A failed child actor, Dawn thought. It made sad sense.
She’d seen stage parents on set before. Nightmares. More often than not they were living vicariously through their children, and it sounded like Nathan wasn’t any different. Sure, he’d put on some great waterworks last night—losing Robby had probably been as traumatic as losing his own career.
But what about the rest of the story, like the pimping part that Kiko had mentioned? And how would all this lead to Frank?
Before Dawn could ask, Klara continued. “About two weeks into production, things started getting…I guess you’d say, icky. Me and Robby had become friends. I was just starting out, fresh-faced and all that.” She had a faraway glow, a glory-day melancholy about her. “Robby liked to get close to you physically, hold your hand, the like. I was his big sister—don’t you know how relationships form on the set? You become a family, because nothing much exists outside of the production most times. Besides, I heard he ran around with older friends; he related to adults better than kids. But then…”
Breisi and Kiko waited her out, probably because they had trained to be effective listeners, tuning in to body language as well as what was being said out loud.
But Dawn’s balled anger made her impatient. “Then what?”
Her question took Klara Monaghan out of her reverie. A sea breeze huffed at her vivid beehive as she focused on Dawn, almost as if just realizing that she existed.
Kiko pinched her, and she took the hint. Shut up and allow the well-oiled machine that was Kiko and Breisi to perform.
Couldn’t they hurry it up?
“You were saying?” Breisi asked, giving Dawn her own chiding pinch of a stare.
The cotton candy–haired actress blinked, her hand going to the looser skin of her neck. It clashed with the surgery-enhanced tightness of her face.
“This is a little embarrassing,” Klara said.
Breisi put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “We appreciate your honesty. Marla will appreciate it.”
That did the trick. Klara rested a palm against her throat, covered her chest with the other arm, cocooning herself.
“One day, when we were waiting around for our next scene, Robby leaned against me. He…” Klara’s fingers fluttered against her skin, finding the proper way to say this. “…he put his cheek against my arm. At first. But, well, then he moved over just a touch, putting his lips on my…” She motioned to her breast. “He started nuzzling me, looking up at me with this…this kind of come-hither invitation. He was twelve.”
Although Dawn tried not to change expression, something inside of her cracked. Shit like this was par for the course on a movie set; entitled behavior, even from a kid, wasn’t a big shocker. Good public relations work and a delusional need to put movie stars on a pedestal kept the general public in the dark about the real Hollywood, but that didn’t make it right.
It didn’t make it easier to stomach, either.
“Do you think you misinterpreted his actions?” Breisi asked, undetered. “Maybe he accidentally brushed you and that look he gave you wasn’t what you thought it was?”
“If it’d happened once, yes. And if I hadn’t seen Nathan nearby, watching, I probably would’ve been less disturbed. Kids his age get experimental, don’t you know? They start wondering what sex is all about. But Robby got more persistent day by day, and his dad started inching closer and closer to us while it was happening, sort of like he was coaching Robby or…God…even getting off on the sight of it, I suppose. You could tell that little kid was going to grow up to be a lady killer, I tell you, and I wonder if Nathan Pennybaker lived through Robby in that way, too…If he liked to see how off balance it made me, if he felt like he was dominating me through Robby.”
She tightened her arms around herself. “I ended up shutting myself in my trailer to avoid them, but I still had to work with Robby. I still had look at him and get creeped out about what he and his dad were up to.”
Dawn couldn’t hold back. “Did you report the harassment?”
“No, no. I wanted a career, not a reputation for making trouble. Not that it mattered though. The jobs dried up during the next few years anyway.”
Steam whistled in Dawn’s head. When Darrin Ryder had felt her up during her last gig, she hadn’t done dip officially. She was no idiot. Initiating sexual harassment charges against a powerful star would only result in him trotting out twenty witnesses who’d say Dawn was lying. Better to give the pervert a banzai smash in the groin and hope that he associated the pain with making the same mistake in the future. Better to take a chance on securing justice herself than to be ridiculed and, as Klara had said, banned from this small entertainment community.
Yup, Dawn’s way had merit, because there were stunt coordinators and directors out there who would choose skill over hard-assedness any day. There were friends of friends who might admire a tough-as-nails stuntwoman and appreciate that she could discreetly solve her own problems—as long as she was good enough for them to take the risk of hiring her.
In fact, she knew that there were a few maverick directors who would name a holiday after her for quietly going vigilante on Darrin Ryder.
All they had to do was look at her headshot and résumé….
Klara was talking again. “Unfortunately, Robby’s advances didn’t stop there.” Her fingers worked at her throat, long, lacquered red nails like clamps. “With a week left on the shoot, Nathan Pennybaker began asking me strange questions. What kind of men did I like? Older ones? Young ones? He was saying it like he was joking around, but I got the feeling he wasn’t, so I told him to bug off. Later, after we wrapped, I found out that some other actresses—andactors—had gone through the same treatment with Robby and Nathan.”
Breisi looked miffed. “Why was this never made public?”
“Are you kidding?” Klara said, her hand dropping. “Robby was a big star. Teflon. A crazy story like mine wouldn’t stick to him. A child commodity with a Golden Globe who had the world at his fingertips. No one would believe even a hint of what was really going on.”
“The Hollywood code of silence,” Dawn added.
Klara nodded at her, her gaze catching Dawn’s in understanding. “But that’s not the worst of it. Rumor has it that a few women and older men—studio heads and producers—with a certain fetish had taken Nathan up on his offers.”
Holy crap. “Do you know that for sure?”
Now nobody was shutting her up.
“You bet I believe what I heard,” Klara said. “And from what I went through, I can’t say I’m stunned.”
“Damn,” Kiko finally said.
He wandered closer to Klara, shaking his head in consolation, then put his hand on her lower arm.
The action was twofold. First, Dawn knew he was reading the woman, seeking the veracity of her claims. Second, he was playing a psychological game, too. She’d seen that clear enough with Mrs. Pennybaker’s reaction to Kiko last night.
He had the power and appearance to act childlike, evoking trust, recalling what Robby’s career was built on: innocence.
When Klara’s gaze settled on his hand, Dawn was pretty sure she was picturing and reliving Robby just like Mrs. Pennybaker had done, that she was taking Kiko back on a mind journey to what had happened during his final film.
After a moment, Kiko let go, stepped back to his place next to Dawn. He nodded at her.
Klara Monaghan was on the up-and-up.
“There’s something else,” the older actress said, suddenly shy and probably even slightly confused by what had just happened. “Word was that Nathan Pennybaker made a habit of encouraging Robby to be aggressive, with females and movie bosses alike. That kid knew more about the biz than people twice his age, and he knew how to act, that one. He was so good. Good enough to take everything he wanted, whether it was a meaty part or a starlet. I shudder to think what Robby would be like today.”
Right. Maybe Robby would’ve grown up to be another Nathan. Maybe it
was best that the world remember the lie of Robby Pennybaker as a cute, lovable boy and not as the ugly truth.
Yet that was impossible after his scandalous death, after this new image of him had come out in Diaper Derby. Now, to the public, Robby was a drugged-out recluse, a freak of the media who made the masses long for the return of the sweet-faced, perfect child he’d once been.
Klara had started running through a slew of tongue twisters in preparation for her dialogue.
“One more thing,” Breisi said. “Mrs. Pennybaker doesn’t seem to know anything about these rumors.”
Klara segued from “Mary sells seashells by the seashore” to “Noooo.” She was waving her hands around emphatically. “No, she sure doesn’t, and I hope it stays that way. Robby’s mom wasn’t so much into the Hollywood scene. She never went to the parties, never had power lunches. She spent a lot of time away from home, traveling with the Red Cross, far away from Robby’s glittery world. Besides, you have to remember that these rumors were whispers, and they never crossed that invisible line between Hollywood and the rest of society.”
That’s right, Dawn thought. Movie sets, lunch at the Ivy, cocktails at the Sky Bar—they were different planets in a solar system that existed apart from reality. It’s what made stars larger than life, beyond normalcy.
Footsteps came stomping toward them. A production assistant stuck her head around the trailer as Dawn’s old phone vibrated in her pocket next to the new one Breisi had given her. And it wasn’t for the first time that day, either.
“We need you in five,” the young PA said to Klara.
“All right.” The actress stretched everything in earnest, her body, her mouth.
“Thank you,” Breisi said. “If you think of anything else…”
“You’re not going to spread it around that I told you this? I wanted to help his mom, bless her heart, I don’t want—”
“Our lips are sealed,” Dawn said, ready and raring to find Nathan.
Klara took a couple of steps toward the set, then stopped. “There are some places…Bava on Vine, The Lei House, Deacon’s, and a list of hotels I can give you. People used to say that Nathan Pennybaker took Robby out to be seen in the social scene. Bava was their favorite. It’s a hole in the wall, dark, discreet. A lot of underaged actors get in. The same management owns it today, even though it’s changed clientele. Maybe they can tell you more about this?”
Nathan took Robby to bars and clubs? Nice. Dawn couldn’t wait to interview the man for real this time.
“We appreciate it,” Breisi said. “I’ll call you for those hotels later.”
“Good luck getting to the bottom of this.” Klara took a couple more steps backward. “I can’t imagine why that kid was in Diaper Derby. He didn’t even look like the Robby I knew.”
Then she took off in a clatter of high-heeled pumps, wiggling her way to her job.
Dawn watched her leave, feeling the same way she had after the vamp fight: drained and beaten. But there was still that something about Robby that was mentally jabbing at her….
She pushed it by the wayside. “Goddamnit, I can’t wait to hear what good old Mr. P. has to say.”
“Copy that,” Kiko said.
“Twelve years old. Twelve! God, if Frank hadn’t…”
She shut herself up. Sure, her dad had done some good by distancing her from the Hollywood scene, but he’d done a lot of bad, too. Nothing this unforgivable though.
Nothing that made her want to forget him.
“Did it sound like Nathan P. was kind of avenging himself on the business through Robby?” she asked.
“He felt superior as he watched the actresses squirm,” Kiko noted. “And I’ll bet he got off on renting Robby out to those powerful men, being the supplier of something they needed.”
“The glamour of his son’s presence,” Dawn added. “Do you realize how much blackmail material Nathan P. has? Think that was a part of it? Wow, what a big man, using his kid as his goddamned tool of power.”
“We’ll check into possible blackmail.” All business, Breisi pulled out her phone and called information to get Bava’s hours. Kiko followed suit, checking his messages in the hope that his agent had called.
Still stewing, Dawn opened her own cell, taking a guess as to who had been making it vibrate during Klara’s interview.
It was just as she expected: another call from Matt Lonigan. She’d gotten one earlier, on the way from the fencing studio to the pier. And, as instructed by The Voice, she hadn’t returned his message.
“Kiko,” she said as he closed his phone in disgust. No summons from the agent, evidently. “Lonigan called.”
“The guy’s a bull terrier, huh? We’ll just have to leave another message for the boss. He’ll get a hold of our persistent PI tonight, I’m sure.”
Unable to keep her feet still, Breisi ended her call, shuffling back and forth. “We’ll head to Bava around nine, when they open. That’ll give us a chance to mingle while things are slow, then to hang around when the night gets going. And as for Matt Lonigan, Dawn? I’ve got some news. While you and SeñorPirate Dingleberry here were jabbing swords at each other—”
“There was no jabbing involved,” Kiko interrupted.
“—I was actually working.”
Dawn’s hackles pinged. “We were in training.”
“Training for leaving the boss once this ends,” Breisi added. “We need to be concentrating on this case. And Kiko, honestly, I’m disappointed you didn’t have more self-control.”
Speechless, Dawn couldn’t believe that Breisi was testing her determination to find Frank. Just…couldn’t believe it.
Kiko lifted his chin. “Fencing promotes agility. You just watch how I dust some vamps with my new footwork.”
“I await that on pins and needles.” Breisi shoved her phone in a pants pocket. “Anyway, about this Matt. He’s legit. His agency says he’s been active since the mid-nineties, and he checks out with his licensing.”
“How thorough,” Dawn said, still smarting from Breisi’s tongue lashing. “What do you think he could be, anyway? A vampire slave or something? Like Renfield?”
“The boss would call him a servant,” Kiko said. “Not vampire, but still human, because they haven’t exchanged blood with a real vamp and lost their soul, supposedly. Next time, Dawn, look for bite marks. That should tell you. Was he wearing a turtleneck?”
“In the middle of summer—no.”
Actually, he’d been wearing a black T-shirt that’d hugged his muscles. At the thought, Dawn’s mojo started to tingle.
Breisi was tapping her fingers against her hips. “Bite marks can be anywhere. Boss says a servant is fixated with pleasing his or her master, the vamp who takes their blood. They’ll do anything for them.”
“But they’re still human,” Dawn repeated.
Kiko shrugged. “For the most part.”
“Maybe we should do a body search of Nathan Pennybaker tonight for bites.” She strolled away from the trailer. Breisi and Kiko followed. “Not that exploring his body is my fantasy. My fist has just got some questions it wants to ask him.”
Breisi cupped her knuckles in her other palm. “I’d like to take that cocksucker by the cojones and hear him squeal, too.”
At the unexpected cussing from Breisi, Dawn glanced at her. The two women locked gazes, a deep understanding cementing something unspoken—a primal instinct, an urge to defend a child, even if you told yourself over and over again that you weren’t ever going to have one.
In acknowledgment, Dawn jerked her chin at her coworker, who returned the gesture. They looked away, continued walking.
“What do you say we get some takeout before we go to Bava?” Kiko asked. “And Dawn needs to catch up on some reading after she fills out her concealed weapon permit.”
Pulling a face at the thought of bookwork, Dawn patted the revolver that was hidden in its shoulder holster beneath her own sweatjacket. “Could I do some shooting practice instead?�
��
“Not a reader?” Breisi asked.
“Not so much. Aside from a stint at UCLA for a few months, I’m not exactly the studious type.”
“Good to know.” Breisi veered off toward the 4Runner, leaving Dawn and Kiko to go to his small car.
Dawn sent one last look at their tech geek as she disappeared into a shadow of twilight dimming the sky. Stymied, she shrugged, not knowing what the hell to make of Breisi.
Meanwhile, from a car parked two spaces away, a pair of eyes watched Dawn with their own intense scrutiny.
With the desperation of an obsession.
Twelve
Below, Phase Two
Later, Sorin watched a contingent of Groupies readying themselves to journey Above via the deep canyon caves that had once been used as a rock quarry and were now forgotten. The young vampires were dressed in what was known as their “Gothic” finery, primed to blend with humans as well as any other ghouls and stray, non-Underground vampires who wandered the city.
The leader, who called herself Galatea, came to the front of the black-clad crowd. As she faced Sorin, her eyes held the silver tint of all Groupies—vampires who had joined the society for the honor of providing food and amusement for the Elites. Above, they would hide their preternatural appearances and abilities, just as chameleons would camouflage themselves in drab surroundings with far less spectacular colors.
As the young vampire bowed her head, a thicket of dark, braided hair fell around her moon-white face. Her high cheekbones were decorated with slashes of blue paint, warlike. She wore a blackened Native American bone hairpipe breastplate that showed a hint of her small breasts, tight leather pants with knee-high boots and spurs. Holding her fingers to her forehead, she saluted Sorin.
“Protect your home,” he said. It was an order.
With the arrogance of one who has not lived more than a century, the beautiful creature smiled. “Don’t worry, Master. We’ll fit right in at Bava.” She winked. “We always do.”
Night Rising Page 12
