by Doug Cooper
Levi spins around and plods back to her. Looking up at the waterfall, he extends his hand to help her up. “Believe me. You don’t want those pics getting out any more than me.”
“I’m not ashamed of my body.” She puts one hand in his and holds up the other for him to grab hold. “Everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway.”
“Come on, hurry up. Every minute is critical.” He scoffs, reaching over with the other hand and pulling her up in one forceful motion.
Continuing her momentum, she falls into his chest. “You sure we can’t just take a break and finish what we started?” She drags her finger down his nose and across his lips.
He steps back, looking past her up at the waterfall again. “Are you nuts? Let’s deal with one problem before we create another.”
“Ugh. You’re such a buzzkill.” She turns away and bends over to pick up her clothes, intentionally presenting her ass in his direction. “Just because you play my dad in the movie doesn’t mean you have to act like him.” She slips on the shorts and tanktop and slides into her sandals.
Levi shakes his head. “You’re fucking twisted, you know that?”
She shuffles over to him, cupping her hand on his crotch, leaning up, and kissing him on the cheek. “That’s what you love about me, Daddy.”
Chapter 2
Film agent Eva Florez waits alone at a round table for two in the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Her silken black hair curls around her ears, falling to the middle of the charcoal jacket that matches her skirt. In any other city, she would just be another attractive woman waiting for a business colleague or maybe a lover, but in this town, everyone knows her as the one who turned Levi Combs from an unknown college student into a Hollywood leading man. Draining her last swallow of white wine, she glances at the polished steel Baume & Mercier watch that Levi had paid for. Now she couldn’t even get him to be on time.
A handsome male server approaches. Like most service industry people in Los Angeles, he is a this-slash-that-slash-this with two of the identities being actor and model to go along with the server role he is currently fulfilling. He, similar to the rest, believes all he needs is a break. “Another white wine, Ms. Florez?”
Eva slides the empty glass to the edge of the table, tapping her silver-tipped nails against the table. “Might as well. Never know when he’ll show up.”
The server nods and departs. Eva picks up her mobile phone to check for messages.
In the Jeep, Levi, still wearing the bandana, T-shirt, and shorts from earlier, drives off Sunset onto Hartford and around to Glen Way to avoid the lobby and enters through the service entrance in the back. A half-empty fifth of Tito’s sits in the passenger seat. To help calm down, he had replaced Emily with the bottle after he dropped her off. He parks in a spot marked for deliveries only. Taking off the bandana and tossing it next to the vodka, he runs his hand through his hair and checks the mirror for any marks on his face before slugging more Tito’s and exiting the Jeep.
A few steps away, a paparazzo, immediately snapping photos, surprises him from behind the trash dumpster. “Slumming it today?” he asks, referring to Levi’s casual attire and the Jeep, since Levi rarely drives it out in the city.
“Fuck off,” Levi says.
The paparazzo, wearing wrap-around sunglasses and having a similar size and build as Gabe, stays in front of Levi, walking backward, taking pictures. “What do you think about the Oscar buzz your new movie is getting? Will you be taking Emily James to the ceremony?”
The mention of her combined with the excess alcohol he has consumed triggers his rage. He steams toward the paparazzo. “Why are you asking me about her?” He rips the camera from the photographer’s hand. “Was that you at the waterfall?”
The paparazzo backpedals a safe distance away. “Cool down, man. I’m just making conversation.” He takes out his phone and starts recording a video.
Levi studies him for a moment, his vision cloudy from the vodka. He recognizes that it’s not Gabe, but he still spikes the camera. Plastic and glass smash against the concrete. Levi grinds his heel into the camera. “You’re all fucking scum. Let’s see how many pictures you can take now.” He kicks the pieces off to the side and steps toward the paparazzo, who is still recording the video with his phone. Levi darts toward him. Having ample footage, the paparazzo tucks the phone in his pocket and runs off. Already late, Levi stops and hurries toward the back entrance. A group of hotel staff gather outside smoking. Levi passes them with a nod and weaves through the kitchen and out into the dining room.
Seeing Levi make his way across the distinctive green and pink carpeting, guests percolate with excitement. Most of them have come for the chance to see a celebrity of Levi’s stature. All eyes follow him. He stops at a table to sign an autograph.
Eva knows Levi is wasted because of his eagerness to interact with the fans. He’s only nice when he’s drunk anymore. He strolls over and bends down to kiss her on the cheek. Her body stiffens, barely acknowledging the greeting. “You’re late…again.”
“You know how the fucking paparazzi are,” Levi says, waving and smiling at a couple pointing at him from across the room. “They make it impossible to be on time.”
“Suppose they got you drunk too?”
The server arrives with Eva’s glass of wine and two menus.
Eva says, “Thank you, but we’ll just be having drinks.”
Levi pushes out his bottom lip. “Don’t be like that. I thought you said we had something to celebrate.”
The usual warm emerald pool in Eva’s eyes frosts to icy green. “I have better things to do than sit here and wait for you.”
The server shifts uncomfortably, not sure whether to stay or go. “Something to drink then, Mr. Combs?”
“Macallan twenty-one, neat,” Levi says.
“Right away, sir.” The server nods and charges away.
Eva’s phone buzzes on the table. She turns it over and reads the notification, immediately accessing the phone and opening the message. Her eyes widen then constrict. She shakes her head and slides the phone toward Levi. “It seems you’ve been busy today. Guess that explains why you were late.”
Unsure which story has made the news, Levi says, “What is it now?”
“The fucking photographer you assaulted outside.” Eva says, gesturing toward the phone.
“Jesus, that was fast.” Levi glances down at the article with the video titled Camera-Stomping At The Polo Lounge, referring to the tradition of spectators repairing the divots at halftime of a polo match. Levi shakes his head. “It just happened five minutes ago. The douchebag was hiding behind the trash dumpster and surprised me. Just take care of it and spare me the fake outrage.”
Eva leans to the center of the table, lowering her voice but increasing the emphasis on her words. “I assure you, this isn’t fake. You just don’t seem to get it. The next six weeks are the most important of your career.”
Levi turns at an angle in his seat, crossing his legs and looking up at the ceiling. “I know, I know. You’ve made it painfully clear over and over.”
“Then why do you keep pulling these stunts?” Eva asks. “I had to promise TMZ an exclusive to make the last one go away.”
The server delivers Levi’s scotch, hesitating for a moment. Receiving no acknowledgement from Levi or Eva, he simply nods and leaves. Levi gulps half the drink. “That fucker deserved it. I mean, get into my business as much as you want, but if you start digging into my mama’s past, that’s where I draw the line.” His Southern accent creeps into his speech. Eva had worked him hard to suppress the drawl, but anytime he gets drunk or talks about his past, especially his mama, it resurfaces.
Exasperated, Eva picks up her wine and slides back in her chair. “But you know better than that. They’re just fishing for a reaction to generate clicks.”
Levi raises his glass for a to
ast. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?”
Eva reluctantly touches her glass to his. “Times have changed, Levi. It’s not just about what you do on the screen anymore.”
“I know, I know,” Levi says, weary of the same, tired argument. “Enough of this bullshit. What’s the good news you have to share? I need to hear it before you rip me for why I needed that license plate.”
“Always fucking something with you.” Eva leans to the middle of the table, speaking in a whisper. “I’ve heard from a few different sources that For Love is going to get nominated for best picture.”
Levi doesn’t react. “That’s good news but hardly a surprise with the other buzz and award recognition it’s received.”
“That’s not the good news,” Eva says, letting go of her anger and lighting up. “There’ll be another nomination.” She sits back in her chair, just smiling and nodding.
Levi jerks forward. “But how? I didn’t think we had a chance. The other groups snubbed me.”
“Apparently the Academy feels differently,” Eva says. “Congratulations, Mr. Oscar Award Nominee.”
Resplendent optimism replaces his regular rife-with-rancor response, but it retreats rapidly.
Eva says, “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happier. Regardless of if you win or not, this is going to help so much with the new movie.”
“No, it’s great,” Levi says. “It’s just that other thing we need to talk about could have a bigger impact than I thought.”
Worry tightens Eva’s face. “Wait, you’re actually concerned about something? Mr. Don’t-Give-A-Fuck-About-Nothing. This can’t be good.”
“It just happened before I called you. Could be nothing but if not, maybe we can get out ahead of it.” Levi gulps more Macallan. “I took Emily out to my orchard today like I told you I wanted to, and we hiked to that one waterfall you and I found. Some photog was there and got pics of us together.”
None of this is surprising to Eva since she’s the one who orchestrated it. Walking to her car after a lunch meeting one afternoon, she noticed some of Gabe’s other waterfall shots on sale at his stand downtown. She didn’t stop and never really thought about it until Levi mentioned he was taking Emily out to the waterfall on his property. Even then, she didn’t approach Gabe herself. Over the years, she learned it was best to use intermediaries and keep her distance from these things. She could’ve sent one of her usual paparazzi, but they were too unreliable. Too many times she had given people access, only for them to sell the photos to the highest bidder. She wanted someone she could control, someone from outside the business. Of course, there was a chance Gabe would miss Levi, or Levi would change his mind. But a missed photo nobody sees is better than an uncontrolled one everyone does. “So what?” Eva says, sowing the seeds of her plan. “That actually works for us. You and the film are getting nominated. You’re hanging with your costar. Maybe you two should go together to the ceremony. It’ll show you as a friend, a mentor.”
“These pictures won’t,” Levi reveals. “When I say together, I mean to-gether.”
Eva closes her eyes, waving her head back and forth slowly. “No. Please tell me you didn’t.” Even though she hadn’t expected this, she isn’t shocked either. With Levi, she knows anything can happen. It’s another reason she wanted to use an outsider. She still has time to get out in front of it, and at a cheaper cost. Paparazzi would shop the photos around and drive up the price. She steadies herself with a calming breath. Although it’s not what she had planned, in the end, the negative photos will just be more leverage she’ll have over Levi. After all, it isn’t just the money and success she has brought him over the years that keeps him a client.
“It’s not my fault,” Levi says. “She came on to me. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right? I mean, we’re both consenting adults.”
Eva clenches her jaw, continuing to play her role and direct the performance. “No, you’re a consenting adult. She’s a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“Seventeen going on thirty,” Levi says, swallowing another mouthful of scotch. “You should’ve seen her. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“It doesn’t matter, Levi. If this gets out, the public, the awards committees, and the advertisers won’t look the other way. Not this time. This isn’t like when you passed out in a pool of your own puke on the Museum of Tolerance’s steps.”
Levi finishes his scotch. “I thought it was funny. I was making a statement on the lack of compassion in our society.”
The server returns, quieting both of them. “Another twenty-one, Mr. Combs, or perhaps you’d like to try the twenty-five?”
“Or maybe you’d like to go the other way,” Eva says. “Maybe the fifteen, or better yet, the twelve?”
The server hesitates, looking back and forth between them, confused. Levi says, “Just bring the twenty-one, please.” The server scurries away. Levi looks at Eva. “If nothing has come out yet, we might still be able to fix this. The license plate I gave you was the photographer’s vehicle. I chased and caught him by the road, but he got away. It was a brown Suburban.”
Eva accesses an email on her phone even though she researched everything about Gabe before she sent him out there. “My guy said it belongs to Gabe Adams from out in West Covina. I got his address and did some checking. Doesn’t seem like a usual paparazzo. He has a landscape photo stand down on Gallery Row and an exhibition starting at a gallery over on Traction. Maybe we can work out some kind of arrangement before these things get out. I’ll go over to his show tonight and take care of it.” She lifts her eyes to Levi. “Just promise me one thing?”
“I know,” Levi says. “Steer clear of her unless you’re there.”
Eva interlocks her fingers, holding her hands in front of her as if praying. “At least until she’s eighteen. After that, do whatever you want.”
Chapter 3
Gabe, his white T ripped from the V in the neckline down to his mid-abdomen and covered with dirt, views pictures of the waterfall on a laptop in the garage-turned-studio of his three-bedroom ranch house on Lolita Street in West Covina. Mounted and framed photographic prints of coastal and mountain landscapes surround him.
He scrolls through the photos on the screen.
Levi and Emily standing by the creek
Close-up of Levi’s face
Close-up of Emily’s face
Levi removing his T on the shore
Emily dropping her shorts with Levi in the water watching
Levi and Emily facing each other in the waist-high water in front of the waterfall
Levi and Emily kissing with the waterfall pouring behind them
Barebacked Emily mounted on Levi, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Gabe’s sixteen-year-old sister, Abbie, her blonde ponytail swaying side to side, rushes into the garage swinging a pressed white dress shirt on a hanger. Her appearance resembles Emily’s—obviously a fan—but her face is rounder with green eyes instead of Emily’s spurious blue. “What are you doing? Don’t you think a shower would be a good idea before the biggest night of your career?” She stops, taken aback by his ragged appearance. “What the heck happened to you?”
“No time to clean up. Had a little run-in during the shoot.” He nods toward the screen.
Abbie walks over behind him. Scrapes and cuts cover the back of his neck. Abbie picks off pieces of gravel ground into his skin. Gabe jerks forward, wincing. “Some couple hiked into the shot, totally ruining it. The guy spotted me and freaked out. Chased me all the way back to the truck. Barely got away. Total freaking whacko.”
Abbie’s eyes widen with disbelief, leaning toward the screen. “Are you effing kidding me?” She pushes his hand away and swipes through the images forward then back.
“I know,” Gabe says, sitting back in the chair. “I waited aall morning for that light.”
“No,” Abbie says. “You do realize who this is, right?”
Gabe looks again at the faces on the screen. “No clue. Looks a little bit old for her.”
Abbie stops at the picture of Emily mounted on Levi and zooms in. “That’s Levi frickin’ Combs and Emily James.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Gabe removes her hand from the touchpad and closes the picture application.
Abbie rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Remember that show Funwalla that I used to be into in my early teens? That’s her. Now she’s playing his daughter in that movie For Love—the one getting all the Oscar buzz.”
Gabe looks again, shaking his head. “If they’re both so famous, they should be more discrete.” He stands and takes the shirt from her, walking toward the house. “I’ll delete them later.”
“Are you crazy?” Abbie trails after him. “These things are worth a fortune. She’s like the biggest teenage star and is only seventeen. He could win an Oscar. You gotta sell these.”
Walking through the kitchen, he takes off his ripped T and tosses it in the trash. More scratches and scrapes from rolling in the gravel angle across his narrow back and shoulders. “No way. I’m not a paparazzo.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. You’re a photographic artist.” Abbie tears off a paper towel from the roll on the counter and wets it underneath the sink. “Come here. Let me clean those scratches before you put that white shirt on and ruin it.” Gabe stops next to their four-person, round kitchen table next to the sliding patio door that leads to the backyard. He pulls out one of the wooden ladder-back chairs and sits down. Abbie shuffles over behind him. “This might sting a little.”
Gabe tenses as she dabs at the wounds. “I don’t want to be known for celeb photos. Those people are toxic.”
“Let me get this straight, you finally have pictures worth thousands, and you’re just going to throw them away?” Abbie asks, pressing the dampened towel more firmly into the cuts.
