“Get safe. My men will be there in—”
The phone swung back and forth from the end of the cord. I bolted behind the desk and ducked safely out of sight. The young man working there would be a dead giveaway if he did not get that bewildered look off his puss.
“Please, just pretend I’m not here. Don’t look down at me,” I pleaded. “See that guy over there?”
“Yes, I see him,” he said, looking straight ahead.
“He has a gun. Call the police . . . discreetly.”
He did, but he never would have won an Academy Award for his performance.
“You can come out now,” the young man said, his voice cracking from fear. “He just left.”
“I’m not moving until the FBI gets here.”
“The FBI? What’s going on?”
“Is there a safer place I can wait, an office or something?”
“Sure, follow me.”
I crawled to the office, too terrified to stand up in plain view. I was afraid that Steve was lurking around the corner, waiting for me to make a move.
I glared at the agents when they were led through the office door. “Where were you?”
“We’re sorry, Georgia. You were driving so fast, weaving in and out of traffic. . . . We lost you,” they answered, looking like scolded children.
“That’s obvious.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Where’s all this sophisticated equipment you guys are supposed to have? Jesus Christ, if I can slip through, there must be a lot of murderers out there on the loose.”
They stood there red-faced with their heads hanging. I continued being cool and hostile as they escorted me home. No one could help me. I was pretty much on my own. My only ally was Georgia Black. She had done a good job—so far.
I lay in my bed and waited for the tension to dissipate. Toni’s face smiled at me from the photographs on the wall. I felt a sharp need for the sound of her voice.
Soon, baby. It will be over soon.
“Hello, is this Georgia Durante?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“You don’t know me. My name is Shawnna. I was hoping you could help me. I found your number in Steve Zamett’s personal phone book. He told me all about you. I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I have to know the truth.”
“I don’t know what Steve has told you, but I’m sure whatever it is, it’s not the truth. Where is Steve?” I asked, not sure if he had put this girl up to calling me. It had been three weeks since the Holiday Inn incident and I hadn’t heard a peep from him.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” she said timidly.
Her voice dripped with disappointment. Should I give credence to whatever she was about to say?
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said. “He said your husband has a contract out on him. Is that true?”
“Who are you, Shawnna? What’s your connection to this sick person?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I should explain. I met him at the bank. He started a conversation with me and I gave him my number. He said he could help me with some problems I was having regarding my house. Before I knew it, he moved in. I was a little uncomfortable with it, but he told me the story about your husband and said he needed a place to hide out for a while, so I let him stay. In the meantime, my house sold. He helped me to move into an apartment.”
“Sounds familiar so far,” I said with a tone of amusement.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, go ahead.”
“Well, I have multiple sclerosis. It won’t be too long now before I’m in a wheelchair. I desperately need the money from the sale of my house to survive on. Steve said he could invest it for me and triple the investment in a year. I gave him the money, and I haven’t seen him or my Mercedes since. I have the sickening feeling I’ve been had. I was praying you would know something that may be helpful in getting my money back.”
“Welcome to the long list of people who have been taken in by Steve. I am sorry this has happened to you, Shawnna, but all may not be lost. I think I can help. Can we meet?”
I met with the FBI in San Diego and we drove to the address Shawnna had given me. She told her story again, in greater detail this time, and the FBI was livid. They continued to be amazed by this guy’s MO. They thought they had encountered every imaginable character in the book, but Steve broke all molds. He was in a class of his own, but they hadn’t given it a name yet.
Shawnna was an earnest little thing with cropped brown hair and sparkling eyes. A trusting soul with a big heart, but she needed a “Black” of her own if she were going to survive.
The plan was for her to call the FBI when Steve contacted her, even entice him with more money to invest, but mainly to pin him down to a place he might be found. All we could do now was wait.
The call finally came about four days after we had our meeting. Steve told Shawnna that he had taken his kids out of the country for a while. He was on his way to drop them off and he would call her later. Shawnna played the sweet, innocent role, and Steve didn’t suspect a thing. She called the FBI immediately, and Nelson called me.
“Well, how’s the Black Widow today?” Nelson asked. “I got some good news for you,” he added nonchalantly.
“You got him?”
“We sure did,” he answered triumphantly.
“Oh, Nelson, what a relief! That is such good news. Now I can bring my daughter back. How did you do it? Don’t leave anything out.”
“We got a call from Shawnna. He told her he was on his way to drop off his kids. We didn’t expect he would really do what he said he was going to, but he told the truth—for once. We had the place surrounded. When he pulled up, two of our agents jumped out of the bushes, aiming their guns at him. He was surprised, to say the least.
“You did an excellent job planting the seed. He pulled a gun on the FBI. Poor guy was confused. Thought it was the other guys,” he explained with a chuckle. “It’s just a good thing for him his kids were there. We didn’t have the heart to shoot him in front of them. Now you’ve got the messy job of coming down here to San Diego to testify.”
“Gladly, Nelson.” I let out a sigh of relief.
“Just one more aggravating thing to add to this saga and it’ll be over. I doubt the man will see the light of day for a long time—not if we have any say—and we will have our say, no doubt about that.”
“Nelson, thank you,” I said, feeling genuinely appreciative.
“The pleasure was mine. Maybe after your day in court you’ll allow me to buy you dinner in celebration of our victory.”
“I’ll look forward to it, but I’m not waiting that long to celebrate.”
That evening I splurged, bought a few bottles of champagne, and invited over my cousin Randy’s girlfriend, Susan. Randy and Susan had not been in California that long, and they were trying to establish themselves on a shoestring budget. I couldn’t be of much help. I also invited Sheila, a woman who lived in my apartment building, to join in the celebration. After we consumed the first bottle we were feeling pretty giddy. Sheila had a date with F. Lee Bailey and left early. Before she left, however, she called Pips, a private club of which she was a member, and left my name at the door. Susan and I continued the celebration.
We arrived at Pips around nine o’clock, and the party was in full swing. We stood in the crowded disco, looking for an open couch to sit on, when someone asked Susan to dance. They disappeared on the dance floor and I stood alone.
“Would you like to dance?” a man asked from behind me.
“Oh, no, thank you,” I answered, turning to face him.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I think I’ve had my limit for tonight. I haven’t had anything to eat. One more drink and I’ll probably fall on my face.”
“You haven’t eaten? Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m here with a friend. . . . Here she is.”
“Hi, I�
�m Susan; who are you?” she asked jauntily, her long, tightly curled dark hair bouncing as she spoke.
“My name is Richard Adray. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, I’m starved!” Susan answered without hesitation.
“Good, it’s settled then. I’ll get us a table.”
I started to object but the music began again and my words were lost. I glared at Susan after he walked away. “What did you do that for?” I asked angrily.
“Lighten up, Georgia; he’s just going to feed us, not rape us!” she answered, pushing a mass of hair off her freckled face.
“Our table is ready,” Richard said upon returning. He escorted us through the crowded disco into the dining room.
I had no idea who he was, but he had some kind of influence, judging by the way the establishment catered to him. We had a lavish dinner in the elegant dining room filled with movie stars and wannabes.
Across from our table, Warren Beatty sat with three spectacular women, yet his eyes explored the room, resting occasionally in my direction. Frank Sinatra stood at the bar with Jilly, a character I had briefly associated with in New York City. Lucille Ball was absorbed in a backgammon game in the adjacent room with Jim Rose, a director who lived in the building next to mine. Jim and I had met at a commercial casting and had become instant friends. I had taken refuge at his place a few times when I’d had a Steve sighting.
Richard’s eyes darted around the room. I sensed he was in search of some recognition from his peers for the status we brought to him. He was nice enough, but a little too sure of himself when he lacked the goods to back it up. He was short, with salt-and-pepper curly hair and a round face. Not my idea of good-looking. At thirty-five, he looked to be more in his late forties.
The dinner was interesting, but that was all I found interesting. We danced off the dinner in the disco and Susan and I headed home.
“I gave Richard your number,” Susan confessed.
“Why did you do that, Susan?” I asked.
“I thought he was nice. You have got to start living, Georgia. It’ll do you good to get out and have some fun for a change.”
“He’s not my type, Susan.” I answered. I had an uninterested attitude about everything—except survival.
This episode of my life was now winding down, and I was weary. However, I was also struck with the bad choices I had made in my personal life. Though I had done some extensive living by this time, I really had no experience with a healthy man to distinguish the difference between what was normal and what was not.
Joe never let me out in the world to learn anything about life. I had to live it through his eyes. Now I was experiencing all the things he had warned me about. Not trusting my own choices, I was reluctant to accept any dates. I needed to get a sense of myself and my worth before venturing into that unknown territory.
Three days later, I drove to San Diego for my day in court. I was elated that Steve was safely behind bars and out of my life. Handcuffed, he was led into the courtroom wearing a yellow prison uniform. The color suited him. Canaries are yellow, aren’t they? But it was my turn to sing this time. He stared at me with pleading puppy-dog eyes, but it was Georgia Black who returned the stare. There wasn’t any compassion in the courtroom for Mr. Zamett on that wonderful yellow day.
Shawnna was the first to take the stand, then me, and finally the FBI. Steve didn’t have a chance. When it was over he was led out of the courtroom. His eyes never broke connection with mine: How could you do this to me, Georgia? I love you!
Early that evening, Nelson and I had a celebration dinner at a patio table on the water’s edge. Maybe it was just the light, but his eyes seemed as clear and blue as the sky behind him. FBI agents always look like G-men, for some reason, and Nelson fit the mold to a T. Nevertheless, this night he would shed his business face. He was a different person altogether. He left his professional mannerisms in the courtroom.
“Well, one down,” he said, as we clicked our wine-glasses together. One down? “You look exhausted. Can I get you anything?” Nelson asked with concern.
I laughed dryly. “How about a new life?” I answered, taking a sip of wine.
“I already offered you that once. Are you reconsidering?” he inquired with renewed hope.
“No, Nelson, I’m not,” I retorted tartly.
“What are you going to do with your life now, Black Widow?”
“Live it,” I answered, “without fear, thanks to you.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible, Nelson.”
“You’re certainly proof of that,” he replied, lifting his glass to me.
Nelson looked troubled. He spoke in layered words, but I could see where he was heading and chose to ignore it. He shifted in his seat as he contemplated moving the conversation into an area I was not willing to talk about. All I wanted to do was drink wine in the balmy air and enjoy the exhilaration of the victory. We ordered another bottle and I began to relax.
“You’re really a beautiful woman, Georgia. I can almost understand Steve’s obsession with you.”
I sensed an intimacy he had not meant—or rather one he yearned for but hadn’t meant to convey.
This is no time to relax, White. He’s the enemy—pay attention.
“Thank you for the compliment, Nelson, but if you can understand that kind of obsession, I think we can reserve a cell for you right next to Steve’s. Remember, you’re the one who gave me my code name. If you want me to live up to it, keep it up,” I said with a sly smile.
“What are you going to do about your other problem?” Nelson asked, slipping back into his business face.
“What other problem?”
“Joe.”
“Oh, I think time is taking care of that. We’ve been talking. He seems to be accepting the fact that I’m not coming back.”
“Come on, Georgia, I know you’re not stupid. He’s been lying low because of us. Now that we’ll be out of the picture, I can guarantee you he’ll change his colors.”
“You may be right—”
“Georgia . . .” He hesitated. “We have reason to believe you’re still not safe.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish you’d trust us. We’ve done everything we said we would do, haven’t we?”
This is no celebration dinner. He’s still working. Wake up, White.
“Nelson, we had a deal. You lived up to your end and I lived up to mine. This is where it ends.”
“Georgia, there are things going on that I don’t have the authority to talk about. All I can say is, you’re not as safe as you might think you are, lady.”
“Well, Nelson, if that’s true, then my life won’t be much different than it has been, will it?” I stated sternly.
“Will you do something for me?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
“Promise to call me if you need me. Even if you just need to talk. I’d like you to think of me as a friend. Forget about my job—I’ve grown to really like you over the past few months. My protective instincts for you go beyond my job.”
Yeah, and my IQ is three points below plant life.
Chapter Eleven
Life was getting a little brighter. I was finally beginning to move forward. Things started to turn around for me in the modeling world. I got my first big break soon after my day in court—a national commercial for Toyota. I could easily bring Toni back now with no worries about her safety or supporting her needs.
I arrived on the stage at Raleigh Studio for what would be my first car commercial. The spot was entitled “Space.” The vehicle was rigged with a sophisticated hydraulic system, allowing the car to appear to be floating in space. The last shot involved the car landing on a platform thirty feet above the ground. My action was to step out of the car, take off my helmet, and smile at the lens while shaking my hair. The $25,000 I made from that spot was like a million to me.
“I hope you’re getting stunt pay for this
!” said one of the crew guys working on the set.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You only have a foot up there of solid ground. You could easily lose your balance. Thirty feet is a hell of a drop. They should be paying you stunt pay for the risk,” he answered, pushing his long, straight hair away from his face.
I was grateful just to be getting paid.
“I’m Jim Harkess, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
We shook hands. “I’m Georgia Durante. It’s nice to meet you. What is your job here, Jim?”
“I own Two’s Company. We do all the rigging for car shoots and prep the vehicles for camera.”
“Really? I never gave much thought to what’s involved in a simple car commercial.”
“Simple?” he replied with a small laugh. “Nothing is simple, but my job is to make it look that way.”
As the director made camera angle and lighting adjustments, Jim explained how automobile commercials are created. By the end of the day, I had been introduced to a world I never knew existed. I began to watch car commercials more closely, with a behind-the-scenes understanding of the intricacies involved in obtaining the final version of the spot. I hadn’t realized how many car commercials dominated the airwaves.
A light went off in my head. Someone was driving these cars. I’d always had a love for driving and a natural ability to which I never gave much thought, although people had told me for years that I should become a stunt driver. I was also told I should write a book—I never gave that much thought either.
From what Jim had said, professional drivers made residuals as if they were on-camera performers, even though their faces were never seen. Locked in with Toyota until my contract was up, I couldn’t do another on-camera commercial for a competitive automotive company for twenty-one months. Wheels began to spin in my head. If they never see my face, I could work for them all!
I called Jim Harkess the following week and arranged a lunch date. I wanted to learn more about how to get involved in this end of the business. Jim suggested that I enroll in the Bondurant School of High Performance Driving, and he provided tips on people whom I should contact. My interest in a driving career was born.
The Company She Keeps Page 30
