We’re on our way to break into her apartment.
Molly is wearing the closest thing to a disguise we could pull up on short notice. It’s nothing more than a celebrity might usually wear around the Hollywood area, just...not exactly fitted. I put her in one of my jackets, hilariously oversized, and I put a pair of huge sunglasses on her.
She looks like she just got finished with one hell of a night.
“Don’t think I don’t see you trying not to laugh at me,” she hisses as the security guy waves to us.
I just smile, saying nothing.
“Don’t worry about this guy,” she adds, nodding to the guard. “I have a feeling he’s not involved in high intrigue.”
“Can I help you two?” the man says as we stop at the gate, rolling down the window. He’s a short man with a mustache, and I can hear a soap opera playing from a little TV in his box. I start to say something, but Molly leans over me and raises her sunglasses.
“Hey, Hal,” she says with a wink. “Just dropping off a Christmas present a little late--don’t tell on me, okay?”
“Well hey there Miss Parker!” he says with a broad smile. “Secret’s safe with me. Merry late-Christmas.”
He goes back into his box and opens the gate for us, and Molly gives him a wave as we go.
“Quick thinking,” I remark as we pull through the rich neighborhood with beautifully maintained streets.
“There’s a reason actresses made great spies in World War II, you know,” she says. “Never underestimate someone who’s been trained in improv.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Molly points out the building where Andie and her roommates live, and I pull the car to a stop in what she tells me is her usual parking spot. There’s nobody there. That makes Molly nervous, so I don’t bring it up.
“I’m guessing you don’t have a key?” I ask as we get out of the car.
“Never got one made,” she says, her eyes widening. “Shit, you weren’t relying on that, were you?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think I would have asked by now?”
She flashes a smile at me. “I figured you’d be relying on me for everything by now.”
I smirk back, shaking my head as I head toward the apartment. She follows after me, taking the glasses off and tucking them into the huge jacket. “Okay, but seriously, what is the plan?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I just head straight for the hallway under the buildings, outside the apartment building, until I find a set of doors. “Utility room,” I say simply.
“What about it?” she asks, following at my heels while I look around us before going to the door.
I take out a hairpin and start fiddling with the lock.
“Wh-” Molly starts, her jaw dropping and her voice going down to a whisper. “What the hell are you-”
A moment later, the door clicks open, and I glance at Molly. “Someone left it unlocked,” I lie with a smile.
“Oohhh,” she says with wide eyes.
This is fun.
“But wait,” she says, “there’s no elevator in here, what are you doing?”
I step inside and look around for something that looks like a panel of breakers. Finding it, I look through the switches and wires for a few moments and ask over my shoulder, “What floor does Andie live on?”
“Uh, 7th.”
I raise my gloved hands to one of the rows of switches, flip a few, and unhook a few wires. Without a second thought, I shut the panel and nod for Molly to follow me out the door. I quickly lock it behind us and shut it before heading for the stairs.
“What the hell was that?”
“Electronic locks and cameras should be dealt with,” I say simply. “Getting into her room will be as easy as that utility room now.”
She blinks in disbelief as we start climbing the stairs. “How do you…”
“I’m good at my job,” I say simply. I don’t want to get into the details of my skills just yet. Preferably not at all. This isn’t the first time I’ve used this exact tactic to break into an apartment. “You’d be surprised how lax the security can be at places like this. Nobody dares break into these kinds of places, usually. They’re too well policed.”
That seems to satisfy her for now, but I catch her watching me suspiciously every now and then. It’s a conversation we’ll probably have to have eventually, as much as I hate to admit it. “You can do a character review of me later,” I add on the third time I catch her glancing.
Several flights and one picked lock later, the door to Andie’s room opens, and no alarms go off. Perfect.
Molly slips ahead of me and steps into the apartment. “Andie?” she ventures, a hint of desperation in her voice. She looks back at me and whispers, “Just in case.” Turning back to the room, she adds, “Stella? Taylor…?”
No reply.
I close the door behind us and step inside.
It’s about what you would expect from a house belonging to three rich models. Stunningly stylish, designer furniture, and the kind of aesthetics you’d expect from a professional interior designer. Hell, they probably hired one.
In general, though, things look tidy. No signs of struggle anywhere. Andie wasn’t kidnapped from her home, at least, or if she was, she went willingly.
“Andie’s room is over here,” she says, jabbing a thumb toward one of the rooms down the hall. “I’ll check it if you look around the kitchen. I’m going to grab a set of clothes while I’m here, too,” she adds, looking down at her outfit.”
“Are you two the same size?” I ask.
“Close enough,” she says with a weary look at her clothes. “Better than wearing the same outfit for a third day, anyway.”
“Fair enough.”
Molly goes into the room, leaving me to look through the kitchen. I stride through it, my eyes scanning over everything. They don’t seem to do a lot of cooking. I open the fridge and see some takeout boxes from what looks like a trendy restaurant that someone probably forgot about.
There are some supplements and other vitamins filling a few other shelves, and of course, I find a few shelves of liquor. No beer, and just a few bottles of wine.
It’s all the signs of some models having to police their body image, I think with a slight frown. I’ve been thinking more than usual about everything that must be involved in this kind of life. Molly having to mind her public image constantly and carry on a balancing act that would drive me crazy, Andie and her friends trying to keep their bodies exactly the way their sponsors want them... I can’t imagine living like that. I’d just as soon bash my managers’ heads together.
Well, at the end of this trail, I’ll probably be bashing someone’s manager’s head, at least.
I look at a picture of all three of the girls at the beach on the fridge. Their selfie is pretty good camera work, I have to admit, even though it looks like it’s just a personal photo, not something done for modeling. Picking out Andie is easy--she looks a lot like Molly, just younger, and the way she carries herself is a little different.
Maybe it’s the association of her to Molly, but the idea of Eddie Arnold actually getting a hold of her makes me furious. Spoiled celebrity child or no, nobody deserves this kind of treatment.
Just then, I hear Molly from the other room. “Oh my god…!”
I head inside Andie’s room to find Molly standing over a little desk, staring at a little calendar in her hands. “What is it?”
She holds the calendar up to me with wide eyes. I give it a blank look. “What about it?”
“This is Andie’s,” she says, looking down at the little thing, then pointing to a date on it. “Look what she has written down for Christmas Eve!”
I squint at the date. “Goldschmidt, 3:00 PM.”
Molly’s eyes are wide. “Exactly! She dropped me off at the hotel at 2:00 PM that day, and that was the last time I saw her!”
I nod, my brow furrowing. “So this Goldschmidt might be the m
ost recent person to talk to her. But this isn’t much of a lead, can you find anything saying who he might be?”
“We don’t have to,” Molly says, tossing the calendar to the table and putting her hands on her hips. “That’s the bizarre part. I know who Goldschmidt is, there’s only one guy with that name that we know, and we’ve known him for a long time.” She pauses for a moment, thinking.
Finally, I make a hand gesture as if to say “And…?”
She looks me in the eye, confusion and hurt written in them. “Wes, Goldschmidt is an acting agent for huge blockbusters, usually only A-list actors.” She glances back down to the calendar. “Andie...Andie must have been auditioning behind my back!”
13
Molly
“I’m gonna kill her, Wes,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“What’s the big deal? You’re a family of entertainers, aren’t you? It makes sense that your little sister would be trying out for parts and stuff,” he replies, shrugging behind the steering wheel. He glances over at me and I glare at him.
“You don’t understand,” I shoot back, shaking my head. “Andie is… vulnerable. She’s smart, but too optimistic. She only sees the good in everyone and she doesn’t plan things very well. I mean, she’s only eighteen. She can’t be expected to make good life choices at that age.”
Wes snorts and I look at him angrily. “What was that for?” I snap.
“Nothing. Just the fact that you’re a massive hypocrite. That’s all,” he replies smoothly.
I can feel my rage reaching a boiling point inside me.
“A hypocrite? How dare you? I’m just trying to look out for my sister, who just happens to be my best friend and the most important person in my life,” I retort.
“Weren’t you acting in big movies at her age?” Wes points out, unaffected by my anger, which only serves to make me even angrier.
“Yeah,” I answer, folding my arms over my chest. “So fucking what?”
“If you could do it, why can’t she?” he asks, looking at me sidelong.
I sigh. “Because I know what kind of effect that shit can have on your life. I remember what it felt like, being so young and away from home, cutting business deals, being under much more intense scrutiny than I was used to-- and that’s saying a lot considering the last name I grew up with. The thing is, the reason I don’t want her to do this is because I did it. I lived that life. And yes, it did go fairly smoothly for a while. But only because I got super lucky, and because I am a paranoid, perfectionist person who looks after herself. It was only when I got complacent and too trusting that Eddie was able to swoop in and screw things up for me,” I explain. “And you don’t know Andie. She’s not like me. She doesn’t question everything like I do. She doesn’t plan for the worst. She hopes for the best and leaves it at that. And in this industry, that’s a liability. A handicap. That is why this pisses me off so much. I’m scared for her.”
“It’s not your place to decide for her, though,” Wes says, his voice softer and more patient this time. “Like you said, she is eighteen. It’s her life, Molly. If you don’t let her make mistakes on her own, she will never learn from them.”
“I get that reasoning. I really do. And trust me, if she really, really wanted to do this, I would support her. As long as she was careful. But the fact that she decided to go for an audition right now, while I’m caught up in this awful bullshit with Eddie-- that tells me she’s not being careful at all. She’s just free-falling,” I lament, tears burning in my eyes. “And nobody is there to catch her.”
Wes reaches across the console to take my hand and give it a squeeze. “We are going to catch her. Okay? You may be my client, but Andie is your family, and I am not about to let this slide. We’ll find her. I swear.”
I raise his hand to my lips and kiss it softly. “Okay. Thank you,” I answer quietly.
The whole ride to Goldschmidt’s office complex, I fiddle with the burner phone. Every time I open the screen and see it still blank, the little text message icon empty, my heart sinks a little further. I wish I could just hear from her. Something. Anything. Just one word to tell me she’s okay or at least alive. I know I shouldn’t jump to any horrible conclusions, but I just can’t help but feel like something is seriously wrong.
“You holding up okay there?” Wes asks.
I nod and wipe my eyes, mad at myself for getting all weepy. I need to be strong right now. Keep myself together. For Andie.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just… can’t stop thinking of the worst-case scenario,” I admit, surprised at myself for opening up like this. “Ever since we were little, Andie and I were almost more like twins than just sisters. We have this connection-- I don’t know if you could call it psychic or magic or whatever. But whenever one of us is upset, I swear, the other can feel it. One time, when I went to camp as a little girl, Andie had to stay home because she wasn’t old enough to go yet. At camp, they had this huge pool. I was, I don’t know, eight years old, maybe? It was a really hot afternoon. Over a hundred degrees, I’m sure. We were having a pool party, kids swimming around, jumping off the diving board, down the water slide. All that jazz. But I could only swim with those little floaties you wear on your arms, you know? And I’d left them back at the cabin on accident, so I was just sitting on the edge of the pool with my feet in the water.
“Well, apparently, unbeknownst to me, some of the older kids had figured out who my parents were. They were jealous, I guess, or maybe they just wanted to find someone who was different, easy to single out. You know how kids are. They’re awful at that age,” I add, shaking my head. Wes waits for me to go on. I take a deep breath. “So, I’m sitting on the edge of the pool just hanging out, feeling a little down that I can’t swim with the rest of the kids, when suddenly these two older boys come strolling over to me in their stupid dinosaur-print swim trunks. I remember it all so vividly. They asked me if I lived in a big castle in Hollywood and I told them no, of course, I live in a house. I was so confused. Couldn’t think of a single reason why these two boys would be talking to me. They weren’t from my side of the camp. I’d never met them before. They just kept asking me questions about my family. How much money we had. What kind of car my dad drove. And I guess they found out just enough information about me to hate me, because then they each grabbed one of my arms, lifted me up, and tossed me into the deep end of the pool.”
“Holy shit!” Wes gasps, looking at me with his blue eyes wide.
I nod. “Yeah. I sank like a stone. It was one of those Olympic-type pools. The deep end was probably ten, fifteen feet or something. There were so many kids splashing around in the water, I’m sure the lifeguard didn’t see me at first. I just sank and sank and I remember thinking, at eight years old, shit. I’m gonna die.”
“What happened?” he prompts me.
“Well, eventually one of the kids who tossed me in got cold feet and told the lifeguard I fell in. The lifeguard dove in after me and brought me back to the surface. He had to do CPR on me for like a full minute, apparently. When I came to, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to go home,” I tell him. “That very night, my dad drove all the way out to pick me up. Andie insisted on going with him even though it was probably one in the morning when he got there. Turns out, at the exact time I fell in the pool, Andie had an epic tantrum. Screaming, crying, throwing toys around, begging my parents to let her talk to me on the phone. My parents could only calm her down by promising to call me later. When they called the camp to ask to speak with me, the counselor filled my parents in on what happened that day at the pool, and of course, that’s when they decided I needed to just come home. Andie was only five at the time, so she doesn’t remember it, really. But my parents have told me the story a hundred times, probably. Me, drowning in the pool, and Andie having a massive meltdown at home at the exact same time, worried about her big sister,” I finish, a sentimental smile tugging at my lips.
“Damn,” Wes says. “That’s deep shit.
”
I laugh gently. “Yeah. It is. And we’ve always been like that, even today. And right now, I can feel it. That uneasy feeling like something is wrong. I can’t shake it,” I say sadly.
“We’ll find her, Molly. It’ll be okay,” Wes assures me, but I can’t quite believe him. “I am wondering, though… would his office even be open the day after Christmas?”
“Oh yeah. I know Goldschmidt through the grapevine. I think we actually met once or twice at a wrap party. He’s Jewish. He’ll be open over Christmas,” I explain quickly.
Soon, we pull up to the office with the name GOLDSCHMIDT emblazoned on the front in, fittingly, gold lettering. I’m out of the car and walking briskly toward the front door before the car even stops rolling. Wes hastily parks and runs after me, grabbing my arm and making me slow down. “Hey, hey,” he says. “Calm down. If you go in there looking a bull seeing red, you’ll tip ‘em off.”
“Tip them off?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t give a fuck what these people think of me, Wes. They have my sister.”
“Right, I know. But just play it cool. If they sense something is up, they’ll be less likely to give us the information we need,” he insists. I force myself to relax my shoulders and chill the hell out, even though what I want to do is march in, slam my fist on the counter, and demand to see my sister.
We walk through the glossy automatic glass doors and stroll up to a front desk where a secretary is quietly waiting, staring at a computer screen. She looks up at us with doe eyes and asks, “Hello, how can I help you? Do you have an appointment with Mr. Goldschmidt?”
I open my mouth to speak but can’t think of a good answer. Wes steps in.
“Yes. We’re his three o’clock,” he says solidly.
The secretary cocks her head to one side, looking very suspicious. “His three o’clock canceled about an hour ago,” she says.
“Hi,” I speak up, giving her my most cover-girl smile. “My name is Molly Parker. I think my assistant must have accidentally canceled the appointment, but we’re here now.”
Rock Hard Bodyguard Page 12