by Don Bruns
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After Em threw four fancy designer fashion bags in the backseat, we drove back to Londell and Bavely’s, arriving at one thirty, and I parked half a block from the office. Em sipped her Starbucks mocha and I watched the people walking the sidewalk. We wanted to see this Juliana before she saw us. Kind of get a heads-up on what kind of a woman she was.
The two of us settled on 104.3 FM radio, a mix of current hits with some music from several years ago. Mostly, the station carried an advertising where-to-go menu for Los Angeles. Mirando Casino, less than ninety minutes from wherever you are. Loma Linda Medical University Center, treating over ten thousand cancer patients per year, Excalibur Hotel and Casino with the male revue Thunder from Down Under, Dick’s Last Resort, and Newport Beach. Commercial after commercial after commercial.
Em rolled her eyes.
“Isn’t there a station that actually plays some music now and then?”
The next spot told us to look forward to tomorrow morning when Valentine in the Morning would regale us with his clever patter on the A.M. show.
“I look forward to a little bit of Moore in the Morning,” Em said, her hand resting on my thigh.
To be fair, on the present Kari Steele Show there was a little music thrown in. Not much, but some.
“So, do you think this Andy Hall really killed himself?”
“I’m the guy who swore that Jason Londell committed suicide. That shows you how much I know.”
“Skip, what if this Hall guy was part of the murder?”
“Or he knew who was behind it?”
“Maybe Chad Rich had a hand in it.”
“No, Em, I get a pretty good feel for Rich. I know what I said about thinking everyone is a suspect, but I think he’s as confused as anyone.”
“So either it was an accident, someone decided to take him out, or he killed himself because he was guilty?”
“He was up there. One of three people pulled the trigger because I don’t think Jason Londell shot himself.”
I shrugged my shoulders. Too many ifs.
“Is that her?” I watched an attractive brunette walking toward the building led by a long, sleek dog on a leash.
“Too thin.”
“She’s what? James said three months? Do women show at that stage?”
She turned to me and frowned.
“How the hell would I know?”
Several more women walked by, no guys. There was a yogurt shop on the corner, a dry cleaner, Laundromat combination in the next block, and a pet store beside our car. Pedestrians continued to pass by, but no one appeared to be Juliana Londell.
“If we ever—”
“Get married?” Em read my mind.
“Yeah. Would there be any preexisting conditions? Unfaithfulness or a prenup that said you couldn’t have—”
Her eyes popped open. “I couldn’t have what? You’ve got nothing. Let’s turn that around, okay? I couldn’t have? Give me a break.”
“I just meant that—”
“Just drop it.” I’d hit a sore spot. “Maybe there’s another way to get into that office that we’re not aware of.”
“Maybe there’s a rear entrance and a parking lot in the back.” It was an idea.
“Could be, but I think that’s her.” Em pointed to a green Jag XKE that pulled in front of the building. A dark-haired girl had gotten out, walked around to the driver’s side, and lip-locked the driver, for at least five or six seconds.
“What makes you say that?”
“Loose serape top over jeans. Kind of hides the early baby bump.”
“Ah, you who doesn’t know when a woman shows.”
“It’s her, Skip. And she appears to be very into the good-looking guy with the green sports car.”
She did.
“So,” I said, having already analyzed the situation, “does that count as unfaithful? The kissing thing?”
“I’m not a legal scholar, Skip, but the husband is dead. The will, stating that she must be faithful to inherit, is probably null and void. But don’t take my word for it. Maybe she has to be faithful unto her own death.”
The lady walked into the building, and we waited another fifteen minutes before we ventured forth.
“Emily. Thank you for coming back.” Kathy Bavely was all smiles, again ignoring the fact that I even existed.
“Have a seat and I’ll make sure Juliana is ready to see you,” she said.
I noticed she stretched the name Juliana a little too long, an affected negative sound on the widow’s name.
“By the way, let me ask you a strange personal question. Do you have a dog?”
I saw the light go on in Em’s eyes.
“I do. I love dogs.”
She didn’t. And she didn’t.
“I had a feeling,” Bavely said, a big grin on her face. “I trust people who love dogs. You know what I mean? I’ve got a mix. A Yorkie and silky, name of Brilliant Bentley. Don’t you just love it?”
“I’m dog crazy,” Em said, gushing with enthusiasm. “I named my miniature schnauzer Skip, after my manager.” She pointed to me and it was the first time I felt like I’d actually mattered in this strange relationship. “He yaps a lot, but usually does exactly what I tell him.” So smug.
Bavely laughed and turned to me. “You’re the manager?”
“I am.” What the hell do you think I am, lady? Window dressing?
Cocking her head, she smiled and asked, “Do you get along with Emily’s dog, Mr. Manager?”
“Skip is wonderful with,” Em paused, “Skip.” She laughed, and I thought about my relationship with her dog. The dog that didn’t exist, but due to Em’s heroic acting skills I believed. I just hoped that Bavely did as well. This was coming along better than I had dreamed because, to be honest, I thought we were way out of our league here. Em was actually pulling it off. What, I wasn’t sure.
“I really think this relationship is going to work,” Kathy Bavely said, “assuming,” she paused, frowning a little, “well, just let me get Juliana.” There was almost a little fear in her voice.
A moment later, Bavely walked out with a very attractive brunette in a red, yellow, and green Mexican print serape hanging over jeans. The lady was a knockout, and I knew what a knockout was. I was dating one. Em had nailed her. It was the lady hiding the “baby bump,” as Em called it. My girlfriend was always one, two, three, or four steps ahead of me.
Juliana Londell oozed good looks, but any charm and personality she might have possessed were quickly forgotten.
“You’re the unknown Emily Minard?”
“I am,” Em said.
“You almost have a negative history. Do you know that?” She practically glared at my girlfriend. “You’ve worked for some of the most notable companies and productions in the industry, and you’ve been relegated to totally forgettable background status.” She shook her head. “What the hell were you thinking? Is that seriously the best you could do?”
Arms folded across her chest, she squinted her eyes and stared at Em, shaking her head.
“Poor management, poor representation. Very sad.”
We were a success. The résumé was so weak, it wasn’t even questioned. I smiled, since no one was paying any attention to me anyway.
“I can’t deny that,” Em said. “But that’s why I need some awesome representation. That’s why I came to you.” Pointing at Londell, she said, “You are the reps to get me positioned for bigger roles.”
“Wouldn’t do you much good to deny it.” Londell studied her, saying, “I can’t even find much about you on the Internet.”
I knew for a fact that the lady couldn’t find anything on her. Em had a low profile and wasn’t even on Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn. When there was success in her father’s company, he was the one who got the credit. Em laid low.
“However,” Londell continued, “we’d like to send you out on a couple of casting calls. It’s the best way we can get a feel for how
people are going to react to you. You’ve certainly got the looks, and you seem to carry yourself well, but whether you can act is another story.”
I looked at Em, the question in my eyes. Was Juliana Londell taking over? Was Kathy Bavely simply the finder? I remembered James telling me the lady took what she wanted.
“I’m ready to prove myself,” Em nodded, a faint smile on her lips.
“Well, Kathy,” she nodded to her partner, “I think she’s a keeper. I like the look and attitude. I’ll work with you on developing this talented lady, and we’ll just see how far she can go.”
The office felt like a meat factory as I watched Juliana run her eyes over Em again. These two ladies seemed overly interested in my girlfriend’s body.
“Why don’t the three of us go into your office and—” She seemed to notice me for the first time.
“I’m sorry. You are?”
“I’m Skip Moore. I’m Em’s manager.”
“Mmmm. How long have you been her manager?”
“Long enough.” I didn’t like her tone.
“Long enough to see her career go nowhere?” She once again crossed her arms and gave me a long, hard look. “I’m sorry, but if you’re working on a percentage, Mr. Moore, is it? If you’re working on a percentage, I hope you have a lot of other clients. It appears that Miss Minard hasn’t made enough money to support herself, much less give you anything.”
“Mrs. Londell,” Em spoke up, “Skip is also my boyfriend, and—”
“Boyfriend?” Her voice dripped venom.
Suddenly a word I’d liked when Em had used it carried a very negative connotation. Like the term scumbag.
“Managing a career means managing a career, Emily. If an investment banker isn’t getting you any kind of return, fire him. This is a results-oriented business. Sure, there is a lot of room for extras and second-tier actors, but there’s no money being an extra. B-list talent is sidewalk spit in this town. That’s why you hire people who are successful in their business to help you be successful in yours. I’m disappointed you are relying on lovers for your career.” The lady’s voice was ice cold. “Lovers are good for one thing, Emily Minard. Fucking. You need someone who gets the job done, not someone who is screwing you. And it appears Mr. Moore has been doing just that. Nothing personal, Mr. Moore.”
Em nodded and I knew I was being sold down the river.
“We should discuss getting you a real manager, Emily. Because I don’t deal well with amateurs.” Her eyes focused on mine and she shot me daggers. “If you’re serious about your profession, everyone around you has to be serious as well. If you’re a professional, surround yourself with professionals. Got it?”
Em nodded, torpedoing my career as a manager. I wanted Juliana to be the killer in the worst way. The lady was a controlling, conniving bitch. Which, in this business, was probably the perfect agent.
“I will recommend two people, both males. I don’t like it, but men in this industry,” she glanced at me, “strong men, seem to carry the day. We women are still working our way up the hill.”
We’d hit the mother lode. Juliana Londell was on board. We were in a position to learn a lot about Jason Londell’s wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The three of them marched into Kathy Bavely’s office, and I sat in reception. I’d been unceremoniously fired. And although my fictitious feelings were hurt, I had a perfect opportunity. The secretary, whoever she was, had walked out the front door and never returned. I was alone with a lobby area, a main office area with a number of file cabinets, and an open door down the hall that led to Juliana’s office. It was as if I’d been presented with the keys to the kingdom. The entire kingdom. It was all too perfect, as if someone was setting me up.
I heard Bavely’s door close, and I was immediately on my feet. On the corner of the desk, as if it was planted just for me, was the proverbial gold-colored key. Way too good to be true. And I’d almost missed it, turning around when I’d passed the desk and shaking my head in disbelief. A simple handwritten tag attached by a thin metal ring said “office front.”
It could only mean one thing, right?
Hesitating for a moment, I glanced back at the metal entrance door. I studied it for a moment, thinking everything was falling into place. Being in the security business, I was surprised that there wasn’t an electronic-card entry. Just a key? I checked the walls beside the door and there was no sign of a security system. No pad, no subtle flashing panel. It would be an easy break-in.
But the Londell slash Bavely agency wasn’t a cash business, and most burglars are looking for money. A computer, a printer, there wasn’t much value in pawning anything they could steal. So your average thieves wouldn’t find this office that attractive. Now me, I wasn’t your average thief.
Glancing back at Bavely’s office door, I slipped the key off the desk and into my pocket. Keys always went missing. I was proof of that. I misplaced my car key, apartment key, or some other key every other month. And if there were duplicates, you could always make another one. There was more than one office key, and no one would miss this one.
It was time to start scanning the metal cabinets for information. I just assumed that a high-end business like this relied on digital files. Why go to the expense, the storage, and the waste of dead trees by having thousands of paper trails when it could all be kept on a computer or stored on the cloud? It’s probably why I wasn’t yet successful in the business world. I didn’t understand any of it. Old-school storage, but at least I didn’t need a password to open the drawers.
The file drawers were labeled in alphabetical order, as would be expected. I scanned the letters and stopped when I came to L. Looking both ways, the front door of the office in my immediate view, I pulled open the drawer. Quickly looking for the name Londell, I found Jason’s file. I flipped though the rather substantial bulk of the information and saw that it contained a number of contracts, reviews, photos, and more. The file was probably four- or five-inches thick. Everything seemed business-oriented, nothing personal. There were subfiles and more subfiles. His recent movies were listed, and I saw that he’d been on location in Singapore just three months ago. Five weeks of exotic locations. Maybe Em was on to something regarding a new career.
I was impressed when I randomly opened the D drawer and saw Cameron Drew’s name. Drew had a handful of Emmys to his name and even a Grammy somewhere in his past. I was surprised when I pulled open the Rs. Eric Roster was on the list of clients along with Denise Richards, Charlie Sheen’s ex. Juliana Londell seemed to represent big-name clients.
There was no sound coming from behind Kathy Bavely’s heavy office door, and I stepped into Juliana Londell’s office. Thick, maroon carpeting silenced the street noise, the ivory walls were adorned with Picasso-like art, with signatures of Georges Braque and Modigliani on the strange sketches and paintings. I had no idea who they were, but I never understood Picasso either. I actually took a course at Samuel and Davidson University in art appreciation, and after that class, I can truly say I have no appreciation for art.
This lady was about my age, but she had obviously climbed higher in the world than I had at this point. Original art, clients who made millions of dollars, and a relationship that was of celebrity, People magazine status. I hadn’t even gotten my wings and Juliana Londell was already soaring.
Her laptop computer was open and on. I glanced at the screen, looked back into the hall, and told myself that Em’s job was to keep the three of them tied up for as long as possible. If she could pull that off, giving me time to explore Mrs. Londell’s files, Em deserved a show of her own. I was about to find out just how good her acting skills were.
I had no idea where to start. A million options were open to me, and I had maybe ten or fifteen minutes at the most. I could open up her Word documents and maybe there would be that threatening letter to Jason, but I didn’t have time to find the password. And then I looked to the right of the desk. A Global fourdrawer metal f
iling cabinet was within reaching distance. No letters or names appeared on the drawers, and I leaned over and pulled the first one open.
Auction Items. Apparently the Londells had given some of their furniture to an auction house. A walnut desk, whiskey cabinet—whatever that was—a maple dining table, and the list went on.
Auto Insurance. A policy for a Ford Focus, a Toyota Camry, and a Jeep Liberty were in the file. Gold. Another file listed a Lexus, a Porsche Boxster, and a Ferrari. They appeared to be personal policies, not licensed to the company. Damn. A Ferrari. She was my age for God’s sake. A Ferrari?
And sure enough, when I found the L files, there was a paper file for Life Insurance. This was almost too easy.
Flipping through the few papers in the file, I saw it.
Jason Londell to Juliana Londell, Beneficiary. The policy had been taken out about four weeks after their marriage. It was for ten million dollars. Dear Jesus. Ten million dollars. Coupled with the value of his estate, this lady was worth a fortune. Close to one hundred million dollars if everything checked out. I got as far as face value when a stern female voice said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Spinning around, I saw her, standing at the entrance doorway to reception. The secretary had a cell phone pressed tightly to her ear, obviously distraught about something. Thank God, her back was to me.
My heart doubled its speed as I stepped out of the office, moving quickly and quietly down the hallway, reaching the reception area just as she turned around.
Frowning, she nodded at me, walked to her desk, and pulled out her chair.
I took a deep breath.
“I’ve got to go,” she barked into her cell. “She’s not going to be happy, Steve. There’s been a lot of effort on this end. You know that. You’ve had the auditions, but she can’t make the results happen. You’re responsible for the delivery and apparently the results are less than stellar.” Very softly she finished by saying, “And when she’s not happy, nobody is happy.”
