Focus Lost

by Doug Cooper

  They navigate through the empty crates and containers waiting to be refilled with the set equipment and decorations that will be shipped to some warehouse, inventoried, and probably never used again.

  On the loading dock outside, a group of the stagehands are smoking. Eva lowers her phone and points away from the group. “Come on, we can wait over here. The driver will be here in ten minutes.”

  Levi angles toward them. “What’s up, fellas? Can I bum one of those?”

  A stagehand takes a pack from his breast pocket and extends it to Levi. “Help yourself.” As Levi gets closer, the guy recognizes him and notices the statue in his hand. “Congrats on the win, Mr. Combs.”

  One of the other guys bumps the guy next to him, whispering, “Holy shit, you know who that is? That’s Levi Combs. My wife’s never going to believe this.”

  Levi offers the Oscar for the pack of smokes. “Can you hold this?”

  The guy takes the statue with his free hand, immediately putting the other hand on it. One of the other stagehands comes over with a lighter. “Here, Mr. Combs. Let me light that for you.” The others swarm around the guy with the Oscar.

  Levi says, “Enough with that Mr. Combs shit. Levi is fine.”

  The guy who mentioned his wife said, “Do you think we could get a picture, mister, I mean, Levi?”

  Eva strolls over. “It’s kind of been a long night, guys. Hope you understand.”

  “It’s fine,” Levi says, stepping toward the huddle around the Oscar. “These guys are good people. Much better than those fucking assholes inside. Am I right, fellas?”

  Laughter emanates from the group. One of the guys says, “Hell, yeah. Levi knows what time it is.”

  “Take one of their phones, Eva,” Levi says and moves to the center of the group. “Any of you guys got any hooch?” The group quiets. “Come on. Someone has to have something. Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

  The guy who provided the smokes turns to one of his buddies. “Go ahead. Give it to him. It’s cool.”

  The guy removes a pint bottle from his hip pocket. “Jack Daniels okay?”

  “Damn straight it is,” Levi says, his drawl coming back. “I might’ve left Tennessee but it ain’t left me.” Levi takes the bottle and downs a healthy swig. “Aahhh, that’s what I needed. Grew up on this shit.” He hands the bottle back. “All right, let’s do this.”

  The guys circle around Levi. Eva gathers all the phones from the guys, but the first picture she takes is with her own. She’s not going to let an opportunity for positive press pass. She knows that if something good happens, and it’s not posted on social media, it never really happened.

  Chapter 14

  Leaning on the glass wall in the hallway outside Eva’s dark office, Marcus sips coffee from a paper cup early the next morning. The elevator dings, and the number twenty-nine lights up on the display above the doors. He stands, smoothing the wrinkles on his tan suit jacket with his free hand.

  Eva’s receptionist steps off the elevator, her eyes down and arm buried to the elbow in her Marc Jacobs black leather tote searching for the keys. Her yellow sheath dress glows in the dim hallway lighting. Shuffling toward the door, she doesn’t notice Marcus, who remains silent waiting for her to look up. Grumbling about the keys, she stops and digs more frantically. Marcus advances from the shadow cast from the dark office in her direction. She glances up, startled by the tall, imposing figure coming toward her. “I’m sorry,” Marcus says, stepping back toward the glass wall. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He removes the badge from his pocket. “I’m with the district attorney’s office. I need to ask Ms. Florez a few questions.”

  “Hang on,” she says, returning her focus to her purse and locating the keys. “Let me get inside and look at her calendar. She usually takes calls at home and has a breakfast meeting so she doesn’t come in until after nine or so.” The receptionist flips through the keys on the ring and opens the door. Marcus lingers in the hallway, not following. She holds the door open before going inside. “You don’t have to wait out here, silly. Come inside.”

  Marcus trails after her, stopping just inside the door as she locates the switch and fills the room with light. He says, “I can come back later if this isn’t convenient.”

  She plops her purse on the desk and flips on the computer, settling into the chair while the screen on the left goes from black to the Eva Florez Enterprises logo that also fills the wall behind her. “Under normal circumstances, after a big win like last night, I wouldn’t expect to see her until later if at all. But with the way things went down, going to be a busy day and week. Levi’s got another film opening soon. Did you see the awards show last night?”

  “I did,” Marcus says, concealing his delight. “It looked like things only got worse in the press conference backstage. I read this morning that he was MIA from all the parties too. Probably not how they envisioned the night would go.”

  “One thing I’ve learned working here: you never know what is going to happen when Levi Combs is involved.” She turns her eyes to the screen, wiggling the mouse and tapping the button to open the email application. “Yep, look at this. I already have eleven emails from her.” She switches to the calendar view. “She had a breakfast meeting with the LA Times entertainment editor at eight but has phone calls scheduled all morning starting at nine thirty, so she should be in shortly. Do you want me to call to let her know that you are here?”

  “No, I don’t want to bother her. I have enough to keep me busy while I wait,” he says, holding up his phone. The truth is that he doesn’t want Eva to know he’s there at all. It’s why he arrived so early, and after a night he expects she was up late. He wants to have the element of surprise and to catch her when she might not be at her best and possibly eager to vent. Several reporters had written about Levi’s omission of Eva from his acceptance speech and the tense interactions between the two after the award presentation.

  Twenty minutes later Eva glides in, pulling a black carbon fiber Lamborghini suitcase. Wheeling the piece of luggage next to the desk, she glances at Marcus through her black, round Chanel half-tinted sunglasses and turns her back to him, facing the desk. “Pick one or two of the items inside for yourself, except for the trips, and inventory the rest for gifts to clients.”

  The receptionist springs up, clapping her hands. “I saw online that the gift bags this year were valued at a hundred-and-fifty grand.” She pulls the suitcase up on the desk, forgetting about Marcus.

  “That’s only one of two. Levi didn’t even want his.” Eva drops her keys on the desk. “It’s down in my car. Once you’re finished with this one, please go down and grab the other and do the same.”

  Marcus rises from the white leather contemporary sofa behind them. The receptionist is facing him, but her focus is on the bag as she unzips it and splits it open on the desk. She immediately grabs one of the boxes. “A year’s supply of Healing Saint skin serum!” She snatches a white draw-string bag. “Look, at this. A complete beauty collection from Whoosh. This is better than Christmas!” She returns to rifling through the suitcase. Eva puts her hand on the receptionist’s arm, drawing her eyes upward. With a subtle backward nod of her head, Eva reminds the receptionist of Marcus, dashing her dreamy daze. The receptionist says, “Geez. I’m sorry. This is Deputy DA…”

  Extending his hand, Marcus maneuvers around the glass coffee table. “Marcus Ambrose. I’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Is this something that can wait?” Eva plucks the card from his fingers, speaking before he can answer. “I’m fighting fires from every angle. Later in the week perhaps?”

  “I’m afraid it can’t,” Marcus says. “I really think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we speak now. I promise it will be only ten to fifteen minutes tops.”

  Eva turns her wrist to see the time. “I’m supposed to have a call with The Hollywood R
eporter in five minutes, but I can probably push that back a few. “Joelle, will you get a hold of Bobby and tell him I’ll call at nine forty-five?” Joelle nods and works the mouse to locate his number. Eva waves her arm toward her office. “Please, after you.” Marcus walks by following her lead. Eva’s sunglasses remain on, but her eyes are visible through the half-tinted lenses, scanning him up and down. “Your card says sex crimes division. Not sure how I can help you.” She trails behind him and shuts the door.

  Marcus stands in the middle of the room looking at all the movie posters on the walls. He walks over to the one with Levi and Emily in For Love. “I don’t know. With the way last night went, I think you can probably figure out why I’m here.” He taps the glass-framed picture. “It seems congratulations are in order. Such chemistry between those two.”

  “It was a pretty amazing night,” Eva says, settling in to her desk chair and unpacking her laptop bag. “The phone has been ringing nonstop, which is why I don’t have much time this morning. Did you see the film?”

  “No, unfortunately not.” Marcus turns from the poster and pads back toward the desk. “I just can’t seem to stay focused for two hours to enjoy a movie. I’m more into the television drama series. I did see the pictures of those two at the waterfall though.” He points his thumb over his shoulder back toward the poster. “Those were something, huh? Definitely not your typical family photos.”

  “Mr. Ambrose, as I said, today is an extremely busy day. Is there something specific you want to ask me?”

  Marcus curtails his words. “Did you know?”

  The quick jab catches Eva off guard. She just repeats the words back to him. “Did I know what?”

  “That they were more than costars”

  “I don’t think I like your insinuation.” Eva picks up her phone. “Should I have my lawyer present for this?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything,” Marcus says, stepping closer to the desk. “I believe everyone last night made it pretty clear what people are thinking. My office is just trying to get to the truth.”

  “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here this morning. I could’ve saved you the trip. Mr. Combs and Ms. James are nothing more than colleagues and friends. The pictures being circulated are from an afternoon hike and swim a few weeks ago. Any person or publication implying anything more will be served with a libel and defamation of character suit. Any further questions should be directed to our legal team.” Eva removes her lawyer’s card from her middle drawer and slides it across desk.

  Marcus picks up the card and reads it. “In your next call with them, you may want to ask what happens to a person who knows a sex crime has been committed and does nothing, or worse, tries to cover it up.” He slides the card in his breast pocket. “I do appreciate you taking the time to meet with me this morning. I’ll let you get on with your phone calls. No need to see me out.” Eva remains stoic, offering only silence and an impassive stare in response to his threats. Marcus nods, then streams out.

  Joelle is hunched over her desk, still perusing the products from the Oscar windfall scattered across the top. Marcus strides by. “Happy shopping.” But it’s he who is the most content. He had rehearsed the encounter in his head most of the previous night, thinking through all the various scenarios of what she might say and what he would say back to her. For once no one went off script or flubbed a line. It was a performance any director would’ve loved to have. Clean and crisp. Nothing missing and nothing wasted.

  Waiting for the elevator in the hallway, Marcus beams triumphantly. His adrenalin surges, causing his hand to shake as presses the down-button. But as the lights flash and bells ring returning the elevator to him, everything around him slows. He thinks of Levi, feeling closer to him than ever before. He finally knows what Levi must feel after nailing a performance. It’s not for the applause or accolades. It’s internal—the feeling of flawless execution.

  ◆◆◆

  The owner of the Art on Traction gallery works behind the counter. A middle-aged man and woman view the collection of Gabe’s pictures hanging from one of the extended hydraulic lifts. A mid-twenties female circles the other lift that showcases another artist’s work.

  Levi shuffles in wearing a plain black crewneck T-shirt, jeans, and brown leather slide sandals. Tortoise-shell rectangular sunglasses conceal his eyes.

  Despite Levi’s casual appearance, the owner recognizes him and scurries over. “Welcome, Mr. Combs. Truly an honor to have you here,” she says with excitement and nervousness, her red curls bouncing.

  Levi leaves the sunglasses on underneath the bright gallery lights. “Are you showing the work of an artist named Gabe Adams?”

  “Yes, we are,” the owner says. Her arm waves across the gallery, the flowing long sleeves of her ombré-printed kaftan undulating from the movement. “He’s a personal discovery of mine. One of LA’s hottest emerging photographers.” She leads Levi to Gabe’s work hanging from the lift. The younger female patron has taken notice and snaps a photo of Levi with her phone. The owner says, “Most of his work has already sold, but we still have these eight, and he is bringing more today.”

  In silence Levi walks around the lift, pausing to examine each work.

  Careful not to crowd him, the owner trails a few steps behind. “What do you think?”

  Levi says, “Honestly, they’re not really my taste—a little too pedestrian.”

  The owner shifts nervously. “Allow me to show you some of the other artists I’m featuring.” She leads him over to the other lift with more city landscapes and industrial settings. “These have more of an urban feel.”

  “Ah, yes,” Levi says. “These are much better.”

  “Outstanding.” The owner relaxes, buoyed by the positive feedback. “Any particular ones stand out?”

  Levi waves his hand at the lift and toward the back wall. “I think I’ll take them all.”

  “Excuse me? You want all fifteen?” the owner says, excited but confused.

  “Yeah, I want to buy all the work from these other artists.” Levi takes off his sunglasses to emphasize his point. His eyes droop, streaked with red. “I’m redecorating an apartment building I own and think these will all work quite well.” He doesn’t really own an apartment building any more than he has a real opinion on any of the pictures. Levi can’t sit back and let Gabe thrive while Gabe’s other pictures have wreaked so much havoc in his own life. Gabe ruined the Oscars for him, and Levi isn’t about to allow Gabe to have success at his expense.

  The owner doesn’t respond, calculating the total sale in her head. Levi stares at her, waiting for an answer. The owner surrenders to the surprise and serendipity of the seeming sale. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “There is one small stipulation,” Levi counters.

  “Of course.” The owner encourages Levi toward the seating area with a wave of her arm. “Whatever you want. We can package and ship them anywhere. Just name it.”

  Levi slides the sunglasses back on. “You have to remove Mr. Adam’s work from the gallery and agree not to show it again.”

  Confusion returns to the owner. “What? Why? Wait. I don’t think I can do that,” she says.

  “Sure you can,” Levi responds. “Remove the remaining pictures and don’t accept the replacements, and you sell fifteen pieces today. “

  Believing she is in a negotiation, the owner says, “But I already have a commitment with Mr. Adams.”

  Levi says, “I guess you’ll have to break it. You also have obligations to these other artists—who, by the way, have much more talent. Not to mention, think of all the future traffic I can push your way.” Levi takes out his credit card to close the deal. “Up to you. You can ring it up here or you can leave things the way they are, and I walk out.”

  The owner reluctantly takes the card and goes behind the counter. “I really wish you would r
econsider this unusual request, Mr. Combs.”

  Through the open garage bay door in front of his work, Gabe walks in carrying two new pictures. He stops when he sees Levi.

  Angling toward Gabe, Levi says, “Sorry, my friend. That work will not be needed after all.”

  “What do you mean?” Gabe looks at the owner. “What’s going on?”

  Frazzled by the tension, the owner tears the credit card slip from the machine and with shaking hands, extends it toward Levi. “Uh, Mr. Combs, that card has been declined. Do you have another one?”

  Gabe moves to the counter in front of the owner, who will not even look at him. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Levi strolls over next to Gabe and hands the owner another card. She swipes it and waits for the charge to go through, finally addressing Gabe. “Uh, yes. Bit of an awkward situation. You see, Mr. Combs has agreed to buy fifteen other pictures if I don’t show your work.”

  “That’s just ludicrous,” Gabe says. “And you agreed to it?”

  The owner taps her fingers nervously next to the machine. “I’m afraid it would be unfair to the other artists not to.”

  Gabe stands directly in front of her, not allowing her to hide from the decision. “You mean it would be unfair to the gallery not to.”

  “I really hope you understand. This is a new gallery. I can’t afford to turn away a bulk sale like this and to have a client like Mr. Combs could be a tremendous benefit.” The credit card machine buzzes from the printing and spits out the approved receipt. The owner rips it off and hands it to Levi with a pen. She turns back to Gabe. “If it affected only me, I would decline. I have to think about these other artists.”