by Nigel May
‘You did,’ smirked Charlie, his head buried in a guidebook about the city. ‘It’s not a zebra though, it’s a Tijuana zebra, which is actually a painted donkey. Apparently they’re popular tourist attractions and have been since the 1940s. The reason for painting the donkey black and white was so that the poor beast could be seen in photographs. As the donkeys were mostly white, on sunny days with old black and white photography the donkey would look like some kind of ghost and that wasn’t right. So they were painted to look like zebras. They are also known as zonkeys.’
‘Zonkeys?’ laughed Georgia as she switched off the ignition. ‘You are kidding me?’
‘The guidebook Nova gave us says so, it must be true. It’s a pity we’re not here for some fun as the local waxworks, the Museo De Cera, looks a scream. Maybe we could suggest they add a model of my mother to sit alongside Tom Cruise and Michael Jackson. Well, I think it’s Tom Cruise.’ Charlie turned the page ninety degrees as if that might help his guesswork.
‘Those breasts of hers would take a lot of wax, Charlie. They’d have to melt down the entire Jackson Five to cater for it.’ Georgia laughed, a sense of cheekiness and fun washing over her. It felt good and made a welcome change, even if it was swiftly replaced by a cocktail of painful remembrance as Mitzi filled her thoughts again.
The last few days had been really tough for Georgia, feeling close to Mitzi again in some ways yet still a million miles away from any kind of closure or clue about her disappearance. The party in LA had been a great way to try and forget for a few hours but her tearful outburst to Addison only reminded her how much she missed her friend and how she would never be able to find inner peace until she had discovered the truth. No amount of laughter with Charlie or faux happiness about wax museums in South America could take away the pain that boiled within her soul.
As she and Charlie walked into the lobby of their hotel, she hoped that maybe Tijuana would hold the answer. Or at least a vital clue to move her in the right direction.
Aaron was not in the best of moods as he sat himself down in the lobby of his LA hotel and waited for his transfer to the airport. He was loving his time in Los Angeles and was in no rush to leave. But he needed to head back to the reality of his life in the UK and judging from the two phone calls he’d just experienced, it wasn’t exactly going to be a bowl of cherries.
The first call had been with Rachel. Was he actually beginning to warm to her? He thought he was. Whether it was the eternal California sunshine that was making him see her in a different light or whether it was the fact she’d sent him to Tinseltown in the first place for the casting, he had actually looked forward to speaking to her. It was a shame that the conversation between them had not been as pleasing as the Hollywood temperatures.
‘The network people liked you but they are keen to see a few other talents first before making a decision. I hear on the grapevine they’re maybe looking for a more established name but you never know, so keep the faith.’ For a newbie to all of the audition process, Rachel’s words had been anaesthetising to Aaron. Numbed by a lack of news. He had assumed, albeit wrongly, that he would hear straight away as to whether or not he had been successful, and he hadn’t really contemplated the possibility that he had not. In his head he had already planned a home in Beverly Hills, seen his face on billboards on Sunset Strip and bagged himself a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Plus he could imagine the women like Addison that he could have on tap. Easy, breezy, sleazy. He guessed he’d have to wait.
Not that it was all bad news. ‘Nova loved you though, and whatever happens she wants to squeeze you in somewhere on her show. Apparently she loved your twerking. Aren’t you the dark horse? You shaking your rump made quite the impression.’
‘Shall I stay in LA, then?’ Aaron would have been more than happy to check back into his hotel room and have his flight cancelled quicker than you could say paparazzi.
‘Nothing works that quickly in Hollywood, darling, unless it’s a face or tit lift, so no can do. The current series of Super Nova is all planned out but you could pop up in next season’s. Nova just needs to decide how to work it … or should I say twerk it?’
Rachel laughed at her own joke. Aaron didn’t.
‘So, what I am coming back to? Have any more offers poured in?’ Aaron was enjoying being in demand and was hoping that it was set to continue. It wasn’t.
‘Nothing concrete, doll. But I will put out the word that Nova loves you and see if that can pull any strings. Anyway, enjoy your flight and as soon as I hear from the US network chaps I’ll let you know. Bye.’
She was gone before Aaron could reply.
As soon as Rachel had hung up on him, his phone had sounded again. This time it was Tanya and she was hysterical, her accent stronger than ever. At first Aaron found it hard to comprehend what she was saying. Her words seemed a touch slurred too. Had she been drinking? With the time difference it was more than feasible.
‘Tanya, just slow down, will you? What on earth is the matter?’
Through copious sobs Tanya explained to Aaron what had happened in Milan with Devon and the fact that he now knew about their affair. Aaron could feel his own depression about going back to the UK spreading through his body like strangulating weeds as she spoke. The only job he had – and a well-paid one at that – was slipping from his grasp.
Or at least he thought it was.
‘Devon says that you are not to touch me again, that he will kill us both. We will have to be careful.’
Aaron was confused. ‘Hang on, so you’re telling me that your husband knows we’ve been up to no good and he still wants me to work there. Why?’
‘To hurt me more I guess. He thinks that I will give you up, but I won’t. He’s having cameras installed everywhere but I will find a way. We will.’ She paused before adding, ‘Won’t we?’ It was more questioning than she would have liked.
Aaron could feel his anger rising. ‘Your husband nearly raped you. It’s him you should be giving up. Why are you putting up with that? Leave him.’
‘He is my husband, Aaron. I am his wife.’ There was a strange finality in Tanya’s sentence, as if that were reason enough. As if that made sense. It baffled Aaron, his disgust at the situation mounting.
‘Well, you didn’t give him much consideration when I was banging you up a tree.’
‘You are my lover. He is my husband. I won’t lose either. I need you.’
As he hung up on his conversation with Tanya, he weighed his options. If he hadn’t needed the money, he would have jacked in the gardening job there and then. Who wanted to work for a loony with a gun? But until something more concrete came along he couldn’t. And the thought of more sex with Tanya did please him, as the twitching of his cock proved. He was incredibly fond of her even if he didn’t understand why she would want to stay with a maniac like Devon. What was his hold over her? He may have been a real player in his time but something chivalrous within Aaron’s core told him that he needed to be there for Tanya. Something wouldn’t let him just leave. He had no idea why Devon would even keep him in employment given what he now knew. He wasn’t sure he understood his gut reaction not to walk away but he certainly had to listen to it. And he was sure that Devon would never actually use the gun. He was too wet for that.
‘Excuse me, you know Mitzi Bidgood, don’t you?’
Aaron looked up from his thoughts. He recognised the face of the woman talking to him but couldn’t quite place it.
‘I don’t know her, but I was due to dance with her before she disappeared. Why? Who’s asking?’
‘I’m Evie Merchant. I knew Mitzi a while ago and can’t stop thinking about the circumstances surrounding the death of her boyfriend and her disappearance. It’s too tragic for words.’
She’d lost Aaron at the mention of her name. Of course he knew her face, she was only one of the biggest names in the acting world, up there with Jolie and Kidman. And she was talking to him.
Christ, isn’t this j
ust another fabulous reason to love this bloody town, thought Aaron, a smile spreading across his face. This did not happen back home in Cornwall. There was nothing about LA he didn’t like – the sunshine, the bodies, the bars, the chance meetings. Cornwall did not compare. His short time Stateside had been five star all the way and he was definitely getting a taste for it.
‘I knew I recognised you from the news reports. I’m just passing through LA for a couple of days to record some voiceover work before heading back home and well, I just wanted to say hello. Mitzi was a truly lovely person. Totally mad at times which is why I liked her even more. I was always a bit reserved growing up but evenings out with her were always pretty full-on and I loved them.’ Evie’s words were maybe a bit much for a first meeting with someone who didn’t even know Mitzi but her thoughts of days gone by had let her mouth nostalgically run into overdrive.
Aaron wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Er…everyone I’ve met connected with her says she was a great girl. Shame to think she might be … you know …’ He couldn’t complete the sentence. He didn’t need to.
The two of them chatted, and Aaron told Evie about why he was in Los Angeles. About the casting and the party. At the mention of the celebration he’d attended for Nova’s TV show Evie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, her son just interviewed me back in the UK a few days back. Charming man and his girlfriend is lovely too. She knew Mitzi very well, of course. We were in the same fitness group. Mitzi taught us.’
‘It’s a ridiculously tiny world,’ commented Aaron.
‘Listen, I have to go as I’m due in a recording booth a few blocks away in a matter of minutes but I’m having a charity event back in the UK in a few weeks, keeping the Mitzi flag flying as it were, and seeing as you’re connected to the whole Mitzi situation you’d be more than welcome to come. Bring a friend too. It’s kind of in her honour, whatever happens.’
Evie reached into her bag and pulled out an invitation. Aaron scanned it without reading the words. ‘I’d love to. Thank you. That’s incredibly nice of you.’
‘Have a great trip home.’ As Evie began to walk away, Aaron couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘Oh, before you go, could I possibly take a quick snap with you? My mum is a big fan.’ It was a lie, Aaron’s mum was more impressed with the likes of Paul Hollywood than she was with A-List Hollywood but he needed to say something, this was too good an opportunity to waste.
‘Of course. No problem.’ Evie loved his excitement. It reminded her of her early days in the business.
Two minutes later as Evie departed in a waiting car and his own ride to the airport pulled up outside the hotel, Aaron was sending the selfie of himself and Evie to virtually everyone in his phone book. Including Rachel. She could add Evie Merchant to her list of people that her client Aaron Rose hung out with. He didn’t send it to his mum.
Having freshened up after their journey, Georgia and Charlie ventured out into Tijuana. Despite the deluxe splendour of the hotel Nova and Jacob had chosen for them, they decided to head to another hotel on the city’s bustling Avenida Revolucion for their evening meal, called Caesar’s. Georgia had read about it in Nova’s guidebook while Charlie had been showering.
‘So why are we going here?’ asked Charlie as their cab dropped them off at their destination.
‘Well, firstly because there are loads of bars around here and I figured we could hand out some of the flyers I’ve had made up asking for information about Mitzi. Somebody might have seen her – the age range of people around here and the vibrancy of the nightlife is perfect for Mitzi. I kind of figure that if she is still in this city then this is where she might be.’
‘And secondly?’
‘I want to try the Caesar salad here, as apparently this hotel is the place where the Caesar salad was first created back in 1924. Seeing as it’s one of my all-time favourite dishes it seems stupid not to try the original recipe while we’re here. And there’s live music too and the waiters are said to be super cute, so what’s not to like?’
Charlie grinned at Georgia’s touristy glee. It was good to see her happy, despite the sombre reason for their trip into Mexico. ‘Super cute, eh? I’ll have to watch you, won’t I? Not that they could possibly be sexier than me?’ He was only half joking. ‘Either that or I had better start wearing a poncho and a sombrero to keep you happy.’
It was nearly two hours later that they left the restaurant, having fallen for the glamour of the décor with its shamrock-green mosaic walls and its bright, vibrant lighting. An eclectic mix of people surrounded them as Georgia enjoyed one of the best salads she had ever tasted and Charlie filled himself up on tapas. The place was trendy without a door policy elitism.
With a backpack full of flyers showing Mitzi’s photo and a number to ring with any information, they hit the bars. Two hours and about two hundred flyers later, they ended their efforts. Their search had been fruitless. Charlie and Georgia had gone into as many of the Avenida’s dance bars as possible in the hope of finding Mitzi or someone who knew of her whereabouts. They had drawn a complete blank in every bar. Nobody had seen Mitzi other than having read about her in newspapers when she had first disappeared.
They considered going into the Zona Norte, adjacent to the Avenida and famed as being Tijuana’s Red Light District but given the late hour and the fact that Charlie feared for their safety if they strayed too far away from the main strip, they decided to call it a night and head back to their hotel.
As they were exiting their cab outside their hotel, something in the car park caught Georgia’s eye. It was a few hundred feet away but large enough to catch her attention. She was sure it hadn’t been there earlier.
She stopped, staring into the semi-darkness, her hand in Charlie’s. Her halting caused him to do so, too.
‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing her intrigue.
‘That road vehicle, on the far side of the car park. It looks just like the one that Mitzi and Foster were in.’
Charlie was not convinced. ‘It also looks just like a million other road vehicles as well.’
‘I know, but all the same, let’s take a look.’
They both walked over to the van, talking as they did so. ‘The police said it would be impossible to trace whether Mitzi had driven into Mexico through the border in a particular road vehicle. They have hundreds of them come through every day,’ said Charlie.
‘And I’m sure they could trace anything if they really wanted to. But in a city famed for crime I don’t think trying to track down a vanished British dancer ranks high on their priority list behind drug cartels and illegal immigrants. I think it’s more the case that they couldn’t be arsed.’
‘So how do you find out if this camper van is Mitzi’s?’ asked Charlie as they reached the vehicle.
‘That’s easy.’
Georgia took her phone from her pocket and pressed her finger on the Photos icon. She enlarged one of the thumbnails she had saved there. It was a photo taken from Mitzi’s Twitter account showing her and Foster in front of the camper van. The registration plate was clearly visible. She noted the number in her mind and stared down at the registration of the van parked in front of them.
They were identical.
Forty-Eight
Devon slid a CD into the state of the art Wave music system placed at the corner of his first wife’s painting studio and waited a few moments until the first sombrous tones of Beethoven’s Symphony No.7 burst forth from the speakers. Classical music made his mind tick, spurred his senses into life and brought every fibre of his being into action. It resurrected any dead corner of his heart and soul that had been killed off by hurt, by deceit, by betrayal. And right now he needed resurrection on a Frankenstein-sized scale.
Devon had always performed his best work to a background of Debussy, Holst or others from his vast collection. Ideas seemed to flow as the rhythms of an orchestra engulfed his mind in perfect harmony. His scientific work had benefitted greatly when he had been left alone at his laboratory, the
passion of an up-tempo piece or the delicate flutterings of a classical lullaby moulding his thoughts into solutions and breakthroughs. Music was often the spark that would ignite his genius.
But it wasn’t an equation or methodical piece of mathematics that needed solving right now, it was the subject of Tanya’s infidelity. Devon had been close to the edge in Milan, he had nearly given in to a demonic place deep within him that screamed for revenge. One squeeze of the trigger and the symphony of his love could have been over, once and for all, another climatic finale signalling the end of his second marriage.
But something had stopped him. Love, desire, forgiveness? His overwhelming cloak of anger and hurt? Maybe even madness or his deep vulnerability. Devon wasn’t sure, but knew that his life with Tanya was not over yet. She had strayed. Roamed away from him like a feral creature in search of satisfaction. But she could be tamed, taught to obey, of that he was sure. He had the power. The control. The ability to torment. To return the heartache that she was giving to him. All that was needed to keep her by his side.
Devon sat himself down on the studio floor in the exact spot where he had seen Aaron with his bearded face between his wife’s legs. The images of her betrayal ran through his mind. How she had tormented him. What was it about this place? Why did the four walls surrounding him breed such treachery? Was it here that Sophia and Nicolas Belvoir had first made love? Was it over the canvases of Sophia’s multi-hued creations that the bold brush strokes of desire had initially daubed themselves across his first wife’s heart? Was it here that she had hatched the plan to leave him, to vacate the nest of love they had shared together for so long?