Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (5 page)

Anyway, she was quite capable of driving to the valley on her own.
She didn't need security, just a pair of dark glasses and a baseball
cap to hide her tell-tale platinum hair. Besides, it was an adventure
doing something on her own for a change. She put on talk radio and
listened to the various call-ins, which was always a trip, until
finally she arrived at the Robbins-Scorsinni offices on Ventura, where
she was greeted by a plump, middle-aged Asian assistant in a flowered
pant suit. The offices were old and kind of rundown, but Lissa felt
quite comfortable. She wasn't looking for one of those hotshot
Hollywood PI agencies that knew everyone's business. This low-key place
suited her fine.

Quincy Robbins, who ran the private investigation/security agency
with his partner, Michael Scorsinni, was a pleasant, reliable man, whom
Lissa had used on several other occasions for various matters. His
partner and himself were ex-New York detectives, and that made her feel
secure. When she'd moved into her house several years ago, she'd hired
Quincy to be her chief security adviser. She'd never met his partner,
but she knew that his reputation was also stellar.

'Take a seat, please,' the Asian woman said, with a gummy smile,
revealing a row of uneven teeth. 'I am Mai Lee. Michael will be with
you soon.'

'I'm not here to see Michael,' Lissa said, anxious to get this over
with. 'Quincy is expecting me.'

'Nobody contacted you?' Mai Lee said, sounding surprised.

'Not that I know of.'

'Oh dear,' Mai Lee said, now highly embarrassed. 'I think
I
was
supposed to call you.'

'About what?' Lissa said, fast losing her patience.

'Quincy's laid up at home,' Mai Lee said, fluttering her hands. 'He
broke his leg.'

'You've
got
to be kidding?'

'I'm afraid it's true.'

'
When
did this happen?'

'A few days ago. But not to worry, Michael took over your case.
You'll be happy with Michael, he is most capable.'

Lissa stood up. 'I always deal with Quincy,' she said tightly. 'This
could've waited if I'd known he wasn't available.'

'My fault,' Mai Lee said, now taking full responsibility. 'I was
supposed to explain. You see, Quincy didn't seem to think you would
want
to wait.'

Lissa wondered how much Mai Lee knew. This was so embarrassing, she
could see the headlines now -

'Oh, God!' She sighed, realizing there was nothing she could do at
this late stage. 'I suppose I'll have to see Michael. Where is he?'

'Sorry,' Mai Lee said apologetically. 'He's out of the office right
now.'

This was ridiculous. She'd driven all the way out to the valley, and
now she was getting a run-around. 'Are you telling me that you expect
me to sit here and wait?' she said sharply. It wasn't often she played
the star, but one perk of star treatment was never having to wait.

'He'll be back soon,' Mai Lee volunteered. 'Very soon.'

'Unbelievable!' Lissa muttered irritably. 'I drove over here
especially.'

'There's plenty of magazines,' Mai Lee offered soothingly. 'Why
don't you sit down and relax?'

Why don't
you
shove it up your ass
? Lissa wanted
to say, but she didn't. That would have been mean and petty, and one
thing she was always careful about was preserving a good public image.

I'm nervous
, she thought.
I'm nervous because even
though I know for sure that Gregg's screwing around, it's still
difficult to deal with
. At least Quincy - big, black, comfortable
Quincy - would have held her hand and said, 'Listen, this is something
you're not gonna want to hear, but these are the facts.'

Now she had to hear it from a stranger.

Well, not exactly a stranger, Quincy had often mentioned his
partner's name. 'My friend, Michael,' he'd always say. 'You should've
seen us when we were detectives together in New York. Michael got shot,
nearly bought it. You'll like him. He's one of the good guys.'

And yet, over the years, she'd never met him.

She sat down, picked up a magazine and flipped the pages
impatiently, until suddenly the door was pushed open and a tall man
strode in.

'Michael,' Mai Lee said, jumping up, 'Ms Roman is here.'

He walked right over to her. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting,' he
said. 'Quincy insisted I shouldn't make you wait, but it was
unavoidable. I'm really sorry,' he added, giving her a long, sincere
stare.

He had the blackest eyes she'd ever seen, thick jet hair, and dark
olive skin - with a two-day stubble. He was handsome, with a dangerous
edge - an irresistible combination.

So this is Michael Scorsinni
, she thought.
Quincy
never told me he looked like a movie star - only better
.

'Uh… hi,' she said, and wondered if this might turn out to be easier
than she'd thought.

'How's everything?' Eric Vernon said, sliding onto a bar stool next
to
Arliss Shepherd.

Arliss bobbed his head several times. Eric Vernon made him fidgety,
he couldn't figure out what the man was after. No one kept on buying
drinks unless they were after
something
.

'Another beer?' Eric offered.

Arliss bobbed his head again. Rule one. Never turn down a free
drink, even though he still had a half-f bottle clutched in his hand.

'Pattie,' Eric said, snapping his fingers to attract the attention
of a half-clad woman with a lopsided boob job, who toiled behind the
scuffed wooden bar. 'Another bottle for my friend.' He patted Arliss on
the shoulder. 'Been thinking about you,' he said.

'You have?' Arliss replied, stifling a fast-rising burp.

'I was remembering that conversation we had the other night.'

Arliss scratched his head. If the conversation wasn't about tits and
ass, he did not retain it.

'Yes,' Eric continued, thinking that Arliss Shepherd smelled like a
Mexican meal left out in the sun for a week. Putrid. But since he
wasn't about to hire him for his good hygiene, who cared if he stank?
'I was thinking 'bout how you said you hated your job.'

'I do,' Arliss agreed, nodding furiously. 'I certainly do.'

And who wouldn't? He was the caretaker of a big old building filled
with nothing but rats and roaches and memories of the time it was a
flourishing dress company. Why the owners needed a caretaker in a place
they'd been threatening to pull down for years, was beyond him. In the
meantime, it was his job to keep the transients out and the place
protected.

Protected from what? Who knew? Who cared?

He'd fashioned himself a makeshift apartment in the basement, and he
didn't have to answer to anyone - except the snotty-nosed son of the
owner, who put in an occasional appearance.

Still, what kind of an existence was it to be shut up in a deserted
old building all day and most of the night? Arliss wished for something
better, although deep down he knew there wasn't anything better. He had
no qualifications, he could barely read, he was fortunate to have any
kind of job at all. However, it certainly didn't stop him from
complaining, which - after several beers too many - he'd obviously been
doing to this Eric Vernon character.

Pattie slid a cold bottle of Heineken in front of him while shooting
Eric a flirtatious sideways glance. This infuriated Arliss, because
he'd been trying to get her to pay attention to him for months.

'She'll give ya crabs,' he muttered to Eric, as Pattie sashayed off.

Eric got it immediately. 'Not interested,' he said abruptly.

Why not
? Arliss thought.
You one of them faggot freaks
?
Prudently, he kept his thoughts to himself. If Eric Vernon was a fag it
was none of his business as long as the man kept on buying. He lifted
the cold bottle of beer to his lips. 'You married?' he asked.

'No,' Eric replied. 'Are you?' He asked the question even though he
already knew the answer. He knew everything about Arliss Shepherd that
needed knowing.

Arliss shook his greasy head. 'I'm stupid, not soft,' he said
scornfully. 'Wimmen give a man nothin' but trouble.'

'Right,' Eric agreed, his small, sharp eyes checking out the bar.

'Course, they're all right for some things,' Arliss added, with a
lewd wink.

Eric had endured enough small-talk, weeks of it in fact. What he
needed now was action. Leaning closer to Arliss, almost recoiling from
the stink, he said, 'How would you like to make some
real
money?'

Arliss's narrow face brightened. Real money. Who wouldn't want to
make a score? If he had real money he could buy himself a better life.
'How'd I do that?' he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

'By co-operating on something and keeping your mouth shut.'

'Somethin' legal?' Arliss said suspiciously.

'If it means big bucks, do you care?' Eric shot back. He knew Arliss
had done time for petty burglary so he would not be averse to criminal
activities.

'How big
are
the bucks?' Arliss ventured.

'Enough to keep everyone happy,' Eric said, tapping his fingers on
the bar. 'I need to put together a team I can trust.'

'What kinda team?'

'I've been watching you and your friends. You all seem pretty tight.'

Arliss did not take kindly to the thought that Eric had been spying
on them. Davey and Joe, and especially Big Mark, would not like it
either. Big Mark could crush this guy's ass if Arliss gave him the
word. Mark was the strong one in the group. He worked as a bouncer at a
club on the strip, and according to Mark, not a night passed unless he
split some asshole's lip or broke a nose or two.

'We're tight all right,' Arliss said stiffly. 'Tight enough not to
need any intruders.'

'Don't get me wrong,' Eric said quickly, 'I'm looking for a few guys
who can handle themselves in any situation
and
make big money
doing it.'

'Doin' what?' Arliss asked, blinking rapidly.

'It doesn't matter,' Eric said, backing off. 'I sense you're not
interested.'

'Didn't say that,' Arliss growled. 'If it means big bucks, I could
be ready't' do anythin'.'

'Anything, huh?' Eric said, giving him an appraising look.

'Short of murder,' Arliss added, with a nervous cackle.

'And even murder has a price, doesn't it?' Eric said mildly.

Arliss nodded, he couldn't help himself.

It was then that Eric knew he had found the right man.

It never occurred to Eric that he could fail at the scam he was
shortly to put into motion. Failure was not a word in his vocabulary.
Failure was his past, and he was
never
revisiting his
miserable past.

Two months previously he'd been sent to some big movie star's Bel
Air mansion to do some work on her computers - upgrading, Mr Hailey,
his boss, had informed him. Usually Mr Hailey took care of all the
famous clients, but recently he had been undergoing a punishing course
of chemo treatments and was losing his hair, so he'd started sending
Eric out on the more high-profile jobs.

Mr Hailey trusted Eric, who was quiet, always on time and did his
job well. And then, of course, there were Eric's forged references
attesting to his diligence and honesty. Those references had landed him
the job.

How easy it was to clean the slate and start afresh. How simple it
was to fool people.

So one fine morning Eric had set off to the movie star's Bel Air
mansion, pressed the buzzer at the bottom of a long, winding driveway,
and when the gates opened, had driven up to the house.

He was greeted by her assistant, a gregarious gay man with a halo of
curly auburn hair and matching beard. He introduced himself as Danny
and led Eric into the office.

'This is her
home
office,' Danny said. 'Her
production
offices are at Universal. I work
here.'
A conspiratorial
wink. 'Lucky
me.
'

Eric had no idea who the celebrity was. He didn't watch TV or go to
the movies, and he certainly didn't buy CDs or attend concerts. The
walls of her office - covered in framed posters and photographs - soon
clued him in. He recognized her as that slutty blonde who wore
revealing outfits and sang controversial sexy songs. He recognized her
because the con in the cell next to him had her picture pinned to his
wall and had christened her 'Queen of the Wankers'. Lissa Roman, that
was her name.

So here he was in the office of 'Queen of the Wankers,' and he
didn't
give a damn because Eric didn't like women, and he liked famous, rich
ones even less.

'Madam is not around today,' Danny announced.

As if Eric cared. The last thing he needed was to check out some
overblown movie star tramp.

'The princess is working on her new video,' Danny volunteered.
'It'll be amazing as usual.'

'Mmm…' Eric said, heading towards the two computers. 'What needs
doing here?'

'Sometimes Miz Roman enjoys dropping into chat rooms,' Danny
confided. 'Naturally she uses an alias, but she likes to visit, and
right now she's not getting connected quickly enough, so I was told you
could do something.'

'The phone company has to install a DSL line,' Eric said gruffly.
'Then I can fix it so that everything happens faster. After the phone
company's done their work, I'll come back.'

'I don't understand this chat-room obsession some people have,'
Danny said, pursing his lips. 'Me, I'm bored by them. All those
fifty-year-old men pretending to be twelve-year-old boys.' A sly giggle
and a provocative glance. 'Naughty, naughty!'

Faggot
, Eric thought. I
don't want to hear about what
you do in your spare time
.