by Sandi Scott
“I think I know why you are here, but I’m going to pretend it is because you wanted to see me," Stan muttered with his eyes narrowed into skeptical slits. Georgie couldn't help but think her ex-husband looked very handsome this morning, sitting behind his desk with his salt-and-pepper hair swept back, his tie already loose around his neck, and his sleeves rolled up. He was a hard-working man, that was for sure.
“What do you mean?” Georgie frowned in the doorway to his office. “Can’t I just come by to say ‘Howdy-Do’ and bring you a peppers and egg sandwich?”
“Sure, you can. You know that it will make me give up information if I’m being fed.” He stood up, cleared the files and papers off the chair on the opposite side of his desk, and motioned for his Georgie to have a seat.
“You sure look pretty today, Georgie,” He mumbled, making her squeeze past him as he proceeded to close his office door. “That skirt shows off my favorite curves.”
“Really, Stan” she fluttered her hand at him. “I’m just checking up on you. I thought you looked like you hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks. So, I brought you something nice to eat. Is that a crime?”
“Whatever it takes to get you to visit me, Georgie.”
She sat down, handed Stan the white bag of food and waited.
As Stan began to eat, Georgie looked at her watch and then at the ceiling, before smiling at Stan.
"Okay. Enough of this," he said with a mouthful of peppers, eggs, and bread. "The autopsy of Jason Hobbs proved he died of heart failure."
“Really?” She scratched the back of her neck. “That’s too bad.”
“Too bad?” Stan mumbled through a mouthful of food. “An open and shut case that requires no overtime, no surveillance, no extra men on duty and you say too bad?”
Georgie chewed her bottom lip for a second then told Stan how she had left her wallet behind at the Craft Service table.
“When I was making my way back to the car, I heard the director talking horribly about the deceased.”
"Look, not everyone feels the need to make a person out to be a saint once they are dead. These are Hollywood types. That is a completely different world altogether. That guy you heard bad-mouthing Jason Hobbs will probably be the same guy reading his eulogy."
“But no one seemed to like this guy. There wasn’t a single person who seemed to show any kind of sadness. Nothing.”
“That still is no reason to think this was anything more than a bad heart.” Stan had all but inhaled the sandwich and was now just licking his fingers as he chewed the final bite.
“Well, if you say so.” Georgie grabbed her purse and stood up, smoothing out her black pencil skirt.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
"Nowhere in particular," Georgie replied.
“Well, since you made the effort to come all the way to the station to bring me breakfast why don’t you let me return the favor.” He stood up and looked at her from underneath thick eyebrows with his most come-hither look. “I’ll come all the way to your house and bring you a bottle of wine and—”
“I gave up drinking.” Georgie went to the door, but as she turned the knob, she realized Stan had locked it. She snapped her head in his direction with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.
“Hey, I don’t always know what is on your mind,” he shrugged innocently. “I just keep hoping one of these days you’ll want to make-up for good.”
“You are a pip, Stan.” Georgie unlocked the door and yanked it open.
“About tonight,” Stan continued as if nothing had changed, “how about I bring some vanilla ice cream and root beer?”
Stan saw Georgie freeze for a split second before she turned around to glare at him.
“Don’t think you can sweet talk me, Detective.” She turned and walked out of Stan’s office and out of the bullpen to the police station exit.
“You know I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!” he shouted after her making her blush a thousand shades of red.
As she stepped outside, her phone rang. Pulling it out of her purse she didn’t recognize the number, but tapped the green button to accept the call.
“Georgie Kaye,” she answered.
“Yes, hello, Mrs. Kaye?” A young woman cleared her throat on the other end of the line. “This is Ryn Hudson. You gave me your beautiful embroidered hankie yesterday at the movie shoot?”
“Why, yes. Hello, Miss Hudson.”
“Please, call me Ryn.” The woman’s voice instantly became much more relaxed. “I’m sorry to bother you. I got your number from Cassandra. I hope you don’t mind my calling you.”
“Not at all, Ryn. What can I do for you?”
"Mrs. Kaye, I was hoping you might be able to spare a few minutes, or a half an hour, to meet for a coffee or something."
“Well, you’ll have to call me Georgie for starters,” Georgie’s smile could be heard in her voice. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is this all about, Ryn?”
Ryn cleared her throat again.
“This might sound really stupid, but you just seem like the kind of person I can talk to,” she sighed. “My family is in Wyoming and they always told me I should never have gone to California. Not that they don’t believe in me, they do, but they think I should be happy with the local community theater, or maybe offer to do some Indy Films with the kids at college.”
"They obviously love you very much," Georgie replied, thinking of her own children who had lives of their own in different states.
“Yeah. That’s why I don’t want to worry them by telling them about this whole situation with Jason and my problems with Robbie.”
“Okay, Ryn. Do you have a car?”
"Of course," Ryn replied.
Georgie knew of a place up north, between Skokie and Andersonville, called Earwax, that she loved. It was an eclectic coffee shop that had weekly poetry readings and had enough room for a singer or guitar player to give a cozy performance on a Friday or Saturday night. Graffiti was scribbled all over the walls and, although some of it wasn't for young viewers, Georgie had come to love the place in spite of its rough interior. The coffee was good and they always had chocolate chip cookies the size of a manhole cover for just a few dollars.
Earwax was in a neighborhood that just five years ago Georgie wouldn't have gone to with a loaded pistol and a gallon of pepper spray strapped to her back. Now the clientele consisted of mostly tattooed, purple-haired artists that wore ‘The Misfits’ printed on their t-shirts while they discussed their favorite art media. Also, there was always an eclectic mix of conversations running the gamut from music to dance to painting to sculpting. But the regulars were mostly young people, so there was also a good bit of whining and that was one reason why Georgie didn't go there as much as she would have liked.
A woman her age could only handle the complaints of the younger generation for so long before the urge to slap a few of the loudest complainers, and tell them to ‘Suck it up, Princess,’ became too much to control.
Ryn would probably fit right in with the styles and the mentalities. On the other hand, Georgie was intrigued, so she was happy when Ryn agreed to meet her there.
"That sounds great, Georgie. I'll meet you there at noon." The girl almost choked up. "I really appreciate it."
"It's not a problem at all, honey," Georgie replied. Once she hung up, she headed toward the Blue Line train station that would drop her off in the middle of Andersonville.
Chapter 6
“What an adorable coffee shop,” Ryn gushed. When she strutted out of her Town Car being driven by a walking wall of muscle, she was wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans with stiletto heels and a black turtleneck that hugged her tiny frame. Her sunglasses took up half her face, making her look insect-like as she scooted into the booth across from Georgie.
“I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and ordered one of their chocolate chip cookies. They are big enough to share so please, please, help yourself to some whe
n it comes.”
"Thanks, Georgie." Ryn removed her glasses. Georgie put her hand on her chest when she saw the girl's face. It was obvious she had been crying.
Within a few minutes, Ryn had a steaming cup of black coffee in front of her and was slowly breaking off bits of the massive chocolate chip cookie that had been placed between the two of them.
“There is nothing like a little chocolate to make us feel better,” Georgie soothed and patted Ryn’s hand. “Witnessing a death like you did yesterday can be terribly traumatic. Just let yourself cry it out.”
“I’m not crying about that,” Ryn sniffed.
“Oh.” Georgie sat back and looked at her suspiciously. “What’s got you so upset, honey?”
"The movie. We're losing all this time because of Jason. Before he got on the set, the scenes were rolling along like a well-oiled machine." She took a bigger bite of cookie. "Robbie was open to discussing changes, or improvising a little. But as soon as Jason arrived, it was like our parents showed up and the party was over. He rewrote parts of the script, like I told you, and took away my best lines."
“Did he do that to anyone else?” Georgie hoped she could help Ryn see that perhaps Jason was only doing what he thought was best.
“Nope. Just me.” She swallowed. “Do you know how hard it is to be a woman on a movie set who is the only one having her lines cut? I can’t complain to anyone or else I will be labeled difficult, but if I just roll over no one will ever think I can handle something more challenging.”
Georgie felt bad for Ryn. Something had made her think Ryn was going to be a whining, entitled starlet, especially when she stepped out of that car, but these were concerns that could seriously affect her career.
“Jason Hobbs was what you’d call a toxic personality,” Ryn nodded. “A real crazy-maker. He was always missing something. If it wasn’t his keys, it was his phone, or his iPad, or some random piece of paper and nothing could go forward until he found what he sought. Just four days ago, he had the whole set, actors, key grips, cameramen, even make-up, looking for a piece of paper that had a ‘C’ on it.”
Georgie leaned forward waiting for the rest of the story.
“That’s it. It had the letter ‘C’ on it and he screamed he would tear up the entire set if he had to in order to find it. The whole place was turned upside down for over four hours. That’s the equivalent of about seven-hundred and fifty thousand dollars over budget and an entire day lost filming. This happens at least once a week.”
Georgie pinched her eyebrows together in thought as she sat and listened.
"When Jason got there, the change on the set was instantaneous." Ryn dabbed the corners of her mouth with the paper napkin from her lap. "Robbie was stressed and began changing lines and cutting scenes. In addition to that, he was making changes in the middle of filming because Jason was there whispering in his ear all the time. As mad as I am at Robbie for giving in to Jason's craziness, I can see how it could happen. Jason knew how to wear people down. He spent his entire career doing this. Everyone wanted his money for their projects, but it was like making a deal with the devil."
“Have you ever thought of changing careers?” Georgie asked seriously. “I’m sorry. I’m just a simple Midwestern girl but this sounds like a type of slavery.”
"You're right. I'm sure it does look that way to you. In this particular instance, I think you are spot-on. But when the work is good, Georgie, there is nothing like it." Ryn smiled, "Slipping into a unique character with a director that really wants to see the best you can do, the deepest you can dig to make people not see you anymore but see only the character, that is worth all the hours."
“But you weren’t getting that synchronization.” Georgie tore off a piece of the chocolate chip cookie and popped it in her mouth.
“No.” Ryn’s eyes began to over-flow. “Jason made sure of it, I swear. You probably think I’m just a spoiled actress, but I swear to you that I watched Jason’s eyes as he was screaming at the carpenters to recreate the fireplace mantel and he was enjoying himself. He called their work shabby and unprofessional, but their hands were as tied as mine. If you want to work, you have to take a certain amount of abuse. And if you’re a woman, you sometimes have to be twice as strong as a man, just to stay employable.”
“Everyone knew Jason was like this?”
“Of course, but Jason had very deep pockets. Robbie needed him to get this film made. The actors needed him because we all need to work future films to pay our bills. Jason knew this, too. He loved watching people squirm and jump through hoops. He was taught at a young age that if you had money you were in charge, no matter what. It’s really pitiful.”
“Why did Robbie agree to work with him if everyone knew what kind of challenge it would be?” Georgie scratched her head.
“He wanted to get back in the game. No one else would sponsor his project since he’d been out of the limelight for so long. Comebacks in Hollywood are great if Hollywood wants you back. Robert Downey, Jr.—that’s a comeback. Mel Gibson—that’s a wildcard. It’s unfair but that’s the nature of the beast. Jason knew Robbie was desperate. He used it to get his thrills. You could see it. That is pathetic and, quite frankly, Georgie, I think Jason got what he deserved. Don’t you think so?”
Georgie jerked her head back slightly. Before she could answer, Ryn blinked quickly and cleared her throat.
"I mean, I'd never kill anyone, but when a bad person dies I don't think it's wrong to say ‘yay’. I'm not the only one, you know. Robbie hated him, too. Everyone knew that they clashed just as much as Jason and I clashed. I'll bet a lot of people would suspect Robbie, you know, although I couldn't say if he did anything. All I know is I didn't."
Georgie watched as Ryn’s forehead started to shine with perspiration.
“I really didn’t know the man like you did,” Georgie smiled and smoothed over the unsightly ripples caused by Ryn’s comment, “but if everything you say is true I can understand your feelings.”
“Thank you, that’s all I was seeking. Someone to understand my feelings.” Nervously, Ryn looked at her watch. Before Georgie could ask her any more questions, she hopped out of the booth as if her backside were spring-loaded, hugged Georgie tightly, and stomped back out the door, slipping on her big, bug-eyed glasses before sliding into the backseat of the car that had been waiting for her the entire time.
“SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK of that?” Georgie asked while she watched her sister load her dishwasher. “I’m starting to think this cardiac arrest might have been planned.”
"Let's face it. Ryn only proved one thing—Hollywood types have a flair for the dramatic. How do we know her lines weren't cut because she was no good? How do we know that Jason's rewrites and scene changes weren't what the story needed? If there is one thing I learned owning my own business for all those years is that there are always at least a thousand people with no experience who think they can do your job better than you."
“True,” Georgie scratched her chin, “but none of them wanted to kill you just to give it a try.”
“Not that I know of,” Aleta chuckled. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I think it’s a little premature to go back to Stan. Maybe I’ll give that new-fangled Inter-web a go and see what is floating around in cyberspace on Mr. Jason Hobbs.”
“Do you know how ignorant you sounded just then?” Aleta teased.
"Certainly," Georgie said, "I know how to research something on the web, but you know me, I'd much rather get to yacking with people in some good, old-fashioned face-to-face. Besides, you've got to remember the stuff you read on the web needs to be taken with a grain of salt. I'm sure I'll read dozens of horrible things about Jason in one section and then find out he was being nominated for Humanitarian of the Year someplace else."
“They don’t call it Hollyweird for nothing.” This was Aleta’s considered opinion.
"Something tells me there is more to this story. I'll do my own snooping first. Hop
efully, I won't have to call in the big guns."
“You mean Stan?” Aleta looked at her sister from the corner of her eye. “He can be such a bother showing up just when you need him.”
"Yeah, as long as he doesn't hear the prospecting siren song and head off to what you called the land of fruits and nuts to dig for gold again."
That was the biggest part of the reason Stan and Georgie were no longer together. When Stan got the idea in his head that he was going to strike gold in the California mountains, she wished him well, but it became too much for her to bear still rearing three teenage kids on her own and wondering all the time if he were okay or had he slipped and fallen off a cliff somewhere.
“It was just a mid-life crisis for Stan; you know that Georgie.” This was Aleta’s standard comment each time the subject came up. “You know that Stan wanted to feel young and wild and part of something that very few people could say they did.”
Georgie grimaced, “He could have bought a sports car.” But she knew in her heart of hearts that wouldn’t have satisfied Stan.
“Anyone can buy a sports car, Georgie. But there aren’t many men who can say they slept under the stars and made shelters with their bare hands. I know for a fact none of them brought back a snakeskin belt for their wives from a snake they killed with only the help of a rock and their cat-like reflexes.”
Georgie smiled because she still had that belt. Now if Stan managed a pair of boots to match the belt, she might have reconsidered and married him all over again. But, since he hadn’t, she had come to enjoy her freedom and their divorce remained intact.
As things were now, she could enjoy the wonderful things about him like his charm and his ability to fix things around the house and his keen eye for detail without enduring his bad habits—like leaving every light on in the house or undressing in any room but the bedroom, leaving trails of his clothes all over the house. The worst was that he’d leave a swallow of milk in the jug in the fridge. It wouldn’t even be enough to turn her coffee light brown, but he’d put it back like it could be just enough for something.