Sunset & Vine: Loose Lips (4 page)

Chapter Nine

The Hendersons

The Hendersons moved into their new home as quickly as they could. Dotty was beside herself with happiness and her new found self importance. Here she was, living in her beloved Sherman Oaks, on the street of her dreams, in the house of her dreams.

She was relentless in furnishing it in just the right order. Her general personality had become easygoing, lighthearted, and relaxed. Nothing seemed to bother her.

Her co-workers at Schwab’s were, to say the least, thrilled for her. Fortunately, they didn’t know the method used to gather her blood money for the purchase.

She had even begun to convince herself that she could dispense with those deep-seated feelings of inferiority.

“I am one of them. A resident of Sherman Oaks. Living in a beautiful home with beautiful furnishings.”

One morning while standing outside taking in the beautiful morning air she was greeted by a neighbor.

“Hello! You must be my new neighbor? I’m Marie Cordair, pleasure to meet you!”

“Dotty Henderson, please to meet you, Marie.”

“Where’d you move from? Here in L.A?”

“Yes.” Dotty hesitated. :Burbank,” she said while scanning her neighbor’s face for any reaction to it’s solidly working-class background.

“Oh, that’s nice. Burbank uh, you must be in the film industry too.” A natural assumption reflecting the large number of many major film studios located there. Along with anyone who could afford Sherman Oaks’ housing prices.

“No, the restaurant business. Just lived there.” She just couldn’t bring herself to tell the woman she as a waitress at Schwab’s. Not here, not in her new Sherman Oaks neighborhood. Making a mental note that she wasn’t talking to her old Burbank neighbor, Doris, the mechanic’s wife.

“I’m a Director...TV,” the friendly neighbor offered.

“Wonderful. Nice meeting you. I’m running a little late. Let’s chat another time!” Panicking at the thought of the woman asking which restaurant, along with, “Is it yours?”

“Hell, what am I gonna tell her, ‘So, you’re a TV director, how fabulous. I’m a waitress at Schwab’s over in Hollywood. I’m fucking the boss just because he’s handsome and I steal gossip to sell to cheap tabloids. Oh, by the way, the information I sell usually destroys people’s marriages and careers. I’m only ashamed when it affects my issues of self-esteem.’” Thinking aloud to herself while loading the washer.

“Or, ‘I’m a ruthless bitch who probably caused a young actress to commit suicide when I sold the gossip to a tabloid about her lesbian lover that just happened to be the local female news anchor.’”

“They would have found out anyway. It wasn’t really my fault. Look, it’s a dog eat cat world. I know what struggling is all about and I don’t intend to participate in it my whole life. Anyway, I’m just as good as anyone else in Sherman Oaks now. I own land here!” Trying in vain to justify her odious sense of ethics.

Her confused world was of her own making. In reality, few, if any, successful movie industry artists or executives looked down on anyone working a regular job. Why? Because 99% of them once worked them.

Dotty’s perceived class separation was all in her twisted way of thinking. More than likely, her TV director neighbor would have found it fascinating and given the two of them common ground since the director had worked her way through college as a waitress.

Sadly, Dotty felt inadequate because of her personal ethics in life more than her lack of material wealth.

“I gotta find me a deal that’s gonna end the Schwab’s chapter once and for all. When I do, I’ll still sneak over the hill for regular visits with Sam. Can’t leave that part behind in my new life.” That thought put a smile on her cheating face. Deep down inside, she kind of liked being a cheat at times, it fit right into her thrill-seeking, “cash for gossip” routine.

Her time spent in the beautiful Sherman Oaks home of her dreams wouldn’t be long.

Chapter Ten

Life at Schwab’s

Once established at Schwab’s, Dotty appeared to be the calming force that so many of her regulars sought in the swirling, glamorous, surreal life of Hollywood.

They loved the tradition that the diner offered, along the seemingly rock solid-like force of sweet Dotty.

She had been a participant in this Hollywood routine for 24 years as a dedicated waitress, having landed the sought after position right out of high school. It had been good to her, and it filled her days with loads of excitement many working women would kill for.

“I’ve never become blasé about the famous people I serve, no matter how many times they’ve come in.”

Her options had been limited growing up and she was thankful for the opportunity Schwab’s had provided.

“It may just be waitressing to some, but I have met so many stars and powerful people over the years I can’t count half of them,” she often told her old Burbank neighbor, Doris.

Schwab’s Diner was a daily stop for many of the folks in the movie industry. Located in the center of Hollywood at the intersection of Sunset and Vine, it was almost dead center for multiple movie and TV studios, and the chic neighborhoods of Hancock Park, West Hollywood, or the Hollywood Hills. A convenient stop for those grabbing a bite of breakfast, coffee, or lunch. Prior to the brutal murder, breakfast at Schwab’s had provided a stable social hour as the crossroads of Hollywood. These regulars would be at the center of the murder investigation.

It was a veritable who’s who from every walk of life.

It was Monday morning and Ms. Victoria Steele, CEO of American International Film Studio, left her palatial Hancock Park villa. Gliding down her wide, lush driveway onto the quiet street that turns towards Hollywood, heading in the same direction taken every morning as she headed out for breakfast. She was seeking her first taste of real life before commanding the film sets of her studio. Her job required her to create glamorous dreams full of intrigue, similar to the thread that ran through her real life. Her routine stop before the office gave her a tangible chance to stay in touch with the feel of the street and people outside the cocoon of the Hollywood wealth. A vital resource when green lighting contemporary, multi-million dollar movie projects. Her societal lab was Schwab’s.

With her white, red, black, and gold Hermes scarf fashioned tightly wrapped around her head and neck, ala late 1950’s-60’s chic, along with the obligatory large black Chanel sunglasses, she made one last mirror check.

The look was befitting a stunning Hollywood beauty in a sleek white Jaguar convertible. The fresh morning air with just the right amount of chill was invigorating.

“How lucky we are to live here,” she thought as she flipped her collar up to embrace her neck and face with the feel of smooth, soft, luxurious tan cashmere.

“We have the beach, mountains, and desert all within a few hours drive from the city. Oh, how I love this town!”

Today would be one of those days when she discovered just how lucky she can be.

Victoria was disarming to many of the powerful men she struck deals with in her position as CEO of one of the biggest and most successful film studios in Hollywood. She had led the studio to record profits over the past two years. She was also as beautiful as many of the female stars that brought her movies to life. This belied her accomplishments when dealing with powerful men she frequently battled in this industry.

Fresh from a disappointing romance with one of Hollywood’s leading men, she drove steady and assuredly north on Vine towards Sunset as she mentally dissected her breakup. Rarely doubting herself and always fully prepared, she had learned the film business inside out. She made her way from young intern to studio CEO in less than 12 years of relentless drive and a Stanford MBA that prepared her for the shrewd risks that success in this business demanded. It took dedication, and at present, and empty heart. It took the sacrifice of having to settle for the crowd she was most familiar with for her pool of lovers and potential husbands: stars and powerful titans of the film industry. Not bad, but not quite the steady, passionate rock she’d been hoping for in life. Her last break up reminded her of that.

Thinking to herself, “If I have to hear, ‘Imagine what we could create together with my talent and your power,’ one more time.”

* * *

Recent Hollywood arrival, Cino Salvaggio, stepped out onto his balcony and sipped his morning coffee while taking in the expansive view of the city. His new apartment was located at the beautifully preserved Chateau du Fleur.

Legendary director, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille had done an excellent job when he built this French chateau style apartment building for his fledgling stars back in the 1920’s. Perfectly positioned atop the Franklin Hills, it provided a commanding view of central Hollywood.

All the more to remind his up and coming new stars of the kingdom they must conquer.

“This would cost a fortune back in Rome. If it could even be found. Something like this on the market would be rare indeed.” He loved his new place and his new city.

“I am in Hollywood, and I will create a beautiful life here.” As he admired the city laid out below him.

“I still believe in chasing my dreams and I will forever chase love until I find it.” Allowing his romantic soul to remind him of why he was in this new town, and starting a new life.

Legend dictates that even the simple task of going to work in movie town can sometimes alter your life forever. These unknown detours are embraced. A shared characteristic that appeared to make them thrive on life’s surprises, be they bad or good, obstacles had a way of honing their cleverness.”Mio Bella Roma.” Thinking of his life back in Rome. Where beauty was simply a fact of everyday life, from its buildings, people, food, language, and most importantly the love and passion that ruled daily life.

Cino had known Rome and Italy well. He decided that he should explore the world a bit beyond Europe before settling down for good. He chose California for his next adventure, Hollywood to be exact. Having grown up with its films, he wanted to see its beautiful beaches and way of life. He also wanted to get as far away as possible from his ex-lover, the beautiful but obsessive young countess that refused to comprehend that she couldn’t buy his love. But, that was the past.

“Spero!” I hope!

Besides, with his expert skills as specialist on exotic Italian and English automobiles, he needed to be in a city that could afford them. Hollywood was by far the largest consumer market of expensive European imports in the world. The wealth here is “spectacular,” he thought.

Cino was a Ferrari/Jaguar specialist. He felt that it was irrelevant that he had rugged, classic Roman handsomeness. Even if his undeniable, cocky, sexual charisma could have made him an instant star.

He never entertained those kinds of ambitions. Keenly aware that he had the goods, should he ever want to go that route.

He was a perfectionist in all of his undertakings. His passion didn’t allow him to just master it, his devotion required him to become one with whatever it was.

The nickname “Grande Ferrari,” the Big Ferrari, wasn’t just because of his expert skill when working on the handcrafted, Italian motor stallion.

At 35, and fully aware of his prowess, he quite enjoyed putting it on display at times. The exhibitionism in him was just a notch above the normal attitude of the men of Italy. Which normally ran higher than most others.

His appreciation for beauty was not just limited to the curves and lines of buildings. Cino Salvaggio took great pleasure in running his hands along the voluptuous curves of his beloved Ferrari’s and Jaguars, amongst other passionate objects in his life.

He sported a wild mass of long, black, curly hair, shaped by a face centered by a perfect Roman nose, stationed atop a 6’1”, 195-pound frame of lean, tanned muscle. A body that was tuned to near male perfection.

He was far from conceited, but he was clearly aware of his gifts. He knew it, women knew it, and quite a few men as well. The combo of Italian charm, intelligence, and a sincere demeanor was an intoxicating, and dangerous potion for any female he set his eyes on.

That morning, he was headed out for “una buona colazione” at a place he’d walked past on his walk to work at Hollywood Ferrari/Jaguar.

“Con il nome di Schwab’s.” With the name of Schwab’s.

Before heading out, he grabbed a parting glance that so vividly displayed the beautiful city beneath his windows.

“E bella questa citta! Mi piace un sacco! How beautiful this city is! I love it!” he thought to himself in Italian with an excited smile on his face. He was quickly falling in love with Los Angeles.

Chapter Eleven

Tripartite/Victoria

Victoria Steele pulled in front of Schwab’s and shifted her sleek Jaguar into park. Jacques hand was on the car handle before the car had completely stopped.

“Bonjour, Ms. Steele! It is a pleasure to see you this morning!”

“Good morning, Jacques! Thank you.”

She gracefully entered Schwab’s as demurely as once can when dressed so noticeably chic. Finding her way to her favorite spot at the counter, two seats from the far end of the wall. A spot she had enjoyed, undisturbed, for several years now.

Removing her coat and scarf, she seated herself and laid out her trade papers onto the counter next to a fresh cup of piping hot coffee.

Dotty has pre-poured with perfect timing, anticipating Victoria’s arrival. This kind of superior service was simply expected there. It was the reputation they had built.

As soon as Ms. Steele was seated, her food was placed in front of her. Her standard meal consisted of multi grain toast, slightly burned and buttered, and fresh fruit, California grown organic, only.

“Ms. Steele, good morning! You are looking as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you, Dotty, hope you had a lovely weekend, the coffee is delish.” Victoria was friendly, yet not too informal. As head of a powerful film studio, one had to be careful.

She settled down with the trades after looking around and finding everything rolling along as it always had at this hour.

Cino headed down Cherokee Avenue towards Hollywood Boulevard, then cutting over to Vine and Sunset.

“This is fantastic; I can walk to work in “dieci minuti!”

This morning, however, he had allotted enough time for a breakfast detour.

Strutting in his white work jumpsuit with red Ferrari/Jaguar printed on the back in bold letters gave him an extra bounce in his stride. It fit him to a “T”, tight in all the right places. After all, as a single Italian man in a new city, he was required to make some kind of effort to announce to the beautiful woman that he had arrived. The jumpsuit did just the trick, it put the merchandise on display, just enough. Any tighter in the front and it might cause a red alert and have them following him home.

“I must maintain some respectability…but not too much!”

He smiled devilishly to himself.

* * *

Rocco Goldman swung through the door to Schwab’s, he was a local Hollywood PD finishing up his all-nighter.

“Hey, Dot, Sam! I’m starving! How bout the works this morning, throw some extra bacon on there!”

“Coming right up, handsome.”

Entering Schwab’s, a minute after Rocco, was Cino Salvaggio in all his gorgeous, Italian glory. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant almost fell completely still. Out of embarrassment the murmur of chat returned.

Cino entered, looked around, and walked past three empty seats at the counter. Without hesitation, he took the seat directly next to Victoria.

She became completely aware of his presence, but did not look up beyond her paper. Cino glanced respectfully at her, wanted to say hello, but did not want to intrude.

He knew that she was aware of him, as he could see her blushing face. The feeling was mutual. He was instantly attracted to her.

Victoria was at first taken aback that a stranger had chosen the seat next to her in lieu of all the other empty seats farther away. Nor was she interested in an early morning chat. She was curious though, and stole a glance of the stranger with her peripheral vision. In order not to appear rude, she allowed herself to extend a fleeting, “Good morning,” and immediately felt overwhelmed by a dose of his intoxicating sexiness.

Cino turned to stare directly into her eyes.

“Ah, buongiorno to you too!” He took in the reflection of light on her beautiful shiny hair and the faint, sweet smell of her perfume.

In just those few seconds, he had glimpsed them together at dinner with candlelight glowing on her beautiful face.

Victoria quickly turned her head. She had felt a shock wave of attraction hit her like the summer heat of August after you leave a chilled, air-conditioned building.

“Like when the sweaty, humid heat causes your skin to instantly begin to moisten and glisten,” she would later confide in a friend.

“Dear God! He is the most beautiful man on earth!” Secretly thinking to herself.

“I’m blushing. I can’t embarrass myself like this, everyone in the restaurant must be staring at the two of us. Pull yourself together, Victoria, and stop letting your hormones run wild like a silly school girl!”

“Dotty, is the air on? It’s a bit warm, don’t you think?” she pleaded without looking in the direction of Cino.

Cino thought that it was impolite for her to just say “hello,” and then ignore him.

“Yes, it is getting a little hot in here. I’ll turn up the air a bit,” Dotty replied with a smirky half smile.

“Not very gracious for a lady of her caliber,” he thought, less than he had expected from such a stunning beauty who one would assume had been raised with etiquette and charm. Rudeness was not tolerated by him, from any woman. He turned his head forward and focused on his meal, not speaking another word nor glancing in her direction.

“He’s not interested in me. He must be married, got a girlfriend, or gay. That’s it, he must be gay! No straight man this handsome would ignore a pretty female, like myself, unless he’s gay.” Thinking to herself. That usually helped massage her beauty queen ego.

“Gosh, what if he is straight and I’ve blown it. Was I rude?” Second guessing her actions.

Cino finished his meal and immediately paid his bill as Dotty stood staring at his handsome face.

“New to Schwab’s”

“Si. I’ve just moved from Rome, Italia.”

“Such lovely, beautiful men…err, people! Welcome to Hollywood and Schwab’s. I hope we see more of you, I’m Dotty.”

“Thank you Dotty, molto gentile.”

He kept his conversation short and polite, then rose to leave without one additional word or nod in the direction of the beauty that had captured his eye and perhaps his heart, moments earlier.

As he turned and headed for the door, Victoria nonchalantly glanced over her shoulder and caught the large, bold, red lettering on the back of his jumpsuit, “Hollywood Ferrari/Jaguar.”

Replaying the experience over to herself she thought, “I won’t be this timid tomorrow. I’ll let him know in my own sweet way that I find him attractive. One way or another, I’ll know if there is any chemistry. I mean, he did choose to sit next to me when there were other seats available.” Dissecting the thrill, doubt, and confidence of a possible new romance.

“I think I am excited!”

It was a rare episode in her jaded world. She had just ended her long-term relationship with super star Fox Wyatt, recently voted sexiest man alive by Peeps magazine, whom she thought was marriage potential, until he was caught by paparazzi with a slew of strippers in a cheap motel out in the Valley.

She was in no hurry to dive in again. But, this guy had a good energy vibe, not to mention he was physically quite the male specimen. She felt compelled to learn more about him.

* * *

Not one millisecond of this action had escaped the three longtime friends who had been Schwab’s pals for over five years. Maria-Angela Cortez debated with the other two women, Irene West and Natasha Komistaya, if she should “trip him or take the seat next to him.” All three were in agreement that the ultimate specimen of maleness had just walked in, and none were too happy that “Ms. Executive Stuck-up” had struck gold with him…or had she?

“Perhaps he prefers women with warm blood in their veins,” was Irene’s scathing comment.

“And Ms. Movie Studio clearly has ice water for blood,” snapped Natasha Komistaya in her driest, cold-hearted Russian accent.

These women were known as the “Tripartite.” All former, but still ready for the call, performers in show biz.

They met at Schwab’s promptly every morning at 7:15 a.m. for coffee and to dish the dirt about their famous employers, along with the latest tabloid gossip. Same time, same table, without fail, rain or shine. The kind of dirt that comes directly from the source, “no fake bull shit” for these women. They dealt with the real, live, nuclear material—their employers.

Irene was an actress with a list of B movies and irregular soap opera credits that had provided her a suitable amount of funds to live on comfortably. Until, that is, she was swindled, along with many others from Hollywood, far richer, of hundreds of millions of dollars by a major Wall Street Ponzi Scheme criminal.

“That slimy son of a bitch made off with all my cash and left me nearly penniless. If only I could get my chance to burn that motherfucker with some hot frying grease straight to the face! I know I shouldn’t think like that, Lord, save me from these horrible thoughts. After I burn his thieving ass!” She clung to the timeless advice that her mother use to live by. “You reap what you sow, Irene,” her mother always told her.

“I only hope he reaps it over and over till hell freezes over” was her reply.

Their daily ritual had been in play every weekday morning for the last five years.

The long road of show business can be cold, lonely, and woefully regretful. Artists lead a difficult life of rejection, hit or miss, or just plain damn good luck. These three women artists were old pros who had had not quite as much good luck as the bad kind. They were, however, tough, practical survivors.

Irene West took a housekeeper’s job to survive! Mind you, not just “any” housekeeper’s position. She worked for powerful studio head, Breeze Rainbolt, a kind no nonsense man, recently divorced for the third time.

Ms. West was smart and an obsessive stock market investor with an uncontrollable penchant for gossip and finance. Her secret to running a successful household, of which she swore by, was listening to the business channel in every room while cleaning.

“It takes me to my Zen spot,” she stated while comparing notes with her two friends.

Her employer, Breeze Rainbolt, had just been charged with the murder of his last wife’s lover. A scandal that filled the front pages of the Hollywood Examiner and others on a daily basis. It was true that he’d threatened to kill her, her lover, and his entire family…after he’d make him watch as he burned his wife alive in front of him with his sliced off lollipop stuffed in her mouth since she was so hungry for it. All caught on a cell phone recording. Luckily it was dismissed, as it was illegally recorded, and as such, it was inadmissible in the state of California.

“Thankfully, California takes its citizens’ privacy seriously,” he stated to the press.

“I deeply loved my wife and was simply reacting to an uncontrollable fit of rage after walking in on her and her lover…in my bed.”

The rest of the story was, as Irene shared with her two gossip sisters, “He overheard her declaring how much she loved performing “spin the potter’s wheel” on her lover’s magic stick with her tongue and hands. While her naked, engorged lover laid back against the headboard.”

A trick Breeze was led to believe was only shared between the two of them.

He’d sworn he had only beat the hell out of the guy, as he fled the house, then threw her out behind him without a stitch of clothes on. Dramatic, yes, but he never murdered the guy who showed up dead in the Hollywood Reservoir a week later.

Irene loved every juicy minute of it. She stood by his side through it all, never flinching in her belief of his innocence. Call it women’s intuition. Deep down inside, she just knew Mr. Rainbolt wouldn’t kill a fly. He hated to even see plants die, let alone humans.

Breeze Rainbolt was vindicated when the investigation revealed that Mrs. Rainbolt was in fact the murderer, upon discovering, two days later, her lover with another woman.

“Karma is a boomerang,” as they say in the canyons of New Age Malibu.

Mr. Rainbolt was released back into the open arms of Hollywood in a manner that made one think he had just won Best Picture of the year.

Ms. Irene West now drove a brand new silver Mercedes roadster, complements of her employer. He promised her an audition when the right project came along. Irene helped him believe that his innocence would keep him safe during very dark days.

Former Russian beauty queen Natasha Kamitstaya lived comfortably in her small East West Hollywood bungalow and worked for TV super star Blanche Lane. Ms. Lane was currently the highest paid actor on TV, with three Emmy’s under her belt.

Natasha was a singer and dancer who was well on her way to success in Russian entertainment prior to moving to Los Angeles. After the fall of the Soviet Union lawlessness reigned supreme across Russia. It spread like a cancer across the country. Russian criminals became so emboldened that they sought out the successful elements of Russian society with the profitable intention of kidnapping and extortion.

“I had to get out of there or be killed,” she told her friend upon arrival in Los Angeles.

The final straw was when she was accosted by thugs after a shopping trip.

“Hey, aren’t you Natasha Komistaya? The entertainer from TV?” the thug demanded.

“No! I am not!”

The criminal looked into her eyes while smiling and stated, “We know where you live.”

She fled Russia that week and never returned.

Being a successful singer in your native language is one thing, mastering it in another language is quite another. She believed she could do it, and would keep trying. In the meantime, she had to pay the bills. Her savings had lasted a few years after buying a small cottage.

Natasha was fortunate enough to have been personally recommended for the job of running Ms. Lane’s household. She had been generously rewarded for her efforts.

The Tripartite third anchor was dancer Maria-Angela Cortez. Ex-Broadway dancer and current controller of household staff to one Ms. Mae Vaught. Yes, that would be the legendary film star Mae Vaught.

She was third generation American and was quick to remind you that she was not by any stretch of the imagination “an illegal alien” just because her last name ended in “ez.”

Her legs were as fit and ready as they were during her last show on Broadway 5 1/2 years earlier. Maria-Angela kept them ready by dancing all day while taking care of business at work. She was determined to be ready when and if that next call or audition came. Her tap shoes hung by the door to remind her every day what her first mission was as an artist.