Hollywood Kids (30 page)

Luca Carlotti and his mother had wished him luck when he'd moved to Hollywood. They'd respected his decision to distance himself from his New York connections. Luca understood things like that, he was a very understanding man.

It wasn't until years later, when Mac was prepping
The Contract
, that Luca had phoned him.' I need a favour, son,' he'd said, as if they'd spoken yesterday.

Mac hated it when Luca called him son. Even though Luca was still in bed with his mother, it didn't give him the right to call him son.

'Whatever you need, Luca,' he'd replied smoothly, because it suited him to stay on his godfather's good side.

'I got me this nephew wants to be an actor,' Luca said. 'Not a bad-lookin' kid - give him a part in one of your movies. I promised my sister I'd do this.'

'It can't be a starring role,' Mac said curtly.

'A coupla scenes, that's all I ask.'

'It's done.'

Mac remembered their conversation well. And then he remembered Zane Marion Ricca.

From the moment Mac set eyes on Zane Marion Ricca he got bad vibes. Zane had an attitude problem - he thought that just because he'd been cast in a major movie he was a star and behaved accordingly.

Mac did not appreciate such behaviour on his set, he expected everyone to respect each other and get along, but with Zane around it was not to be.

Because of his promise to Luca, Mac was stuck with the little jerk. He'd interviewed him briefly, had him read for the small but pivotal part of the ex-boyfriend, and hired him, much to the disgust of his casting director, Nanette Lipsky.

'He has no experience,' Nanette complained. 'Why, Mac? You're usually so particular.'

'Because he's got a look,' Mac replied stubbornly. 'It'll work for the character.'

Zane did have a look. Flat grey eyes narrowed like slits in a pale thin face. A blank expression. Black hair, slicked back like his uncle.

Zane wasn't handsome, he wasn't ugly, he was merely... nothing.

His nothingness would enhance the role. Mac felt he could live with it.

He was wrong. Zane was the worst pain in the ass he'd ever come across. He hit the set like he thought he was as famous as Tom Cruise. He insulted the make-up person straight off. Margarita ran to Mac in tears, complaining bitterly. Then Zane proceeded to alienate everyone else connected with the movie.

Mac felt helpless. What could he do? If it was any other actor he would have fired him. But he'd promised Luca this favour and he felt duty-bound to deliver.

Ingrid Floris was an incandescent beauty. Young and innocent, with a pure virginal grace, Mac felt sure she had a big career in front of her. He'd given her a small part in his previous movie and now she had a larger role in
The Contract.
She did not disappoint him, her performance was just right. She had a special quality, similar to a young Grace Kelly
.

Mac was so impressed that he didn't even try to hit on her as was his habit. It would have been difficult, because at the time he was still married to Willa, and he was also sleeping with Jordanna, who at seventeen was a wild thing. He felt guilty about sleeping with Jordanna for about five minutes. But she was so determined - if she wanted something she went for it. And she wanted him, it was hardly like he chased her.

He lived in fear that her father - a friend of his - would find out and kill him. But Jordanna merely laughed when he expressed his thoughts.

'Jordan couldn't care less what I do,' she said lightly. 'He's too busy getting married again... and again... and again!'

'You're going to be a very exciting woman one of these days,' he told her.

She grinned. 'What am I now, a dog?'

'Yeah, that's exactly what you are - a cute little mutt.'

Their affair lasted, exactly six weeks. After that she got bored and turned her attention to one of the extras who rode a Harley and surfed. Mac was relieved, her energy was sapping every ounce of his.

Ingrid had almost completed her role in the movie when she started to work with Zane. Her disposition was as sweet as her looks, she was such a pleasure to be around that even Zane began to behave himself.

This was good, because by this time everyone on the set couldn't stand the sight of him.

The scenes between Ingrid and Zone were quite powerful. Zane might be jerk of the year, but it worked for the role he was playing, because that's what her ex-boyfriend in the movie was supposed to be, a total jerk-off.

Mac had no idea that off the set Zane was coming on to Ingrid - propositioning her, inviting her out, bombarding her with gifts and flowers. His attention was unwelcome, Ingrid had a boyfriend. She told Zane, who refused to accept it, continuing to pursue her full force.

On the day they were due to shoot the rape scene, Ingrid was extremely nervous. She confided in Margarita while sitting in the make-up chair.

'Do you want me to talk to Mac? Margarita asked. 'I will if it'll make you feel more secure.'

Ingrid shook her head. 'I'm sure Zane doesn't mean any harm... he's confused, it's almost as if he thinks I
am
the character I'm playing, and he
is
my ex-boyfriend. It's weird, but I suppose it works for him
.'

'Don't worry, we'll all be on the set watching out for you.'

Rape scenes were hard to shoot at the best of times, but with Zane the experience was tougher than usual. He was taking all his frustrations out on Ingrid, treating her roughly in rehearsal, in spite of Mac's warnings to lay back.

When it came time for the first take Zane really let rip.

'Cut,' Mac yelled.

Zane was on top of Ingrid, shoving his mouth down on hers, ripping at her clothes.

'Fucking CUT!' Mac screamed when Zane failed to stop.

Still he kept going.

'Crazy bastard,' Mac shouted, running forward and personally hauling Zane off Ingrid, who was genuinely petrified. 'Yon dumb motherfucker!' Mac bellowed. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Zane's eyes were flat and cold. 'I'm acting,' he said. 'Isn't that what you wanted?'

'When I call cut, you goddamn jump. This is my film
, my
set, and you go by
my
rules. Now get the fuck outta my sight.' He bent to assist Ingrid to her feet. 'You OK, sweetheart?'

She nodded, attempting a weak smile. 'It'll work far the scene, won't it?' she asked hopefully.

'You bet,' Mac said. 'Print it! he called out. I'm not putting you through that again.'

Later that day Zone went to Ingrid's trailer. She thought he had come to apologize and let him in. They began to verbally fight - even Ingrid had a limit as to how far she would allow herself to be pushed. When Zane tried to force himself upon her - claiming she'd been leading him on - their fight turned physical and they burst out of her trailer in full combat.

It all happened so fast.

One moment they were struggling, and the next Ingrid lay dead on the ground.

A young promising career was over, and Mac felt completely and utterly responsible.

'Honey, what are you doing?' Sharleen stood in the doorway of his study wrapped in a pale peach peignoir, the outline of her full breasts disturbingly visible.

'Sharleen,' he said patiently. 'Go back to bed, it's three in the morning.'

'I know,' she said, shivering as she entered the room. 'That's exactly my point.'

'I'm studying the script,' he said.

'No you're not.'

'Yes, I am.'

'Come to bed,' she said temptingly. 'I'm lonely.'

'Don't do this to me, honey. I need time by myself.'

She spied the photographs, and before he could stop her she reached across his desk and picked one of them up. It was just his luck it was the one of him at fifteen standing next to Luca Carlotti.

'Who's this?' she asked curiously. 'Not your father?'

'No, that's not my dad.'

'Well, who is it?'

'A friend of the family.'

Sharleen gazed at the picture. 'He looks very... gangsterish.'

Mac laughed uneasily, casually moving around his desk and plucking the photo from her grasp. 'Gangsterish! What kind of word is
that
?'

She grabbed for the photo. 'Let me see again. How come-'

He held her wrists lightly and shut her up by pressing his lips firmly down on hers.

Sharleen responded immediately. After all, they weren't in the bedroom, why wouldn't she?

Peeling off her peignoir he bent her back against the edge of his desk and roughly lifted the skirt of her nightgown.

'Sweetheart,' she murmured huskily. 'The kids... they might come in.'

'Everyone's asleep,' he assured her, touching the tangle of hair between her legs. 'Besides, I thought you got off on a little danger.'

As he said danger he thrust himself inside her. She was not quite ready, which added to the excitement.

'Mac -'

He reached for her breasts, covering them with his hands as he began to make love to her.

She threw her head back and sighed deeply.

Soon they were in perfect sync.

Working with Quincy was about to keep Michael very busy indeed. Apart from the Marjory Sanderson case there were several other things Quincy was into, such as trailing an errant husband on behalf of a jealous wife, and damage control on a drugged-out female TV star.

'Our job is to keep her outta the papers,' Quincy said. 'So every time this girl goes out, gets stoned, hits somebody, or creates a riot in a club, we gotta pay people off an' make sure it doesn't headline the scandal rags.'

'Sounds like a full-time job,' Michael said, swigging nonalcoholic beer from the bottle.

'She has a bodyguard with her at all times. He reports to me every morning. If there's any damage control I take care of it, an' get paid plenty for doing so.'

Who picks up the tab on this one?'

'Orpheus Studios. She works for their TV production company. Orpheus picks up the tab on a lot of things, you'd be surprised.'

They were sitting in front of the television in Quincy's house half watching a ball game. Amber had cooked them a fried chicken and mashed potato dinner, and then gone up to bed as she, Quincy and the kids were leaving on a weekend skiing trip to Big Bear early the next morning. Michael had volunteered to house-sit.

'Remember Rosa, that TV reporter?' he said, settling back on the couch. 'I met with her the other day and she handed me a sackload of letters. I've been reading through them. Mostly they're from women.'

Quincy's eyes didn't leave the television. 'Yeah? What do they say?'

Michael shrugged and shook a cigarette loose from a pack of Camels. 'Y'know the kind of thing,' he said, slightly embarrassed. 'They wanna marry me, take care of me, have my babies.'

Quincy chuckled loudly. 'You mean they want to jump your bones, right?'

'Very funny,' Michael said, lighting up his cigarette.

'But true, huh?'

There were a couple of interesting letters that might be worth following through.'

'What makes you think so?'

'I know it's probably crap, but I gotta do something. The cops have come up with exactly nothing - I call 'em every day.' Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out two letters and handed them over. 'Here, take a look.'

The first letter was written on scented notepaper with raised flowers printed around the top. Quincy scanned it quickly.

Dear Mr Scorsini,

What do you make of it?' Michael asked. 'Someone trying to scam you for money.'

'You think?' Michael said, expelling a stream of smoke.

'Yeah, I think,' Quincy said, shifting on the couch. 'Jeez, Mike, if Amber saw you smokin' in here she'd have a freakin' fit.'

'One more drag and it's history.'

'I should hope so. What's the other letter say?'

'Read it.'

Quincy opened the scrawled note written on plain paper with no signature.

Heron Jones is in Las Vegas.
He knows where your baby is.

'What you gonna do?' Quincy asked, putting the letter down. 'Go running to Vegas to search for Heron Jones?'

'Rosa Alvarez has asked me to do another TV interview. Maybe I'll do that and see what happens.'

The more you're on television the better it is for business. You know what they say in Hollywood - there's no such thing as bad publicity.'

'Jesus Christ, Q, I never thought I'd hear you quoting Hollywood expressions.'

'You gotta go with the flow when you live here.'

'Jerk.'

Quincy grinned. 'Thanks!' He got up from the couch, walked into the kitchen, and helped himself to another can of Heineken. 'You've got the number where we'll be this weekend, right?' he said, strolling back into the living room.

'Yeah, yeah.'

'And if there's any emergency -'

'I'll call.'

'You should've come with us, but no, you gotta stay here and brood.'

'You make it sound like I'm doing this for fun. I can't get on with anything until I find Bella.'

'I understand. Look, if Marjory Sanderson calls, you sure you can handle her?'

'
C'mon
, Q.'

'Y'know, I don't get it, the guy hasn't phoned or attempted to see her. There's no pay-off for him. The letters come at random - all mailed from different locations. All we can do is keep an eye on the situation, make sure she's OK. She's uh... kind of neurotic.'