Unscrewed (19 page)

“Okay.” Even though I was flattered, I had no intention of stopping in. But the drying ice cream was beginning to itch. I was ready to beat a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you,
” he said, and stumped happily into the crowd.

22

O
N SUNDAY we ran an ad for a receptionist in the
Times.
Laney was nervous about it. But I assured her everything would be fine. We live in L.A. Twenty-four hours from now we’d have her replacement, an international supermodel who performed brain surgery on the side.

That night we dined at the Gardens restaurant in Beverly Hills, where the patrons didn’t seem to be tempted to abscond with the silver and the desserts are high caloric enough to make a grown woman cry. It was my treat.

By eight o’clock I was stuffed to the eyeballs. Laney had eaten a plate of something that may have been plucked off a Swiss hillside and marinated in lemon juice, but I didn’t ask what it was. Instead, I raised my champagne glass. She was actually sharing in the toast. “To you,” I said.

She clicked her glass against mine and smiled. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“I don’t know anything yet,” she said, but Laney’s not knowing is nothing like anyone else’s not knowing. She talked for fifteen minutes about actors I’d never heard of with terms I didn’t know. It made me kinda melancholy. My little girl was growing up.

“How did Solberg take the news?”

She shrugged, glanced at her flute, and swished her drink a little. I think there might have been more than when the waiter had first poured it. “Okay.”

“Okay as in he’s happy for you, or okay as in he cried like a baby?”

She glanced up. “He didn’t cry…like a baby.”

“Just a little bit, then?”

“Hardly at all.”

I resisted laughing. It wasn’t that hard. I felt kind of close to tears myself.

“I think he’s afraid I’m going to meet someone else.” She sighed, set down her glass. Our waiter, tall, dark, and earnest, appeared in a heartbeat, asking if all was well. Was the champagne satisfactory? Was she feeling okay? Would she run off to Vegas and be his teddy bear? It had been like this for over a decade. If Laney looked unhappy, the male half of the population went into crisis mode. What would it be like when she became a star? She gave the server a smile and sent him away. His knees held up under her attention. “How could he think I’d want someone else?”

I returned my attention to the matter at hand, then set my wineglass down and looked at her. “Are we talking about Solberg?”

She gave me a “Who else?” expression. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed our waiter had a chin dimple deep enough to drown in…while her boy Solberg made you
want
to drown. “Well…” I began, but she stopped me with a glance.

“I’m really happy for you,” I said.

She smiled, nodded, fiddled with her glass. “What about you, though?”

“What about me what?”

“Come on, Mac, the police are calling Salina’s death accidental. Why can’t you do the same?”

I shrugged, drank, thought of the seventy-six men who had come and gone before Rivera. “You didn’t hear back from that talent agent yet, huh?”

She took a drink of champagne. An actual sip. I watched her. She didn’t meet my gaze. “What talent agent?”

“The one you were going to call to see if the senator had—” I stopped when I recognized her expression. It was the same look she’d had at thirteen when she’d confessed our experimental smoking to her father. And while confession might indeed be good for the soul, her declaration hadn’t been a real boon for me. I became guilty by association…or by the fact that it was my idea, my money, and my cousin who had made the purchase. It was also, as I recall, me who was forced to smoke a full pack of Camels in one sitting. It had been the best part of my day. “Laney?” I said.

“What?” Her tone was a surefire meld between innocence and defensiveness.

I felt the air leave my lungs. “Holy crap,” I said, “he has a double.”

“Listen, Mac, I don’t know that for—”

I felt numb from the waist up. “He hired a double…some guy to take his place on the plane. Which means the senator was—”

“We don’t know any of this.”

I stared at her. My lungs felt icy. “What
do
we know?”

She blew out a breath. “Bud said there used to be a guy in the business who might fit the description.”

“What description?”

“Tall, Hispanic, handsome. Similar to Senator Rivera.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he working as a body double on March third?”

“I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”

“Let it go, Mac.”

“Do you think the police know about him?”

“They’re calling it natural causes.”

“I need to talk to him,” I said.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but I beat her to the punch.

“What if the police are wrong? Or covering up?”

“You’re jumping to—”

“What if the senator killed her?”

“Then that means the lieutenant didn’t. We could have a party.”

“But his father did? Is that any better? What would that do to Rivera’s psyche? He’s already half crazy. And what if the senator didn’t do it? Then who did?”

“Maybe the LAPD is right. Maybe no one did.”

I gave her a look.

She scowled back in angry defense.

“Do you have his address?”

“Whose?”

“Phone number?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Laney—”

“Is it so bad that I want to keep you alive, Mac? Is that so terrible?”

“I can’t just bury my head in the sand, Laney.”

“Want to be cremated instead?”

“You’re being—”

“What? Protective? Yeah, I am. And you know why? ’Cuz I care about you. And I’m not going to be here to look after you once the filming starts, Mac. What if something happens? What if you’re right and you do something stupid?”

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t going to do anything stupid, but I’m not that good at lying.

“I’ve got to know what happened,” I said.

She didn’t respond.

“You know I do, Laney. Think about my track record.”

She was still scowling.

“Jay Bintliff,” I said.

Her scowl deepened.

“I told you he shared a bed with his brother. What I didn’t tell you is that he—”

“Here,” she said, and tossed a scrap of paper at me.

I read it out loud. “Julio Manderos.”

“Are you happy now?”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Who?”

“Would you like me to tell you what Jay and his brother did on Saturdays when—”

“Strip Please!” she snapped.

I raised my brows at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a dance club. Okay?”

“Like…ballet?”

“Yes.” Laney isn’t usually prone to sarcasm, but tales of my past dates sometimes make her kind of irritable. Go figure. “Absolutely. Every Friday night they perform
Swan Lake
to an audience of thousands.”

“Friday—”

“Damn it, Mac!”

I stared aghast. Laney was swearing. The apocalypse had arrived, and I intended to take all the necessary precautions, like covering my head with a newspaper, but just then I saw the tears in her eyes.

I felt every man in the room bare his teeth.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” Her voice was low and earnest. But not quite low enough. The menfolk had perked up their ears.

I shifted my attention to the right. The waiter was hovering. If he thought I had made her unhappy, I’d be lucky to survive the evening. I reached across the table and took her hand.

“Listen, Sugarcane.” It was a pet name from years past, but it failed to make her smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

She turned her hand in mine. She has a grip like a road mender. Yoga’s a funny thing. It looks like you’re just sitting there upside down with your foot in your ear, but…“Well, I do,” she said. “I love you, Mac.”

I thought I saw the waiter’s eyes widen a little, but he didn’t look discouraged. What is it with men and lesbians? The prospect of seeing two guys together is about as appealing as exfoliating with battery acid. Shouldn’t a normal, thinking man feel the same about girl on girl? Shouldn’t a well-adjusted…Ahh, screw it.

“I’ll be fine, Laney,” I said.

“You’re not going to that place alone.”

I shook my head, but my brain was already spinning out wild possibilities.

“I mean it, Mac. You wait until I can go with you.”

“To the Strip Please.” My tone may have been less than believing. Laney gets embarrassed during a TV kissing scene. “What would your father say?”

“He’d say you’re an idiot,” she said. “And I’m going with you.”

“Geez, Laney, a curse word and an insult. I—”

“You’re not going alone.” She sounded honestly pissed. The waiter stepped closer. And he wasn’t smiling. Could be when he wasn’t dressed like a hovering penguin he was bouncing folks out of places like the Strip Please. I almost laughed at the idea, but he was pretty big…and oozing testosterone from every pore.

“Okay,” I said.

“But I won’t be here on Friday.”

“Maybe I could go with…” I was being cautious, lest the waiter/bouncer swing me out of the restaurant by my hair. “…someone else?”

“Who?”

“Someone…armed?”

“Jeen could go with you.”

In concession to her obvious concern, I stopped the insult before it reached my lips. “Thanks, but…” Turns out I had nothing to say in lieu of something rude.

“Who, then?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

She opened her mouth, but I interrupted before she could suggest Daffy Duck or Elmer Fudd. “But I won’t go alone.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

I winced, thinking that both of us had come too close to the death thing not so many months before. “I cross my heart,” I said.

23

S
ENATOR!” I gasped the word. It was a drizzly Monday morning. He was standing on my stoop, dressed to the nines. I was dressed for a jog and maybe throwing up afterward. Harlequin was decked out in his usual and didn’t mind delaying our run for a minute to sniff the senator’s crotch.

“I understand this is unorthodox,” he said. “But I was on my way to the airport and thought I might stop by to make certain you are well.”

“I’m fine.” And
he
had a body double. What the hell did that mean?

“I saw you at the visitation talking to…well, talking to several people, in fact. I hope they did not upset you.”

“No. No. Everything’s fine.”

“My son can be…” He sighed. “Difficult. And Ms. Banks…” He paused. “Please do not get the wrong impression. She is a talented, intelligent woman, but perhaps she bears some resentment that colors her perspective.”

My arms were getting sore from holding Harlequin at bay. My brain had been sore for weeks. “Resentment toward…your son?”

“He was very young when he dated her. Perhaps he was less than sensitive when he discontinued their relationship,” he said, but he had paused just a moment too long before answering and my mind had finally clicked a couple puzzle pieces into place.

“Or resentment toward
you
?”

He tilted his head and gave me the shadow of a smile. “Perhaps she feels some bitterness by association alone.”

“Or because you slept with her just to make Salina jealous?”

For a moment he was absolutely silent, then he spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “She was at a fund-raiser in D.C.,” he said. “I had not seen her for some years. It is no excuse, this I know, but Salina and I were having difficulties at the time.”

Holy crap! He was like a five-legged dog in a mosh pit. “Was it Rachel who told you Salina was seeing someone else?”

He drew a deep breath, looking suddenly older. “I loved Salina. That you can believe.”

I watched him. “Did you know, Senator, that is the one statement most commonly made by abusive men?”

“I did not kill my fiancée.” His eyes looked earnest and solemn. “But perhaps it was my philandering that caused the death of any chance of a happy marriage. I am willing to take the blame.” He raised his chin like a martyr ready for the blaze. It made me want to slap him upside the head. “God knows, I made mistakes.”

You think?
I scoffed, but I was lucid enough to keep the words to myself.

“But please, Christina, do not judge me too harshly.” He gave me a sliver of the charismatic smile that had gained him a seat in the Senate, and probably a place in a hundred women’s beds. “I would not want the lady who may be my future daughter-in-law to think poorly of me.”

I raised my mental brows. What was he trying to do? Bribe me with his son? Or was it his own fortune he thought I might find appealing? I glanced toward the street. His Town Car stretched halfway to the bank. Okay, it was kind of appealing. “What was your business in Boston?” I asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When Salina was killed,” I said, “you were on your way to Boston, weren’t you?”

He was silent again, perhaps wondering how I knew. “Wellesley, to be specific.”

“What were you doing there?”

He watched me in silence for a moment, then, “There is a progressive pharmaceutical company breaking new ground out East. They wished for my opinion since I am a major shareholder.”

“Breaking new ground on balding scalps?” I asked.

He smiled again. “I am impressed, Christina. Truly I am.”

Uh-huh. So they were all in bed together—Hohls, Riveras, Peachtrees. But what, if anything, did that have to do with Salina? My mind was spinning, but I kept my tone light, lest he know I was ferreting out his secrets like a rat terrier. “So will we be eradicating the awful baldness epidemic in the near future?”

There was laughter in his eyes. Once again, he looked handsome and confident and mildly amused. I found myself hoping that when
I
died I left someone behind who was better at this mourning business than he was. “We shall see.”

“No promises?”

“Not just yet, no. But in truth, I had another reason for stopping by this morning.”

“Another reason?” I braced myself.

“It concerns my son.”

“What about him?”

His expression was solemn again. “There has been some trouble.”

I was holding on to the doorjamb. “What happened?”

“He is not injured.”

I drew a careful breath and eased my grip on the rotting wood. “What, then?”

His lips curled up a little. “Christina, I cannot tell you how it warms my heart to see that you care so—”

“What the hell happened?” I snapped.

His brows shot up. “They took Gerald’s badge.”

So Hohl had been correct.

“Not many know of this. Captain Kindred is keeping it as quiet as—”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “There may be several reasons. Officer Graystone alleged that Gerald attacked him the night of Salina’s visitation.”

Holy crap. My gaze wandered dizzily down the street.

“But you need not feel guilty about calling nine-one-one.”

I snapped my attention back to his face.

“You see, you are not the only one who has little-known information, Christina.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Cause trouble for him? No, I am sure you did not. But Gerald…” He closed his eyes for a second. “He is difficult to understand at times.”

I nodded dumbly.

He smiled, his face grim. “He broke into my house.”

“What?”

“I was not there at the time. I am certain he was searching for clues,” he added quickly. “Attempting to determine what happened on that dreadful night. But there are others who believe he may have been trying to destroy evidence.”

“Holy shit.”

He reached for my hand. I was in a haze and let him take it. “So you see, my son needs you now more than ever. Please, you must do what you can to put his mind at ease. I am certain a woman of your quality knows just how to do this.”

I stared at him, boggled. Was he talking about sex? Or was that just the way
my
mind worked?

“It has been a pleasure seeing you again,” he said, skimming his thumb across my knuckles. Then he walked away, straight as a pool cue, and maybe as guilty as hell.

I
agonized over the senator’s words for days, but I didn’t call Rivera. Maybe I was a chicken shit, but what was I supposed to say?
“Hey, pal, heard you’ve been suspended from the job that gives your life meaning. Sucks, huh?”
It didn’t sound great. Besides, my mind was reeling. Why would Rivera break into his father’s house? If it was merely to prove his innocence, wouldn’t it have been practical to simply ask his old man for admittance? Despite what I wanted to believe, I had to accept the possibility that Rivera might be guilty. Or maybe the senator was responsible for Salina’s death and was slanting the evidence against his son. Or perhaps…A dozen other scenarios chased themselves through my mind.

By Wednesday I felt certifiable, but I kept seeing clients and shuffling through the applicants who showed up for Laney’s job. The most likely contender had a two-pack-a-day habit and refused to work before noon.

By Friday night I felt harried and edgy.

Eddie Friar looked Kansas clean and pretty as a pony standing beneath the glaring orange lights of the Strip Please club.

“You came,” I said, and leaned in for a hug.

“Of course I came.” Wrapping his corded arms around me, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

He smelled yummy. But Eddie always did, even when I’d first met him just weeks after moving to L.A. Cavorting with his greyhound on Topanga Beach, he’d looked as rugged as the sculpted landscape behind him and as windswept as the waves. He’d smiled when I’d handed back the Frisbee he’d tossed out for his dog, and I’d been lost.

We’d dated for a while. Long enough to learn he loved animals, good food, and…oh, men. Still, I sometimes wonder if we shouldn’t have tried harder to work things out, even if he is as gay as a songbird. What’s sex compared to a guy who talks baby talk to a race hound and can cook like a cruise line Frenchman?

He eyed the dark door. To say this was a seedy part of town would have been overly kind. “I couldn’t let you come here alone.”

“It had nothing to do with
L.A.’s premier strippers,
then?” I had checked their website…for a while.

“I’m insulted,” he said, and grinned as he leaned past to open the door for me. Call me the Benedict of the feminist movement, but I still like it when men do that. And when they touch the small of your back as they usher you along. “Then again, if we see someone interesting, we can arm wrestle for him.”

“Please!” I said, managing quite nicely to sound offended. I had dated a dancer once. He’d had enough muscle to sink the
Titanic
. Most of it had been firmly packed in his cranium, sharing space with an ego the size of Mount Whitney. “What I don’t need is some steroid-popping behemoth in my life.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He ushered me inside…with a hand on my back. Sigh. “You have a Ph.D.”

I gave him a look over my shoulder. Eddie has a doctorate in Marine Biology and a bachelor’s in Zoology. Eddie could think me under the table.

“I’m just here to find Manderos,” I said.

“Just dumb luck that he’s a guy who likes to take off his clothes, then,” he mused, but I honestly didn’t know what kind of guy Manderos was. Laney hadn’t exactly been a fount of information. And I’d discovered zippo about him on the Internet. Which could mean any number of things, but most probably indicated my lack of technological ability.

As for Eddie, he and I hadn’t had much time to discuss things on the phone. I’d said, “Male revue,” and he’d said, “I’m in.” Short and…well, a little disturbing maybe. I mean, there had been a time I thought Eddie was the one with whom I’d share the fortune cookie of my future—smart, kind, good-looking. It was one of life’s cruel jokes that we were about to sit side by side and watch a bunch of greased gorillas take off their clothes.

The place was dark, loud, and packed. We ordered drinks at the bar and carried them to one of the tiny tables placed in rows around the stage.

At ten o’clock an emcee greeted us. Ten minutes later, the first performer appeared. He was dressed as a police officer. It was a disgusting display of male exploitation that offended the fine-tuned therapist in me. On the other hand, my internal cocktail waitress wasn’t quite so prissy and couldn’t help wondering how Rivera would look in breakaway pants. The image made me feel itchy. By the time the fourth dancer took the stage, I felt like a time bomb, armed and ready. I squiggled uncomfortably in my chair.

Eddie gave me a beatific smile. The psychologist scowled back. The cocktail girl was busy panting.

He leaned closer. “How are you doing?” he asked.

I rolled my tongue back into my mouth like an overheated Labrador. “Fine,” I said, and took a casual sip of my margarita. Had I been thinking properly, I would have just dumped the damn thing in my lap.

We’d been discussing the attributes of the various dancers. So far, I hadn’t tried to wrestle Eddie to ground…or any of the other guys, either, but one look at the fellow called Clifton made me wonder how much longer that kind of disciplined civility was going to last.

He was tall for a Latino, with sleek black hair that was caught at the nape of his neck and fell over the collar of his white poet’s shirt. He wore a tricorn hat, buff-colored breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots, and a gold hoop in his right ear. Sail ho, maties. He was a pirate.

“What about him?” Eddie asked.

Clifton had just taken off his hat. His eyes were black as a demon’s; his smile, little-boy mischievous. “He’s okay,” I said, and reminded myself to breathe.

The music thrummed on.

Eddie was staring at me. “I meant…could he be Manderos?”

Onstage, Clifton slipped his shirt off his shoulders and skimmed splayed fingers down his abs. They rippled like a washboard.
Take me, laddie, I’m dirty.

“Rivera’s double?” Eddie reminded me.

“Oh.” I snapped back to business. It wasn’t that I had forgotten my purpose for being there. But holy crap, this guy was buttered up like a hot cross bun. Slap a little frosting on him and he’d be a diabetic’s worst nightmare. “I know that,” I said, then scowled and looked closer. Clifton was probably about the right height, though it was hard to say for sure, what with the gyrating. Somehow he had managed to remove his boots. The breeches followed. I swallowed. He had an ass like a…well, like a frickin’ stripper. But truth be told, I wasn’t sure how the senator’s ass looked with a thong the width of dental floss separating him from a night in lockup. Of course, I could imagine, but…I cleared my throat and tried to do the same with my thoughts. “He’s too young. Don’t you think?”

Eddie shrugged. “I’ve never seen the good senator.”

I turned toward him. “What?”

He flashed me a grin. “Hey, I’m just here to keep the guys off you.”

I snorted. There were a couple hundred women in there. If one of these men was crazy enough to want to get to me, he’d have to go through every last slavering one of them. “You must have seen Rivera’s picture,” I said.

“If I did, I don’t remember it.”

“Fat lot of help you—” I began, but just then the thong disappeared. He still wasn’t completely naked, though. What the hell was young Clifton doing with that eye patch? My eyebrows rocketed, racing my respiration and my estrogen level. But I kept my voice steady. “He could be Rivera himself and you wouldn’t—”

“I think we’ll have to question him.”

“What?”

I didn’t bother to look at him. The eye patch was kind of mesmerizing.

“How else are we going to learn anything?”

“What about his admirers?” I asked, and nodded disjointedly toward the audience. “Most of them are younger, thinner, and drunker than I am.”