It worked. “Gus wrote about you and Omari,” she said. “Good news is that it was a blind item.”
I waited. Good news implied there was also bad news. When she didn’t say any more, I motioned for her to get on with it. Instead, she turned around. “I don’t want to burn anything.”
Things were worse than I thought. I ran back to the bloset for my phone and pulled up Gus’s site. He dubbed his blind items “Inquiring Minds.” Unlike Anani, Gus chose a “less is more” approach.
Which supposedly-in-a-relationship network TV star is actually a chubby chaser? Inquiring minds want to know.
Chubby chaser? No, this potential murderer did not. I glanced up to see Sienna peeking into the room. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” I asked.
“Yep! That you were a spokesperson for Chubby’s!”
Not what I’d thought, but for the sake of my self-esteem, I decided to go with it. Besides, I had bigger fish—or should I say chicken—to fry. The “chubby chaser” himself. He was not going to be happy. Denying a fake relationship was one thing. Making a real one fodder for one of Hollywood’s biggest gossip columnists was another.
I immediately texted him. He was already on set. When I told him I wanted to stop by to “say hi,” he promised to get me a drive-on. I threw on some clothes, then called Emme on speaker. Sienna tried to calm me down as the phone rang. “Not sure why you’re freaking out. It’s so vague, no one’s going to even know who Gus is talking about.”
Maybe she was right. She had to be right.
Emme picked up the phone. “This the chubby that’s being chased?”
Emme’s social interactions were relegated to debates on the best Star Wars characters. If she knew about the blind, it was making its way around the Internet. I threw Sienna a look.
“If you already know who the blind item is about, then yes, it’s easy to get,” Sienna said. “But no one does … hence the reason we told Gus in the first place, remember?”
“We?”
“Okay, me, but it was your idea.”
Couldn’t argue that one. Of course, I’d been tipsy at the time, but that wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, much less with my boyfriend. I belatedly realized Emme was still on the phone. “So Emme, update. Thinking Gus might have killed Lyla. I was in his office yesterday—”
She interrupted. “You confronted another would-be killer?”
“Of course not!” That wasn’t scheduled until later. “He wasn’t even in the building.”
I gave her a brief update on the Gus/Mack situation and the Gus/Junior situation. “You think you can find out whether Gus has another email address?”
“TBH?” To be honest. “Probably not. That’s your expertise, not mine.”
“I guess I can ask him when I talk to him later.”
It got silent, I could practically see “You effed up” being written above my head. I’d already forgotten I wasn’t supposed to mention that little tidbit.
Emme finally spoke. “The only reason you haven’t confronted a killer is because he couldn’t schedule you in right away?”
“It’s a live-streamed interview. He won’t try to kill me in front of 200,000 fans sneaking to watch on their lunch break. Gotta go!”
Omari’s home-away-from-home was a Star Waggons trailer outside Stage 5 on the Paramount lot. Not surprisingly, Hollywood has almost as many studio lots as awards shows. All feature the studio essentials: Golf carts. Trailers. And soundstages that tend to be big, bland, beigy numbers that are home to some of the biggest movies and television shows of all time. You can easily go from outer space to the depths of hell just by walking from one soundstage to the next.
LAPD 90036 shot on stages 4 and 5, which were separated by a street and an array of actor and makeup trailers. Omari shared a two-room, forty-foot trailer with a castmate. It wasn’t your average camper. In fact, it was the antithesis of roughing it. Dark hardwood floors. Super comfy gray sofa bed. Microwave and fridge in one corner. And, perhaps most important, a bathroom complete with shower. It came on wheels, to be easily transported when they shot on location.
I knocked and opened the door without being told to come in. Girlfriend perk. Omari was writing at his desk. He jumped when I entered. I was surprised he didn’t also scream “I’m not doing anything wrong, Mom.” It was kind of adorable.
I decided to mess with him as I walked over. “You writing me a love poem?” I peered over his shoulder. He tried to turn the paper over but I saw enough. “You’re writing an acceptance speech!”
“Yeah, though I probably won’t win. But you know how bad I am off the cuff. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have something written down. But like I said, I’m not going to win.”
“At least it’s an honor to be nominated.”
He laughed. “I know you didn’t drive all the way here to mess with me. Why’d you stop by?”
Oh that. I decided to just rip the Band-Aid off. “Gus knows about us.”
There was a pause. He finally spoke. “Yeah … ”
It was all he said, which wasn’t nearly enough. Needing more context clues before I was ready to explain further, I kept it simple. “Yeah.”
“How’d he find out?”
“Someone must have told him.” That someone being Sienna. “It definitely wasn’t me.”
It was just definitely my idea. I was taking that to the grave, though, along with that one night my junior year of college.
Omari’s response was to hold out his hand. “Can I see?”
Since I already had it up, I quickly handed him my phone, then retreated to the other side of the trailer. Omari read, then had the nerve to start laughing. “Chubby chaser?”
“Glad you find that so amusing.”
“Personally, I like that you’re thicker. Reminds me of the girl I had a low-key crush on in high school.”
It took me a second to realize he was talking about me. “You had a crush on me in high school?”
There was a knock on the door. A production assistant poked her head in. “They’re ready for you on set.”
“Thanks, Mary Ann.” He stood up and addressed me again. “I dang near overdosed on Altoids when we first practiced that kiss in Guys and Dolls. I gotta go to set, but stay as long as you want.”
I planned to—at least long enough to pee. He gave me a quick peck and was out the door. I, in turn, went to use the bathroom. I was washing my hands when I heard the door open again. Was Omari back? I was about to yell out something ridiculously inappropriate when I heard the voice. It would have been impossible not to. Nina had come in and was screeching so high I briefly wondered if I was part dog. That was the only way I should’ve been able to make out what she was saying.
“I swear, if you do not take me off speakerphone—” There was a pause and then Nina’s screeching resumed. “I gave you my entire savings because you told me you’d take care of it. Something told me not to trust you.”
Something told me to stay in the bathroom. My intention wasn’t to eavesdrop but mama would take what mama could get.
“I risked everything because you offered to help me and help him, only for you to screw me over because you think I won’t tell anyone. That’s where you’re wrong. I will go to the cops and I will go to the news. I have proof that I gave you that money.”
At that point, my ear was pressed against the door and my mouth hung lower than my grandma’s boobs. Was Nina discussing hiring Junior? With who?
“You can call it a donation if you want but I paid you. He better win that award tomorrow or I want my money back. All $50,000.”
Wait, what? Nina paid for a Silver Sphere Award? They gave out two dozen awards. Technically, she could have been talking about any of them. But of those twenty-four categories, she only had one client nominated in any of them.
Omari.
&nbs
p; I banged the bathroom door open. Nina’s shocked expression probably mirrored my own. I didn’t give her a chance to breathe, much less speak. “You paid the Silver Sphere Organization to make sure that Omari wins? You have to be kidding me.”
My freaking out just made Nina calmer. When she spoke, her voice was finally back to a frequency humans could hear. “Gus, let me call you back.” She hung up the phone. “You’re eavesdropping on people now?”
“If you want to call using the bathroom eavesdropping, then yes. What did you do.”
It was more demand than question. I expected her to look away. Instead, she stared me dead in the eye, her leer worse than that one guy’s who you keep making accidental eye contact with at the bar. Except this time, I refused to even blink, much less look away first. “You paid Gus for Omari’s Best Actor in Television nomination,” I said.
“No. He got that on his own.” She sounded offended.
“Oh, you’re really going to get technical right now. He got the nomination on his own but you’re paying for the win.”
Nina sighed. “Silver Sphere is technically a nonprofit, which means you can donate to them. Sometimes Gus can be … convinced someone should win if you donate enough.”
“I thought the members all voted.”
“They do. For whoever Gus tells them to. This isn’t the Academy. There aren’t thousands of industry experts mailing in ballots. This is 109 people sitting in a room tomorrow deciding the winner so they can go get lunch.”
Geez. Mack said Gus was corrupt, but I figured blackmail was his side gig. I didn’t realize his shadiness trickled into his presidential duties. I didn’t say that, though. In fact, I didn’t say anything at all. Just stared her down.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You’re the one who wants him known for something other than Tomari. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Oh, so you did this for me?”
“Wins lead to bigger roles. Bigger paychecks. It’s why people don’t have a problem giving donations. Actors get an ego boost. Bragging rights. The SSO gets money. No one’s complaining.”
“Except you.” I thought it over. “Fifty thousand isn’t a lot.”
She shrugged. “I got a deal, the money and helping out with Lyla dying and everything. They didn’t have to hire anyone new. Of course, now he’s screwing me over because he’s got my money. He won’t guarantee that Omari will win.”
If she was looking for sympathy, she was looking in the wrong place. I only felt bad for one person in this scenario. “Does Omari know?”
She shook her head.
“He can’t,” I said. “Ever.”
She nodded. It was probably the only thing we’d ever agreed on. It would destroy him. I tried focusing on the bright side. At least I knew why Nina had depleted her savings. I still had one lingering question. “How does Anani play into all of this?”
Nina looked confused. “She’s just some blogger.”
“Who was your assistant, who got you fired. I know about your little trip to Private Parts. Someone hired Junior Reid to kill Lyla.”
This time her confusion looked real. Too real. “That’s ridiculous. It was a robbery gone wrong.”
“Nope. Someone hired him, someone who knew her true identity and had enough cash to pay for the hit.”
“And you thought it was me?”
“You drove to Claremont and you took all that money out of your account. I’m surprised you don’t think it’s you.”
“I was upset Anani played a part in getting me fired. But I wasn’t going to kill her, just give her a dose of her own medicine. Reveal who she was so she’d be dead in Hollywood. Not in real life.”
“Did Gus feel the same way?”
“Why would Gus want to kill Anani?”
“Because he’s blackmailing Mack Christie over lip-syncing.”
She started shaking her head before I’d even finished the sentence. “Doesn’t sound like him.”
“The guy who takes ‘donations’ in exchange for wins and then lies about it doesn’t sound like a guy who’d blackmail someone for millions of dollars? All righty then.”
She shook her head again. “Blackmail isn’t Gus. It’s too threatening. He wants to be these people’s friends. Donations are optional. Usually chump change for a movie studio. More like a scratch your back, you scratch my bank account situation. Everyone wins.”
“Lyla didn’t.”
We didn’t say much more after that. We didn’t have to.
I had an appointment to get to, with someone I was pretty convinced was a murderer at that. As much as Nina annoyed me, I didn’t think she was Geppetto. That left Gus. I’d been nervous for interviews before, but not like this. I thought about it the entire way to the Shrine. I took Arlington down to the 10 and caught it heading east. There was traffic, of course, but I made good use of the time. I wanted proof about Gus, but I didn’t want it to involve my boyfriend. It didn’t matter what type of spin Nina tried to put on it—Gus wasn’t all that he seemed. There was just too much stacked against him. The donations. Mack so desperate to get out of dealing with him that he was ready to ruin his entire career. And the biggest thing of all, that message from Junior. Junior knew who he was calling back and it sounded like they’d spoken before. He was calling for a reason.
I ran everything in a loop as I merged onto the 110 South and got off on Adams Boulevard less than a mile later. There were too many questions, too many things not adding up. And I was over trying to do the math. I wanted the final answer and this was probably the only way I’d get it.
I parked in a metered space on Figueroa, then ran over to greet the only person who even understood all the parts of the equation. Gus.
His Airstream was parked on the same street. He must have seen me walking up because he opened the door to greet me. He seemed happy to see me, even if I couldn’t say the same.
“I’ve been excited to talk to you,” he said as I climbed in.
“Me too.”
Gus motioned to a scruffy guy born to play a stoner in a comedy. “This is Orlander. He’ll be in the back taking care of sound and the cameras.”
“That’s it?” I could feel my heart rate start to rise. I was expecting people. This wasn’t people. This was one guy.
Fudge.
“You okay?” Gus asked.
“Yeah, I’m just anxious—about the interview. Can you give me a second?”
He went to talk with Orlander, who sat in back behind an open curtain checking camera angles and using headphones to make sure the sound was okay.
I wanted to get back in my car. Instead, I gave myself a pep talk. Sure, this wasn’t part of the plan, but I’d just have to adjust. I’d done it before. I could do it again. I just needed to be smart about it. Keep the pepper spray in one hand, my cell phone in the other with 911 already keyed in. Plus, I made sure I was aware of the nearest exits.
I finally went over to Gus and his lone cameraman, but only after grabbing my pepper spray from my bag.
“We take a less-is-more approach with these interviews,” Gus said.
That was an understatement. Gus’s setup was as bare bones as you could get. He interviewed people while driving around LA. I spied three cameras mounted on the windshield—one on the passenger-side corner to get closeups of me, one on the driver’s side to do the same for Gus, and a third in the middle for a classic two-shot.
“Let’s get you mic’d and settled up front,” Gus said. “We go live in ten minutes.”
We got me set up and I made myself comfortable—or as comfortable as I could be considering the circumstances—in the front passenger seat. It was only after I sat down that I saw the cops in my side-view mirror.
I only noticed them pulling up right behind us because of their ride. It wasn’t a patrol car, but one of those ste
reotypical brown four doors a decade too old to be driven by anyone but an officer of the law. At first, I was excited. I wouldn’t have to call 911 after all in case things went awry. Then I thought it over. Why would the cops be hanging out behind Gus’s Airstream?
It could be a coincidence, or it could be worse. Much worse. I’d always wanted to see cops act on my tips. But as with a restraining order, I expected to remain 100 to 200 feet away at all times. Not in the seat next to the guy I’d snitched on. I wanted Gus to go down. Not take me with him.
Blurg.
The good news was that they parked but didn’t get out. Maybe Gus wouldn’t notice them, especially since he was busy running his mouth about the interview setup. “The stream’s only thirty minutes so please keep your answers short. I’ll tap my steering wheel if you need to wrap up.”
Orlander called out from the back. “We’re all set for the run-through.”
Gus started his engine. “We need to drive around the block to make sure everything’s all set before we start. Just keep talking so Orlander can check levels.”
“Okay. You still get nervous about the awards?”
He pulled out of his spot. The cops did the same. Lovely.
“Not really. It’s a well-oiled machine at this point.” He turned right on Jefferson. They were right behind us. He glanced in his side-view mirror. “Is that car following us? They look like cops.”
“Maybe they’re trying to get to the highway?” It was in the opposite direction, but still.
“I’ll let them pass.” He pulled into the right lane. Of course they didn’t pass, just pulled over too. After a moment, both cars pulled into metered spots. “I just renewed my registration. We weren’t speeding,” Gus said, then continued to tick off the reasons the police shouldn’t be following him. I stayed quiet.
They didn’t get out. Just sat in their car. We did the same, Gus freaking out more and more with each passing second. “Why would the cops want to stop me?”
I shook my head and thanked God for my two years of acting classes at Speiser Sturges. At the time it felt pricey, but it was definitely paying off at that moment. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, then called out, “It’s fine, right, Orlander?”
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