As long as Mick Erzatz didn’t kill me first.
Solgar was waiting for me in my office. He’d accepted Sveta’s offer of a drink—to make her comfortable, I suppose; he’s such a gentleman—and a demitasse sat untouched on the coffee table in front of him. I knew he couldn’t stand the smell any more than I could. I closed the door and dumped the espresso onto the Australian fern in the corner.
“Sorry about that, Ernst. It was very gracious of you to say yes to Sveta.”
“She took me by surprise, Chatelaine. It’s usually Maral who shows me in, and she knows not to offer me coffee. Where is she?” He stood up and came towards me, reaching out with both hands to show me he wasn’t holding his kirpan. He air-kissed me on both sides of my face. That was fine with me. I don’t like getting too near his sucker-tipped tongue. Just seems so unsanitary.
I sat down at my desk, where Ernst had stacked the papers for signing. One by one, I began initialing each page.
“Have you heard anything, Ernst? Is there any talk on the street about someone wanting me gone?”
“No, Chatelaine, and I don’t understand it. No one knows more about what goes on in this town than I. You know that. I take great pride in that. I have probed and queried and listened—discreetly, of course—and I have heard nothing. I am sorry to be letting you down, but no one in town is talking.”
“Well, I think I know why. My stalker isn’t welcome in this town any longer. He’s living in his pseudo castle in Montecito, surrounded by his sycophants and Michael Jackson’s leftover menagerie.”
“Mick Erzatz?”
I nodded.
“You think Mick Erzatz is a were? The wolf that came into your yard to attack you? Why would you think that?” He was so taken aback, he sank into the chair in front of my desk.
I explained to him what I’d learned when I’d laid hands on Madelaine Sauvage. How I’d seen Lilith birthing Mick Erzatz. And fucking him.
When I finished, he looked away for the longest time. I could see his mind working, thinking back to incidences that would support my belief. Finally he nodded, his lips pressed together in the flattest of smiles. “Mick Erzatz is a were. Forgive me, Ovsanna, I should have known. His behavior all those years when he was head of WorldWide: preying on young girls, ruthlessly stealing clients from other agencies, slashing at his associates’ reputations . . . of course, now it all makes sense.”
“We both should have known. But now we do. And I’m going to have to deal with him. Soon.”
I’d finished the individual pages, all thirty-six of them, and started autographing the lines Solgar had highlighted. I hit the intercom.
“Sveta, would you get the Japanese gentlemen on the line, please? And then once we’re connected, you can go home. Have a happy New Year.” She was taking Monday and Tuesday off; it would be a nice long weekend for her. A pain in the ass for me with Maral gone, but I didn’t want to disappoint her with a change in plans. I answered Solgar’s earlier question.
“Maral became a problem, Ernst. I lost control.”
“It never really works, does it, Chatelaine. Humans and vampyres. When I think of all the young men I’ve had to ignore. I must say I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. But she was special to you, wasn’t she?”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I lost control of her, and then, of myself. I had to turn her to save her life. It’s not what I would have chosen had she not backed me into a corner.”
“But that’s fine, then. She’s one of us now. Although I suspect you’ll have to keep an eye on her for a while, until you see how her nature develops. Why isn’t she here?”
The intercom rang. “Because if she were, she’d be in jail. Can you imagine a newly turned in a cell full of tattooed veins?”
It took almost an hour to get everything faxed to Japan and back. The machine jammed several times, and Solgar went on a rant about outsourcing electronics manufacturing and how nothing ever worked when you needed it to. I’d been at the Great Exhibition in London in 1851 for a demonstration of one of the first telefax machines. I was just glad technology had come this far and I didn’t have to go to Japan to finalize the deal.
The last sheet came through, and I dialed Tokyo once more to let them know everything was in order. After we all wished one another domo arigatoo gozaimasu and kanpai many times, I hung up. Immediately, the intercom rang.
“Yes?”
Sveta said, “Ms. Moore, I’m sorry to bother you, but there are people down here.”
“What are you doing in the office, Sveta? I thought you went home.”
“Well, I was just locking up when that lady came to the door. You know, that one that was here the other day?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “With the weird outfit and all that makeup?”
“Mary? She’s downstairs?” In the background, I heard another voice. It sounded like Orson.
“Yes. Although her hair is different. And she’s not alone. Several people have arrived, and they all seem to know each other. I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were calling Japan, but one after another they came to say they wanted to see you. One of them is the handsome man from that TV show Lost.”
I turned to Solgar. “Mary and Tyrone and Orson are all down in the lobby, Ernst. Do you know why?”
“I don’t. Unless it’s to congratulate you on signing the papers. They all called to ask when you were doing that, but no one said anything about coming to see you. I assumed they wanted to send flowers.”
I spoke into the intercom. “You can send them up, Sveta. And then go ahead and go home. I’ll be fine. And thank you. Have a happy New Year.”
I neatened the stack of merger papers and gave them to Ernst to copy and keep on file. Then I opened the door to my office and watched Tod Browning, James Whale, Mary Pickford, Tyrone Power, and Orson Welles walk up the stairs. Five of my Vampyres of Hollywood.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“How the hell are you, Chatelaine? I didn’t know you’d have all this company. Hey, I brought you a present to celebrate the merger.” Tod handed me a small ceramic figurine of an Asian girl in a kimono with a parasol. She looked like Anna Mae Wong.
“What is this, Tod?” All of my clan have their eccentricities; it goes with the species, I suppose, although I don’t think of myself as eccentric. But Tod leads the way. He became such a recluse after directing Miracles for Sale that Variety accidentally published an obit for him in 1944. That did make it easier to keep his true nature hidden. That, and the fact that he stopped speaking completely until after he’d “died.” Even now, his voice sounded scratchy and unused—a hundred years of smoking Lucky Strikes will do that to you.
“It’s from my collection. If I remember correctly, it’s an original. The studio passed them out in 1923 when Drifting was released.” He removed his bowler hat and laid it on the back of my sofa, his arm resting there behind Mary. I saw her hand go up to her necklace, and I knew what she was thinking. Tod had a reputation for stealing jewelry right off the necks of his women friends. Even though Mary had turned him after that terrible auto accident, she knew better than to trust him completely.
“I’ll bet I can make it disappear,” said Orson. “In fact, hand me your hat, Tod, I think there’s something in there.” And before any of us even knew what he was talking about, Orson leaned over Mary, practically suffocating her with his girth, grabbed Tod’s hat, and pulled a rabbit out of it. The damn thing immediately started peeing on my rug, liquid splashing everywhere because Orson had him by his neck at arm’s height. “Well,” he said, “what do you know. I found a rabbit.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Orson,” I spit, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Just a little magic, Chatelaine, just a little magic. I so seldom get a chance to show off anymore. You know, no one ever asks to see magic tricks.”
“Well, there’s a reason for that, dear boy,” said James. “Especially if it involves urine and furry animals.
” He was using a giant candy cane as a walking stick and he quickly moved to the opposite side of the room, out of dribbling distance.
“Oh . . . this isn’t really magic. It’s Charlie.”
“Charlie? Chaplin?”
“Yes. He didn’t want to take a chance on being recognized, but when I told him why I was coming, he said he wanted to tag along. Worked like a charm, didn’t it?” Orson put the rabbit—Charlie—down, and he hopped over to the sofa and jumped in Mary’s lap. Thank God Pola wasn’t here.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” I walked out of my office into my bathroom, ran a hand towel under the tap, and came back in with a shaker of Comet to wipe up the spots on the rug. Ernst took the towel from me and began dabbing.
“I’ve brought you something, too, darling,” said Mary. “After I left Neiman’s the other day, I had my driver stop at the video store—where, I might add, no one recognized me—and I picked up my latest DVD collection for you. Mary Pickford: Signature Collection. And honestly, Ovsanna, the salesclerk didn’t even recognize me—with that photo of me right on the cover in front of him! I really don’t think it’s going to be a problem.” She was right about that. She’d changed her hair and her outfit once again. This time she was wearing a wig I swear I’d seen on Tina Turner at the Fillmore East in 1969. It was such a huge Afro, I don’t know how she fit through my office door. And the outfit was something out of Braveheart. Green plaid kilt, red wool knee-highs, lace-up Doc Martens, and a blue velvet blazer over a frilly white blouse. Douglas Fairbanks wouldn’t recognize her.
“A problem for what, Mary?” Tyrone asked. “What are you worried about? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Well, I want Ovsanna to bring me back into the business. I think I’m perfect to replace Thomas as Head of Development at Anticipation.”
Charlie hopped off her lap onto the floor and turned around to stare at her, his front paws covering his mouth.
“You?” said Orson. “Oh, my goodness. Well, you would be good, my dear, although you’d have to hire someone to dress you, but I’ve already talked to Ovsanna about that job. I know how to make movies, it’s not even creative with me, it’s instinctive. Who better than I?”
By now, Charlie was hopping up and down like he was auditioning for Dancing with the Stars.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Is that why you’re all here?” I asked. “Ernst—”
“I’m sorry, Chatelaine. I truly didn’t have any idea.”
“I don’t know about Orson and Mary, but of course, we’re here to congratulate you, Chatelaine. This merger will be great for Anticipation.” Tyrone was riffling through his carrying case. “But you’re going to need more help running the studio. And I know I can do it. Your concerns about my appearance are unfounded. Look at this picture.” He handed me an eight-by-ten black-and-white of a very attractive young man, dark hair, thick lashes, the same bone structure as Ty’s.
“Is this you?”
“There. You see? Another actor who looks so much like me you have trouble telling us apart. His name is Danny Pino, and he’s on that television series Cold Case. But before that he played Desi Arnaz. My point is, Ovsanna, I won’t be recognized as Tyrone Power. No one will figure out the truth. I can do the job.”
James left his candy cane in the corner, skirting around the stains on the rug, and used my Rigaud candle to light his cigar—without asking. “Look,” he said, “all three of you are too recognizable to be in the public eye again. Well, maybe not you, Mary, if you insist on dressing like Cyndi Lauper whenever you leave the house. But what you’re not taking into consideration is what Ovsanna wants to accomplish. From my considerable experience, I can state positively that horror pictures are much harder to produce successfully than the straight narrative films you all have done. Where’s your Frankenstein, your Bride of Frankenstein, your Invisible Man?”
Tod croaked. “Oh, come off it, Jimmy. I wrote the book on horror films with Dracula— six months before your Frankenstein saw the light of day. Are you going to watch Freaks and tell me I don’t know the genre? I had Lon Chaney playing a transvestite ventriloquist, in a silent film! Nobody can do what I do. Remember, I ‘know how to create images that defy the power of time’!”
“My God, man,” said Orson, who’d managed to light his pipe when I wasn’t paying attention, “do you actually have your reviews memorized? What are you doing with your time these days—poring over old copies of Variety? Did you see your obit? You’ve all been out of touch way too long. Ovsanna needs someone who’s kept up. Tyrone, you’re down there in Mexico, playing with your bulls. Mary, God knows what you’ve been doing—certainly not reading fashion magazines. When’s the last time one of you actually saw a film that wasn’t one of your own? Ovsanna, I only need a little more financing—for sound facilities and an editing bay, primarily—and Anticipation could release The Other Side of the Wind. Do you know what a coup that would be?”
Charlie was in paroxysms on the floor. His front paws kept flapping up to hit his chest. His nose was twitching to the left, and his ears were crisscrossing each other. Either he was having trouble shifting back to human form or the thought of the other Vampyres of Hollywood taking Thomas’s job was causing him some sort of seizure. I hoped it was a seizure. I didn’t want to see him shift. Seeing Orson nude had been more than enough.
“If the two of you,” I said, turning on James and Orson, “don’t put out that cigar and that pipe, the only coup I’m going to care about is throwing you both out the window. Then we’ll see who gets recognized, splayed on the cement on Beverly Drive!”
“Sorry, Chatelaine,” Jimmy said, “I truly am. I simply got excited at the prospect of working again.” He doused his cigar in the wet bar, which only added to the god-awful stench they’d both made. I kept my mouth shut while he went on. “And you know how rare it is for me to get excited over anything. I hate this time that just passes and passes. It’s depressing. The only time I’ve felt alive recently was fighting Lilith and her minions in Palm Springs. And how often do we get to do that?”
That was the second time one of my clan had said the same thing.
Solgar must have read my mind. “Perhaps you can do it sooner than expected. The chatelaine is in danger again. Tell them, Chatelaine. They were there for Lilith’s death; they are most likely in danger as well.”
I told them what had been happening: how I’d been attacked in my yard by a were and then again on the beach by the paparazzi-turned-boxenwolves.
“Peter shot one of them and he died in human form. We were able to trace him to the alpha female who’d sent the pack to kill me. When I touched her, I got vivid images of Lilith and Mick Erzatz, the agent. Ex-agent. I believe he’s born of her, he was sleeping with her, and he wants revenge for her death.”
“Mick Erzatz?” said Orson. “That putz. He tried to get me to sign with him back in the seventies. Wouldn’t leave me alone. Until I finally convinced him I wasn’t interested, and then he turned vicious and tried to blackball me. Tried to convince people I was too drunk to work. Imagine, trying to blackball me. Me, about whom Mankiewicz said, ‘There, but for the grace of God, goes God.’ Nasty little putz. Erzatz, I mean, not Mank. Oh, definitely, let’s go take him apart.”
Mary stomped the floor with her Doc Martens. “I despise that man. He may be a were, but he acts like a pig. A chauvinist pig. Some of the things I’ve heard him say about women are just reprehensible. He actually called Marlene Dietrich a lesbian!”
“How long have you been alive, Mary?” Tod said dryly, doing a take only he and Bea Arthur could master.
James said, “He’s a homophobe, too. You should hear some of the things he’s said about Truman and Andy. I agree with Orson. If the business couldn’t finish him off, the Vampyres of Hollywood can. When do we start?”
“It might not be that easy,” I said. “Since the industry turned on him, he rarely leaves his home in Montecito. He’s got a thirty-eight-room fortress on twenty thousan
d acres up in the hills there. He probably has his other weres with him. I’d have to lure them all down here without letting him know I realize what he is.”
“I have a simpler solution, Chatelaine.” Solgar reached into his attaché case and pulled out an engraved invitation. “Would you like to be my guest at a New Year’s Eve party tomorrow night? I hadn’t intended on going, but I think now I must. Our host is none other than the reclusive Mick Erzatz.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
“I’m not going to let you take your life in your hands without me. I don’t care how many years you’ve been around and how capable you think you are just because you’re a vampyre. You’re telling me this Mick Erzatz is related to that fucking monstrosity we got rid of in Palm Springs? I saw what you had to do to kill her. If I hadn’t been there to help, you would have been vampyre sashimi.”
Love Bites Page 23