Right then Devin realized two things - one - she would never go back to acting or modeling or anything that required less of her true self than she was. And two – she was probably gay.
Any doubt of that was dispelled in the 48 hours that followed, all of which she spent with Kriya at her house in Brentwood, leaving only because the limo arrived to take Kriya to the airport. Devin wasn’t sure how she could fall in love so fast, but the feeling was definitely mutual.
The other thing that happened to change her life, was about two weeks later, a Police Detective came to see Devin up at Brad and Armand’s house where she was now living.
His name was Rick Esteves, and he was a detective at the West Hollywood division. He had a kind face and a warm smile. He sat down across from Devin in the living room and told her that they had caught the man who murdered Christy. It was an ex boyfriend of hers, someone who had been stalking her over the years but who she never mentioned to Devin or anyone else. It had taken them a few months to make sure the case was rock solid, but they got him.
Devin felt such relief wash over her that she started to cry. It was almost like this was the thing she needed to let Christy go. Detective Esteves pulled a neatly pressed handkerchief out of his blazer pocket and handed it to Devin.
He held her hand while she cried, and she used his handkerchief to dry the tears she’d been holding in for months. Devin was beyond touched by his kindness and totally moved by the compassion he showed. She was blown away by the fact that this amazing hero had shown up and taken away so much of her sorrow - that he fought this good fight for her and more importantly for Christy.
She handed Detective Esteves his handkerchief back and looked at him a moment.
“Thank you, Detective. You don’t know what this means.”
“I have an idea...” He put the handkerchief back in his jacket pocket. “Do you have any questions at all?”
“Yes, actually, I do...”
But the question wasn’t at all the one Detective Rick Esteves was expecting to hear.
“How do I become a cop?”
Devin pulled up in front of her small house on Utica Drive, at the end of a street, where the dirt trail started. Also known as dog walker’s central. Her friend Brad was waiting outside as promised.
“Thank God,” he said. “I was going to send a St. Bernard in a helicopter to come find you.”
“I could’ve used one.”
She got out of her car and gave him a kiss.
“Don’t you have a key?”
“I forgot it. And believe me I paid the price.”
“The lizard?”
“Yes. And the neighbor. And a car full of Jehovah’s Witnesses parked down the street. I had to go hide in my car and pretend to be dead.”
Devin laughed. “That won’t call attention to you.”
“Hey, you weren’t here. I did what I had to.”
“I know, honey...”
Devin opened her door and turned off the beeping house alarm.
“Hey, I met Helen Raymond today!”
“Oh my GOD! She’s a legend. I love her. What was she like?”
Devin couldn’t do it. The truth is sometimes so unnecessary.
“...Yeah, she was nice.”
Why ruin it for the guy?
9
Richard Blakely stood in the Moscow Ice Vodka green room of the Hayes Theater, home of the Hollywood Screen Awards and looked around. He ran through it all in his mind. An hour into the show, this room would be his. And in it he would have every single one of those A-list assholes. He smiled at how easy it all was. He was already in.
“Boss…”
He turned and saw his second in command, a former Serbian sniper, turned fellow gun for hire he only knew by his last name, Vidic. A late 40’s hard faced individual with a buzzcut and a nose that looked like it had been bashed in more than a few times.
“All set, boss?” he asked in his accented English.
Richard smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
Richard glanced at his watch. “Six, seven hours from now we are going to be a hundred million dollars richer.”
Vidic’s blazing dark eyes flickered, the side of his this mouth curled into a sneer, the closest he clearly came to a smile.
He flicked his head at Richard. “I’ll take more than that 10% you promised me then, what do you say?”
Richard pushed out a laugh. He made a mental note to trust Vidic even less than the barely he trusted him now.
“Mr. Leise?”
Richard turned around to see a young female PA with a ponytail and a walkie talkie.
Richard turned around and smiled. “Call me Gunnar.”
“Yes, sir. The producer wants a word. We’ve got the FBI and Homeland security coming through to do a final sweep of the auditorium.”
“Very good.”
Richard smirked. FBI, Homeland. Who gives a shit. The con was going to be part of the fun. They had no reason to suspect he wasn’t Gunnar Leise of Leise Security. Richard looked forward to leading them through his security plans the whole time knowing they would be inches away froma stack of C4 explosives that would bring this whole place down in a few hours.
10
Head of Publicity for Zephyr Studios, Lori Plom peered out the window of her limo and watched Sunset Boulevard whir by. She took one more enthusiastic mouthful of the pastrami sandwich she’d had her assistant Terry leave in the limo for her, along with the fully stocked bar, and two bottles of Veuve Cliquot. Lori masticated that chomp best she could given its magnitude and before swallowing, shoved the sandwich in her mouth for one more bite before the other had gone down the pipe. She tore off a large chunk like a pitbull double jaw locking onto its prey, making sure she got bread and pastrami and onion.
She said out loud a garbled, “Okay, that’s it. I’m fuckin’ full!” Plopping the sandwich down on its waxy paper.
Wrapping up the rest of the sandwich while chewing away at the double wide portion in her mouth, she kept her mouth ajar so she could breathe while she ate - something she found comforting, what with that deviated septum she got fifteen years ago when she got drunk at Melissa Etheridge’s New Year’s Eve party, tried to dive into the pool but landed facedown on the diving board.
Lori spotted something out the window and lowered the privacy divider between her and the driver.
“Driver, can you pull over please...”
The limo eased to a spot on the side of the road at Sunset and Beverly Glen. She pressed the window button and her tinted window glided down with a whir, now late afternoon L.A. sunshine filled her vision. There sitting at a bus stop was a homeless man in a tattered shirt and a dirty face.
Lori pushed her face out the window, afraid for anything else to get too close. She had heard a report on the news about some hobos downtown who had contracted TB at a shelter. She wasn’t anywhere near downtown, but why take a chance.
“Excuse me...”
The man stared straight ahead.
“Scuse me...”
The man looked around, pointed to himself like ‘me?’
“Yes. Come here, sweetheart.”
The man stood up and walked over to the limo.
Lori Plom’s face disappeared a moment, then a pale pink freckled hand stuck itself out the window clutching a wrapped up sandwich.
She spoke kindly. “You must be hungry. Would you like a sandwich?”
The man rubbed his dirty chin.
“What kind is it?”
The hand wilted. Lori lowered the window more so her big freckled face could also fit in the frame of the window as though posing for a Facebook picture with her pastrami sandwich.
Her voice was no longer kind. “Whaddya mean? Who cares? It’s a sandwich.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll like it.”
Lori sighed, keeping her anger from flaring. The same couldn’t be said for her nostrils. “It’s pastrami.”
The man made a face, like ew. “Oh... No thanks.”
Lori exploded. “Whaddayou kidding me? This is an $18 sandwich! It’s from Arturo’s in Malibu.”
“Yeah, no thanks.”
The man headed back to the bus stop.
Lori sat in the limo looking out at the rejection sitting back down at the bus stop. Her stomach burbled with quick flash of anger. And onion. She opened the door and got out.
Kevin Collins, day laborer and part time hobo, looked up startled from his perch at the bus stop as a large, strawberry blond woman in a tuxedo and red high heels marched across the grass towards him.
“What’s your problem?” she barked.
“...What?” He wasn’t sure what was scarier, this woman marching towards him with fury in her eyes, or the fact that she was shaped like a refrigerator and walking stiff legged in high heels – like she didn’t have knees or she was a wooden soldier or something.
“Look,” he started, “I don’t want any trouble.”
She thrust the waxy paper in his face. “Take the sandwich.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Well, I don’t want it!”
“That’s not my problem.”
The woman looked at him, her nostrils flared in fury.
“You’re very ungrateful.”
“I don’t think I am.”
Lori Plom’s eyes narrowed as she sized up the ungracious recipient of her loving kindness she’d learned in yoga class. “Well, you just remember this when you’re in your cardboard box tonight. Someone tried to help you and you were too good to be helped.”
“I don’t like pastrami.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
She turned and started walking back.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take it.”
“Too late.”
“I can give it to someone.”
“Fine!” Lori turned around “Here!” With that, she whipped the wrapped sandwich at the man, who had to duck to avoid the thing hitting him in the face.
Lori continued her march to the car. Muttering. “Fucking asshole.”
She opened the door and got in.
Sitting in the limo, her heart was pounding. She grabbed a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Looked up to the driver. “GO!”
He pressed on the gas, lurching the car into a full screech back onto Sunset Boulevard.
11
“I’m telling you! I’m a presenter! I need to be in there.”
Police Lieutenant Bronco Bennett stared down through his wraparound Ray Bans at the tiny boy-man standing in front of him at the red carpet entrance on Hollywood Boulevard.
“Sorry, son. No ID, no entry.”
The young man, teen actor cum hip hop clothing mogul Kaden Conroy poked his finger in Bronco Bennett’s face. “You’re going to regret this, dude.”
“No I.D., no entry.”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“Doesn’t matter who you are. Go home and get your I.D. and come back.”
“I want your badge number.”
“Can’t you see that far up?”
He waved the next person through to begin their check.
Finally the kid’s manager piped in, “Fine. We’ll get his ID, but you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“I doubt that...” Bronco sneered.
Bronco laughed to himself. Who the hell was he going to be in trouble with? He was the Lieutenant of the Hollywood Division of the LAPD and therefore the man in charge of everything tonight. Even the FBI and Homeland assigned to the gig reported to him.
Technically he was answerable only to the chief of police. And Esteves was nowhere to be found today. Certainly not around here. Probably kissing babies or signing autographs for his people in East LA. It was no secret that Bronco Bennett and newly appointed Police Chief Rick Esteves did not get along. They’d been cops together in the West Hollywood Division, then both made Lieutenant – Esteves stayed in West Hollywood, Bronco was transferred to the Hollywood Division. “Good,” he said at that time. “Let him stay there with the queers and the trannies...I’m going where the grit and the shit is.” Meaning real police work. So when Esteves was made Chief of Police six months ago, Bennett took it personally. He was a much better cop and a much better fit. Fuck this affirmative action shit.
But now this was his world. This was his night. These 1300 men reported to him. And he was going to make damn sure nothing went wrong.
He checked another ID and waved some tuxedo’d loser through to get wanded. He pulled out his radio.
“1222, where are we with Homeland?”
The voice crackled back through the radio. “Ready for you, Lieutenant.”
“10-4.”
Bronco Bennett clipped the radio back on his lapel. He buttoned his suit jacket and strode along the red carpet keeping an eye out for trouble as he walked.
He spotted a hot 20 ish actress type giving him the eye. And why wouldn’t she? At 42 he kept his 6’4” frame in really good shape. Unlike a lot of his colleagues, he still had a full thick head of jet black hair. He had a strong jaw and a great smile, so he’d been told. Women loved him and he loved them back. His wife would just have to deal with it. Which she did.
Bronco flung open the front door to the auditorium and stepped inside. He pulled off his sunglasses, slipping them into his breast pocket. As his eyes adjusted, he saw about ten people standing waiting for him in the carpeted theater lobby.
Producer Sis Warren approached him. “Lieutenant, thanks for coming in. Listen before we do the auditorium check, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
A tall guy almost his height stepped forward, held out his hand.
“Gunnar Leise, Leise Security.”
Bronco shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Leise. Heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah, you too. Hear you’re doing a great fuckin’ job.”
Bronco lit up then damped it back down.
The guy took Bronco aside, he spoke quietly. “Look, these homeland Security guys are up my ass, saying they want to stick around during the show. Can you-”
Bronco rolled his eyes. “Those fuckin’ paper pushing monkeys...” He looked at the guy. “I’ll take care of it.”
Bronco walked over to the group where he spotted Dan Milner, that Homeland security wuss-in-charge who’d made him sit through some boring power point presentation the week before.
“Milner,” Bronco barked in a way the guy would know who was in charge. “Mr. Leise and his team are handling the inside, they don’t need any help from you.”
Milner looked unsure. Finally what choice did he have? “Okay, Lieutenant. Whatever you say. It’s your show.”
Damn right. Bronco Bennett thought to himself.
Damn fuckin’ right.
12
“Devin, c’mon! Let’s see...”
Brad was lying propped up on Devin’s bed, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom with her dress on.
She opened the bathroom door and stepped out, makeup done, in a short black evening dress. “Hair up or down?”
Brad sat up. “Wow.”
“Up?”
“Wow.”
“Down?”
“Wow. You... look gorgeous. Where the fuck did you get that dress?”
“Oh, this old thing?” Devin waved a hand at him like, ‘pshaw...’
“Seriously... is that Prada?”
“It is. Good eye, gay guy.”
“Give us a twirl.”
Devin turned around to give him a full 360 of her sleeveless, black, plunging v- neck, A-line, dropped hem, just above the knee Prada dress, purchased at a Barney’s New York sale last year with nowhere to wear it.
“Wow.”
“So you say...” Devin strode over to her dresser in search of some earrings.
They heard the front door downstairs open and close. “Devin? You still here?”
Devin called down. “Hey, Nadia. We’re up here.”
They heard tromp tromp tromp on the stairs.
De
vin’s grey and black oversized tabby cat jumped on the bed next to Brad.
“Hello, Mister Peabody...” Brad said.
The cat swatted at him and hissed.
Brad laughed “As cheerful as ever.”
Devin scooped up Mr. Peabody, her arms extended so as not to get cat hair on her dress. She kissed him on the head and he hissed. She plunked him down in the hallway. Clearly his crabbiness didn’t faze her.
Brad smirked. “Reminds me of some of your girlfriends… Speaking of which – is she...? Tonight?”
Brad didn’t need to fill in all the words.
Devin shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Devin’s other best friend, Nadia Bertrand appeared in the bedroom doorway, dressed in worn blue track pants and an expensive looking dressy blouse.
“Hey you two...” She spotted Devin and smiled. “Wow.”
“That’s what I said,” Brad said. He looked up and caught sight of Nadia’s get up. “Oh no. Nadia...Don’t you think you should have gone all the way with one of the looks – nice blouse with oh, say, jeans or sweat pants with a t shirt? That’s just wrong. Devin, arrest her.”
“Oh shut up, Bradley...” Nadia smirked. Despite her protest, she loved it when he teased her. Nadia gazed at Devin again, beaming. “Really sweetie, you look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Nadia. I’m actually excited.”
“You’ll have a great time.”
“So she’s nice?”
“Totally sweet. I do her Feng Shui and she’s got a really great house and everything.”
“I don’t really care about that...”
Brad piped in. “Looks?”
Nadia was distracted, she waved to Mr Peabody in the hallway. Mr. Peabody didn’t care for that and hissed, with a little more gusto to cover the distance.
“Yeah, she’s cute.” She turned back to Devin. “And a great diversion for you what with whatsherswhosey...”
This is Devin Jones Page 4