by J. P. Bowie
She came forward and embraced him. “Was traffic awful?”
“Not too bad. I ran into a neighbor of yours, and we chatted for a few minutes.”
“Oh?” Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Who would that be?”
“Winifred Owen. She had seen me and Jeff on your show and…”
“Oh… her.” Olivia’s mouth turned down with distaste. “That old bag is a pain in the butt.”
“She seemed very nice…”
“She’s typical of all the old has-beens that infest this town,” Olivia ranted.
“She had the nerve to think I could be bothered listening to her boring tales of when she was a star. Huh, some star. She made a few B-movies back in the fifties that aren’t even shown on late night television anymore, for God’s sake.
Those people get up my nose.”
Peter had become uncomfortably aware that several members of the camera crew had stopped their work and were staring at Olivia as she gave vent. What a shrew, he thought, turning away and walking over to his easel to prepare for the sitting. Boy, would he be glad when this was all over.
“So, what’s the deal here?” Olivia snapped at the technicians. “Let’s get this show on the road.” She sat down on the divan and glared around the room.
“Joyce, get me some water, pronto. You need anything, Peter?”
“No thanks.”
“Jeff couldn’t make it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said he’d come up next time so we could celebrate his birthday.”
“Oh that. Well, we figured as you had come to the party—that would be it.”
“So, he hasn’t forgiven me.”
“Nothing like that, Olivia. He and Nick are pretty busy right now. That’s all.”
One of the cameramen tapped him on the shoulder. “Uh…Peter, we’d like to get a close up of your brushwork as you apply the paint. It’ll mean you have to be really still. Is that OK?”
“Of course.” Peter smiled at him. “Just say when.”
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“I was thinking…” Olivia’s voice cut in. “When we come back down to Laguna for the final shoot, I’d like to have Emily there with you guys. You think the brother could make it too?”
“I really don’t know, Olivia.” Peter wasn’t about to commit either one of his friends without asking them first. “I’m seeing Emily tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I can ask her then.”
“Do that. I think they’d add something to the story.”
“They really don’t like talking about what happened,” Peter said. “They’ve tried to put all that behind them.”
“Yeah, yeah. But it’s the human tragedy aspect…people lap it up. ‘Specially when there’s a happy ending.” Her laugh was almost a cackle. “Everyone loves a fucking happy ending.”
“Okay, Peter…” The cameraman was at his shoulder. “Just hold it steady there for a moment, right there on her upper lip. Good, good…now continue the brush stroke…excellent. Thanks Peter.” He turned to the rest of the crew.
“Okay guys, we’re done. Let’s leave the artist in peace.” He nodded to Olivia who looked at him without expression.
“Those guys,” she sighed after the crew had packed up and left. “They think the world revolves around them.”
“Well, they do work in a pretty specialized field,” Peter said. “Without their expertise, where would you be?”
Olivia snorted. “Hell, you work at something long enough, you’re bound to get it right eventually.”
Peter worked in silence for a time, trying not to let Olivia’s petty attitude spoil his concentration. It was obvious she was not about to give credit where it was due. He wondered if she ever did. In true diva fashion, it seemed she thought only of herself—how she would look and sound out there—and, to a certain extent, Peter could understand some of it. After all, it was Olivia who had to maintain the illusion of the beautiful and vivacious woman who appeared before millions of people, five days a week. People who, for the most part, were not interested in those behind the camera. The years of training and working in a highly competitive field meant very little to the masses. Most understood only what they could see from the comfort of their barca-loungers.
“So, is Jeff still pissed at me?” Olivia was not about to let the subject drop.
“No Olivia, he’s not pissed at you,” Peter replied, somewhat absently as he concentrated on the portrait.
“But he didn’t want to come up with you.”
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Peter sighed and put down his brush. “Look Olivia, I told you he is very busy. He can’t just drop things and run around with me. I learned that a long time ago. Also, he is not one to harbor a grudge. You apologized; that’s enough for him.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” She paused as Luke walked into the room. “Hey baby,” she cooed. “You guys know each other, right?”
Peter stiffened with surprise at seeing Luke there. His eyes widened as the young man strolled over to where Olivia reclined, planted a kiss on her lips, then turned and grinned at Peter.
“Hey Pete…” He walked toward him with a cocky swagger and held out his hand for Peter to shake. “Nice seein’ you again.”
“Likewise,” Peter said, shaking the proffered hand. “What brings you up to LA?” he asked pointedly.
“I’m working for Olivia now,” Luke said, unable to hide the smugness in his voice.
“He’s my big and brave bodyguard,” Olivia said, rising from the divan.
“Brenda seemed to think I needed one, what with all the threatening letters I’ve been getting lately.”
“You’ve been threatened?” Peter asked with interest.
Olivia’s laugh was brittle. “Some kook who thinks I shouldn’t be interviewing the likes of you, sweetie. A religious nut from all accounts. Brenda didn’t like the tone of the last letter, so she suggested we hire protection—and who better than Mr. Atlas here?”
Peter had to admit to himself that Luke looked pretty imposing. He was a picture of health and muscularity, his bulging biceps and well-developed pec-torals revealed to great effect by the thin cotton of his tight polo shirt. Too much for my taste, Peter thought, but definitely a candidate for the cover of a muscle magazine.
“Thanks for hiring me for your party,” Luke said with a sunny smile. “I never would have met this lovely lady if it hadn’t been for you.”
Peter wondered if Luke would still be saying that as time went by.
“Listen Peter,” Olivia said. “I was thinking about those letters—I think I’d like Jeff to do some investigating into this. Would you ask him if he’d take this on, honey?”
“Wait a minute,” Luke protested. “I’m the one who should be checkin’ this out…”
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“Sweetie…” Olivia sighed with impatience. “Jeff is a private investigator. He and his partner…What’s his name—the good lookin’ dude with the sourpuss…?” She looked at Peter for clarification.
“Uh, Nick?” he offered, trying not to chuckle. Wait till he told Jeff this one!
“Nick, that’s him.” She turned back to Luke. “They’re private detectives, sugar—they were both cops for Chrissakes. A week ago you were a bartender.
Who died and made you Sherlock Holmes…Hello?”
Luke flushed angrily. “I just want to look after you.”
“And you will, honey, you will,” Olivia said, her voice a provocative purr.
“Believe me, you will.”
“I should be going,” Peter said, feeling a surge of unease envelope him.
Without bothering to clean his brushes, he threw them into his case and snapped it shut. “Well…” he managed a watery smile. “I’ll be back for the last session next week, Olivia.”
“You bet—and don’t forget to ask Jeff if he’ll help me out here,” Olivia reminded him, as she kissed his cheek. “I’d feel safer kno
wing he was ‘on the case’, so to speak.”
“I’ll have him call you,” Peter told her, heading for the door. “Bye.”
c h a p t e r 5
s
On his way back to Laguna, Peter called Jeff on his cell phone to let him know what Olivia had asked. He winced as he heard Jeff ’s groan.
“I’m sorry. She kind of took me by surprise when she asked if you’d consider handling it.”
“That’s OK,” Jeff chuckled. “Your penance will be exacted later.”
“Anything you want, O Master,” Peter said, his good humor returning under the salve of Jeff ’s warm reassurance.
“Maybe I’ll let Nick handle it.”
Peter giggled. “She thinks he’s a sour-puss.”
“She said that?” Jeff ’s laugh was infectious.
“Well, she did say, ‘the good-looking sour-puss’.”
“Oh well then, he’s a shoo-in for her favor.”
“I seem to recall he was totally unimpressed by her, at your party.”
“All the better—he’ll cut through the bull-shit without any trouble. I’m beginning to think this is a great idea of mine.”
“By the way,” Peter said. “Guess who was at Olivia’s pad today?”
“Uh, Genghis Khan? Saddam Hussein? George W. Bush?”
Peter laughed. “No…Luke!”
“Luke who?”
“Luke, the bartender—at your birthday party.”
“That Luke?”
“That Luke.”
“Did you ask him if he has your camera?”
“What?”
“Your camera, Peter. Remember, the one we haven’t seen since the party?”
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“Jeez, I forgot all about that. No, I didn’t ask him.”
“What was Luke doing there?”
“Olivia’s hired him as her bodyguard.”
“Because of the threatening letters?”
“Uh huh. Her manager, Brenda, is apparently paranoid about them.”
“Has she been in touch with the police?”
“Yeah. They’ve got the letters…said they’d investigate.”
“Mmm…” Jeff was silent for a moment, then he said, “Maybe I’ll give Joe French a call, see if he can find out who’s handling it. Anyway, why don’t you drop by the office on your way home? Nick said Eric’s meeting him here. The four of us could grab some dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Peter agreed happily. “I’ll see you in about a half-hour.”
Jeff looked up from his desk as Nick, his partner, strode into the office. Nick waved the pile of papers he was carrying and flung himself into his chair. “That Monica,” he moaned. “She is way too efficient. Fire her and hire someone who can’t take messages.”
Jeff grinned at him. “Keeping you busy, is she?”
“I’ll say—and she gaily informs me I have additional messages on my voice mail.”
“Well, at least it keeps you from being bored—that was your contention when I first asked you about being my partner.”
“How was I to know Orange County was such a hot bed of crime and passion?” Nick chuckled.
“Behind it’s oh-so-conservative facade,” Jeff intoned with melodramatic flair, “there lurk the secret desires of the profane and the perverse. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we will take you behind the closed doors of respectability and show you enough sex and sadism to make your eyeballs combust.”
Nick laughed at his partner’s antics. “You’ve been around those television people too much.”
“You’re right about that,” Jeff grumbled. “And if what Peter just told me is any indication, we’ll be around them way too much.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the scoop?”
“Apparently, Olivia’s been getting threatening letters.”
“What a surprise,” Nick said, without a smile. “Someone see through all that phoniness?”
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“According to what she told Peter, the letters have become increasingly threatening over time. They sound like they come from some religious nut, but her manager suggested she hire a bodyguard just in case—and get this—she hired the guy who was our bartender on Saturday.”
“Mr. Muscles?”
Jeff nodded. “The same. No doubt he’s built for the job, but he’s just a kid who might be way in over his head.”
“I seem to recall she spent an inordinate amount of time at the bar.” Nick laughed as he added, “And here I thought it was the booze she wanted.”
“She was attracted to him, that’s for sure. Even called us later and asked for his phone number. Anyway Nick, I was wondering if you’d consider handling this, if we decide to take it on.”
“No way!” Nick blurted. “I can’t stand the woman.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Jeff grinned at him. “What if I begged—and reminded you that I came to your rescue in New York when Bransky had a gun on you and…”
“No fair, Jeff.” Nick looked at him with desperation. “Wait a minute, what about when I saved your ass from that Satanist cult…”
“Peter saved both our asses, remember?”
“Yeah,” Nick murmured. “Peter—and Phillip.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Wow, all of that was so amazing. Okay, you got me. If you really want to pull in your markers, I guess I’ll have to submit to this ignominy.”
Jeff laughed at his partner’s discomfort. “Forget it,” he chuckled. “I can’t stand to see you look like a whipped cur…you’ll be in tears in a minute. God knows, I can’t bear it when a grown man cries in my presence.”
“Hey,” Nick said, rallying. “Watch it, buddy. I may be a tad overly sensitive, but I’m still all man.”
They were still laughing themselves silly when Eric walked into the office.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
“Nick was trying to convince me he was all man,” Jeff told him, with a grin.
“Well, I can attest to that,” Eric said, leering in Nick’s direction.
“Do tell,” Jeff said, dryly.
“No don’t,” Nick chuckled. “But thank you Eric, kind sir. I felt for a moment there, that my honor was in question.”
“How were things at the gallery?” Jeff asked.
“Pretty quiet.” Eric sat on the edge of Nick’s desk. “Gave me time to bone up on my sparse knowledge of the art world.”
“Peter says you’re doing really well,” Jeff remarked.
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“I love it a lot—that makes it easy.”
Jeff nodded. “Well, your ‘boss’ will be here any minute. I thought we could go for dinner—the four of us.”
“Sounds great.” Eric said. “Anywhere in particular?’
“I was thinking Cedar’s. We can walk there…Ah, here comes the love of my life now…”
“Hey, guys.” Peter bounced into the room, and immediately threw himself onto Jeff ’s lap.
“Jeez,” Jeff grunted. “What did you have for lunch?”
“‘Scuse me?” Peter protested. “Only the other day, you told me I was sylph-like, remember?”
“I said that?” Jeff gave him a teasing smile. “Come on—up with you. I’m starving.”
“Me too.” Nick heaved himself out of his chair. “Lead me to the trough!”
Over a pre-dinner cocktail, Peter filled them in on the conversation he’d had with Olivia. “Do you think she’s over-reacting? After all, celebrities seem to get this kind of nutty stuff all the time—especially if they’re at all controversial.”
“So she thinks the letters were a result of you and Jeff being on the show?”
Nick asked.
“That’s what she said. One of the letters actually mentions us, not by name, but by profession—artist and private eye.”
“What jerks,” Eric muttered, his light blue eyes clouding as he gazed at
Peter. “Will they never leave us alone? Whatever happened to love thy neighbor? I am so sick and tired of these fanatics trying to break down everything the activists have accomplished in the last few years.”
“Well, they have a lot of help from those in high places,” Nick said. “And I don’t mean in heaven. The religious right zealots spend a lot of money getting their point across—and an awful lot of politicians have benefited from that.”
“And a lot of shows have been boycotted on their say-so,” Jeff added. “Olivia doesn’t necessarily have to be threatened physically. She could lose in the ratings if they set their sights on destroying her credibility.”
Peter sighed unhappily. “I don’t get it. Why do so many people have to be so damned mean? Can’t they just live and let live? Why does it all have to get so ugly?”
“Well, let’s not get too carried away,” Jeff said. “So far, it’s just some threatening letters. Like you said Peter, celebrities get these all the time. If the police can pinpoint their source, it could be all over very quickly.”
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“What if the letters weren’t from a religious group at all?” Peter looked at his friends intently. “What if they were just using that kind of language as a cover?”
“You mean, someone with a personal dislike of Olivia?” Jeff asked.
“There’s gotta be hundreds of those.” Nick’s tone was decidedly sour. “I can’t see her topping a popularity poll among those who know her well.”
“Nick is not a fan,” Eric chuckled.
“Tell me,” Jeff laughed. “He almost wept when I asked him to handle this case if we take it.”
“Don’t start that again,” Nick huffed. “All I’m saying is, if it involves an ex-friend or someone she works with—or worked with, we could be out there forever trying to find the guilty party. She’s got to have pissed off a lot of people in her time.”
“I would agree with that,” Peter said. “Only today, I met this sweet old lady who used to be in the movies—she lives in Olivia’s building—and she made no bones about the fact she couldn’t stand Olivia. Then, when I mentioned her to Olivia, I got ‘oh, that old has-been’ or something similar.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I couldn’t help noticing that when she was ranting on about poor Winifred, the camera crew just stopped dead and stood around kind of glaring at her.”