City Of Mirrors: A Diana Poole Thriller Part 12

"How much farther to this Formosa place," he complained.

"We're almost there. See the awning?"

"I don't know how to get anywhere in this town. I despise it." He pulled up in front of the cafe and hit the brakes.

"Wait here," I said. "I won't be long."

"I should've asked for more money. I'm always getting cheated."

"Welcome to Hollywood."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The Formosa Cafe smelled of egg rolls and ghosts. Over the years the mahogany wood bar had been smoothed to a shadowy glint by the famous hands and elbows of Hollywood's heaviest drinkers. The Chinese decor, created with a set-designer's flamboyance, was bathed in a soft pinkish-red light that made all its patrons look younger. At least I had that to be thankful for.

At this time of day the place was almost empty except for a lone man at the bar and a couple huddled in a small both drinking their way through an affair. In a larger booth were Zaitlin, Beth Woods, and Jake Jackson, watching me walk toward them.

Jake, who was on the end, jumped up. "G.o.d, you look great, Diana."

The compliment of death, I thought. "Thank you," I said.

I slid in next to Zaitlin. Across the table from us was Beth. The spiked ends of her short henna-red hair looked as dull and blunted as useless knives. She took a long nervous draw from the straw in her Mai Tai. Jake sat back down next to her. The remains of pot-stickers, ribs, and rumaki lay cold in their dishes. Dipping sauce splattered the tablecloth. Zaitlin and Jake were nursing hot tea from small cups.

"We've been interviewing actresses for Jenny's part." Jake's voice was glazed with a Southern drawl.

I nodded and smiled.

"Would you like something to drink?" Zaitlin asked, attempting to ease the situation.

"No."

A faded Boston Red Sox cap was pulled low over Jackson's s.h.a.ggy blond hair, shading his slightly crossed blue eyes. Somehow young girls and the camera loved him. He was the new Paul Newman, the new Robert Redford, the new Matt Damon, the new Owen Wilson, the new Ryan Gosling. He was new, new. Making me feel old, old.

"Jake has another commitment," Beth said, finally looking at me. "We have a short period of time to finish shooting his scenes."

"Where's Heath?" Zaitlin asked looking around.

"The last time I saw him he was in Camarillo, eating a chicken tostado and watching out a restaurant window as I got into a taxi. That reminds me, the driver's waiting for you to pay him." I could still feel Heath's eyes burning into my back.

Zaitlin gaped at me. "You took a cab all the way from Camarillo? How much is that going to cost!"

"I don't know. Traffic was a b.i.t.c.h."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Diana." He leaned into me, struggling to get his wallet out of his back pocket. I could see he had shaved unevenly and what hair he had left was beginning to sprout on his usually smooth cranium.

He pulled a wad of money from his wallet and handed it to Beth. "Pay the cab."

"I'm going to need him to take me back to Malibu," I said.

He pushed more bills at her. "Tell him to wait."

Jake stood up again to let her out.

"I'll drive you home," she told me.

"It's out of your way," I said.

"No, no. I'm glad to do it." She hurried toward the entrance.

"Don't let her order another Mai Tai," Jake said as he sat back down. "I can't stand women who drink too much. They get mouthy." Jake's crumpled shirt hung out of his jeans. Except for his expensive Patek Philippe watch, you'd never know he was worth millions. He slouched down in the booth, moody under his cap.

"What else can't you stand, Jake?" I asked.

"Diana ..." Zaitlin warned under his breath.

Jake adjusted the bill of his cap like a baseball pitcher right before he throws at his opponent's head. "This wasn't an easy decision for us." His cupid lips drooped in sympathy.

"We haven't cast anyone yet. First we have to cast Jenny's role," Zaitlin explained into his tea.

"You were brilliant in the part, Diana," Jake said, "but it was the urn. Everything would've been cool if it weren't for you and the urn on the news. I mean, I just can't get my head around the image. And I don't think the public can either. Every time you appear on the screen they're going to think ... urn."

"You mean you couldn't' get your image around the image."

He lifted his new, new chin. "There's no reason to make this personal."

"You're an actor. You know exactly how personal it is. Or have you forgotten so quickly?"

I knew it was coming. But there is no way to prepare for the moment when the floor drops out from under you and you're freefalling through your own career, unable to grab hold of anything to stop the inevitable-rock bottom.

"Jake didn't have to be here," Zaitlin said. "He wanted to tell you himself because he respects you as an actor and as a human being."

Ignoring that piece of c.r.a.p, I asked him, "Did you contact Sam?" Sam Haskell was my agent.

"Yes," Zaitlin said. "But he wanted me to tell you."

A coward for an agent. Why am I not surprised? "I guess my own agent doesn't respect me as much as Jake does."

Jake was taking his sungla.s.ses from his shirt pocket and slipping them on.

Beth returned, taking in our glum group. "I see they told you."

"Yes."

"I was against it, Diana. I think you're wonderful in the role."

"Where's my change?" Zaitlin asked.

"There isn't any, and stop treating me like your gofer."

"See what I mean about the drinking?" Jake got to his feet once more. "Well, I'm glad we got this all cleared up. I know we'll work together again, Diana." Then he said to Zaitlin and Beth, "Catch you later." And the new, new was gone, gone.

Zaitlin patted my hand. "I'm sorry. But one door closes, another opens. That's how I look at this business. That's how you have to look at it too."

"Did you fight for me?"

"He did," Beth said, still standing.

Now Zaitlin edged around the booth. It was only then that I noticed how tired he looked. He pulled himself to his feet as if he were an old man. He spotted the check on the table. "You'd think the little p.r.i.c.k would pick up the tab, wouldn't you?" He grabbed it and went to the bar to pay.

Beth sat down and sucked up some more Mai Tai.

"Are you going to be able to drive me?" I asked.

She pushed the drink away. "Yes." With the focused intensity of a woman who sees life through the frame of a camera, she watched Zaitlin pay, put his wallet back into his pants pocket, and trod heavily out of the restaurant. "He doesn't look good, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. Neither do you. It seems Jenny's murder has taken a toll on all of us, one way or another."

"Do you have time for me to have a cup of coffee?"

"I'll have one, too."

She got the waiter's attention and ordered. I broke into tears.

"Oh, Diana, I'm so sorry." She reached across the table and held my hand.

I shook my head. "I've been crying a lot lately."

"You're a good actress. I think you're better than your mother was at your age. You won't have any trouble getting work."

"What if other people are like Jake and can't get their head around the image of me holding my mother's ashes? If I tried hard enough, I could blame her for all this and not Jake Jackson."

"He's full of s.h.i.t, and you know it. He'll be gone when he's thirty."

"Not soon enough."

Our coffee arrived. The waiter gave me an extra napkin and whispered, "For your tears." Which made me cry even more because I was sure he a.s.sumed I was crying over a man and not my career.

"I may not have another job after this one either," Beth said. "You know the gender politics in this business. How hard it is for a woman on the other side of the camera." Beth reached for her Mai Tai and took another long suck.

I blew my nose and wiped my face. "Oscar Wilde said that when people talk about the weather he always thought they meant something else."

Beth let out a throaty laugh. "Are you saying I'm not really talking about how difficult it is for women in Hollywood?" She paused, then admitted, "You're right. Jenny's death has taken a toll on me."

"How?" I asked.

"I screwed up. Something good happens, and I find a way to destroy it. I hit on her, Diana."

"It happens."

"I degraded myself. I groveled." She downed the last of her Mai Tai, not bothering with the straw.

I took a sip of my coffee and once again reminded myself never to order coffee in a Chinese restaurant. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you were one of the last people to speak to her."

"If you're worried she said something to me, she didn't."

"But if the police find out."

"From what you told me there's nothing to find out. Making a fool of yourself is not against the law. Yet."

"But rejection can be a motive." She took the tiny paper umbrella from her empty gla.s.s and twirled it in her fingers. "I guess seeing what Jake did to you has freaked me out. Let's go before I order another drink."

Even tipsy, Beth Woods drove better than the cab driver.

"Forget what I said back at the Formosa. Okay?" She smoothly shifted the gears of her dark blue 911 Porsche as we headed west on Santa Monica Boulevard. The traffic was b.u.mper to b.u.mper. In the daylight her skin looked puffy. Her brows too dark, too arched, for her pale worried face.

"But why would you think Jenny had told me about the two of you?"

"I thought she might try to use me in some way so Zaitlin wouldn't fire her."

"In what way?"

"Forget I brought it up, Diana. I talk too much when I drink."

"Zaitlin had no intention of firing her."

"Why not?"

"I just learned her father was backing the film. Did you know that?"

"Yes, but I didn't think he had that much control. I mean, he's only one source of the money. There are other backers, including the studio."

"One pulls out and they don't get somebody else, the movie stops dead. You know that." Being a director, Beth dealt with the finances of what it would cost to make the movie the way she wanted to shoot it. And then she compromised. "At Ben's party you told me that Jenny was evil."

"Maybe I thought she was evil because she made me feel like s.h.i.t."

"Have you talked to the police yet?"

"No. But they'll get around to me."