Born to Be Wild (14 page)

“Yep, that's him.”

“Hmm…so tell me when all this Danny business came about. Now, no evasions.”

Lou Lou bit into three large chips, shrugged, and said in an offhand voice, “Well, we had dinner Saturday night over at Crockers on Ellis and Vine. Not bad. They're heavy on the hot peppers, which makes you drink tons and keeps the cash register cha-chinging all night. They charge a truckload for beers, not to mention the heavy stuff.”

“I guess I just assumed Detective Vasquez was married.”

“He's a widower; his wife died of breast cancer three years ago. He said no one expected the cancer would go so fast, said it was really tough for a while. He hasn't dated much since then.”

Mary Lisa pictured the no-nonsense detective whose job it was to find the man who ran her down. Danny? It was a
Danny
handling her case? “It's the oddest thing,” Mary Lisa said, staring down at the remaining three bites of salad, “but you never know anyone, do you? Here I was only thinking of Detective Vasquez as a cop trying to help me, but he's a person with a life of his own, and this tragedy to deal with.”

Lou Lou slowly nodded. “I think he's doing okay now. But we've been talking about this guy who hit you. And I remembered the guy who was stalking you last year.”

Mary Lisa shook her head before Lou Lou stopped speaking. “No, you're kidding, right? That guy seemed to be around every corner for maybe a week, but then he disappeared when the studio hired on a bodyguard for a few days. Everybody thought he got scared, probably left L.A.”

“So, it's been—what, eight months since the creep went walkabout? He could be back, he could be pissed, he could have escalated. That's the word the shrinks use on the cop shows, isn't it?”

“What did Detective Vasquez think about it?”

“He wishes you'd told him earlier. I remembered you'd worked with a police artist so he dug out the sketch of the guy from the studio, brought it over to me yesterday since you weren't back in town yet. He wants me to show it to you again.”

Mary Lisa raised an eyebrow. “You saw Detective Vasquez again yesterday?”

Lou Lou huffed into her Diet Dr Pepper. “Chrysler, Mary Lisa, I've got a life, he's got a life. I don't shut myself in a suitcase when you're not around.”

“I didn't mean that, it's—”

“Yeah, I know. It sort of freaks me out a little bit too. Me, Lou Lou Bollinger—the five-earringed rebel—with a cop.” Lou Lou picked up her small, expensive leather bag with its long shoulder strap and opened it up. “Here's the police sketch. Take a look.”

Mary Lisa stared down at the face of the man she hadn't thought about for a good many months, not even in an occasional dream. She looked down at the fleshy face with wide-set dark eyes, the light brown hair covered by a baseball cap, remembered his belly hanging over the wide belt of his blue jeans, and slowly nodded. “As best as I can remember, that looks like him. I only saw him clearly that one time when I caught him off guard.”

“I remember. You and I went into Barneys and you remembered you'd left the blouse you were returning in the car. You walked right out and there he was, lurking by your car.”

“He took off when he saw me. You know, as I think back, he looked a bit older than he does here, maybe late forties. If I hadn't frozen, I probably could have caught up with him. He wasn't in good shape.”

“I'm glad you froze. That would have been way too dangerous. Danny will deal with it now. And he'll make sure old Puker is put behind bars, all cozy with a new boyfriend, if we're lucky. I hope there's a big bubba in residence at the sheriff 's lockup who can fill the role. Now, it's your turn. Tell me more about the guy you met in Goddard Bay this weekend.”

“Guy? Why would you say that?”

“Give me a break, Mary Lisa. Look at you, you're smiling too much, you're bouncing around, you were chatty with Candy even after she rooster-tailed your hair this morning.”

Mary Lisa touched her fingers to the fan of hair. “Hmm. It's not too bad, is it? I have no idea how she did it. Do you know what amazes me? Sunday's rich. She's got people cleaning her mansion, draining her swimming pool, mowing her grounds—not just a simple yard, but grounds—chauffeuring her around in her big cars. She's even got a sexy male secretary and an English houseman who's her confidant. But she doesn't seem to have a hair stylist or a manicurist or a personal shopper—yet every day she's dressed like a fashion plate and her hair looks like it's been styled by a magician.”

Lou Lou patted her knee. “It's Hollywood, sweetie, magic land. As for your hair, it looks nice since you went into your dressing room and calmed it down. Don't worry, it's just fine, as usual.”

Mary Lisa looked deep into the plastic container. One more beef cube. “Don't forget I hate you for eating like that, Lou Lou.”

Lou Lou laughed at her around a big bite of steak sandwich. “Don't whine, Mary Lisa, you gotta suffer for the big bucks, it's only fair. Now, out with it. Tell me all the dirt in Goddard Bay. Tell me about this dishy guy. Does he have a great butt?”

“What is all this sudden interest on everyone's part about guys' butts?”

Lou Lou said, “Well, Danny has a great butt, I guess he got me focused on them again. It's been a long dry spell.”

“Cops don't have butts, Lou Lou. They have guns and handcuffs. They're not supposed to be sex objects. They're supposed to be the neck-ripping rottweilers who are protecting me. How can I focus on Detective Vasquez catching this guy if you get me thinking about his butt?”

“Yeah, okay, leave that to me. Now, about this guy in Goddard Bay?”

“Well, there could have been a dishy guy up there but it isn't possible now.”

“You going to tell me why?”

Mary Lisa shrugged. “His name's John Goddard—from the clan of the original Goddard who established the town back in the 1850s. He's the local district attorney. The thing is, though, he broke up with my younger sister, Kelly, early last week. She claims she kissed him off, but she didn't sound too convincing; in fact it was the other way around although John didn't say a word. So I called it off, told him we could only be friends. No way am I going to do to her what Monica did to me. No way.”

Lou Lou grunted. “That's a bummer, but you know what? I guess I'd do the same thing. A sister is a sister, after all, even though you've told me all about Kelly. Another thing, that guy's a gentleman, and the good Lord knows they're as rare as the great auk. I'm impressed. Now, about Kelly—”

“I know, I know. It's complicated, Lou Lou. Do you know, I'm actually worried about Kelly. I think she might have really fallen for him. He's up to his eyeballs now in a local murder case, along with the local chief of police, an honest-to-God rottweiler whose name is Jack Wolf. John told me he was going to tell Jack Wolf about this stuff down here. I should probably call him, see how the murder case is going.” Mary Lisa sighed, popped the last beef cube into her mouth, and leaned back against the park bench again.

“Which one? The rottweiler or the D.A.?”

“The D.A. Okay, Lou Lou, maybe I've said too much about Kelly, shot off my mouth. The thing is, she talks tough, but she's vulnerable right now, kind of young for her age, you know?”

“From what you've told me over the years, she sounds like she's a self-centered little goomba.”

“Goomba? Well, maybe. I found out quite by accident she was married to this guy I hadn't even known about. Didn't last long. She moved back into my parents' house after the breakup with the D.A.”

“She's twenty-five, right? Three years younger than you?”

Mary Lisa nodded.

“If you ask me, she and your mom deserve each other. We definitely need to talk more about this later, Mary Lisa, I think I'm beginning to change my mind. Hey, here comes Danny. I told him we'd be here for lunch. Don't forget to tell him about aging the nutcase from last year.”

Mary Lisa looked at Detective Daniel Vasquez with new eyes. He wasn't all that tall, but he was slender, with dark hair and dark eyes older than his years, a swarthy complexion, and a kind smile, kicked up charmingly by a small dimple in his cheek.

“Ms. Beverly,” he said. He studied her hair a moment, said “Nice 'do,” then turned to Lou Lou.

“Sit down, Detective Vasquez,” Lou Lou said, and scooted over. He planted himself between the two women. “Here, Danny, would you like a bite of my steak sandwich?”

He eyed the baguette with sudden interest. “It's like the one you made me yesterday?”

“Sure is, all the way to being smothered in mayo.”

He ate the last bit of the sandwich, lightly touched a napkin to his mouth, and gave his full attention to Mary Lisa. Lou Lou looked very pleased with him.

Mary Lisa said, “Detective Vasquez, I looked at the sketch. As best I can remember, it looks like the guy except I think now that he was older, maybe in his late forties. I know I didn't mention him earlier, but I'm sure you know that just about everybody in the business has experienced something like that. Frankly I hardly remember him. It's been a long time.”

“Stalkers and movie stars—it's sort of like the rumba and the mambo.”

“They're both dances?”

“No, you rarely see one without the other. Of course you're right, Ms. Beverly—there's a lot of fascination with actors, but we rarely see any of them hurt. Still, I'm glad Lou Lou brought him to our attention. Older, huh? I'll have the police artist age the guy a few years. Then we may be able to put it to use, see if anyone recognizes him. By the way, the Burbank police have got Puker Hodges's apartment staked out. It was pretty stupid of him to commit at least a couple of crimes in public, particularly now, Ms. Beverly. I can't believe he actually thought he'd get away with it.”

Lou Lou looked thoughtful. “You're right. He couldn't count on getting a good photo of Mary Lisa. I wonder why he took such a chance?”

Detective Vasquez said, “I look forward to asking him.”

Mary Lisa snorted. “I hope they break the little weasel's camera finger.” She glanced at her watch, jumped to her feet. “I'm sorry, Detective Vasquez, but I've got to go. Being late is a major crime. Lou Lou, don't forget, we're having drinks with Freddie Morgan tonight, at Gumbo's. Bye, Detective.” And Mary Lisa was off, headed back toward the studio.

Detective Vasquez asked, as he watched her rooster tail flopping, “Who's Freddie Morgan?”

Lou Lou smiled as she wadded up her paper sack. “He's a friend of Mary Lisa's, a hotshot producer who's got a couple of long-running TV series on—I forgot to tell you about tonight. The thing is, Freddie might want to sign me on to do the makeup for some of his A-list events. That would be big time, big names, it would really put me out there. I've got to go.”

“No problem, Lou Lou. I'll call when I have some news. Tell your friend to be careful. I have this twitching elbow that tells me things.”

“I'll keep reminding her.”

“Good girl.” He touched his fingers to her nose and smiled.

Malibu
Late Wednesday afternoon

Today Mary Lisa ignored all the advice. She was alone and on a mission. She looked carefully both ways down PCH before she crossed. There were no dark sedans, no suspicious men in backward baseball caps anywhere on the highway. But even if someone was hidden close by, she hoped he wouldn't recognize her—she had her big Audrey Hepburn sunglasses firmly in place, and a 49ers cap pressed down on her head, covering her red hair. She was wearing a sloppy XL Colts sweatshirt over ratty jeans and high-top sneakers.

And she didn't have to worry about Puker Hodges chasing her with his Kodak. Detective Malloy had called her from the Burbank PD to tell her they'd picked him up at his apartment Monday afternoon, not even bothering to hide their grins when he got all irate as they cuffed him, yelling his head off for a lawyer and claiming a violation of his civil rights as a member of the press. He insisted on taking a slice of pizza he was eating with him in one of his handcuffed hands, and ended up dropping it on the sidewalk since the cops wouldn't unfasten the cuffs so he could eat it. The security guard Frank Hallick said Puker had offered him a piping hot grande nonfat mocha latte, his favorite, and how did the little dork know that? Turned out what was left of the grande was laced with heavy-duty sleeping pills. Detective Malloy of the Burbank PD laughed when he told Mary Lisa not to worry, they had the little loudmouth dead to rights. He said the doping charge was a serious one, and there were others, including Puker's violating Mary Lisa's new restraining order. Detective Malloy was pleased—he said Puker might even do some jail time, depending on the plea bargaining.

The only unfortunate thing was that Puker had already sold the photo to the
National Enquirer.
One of the
Born to Be Wild
deliveryboys, an enterprising son of a soap writer, had called to warn her. “Wow, Mary Lisa, you made the front page!” And so she was on her mission to buy a copy, see how bad the photo was and what lewd nonsense they'd invented to caption it.

The head of the studio, the savvy, no-nonsense, nail-biting Irene Ludlow, had called Mary Lisa, royally displeased, assuring her that the studio would prosecute Puker to the full extent of the law. This was studio policy now—like not negotiating with terrorists. Puker had already spent a night in jail, and they would use him to send a message, whether or not he and his lawyer screamed in two-part harmony for the ACLU.

She slipped into Big Glow market. There, right at eye level in the checkout line, for all to see, were a dozen copies of the
National Enquirer
with a big color photo of her, front and center. She stared at the photo and wanted to pull a produce bag over her head. What had possessed her to jump on Bernie, wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and throw her head back, with that thick fan of hair sticking out the back of her head like a Mohawk? She looked wildly happy, her mouth so wide with laughter you could nearly see her tonsils. They'd cut out all the other people standing around. It was only she and Bernie with his face nearly in her cleavage, her dress rucked up to mid thigh. Since he was so much taller, it looked like they could be having sex, her billowing skirt covering the act.

And the tagline beneath the lovely big color photo:
Emmy winner Mary Lisa Beverly and new beau—naughty naughty, Mary Lisa, this Emmy winner is married.

She bought a copy along with, for camouflage, three oranges and a pocket Kleenex, and slunk back outside. She leaned against the glass window and read the article.

They identified Bernie as the head writer for
Born to Be Wild
, wondered if he was the new man in her life, speculated about what went on in her dressing room if—snicker—this was a sample of what she did in public.

Mary Lisa pulled out her cell and dialed Bernie's house, heard three rings and a throaty “Hello.”

“Gloria, it's Mary Lisa. I just bought the
National Enquirer.
It's awful, I'm so sorry, I don't know what to say. If the boys were still young I'd offer to babysit for a year free.”

To her astonishment, Gloria Barlow howled with laughter. “It's okay, pet. I'm sure Bernie is preening as we speak. His sons are calling him Mr. Stud, high-fiving him with ‘Way to go, Dad!' He announced a half hour ago he wanted to go to the club to play golf, but what he really wanted was to be sure none of his buddies missed all this. I had Thad drive him, and got no argument since he wanted his dad to tell him everything. It sounded to me like all of Bernie's golf buddies will buy him so many free drinks to dish up the dirt, he'll need Thad to drive him home. Do you know, I think he bought about a dozen copies to hand out? One for his dad too.”

Mary Lisa burst out laughing. “But what about your mom?”

“She just called, told me all her friends want to meet you, said you had to be a mensch to jump Bernie's bones like that. Everything's fine, Mary Lisa, stop your worrying. It's a hoot. Thanks for the offer of babysitting, even if it's a decade too late.”

When Mary Lisa walked through her front door ten minutes later, her home phone was ringing. She ran to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Shame on you, sleeping with a married man. Maybe next time you won't be so lucky.”
And the whispery voice hung up.

Mary Lisa stood in the center of her living room, staring down at the phone in her hand, listening to the dial tone.

She hadn't quite closed the door and it burst open and Lou Lou dashed in, panting. “I was talking to Danny when Morrie Bernstein, who owns Big Glow market, called to tell him you'd waltzed into his store alone, and how could the cops let that happen? I came as quickly as I could. Danny said he'd break free soon to come over and smack you upside the head.” She waved the
Enquirer
around. “These bastards. I say we drop-kick all of them right into a snow-filled crevasse in Patagonia. Mary Lisa? What's wrong? Look, the photo and article aren't all that bad, they do lots worse, you know? And it's really kind of cute and funny—you look happy and Bernie's grinning like a fool. I don't think people will believe this crazy caption about you and Bernie. Everyone knows he's the head writer, and there you are in full makeup. You'll see, this will blow right over. Mary Lisa?”

Mary Lisa raised frightened eyes. “It's not the photo or the caption, Lou Lou. I just got a phone call. He said I shouldn't be sleeping with a married guy and next time I wouldn't be so lucky.”

For a moment Lou Lou couldn't seem to take it in, then, “Oh shit. There aren't many people who have this number.” She grabbed Mary Lisa's phone, called the sheriff's department, and asked for Detective Daniel Vasquez.

Thirty minutes later, Daniel Vasquez walked into Mary Lisa's living room to see a dozen people—old, young, three teenagers—all hovering over her, one offering her tea or coffee, another holding out a glass that looked like it held either water or straight vodka, all of them talking at once. He recognized a couple of TV actors. Mary Lisa wasn't saying anything, only looking at the cup she was holding between her hands. He saw Carlo, who'd had his birthday blast on the beach recently. And he recognized MacKenzie Corman, the wannabe actress, mainly because he recognized Honey Boy, her white toy poodle, who was sitting in Mary Lisa's lap, one of his small paws on her forearm. She didn't live in the Colony. How had she managed to get past Chad at the kiosk? Then he looked at the bright pink tube top she was wearing, the wonderful cleavage on display, and shook his head at himself. The house was nearly full. Did the woman collect people?

Mary Lisa looked up at him, gave him a ghastly smile. “You made really good time. Thank you for coming.”

Detective Vasquez cleared his throat. Everyone looked up, including Lou Lou, who said, “Dan—Detective Vasquez! Glad you're here. Come in. Okay, everybody, you've all got to go. Everything'll be okay now. He's the police. Thank you for coming over.”

Once she'd herded everyone out of the house, she turned and said quickly, “Danny, this isn't good. Now some weirdo's calling her, maybe the same guy—we've got to get him.”

The place cleared out amazingly fast, Detective Vasquez thought. He waited until it was blessedly quiet. He looked at Mary Lisa. She was pale and looked pinched, but he saw anger beneath the surface, bubbling hot. That was good. He sat beside her and said, “You draw quite a crowd.”

“News travels fast in the Colony.”

There was a knock on the door. Detective Vasquez raised his hand. “Let me get it, okay?”

They watched him walk to the front door and open it about six inches. They heard men's voices but couldn't make out their words.

Mary Lisa's jaw nearly hit the carpet when the chief of police of Goddard Bay, Jack Wolf, walked through the door.