Putting on the Dog (20 page)

After pausing for some light applause, he continued smoothly, “Just to give you a little background, Hugo is one of those rare individuals in Hollywood who truly was an ‘overnight success.’ I’m proud that I’m the person who discovered him, back when he was working as a waiter. I knew the minute I laid eyes on him that he had real star quality. Good thing, too, since I seem to recall he couldn’t get my order straight.”

Russell waited until the polite laughter died down. “Even though he’d only come to L.A. from New Jersey a few weeks earlier, I cast Hugo in the first
Pulverizer
movie. It was simply called
The Pulverizer,
since none of us dreamed it would turn out to be such a phenomenon. But the film was more than a box-office smash that set new records. Its star immediately struck a chord with his audience. Men loved his movies for the action. They saw Hugo Fontana as someone they’d like to be. But women loved him, too. He is amazingly charismatic, someone female ticket buyers couldn’t get enough of. Suddenly, everybody was saying Hugo’s signature expression,
“In—your—dreams!”
He punched out each syllable, using a distinctively New York accent. The audience laughed appreciatively.

“The rest, as they say, is history,” he continued. “The success of
The Pulverizer
led to two equally successful sequels,
Pulverizer 2: The Devastation
and
Pulverizer 3:
The Annihilation.
Together, these films put my production company, North Star Studios, on the map. I hope— and expect—that this fourth
Pulverizer
movie will be just as big a hit. I owe Hugo Fontana a lot—as do movie-lovers all across America and throughout the world.”

“Hey, Russ!” someone called from the back of the room. “Is there going to be a
Pulverizer 5
? I want to know if I should invest in North Star!”

Amidst the laughter that broke out, Russell shot back, “It’s hard to say. After all, who knows what comes after Armageddon? And now, without further ado, I invite you to enjoy the long-awaited
Pulverizer 4: Armageddon.
”

He sat down amid enthusiastic applause. The lights went out, and I sat back to watch my first
Pulverizer
film.

While I hadn’t given much thought to what the next two hours would hold, I realized immediately that the movie’s title should have tipped me off. I gripped the armrests so tightly my fingers ached as I watched Hugo—a.k.a. Dino Gigante, “the Pulverizer”—in action. He ferreted out a cowering drug dealer by wresting open the trunk of a Mercedes with his bare hands, then twisting the sheet metal into a cylinder and bonking him on the head with it. He picked up a second villain by the ears, held him at arm’s length, and twirled him around a half-dozen times before lobbing him directly in the path of an oncoming garbage truck. He stacked a few hundred pounds of heroin in front of a fire hydrant, crouched down to open it with his teeth, and watched with satisfaction as the bad guys’ booty was reduced to a dangerously addictive pool of oatmeal.

And that was just the first five minutes.

By the time the movie was over, I was exhausted. I’d seen more blood and guts in those 118 minutes than I’d encountered in my entire career as a veterinarian. It was a relief when the lights finally came back on, the last of the screen credits still rolling up on the screen, accompanied by the loud, menacing music that constituted
The
Pulverizer
’s theme song.

“Another blockbuster!” I heard someone say as I filed out of the screening room with the other guests. “I just love the way he says, ‘In—your—dreams!’ ”

“Hugo’s done it again,” the woman heading up the aisle in front of me gurgled. “They sure don’t make men like
that
anymore.”

“How’d you like to jump in the sack with him?” her friend countered, giggling. “I bet pulverizing drug dealers isn’t the
only
thing he’s good at!”

My head hadn’t yet stopped spinning, and it wasn’t only from all the Hollywood-style violence I’d just been subjected to—enough to guarantee that
Pulverizer 4
would be a box-office hit with his macho, action-loving fans. While Hugo Fontana was certainly the embodiment of power, at the same time he managed to generate an amazing amount of sex appeal on screen.

When it came to muscles, nobody had him beat. His arms and torso were perfectly formed, as if Michelangelo himself had created the man out of marble. Although his muscles could best be described as “bulging,” there was a certain beauty, and even grace, to his rounded biceps and triceps and his well-developed abs. Either sweat, oil, or some other Hollywood trick gave his olive-toned skin a sheen that made him look even more unreal—and more powerful. He was also classically handsome, with a Roman nose, that remarkably strong jawline, and intense dark brown eyes fringed with extraordinarily thick black lashes.

I hated to admit it, but I’d come to understand Hugo Fontana’s appeal. I could even imagine plunking down a pile of bills for a movie ticket, just to see him in action once again.

A splash of cold water on my face was definitely in order.

“I’m going to pop into the ladies’ room,” I told Shawn. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

I headed down a short hallway and opened a door I suspected would take me where I wanted to go. But instead of finding myself in a bathroom, I confronted black walls, thick velvet curtains, looping ropes, and electrical boxes.

“Oops,” I muttered, realizing I’d accidentally stumbled upon the entrance to the backstage area. I backed out and tried again, immediately spotting a door labeled “Actresses.” When I noticed a second door that said “Actors” right across the hall, I knew I’d found the right place.

I ducked inside, then stood in front of the large mirror hanging above the three sinks. I was checking to see if I looked as drained as I felt, when the door opened and Kara Liebling floated in.

“Jessie!” she greeted me brightly. “What a nice surprise!”

I was just as pleased to see her. “I noticed you in the audience, but I was sitting toward the front.”

“Funny how our paths keep crossing, isn’t it?” she commented.

“I guess when you come right down to it, the Bromptons are really like a small town.”

She stepped over to the mirror so that the two of us were standing side by side. “I see we have something else in common,” she said, her eyes fixed on her reflection as she reached up to smooth her perfect hair. “Besides our social calendars, I mean.” I guess I looked as puzzled as I felt, because she added, “Shawn Elliot?”

I didn’t respond.

“I saw the two of you sitting together during the screening,” Kara went on, her eyes still fixed on the mirror. “I don’t know if Shawn has said anything to you, but he and I were together at one point.”

I could feel the blood draining from my face. Sure enough, when I checked my reflection, I saw that I looked like an extra in a horror movie. My impulse was to correct her, to tell her that Shawn and I were “just friends.” But I knew if I tried to explain, my words would come out sounding weak and defensive.

Then there was the fact that the only reason Shawn had brought me here tonight was so I could seek out information that might help me with my murder investigation. I wasn’t exactly anxious to confess that I was playing private detective.

“I suppose he’s giving you the royal treatment,” she continued. “Shawn is one of those rare men who really knows how to treat a woman.”

I glanced over at Kara’s reflection and saw she was smiling. Yet there was a distinct undertone to her voice that exposed an entirely different side of her. Still, I supposed that jealousy could have that effect—on
anyone
. I decided to try being honest.

“Kara, I’m only going to be here in the Bromptons for a few days,” I told her, my voice as even as I could manage. “The people who are running the charity dog show were kind enough to find me a place to live while I’m here, and it happened to be the guesthouse on Shawn’s estate. He’s simply being neighborly by making sure I have something to do in the evenings.”

“That’s
so
considerate of him.” She paused only for a second before adding, “And how does your boyfriend feel about Shawn’s generosity?”

I stiffened. Kara had clearly put some effort into dissecting my social life. But while my initial reaction was irritation, I told myself that it was nothing personal. It was obvious that she still had strong feelings about Shawn.

Fortunately, I never had to answer her question about Nick. The door flew open again, and a group of three women who’d clearly hit the champagne a little too hard burst into the room, laughing and screeching.

“It’s getting crowded in here,” I said, flashing her a smile that I truly meant to be sympathetic. “I’ll catch up with you later, Kara.”

I was relieved that I spotted Shawn the moment I stepped back out into the lobby. I made a beeline in his direction. But before I had a chance to engage him in conversation, a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a dress that revealed considerably more than it covered, cut me off.

“Shawn Elliot!
There
you are!” She grabbed his arm, wrapping both hands around it possessively. “I need you to settle a bet. Alicia and I were just arguing over which one of your movies came out first,
Afternoon in Paradise
or
Rocky Mountain High.
You
must
clear this up before we break into a fistfight—”

Shawn cast me an apologetic look as he allowed himself to be led away. But as far as I was concerned, he’d done enough just by getting me in the door.

Still, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of having no one to talk to once again. I wandered over to the food table, a lavish display of sushi, raw vegetables, and other food that had never seen the inside of an oven or the top of a stove. I had just picked up a plate and was trying to decide where to begin, when a sharp female voice caught my attention.

“Not
there
!” the familiar voice hissed. “The beluga belongs over
there,
next to the osetra!”

Phyllis Beckwith, the mistress of Foodies, Inc., was standing a few feet behind me, her hands on her hips. Once again, she was dressed in a tailored, expensive-looking suit—this time, lemon-yellow—and a pair of spiky high heels. And once again, her carefully madeup face was twisted into an angry scowl.

“You
know
how important this movie is to Mr. Bolger!” she continued in the same angry tone. “He’s got a lot riding on it. Now put
this
caviar next to the
other
caviar, where it’s
supposed
to be, before I put them both where they
really
belong!”

Phyllis’s habit of talking to her employees as if they were cockroaches irritated me. But if I’d learned anything in life, it was that the old saying about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar couldn’t be more true.

“Are you the culinary genius who’s responsible for all this fabulous food?” I asked, easing over to her and doing my best to look admiring.

“Why, yes.” Her voice had softened so dramatically it was hard to believe this was the same person who, seconds before, had been barking orders like a drill sergeant.

I narrowed my eyes and looked pensive, as if I was thinking really hard. “Now wait a minute...” I said tentatively. “Aren’t you the same caterer who did that magnificent spread at the dinner for the charity dog show? The
other
event here at Russell Bolger’s?”

Phyllis beamed. “You have an excellent memory.”

“Well, I was so
impressed,
” I gushed, horrified at how good at this I was turning out to be. “But I suppose you knock yourself out for every event you cater.”

“Definitely. But especially for Russell. He’s much more than a client. He’s a
friend.
Russell Bolger has been very good to me over the years. Why, he was practically the person who got Foodies off the ground!”

“Really! How did he manage that?” I prompted.

“He took a chance by hiring me back when I was just starting out, trying to get my catering business off the ground with nothing but a few quiches.” Her eyes got glassy, as if she were taking a momentary trip back in time. “Back then, I didn’t even have my own kitchen. I used to get up at five A.M. to make my quiches at a friend’s restaurant before her regular staff came in. I owe him a lot. I was in the middle of a divorce, and after twelve years as a stay-at-home wife and mother...”

“What an amazing success story!” I exclaimed. “Well, you’ve certainly gone all out tonight.”

Phyllis glanced around, as if wanting to make sure no one overheard. In a much softer voice, she said, “Of course, this movie is
very
important to Russell.”

“Why this one, in particular?” I asked.

She reacted to my question with surprise. “Don’t you read the trades?”

“Uh, no. I’m a veterinarian. I’m only out here on the East End for the dog show.”

“How refreshing! I sometimes forget there are people in the world who aren’t connected to the entertainment business in some way.”

I leaned forward, hoping she’d be willing to fill me in, even though I had no connection to Hollywood.

“Russell’s production company, North Star, has been having some... financial difficulties,” she told me in a near-whisper.

“Really? I had no idea!”

“North Star’s last few pictures flopped at the box office,” Phyllis went on in the same low voice. “In fact, in the last five years or so, the
Pulverizer
films are the only ones that have made any money. Russell is counting on
Pulverizer4
to pull his company out of its financial slump. If, for some reason, it
doesn’t
break a few records for ticket sales...”

She shook her head. “Well, I’m not even going to
think
about that. I’m sure Hugo’s got another huge hit on his hands. I was too busy in the kitchen to come to the screening. What did you think of it?”

I smiled brightly. “It certainly had all the elements required to make it a success.” I silently congratulated myself on my diplomacy. “And Hugo Fontana definitely possesses star quality.” At least I was sincere about that last part.