An attentive waiter seated me and flipped the napkin across my lap with practiced ease within seconds of my arriving. I studied the menu. There was the Polo Lounge Famous French Toast, made with sun-dried cranberry bread, banana cream, and sugar-toasted pecans. (Eight billion calories!) There was the So-Cal omelette made with avocado, chorizo, cheese, cilantro, and tomato (Bleh!) There was a Japanese breakfast listed, which told me a lot about high-end hotels in Los Angeles. I decided I needed protein to face the day, so I went with the American breakfast with a side of bacon.
I had a couple of text messages. One was from Caroline, a friend and fellow associate in the New York office. She reported that Gadzooks, John’s cat that I’d adopted, had handled the move to her apartment with an aplomb rarely seen in felines. The other was from Cecelia, another associate who was known for her sharp mind and smutty mouth. Have you met Montolbano? How hot is he? Smiling I texted back. Yes, and very.
My meal arrived. I ate, and read through my bookmarked, online newspapers. I had added the LA Times to the mix when I knew I was getting pulled into this case. The headline was about the president’s decision to commit troops in a stan I’d never heard of. The next largest headline concerned Kerrinan’s arrest on murder charges. Apparently the human authorities had gotten him back out of Fey.
There were photos from the Beverly Hills police station, a sort of Disneyesque vision of a white Spanish mission, and there were a lot of angry people gathered on either side of the steps holding up signs. The picture quality wasn’t good enough to read most of them, but the one I could make out read, MARRIAGE IS BETWEEN TWO HUMANS.
After I finished I went back to my room to brush my teeth and take one final look through the legal papers, and then I headed down to the lobby to wait for Kobe. I was pleased to see that David hadn’t arrived yet. Having been reamed out for not behaving in a professional manner, I felt that being ready before him was a small victory.
He showed up a few minutes later looking flush and plump. Yep, he’d stoked up on blood. He held his briefcase in one hand and a broadbrimmed Panama hat in the other. Not a minute later Kobe came in the front door. David put on his hat, and we headed to the car.
The rush hour traffic was intense, but we stayed on city streets and arrived at the IMG forty-five minutes before the arbitration was set to begin.
* * *
Junie took us in hand the minute we entered. “Coffee? Blood?” she asked.
“Coffee,” I said, and David waved her off.
“I’ve dined.”
It was an interesting word choice. The older vampires of my acquaintance, like my foster liege Meredith Bainbridge and Shade, said fed. The younger ones tended to say eaten or dined. I suppose it did make the human hosts sound less like cattle when you phrased it that way. It was also evidence of how even the most conservative and hidebound society can change, albeit slowly.
Junie led us to the other end of the office and threw open silver-chased double doors to reveal a gigantic conference room with heavily treated glass that made the sunlight look like it was being filtered through layers of seawater. Pizer was waiting for us, wearing a suit of coppery brown.
He gave me a grin that exposed his fangs. “You’re in the news.”
David made a face. “I’m not surprised. There must be thousands of other businesses in this city, but people only seem to care about the damn movie business.” A new thought intruded, and he gave Pizer a thunderous frown. “I sincerely hope no one in this office leaked. We can’t function if the parties don’t have confidence in our discretion and impartiality.”
Pizer, still smiling, waited for David to finish his rather pompous speech, then he said, “Oh, you’re not in the news. She is.”
“What?” I pulled my voice back down. “Me? Why?”
A newspaper appeared from behind Pizer’s back. There was a big photo spread of me on Montolbano’s arm entering Ketchup. It was an improvement over the last time I’d been the picture above the fold. Then I’d been flashing my breast in the New York Post and leaving the scene of a grisly murder.
The headline screamed: “Illegal Affair?” I scanned the opening lines of the story: “There have been rumors of problems between Kate Billingham and Jeff Montolbano. Now there may be fire to add to that smoke. Last night Montolbano was seen at one of LA’s hot spots with a beautiful mystery woman who turned out to be Linnet Ellery, superstar lawyer at Ishmael, McGillary and Gold.”
I liked the beautiful part. Usually I got described as cute. I even kind of liked the mystery part, but I didn’t like getting cast in the role of home wrecker. “No stranger to controversy, Ellery was associated with a series of grisly murders…” Before I could read further David snatched the paper out of my hands.
“Oh, dear God.” The words emerged like a groan. “Just what we need. Linnet, how do you manage to end up in these … these … situations?”
“Me? How is this my fault? You’re the one who agreed to have dinner with Montolbano. We could have done room service in your cabana.”
Pizer took back the paper. I snatched at it, but they were passing it well over my head. I stepped back, fuming.
Pizer shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. More ink for IMG is never a bad thing.”
The paper went back to David.
“And that is precisely the problem, Hank … that you don’t see a problem. I think you’ve been in this environment for too long.”
I watched the newsprint float by as it went back to Pizer.
“The reason I’m on the West Coast is because I’m not a fossil,” Pizer replied.
“The senior partners are not going to like having an associate involved in a media circus, and it creates the appearance of bias.”
Especially this associate, I thought. I comforted myself that this time nobody had died.
Pizer wasn’t backing down. “If they don’t want press, then they shouldn’t have opened an office in Los Angeles and taken on a high-profile industry case.” I thought Pizer had a point, and I nodded in agreement. That had David rounding on me.
“Linnet, you need to stay in the background. Okay?”
“I just went out to dinner,” I said. “Short of wearing a burqua or never leaving my room, I’m not sure what more I can do.”
“Well, just…” David looked frustrated. “Just let me take point in this opening session.”
“Fine,” I snapped.
“And don’t talk to Montolbano. Now, could we please get back to the case,” David said, and he sounded really exasperated.
Pizer was still grinning. Clearly he loved to tweak David. “Sure. I assumed you want to start with a general meeting, so I had all the parties come in.”
David nodded. “Good, yes, excellent.”
“Do you want them brought in one at a time or in a big scrum?” I asked.
David considered, then said, “Bring them all in together. How they interact with each other should be interesting, and it may help us start to get a fix on these people.”
“Remember, they are actors,” Pizer warned. “They’ll show you what they think you want to see.”
The idea that a bunch of actors could fool him had David assuming the full-on vampire. “They can try,” he said. “I’ve had some experience with human subterfuge.”
Pizer shook his head, but said nothing. He went away to summon the various parties. While he was gone, assistants hurried in with coffee, tea, soft drinks, and a platter of donuts. Yellow legal pads and pens were arranged on the big oval table.
“Can you be charmed, bedazzled, whatever you want to call it by the Álfar?” I asked. “My foster father warned me about them, but I thought that had to do more with my being female.”
“You’d be correct. Magic or whatever the Álfar use isn’t effective against vampires. It seems to only work on humans and other Álfar.”
“But you were human once,” I argued.
“But we’re not any longer,” came the short answer. It did rather say i
t all.
Jeff Montolbano ambled in and gave me one of the famous lopsided smiles that had devastated audiences for ten years. He was dressed casually in khaki slacks, a polo shirt, and a sports jacket.
I sidled over to him. “Well, you fed the beast, but I really don’t appreciate being made a prop.”
He looked contrite. “That really wasn’t my intention. I thought they’d be more interested in your colleague.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “And are you and your wife really having marital difficulties?”
“No,” he said. “We’re just trying to get some ink. This weekend you’ll hear about her being seen with Mark Wiley on the set of her movie in Italy.”
“Under the theory that there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” It came out more acerbic than I’d intended.
“That’d be it.”
We had to break it off because people began entering the room. Up until now these people had just been names in the documents, so I was interested to meet them.
The human actors were represented by Sheila LeBlanc. She was midfifties, fit and tan, with flint gray eyes, too black hair, and designer glasses that sported bling and harkened back to the batwings of the 1950s. I recognized her because every time there was a high-profile case in California she ended up on CNN or some other cable station, either representing some side in the issue or commenting on the case.
The client of record on the human side was Missy (short for Melissa) Able. She was on the shady side of forty; her eyes seemed odd, and then I realized part of her face wasn’t moving. The wonders of Botox. She didn’t look much like the younger ditzy sister she had played on a twenty-year-old sitcom that I had caught in reruns on Nick at Night during my college years. All the Botox in the world couldn’t hide the downturned mouth and angry expression. Especially when she looked over at Jeff.
Even if there were no Álfar, I’m betting you wouldn’t be getting parts, I thought, then tried to forget I’d ever had the nasty little thought because we were the arbitrators and we were supposed to be impartial.
Representing the studios and networks was an enormously fat man with luxuriant light gray hair that set a sharp contrast with his black skin, a lazy smile, and a southern accent that poured honey over you. This was Gordon McPhee, and when he enfolded my hand in his own pillow-soft hand I took note of an antique signet ring and the suit vest crossed with an elaborate watch chain and fob. I looked up and meet his basset hound eyes, and caught the sharp glint of calculation beneath the sleepy demeanor. Yeah, cunning as a fox, I thought. He’s the one to watch.
His clients were a gaggle of sharp men in expensive suits, the heads of various studios and networks, and two women. One was young and self-effacing, Valerie Frank, who was the newly appointed head of Paramount Pictures, and the other woman made Sheila LeBlanc look like Mother Theresa. Ginjer Balkin was the head of the NBC network and all its cable subsidiaries. She was sharp-featured, with perfectly coiffed, highlighted hair, super-high-heeled Christian Louboutin shoes, a pencil skirt, and an inhuman coldness in her eyes that made me wonder if she was a vampire even though I knew that to be impossible.
The various talent agencies—William Morris, CAA, etc.—had hired Stan Brubaker. Midforties, gray-blond hair, a megawatt smile, surfer’s tan, and a hard-charging werewolf litigator. I didn’t want to be a bigot, even in the privacy of my own head, but after what had happened last year when a dispute over ownership of a powerful werewolf company had led to no fewer than six werewolves trying to kill me, it didn’t matter that they had all ended up dead and I was fine: I wasn’t real comfortable being around them.
And there were three more hounds among his clients. Like the studio executives the agents tended to be male and intense but with readier smiles, and their attire was more casual than the network and studio executives.
Representing the Álfar was Barbara Gabaldon, a very pretty woman in her thirties with tawny skin, liquid dark eyes, and black hair that showed what natural black hair should look like. She was very stylishly dressed, with lots of gold jewelry that looked great with her Latin looks. The Álfar actor who was the client of record for that side was Palendar, who had made a career out of turning Japanese anime into live action movies. There was no question that the look of anime characters had been affected by the advent of the Álfar into our world, and Palendar looked like he could have modeled for those early comics and movies. Like many Álfar he had multicolored hair; his tended toward an unusual lavender mixed with white and silver. He had narrow features with upturned eyes and a pointed chin, and he was so thin I wanted to offer him a donut. Like his human counterpart, Palendar glared at Jeff and ignored the human’s outstretched hand.
I had about reached the conclusion that actors tended to act like bratty kids when they weren’t inhabiting a role. Then another Álfar entered, accompanied by Pizer, and he stopped me in my tracks because he actually looked old. I knew from John that the Álfar aged very slowly, so I couldn’t begin to guess his age. He was dressed in a bespoke suit of silver gray with blue highlights that picked up the color of his eyes. His hair, which hung to the middle of his back, was nearly pure white with a few dramatic streaks of black and red. He was handsome in the way of all Álfar, but wrinkles lay like cobwebs across his skin.
“Qwendar,” he said softly, and shook hands with the various principles.
David was frowning at the elderly Álfar, and he turned to Gabaldon and asked, “May I inquire as to why Mr. Qwendar is present?”
Qwendar didn’t give her the opportunity to answer. “I am here on behalf of the Álfar Council. To assure ourselves that these proceedings are conducted fairly, and that it doesn’t become an opportunity to demean and degrade our people. There’s been quite enough of that in this state recently.”
David and I exchanged a glance. Was this about Kerrinan’s arrest, or was something else going on? Pizer stepped in close, put a finger to his lips, and said softly, “I’ll fill you in later.”
“That would be nice,” David replied, and the muscles in his jaw were clenched. Like most vampires, he hated surprises.
Pizer leaned in to David and me. “Look, this all happened at ugh o’clock this morning and just got resolved. I got the call literally moments ago.”
“It should have been cleared with us.”
“Yeah, well, it came down ex cathedra from people with a way higher pay grade than yours or mine,” Pizer said tensely.
There was the buzz of conversation punctuated occasionally by quick bursts of laughter like lightning against the dark of a rising storm. People fortified themselves with beverages. I noticed that only McPhee touched the donuts and he took three. Of the beverages only water, coffee, and the diet drinks were touched. I gave one final longing glance at a glazed, raised, chocolate donut, but the peer pressure was too much. I poured myself a black coffee and took a seat at the end of the conference table where I could see all the parties. David took the seat at the other end. People took the cue and settled into the remaining chairs.
“Thank you all for coming,” David began. “This is an arbitration and the hope is that we can reach some agreement and consensus without resorting to the courts. This process does share certain similarities with a judicial proceeding. We will take evidence and interview witnesses. Such testimony can be under oath at the discretion of the arbitrator, and it’s my intention to require that an oath be administered. I find it tends to focus the mind.” He paused and gave them all a thin, closed-lip vampire smile.
“My associate”—he nodded at me—“and I will question the witnesses, and your representatives will be allowed to question the witnesses. We will begin with the claimant”— David indicated Missy Able—“who will go first, and make the claim for the human actors. After their arguments have been presented, the other parties will present their defense.” He pinned the gaggle of studio people, the agents, and the Álfar with a glance.
“I expect this to be handled civilly and discreetly. I don’t want to r
ead about these proceedings in the press.” Here he paused to glare at Jeff. “Or hear about it on Access Hollywood.”
That amazed me. The idea of David sitting in front of a television, watching the entertainment news show with its breathless hosts, had me hiding a smile. Once again I wondered when he had been made? You didn’t expect vampires to keep up with current events or cutting-edge technology. In contrast Palendar, who wasn’t listening to a word David was saying, was unpacking his man purse setting out an iPhone and an iPad.
David continued. “This is a judicial proceeding though it is taking place outside the confines of a court. I expect decorum to be observed.”
It was a very vampirelike statement. Everyone nodded somberly. Then McPhee drawled out, “Will we begin presenting testimony today, or was this just a little mill and swill?”
Everyone looked to Sheila. I had to hand it to her—she was unperturbed. She rose to her feet in one smooth motion and gave McPhee an ironic nod. “I’m quite prepared to make an opening statement. I indicated that we were going to begin with an expert witness. In the interest of not wasting my client’s money I did not have him standing by because I wasn’t certain if you would actually begin hearing testimony today. But as I said, I can make my opening remarks.”
“Then please do,” David said. “And we will hold off on starting testimony until tomorrow.”
Sheila walked behind her chair and gripped the high back. She had long nails painted a deep crimson that matched her lipstick. I wondered if they were artificial or if she grew them herself? She did sort of give off that whole dragon lady vibe. They were probably hers.
“People are losing their livelihoods. I’m sure…” Here she paused to look at Gabaldon and her clients, Brubaker and McPhee and their clients. “I’m sure that some in this room will argue it’s happened before. When talkies replaced silent films. When computers replaced the need for extras in crowd scenes. But this is different. This isn’t the march of technology. This is an invasion.”
Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) Page 5