Sunset & Vine: Loose Lips (3 page)

Chapter Five

Schwab’s

Dotty’s carefully selected lingerie had been worn for one set of eyes only, and they were not those of her husband’s. They were for Sam O’Brien’s, manager of Schwab’s Diner.

Owner Mike Brockman politely, but firmly, informed Sam O’Brien when offering him the job of running the restaurant, "Schwab’s isn’t just any diner, damn it, it’s Schwab’s! Legendary Schwab’s to be exact, and don’t you ever forget it! We discover Movie Stars here! How do you like that! How many of them little hole in the walls in your past has reached cultural icon status? In Hollywood no less!”

About a total of none, Sam added up, and decided to fly out from New York City and take a look.

Sam was a New York Irish transplant that had a knack for turning small restaurants into gold mines. He was brought out here seven years ago to protect the golden status of Schwab’s. He resisted at first, telling the owners,” I am not interested in running a diner!”

Once he saw it and its clientele it was love at first sight. Sam ran the place with smooth discretion, excellent management, and an ongoing sexual fling with Dotty on the side.

"Pure fun sex. Nothing more and nothing less. It was there when I wanted it, however I wanted it,” he told his pals back in New York.

Dotty was glad to oblige as she was simply turned on by having someone whose handsomeness she thought was out of reach for a homely woman like her. She was always up for a steamy hot romp most mornings. They met in the kitchen to kick the day off prior to the rest of the staff’s arrival. The naughty sacredness of it all thrilled her to no end. The initial guilt took a back seat after indulging in the first round of screaming hot sex. Five years later, she still tingled all over when he pulled her into the kitchen.

One morning as Sam was unlocking the front door to Schwab’s, Dotty sneaked up behind him, leaned over his shoulder, and dispatched, "Give me everything in your right front pocket, and I mean EVERYTHING!” Whispering in a raspy low voice.

"Jesus, Dotty! You scared the shit out of me and got me excited all at the same time! Good morning to you too! Look, please be careful, don’t stand so close out here on the street. You never know who might drive by. It’s a risk neither of us can afford to take. You do still remember that you are married don’t you? And that I have a new girlfriend?”

"Mr. O’Brien, I just couldn’t help myself after seeing your handsome face.” Replying in her best pretense at being sexy.

Sam had reason to worry. He had a new love in his life and was preparing to break off the "special friendship” he’d carried on with Dotty over the years. Her name was Vivien.

"I’ve got to figure out a way to delicately return the friendship back to a professional one. I just hope she doesn’t blow this out of proportion. She is, after all, married. Maybe I can use that angle.”

"Hey, Dotty, listen, I am just not comfortable with this any longer, you being married and all. I think we oughta stop this and keep our working friendship on the up and up. Ok?”

"Yeah, that’s it. Then, I’ll let her know about Viv. The woman I intend to marry.”

Chapter Six

Team Schwab’s

Breakfast has always been a time in Hollywood where deals are made. A vital role Schwab’s has worked to its advantage for decades. It used this niche to garner a stable of intriguing regulars of the famous and not so famous.

Everyone, including hustlers, from both the street and the studios, to some of the biggest stars on the screen can be found at iconic Schwab’s.

Hollywood is a working town. A town that rises predawn and, in most cases, is in full swing by sunrise.

The world’s fantasy factory is busy bringing creative imagination to life while most of the world is still snoozing. Contrary to the famous image of Hollywood being a late late-night, Red Carpet, partying town, this couldn’t be farther from the truth.

There is an infrastructure in Hollywood that supports the fantasy machine the world craves. To rule supreme as the creative entertainment capital of the planet takes disciplined professionalism, something Hollywood has maintained since the beginning of moving pictures.

This fusion of cinematic magnetism and hard work encapsulates the magic that delivers the celluloid dreams the world so gleefully scoops up.

The predawn hours in Hollywood are almost mystical. These are the moments that give true voyeurs a chance to enjoy a special view of the city that can only be experienced at these hours. Its wide-open boulevards with little or no traffic sway through sexy neighborhoods with seductive aromas of blooming jasmine gyrating through the air. A quiet aura blankets the city as the lustful moon bows gracefully while exiting the stage, thus allowing the entrance of the dawn’s soft sunrise. Glamour town’s act one, scene one readies for action.

Movie stars descend gracefully from their villas in mountain-top neighborhoods with names such as Mt. Olympus, Bel-Air, Hollywood Hills, Hancock Park, or Beverly Hills (above Santa Monica Boulevard) through the empty boulevards in their expensive, sleek chariots...limousines, Cadillacs, Jaguars, Bentleys, Mercedes, the list goes on. These are lands where only the rich, famous, beautiful, and seemingly ageless reside.

These neighborhoods might as well be the location of the mythical Mt. Olympus, home of the Greek Gods as far as the regular folks are concerned. Or as the local working class refer to them, “where the hoity-toity of the uppity ups live.”

“Don’t you dare think you can just go driving around up there! You will be pulled over before you can make it to the first stop sign!” a gardener warned one of his friends who told him he’d like to go sightseeing there someday.

It was as if the stars competed for the few glances of a sacred audience or lone human being stirring on the street, usually a homeless person pushing their life possessions down the street in a shopping cart.

Should you ever find yourself out at this hour, in the early morning, on the Sunset Strip, you might witness one of those beautiful machines pulling over to the curb, lowering its deeply tinted windows, as a forearm reaches out to a poor soul while extending a fist full of U.S. greenbacks.

“Here, please buy yourself some breakfast and clothes,” the mystery Star offers while most likely on their way to Schwab’s or the studio.

“Why thank you, sir, and God bless you!” the homeless woman, humbled and grateful, replies.

They do this for many reasons. Some out of love and sympathy for humanity, and others out of a haunting fear that in the struggle of life and success in this town, that unfortunate soul could have very well been them. Or, perhaps, could be...someday.

For a “City State” like Hollywood, whose very existence is about creating change, many here prefer and protect certain traditions, Schwab’s being one of them.

Dotty had been a central figure in ensuring that Schwab’s was “on set” and ready for action each morning. The Schwab’s team’s performance had become well oiled and delivered like clock work every morning. Dotty and Sam O’Brien were the first to arrive, then Jacques, and finally the cook staff.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle! You look stunning this morning as usual,” Jacques greeted his early arrivals. One phrase of many in his repertoire that he used frequently when practicing his presentation in front of the mirror. His cat had acquired the custom of leaving the room when he saw him approach the mirror. The cat rose to its feet and slowly eased out of the room as if to say, “Please, not again.” It continued to do so every time he used that phrase.

Jacques was fond of saying, “I want it to have an effect.” And it did. His tips rivaled everyone’s inside the diner.

He had a plan. Some people looked down on his position as just that of a valet, yet Jacques saw an opportunity to meet some of the power players of this town. This was a stepping stone in his well orchestrated plan to success. His infusion of French charm had made him a valuable part of the team at Schwab’s. His first step had worked.

A charming man from Nice, France, he’d overstayed his vacation visa about five and half years ago. He soon learned American women had a weakness for an authentic French accent and he used his savoir-faire effectively.

“I want to make a small fortune and return home to my beloved South of France and buy a winery. I am determined not to leave without success in hand,” he often told Dotty. He also wanted a part of the movie industry and logged his contacts for future use.

Dotty had a deal for him that could help make his dream come true.

Chapter Seven

Sherman Oaks

“It was a Monday, around 9 a.m., I remember it because I was just leaving for a 9:30 appointment with my agent down the street. In walks this tall, well-dressed, well-groomed silver-haired man in an expertly tailored, dark-gray suit. First time I’d ever seen him at Schwab’s. I immediately noticed him because of his good taste in expensive clothing. The gentleman took a seat at the counter and appeared to focused his attention on Dotty,” Deeves explained to Detective Rocco Goldman.

He wasn’t the only one that had taken notice of the man. The Tripartite, forever vigilant for good looking men, were immediately on alert and commenced close observation of what Irene deemed “50 something eye candy.”

“Girls, we are going to have to flip for this one!” Natasha exhaled.

“I hate to hurt your feelings, but he’s mine. He couldn’t take his eyes off my legs when he came in,” Bragged Maria-Angela.

“Was he just trying not to trip over them? God knows, you threw it in front of him fast enough!” Natasha replied.

“Right, you just didn’t see him walking past. The woman who can spot a good looking fly on the wall,” Piped Irene.

“From the looks of it, he sure is eying Dotty up for some reason. One thing we can all agree on, it sure ain’t because of her beauty!” Maria-Angela announced.

“Catty this morning ain’t we!” Said Natasha. The three women burst out in laughter amongst themselves.

It was odd how the man paid such focused attention to Dotty, especially when she wasn’t looking.

“Did you see that?” Asked Irene.

“What?” Asked Natasha.

“Him trying to steal the spoon Dotty put down for his coffee. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to pick up the spoon, then quickly put it down after Dotty turned to face him!” Irene replied.

“Jesus, I hope she doesn’t have some kind of disease and he’s from the Health Department,” Says Irene with real concern.

“You think he might be after her fingerprints?” Natasha suspiciously adds.

“Should we say something to Dotty?” Asks Irene

“Hell no! Not after what she might be doing to us,” Maria-Angela states.

“Just keep an eye on him from now on whenever he comes in. Don’t let him catch you looking at him for too long,” advised Irene.

Michael Deeves had also noticed the odd behavior of the well-dressed stranger, along with his intense observation of Dotty. It appeared to make the man uncomfortable whenever another customer popped in and took a seat next to him. He would abruptly grab his check, pay, and leave in a hurry.

The strange man continued to show up for the next few weeks. Dotty didn’t think the small talk he engaged her with was anything out of the ordinary, but he did ask quite a few personal questions.

“Where were you born? Where were your parents born? Are they still alive? Any children?”

She took it as chit chat. But the man was very coy about his background.

“Just stopping in for a bit to eat” was his standard reply. Never offering up any details about his professional background.

In retrospect, she regretted having told him that she had been adopted. Which, strangely enough, he seemed to pay great detail to.

“Have you ever tried to locate your birth parents? Do you know anything about them?” he asked.

That’s when Dotty clammed up.

“What are you? Some kind of insurance agent or something?” she had jokingly asked. The point had been made. The conversation made her feel a certain amount of nervousness around him. From that point on, Dotty took her friendliness down a notch or two towards the mysterious customer.

Upon his last visit the entire group of morning regulars took notice when Dotty yelled out at him across the diner, “Drop the coffee cup right there at the door, sir! They’re not free ya know!” Yelling like a diner cop!

“Sorry … just forgot. Your coffee’s so good!” he replied on his way out the door.

The whole place thought he was up to no good. He never offered any information about himself to anyone.

“Who’s your new friend Dotty?” Michael asked.

“No idea. He just started dropping in a few weeks ago. Seems like a nice enough man, if he would only stop asking so many personal questions and taking my coffee cups,” she nonchalantly replied.

Her intuition told her differently. She had also watched him watching her through the reflection of the stainless steel appliances behind the counter area.

“What the hell was he staring at me for?” Now a bit worried.

“I hope he’s not a reporter … especially from a tabloid. I do not need, nor will I tolerate, competition on my own turf!” Thinking to herself with an air of defiance.

“I’ll keep an eye on him from now on out.”

Then, out of the blue, he just stopped coming in. Poof! Gone as strangely as when he first appeared.

Chapter Eight

The house

The day before her murder, Dotty had phoned Ralph with the good news.

She had taken her occasional drive home from work through Sherman Oaks, always on the lookout for her dream house.

“Oh my! Yes! That is the one! They must have just put the For Sale sign up yesterday.”

Pulling over at breakneck speed, she jotted down the number of the Realtor listed on the sign. Hoping that she had finally found her white picket fenced colonial at last.

“I’ve got the money and now is the time to pounce! I want it!.” She’d made up her mind even before seeing the interior of the house. She rang Ralph immediately on the cell phone and announced, “Honey, we’re moving!”

“What?”

“I’ve found the house of my dreams and I am going to talk to the agent today. I’ll fill you in on the rest this evening. I’m so excited! Love you!” Click. Hanging up on Ralph before he could get a word in.

“I don’t care how much it is!” she thought. “I’m sure I can swing it.”

“In cash if I have to.”

Dotty made the call to the agent and set up the appointment. The asking price was $1.2 million.

“Is that all they are asking? I want you to understand something. I am a very serious buyer. Do not sell that house until I’ve seen it, please. Thank you!” That felt damn good to say. “Is that all they are asking? Over a million dollars!” She laughed to herself. Years ago that would have been nothing more than a fantasy. Not anymore. She had more than enough to buy the house, in cash if she wanted to.

“Sweet Jesus, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Sweet Jesus would hardly have helped a conniving antichrist like Dotty Henderson. A woman who had spent years of selling people’s private information that had destroyed many of their personal and professional lives.

It was blasphemy for her to even utter the name of Jesus. It was, however, convenient for her to pretend that she was still a good person with morals and ethics. In reality, the only God she truly believed in was a green one called “The Dollar.”

“I love the driveway, the fence, huge windows, the yard is wonderful too, with the ivy over the doorway! It’s just like the one in my dreams. I have to have this house. I just have to!”

“But Mrs. Henderson, you haven’t even seen the inside. It’s in excellent condition. The family is selling because of a job transfer. Shall we take a tour of the inside?” pleaded the Realtor.

“That’ll be fine. I love it. I’m pretty sure this is...the one!”

Stepping through the doorway onto perfectly maintained, wide-planked, dark wood flooring, they entered the beautiful colonial and faced a rich, circular, mahogany double staircase. It was beyond Dotty’s wildest dreams, and far more elegant. She was like a kid in a candy store. There was a medium-sized crystal chandelier hanging above the foyer in the middle of the staircase. Dotty looked up and stared at the twinkling lights as if in her mind she had been transported into another world.

“I want this house. When can they be out?”

“That can be negotiated. I think they are flexible,” the Realtor nervously replied.

“I’d like to close the deal as quickly as possible. Can you handle that?” she demanded, as if she had traveled this route many times before.

“What bank will you be using for financing?” queried the Realtor.

“I won’t be needing financing. What is the discount for an all cash deal?” Standing in her crisp, server uniform with one hand propped on her hip.

“Uh, well, let’s see, um. I can certainly let you know tomorrow?” A hesitant reply as she discreetly looked Dotty over from toe to head.

“This afternoon or evening is preferred. Thank you for your time and my beautiful new home!” Stepping into the new role as the demanding, rich, waitress bitch.

With that, Dotty practically danced her way to the car. Leaving the Realtor standing with her mouth half open not knowing how to respond.

That evening, she shared with Ralph the details of the house.

“Where did you get that kind of money?” he asked, confused.

“I’ve saved every penny I could get my hand on. And, I’ve been doing some secret investing in the stock market. I wanted to surprise you, honey!”

“Well, shocked as hell is more like it! I’m not sure if I understand all of this?” He didn’t know whether to be happy, angry, or suspicious. What else was she hiding?