“Thank you, Saul. You saved us another day of shooting.”
“You’re welcome. How many more of these night shoots are there?”
“One more. But that’s later in the schedule.”
“Good. I’m a night owl, but I do like to sleep sometime.”
Johnny chuckled. “People think making movies is glamorous. They don’t realize how brutal principle photography is.”
“Yeah. I had no idea. What time is call tomorrow?”
“Three, at Casa Blanca Park.” When Saul groaned, Johnny grinned. He felt sorry for Saul, trying to run security for production and manage his other business, as well. “It’s a short day. Only six hours.”
“That’s good. You guys are killing me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Saul stood under the awning stretched over the crew to protect them from the sun as Angela and Bradley sat on a brightly colored blanket spread on the grass at the water’s edge. They were having a picnic, drinking wine and gazing into each other’s eyes as they shared deep thoughts about life. Johnny was shooting with two cameras over Angela and Bradley’s shoulders, allowing them to play off each other.
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Dad,” Bradley said softly, his eyes full of compassion as he reached across the basket of food and took Angela’s hand.
“You heard the results of the inquiry,” Angela replied, pulling her hand back as she looked down, her eyes sad.
“I don’t care what the inquiry said. Dad liked you. He said he you had great future in law enforcement…and he was the best. If you weren’t making the grade he would have said so.”
Angela stared into the distance. “Why are you treating me this way? Because of me, your father is dead.”
Bradley stared at her for a long moment, then grinned as he looked at the prompter. “Why am I treating her this way?”
“Because Dad wouldn’t like it if—” the man began, reading from the script.
Bradley looked back to Angela and composed his face. “Because Dad wouldn’t like it if you were blamed for something you didn’t do. He believed in justice. That’s why he was a cop, why I’m one. He taught me that you do what’s right, no matter what it costs.”
Again Angela stared into the distance. “He was the best. He was like a father to me.” She looked at him as a tear crept down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Andre.”
Bradley reached over and wiped away the tear. “I believe in you, Angela. You just have to believe in yourself.”
“It’s Tanya,” Johnny said. “Do it again.”
“What’d I say?” Bradley asked, looking into the camera.
“Angela.”
“Damnit. Couldn’t you have at least waited until after I kissed her?” he asked, causing the crew to snicker. He composed his face, and after a moment, another tear rolled down Angela’s cheek. He reached up and gently cupped her face before wiping away the tear. “I believe in you, Tanya. You just have to believe in yourself.” He paused, holding her face, before he slowly pulled her into a kiss.
“Cut!” Johnny called and everyone on the crew relaxed. They were running out of light, but they had the scene. “Good job, everyone, thank you. That’s a wrap for today.”
Angela stood and limped around in a circle, trying to get some feeling back into her foot, grimacing at the pins and needles.
As soon as her foot and leg were working again, she hobbled over to Saul. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you last night.”
“For what?”
“For saving the day. Again. It seems like every time something goes wrong, you’re there to fix it.”
He shrugged. “I talked to Ryan last night. He didn’t believe me when I told him the line was cut. I called a plumber I know this morning and asked him. He said there was no way a gas line can just rupture.”
“So it was sabotage.”
“It’s what it looks like. Someone is trying to fuck up this production. But why? What’s in it for them?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. How’d you know?”
“I didn’t. It was blind luck. All the food on the table was making me hungry. I was going to sneak out through the garage and grab a snack. I opened the door and the smell of gas it me. That’s when I started hustling everyone out.”
She grinned. “I think Bradley is jealous of you. He was aggravated you stayed behind and fixed the problem. He wanted to be the hero of the hour, too.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Some hero. Turn off the gas and undo a couple of fittings. There are people who make a living doing that sort of work.”
“Well I was impressed. So was everyone else.” She grinned. “Maybe we’ve been in the business too long, but we all were waiting for you to die in a ball of flame. That’s what would’ve happened in a movie.”
Saul chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Angela giggled. “I want you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Ask me to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“That’s right.”
“You know I’m not supposed to aggravate the talent, right?”
She grinned. “Then you better ask me to dinner, because if you don’t, I’m going to be aggravated.”
“Well, I don’t want Ryan mad at me again. So, Miss Angela Moncrief, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?” he asked, laying on the accent.
“Why, sure, sugar,” she replied, her voice dripping southern honey as she batted her eyes at him with her hands held under her chin. Except she was wearing jeans, sneakers and a modern blouse, she could have stepped right out of Gone with the Wind. “I thought you would never ask.”
He chuckled. Angela could turn in an instant, becoming a completely different woman right before his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
“Surprise me.”
He watched her a moment. “Okay. Be ready to go at eight. Dress comfortable and be ready to ride.”
She felt a chill pass over her at the thought of riding behind him on his motorcycle. Ryan would have kittens if she were to get on the back of a bike, but that made the appeal that much greater. “I’ll be ready. Room 208.”
***
Saul rapped on room 208. A moment later Angela opened the door and stepped back. She was dressed much as she was at the shoot, wearing jeans and a pale yellow blouse, opened at the collar to display plenty of tempting flesh, and a pair of sneakers. “You’re early.” He stepped into the room. Eva was sitting in a chair looking unhappy. “Let me put my hair up then I’ll be ready,” she said as she stepped into the bath. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’m ready,” Angela said, stepping out of the bath, her hair up in a ponytail.
“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Eva said. “I’ll have the limo brought up. Jack can take you wherever you want to go.”
“You worry too much,” Angela said as she opened the door.
“My job is to take care of you. Ryan is going to have my ass if I let you ride a motorcycle.”
“If he says anything to you, send him to me,” Angela said. “He’s not my dad, and my own time is mine.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her,” he said, causing Eva to grunt. “Look at it this way. Now you get the night off.”
“Hard to enjoy it knowing it could mean my job.”
“Don’t tell him, and if he finds out and fires you over this, I’ll quit. You can tell him I said that. Let’s go,” Angela said stepping out of the room.
“It must suck having someone telling you what you can and can’t do all the time.”
Angela snorted as the elevator doors closed. “You have no idea.”
***
She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, but as they rumbled through the evening, she was tingling in excitement, enjoying the speed, noise, and the air flowing over her skin. He pulled into a large parking lot filled with bikes. Her stomach l
urched over as she removed the helmet he’d given her, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.
He chuckled, picking up on her hesitation. “Don’t worry. I come here all the time. This place has the best Mexican food and the coldest beer in town.”
He led her into the bar, country music thumping as he raised his hand to the barkeep in salute. He led her into the back, past the pool tables and the few couples dancing on the small sawdust covered floor, sliding into a small booth near the back.
“Interesting place,” she said.
“I like it. It’s where we tend to hang out.”
“Hey, Saul. Haven’t seen you in a few days,” the perky waitress said as she glided to a stop, placing chips and salsa on the table.
“Been working my ass off. How’s Nellie?”
“We had tubes put in her ears. So far so good.”
“That’s good to hear.” He turned his attention to Angela. “You trust me?”
“Implicitly.”
“We’ll have the fish tacos and the AllDay IPA.”
The waitress scribbled then turned and walked away.
“Who’s Nellie?” Angela asked.
“Her daughter. She has three or four and has been having a lot of problems with ear infections.”
Angela nodded, impressed Saul would know something like that. “The waitress, she a friend of yours?”
He grinned, knowing what she was thinking. “Stacy? She’s married.”
Angela bobbed her head, her opinion of Saul creeping up a bit more. “So you know her from here. You must come in here a lot.”
“Pretty often. I don’t like to cook.”
Stacy returned with two beers. Angela was more of a wine drinker, but she tasted the beer. It was smooth, light, and ice cold. “Not bad,” she said as she sat the mug back on the table. “So what about you? You married?”
Saul grinned. “No. Proudly single for twenty-eight years. You?”
“No. Who has the time?”
“So what’s your story? Tell me about this movie you were in that has that Charlie guy all worked up.”
Angela smiled. “It was the story about a lawyer, played by Johnny Cressa, helping a mentally handicapped girl keep her baby. I played the girl.”
“And you were in a television show before that?”
She grinned. “I played one of the lifeguards on a show call Pool. It was the typical teen-angst type show, who was kissing who, who was backstabbing who, that sort of thing. Think Baywatch for tweens.”
“You’re pretty matter of fact about all of this.”
“How should I be? It’s just a job. You build houses and I stand in front of a camera and pretend to be a cop or whatever. Tell me about your club. Pagans? That seems like a strange name for a bunch of rough, tough bikers.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. I don’t see you guys as the court jester type.”
He grinned. “Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. If you go farther back, you’ll find Pagans were originally mischievous demons or emissaries from the devil. The buffoon character came hundreds of years later.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You never cease to surprise me. Did you start the Pagans?”
“No. That was my dad.”
“Is he still in the club?”
“No. He died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How?”
“Emphysema and lung cancer. Too many cigarettes for too many years. When he died, I took over Houston Framing and the club. He’s better off now than he was the last year of his life. I hated seeing him like that.”
“Houston? That’s your last name?
“For my whole life, why?”
“Are you related to Frank Houston?”
“Who?”
Angela grinned. “Never mind. What about your mother?”
“Beats me. I haven’t seen her in years. She and Dad divorced while I was still in high school. I wanted to stay with Dad, so she washed her hands of me. Last I heard she was living in Dallas. Married to a doctor, I think. What about you?”
Angela shrugged. “Nothing to tell, really. Born and grew up in LA. Mom’s a choreographer, and Dad’s a scriptwriter. Went to school to be an actress. Did a few commercials as a kid, landed the gig on Pool, and here I am.”
Stacy sat their food in front of them. “Anything else?”
“Another beer for us, when you have a chance. No rush.”
“I’m good,” Angela said, covering her almost mug with her hand.
“Bring it anyway. Once she bites into these tacos, she’ll want another.”
Stacy snickered and walked away.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
Saul grinned. “No. Trust me. You don’t seem all that excited about being an actress.”
Angela bit into her taco. It was scorching hot so she chased it with the beer, the flavors mingling and bringing out the flavor of both the meal and the beer. “Hot!” she gasped. “But you’re, right, the beer with the fish is really good.” She paused then looked at him. He was surprisingly perceptive. “I love being an actor. It’s all the other stuff I don’t like.”
“Like what?”
“Everything. Like tonight in the motel room. Everybody wants to run your life. Everyone wants something from you.” She paused as she looked at him. “You’re one of the very few people I’ve met who doesn’t seem to want anything from me. You treat me like everyone else, and I appreciate that.” She paused then decided to level with him. “I don’t have many friends because I can’t tell if they are being friendly because they like me, because they are being paid to be that way, or if they want something from me.”
He nodded. “Like Bradley?”
Her mouth pulled down. “Like Bradley. That really pissed me off he’s trying to use me. I hate that. And it’s not the first time it’s happened. On Pool, once my character started to take off, people started treating me different. At first I liked it, but then I found out they were saying one thing to my face then something else behind my back, or were trying to hitch their star to mine. Not one person on the set I thought was my friend actually cared about me. They only cared about what I could do for them. That was a hard lesson to learn. So now I don’t let people who can use me get close to me.”
“Which is why you come off as a ball-busting bitch.”
She looked down. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t mean to be that way. I respect the people in the cast and crew for what they bring, I really do. I couldn’t do my job without them. But I know they are being paid to be friendly and nice to me. I thought I was past that with the cast, then I find out about Bradley. That’s why it was so refreshing for you to come in and be like you are. I feel like I can trust you. Can I trust you?”
Saul grinned. “Angela, I am who I am. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.”
“It’s Pernella.”
“Pernella?” he asked, trying to keep up.
“Pernella Charlese Landry. Pernella was my maternal grandmother’s name, Charlese my paternal grandmother. Mom and Dad call me Perty. Angela Moncrief is my professional name.”
“Okay, Perty it is.”
“Angela is fine. That’s what everyone calls me, but I wanted you to know my real name.”
“What do you think of the tacos…Perty?”
Angela grinned. “They’re great. Tell me what else the Pagans do. It is like Sons of Anarchy?”
He grinned. “Being in the business, you should know better than that. We have around a 150 members. They pay dues to the club, and for that, they get the privilege of wearing the patch. We run occasional security gigs, like this, and a few other odd jobs here and there. Mostly we just hang out, drink beer, and shoot the shit. Unlike you, I know I can trust my brothers. I feel sorry that you’ve never had anyone you can trust to be there for you.”
“So if someone wants to join, and is willing to pay the dues, they can be a member?”
&n
bsp; “No. To be a Pagan, someone has to sponsor you. Then you’re a prospect for a year. Once the year is up, the club takes a vote. If seventy-five percent of the members vote to accept you, you’re in. Otherwise, you’re out. It’s a privilege to be a Pagan. We won’t accept just anyone and you have to earn the patch. We’ve had a couple people try to buy their way in, but that shit won’t fly with us.”
SAUL Page 11
