by Doug Cooper
She takes out her laptop and snaps it into the docking station. “When news gets out, it’s usually because someone wants it out. The rest of the stuff is just filler. Then there’s a whole other bunch of information that we pay not to be released. The biggest paydays are for the pictures no one ever sees—like your waterfall ones could’ve been. What did you get for those if you don’t mind me asking?”
Gabe shifts his weight from right to left, uncomfortable talking about the money. The business side has never been his strongest attribute. In this situation he knows he should probably lie and drive up the asking price of the pictures he took at the Marmont and could take for Eva in the future, but he decides to stick with the truth. “Ten thousand.”
Eva drains the last of the coffee from the cup, which has never left her hand, and tosses it in the trashcan next to her desk. “Could’ve got five to ten times that amount for deleting them and in the process saved yourself a lot of hassle.” She presses the power button on the computer and eases back into her chair. “But what’s done is done, right? Onward and upward.”
Gabe moves around to her side of the desk. He says, “The extra ones from last night were because Emily didn’t like one of the others I took, so she made me do it over. I snapped a few more to be safe. She sure is a handful.”
“I’m hearing a lot of that lately. A total pain in the ass, actually.” Eva says, shaking her head. “But she’s the most popular actress in the twelve to seventeen age group, and my client has a new movie coming out. Being associated with her will boost the opening weekend numbers. Plus, she has an image problem after all the Levi stuff. My client is squeaky clean, so it’s a win-win.” Eva clicks through the pics. “Yeah, these are all good. I’ll leak them to my contacts. Should be out later today.” She looks up from the screen with a coy smile. “I hear Abbie went along last night.”
“She didn’t really give me much of a choice. I hope that’s all right. She’s been a fan of Emily for years and has always wanted to see the Chateau Marmont. You know how teenage girls are.”
“No problem at all,” Eva says, walking out from behind her desk. “It seems she made quite an impression. Ira was asking me about her. Wanted me to get her number for him.”
Gabe stiffens. “Absolutely not. The last thing Abbie needs is to get tied up with some entitled, Hollywood brat who will just chew her up and spit her out. She’s been through too much. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“I understand your concern.” Eva leans back on her desk. “But Ira isn’t like that. He’s the real deal. It’s not an act at all. If I thought there was any chance his intentions were less than noble, I wouldn’t have even asked. He’s a down-to-earth kid and can’t stand the typical Hollywood stuff. Why don’t you at least meet him in a normal setting? If you don’t like him or trust him, it doesn’t have to go any further. What do you say?”
Gabe rubs his hand back and forth across his chin, considering the offer. “I guess there’s really not much I can do to stop it even if I wanted to. She’ll just go behind my back. I might as well at least try to manage it. Go ahead and give him my number.”
“That’s great.” Eva claps her hands together. “I’m telling you, you’re going to love the kid. I would trust him with my sister if I had one.” Eva stands from the desk and motions toward the wrapped prints. “How much were you thinking for those? I can have my assistant do one transfer for everything.”
Gabe retrieves the pictures from the chair he had set them on when he came in. Setting them on the desk, he says, “I can do five hundred a piece.” He turns the top one over and pulls the lip of paper to unwrap it. “Or since you’re getting three, fourteen hundred will do.”
“Fifteen hundred is fine.” Eva places her hand on the paper, stopping him from unwrapping. “Don’t bother. I trust you.” She picks up the phone and calls Joelle. “We need to set up a transfer for twenty-five hundred for Mr. Adams…Yes, he’ll give you all that on his way out. Thanks.” She hangs up the phone and looks to Gabe. “Just give Joelle your account info, and the money should transfer by tomorrow.”
Gabe stands across from her, brandishing a look of surprise. “A thousand bucks just for that little bit of work last night? Only took me about an hour.”
“Not everything needs to be difficult,” Eva says. “Like I said before, I need someone I can trust. I can’t give you access and have you run off and sell to the highest bidder.” She removes a pen and tablet from her desk drawer and scribbles down a name and address. “Also, I think I found you another gallery—one Levi can’t ruin. I already talked to the curator and she’s interested. You just have to go there and show her your portfolio. Should be able to get something set up in the next four to six weeks. In the meantime, I can keep you busy with other opportunities if you’re interested in doing more gigs like last night.”
Gabe furrows his brow, studying her for a moment.
Eva says, “What? You still don’t trust me?”
“No, it’s not that,” Gabe says. “It’s just I still don’t completely understand why you’re helping me. You lost more than I did.”
Eva steps out from behind her desk and walks over to him. Rubbing her hand up and down the side of his arm, she says, “That’s easy, silly. I like you, and Abbie too, and just really respect what you’ve done for her. I want to help.”
The truth is, she needs to help to get back in control of something. It’s the only thing she lost that she really misses. Another Levi will come along. The world is full of them. It will be so much easier this time. She has the reputation, experience, and most importantly, the money to turn anyone into whomever the world wants.
Chapter 22
Ira taps his Tom Ford velvet evening slipper nervously, sitting on the blue-and-white striped couch in Gabe and Abbie’s living room. His hands buried in his lap squeeze one another. Gabe sits across from him staring back in silence. The ticking of the antique clock on the wall showing five forty-two reverberates through the room.
Ira wipes his palms on his black chinos. “I really appreciate you allowing me to take Abbie to this awards show tonight.”
“Don’t make me regret my decision,” Gabe says. “Abbie’s a sweet girl. She’s not used to the fast lane you run in. Have her home by midnight. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Not at all, sir. My parents don’t allow me to stay out late either. I have to be home by twelve thirty. They gave the driver strict instructions. We’ll leave by eleven and come straight here.”
Abbie glides from the hallway into the living room. The solid white sleeveless bodice clings to her fit upper frame. Her black-and-white striped skirt, showcasing her trim waist and burgeoning hips, falls just below the knees. Her hair is parted deep on the side, gathering at the nape of the neck and twisting into a knot held by a rhinestone hairpin. Her eyes are outlined in black with tiny wings extending from the corners.
Silence returns to the room as Abbie’s appearance quells the awkward chatter. Both Ira and Gabe stand. Ira bangs his knee into the coffee table. Clutching his leg, he says, “Wow, you look amazing.”
Gabe stares with a sappy grin on his face. Abbie reaches over and bats him with the black clutch in her hand. “Don’t be a weirdo.”
“Wait here. I want to get a few pictures.” Gabe darts into the kitchen and through the door to the studio.
“I said not to be a weirdo.” Abbie shouts after him. “You’re totally embarrassing me.”
Ira limps out from behind the coffee table. “It’s okay. We have plenty of time. It’ll be good practice for later. I guarantee you’ll never want to see another camera after tonight.”
Gabe comes back with his camera around his neck. “Let’s do a few in here then we’ll move outside for a couple by the limo.” He lifts the camera, motioning toward the window. “Stand together in front there.”
Ira and Abbie move into position. Ira str
aightens the button-line on his white twill shirt and adjusts the lapels of the grey wool-blend blazer. He stretches his arm around Abbie, who leans into him and plants her opposite hand on her hip, arm akimbo.
Gabe snaps two photos then leads them outside for several more in front of the limo and as they climb inside. He bangs on the window to deliver some final instructions. “You got your cell phone? Call me if you need anything. Remember, no drinking. Eva has spies there, so if you try it, she’ll tell me.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Adams,” Ira says through the window. “I don’t drink, and the party we’re going to following the ceremony is a dry affair. We’ll come straight back here after.”
“Enough already. You can go back in the house now.” Abbie rolls her eyes and raises the window as they pull away. Gabe lifts the camera to his eye, clicking additional shots until the limo turns at the end of the street out of view.
At the Forum for the Kids’ Choice Awards, Ira leads Abbie down the red carpet. She doesn’t have to smile for any of the pictures because one has been plastered across her face since she left the house. She and Ira approach a mass of photographers huddled around some noteworthy spectacle. One by one, the photographers peel off their previous subject, choosing to photograph Ira and Abbie instead. As the photographers thin out from the scrum, Emily can be seen at the center. She smiles when she notices Ira but immediately sours seeing Abbie. Emily grabs the hand of her date, who appears nothing more than an appointed accessory, and storms off.
Abbie whispers to Ira. “She didn’t seem too pleased to see me. I thought you said you two never really dated.”
Ira holds up his hand to the photographers. “Please, guys, I think you got enough. We need to get inside.” He puts his arm around Abbie’s waist and guides her through the crowd, stopping in the first open space. “We didn’t. I swear. We only did the Oscars presentation and those photos at the Marmont. Nothing more. That’s just how she is. If she’s not the center of attention, the world should stop.”
Inside the hall away from the press, Emily, with her date trailing behind, approaches Ira and Abbie. Ira clutches Abbie by the hand. “Here we go. This should be interesting.” Smiling at Emily, he steps in her direction to greet her. “Emily, so nice to see you. You look lovely as usual.”
Emily stops short of Ira not allowing him close enough for an embrace. “Thought you said that was the first time you two had met. You’re such a liar. I knew there was more going on. No wonder you wouldn’t come up. At first I thought you were gay. Now I know you just like to bottom feed on scraps.”
“Hi, Emily,” Abbie says cheerfully, not picking up on the insult. “Nice seeing you again.”
Emily just snarls back. “Common and dumb. Quite a winner you have there, Ira. I imagine we can throw in easy and you got your perfect girl.”
Ira pulls Abbie closer to him as a sign of protection and affection. “No reason to be rude, Emily. I appreciate you agreeing to do the photos with me, but what you and I had was just business.”
Emily’s date leans over. “You’re upset about this guy? He’s not worth your time. Let’s go to our table. The program is about to start.”
“At least we agree on one thing,” Ira says. “This isn’t worth our time.” He steps to the side and leads Abbie around Emily and her date.
A waiter with a tray of mushroom pate served on baked tortilla wedges walks by. Emily reaches over and grabs two off the tray, one in each hand. “Don’t walk away without trying one of these lovely hors d’oeuvres.” She smashes them into the back of Ira’s and Abbie’s heads. “I hear they are just to die for.”
Ira spins around, stepping toward Emily. “You really are a fucking nutjob.”
Abbie feels the back of her head, picking the pate and tortilla from her hair. The press encircles them.
Seeing the growing audience, Emily plays to the crowd. “What are you going to do, hit me again?”
The comment sets off flashes and questions like lightning and thunder.
Flash “Is that why you broke up with him?”
Flash “How many times did he hit you?”
Flash “Are you going to press charges?”
Emily’s date moves between them. “This guy hit you?” He pushes Ira back. “You think you’re some kind of bad ass?” Two of the ushers push through the swelling score of spectators and step between them. Emily’s date attempts to fight through the security. Emily just stands behind, slyly smiling at the commotion she has caused. The reporters and photographers descend upon her, firing more questions.
Ira immediately backs off, more concerned with Abbie’s safety. Wrapping his arm around her, he forces their way through the mob. Once they realize Ira has nothing more to say on the matter, they flock around Emily who has not stopped talking. As Ira and Abbie clear the swarm, more of the ushers arrive to guide them from the melee. Ira keeps Abbie close. “I’m so sorry about this. Your brother is going to kill me.”
Abbie looks up at him. “What was that even about? It all happened so fast. She said you hit her?”
Ira looks back at Emily encircled by a mushrooming mass of media as she morphs immediately into a martyr. Her face is strained and her response, emotional. He can’t hear what she’s saying, but he knows, despite the traumatic theatrical turn, it’s those around her being preyed upon. Under the lights and immersed in drama, regardless of tone, is the only way she is happy, and how she will always be.
The ushers lead Abbie and Ira down an empty hallway away from the event to two restrooms not being used. One of the ushers says, “Here, you can clean up and collect yourselves in there. No one will bother you.”
“I didn’t expect this tonight,” the other usher says. “This is crazier than the Laker games…when they were good.”
The first usher attends to Ira and Abbie. “Is there anything else I can get you guys?”
“Thanks, gentlemen. No, I think we just need a moment.” Ira brushes some of the pate off Abbie’s shoulder and leads her into the ladies’ room. “I swear to you. What she said, never happened. After we saw you the other night, I took her home. She asked me to come up for a swim, but I declined. After that, I told Eva I didn’t want to see her anymore, regardless of the impact professionally. This must be Emily’s way of getting back at me.” In the bright light of the restroom, he picks more crumbs from her hair. “I’m so sorry you got tangled up in this.”
Abbie reaches up and puts her hands in his, lowering them to her waist. “I believe you.” She rises up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek. “Let’s not let it ruin the night. That’s what she wants.” She leads him over to the sink. “We need to get you cleaned up. You have an award to accept, and I hate mushrooms.”
◆◆◆
Eva returns home after a long day of dealing with questions about Levi’s arrest even though her only comment has been that they are no longer working together. To get through the onslaught, she kept reminding herself that the separation from him in the long term will be a benefit, and that she might even be able to get some normal clients, if there is such a thing in the film business. But since the arrest, it’s been the opposite, just hassle and stress about Levi. Everything he did and everywhere he went were newsworthy, which meant more questions for her. No matter how many times she told reporters that she no longer represented Levi, the media still came to her for reactions and insight.
Eva assumes by now, Levi probably knows she is helping Gabe, and that he isn’t too happy about it. What she doesn’t know is what he will do. His actions have cleared her realm of understanding some time ago. All of it makes her question whether she ever really understood, or if she just tolerated and rationalized his behavior because she had to. After all, she created him. If anyone is to blame, it’s her. He would’ve never made it on his own. In her mind, if she hadn’t come along and plucked him out of the crowd and brought him to Los Angeles, he most likel
y would have ended up addicted to meth and opioids in some backwoods town like most of the people he grew up with.
Tired and upset from the stress, Eva trudges upstairs to relax in a bath. Her nightly soaks have become the only remaining peace in her life. She adjusts the water while dropping her tailored crepe pants to the floor. Retrieving a lavender bath bomb from the bottom drawer in the vanity, thoughts of Levi persist. Even alone in her own home, she can’t escape him. Dropping the bath bomb in the water, she watches it fizz and twirl while peeling off her remaining clothes. She wants to stay mad at him, but already she can feel compassion, or maybe it’s pity, she hopes, swelling within her. But, standing naked in front of the mirror, she remembers how many times he pushed her away for someone or something else and the hateful look in his eyes when he fired her. She doesn’t really think he would actually hurt her, but she’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t either. He looked such a mess in his mugshot, and the ridicule that has come after has had to make him even more desperate.
Flipping on the audio player, she plays seaside ambient music. Sounds of a soothing breeze and resonant waves fill the bathroom. She shuffles across the marble tiling and slides into the low-slung spoon tub. The silky, violet-colored water from the dissolved bath bomb envelops her up to the neck. She pulls her feet back, pushing her knees above the water. Seagulls squawk in rhythm with the repetitive ebbing and flowing surf through the speakers. She closes her eyes, lolling her head back over the edge of the tub.
The door, slightly ajar, widens. Hannah slithers through the opening onto the smooth, two-tone flooring. Gliding toward the tub, she curls around one of the silver, cast-iron claw feet and disappears underneath.
Eva scoops a handful of water onto her face, massaging her forehead and temples. Slow, deep breaths enter and exit through her pursed lips.
Hannah winds up around the chrome floor-mount hot water faucet. Her mocha head rises above the side at the foot of the tub. She bends over the edge and skims the top of the water along Eva’s right side. Graceful and lithe, her movement is undetected. She bows around Eva’s knee to above her stomach, which emerges above the water then sinks below with each breath. Hannah stretches further across the water toward Eva’s chest and stops just short of her chin. Hannah, her tongue flitting in and out, stares at Eva’s exposed neck and jawline.
