Trouble Me
Page 23
“Then don’t go in until someone else gets here.”
“Kelly, don’t be stubborn. You know that I know what I’m doing.”
We don’t have to bicker any longer, because a police cruiser pulls up.
“Now will you go?”
“Where’s Andrew?”
“He’s with Jeremy. They’re finishing up lunch. Go down the street and get something to eat.”
I start the car. “Text me.”
He pulls out his phone, and suddenly he takes my arm. “Scratch that. Wait here for a second.”
He walks over to the cruiser. The officer gets out, and the two of them look at Tucker’s phone, then the house, then at us.
“What’s going on, Mom? Is everything okay?” Beau asks.
“I don’t know. Everything’s fine, I think.”
Tucker comes over. “I want you to drive to the police station on Rexford. Straight shot down the hill into town. Ten minutes. Can you find it from here?”
“And do what?”
“Pull into the parking garage. There’ll be an officer waiting for you. You don’t have to do anything; I just need you to wait for me there.”
“Where’s Andrew?”
“He’s fine. He and Jeremy and Janus are together. I’ll have Andrew give you a call in a while.”
“I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, Tucker.”
“Neither do I, Kelly. If I knew what was up, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now please go.”
I pull the car out of the drive and head to the gate of the subdivision. As we pull through the gates, another police car pulls in behind us.
“We have an escort, Mom.” Hunter looks behind us nervously.
“It’s all going to be fine. You know Tucker. He’s being cautious. It’s his job.”
No one argues with me. Both boys are quiet. I appreciate that we’re all keeping our worrying to ourselves. Because Tucker is cautious, but none of us are dumb—something is wrong.
I keep my hands on the wheel and continue to check the rearview for the police car for the whole drive.
My phone buzzes. It’s Andrew.
“Hunter, grab that, would you?” I can’t talk to him right now without bursting into tears.
“Hey, Andrew, it’s Hunter. Yeah, Mom’s driving. Tucker sent us to the police station. We’re almost there.”
He listens for a moment.
“I’ll tell her. See you soon.” He puts the phone down.
“What? What did he say?”
“He’s headed to the house, but he wants you to call him when you’re at the station. When you can talk.”
At last we get there, and the cruiser behind us wheels around in front. An officer at the parking garage entrance waves. I drive by, and he nods at me as I pass.
Inside, the driver of the car waves me into a spot next to him. I park, and the boys get out.
A young, clean-shaven officer approaches us. “Ms. Reynolds?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to have you come this way, ma’am.”
I hate being called ma’am. Beau takes my hand, and we walk through the doors into the station.
“Can you please wait here?” The young policeman leads us to a small conference room with one window in the door. Maybe it’s an interrogation room. I don’t know. I’ve never actually been in a police station.
Hunter and Beau won’t sit at the table. They pace around, looking out the window.
“Call Andrew, Mom.”
I want to, I really do, but I don’t want to call in front of the boys. What’s going on, I have no idea, but I want a second to process it before I pass it along to them. I have no poker face. I’m no actor, and whatever I hear on the phone, they’ll both see in my expression.
“I’m going to go find someone and see what’s up. You two wait here for me, you promise?” I give them the mom stare.
A tall woman with long, blond hair pokes her head in the door. “Kelly Reynolds?”
“Yes?”
“Phone call for you. You want to take it at my desk? I can wait here with your sons.” She whisks me out of the room and points to a desk, closing the door on my boys at the same time.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Sergeant Ridley. I’ll wait with them, and then I can give you an update when you’re done. Line two. Just press the red blinking light.” She smiles through perfectly peachy lips.
I watch her walk back to the room where Hunter and Beau are, and I pick up the receiver. “Hello?”
“You okay?”
It’s Andrew.
“We’re fine. What’s going on? Are you at the house?”
“Yeah. Tucker has the police here. Looks like whoever broke the key off in the door didn’t really do much inside. We just walked around, and I couldn’t really see anything out of place or stolen. Tucker wonders if he ever even got inside, maybe got scared away by a neighbor instead.”
I exhale. “I hate the idea of someone in the house.”
“Well, Tucker will check the security camera footage from the guard house and the ones at our doors. If there’s anything, he’ll follow up with the police.”
“Did the alarm go off?”
“No. It wasn’t armed.”
I silently curse my forgetfulness. Stupid pregnancy brain. “Do we need to stay here, then?”
“Well, there’s one other thing we’re following up on.”
“Yes?”
“We had a fire alarm pulled at the restaurant, and it looks like it was to get us out of the building.”
“Why?”
“Maybe to make me a target.”
“And when you went outside?”
“Jeremy and I were all sneaky and went out the back to his car, not ours. Janus came to check the alarm, went back to the car, and the tires were slashed.”
“Jesus, Andrew. This person’s getting worse.”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the phone. “It feels like that, doesn’t it?”
“Who could it be?”
“Well, the police’s job is to figure that out. But I’m sending Janus down there to get you.”
“I love you. I’m scared.”
“I love you. And I’m scared too. But we’ll be okay. I promise you that. I won’t let anyone hurt my family. It won’t happen. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” When I hang up, I watch Sergeant Ridley walk out of the conference room and back over to me.
“Is he coming to meet you?”
“He’s sending someone. If he showed up here, it’d be a mess.”
She nods. “True. Let me fill you in. We like a friendly for this.”
“A friendly? What’s that mean?”
“Someone who has access to your inner circle in some tangential way. A maid, a housekeeper, a personal assistant.”
“We don’t have any of those.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not very Hollywood of you.”
“We don’t live here. We like Idaho.”
She smiles. “I could see that. Fair enough. We’re going to recheck backgrounds, look at phone logs. We’ll start with any personal employees, then folks on the last couple of Andrew’s movies. Is there anyone else we should look into?”
I rack my brain. I can’t even fathom knowing someone who would want to hurt or scare us. “I can’t think of anyone. I haven’t made a lot of enemies. I don’t think Andrew has, either.”
“Well, your employees are a place to start. We’ll keep you posted.”
I get up and turn to collect my kids from the conference room. Janus is standing there waiting for me.
“Are you driving us home?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes a step forward. “Would you like me to drive your car back? An officer drove me here.”
“Janus, you never call me ma’am. Don’t start now.”
“Okay, Ms. Reynolds. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
We get the boys, an
d I spend the first part of the drive explaining what little I know to them. Beau’s eyes widen at the idea of someone in our house.
“Are we going to have to stay there? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” He shivers.
My heart tightens. “Beau, honey, you can sack out with your brother in his room. I bet you that right now Tucker is getting extra help for watching the house too.”
Hunter chimes in. “Yeah, we can pull my mattress off the loft bed, and drag yours in. It’ll be slumber party central.” Hunter’s never wanted to have Beau in his room. Maybe he’s a little spooked too. I know I am.
The boys relax a little with a plan, and Janus looks up in the rearview. “You need gas. Should we stop and fill the tank?”
“Sure.”
We pull into the station, and Janus gets out to pump gas. I get out to stretch my legs. My back and knee are aching. The baby has been living up to his name and hiccupping for the whole ride back, shifting around and pushing into my ribs, doing an all-around great job of making me uncomfortable.
“I have to tell you something,” Janus blurts out. He looks shaken.
“Janus, what?” I’ve never even heard him talk this much.
“I heard the policewoman mention phone checks on your employees.”
“Yes. I think they’re doing that.”
“Ms. Reynolds, I’m so sorry. Please don’t fire me.”
I swallow hard. “For what?”
His eyes tear up. “I’ve got a mom back in the Philippines. She’s really sick. Her meds every month…” He trails off.
“Janus, tell me what you did.” My heart pounds.
“That day, in the doctor’s office? When the paparazzi ambushed us in the parking garage?”
I remember that, of course. Hard to forget when your boyfriend has to drag you out through a gauntlet of screaming photographers. “Yes?”
“I called them. A website offered me five thousand dollars if I tipped them off.”
Holy hell. That’s a ton of money. “I’ll tell Tucker. I’ll talk to him about it. That’s not what we’re worried about right now, anyway.”
He hugs me, right there by the gas pump: a huge crying Filipino security guard holding on to a massively pregnant Softee ice cream lady.
We get back in the car, and Janus drives us home. No one says a word.
There is nothing about this life that makes any kind of sense.
33: Let’s Get This Party Started
I THINK HAVING A PARTY IS MADNESS, particularly a party at our house five days after a possible break-in. Kelly’s been silent about it. Tucker thinks we should go ahead with our lives and not cancel things that are important.
But this party isn’t important to me. It’s important to Aaronson. It’s not even a good idea in Jeremy’s opinion, and the whole stalker thing usually is no big deal to him. He used to think of stalking as a sign that I’m popular and said it “comes with the territory,” but he said no way to this party after the latest incident.
But the one thing that made us go through with it was Tucker’s idea: flush the guy out. Make the stalker show himself. Bust him. Get him out of our lives.
And I can’t argue with that. The sooner the bastard’s in jail, the better. Kelly’s not sleeping again. The boys are sleeping in one room, and they’re worried about Kelly, picking up on their mom’s distress. No matter that we told them the whole business with the police station was a precaution. They’re not stupid.
So, let’s get this guy arrested and be done. I can be bait for a night if that’s what it takes.
It’s a grand affair, in celebration of the Independent Spirit Awards and Aaronson. He’s getting a producing award. As soon as he sees me, he wants to talk about The Bull, The Bear, and the Dragon, of course, which is deep in post-production and due to release in late March. Eventually he gets around to asking about my current project, and I have to choose my words carefully. The indie I’m shooting, Leave No Trace, I hate. When I took it, it was fine. Now, not so much. It’s about a man and his fiancée who go camping. She steps out of the tent in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and never comes back. The whole thing’s a mystery about who took her and what happened, and it sets my teeth on edge given current events. Art damn near imitates life, and I don’t like it one bit.
Tucker’s got every Apotheosis security guy on the job tonight. We picked this house because of the gated community and the high wall around our property. The guys crawl all over it tonight, and there’s a SWAT team from the city too. Some of them hide in the shrubs behind the swimming pool. I pity the poor schmuck who tries to sneak off to smoke a joint. If he doesn’t get his head blown off by the snipers on the roof of the house, he’ll be lucky not to be pummeled senseless by the guys in the bushes.
On the other end of the bizarre spectrum of tonight’s festivities: Sandy and Jeremy hired Quique Fox, the biggest party planner in LA. Quique is a diva. He demands a huge paycheck and perfection.
When he suggested a 1920s theme, I nodded. I don’t give a rat’s ass. Kelly doesn’t care. She did shut down his several ideas about live animals. But the rest, Quique ruled over. There are Packards parked by the swimming pool. The band plays Cotton Club jazz. Martini glasses fill tables where lilies are piled in high clusters. I said hell no to dressing in costume. Kelly said yes, mostly because the boys agreed to it too. But the servers are all in twenties attire: robin’s egg blue uniforms straight out of a Ziegfeld Follies film. Lots of guests wear flapper dresses or pinstriped suits.
I stand over by the bar, a long, heavy wood ordeal under a canvas tent, and wish I had a drink in my hand. A real drink. I want one tonight. Badly. It’s the strongest temptation I’ve felt since rehab.
And if not a drink, then I want Kelly in my arms. I wish for a dark corner to pull her into. I want to have my way with her.
But our life’s not cooperating with this idea. The last time I saw Kelly, she was sitting rubbing her feet. She looked tired. She needed to lie down. I can’t ravage her when she looks so pale and worried.
I’m the host, the all-powerful Andy Pettigrew, Mr. Newly-Minted Earns-Eight-Figures. I can’t get a drink, and I can’t get laid. Oh yeah, and someone wants me dead. Great party.
So, I walk to the top step of the stairs to the deck, and I watch over the mayhem.
There’s a girl in a lemon yellow flapper dress. She’s wandering along the back wall of the yard, a young guy in a beanie trailing along behind her. She keeps picking up on some line of a song and singing just that line, before her voice breaks, like she’s going to cry. I swear I see her look around to see if anyone is paying attention.
Stupid actress. I have zero patience for this kind of bullshit drama. For an actor, I’m not a very good fit in Hollywood. LA gets so old sometimes I could spit.
Instead of spitting, I decide to look for a cigarette. I want one.
But then I see Hunter run across the lawn, laughing with Beau. I sigh and thank the universe for the reminder of why I’m not smoking anymore. I go to find a toothpick instead.
I start to turn the corner to cut through the garage door when I hear Amanda’s throaty laugh. “Yeah, I know. Andy’s like that!”
Oh God. I have to see Amanda. Jordan the dick must’ve invited her. I didn’t vet the guest list; Jeremy did. Figures.
I walk around the corner of the house.
There she is, holding court in the side yard by the recycling. She is smoking. There are three men sitting at her feet. I kid you not.
“Like what?” I walk up to them.
Amanda jumps, drops her cigarette. One of the men scrambles to pick it up for her, but curses as he catches the lit end of it in his palm.
“Andy!” Amanda rushes over and throws her arms around me.
I peel her off. She reeks of booze. “Like what?”
She shifts nervously, waves a hand to the men, who are now all on their feet. “You know, we were just talking about how you’re always trying to be perfect.”
“Huh.” I narrow my eyes at the men. They blanch, look anywhere but at me, and start to inch away from Amanda, eager to escape.
Amanda stands next to me and smiles. “We’re alone now.”
Shit. That wasn’t where this was headed. “You mean you’re alone now. I’m leaving.” I turn to go.
She takes my arm. “Wait, Andy. Please.”
I stop for a second. “I need to find my fiancée.”
“Aren’t you bored? Rumor is you’re bored. Ready to admit what you really want.” She’s still holding on to my arm, pulls herself close to me.
I try to step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going, Amanda. You need to let go of me.”
She makes a weird little noise, and if it were anyone else, I’d say it was crying, but Amanda’s always been cold as a snake in my experience.
The lemon yellow dress girl comes around the corner just then, staggering and yelling, “Watch out! I think I’m gonna be sick.” She makes a beeline for the recycling bins.
This is my life in Hollywood in one shitty little nutshell.
Yellow girl pukes her guts out, and I peel Amanda off of me again. “Please, Amanda, leave me alone. I don’t want to go back to anything that was. I do know what I want. I want Kelly. I don’t want you. Please.”
Amanda makes one more swipe, pulling me by the arm close to her, trying, I think, to kiss me. She’s stinking drunk. Otherwise she’d never put herself out there for this kind of rejection, not like this. Whether she admits it or not, she has to have gotten my message.
“Jesus. Amanda, stop. I’m walking away.” I push away from her and take three large strides across the side yard to the garage door.
“Are you Andy Pettigrew? Did she kiss you? Holy shit.” Yellow dress girl has her head up out of the blue recycling bin. “Where’s my phone?”
Amanda lets out a sob and throws herself on the ground. The girl plops down next to her and pats her on the back, like she’s petting a puppy.
I need to find Kelly now. This is getting out of hand.
I walk through the garage, and Tucker greets me, not Kelly.
“Good, I need you. Come back out here.” He takes me by the elbow and steps into the garage.