Mark looks surprised and says, “What do you mean?”
“Okay, I’m just going to say it. You act happy, but I can’t always feel it. It feels like something is a little off in the ‘perfect romance’ department. Beth thinks so, too. Then again, she thinks Susana is the most self-centered witch ever born…”
“I love Susana,” Mark blurts out. He can hear the defensiveness in his own voice. Sal backs right off.
“Okay, buddy. That’s great.”
“Yes, it is,” Mark says, indignant.
“Fair enough,” Sal replies. But he can’t help pushing further. “What about Susana? Do you think she loves you? Or could she love the ‘idea of you’ … of being a Montgomery-Lathem?”
Mark winces. “Sal, you’re killing me here,” he says. “What kind of question is that to ask, a couple of months before I’m supposed to get married?”
Sal backs away with his tongs in the air, raining bits of confectioner’s sugar, and says, “Okay, okay. It’s just a question.”
“She tells me she loves me all the time.”
“Okay, then,” Sal says.
“Okay.”
Mark sits in silence. “You’re talking about that thing with my mom at the studio luncheon, aren’t you?”
“Well, it was a little transparent of Susana to follow Dana around all day and pressure her to introduce her to producers,” Sal recalls.
“You think Susana is using me to get Mom to help her with her career.”
“Hey, buddy, your words, not mine,” Sal says. He completes the cannoli tower and looks at Mark nervously.
“Now you’ve got me worried. What do you think I should do?”
“I wish I knew. You’ll have to listen to your gut.”
Mark shoots him an exasperated look. “Well, you’re no help,” he says. “If we review, my love life looks like this: My ex, Beth, hates my fiancée, Susana. My mom hates my ex and tolerates my fiancée because she ‘checks all the boxes.’ According to you, women only love me for my money. And I’m engaged to a woman who may or may not love me, but who definitely loves what my mom can do for her acting career. Does that about cover it?”
Sal smiles at his friend sympathetically and says, “Yep. That about covers it. Sorry, buddy. Guess you’ll just have to cuddle up to those billions to keep you warm at night.”
Laughing ruefully, Mark says, “Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re just hopelessly cynical and projecting all over the place. Is there anybody in ‘Sal’s World’ who loves anything?”
“Yes, actually. Dana loves Blaine. All of the women in the world love Blaine. Blaine really loves Blaine.”
Mark throws up his hands. “Well, I wish Mom didn’t love Blaine. Everyone told her he was marrying her for her money and connections. She’s too insecure to divorce him, and she doesn’t want to admit she was wrong about him. Sometimes they seem to love each other, and sometimes it all seems like acting.”
Sal nods reassuringly and Mark continues, sounding worried now. “She was so adamant about their ‘undying love’ in the press that TMZ would destroy her over this.”
Sal laughs and says, “I don’t know if TMZ actually can kill you, but if it can, let’s get them to kill Blaine instead of Dana.” Now Sal is on a roll, amusing himself while trying to lift Mark out of his mood. “Your mom’s a smoking hot babe, and I’m not married yet. I could always toss Beth over to become the next ‘Mr. Dana Montgomery.’ Heck, I’d even sign a prenup. Rich, talented, and hot. Come on … let me hear you say it once. Who’s your daddy?”
Mark suddenly looks like a cat coughing up a furball. “Eeyew. No ‘hot’ talk about Mom, okay? I can’t un-see this, you know!”
Sal’s voice trails off as he keeps the joke going. “Rich and hot. My favorite type…”
Chapter 10
It is Friday at 2:15 p.m. A few miles west of the Hollywood Academy of Creative Arts, a Rolls-Royce Dawn convertible travels west on Olympic Drive before hanging a right on La Peer. The driver waves to his friend, Henry, as he shortcuts up the tree-lined street. Detouring from Santa Monica Boulevard up Rexford to Carmelita and back down to North Camden Drive, he wheels into a parking spot labeled, “Parking for Ethan Luce, Los Angeles District Attorney. All others will be towed.”
Ethan Luce bounds out of the Rolls and into the elevator. After picking up three lattés in the lobby, he throws open the door of Luce and Wilde. A smart, athletic widower, Ethan is retired from Luce and Wilde and beginning another term as district attorney. His “William Powell” wit and charm have made him a media darling, a worthy courtroom adversary, and a potential candidate for attorney general.
Exchanging greetings, the topic of conversation turns to Mercy’s mother, award-winning actress, Francesca Wilde.
“Mom called. She’s thrilled to be home,” Mercy says. “She loved New York, but hated the director. And she wanted to be sure that we were going to be at Dana’s charity dinner.”
“Seriously?” sighs Joseph. “Mercy, I love your mom, but do we have to go to Dana’s party just to please Francesca? Watching Dana and Blaine spar until one of them stomps out … must we?”
“We must if we want peace. And if I have to go, you and Ethan have to go. I may need backup. Can’t hide my Sig under the dress I’m wearing.”
Joseph eyes her gorgeous figure and imagines it in a revealing cocktail dress. “That form-fitting, huh? Okay, I’ll take one for the team. Count me in.”
Mercy turns to Ethan, who says, “Don’t worry … Ches called me earlier to make sure I’d be available to escort her to the party.” He takes another long, approving look at a photo of Francesca that hangs near the desk. “Believe me, it’s no problem at all.”
“I think this entire frenemy thing between Mom and Dana has gone on long enough,” says Mercy.
“It’s all for ‘show’ anyway,” she continues. “If Mom doesn’t go, there will be tabloid articles about her snubbing Dana. Then, we’ll all be on every low-rent paper along every grocery store checkout in the world. Think of the party as a tetanus shot. Painful, but it’s over quicker than you think, and a vaccination against upcoming discomfort.”
Chapter 11
Inside the Robbery-Homicide division of the LAPD, Lucienne Wilde stands in front of her boss and godfather, Chief of Police James Crayton, holding back a temper tantrum. With gritted teeth and both hands by her sides, clenched into fists, she pleads the same case that she pleaded during their lunch date earlier in the day.
“Chief, seriously, don’t do this. There is a reason that the Vice Squad never requested me. You know I stink at playing dress-up.”
James says, “I understand that, Detective, which is why I put you in Robbery-Homicide. And you have found your niche here. You have made more homicide arrests in the past three years than the next four detectives combined.”
“With all due respect, Chief, why am I being dressed up like a Barbie Doll and sent to deal with a bunch of Hollywood big shots? Can you imagine the forced conversation that I’ll have to endure? Are we expecting a murder, other than that of my self-esteem?”
“No, you’ll be on burglary detail with Detective Lawshé. Dana lost fifty Gs in tchotchkes during her last charity event. Nobody is sure if it’s the guests, the catering staff or uninvited persons who manage to make their way in during the massive confusion.”
Lucienne perks up, hopefully. “Catering detail! I could do that, Chief. I’d fit in much better.”
James motions for Lucienne to sit down. “Luci, you’re my goddaughter. Ethan, Stephen, and my brother Carmelo were my best friends all the way through college and after, and nobody felt Stephen’s loss more than I did. You and Mercy and Joseph are family to your Aunt Rena and me. We love you just as much as we love our own children.”
“We love you, too, Uncle James, and I’m so grateful that you are always there for me when I need ‘dad-type’ advice. You know I’d do anything for you, personally or professionally. But having me dress up in Mercy’s clothes to pr
etend to fit in with those people is going to embarrass us all. What if I snag one of her stiletto heels on a bumpy spot and go headlong into the cake? I’m not refusing the assignment. I’m just pointing out that there are plenty of detectives who can pull off this kind of undercover post better than I,” she pleads.
A slight smile crosses his face. “Luci, I’ve known you since you were born. I have watched you and Mercy grow into two strong, independent, and very different women. But, one thing I know is that either of you can do whatever you set your minds to. She, of course, will be dressed in couture like your mom, and you’ll be dressed sensibly and comfortably like your dad.”
Lucienne smiles. “Thank you for saying that, Uncle James. Dad died so long ago that I love it when we have a chance to bring him up. I still feel like he’s around, you know?”
“Me, too. And I can assure you that not only would Stephen have been proud of your police work, but he would have known that there is enough ‘Francesca Wilde’ in you that you can fit in with the Hollywood crowd because you’re Ches’s daughter.”
“With none of her fashion sense, I’m afraid,” bemoans Lucienne.
“No worries,” says James. “You know how much your mom and sister love to take people shopping. We’ll be depending upon them to dress you. Your ‘plus one’ will be Frank Lawshé from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. The head of the West Hollywood division has agreed to lend him to be on our task force.”
“Detective Lawshé? The one they call ‘Inspector Rothschild?’ Please no, Uncle James. That guy should be working with Interpol, not going to a party with me. It will be like James Bond dating Olive Oyl. No fairy godmother treatment is going to make that believable.”
James puts on his “Chief’s voice” and turns the screw. “Detective Wilde, this is an assignment for which you are uniquely qualified. Like it or not, you are part of Hollywood royalty. Nobody will find it suspicious if you show up with your family and an extremely polished date at Dana Montgomery’s party. From what I understand, you are invited every year, and every year, you have found an excuse to work that evening.”
He continues, “So this year, you will be working again. You’ll just be working at Dana Montgomery’s party, not at a homicide scene. Are we clear?”
Lucienne stands up straight and says, “Yes, Chief. And I will do my best, sir.”
She softens and adds, “And I promise to not fall into the cake or the punch bowl if at all possible.”
James laughs and leans back in his chair. “Just hang onto Lawshé, smile, and find the shortest heels in Mercy’s closet so you don’t have to navigate too many gopher holes.”
“And Detective, not a word of this to anyone, not even your sister or mother, until I’ve had the chance to discuss it with them first. Understood?”
Lucienne salutes and leaves the office in disbelief at her new assignment.
Chapter 12
Alone in his classroom after all of the students have left, Blaine sits at his desk, flipping a piece of chalk between his thumb and forefinger as smoothly as a Blackjack dealer shuffling cards. Wiping the chalk off his hands, he reaches into the back of his desk drawer and pulls out an old copy of Great Expectations.
One of the few personal items that came with him when he hopped on a train from Demopolis, Alabama to Los Angeles, the book has become brittle with age. Blaine opens it to a middle page and feels the crackle of the dried glue in the spine. As he flips through the pages and as illustrations and tiny print flash past, something falls out and lands on the desk. Blaine picks up a small, black-and-white photograph of a person he barely recognizes. Little Evie Corb. His former self. An alien.
Only one other time since marrying Dana has Blaine stumbled across this photograph, and both times, the discovery has hit him with the force of a blow. Holding the dog-eared picture in his hands, he stares straight at it and thinks about the circuitous route that brought him to where he is today.
When Evie Corb got off the train from Demopolis at Los Angeles Union Station, the enormous art deco chandeliers and marble floors took his breath away. He had one suitcase, one suit, two casual outfits, a pair of shoes and fifty dollars to his name.
Evie’s father had abandoned the family when he was a child, and as the eldest of seven children, young Evie was forced to grow up quickly. He went to work at the age of ten to help out with bills and to support his mom and six brothers and sisters. Until he enlisted in the Air Force, he never had seen a town with a population bigger than seven thousand people.
The first pair of new shoes he owned were issued by the military. His childhood shoes were hand-me-down loafers that he got from the church charity, and they never fit. Whereas many older folks like to say that they walked barefoot three miles to school through the woods, Evie literally did this.
With the help of the G.I. Bill, he and his military-issued shoes graduated from the University of Alabama, where he fell in love with the theater.
Growing up poor, Evie did not have much to go back to in Demopolis, so he decided to set out for Tinseltown. He figured that being a starving actor would be better than spending the rest of his life pushing a rickety plow behind an underfed mule. With his good looks and ability to quickly pick up dialogue and stage direction, he thought he might be lucky enough to work as an extra … and he was.
With the money he made waiting on tables for his first few months in LA, he enrolled in an acting workshop. His natural charm and talent impressed his teacher, who put him in contact with her agent. Two weeks later, Evie Corb (a dreadful stage name) became “Blaine Jeffries,” taking his first name from Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, in Casablanca, and his last from Jeff Beck, his favorite musician of all time.
Blaine’s ability to digest and remember an eighty-page script on one read-through landed him a job on a soap opera. His way with the ladies, including the casting director, kept him employed. Despite his good fortune, he ate soup, rented a friend’s walk-in closet to use as an apartment, and slept on a mat to save money.
A few casting directors later, Blaine landed the lead in a couple of primetime series. When the series he was working on was canceled, he tried his hand at Broadway and snagged the fourth lead in The Philadelphia Story with Daniel Lathem, Dana Montgomery and Francesca Wilde.
That is when he developed a profound crush on Dana Montgomery, as most men do.
It happened gradually during their rehearsals. Blaine would be sitting at the front of the house watching Dana run lines, and he would suddenly notice that he had been staring at her for fifteen minutes without realizing it.
One afternoon when Dana’s character was practicing a short speech, her grasp of the nuances of the scene of Tracy turning down Mike’s proposal because of Liz’s feelings was so quiet … so intense … that it moved Blaine to tears. As he turned away and raised his sleeve to wipe away a couple of real tears, it hit him that he wanted her.
There was nothing to do but suppress this fact and maintain a professional relationship. Daniel was the love of Dana’s life, and there was no question of getting between them.
After Daniel died, Dana returned to Hollywood. She was racked by grief but determined to re-enter society after a short time and keep going, if only for the sake of her son. She was offered a key role on a good mini-series but had to pull out when she could not concentrate well enough to remember her lines. The grief was still palpable after six months, and she often thought she was losing her mind. She began drinking more, and within that first year after Daniel’s death, she stumbled through two short, failed marriages with men that seemed to have nothing in common with her. At around the time her third marriage was blowing up, Blaine was cast in a feature film that took him back to Los Angeles. That is when the studio set up a date for him and Dana to discuss the project, a remake of Body Heat, and he did his best to make it count.
Blaine followed the gossip columns and knew that husband number three was on his way out. One columnist speculated tha
t Dana was still grieving and would not be able to make any marriage work. Another faulted her for not “putting in the work” to succeed. Then a paparazzo snapped some pics of her husband coming out of a hotel with a young starlet, and everyone, including Blaine, knew it was over. Dana would never stand for that. From that moment, Blaine set his sights on Dana and resolved to become her fourth, and last, husband.
Their courtship was quick and intense. During their first date, Blaine confessed to Dana that he had developed a powerful crush on her back in New York and told her why. Dana was so moved by his description of falling in love with her through her craft that she sat across from him in a little restaurant in Brentwood and cried real tears. Dana was older than Blaine, but like most Hollywood stars she looked twenty years younger than her years, and they married without ever discussing their age difference in any detail.
Dana and Blaine’s wedding was the event of the season — a Hollywood fête held on the studio’s biggest sound stage, orchestrated by publicists. Less than three months after their first date, Dana and Blaine stood before a justice of the peace to the stars, surrounded by a hastily assembled wedding party of Dana’s closest friends: Stephen and Francesca Wilde, Ann and Ethan Luce, and James and Rena Crayton, and recited their vows. It was such short notice that James’s brother, Carmelo, and his wife, Nancy, could not attend. Despite his young age, Mark served as best man.
No one said anything at the time, but it was an inescapable fact of their whirlwind relationship that Dana and Blaine knew very little about each other when they exchanged rings. And sure enough, it did not take long for differences to bubble to the surface.
It was all so predictable. Dana, the insecure star, drank a little too much, and Blaine, an incorrigible flirt who needed everyone to love him, continued to pay inappropriate attention to every attractive woman in his orbit. When jealousy got the better of Dana, she shut down, often refusing to talk to Blaine for days. He, in turn, used her coldness as an excuse to flirt. Inevitably, this led Dana to drink even more, and on the cycle went.
The Case of the Stained Stilettos Page 4
