Her words were like blades in her throat. She couldn’t say the rest out loud: when it came right down to it, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of never reconciling with her dad. Remorse was driving her to make up for the estrangement between them, because she’d had so many chances to correct things while she’d been in L.A. before. He’d been only miles away from where she’d worked, where she’d played.
Now he was out of reach, and in some karmic manner, she deserved the bleeding punishments.
Kiko looked sympathetic. “Sometimes it takes a tragedy for everything to become clearer.”
Dawn nodded, busied herself by toying with her crucifix.
Neither of them said anything for a bit. Kiko got up, went down the hall, returned with a couple of vampire books and shoved them into her hands. Then he thumped back to the couch and turned on his TV. The impersonal blather coated Dawn’s inner wounds, a temporary balm that would disappear just as soon as she looked at Kiko’s compassionate gaze again.
At loose ends, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Verging out in front of the tube during the day wasn’t her style. For a girl who was used to working out everyday, whether it was at the gym or at a training session, sitting in one place while sunshine burned wasn’t her preference, especially when there was so much to deal with now.
She took a gander at the clock again. 3:15. “Kiko?”
He’d stopped channel surfing, lingering on the one show that was bound to take over the earth: Cops.
“Uh-huh?”
“Where are we?” she asked.
He laughed. “In low-rent heaven on Franklin Avenue
near the Hills.”
Hell, she knew the perfect place to go: somewhere close and useful.
She hovered nearer to him, nudged his leg with her shin. “You’d probably agree that it’s important to get some physical training in, right?”
“Definitely. But I’m tired. Just read.”
She prodded him again. “I thought I might get in a workout at my fencing studio. Do some networking to see what’s out there day job–wise at the same time. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be working with you guys forever. I need to look toward the future, too.”
“Networking?” Kiko sat up on the couch, circling the hook.
Dawn set about reeling him in. “A trip to the studio really is justified. I mean, surely we can take one hour out of the day for free time, don’t you think?”
“But your books—”
She gave him the Scout salute. “I promise to be a good study bunny when we get back.”
“I don’t know, Dawn….”
“Come on, Kik. We’ve worked all morning, and I ruled at mind blocking. You can’t deny that. A little recess is definitely in order.”
He sighed, but she could tell she had him.
“Fencing,” he said, trying very hard not to be into it.
“I worked on some episodes of Blades of Spain a year or so ago.” And, after the TV show had gotten cancelled, she’d continued going to the studio, partly because the more skills you had on your resume, the better. Also, fencing was a killer workout. But Dawn planned to take it easy today, go over some basics like footwork, see if Dipak, her coach, had a line on any productions that might be requiring her talents soon.
You had to keep up with the game in this town, she thought, because it sure wouldn’t keep up with you.
“I’m pretty sore,” Kiko said, making a tragically obvious last-ditch effort to be a pain in the ass.
“Aw, that’s too bad. My coach is in touch with who’s looking to cast what project.” Dawn turned around, strolled away, all coy. “If you’re into that.”
Suddenly healed, Kiko tested his shoulder. “I suppose I could stand to master more skills. Are you sure you’re up for a workout?”
Excellent. “What are you? A dandelion? I’ve fenced the day after a bookshelf landed on me during Slay Shay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Unless one of my limbs has fallen off, I’m all over a bit of strenuous effort.”
Well, that certainly did it for the male of the house. Kiko accepted the tossed gauntlet, donned a pair of new tennis shoes and sweats—which, of course, had pockets big enough for a small crucifix and a cell phone. Like Dawn, he was carrying a gym bag to hide the gun. They still had to get her registered, so flashing the weapons around wasn’t on the agenda.
Off they went to the studio, leaving the old-school seventies cheer of his apartment complex and traveling to Gower Street
.
Once inside the studio, nostalgia hit Dawn with the overpowering stench of stale sweat. The echoes of shoes scuffing the gymnasium-wood floor and steel clashing against steel surrounded the masked fencers. They were dressed in white jackets and wielding their blades, sparring.
Kiko was wearing his damned sunglasses, and Dawn motioned for him to take them off. Using them inside was dopey.
“Ditch your shades,” she said.
“Nope.”
“Listen, if you’re Jack Nicholson, you get to wear sunglasses anywhere you want. If you’re Joe Blow, Struggling Actor, you look plain pathetic. Everybody who thinks they should be somebody wears them inside. Taking them off at this point is the new cool.” She put her hands together in prayer. “Please do the right thing.”
“Nope.”
Dipak, a tall, lean man in his late thirties who hailed from Calcutta, welcomed Dawn with the relish of a long-lost cousin, hugging her and “where have you been”ing her. After they caught up, he turned to Kiko, dark brown gaze assessing the little person’s physical attributes.
“I suppose we will need children’s gear for you.”
As Kiko opened his mouth to respond, Dawn rushed to cover the possible awkwardness. God knew when Kiko would decide that he’d been offended.
“We can rent equipment here,” she said smoothly, as if continuing a conversation. “Come on, let’s gear up.”
She pulled him away, waving to Dipak.
“I will be back to coach you.” He donned his mask and moved on to two foil fencers who were hooked to a machine that beeped when one of them hit their body target and scored a point.
“I’ve always wanted to be a pirate,” an unaffected Kiko said as they went to the equipment room.
Happy Kiko. And it was good.
They picked out their jackets and masks. Dawn had to use a breastplate, so she secured one of those, too, as well as a rancid glove that’d seen better days.
“You don’t own your own stuff?” Kiko asked, sniffing at one of the gloves. He tested a tiny jacket, also, but those were frequently washed, so he looked more optimistic after that olfactory experience.
“Owning is too expensive.” After taking off her long earring, Dawn chose sabers for both of them, even though she knew he wouldn’t be using the blade today. But sabers were way more exhilarating because you got to cut and thrust as opposed to merely getting points for contacting the target areas with a foil’s tip.
As they went back to the floor, Kiko said, “I wonder how many little people can fence. Maybe I can corner this market.”
“Hell, yes, you can.” She dug Kiko’s enthusiasm. “We’ll chat with Dipak about it.”
Kiko gave an excited hop. “See, I knew meeting you would bring great things. And I’m not just talking about…” He glanced around furtively. “You know.”
Damn. And here she’d forgotten about vamps for a blessed minute. But that probably wasn’t a good thing. “I know. Take off those sunglasses, please.”
He did, probably thinking that pirates didn’t need shades.
Sans masks and gloves, they stretched, Kiko complaining about his soreness and then getting all google-eyed at Dawn’s flexibility as she eased into the splits. The more limber she was for lunging, the better. Soon, she got him started on the proper en guarde position, adjusting the bend of his front leg, the angle of his blade arm. He sucked in a breath every time she touched him, but…whatever. Kiko could tough
this out as much as she could. She taught him how to advance, then retreat.
Dipak finally made it over. He pointed at Kiko’s feet. “Oh, this footwork, my tiny friend. It is not satisfactory, not satisfactory at all.”
Knowing what a drill sergeant Dipak could be, Dawn stiffened, waiting for Kiko to freak out at the blunt criticism. But he didn’t. Nope, instead, he good-naturedly went along with the coaching, grinning at Dawn the whole time.
Cool.
“Dawn,” Dipak said, “a favor, please?”
“Sure.”
He jerked his head toward the other side of the room. “Run to the washer and put the jackets into the dryer? Later, perhaps we can cross blades and chat while your friend practices what he has learned.”
Dipak the taskmaster. How she’d missed him. “Done.”
Leaving a now-focused Kiko, Dawn hustled to the small laundry room and finished her assignment, eager to return to the floor and see how rusty her skills had gotten. The last time she’d fenced was about a month ago—dog years in this sport.
She’d crossed half the room on her way back when she was stopped by another student.
“Excuse me? Can I…?” The woman gestured to her jacket. She had it on backward.
She was a redhead, her long hair braided, her body toned and long-limbed. A starlet, Dawn thought, hardly taking a second look at her.
Dawn’s favorite Hollywood creature.
“New to fencing?” Dawn asked, impatiently getting the girl out of the jacket and buttoning her into it the right way.
“Yes, I am. My agent wants me to do some training because there’s this part in the new Will Smith movie that requires some ability. Can’t hurt to try it, right?”
The breathing mannequin—early twenties, probably, though you never knew—waited with friendly patience for an answer as Dawn inspected her work. Dawn could sense the the girl’s neediness for recognition out of the corner of her eye.
Wiping her hands of the girl, she remained distant, walking away without another glance. “Good luck with that audition.”
She could feel the starlet watching her leave, probably cussing her out for being such a pill. Dawn told herself it didn’t matter.
When she got back, Dipak had already left to yell at two épée fencers with sloppy technique.
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow,” Kiko said in a purring British accent, using his new footwork and slashing the air with his invisible sword. “Savvy?”
“Savvy.” Dawn bent down into her own en guarde position. Ooo—a little pain in the barbed calf.
“So who’s your new friend?” Kiko pointed his air sword at the starlet. “Boy, Dawn, could you have been more rude? You practically rolled her in and out of her jacket like it was a carpet and she was a stowaway.”
He was giving her a chastising look.
“What?” she asked.
“Minute by minute, I’m finding out that you’re kinda antisocial.”
She laughed. “Antisocial or picky? Tom-ay-toes, tom-ah-toes.”
Then she went back to position, advancing, retreating. Footwork in itself would make you sweat. And that was before you got into the mask—the fencer’s sauna.
Kiko came to stand in front of her, hands on his hips. “Jeez, you barely even looked at her when she was trying to be friendly and engage you in a conversation.”
Dawn gave up. “Kik, she’s a starlet. They’re here today, gone yesterday. What’s the use?”
Even as she said it, she knew she was being too harsh. But excuses were so much easier than getting down to the truth: the anguish of knowing that her mother had been one of them. The fact that the gorgeous masses, like Eva, made life hard for the average girl in America by creating an impossible standard of beauty to compete with.
Dawn would rather ignore them than know them.
“Starlets are people, too,” Kiko said.
“Are they?” She lunged forward, her heart pattering, her breath coming faster.
Kiko didn’t move from his soapbox. “I notice that you manage to get along with guys all fine and good, but when you have to deal with a female…whoo.”
“I get along with Breisi,” Dawn said, panting.
“Watching you two interact is like hearing nails screeching down a blackboard. What’s your deal? You’re warming up to me just fine—because who wouldn’t—and you get along with the boss….”
She blushed, tried to control it. “Maybe I’m just used to hanging out with guys. Did you ever think of that?”
“Not good enough.”
Dawn held up her hand, and he stopped. She didn’t want to get into the nuances of her inner mechanics.
Glancing over at the starlet, Kiko dismissed Dawn with a wave. “Too damned bad. She’s hot. You could’ve introduced us but nooo…. Now I’m never gonna meet my future wife.”
Dawn had to stop her footwork because she was laughing, more out of nervous thankfulness that Kiko had ended his diatribe than anything. As Kiko asked her what was so funny, she couldn’t help peeking at the redhead again. And why not? Since she hadn’t looked at the girl long enough to get a reading on a beauty queen scale of one to ten, now was her chance.
But Dawn was too late. She caught the starlet sliding the mask over her face. Then the girl stood still for a moment, watching Dawn before turning to shake hands with Dipak as he welcomed her.
“She’s going to sweat to death,” Dawn said to herself, thinking she should maybe go back over there just to tell the girl to wear the mask only when necessary. And to keep Kiko off her case. Shouldn’t she?
Kiko’s sweatpants started ringing. He unzipped a pocket and took out his cell phone, checking the number first.
“Breisi,” he said, suddenly Business Kiko.
Hardly in the mood for something as irrelevant as social niceties anymore, Dawn listened to the one-sided conversation.
“We’re on our way.” He cut the line, taking off toward the equipment room as Dawn kept up.
“What happened?” she asked, a heavy feeling dogging her.
“We’re going to talk to one of Robby’s last costars, Klara Monaghan. Breisi just tracked her down.”
Dawn’s pulse picked up momentum. “Why is she important?”
Kiko glanced at her, his cheeks going a little pale. “She’s saying Mr. Pennybaker was some kind of pimp.”
Eleven
The Informant
Klara Monaghan sat in front of the mirror in a makeup trailer on location in Santa Monica, where a TV show, Manic Five, was shooting on the amusement park–studded pier. She sat still under the deft touch of the production’s cosmetic artist, who was turning the actress into a prostitute.
“It’s only a bit part,” Klara said apologetically, “but it’s better than nothing.”
In spite of her smooth face, the skin of her hands was getting wrinkled, showing a middle-forty age range that she would never admit to. Her tinted auburn hair was cotton-candied up into a mockery of a beehive.
As Breisi crowded the chair during her “good cop” act, Dawn and Kiko sat to the side, out of the way. The make-up artist kept shooting their associate irritated glances, and Dawn couldn’t blame him. The area was cramped with chairs and supplies, including a variety of wigs.
When the man finished his makeover, Klara led everyone outside. She’d wanted privacy while telling them the most sensitive information about the Pennybakers.
They all stood at the back of the trailer while the lighting was set for the next scene. Summer heat waned as the ocean shimmered and winked at the coming of twilight.
Stretching her arms over her head, Klara leaned against the trailer, her aging body aerobicized and yogacized. “I hope you don’t mind me warming up while we talk.”
“Please, no, go ahead,” Breisi said. She was wearing another cartoon bear shirt under her light jacket, this one featuring Teddy with a baseball bat. “We’re very interested to know more about what you told me on the phone. It could help us to get a better
idea of Robby’s circumstances.”
“I hope so.” Klara worked the kinks out of her neck. “When I saw the news about Robby on Entertainment Tonight, everything I know about him started to bother me again. Not that it ever stopped, really, but it seemed tawdry to dwell on it after the kid died. What would be the use? I kept my mouth shut for years, but then, a couple weeks ago, I saw his poor mom on TV giving a statement to the press, and I realized that Robby isn’t dead—not to her. She seemed desperate to find out what’s happening, so I contacted her from a friend’s phone out of town—to express condolences and support as one of Robby’s coworkers, you know? But I didn’t want to discuss…everything. I couldn’t bring myself to. Luckily, that’s when you called.”
As Kiko worked on his bad-cop glower, Dawn touched the crucifix under her T-shirt and jacket, her eyes scanning the area. With the sun making its way to the horizon, she was on alert, thinking about those vamps from last night.
Were they going to show themselves once darkness fell?
Breisi took an affable, one-hand-on-one-hip stance. “You were referred to us by Mrs. Pennybaker. We check all recent contacts, but it took us a while to find you.”
“My cell got turned off and I was out of state. But I’m all paid up now.” Klara embarked on her diction exercises, stretching open her mouth, as if chewing on a really big piece of taffy. Then she paused. “Maybe what I have to contribute won’t matter, but at least I’ll have it off my conscience.”
A crewmember carrying props—oversized stuffed animals—hustled by. The aging actress waited for him to pass.
Then she slowly eased into it. “When I first met Robby, during the read-through for the movie we did together—his final one—he was such a little doll, so scrubbed-up and huggable. He could’ve been Theodore Cleaver, don’t you know. ‘Can I get you any food from the service table, Miss Monaghan?’ ‘I really loved you in Benji Goes to the Dogs, Miss Monaghan.’ Sweet.” Klara looked off into the distance, smiling. “Charming as the dickens. But”—the smile disappeared—“his dad was enough to make you forget about that. Mr. Pennybaker was the biggest stage parent I’ve ever seen. He drove the director nuts with his suggestions about how to put Robby into more scenes or how to compose a shot so it would flatter him. Once, I caught him watching the kid act as the cameras were going. Nathan was saying every line along with his son—just like he was Robby.”
Night Rising Page 11
