Helena Goes to Hollywood: A Helena Morris Mystery (6 page)

“I appreciate the advice but I can’t blow my savings on high fashion I’ll only wear here. I don’t have some fancy job with a big salary.” I did see Jordan’s point. Everyone had a uniform of sorts.

I fit in with the martial arts world. When I taught a Krav Maga class my students and I dressed for martial arts, not aerobics. Still, those clothes wouldn’t wipe out most of my savings.

“You think I didn’t buy normal clothes for that up and down actress? They’re not quite this season, but you’ll pass.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back to a room marked
Fittings
. “Enough to outfit you in the short term.”

I sorted through the stack of clothes he came up with for me. Four pairs of dark wash jeans, three pairs of black pants. White, black, and gray cotton shirts that were casual yet perfect under the black blazer he pulled off a rack.

“Now this is a style I can live with. You’re sure no one will mind?” I asked.

“Nope, bought and paid for. I adjusted the hems for your height. The actress tried them on but it all went to hell. She kept gaining. Swore she’d lose it to fit back in these. I returned the other stuff but we held on to this size. Ten was as big as she could get and stay within the terms of her contract. Too late to return them now and it was a drop in the bucket compared to getting rid of the drama she created. I’m glad someone can use them. They were washed and everything.” He waved at me with his candy-cane-striped nails. “Go on, try.”

Done being shy around Jordan, I kicked off my black boots and dropped my jeans. I pulled on the Italian ones. They felt expensive in a good way. Not uncomfortable at all but well made. Like those Ugg boots Oprah recommended years back. In a Chicago winter, those were functional in or out of style. One pair lasted forever and probably cost a fraction of what these jeans did.

My Target T-shirt hit the floor and I pulled on a super soft cotton tee that was a nice steel gray. Wearing so much money felt weird. “How do I look?”

“Perfect. I know it’s not a huge change but here labels matter. Try the blazer.” He held it out like a gentleman.

I slipped in and the silk lining hit my skin. I could wear it all day. “Nice. Thanks!”

I faced the mirror and saw myself in jeans and a shirt with a blazer. I didn’t look that different. What was the big deal? The style was still me. If the labels would help me get to the bottom of Sonia’s issue—I’d wear them, take very good care of the clothes, then return them to Jordan.

“So now tell me about your ex and I’ll give you the best boots you’ve ever worn.” He sat on a padded pink bench.

“My ex? Who cares?” I tried not to dwell on Todd at times like this. Being single was fine in my routine. When I was under stress I really missed him, but I had a handle on my life and that level of stress was rare.

“Sonia thinks you two should’ve stayed together,” he said.

“She was young when I got married. She was always a dreamer. Reality is hard for her but Todd isn’t perfect. Life happens. Divorce is common.”

“She’s scared. She tries to ignore it, but she’s terrified.” Jordan fidgeted with the pink scarf knotted at his neck.

“I know. She texted me. That was all the hint I needed. She’d feel safer if Todd were here but I can handle it,” I shrugged.

“On the set everyone loves her and the diva act is routine. The only issue is the supporting actress, Bernadette. She’s British, super skinny, and wanted the lead. Shakespearean trained with an ego bigger than Big Ben. No lie, she’s a good actress but doesn’t have that connection. People warm to your sister and Bernadette lacks spark.”

“So maybe Bernadette is trying to scare Sonia back to the soap and take the lead since they’re reshooting the pilot and stuff. That’s an opening she’d want to exploit.” Definitely possible. “Thanks. Nothing else?”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “You know all about the ex. He doesn’t come around here. Not allowed on set and as far as I know he hasn’t tried. Sonia never said they were on really bad terms but it’s not amicable. She moved up, he cheated, and no one wants the blame.”

“Everyone is a victim.” I scratched my forehead and slumped down on the bench next to Jordan and his perfect posture. “Any fans from the soap try to contact her beyond the letters?”

He shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. Fans definitely can go wild but it’s a tiny percentage. Hardcore soap fans will take it all personally but security wouldn’t let them on the set. It’s actually a good thing she’s getting so much attention. The fans will watch the drama wanting to hate it and fall for her all over again. Hell, in Hollywood there’s no such thing as bad press if you spin it correctly. You’re right, it’s just a divorce. Huge deal to her but a blip in the big picture. So all that black belt stuff is real?”

“Black belt in Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Yep. I found it was the best way to stay in shape and not get bored. There’s always a new skill to learn, belt to earn, or something to teach others. Girl has to defend herself.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” He took a deep breath. “Well, let’s introduce you around the set and you can watch a little rehearsal.”

“Sounds good now that I fit in.” I ran a hand along the soft denim.

“Damn, I almost forgot the boots. Snakeskin. So hot! You’re a size nine?” He went into yet another back room.

“Yeah, nine. Snakeskin?” I asked.

“Yep, it’s the next big thing. I promise. I design on the side.” He opened a box and the calf high boots were indeed snakeskin. Looked like a rattler. Jordan slid one on my socked foot and it fit great. The other slipped on like they were made for my feet.

“It’s like soft suede inside.” They molded to my feet but felt sturdy.

“I lined them just right. They’re perfect on you.” He pulled me to my feet and let the boot cut jeans drape over the boots.

I suddenly felt like a doll Jordan was dressing up. “You made them?”

“I’ve got a source. They’ve got an excess of western diamondbacks and do these roundup events. He keeps the meat and tans the hides. I make the skins into good fashion.”

“Rattlers get no sympathy from me, we’ve got plenty in Vegas. The boots are great but you don’t have to give me a pair. I’m sure they go for a lot of money. I can’t take them.” I started to tug them off and Jordan put a hand on mine.

“Sonia is a friend. She’s the key to the show and all our jobs. You catch the person out to hurt her and we’ll call it even.” For one second, Jordan sounded heart-tuggingly sincere.

“She’s my sister. I don’t need incentive.”

“I know, but it’s what I can do to help. Anything you need, info or accessories, tips, I’m your girl. Hollywood is crazy but I love it,” he nodded.

“Thanks. One question before we go out. Is she safe on the set? Is there enough security to protect her here if I need to go check things out during the day?”

Jordan pressed his full lips together and finally nodded. “Yes, she’s never alone with Bernadette or anyone really except in her dressing room. There are so many people even with a closed set. You tell me when you go out and I’ll keep an extra eye on her. I’ll get you hooked up.”

“Thanks.” I pulled out my cell phone. We traded numbers for emergencies and then headed out to the set. I needed to know the layout and logistics in case something happened here.

A
s we approached the set everyone appeared relaxed. Normal looking people milled around. Best of all, there was a table of goodies. Maybe Hollywood wasn’t totally evil. Or maybe this was the temptation actors had to resist?

“Want something to eat?” Jordan jerked his head in the direction of the food. “They’re just rehearsing, we won’t be in the way. They haven’t found a tech consultant yet. Could be a while. Lots of the techs got dragged up to Vancouver for a big movie they’re shooting. Deep pockets but the weather sucks. So now we’re short. Be careful or you’ll get dragged into it.”

“I’m not a fed but I’ve got nothing going. I’ll bug Danny but it’s too early now. Food is good.” I eyed a big cheese Danish and unapologetically grabbed it and a big cup of coffee.

Jordan chose a cranberry scone and we settled into some extra chairs behind the director. There were cameras but nothing seemed lit up. Tons of people stood around and I had no idea what they did.

“This is boring.” I bit into my Danish and sighed at the soothing effect of morning sugar. I was more of a salt girl normally. My ex labeled me a Doritos addict. Thank God there was no twelve-step program for that.

“Yeah, entertainment is like that. Lots of sitting around and doing interviews or getting your hair and makeup done. You’d be shocked how much they love to sit for hours and get their picture taken.”

“That’s Sonia. I’d gouge my eyes out.”

My work life fell in the opposite side of the spectrum. Always another class to teach, another competition to get ready for, and another random date to keep life interesting. Some might find it dull but it required more brain cells than this.

“Especially in these fight scenes. All the choreography and how to stand, how to hit. They’re actors—most of them have never thrown a punch. Not going to risk getting hurt and damaging their moneymaker. Face or ass.” He nibbled at his scone.

“Fight scenes are the ones I might be entertained by.” Getting up, I set my half eaten pastry on a napkin on the chair behind me and took my coffee to get a closer look.

Jordan followed and whispered in my ear, “The woman standing at the rear—long spiraled black hair—that’s witchy Bernadette.”

I nodded. She seemed frustrated but maybe it was the waiting. Watching the male lead take a swing at who I suspected to be the episode’s bad guy, I held my cup up in front of my face. Not sure if I’d call it a sneer, grin, or grimace, but I reacted to the bad punch as the villain fell over onto a mat. I tried to stop myself but failed.

“This is a joke, right?” I blurted.

“Excuse me?” The guy in the director’s chair glanced over at me with annoyance. Then interest.

“He wouldn’t flatten the guy with that weak-ass punch. If he’s FBI he should know how to stand in a fight. There’s training.” I rolled my eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Hel,” Sonia cut in and raced to the front. “Just my sister in for a visit.”

“He’s doing it all wrong. Jordan said you lost your tech consultant. Your show is going to get mocked if he stands there like a damn ballerina.” I shook off her attempts to grab my arm and pull me away.

“I’m Sam Palance. Hel, is it?” The director smiled and came close enough for me to get a good look.

About six foot tall and good looks that would make him hot by Chicago standards. No more than forty-five was my guess.

“Helena Morris. I always thought directors were old grumpy bald guys.”

I sipped my coffee and waited to see what happened next. If I had to be stuck in the weird Hollywood world I’d at least have some fun. The only way to uncover the reality of my sister’s stalker was to make my presence known. Hunky director guy needed to know I’d be here...a lot!

He smiled at me. “No, some of us underwear models like to work behind the scenes, not just be a piece of meat.”

I laughed. He had muscle and struck me as the quiet troublemaker type. “So you let your actors fight like that? At least hire a stunt man who might make it look good.”

“You can do better?” he asked.

I pulled up my posture to perfection. “I could do better in a coma.”

Jordan jumped to my defense. “Her ex is FBI and she has three black belts. Real martial arts ones. I’ve seen her in action. Don’t make her mad. This girl makes Angelina in
Tomb Raider
look like a wimp.”

“Really?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Show us what you’ve got.”

I walked onto the set and took the villain’s spot. Lifting my hands, I made them into loose fists. I was deliberate about everything from the spacing of my feet to the distance I put between myself and the actor named Rob who looked like a cross between David Duchovney and The Rock. Hot, but with a hint of creepy. Too bad all the muscle was apparently decorative.

“Ready?” I asked him.

“Now I’m fighting a girl?” he asked.

“It’s not in the script, it’s just a lesson. She’s helping us with tech,” Sam said.

I looked over my shoulder in awe of the slow brain cells of this man. Sam just winked while Sonia glared.

I turned back and nodded. “Don’t worry, you can’t hurt me. Let’s see what you can do.”

He attempted the first punch and I leaned back out of reach.

“That’s not fair. The villain is in reach. We’ve got to play to the script.” The actor pointed an accusing finger at me.

“Okay, I’m just trying to make a point. Balance is the key to a fight scene.” I moved in a little closer so I couldn’t lean out of range without falling.

“Just try it. You need to understand how an FBI agent would fight, not just do what the script says,” Sam said. “The first round of training failed, clearly.”

Rob squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Attack me.”

If I truly attacked him he’d be a bloody crying mess going fetal in the corner. This was a lesson, not an assault.

Faking a punch left, I jabbed right. He blocked it slowly and I grazed his chin. I faked an uppercut and he tried to block. While he defended his face and ignored his balance, I pulled one of my favorite moves. A classic from
Seinfeld
, I shoved him hard in the chest just like Elaine, only without the ‘get out’ commentary.

Gasping for air, Rob fell back on his ass and glared at me.

“I just told you that the key to any fight is balance. You stand with your feet next to each other, you’ve got none. You can’t step in or out, or recover from a blunt hit. Basic fighting stance is feet slightly apart to keep your options open. You looked like a guy from the twenties trying to box in a suit.”

Nodding curtly, Rob frowned. “Good to know.” He swung a foot and hit my calf.

My balance was solid so he couldn’t topple me, but I couldn’t resist the chance. I grabbed his foot for control and pivoted on the ball of my left foot. My right leg cut through the air fast, and I stopped the toe of my new snakeskin boot an inch from his jaw.