Slick (59 page)

I turned on the heat and peered ahead at the flying seagulls until I finally stopped shivering. By now, my slacks were merely damp. My body and mind were almost thawed.

I’d never called a woman a bitch before.

“It’s done,” Maxina told me, from her hotel bed. “I just spoke with Harmony. She’s agreed to cooperate. She’ll record a videotaped confession for us tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Her condition. She wants to write the speech herself and she wants a whole night to prepare it. I tried to bargain with her but she was pretty inflexible. It’s all right. I’d still rather play her videotape tomorrow than our audiotape today.”

I rested my head against the window. I wasn’t entirely lucid yet.

“It’ll be okay,” Maxina assured me. “We still have final cut. There won’t be any bombshells. I supported your pseudonym story, by the way. Very clever thinking.”

My stomach churned. “Any other conditions?”

“She wants your money. All of it. I stuck to my guns on that one. Half now. Half on delivery.”

“Any other conditions?”

“Scott...”

“Just say it.”

Maxina sighed. “She doesn’t want to hear from you ever again. You knew that. You knew what you had to do and you did it.”

I watched another photographer set up by the curb, waiting for that precious glimpse of Harmony.

“Scott, I know it hurt like hell, but you did what we hired you to do. You saved Jeremy.”

“Who’s going to save Harmony?”

“I will,” she insisted. “I’ll hire a publicist tonight to be her new official handler, and I’ll coordinate everyone on this side of the effort. We won’t level a single bad word against her. All of our rage will be channeled at the conspiracy. Trust me. Your plan will work out nicely for all of us.”

Funny how ridiculous it sounded when coming from someone else.

“For the record,” she conceded, “I’m sorry I told her about Lisa Glassman. You were right. That was a mistake.”

“That’s not what screwed things up and you know it.”

“I know.”

I felt uncomfortably hot. Turning off the air didn’t help. I was percolating, pulsating with pent-up energy I couldn’t quite release. I didn’t even know what form it would take. Screams. Tears. Maniacal laughter. Who could say? But I refused to let Maxina become the lucky earwitness to such a rare emotional event.

“I didn’t mean for it happen like this,” I said. “I didn’t mean for us to get so...”

“Listen, do you know how many singers and actresses get married to their agents? Their managers? Their
publicists
? Too many to count. That little dance between star and starmaker is as old as fame itself. You were just the latest pair to get caught in it. I knew there’d be trouble from the moment I saw you two together.”

“But I never meant for it to happen. It was an accident.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t.”

Maxina emitted a motherly chuckle. “Of course not, Scott. You’ve never seen yourself through a young girl’s eyes. You’re a dashing tomcat, all suave and confident. In your world, there are no accidents.”

“Apparently there are.”

“I know. I’m not a young girl. I see them. But you know what? They were honest mistakes.”

She was certainly in a magnanimous mood. Who could blame her? Twenty minutes ago, she was looking at World War III. Now she had the pleasure of calling all her cronies in the music business and telling them they can finally breathe again.

“Go home,” she said. “Get some sleep. The best thing you can do now is distance yourself. I assume you’ve been careful in covering your tracks.”

You’ve been a bad, bad boy
. “I have. At least with Harmony. I mean, no one knows about my connection to her except the twelve thousand of you.”

“Well, the twelve thousand of us have a very strong interest in keeping it quiet. You’ll be fine.”

I’d never called a woman a bitch before.

“Go home.”

That part would follow me forever. I could have said so many other things. I could have even just said “You don’t even know me” and ended the call with a modicum of virtue (at least in my book). The fact that I’d garnished my last words to her, littered my very own message, only justified everything she said and felt about me. It was all the proof she needed.

I didn’t return to Brentwood until shortly after four. The moment I got to my apartment door, I fixed my hair, adjusted my shirt, then summoned up a fresh batch of composure. I even came up with a good cover story for being barefoot.

Madison sat cross-legged on the couch, shooting Internet articles from my laptop to my BubbleJet. She seemed a little anxious.

“Hi, Scott.”

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“I knocked several times like you told me. Then I used the key.”

“That’s fine,” I told her. “Exactly why I gave it to you.”

I dropped my wallet on the kitchen counter, then peeked at my answering machine. Exhaling, I collapsed to the easy chair.

“I did the dumbest thing today—”

“Scott, you had a visitor.”

“What?”

“A woman stopped by twenty minutes ago. She was looking for you.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Madison squinted in concentration, scouring her memory banks. “Shit. She told me her name. I just forgot it.”

“You didn’t write it down?”

“No. I remembered it. But then you sort of came in, barefoot and smelling like salt.”

“I’ll explain that,” I promised. “Once you remember this woman’s name.”

“Marina...Malina...”

“Maxina?”

She snapped her fingers at me. “Yeah. Maxina.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I just spoke with her. What did she say?”

Madison winced, hesitant. “She said she knows you’re up to something with Harmony Prince.”

I took a deep breath through my nose, then lowered my head. I will not explode. I will not implode. I will not crack into tiny pieces. Not in front of Madison.

“Are you okay, Scott?”

No. “Yeah. I just haven’t eaten all day. My blood sugar’s down.”

“You want me to get you something?”

“Sure. A glass of apple juice would be great.”

“Okay.”

Goddamn it. What kind of game was Maxina playing? What kind of game did she think I was playing?

Madison brought me a full glass of juice. I took a deep sip. “Thank you.”

She faced me from the couch again. “I’ve never seen you this stressed.”

“I’m not stressed. Just hypoglycemic.”

“You can’t tell me what’s going on, can you?”

“I don’t even know anymore. I just know there’s some serious disharmony among my associates. Things aren’t going well and everyone seems to think I’m the reason.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know. I guess someone has to take the blame.”

“But do they really think you’re working for Harmony Prince?”

I chucked a feeble hand. “I don’t know what they’re thinking. I just know that I’ve busted my ass to make things right and nobody believes me.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” she said. “We had this talk. I was stupid to ever doubt you. And so are they.”

It took all my energy not to run over to the couch and squeeze her like a little boy would squeeze his mother. I wanted to hold her, to have her rub my back and tell me that everything would be all right again. Sadly, that would violate the unspoken covenant that she and I had established last Tuesday. In this office, we were absolute professionals. In this apartment, we were perfect adults.

She curled herself up against the wing of my couch, watching me from the same place, wielding the exact face her mother had used on me last night. They were so eerily alike sometimes, in such beautifully subtle ways.

I leaned back with a wobbly grin. “This probably wasn’t the best project to start you on.”

“Yeah. Sounds that way.”

“It’s almost over. Very soon I’ll be a free man again. And then you and I will spend some serious time together. I’ve been woefully remiss in my mentoring duties.”

“Shut up. You have not.”

“Trust me. I have. And trust me when I say I look forward to it. I swear to God, Madison, you are...” I waved my hand. “Whatever. Things are going to get better from here. I promise.”

She smiled at me. I found myself moderately functional again, functional enough to remember that Maxina threw her back out this morning. She was in no shape to leave her bed, much less drive all the way over here to deliver cryptic messages.

“Madison, this Maxina woman who stopped by. Did she happen to be middle-aged, black, and somewhat... expansive?”

She cocked her head, confused. “No. She was your age, white, and somewhat condensed.”

Of course. “And her name just happened to be Miranda.”

Madison slapped her head. “Miranda! That’s right! Shit!”

You’ve been a bad, bad boy.
“It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

I could barely hear her. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head. I gazed down at my feet. They were naked, white, and pale, like the feet of a dead man. All they needed was a tag hanging off the toe and the picture would be complete. Of course.

“Scott, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, staring past my feet and all the way down to my future. “Everything’s fine.”

The traffic was heavy at Ralph’s. The five o’clock rush made it nearly impossible for Miranda to squeeze her cart down the produce aisle. She didn’t mind the congestion. To a native New Yorker like her, it was like sailing the wide Sargasso Sea.

“Now
this
is a supermarket,” she declared. “I’m so used to shopping at some tiny, overpriced D’Agostino’s. Look at all these choices!”

Much had changed since our last encounter, twelve days ago. Miranda had flown home, filed for marital separation, got it, filed for a work transfer, got that, flew back here, leased an apartment, leased an Acura, and then began a passionate rebound affair with Ned Caruso, a fellow reporter at AP Los Angeles. Amazing how she managed to do all that and still find time to stalk me.

“What’s great is that Ned and I eat the same things,” she bragged. “No red meat. Lots of chicken and fish. We both love fresh steamed vegetables, Basmati rice, and a nice dark merlot with dinner. The man’s definitely got style. And unlike some people, he knows how to fuck a woman.”

Judging from the expressions of all those within earshot, it would take some time for L.A. to get used to its newest resident. Miranda, on the other hand, was well on her way to becoming a full-fledged Angelino. She wore a form-fitting white tank top and khaki shorts. Her natural brown hair was now a synthetic auburn. She had tanned considerably. Her breasts even looked bigger, but that was either a trick of the light or just some clever padding. To the casual male eye, she was a little bit of honey. To me, she was simply a woman trying to outrun herself. I figured she was on the fast track to some kind of meltdown. Then again, who wasn’t?

“Now, before I actually grill you, “ she said, to an artichoke, “what’s the deal with the underage blonde in your apartment?”

I took another bite of my energy bar. Things were not going well inside my body. I was hungry. I was fatigued. I was seeing red bouncing dots in front of my eyes. I would have much rather battled Miranda from the other side of a cozy restaurant booth, but she already had an evening of dinner, wine, and sex on the docket. I was forced to tag along for the preparations.

“You remember that fender-bender we got into on the way back from the airport?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“That’s the daughter of the woman who hit us.”

“The deaf woman,” she said.

“Right.”

“What, she couldn’t settle by check?”

I shrugged in good humor. “It’s just collateral. I have to give the kid back once I get paid.”

She shined me a jaded grin as she spun a bag of tomatoes shut. “Her name’s Madison. She told me she’s your assistant.”

“So why’d you ask, then?”

“I’m simply curious to know why you’d take on a kid helper. You hate kids.”

“Says who?”

“Says Gracie. She used to complain all the time that you never understood her work.”

“Funny how Gracie never complained to me.”

“Well, you know how she is,” said Miranda. “She could have an arrow sticking out of her chest and she’d still swear everything’s fine. You just have to needle her, that’s all.”

I could have cracked a watermelon over her skull. I had the motive and the opportunity. If only there weren’t so many witnesses.

“I think it’s eerie how much Madison looks like Gracie,” she added. “When she first answered the door, I freaked out. I thought maybe you cloned her from old hairs.”

“Another winning theory,” I sniped.

Miranda eyed me coyly. “Look at you, all tense and persnickety. You really have been up to no good, haven’t you?”

“You tell me.”

“Ah, I knew you’d make me play my cards first. Fine.” She paused to examine a honeydew. “I just hope you haven’t gotten too close to that deaf woman, because she’s the one who gave you up.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Miranda pushed the cart forward. “As you’ve no doubt figured out, I’ve been digging into this whole rap/rape story. I’ve been skeptical of Harmony Prince from the very beginning, even though it was politically insensitive of me to question her veracity. My editors gave me so much shit. I said, ‘Guys, can we at least
consider
the possibility that she’s not entirely on the level?’ They said, ‘How can it be? She filed for a restraining order four weeks before Melrose even happened.’ And I said, ‘Well, what if she wasn’t on the level four weeks ago?’ I mean, shit, I’m not a fan of rap at all, but I know that suing rappers is like a cottage industry to some women.” She checked my reaction. “Am I wrong here?”