deep voice yelled.
Stone spun around. A large man in kitchen whites was standing a few feet behind him. “I was looking for the men’s room,” he said, and he caught sight of something familiar on the floor between him and the man.
“You walked right past it,” the man said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and walked toward the door.
Quickly, Stone stooped and picked up the small object, tucking it into a pocket.
“It’s right here,” the man said.
“Thanks, sorry for the trouble,” Stone replied, turning into the men’s room.
“No trouble.”
Stone opened the men’s room door and found another of Ippolito’s party standing at one of the two urinals; he took his position at the other one. The man ignored him, in the way of strangers standing at urinals. Stone washed his hands and went back to his table.
“So?”
“I got caught in a storeroom,” he said.
“Drink your coffee, and let’s get out of here,” Betty said under her breath.
Stone sipped his espresso, then dug into his jacket pocket. “I found something, though.” He held it up her to see.
“A matchbook? Congratulations, you’ve won the California lottery.”
“But look where it’s from.”
She didn’t look. “Tell me.”
“It’s a matchbook from Elaine’s,” he said.
“Can we get out of here now?”
They were driving back to the Bel-Air with the top down, enjoying the desert air.
“Elaine’s in New York?” she asked.
“Right. Arrington and I spent a lot of time there; she used to steal matches by the handful.”
“I guess finding one at Grimaldi’s is a little too much of a coincidence, then?”
“Yes, especially since we know that Arrington called from the restaurant.”
“No, we don’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Well, no.”
“Did she tell the hotel operator who she was?”
“No.”
“Then all we know is that a woman called and left a message and said to put the initial ‘A.’ on it.”
“You should have been a lawyer.”
“You should be a better one.”
“All right, all right.”
“You know any other women whose names start with an ‘A’ and who’ve been to Elaine’s?”
“Possibly; I can’t think of any at the moment.” He could think of two.
“What kind of food does Elaine’s serve?”
“Italian.”
“Any wiseguys ever go there?”
“All the time.”
“So we don’t know but that one of them dropped the matchbook in the storeroom.”
“You’d make a fine lawyer but a lousy detective. Didn’t you ever hear of a hunch?”
“I’m a woman.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
Her hand wandered onto his thigh. “I guess I’m going to have to reimpress you with the fact.” She began unzipping his fly.
“Uh, Betty, can we wait a few minutes?” They were on the freeway now.
“I’m an impatient woman,” she said, freeing him.
“Jesus,” he breathed as she arranged herself with her head in his lap.
I’m driving up the freeway, he thought, and…he made a noise…and I hope the cops don’t pull us over. He kept to the speed limit as best he could, under the circumstances.
13
Stone got to the studio on time the following morning, but he was tired; between Betty’s attentions and thinking about the events of the night before, he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. He was in the makeup chair when the assistant director came in.
“Morning, Stone; good news: so you’ve only one more scene to shoot.”
“I thought I was working for four days,” Stone said, surprised.
“They’ve done some doctoring for time on the script, so you’ve just got one scene left—your closing statement to the jury, then a quick pickup to get your reaction when the verdict comes in.”
“Whatever you say,” Stone said, picking up his script. He thought he knew the speech, but he hadn’t expected to give it today; by the time he was dressed and on the set, though, he felt ready. Vance was nowhere to be seen, but since the scene was Stone’s alone he was not surprised. He rehearsed the scene once, then did a take.
“Cut, print,” the director said. “That was great, Stone, now let’s get your reaction to the verdict.”
Surprised, Stone sat down at the prosecution table and tried to look pissed off when the bailiff read the verdict.
“That’s a wrap for Stone,” the director said. He came over, shook Stone’s hand, and thanked him for his work. “I’ll send you a videotape when we’re done. Take care.”
Stone stood up; it was not yet ten o’clock. Vance came onto the set and strode toward him, smiling, his hand out. “I hear you were great,” he said, then, still holding Stone’s hand, he pulled him to a corner of the court set. “Great news,” he said. “Arrington called last night.”
“What did she have to say?” Stone asked.
“Everything is all right. She had been worried about my reaction to having a child, and she just needed a few days alone.”
“Where has she been?”
“Staying with a friend out in the Valley.”
“So she’s home?”
“She will be in a day or two. She’s helping her friend with some personal problem.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear that, Vance. She apparently tried to call me last night, but I wasn’t in at the time.”
“Yes, she mentioned that; she was embarrassed that you’d made a trip out here for nothing, and she wanted to apologize. She sends her love.” He clapped Stone on the shoulder. “Well, old man, thanks for everything; we’ll call you when we’re in New York. Oh, Betty will take you to the airport.” He clapped Stone on the shoulder again and went to take his place on the set.
Stone stood there, puzzled. Betty walked up.
“Your plane leaves in an hour and a half,” she said, handing him a ticket. “I’m afraid the Centurion jet wasn’t available; you’ll have to make do with first class.”
“I guess I can stand that,” Stone replied.
“And here,” she said, handing him an envelope, “is your paycheck; don’t spend it all in one place. Oh, and Mr. Regenstein said to keep the clothes—a personal gift from him.”
“That’s very kind of him.”
“Come on, let’s get to your dressing room and get that makeup off.”
As they left the set he saw a man standing at the rear wearing a suit identical to his own. He hadn’t been aware that he’d had a stand-in. He followed Betty to his RV, where he found the wardrobe lady packing the suits and shirts he ha
d worn in the film into a handsome, old-fashioned leather suitcase. He gave her the suit he was wearing and started rubbing on cold cream. Ten minutes later, they were on the way to the airport, with Betty at the wheel of Stone’s temporary car, Vance’s Mercedes SL600. Stone turned in his studio pass at the front gate, and soon they were on the freeway.
“I have to pick up my clothes at the Bel-Air,” he said.
“They’re in the trunk; the hotel packed for you,” she said. “You know, I think the very least you could do would be to return the favor of last night. Loving and leaving a girl, as you are.”
Stone laughed. “I’d be delighted, but not on the freeway. You have no idea how close we came to death last night. You’ll have to come and see me in New York.”
“Maybe,” she said.
They were quiet for a while as they zipped along in moderate traffic. “Betty,” he said as they neared the airport, “what’s going on?”
“Going on?” she asked innocently. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“I mean why am I being rushed out of L.A.?”
“Rushed?”
“Rushed. And after the big push to get me to act in Vance’s movie, why was there an actor on the set wearing the same suit as mine?”
She glanced at him. “You’re very observant.”
He thought he noticed a hint of a blush. “So?”
She pulled up at the airport setdown. “So, I don’t know what’s going on. I honestly don’t.”
“Vance said Arrington called him last night, and that she’s fine.”
“I have no reason not to believe that,” she said.
“Let’s rewind for a moment. What time did you leave me this morning? I was dead asleep.”
“Around five.”
“And what time did you speak to Vance?”
“Not until I got to the office.”
“Did you speak to anybody else?”
“Is this a cross-examination?”
“Yes. Did you speak to anyone else?”
She looked at her lap. “I got a call,” she said.
“From whom?”
“All right, it was Vance.”
“What was the substance of your conversation?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Did he ask you why we were at Grimaldi’s last night?”
“Yes,” she said with reluctance.
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “Stone, I’ve told you that my loyalty to Vance is complete.”
“I believe that. Do you really believe you’re acting in his best interests?”
“Do you think I’m not?”
“I think that something is terribly wrong here, and that I might be able to help, if I’m allowed to.”
“Vance doesn’t seem to want any help.”
“Don’t you think he needs it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe, but…”
“I know you’re in a tough spot, but you’ve got a decision to make. I wouldn’t want either Arrington or Vance to get hurt because you make a mistake.”
She reached over, took hold of his necktie, and pulled him toward her. “I would kill to help that man.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Stone said, disentangling his tie from her grip, “but could you act against his wishes if you thought it would help him?”
She thought about that. “Probably,” she said.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
“I’m supposed to call after I’ve seen you get on the airplane.”
“So, call.”
She reached into her purse and produced a card and a key. “Here’s my home address and the key; the alarm code is four-one-one-four. Repeat that.”
“Four-one-one-four,” he said.
“Go into the terminal, rent a car, and go to my house. I’ll be home around seven, and we can talk.”
Stone smiled and kissed her. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said.
“I hope to God I am,” she replied, “or I’m going to be in a lot of trouble.”
14
Stone was feeling flush, what with a check for twenty-five thousand dollars in his pocket, so he asked the rental car agent for a Mercedes. After half an hour’s wait, he was picked up and driven to the agency’s Beverly Hills location, where he was given a choice of a dozen luxury cars, including a Rolls-Royce. He chose a Mercedes SL500, which had a smaller engine than he had grown accustomed to but would do in a pinch.
Using the supplied map, he found his way to Betty’s house, which was on a quiet street south of Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills, near Neiman-Marcus. He let himself into the house, tapped in the alarm code, and left his luggage, including his elegant new suitcase, by the stairs. He thought the house probably dated from the thirties, but it had been renovated in striking fashion and was handsomely furnished. Apparently there was good money in working for movie stars.
He checked the refrigerator and found the makings of a sandwich, along with a lot more food, and had some lunch, then he found his way upstairs, hung up his clothes, and collapsed on Betty’s king-sized bed. It was after six when he awoke.
He went back downstairs, checked the fridge again, and looked through the cabinets, then started making dinner. At a quarter past seven he heard the front door open, and Betty walked into the kitchen.
“Jesus, it smells good in here,” she said. “What are you making?”
“Just some pasta; would you like a glass of your wine?”
“Thank you, yes sir.”
He poured her a glass of chardonnay. “So how was the rest of your day?”
“Weird. I’m unaccustomed to keeping things from Vance.”
“I appreciate your helping me.”
“As long as I’m helping Vance, too.”
He got dinner onto the kitchen table, and they sat down.
“This is delicious!” she said. “I don’t know why I would have wanted the chef from Grimaldi’s, when I could have you.”
“Anytime,” Stone said, raising his glass.
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Why don’t you bring me up to date on what you know so far? Start when Arrington disappeared.”
“I didn’t know she had disappeared,” Betty said. “Vance came into the office and said she had to go back to Virginia to see her folks about some family matter. I got her a round-trip ticket to Dulles and sent it over to the house. I assumed she made the plane.”
“Was there anything in Vance’s behavior that was different from the way he usually is?”
“He seemed preoccupied, I suppose, starting that day. I had to tell him things two or three times before he’d remember them. That was about it.”
“Had he ever been that way before?”
“Yes, I suppose he had, when he’d had something on his mind. Vance tells me a lot, but he doesn’t tell me everything, and usually I don’t ask.”
“Did he get any unusual phone calls around that time?”
“What do you mean by ‘unusual’?”
“Any calls that frightened him or made him angry?”
“Vance is an actor, and like most actors he’s always acting. He doesn’t give away much.”
“Not even to you?”
“Sometimes, not often.”
“Did he repeatedly get calls from the same person?”
She thought about that. “I remember, the day after Arrington left, Lou Regenstein called him several times over the afternoon, but that’s not really unusual. They do a lot of business together, and they’re very close.”
“Any calls from David Sturmack?”
“Not that I recall, but that wouldn’t have been unusual, either.”
“Any from Onofrio Ippolito?”
“That’s a name I had never even heard until Vance gave me an invitation list for the dinner party with his name on it. Although I noticed him at the party, I didn’t put a face to the name until we saw him at Grimaldi’s.”
/> “So Vance and Ippolito aren’t friends and haven’t done business?”
“Not that I’m aware of, and there isn’t much in Vance’s life that I’m not aware of.”
“Let me ask you something else: from my perspective, Vance seems to have a seamlessly successful life—he’s handsome, rich, at the top of his career, married to a wonderful woman, and has the esteem of everyone he knows and millions that he doesn’t.”
“That’s a pretty fair assessment, I guess.”
“What are his weaknesses?”
“Personal? Business?”
“Both.”
“Well, on a personal level, he’s not as good a lover as you are.”
Stone laughed. “I’m flattered. So, you’ve had an affair with Vance?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it that. Vance has probably slept with very nearly every woman he knows, at least once.”
“So how often did you sleep with him?”
“Now you’re straying into my personal life.”
“You’re right; I’m sorry.”
“An even dozen times,” she said. “I counted.”
“Why did you stop?”
“He stopped. It was his call.”
“Why his call?”
“Because he’s a movie star.”
“And that’s more than just a man?”
“In this town, it is. You don’t know anything about movie stars, do you?”
“No; Vance is the only one I’ve ever had a conversation with.”
“Let me tell you about movie stars.”
“Shoot.”
“There are several kinds of power in this town: the most important is the power to get a movie made. After that, there’s personal influence, wealth, beauty, sexual magnetism, and, finally, the power to tell anybody in town to go fuck himself and that person has to go fuck himself. Vance is one of the very few people in town who has every one of those powers—in spades. Not even men like Lou Regenstein and David Sturmack have every one of those.
“Movie stars are centered on themselves in a way that ordinary mortals can’t begin to grasp. Friends, wives, children—all those people come second to The Career, which means the movie star. The star can feel that way about himself without a trace of guilt or doubt, because he knows that everything depends on The Career—which friends he has, the support and protection of the wife and children. Therefore, any decision that must be made is made on that basis—‘Will this action react to my benefit? I’m not speaking of momentous decisions, I’m speaking of any decision. ‘Where shall I have dinner tonight,’ for instance, translates into, ‘Where will I be seen, be shown off to the maximum benefit for me?’”