“It’s worth taking a chance. You can either win or break even.”
*****
Chapter 46
“It’s Hot! I Love It!”
“Based in Beverly Hills and serving clients all over the world, the Endeavor Talent Agency provides a full range of services to the biggest names in the entertainment industry.”
— Website for the Endeavor Talent Agency.
My cell phone crackles. “Where are you?” Carolyn asks.
“Sunset Boulevard,” I reply. “A few blocks from the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
I’ve always liked L.A. It’s a city of dreams. I almost took a job in the public defender’s office down here when I got out of law school. I thought the change of scenery might have done me some good. Then an offer came through up north and I decided to stay home. The sun is out and a warm Southern California breeze is blowing. Pete is guiding us around a double-parked Hummer. People down here love their cars. Those who drive Hummers have a lot of car to love.
Carolyn says, “I was calling about Ben’s case.”
Uh-oh. I glance at my watch. It’s almost noon. Ben’s preliminary hearing should be in full swing. “Aren’t you supposed to be in court?”
“Yes.” She hesitates and says, “I mean no. The prelim was canceled.”
“Prelims don’t get canceled.”
“This one did.”
“Why?”
“I got a fax from Lisa Yee this morning. They’ve agreed to reduce the charges to a misdemeanor if Ben does six months of probation and some community service.”
It’s a slap on the wrist. The deal has Leslie’s fingerprints. She couldn’t get Yee and Ward to drop the charges completely, but she was able to persuade them to teach Ben a lesson without ruining his life. “I trust this is acceptable to you and Ben?”
“Indeed. I’m not sure what you said to them, but it seems to have worked.”
“That’s great news.”
I hear a relieved sigh. “How can I thank you?”
You might send a nice note to Leslie. “Don’t worry about it, Caro. I’m glad everything worked out.”
“Can Ben and I buy you a nice dinner when you get home?”
“I’d like that.”
# # #
The Beverly Hills Hotel is an icon. Whether you love it or hate it, the revival style “Pink Palace” that was used as the backdrop for the original A Star is Born is a classic. Built in 1912 when much of the area was still covered with lima-bean fields, the place where Marilyn Monroe and Humphrey Bogart used to hang out is now owned by the Sultan of Brunei, who plunked down a hundred and eighty five million bucks to buy it in the mid-nineties. Then he dropped another hundred million to spruce it up. Hollywood’s most expensive facelift has worked. The landmark stucco building on twelve lush acres is once again one of the great hotels of Southern California. Although the movie moguls now spend more time at the Four Seasons and the Peninsula, the legendary Polo Lounge is still a place to be seen.
We find Rosie in the lobby near the Fountain Coffee Shop, which is still decked out in the hotel’s trademark banana leaf wallpaper. “Where’s Eve?” I ask her.
“Cabana number eight. She got here around three this morning. You can bet the tabloids will get wind of it by the end of the day.”
“Is anybody with her?”
“Her lawyer.”
Figures. “Were you able to talk to her?”
“No. There is security everywhere. I couldn’t get close.”
“Where’s Kaela Joy?”
“Watching the cabana.”
I pause to consider how a beautiful, statuesque blonde can remain inconspicuous in the middle of a crowded hotel. Then I look around the lobby and realize that everybody here seems to be a beautiful, statuesque blonde. “Did you recognize anybody else?”
“No.”
Pete nudges me. His eyes dart toward the corner of the lobby. He nods toward a thin, well-dressed man who is talking on his cell phone. “That’s Tom Eisenmann,” he says. “He’s an investigator for the DA’s office. He’s good.”
“Ward must know Eve is here.”
“Yeah. Now she knows we’re here, too.”
Rosie and I glance at each other. She says to me, “We sit tight and don’t let Eve out of our sight. And we wait to see who else shows up.”
Her question is answered twenty minutes later when we see Jack O’Brien walk into the lobby and nod toward Eisenmann. He presents his badge to the desk clerk, who immediately gets on the phone. A moment later, an impeccably-coiffed man in a dark suit appears from behind the counter and shakes hands with O’Brien. He nods several times and gestures toward the entrance to the pool and the cabana area.
The manager is leading O’Brien toward the back door of the lobby when he sees us. We approach him and he stops. Rosie says, “We weren’t expecting to see you here today, Jack.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you, either.”
“What brings you to the Beverly Hills Hotel?”
“The same thing that brings you here. A material witness is staying in one of the cabanas. We’d like to talk to her.”
“So would we.”
O’Brien’s face breaks out into a wry smile. “I get to talk to her first.” He takes out his badge and says, “That’s the prize when you carry one of these.”
“Look, Jack,” I say, “if she has information that’s relevant to Angelina’s case, we’re entitled to know about it.”
“You willknow about it,” he says. “I get to know about it first.”
“Come on, Jack—”
He holds up his hand and says, “Be patient. Her lawyer said she wants to tell us something. I’ll give you a status report in a few minutes.”
It’s the best we can do. We follow him out past the pool. The security guards part like the Red Sea. We watch him knock on the door of cabana eight. A man whom I don’t recognize answers and lets him in. I presume this is Eve’s lawyer. The door closes. I turn to Rosie and ask, “What do we do now?”
“We wait.” Then she points toward the pool and says, “Who knows? Maybe one of those hotshot producers will ask you to star in a movie.”
# # #
We’re sitting at a table by the pool almost two hours later. The afternoon sun is beating down on us. Kaela Joy has joined us. Jack O’Brien is still inside with Eve and her lawyer. We’ve been observing a well-dressed, hyperactive young man at the next table who has been screaming into a cell phone since we sat down. I suspect he’s an agent. For at least the fifth time, I hear him shout, “It’s hot! I love it!”
Pete rolls his eyes.
Rosie looks at me and deadpans, “Can you imagine what he must be like when he doesn’t take his medication?”
I smile. I’m glad she’s making jokes.
We sit by the pool for another hour. Killing time at the Beverly Hills Hotel isn’t a tremendous hardship. Finally, I look at Rosie and say, “What do you make of it?”
“Something’s coming down.”
As she says the word “down,” the door to the cabana opens. Jack O’Brien is the first one out. Eve is wearing sunglasses and a huge hat as she follows him. Her lawyer is bringing up the rear. His expression is grim, but his starched shirt and Italian suit still look perfect.
We intercept O’Brien as he starts toward the lobby area. “We have some new and interesting developments in Angelina Chavez’s case,” he tells us.
“We’re entitled to know about any such information,” Rosie says.
“We’re going to issue a statement later today.”
“Why can’t you tell us about it now?”
“We need to work out some details,” he says. “And we have to go down to Burbank.”
“Why?”
“It’s the headquarters of Millennium Studios. We need to talk to Dominic Petrillo.”
“We’ll come with you,” Rosie says.
“Suit yourself,” O’Brien replies. “I can’t stop you. We’ll bring you up
to date after we talk to Petrillo.” He leads Eve toward the front of the hotel.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Rosie and say, “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.”
Pete is more sanguine. “They made a deal,” he says.
“How do you know?”
He glances around the bucolic gardens and says, “This is the Beverly Hills Hotel. It’s where everybody in Hollywood makes deals.”
*****
Chapter 47
The Two Faces of Eve
“I’ve always dreamed of making an acceptance speech at the Academy Awards. I’d do anything for the chance.”
— Aspiring Actress Evelyn (“Eve”) LaCuesta. People Magazine.
“Mr. Petrillo will see you now,” we’re told by a receptionist who looks like a Playboy model. Rosie, Pete and I are sitting in the sleek waiting area outside Dominic Petrillo’s office. He’s inside with Jack O’Brien, Eve and her lawyer.
It’s a few minutes after four. An unusual caravan made the drive from the Beverly Hills Hotel to the Millennium Studios complex in Burbank. An LAPD cruiser took the lead, followed by a limo carrying Eve and her lawyer and O’Brien. Tom Eisenmann’s rented Ford Escort was next in line. I guess the SFPD has a limited budget for car rentals. Then came Kaela Joy in a Jeep Cherokee. Pete, Rosie and I were next in our white Taurus. Another LAPD car brought up the rear.
I expected something more opulent when we pulled up to the main gate of Millennium Studios. The converted business park is in an industrial area just off the Golden State Freeway, not far from the Disney complex on Buena Vista. The old warehouses need paint. Petrillo’s office is in a nondescript three-story building that looks like it was put up in a hurry a few years ago. It hardly seems fitting for a man of his enormous stature. I can see why he wants to build a new facility up north.
The door to the inner sanctum opens. I feel like I’m entering the gate to the Emerald City. I’m not prepared for what I see. Petrillo’s office is about the size of a basketball court and is a museum of movie memorabilia. The bright red walls are covered with movie posters dating back almost a hundred years. An assortment of historic movie cameras is on display next to the wet bar. One corner is devoted to Star Wars. There is a tribute to the work of Francis Ford Coppola. A pool table from The Hustler sits next to a chariot from Ben-Hur. Kaela Joy is perched on a director’s chair just inside the door. She nods as we walk by.
Petrillo is sitting behind a huge desk made of hand-carved oak. His hands are templed in front of his face. His tone is subdued as he stands to greet us. Eve is sitting in an armchair next to the desk. She nods to us. Petrillo introduces Eve’s attorney, a silver-haired sage named George Hauer, who works for one of the Century City firms and bears an uncanny resemblance to Dan Rather. His grip is firm. His tone is measured. Jack O’Brien is standing next to Petrillo’s desk. His expression is stern.
We stand in silence for a moment. Then we hear a familiar female voice from the Star Wars corner. Nicole Ward makes her grand Hollywood entrance from stage left. “Hello, Mr. Daley,” she says.
Rosie looks at me for an instant. Then she turns to Ward and says, “We didn’t know you were in town, Nicole.”
Ward eyes us and says, “We have some new information about your client’s case.”
Rosie is still standing. She folds her arms and says, “We’re listening.”
Ward stares at Hauer for a moment. Then she turns to Rosie and says, “Eve—er Ms. LaCuesta–came forward today and has agreed to sign a declaration under oath with respect to the circumstances surrounding the death of Richard MacArthur Senior.”
Eve nods.
Rosie never takes her eyes off Ward. She asks, “What is Eve prepared to tell us?”
Ward looks at Hauer and says, “Perhaps it would be better if you spoke on behalf of your client.”
Hauer nods solemnly as he gets out of his chair. Lawyers are trained to stand when they have something important to say. “Ms. LaCuesta is demonstrating great courage to come forward at this time,” he says.
Duly noted.
“She believes it is important that the truth be told.”
I think I see the look of disbelief on Pete’s face.
Rosie’s arms are still folded. She says, “Can we cut to the chase, Mr. Hauer?”
“Yes. Ms. LaCuesta is prepared to admit that she has not been entirely forthcoming about certain statements she made to the police with respect to Mr. MacArthur’s death.”
When my clients say something that isn’t true, I call it lying. When Hauer’s clients do the same thing, they’re not entirely forthcoming. “What statements?”
“Those pertaining to Mr. MacArthur’s son.”
This gets a reaction from Rosie. I don’t say anything. Let him talk.
“As you may know,” Hauer continues, “Ms. LaCuesta told the police that young Mr. MacArthur went to the winery by himself early Saturday morning. That wasn’t entirely true. Ms. LaCuesta accompanied him to the winery. In fact, she drove him.”
By my reckoning, it wasn’t anywhere close to the truth. I look at Rosie, who holds up a hand. Let him talk.
Hauer explains that Eve lied about her trip to the winery because Little Richard didn’t want his soon-to-be ex-wife to know about it.
Rosie gives him a half-grin. “We already knew she went to the winery, Mr. Hauer. Your client admitted it.” Her tone remains measured when she asks, “What else did your client lie about?”
Hauer takes off his glasses and puts them back on. He chooses his words carefully when he says, “She also made a misstatement about the circumstances surrounding her drive to the winery.”
A moment ago, she was not entirely forthcoming. Now she’s making misstatements. It will be interesting to see how many euphemisms he can come up with for the concept of lying. I ask, “What was her misstatement?”
He clears his throat. “It had to do with where she picked up Mr. MacArthur.”
I say, “She told us she picked him up at his house. In fact, he told us she picked him up at his house.”
He clears his throat again. He fiddles with the glasses. Then he uses them to gesture. “That was incorrect. She didn’t pick him up at his house, Mr. Daley. She picked him up at the east view lot at the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Rosie and I look at each other in stone-cold silence for what seems like an eternity. She unfolds her arms. Finally, she asks, “What time was that?”
“Around three-forty a.m.”
It was just a few minutes before the security guard found Angel. Rosie faces Eve as she asks, “Did Mr. MacArthur give you any indication as to how he got to the bridge at that hour?”
Hauer glances at Eve, who nods. Then she turns back to us and says in an even tone, “He drove to the bridge in his father’s car.”
Rosie’s jaws clench as she asks, “What was he doing there?”
Eve gives Hauer a helpless look. He answers for her. “Mr. MacArthur told my client that there had been an accident at the house. He said he and his father had fought and he had lost his temper.” He nods melodramatically and says, “He struck his father with the Oscar statue and killed him.”
Jesus. Rosie and I look at each other for a couple of beats. Then she says to him, “And he tried to frame our client?”
“It appears that way. Ms. Chavez was unconscious. He loaded her and the Oscar into the car and drove to the bridge. Ms. LaCuesta gave Mr. MacArthur a ride from the bridge to the winery. He asked her not to tell anyone where she picked him up.”
“And your client is prepared to testify to that effect under oath if we need her to do so?”
He pauses for an instant before he says, “Yes.”
I glance at Rosie, who doesn’t move a muscle. I ask Hauer, “If Mr. MacArthur hit his father with the Oscar, there would have been traces of blood on his clothing. What happened to his clothes?”
Hauer hesitates. Then he looks at Eve, who says, “I don’t know. Richard must have dumped them somewhere on the way to the bridge.”
Rosie shoots me a stern look. The elusive bloody clothes are still a gaping hole in the story. On the other hand, it’s in our client’s best interests to take Eve’s word at face value.
Rosie turns to Ward and says, “Are you planning to press charges against Ms. LaCuesta?”
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