The Actor's Guide To Adultery

by Rick Copp

  I parked on a side street, walked to the two-level glass building, and made my way to the back where a line formed out the door with nervous-looking dieters awaiting their weekly weigh-in on a sturdy, top-of-the-line scale you just can’t buy at Sears. There was no getting around the numbers that would pop up on the digital display screen. These industrial, professional machines were designed for accuracy. Which was good or bad, depending on what kind of week you’d had. Today was bad since I had overindulged at The Little Door with Charlie and Susie the night before.

  Laurette and I had tried every kind of diet there was, but Weight Watchers was the one that seemed to do the trick since it was very easy for both of us to get caught up in counting points. It became a game we could play together as we spent hours trying to figure out how it would be possible to eat a filet mignon and half a pepperoni pizza in the same day. Unfortunately, with only twenty-seven points to spend a day, and one slice of French toast with a dollop of maple syrup totaling a whopping eight points, I was done eating for the day after breakfast.

  I had been standing in line for just a few minutes when I heard a commotion up at the front counter. It was Laurette. She had arrived just before me and was determined to stock up on the three-point chocolate bars you could gorge on between meals during the week. But there was only one box left on the shelf and a formidable three-hundred-pound newcomer was certain her hand had reached the box first. I loved watching Laurette in action. She was a force to be reckoned with, and most rue the day they foolishly choose to get on her bad side. I had come close on her wedding day. It scared me to think about life without Laurette. She was just too bright a light in my world. And despite my misgivings regarding her new husband, I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship.

  To my utter shock, Laurette let go of the box and muttered to the obese woman, “Fine. You take it.”

  The obese woman grunted, a victorious smile on her face, and took her seat in one of the hard, gray folding chairs that had been set up for today’s lecture.

  Laurette was clearly upset. Otherwise, she would have chewed up this woman and spit her out, in spite of her enormous size. Whatever was bothering her had to be big. It was extremely unusual for her to give up without a fight. And the stakes involved chocolate. Suddenly I was worried.

  She spotted me in line, and ambled over to give me a hug. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and she wore no makeup. Laurette never left the house without makeup. She prided herself on always looking dazzling. The more I studied her, the more concerned I became.

  “How was the honeymoon?” I said.

  “I think Juan Carlos is cheating on me.”

  Well, at least I didn’t have to pull what was wrong out of her. That was what made Laurette such a good talent manager. No bullshit. She always just cut right to the chase.

  “What makes you think that?” I said.

  “While we were in Maui, someone kept calling our room at the hotel and hanging up. Juan Carlos said it was probably just kids playing a prank. But I know it was her.”

  “Who?”

  “Dominique, his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just kids,” I offered weakly.

  Laurette shook her head. “No. Juan Carlos kept leaving me on the beach, said he was going to take a nap in the room. Finally, I called the room and there was no answer. He wasn’t there. I think he was meeting her.”

  “She was in Maui? Are you sure?”

  “No. Not a hundred percent sure. But one morning we got up early and did one of those sunrise bike tours down the side of a volcano. Halfway down, our group stopped for breakfast at a small restaurant, and I thought I spotted her outside, just standing there, staring at us. Juan Carlos told me I was being ridiculous. He refused to take me seriously, which just made me all the more suspicious. I know it was her, Jarrod. I saw her.”

  By this time, Laurette and I were at the front of the line, and it was my turn to bite the bullet and step up on the scale. I tore off my belt and shoes, and dropped my keys and loose change on one of the folding chairs. I was a seasoned pro at this. I didn’t need any random coins or metal weighing me down.

  I turned and let out a sigh. Operating the scale was Richard, this rail-thin former fatty whom I affectionately referred to as the “Diet Nazi.” Richard had lost a hundred and forty pounds on Weight Watchers, and so was a self-proclaimed expert on what was good for the rest of us. When I lost ten percent of my body weight after four grueling months in the program, Richard called me up in front of the class and hailed me as a hero. Until he discovered I had celebrated my monumental weight loss with a huge Thai dinner. He berated me in front of the class, and told me I was not an example to follow, and that earning a few activity points by walking Snickers around the block did not give me license to splurge on pad Thai noodle with peanut sauce. Tension had brewed between us ever since.

  Richard gave me a cursory glance, and waved me up onto the scale. I closed my eyes and did as I was told. There was an agonizing moment as Richard waited for the digital numbers to settle down, and then a sly smile broke out on his face.

  “It seems we’ve put on a couple pounds, Jarrod.”

  I opened my eyes to see the digital readout: 172 pounds. Not good. Not good at all. It was more than a couple of pounds. It was five. The Diet Nazi could barely contain his euphoria.

  “And it’s not even the holidays. Looks like someone needs to work a little harder. Better luck next week.”

  I wanted to punch him in the face. Normally I would have found solace in Laurette taking her turn. One smart mouth remark from Richard, and she would have done what I fantasized about doing. She would have socked him square in the mouth. But instead, after witnessing my public embarrassment, Laurette was too distraught to even attempt a weigh-in.

  “I’m not up for this,” she said and we hauled ass out the door.

  As I walked Laurette to her car, she began to cry. I stopped and took her into my arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really am.”

  She pulled away, placing a hand on her chest in a vain attempt to regain her composure. “I love him so much.”

  “I know you do. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

  “Yes.”

  When I said it, I thought it was one of those rhetorical questions that would have triggered an automated response such as, “No, just being my friend is enough.” But I should’ve known with Laurette, I was being lured into a plan.

  “What?” I said, unable to hide my hesitancy.

  “Follow him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She wiped away the last tear from her cheek, and looked at me with fierce resolve. “I want you to follow him and prove that he’s a no-good philandering son of a bitch.”

  Now every little voice in my head was screaming at me to say no. Just tell her I don’t feel comfortable staking out my best friend’s husband to catch him in the act of adultery. But to be honest, my own curiosity was peaked. I wanted to know his story, and by tailing him, I just might come up with some answers to the questions surrounding Austin Teboe’s murder.

  Although Charlie would undoubtedly need to be kept in the dark about what I was doing, it proved to be too enticing to pass up. “All right. I’ll do it, honey. But remember, this stays between us. If Charlie found out . . .”

  “I won’t breathe a word.”

  I nodded and our pact was sealed.

  “I can’t start on an empty stomach,” I said. “Hugo’s? My treat.”

  “Meet you there.”

  Laurette opened her car door as I walked up the street toward mine, but before she climbed in, she called out to me. “Jarrod?”

  I turned around.

  “If you do find out he’s cheating on me, then will you help me do one more thing?”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “Kill him.”

  She was joking. I think. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on her face. Or a humorous lilt in her v
oice. We would just have to cross that bridge if we came to it.

  Luckily Charlie was in the shower when Laurette called at five-thirty the following morning to alert me to the fact that Juan Carlos was on the move. He was on his way to Gold’s Gym in Hollywood, and had an audition for a national Home Depot commercial at ten-thirty. He was particularly vague about his afternoon schedule, so Laurette was convinced that if he was going to meet Dominique, it would be sometime after lunch. I arrived at Gold’s in a rather drab, nondescript neighborhood just south of the multimillion-dollar renovation projects in downtown Hollywood, including the upscale Cineplex, the Arclight, built around the historic Cinerama Dome; and Hollywood & Highland, a trendy mall full of shops, theaters, restaurants, and the spacious Kodak Theatre, the new home for the Academy Awards. But even with all the opulent new developments a few blocks north, the street where I parked outside of Gold’s was washed out and depressing. I was stuck there a solid two hours. I should have known Juan Carlos was a gym rat, completely obsessed with his physique. He was obviously in there pumping every kind of iron there was, not to mention chatting up a few pretty faces too.

  Finally, around eight, he strolled out the front door, conversing with a couple of other well-built actors showing off their sculptured pecs in form-fitting T-shirts. Juan Carlos waved good-bye to his buddies, hopped in Laurette’s white SUV, and drove west. I pulled out behind him, but tried staying a few cars behind him so as not to arouse suspicion.

  He pulled into a Starbucks just outside the Farmers’ Market, and I watched as he had coffee with a man and a woman, both in sharp Italian business suits. Agents or managers. Definitely. I watched them through the window from outside, and Juan Carlos never stopped talking. He was probably talking about his career goals and himself in general. For over an hour. The agents looked relieved when Juan Carlos checked his watch, and jumped up to leave.

  Then, it was off to his audition on the west side in Culver City. It was in a brick building, home to several casting agencies. He primped in the SUV a good ten minutes before donning his Armani sunglasses, adjusting one stray hair on his head, and then finally marching confidently inside. He was in there an hour.

  When he finally came out, he looked excited as he spoke feverishly into his cell phone. My guess was he got the part. Or at least a callback. There was almost a skip in his step as he headed for the SUV.

  After lunch with another out-of-work actor I recognized from an MCI commercial, I was beginning to think Juan Carlos was exactly as he came across. A self-absorbed player who used his looks to get ahead, but in the end, a faithful husband. That was before he headed over the hill to the San Fernando Valley. I thought he might be driving to a last-minute audition, but when he drove north to a middle-class neighborhood near the Burbank Airport, and parked on a quiet street called Screenland Drive, I perked up. Something was happening.

  Juan Carlos got out of his car, and walked up to a one-story pea green house that would never see the pages of Architectural Digest. He rapped on the door, and a stunning young blonde, spilling out of a bright pink tank top, welcomed him inside. As she closed the door, I saw Juan Carlos lean in and kiss her. On the mouth. Jackpot.

  I leaped out of the car, and ran up the walk to the house. The blinds were drawn so I couldn’t see inside, but after maneuvering around some shrubbery, I came across an open window leading into the kitchen. I could hear them in the living room. Their voices were faint, but distinguishable.

  “It’s got to be tonight,” the blonde said. There was an urgency in her voice.

  “So soon? We can’t make any mistakes. I could lose everything,” Juan Carlos said.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it look like an accident. Something quick and easy.”

  “What kind of an accident?”

  “Oh, keep your voice down,” the blonde said. “Do you remember that woman who tried to kill herself on Fire Island?”

  “So?”

  “I took it away from her, remember?”

  “Took what?”

  “What she tried to kill herself with.”

  “What good does that do us?”

  “I got it. I saved it. I’ll show you. See? Poison. And it works fast.”

  This couldn’t be happening. It was all so surreal. Juan Carlos and this blond woman were plotting some kind of murder. And I was ready to bet my house on two things. The poison was monkshead. And the intended victim was my best friend, Laurette.

  I whipped out my cell phone to call Laurette and warn her when I heard a low, steady growling. I looked down to see a pit bull, ears back and teeth bared, ready to lunge for my throat. I dropped the phone. My only weapon. Perfect. I slowly raised my arms to protect my face (an actor’s first thought), when the shades in the open window rolled up.

  “Badger, what are you growling at?”

  The blond woman stared at me. And then she let out a scream. A long, piercing scream. Juan Carlos was at her side in a second.

  “Jarrod?”

  “Hi, Juan Carlos,” I said.

  “You know him?” the blond woman said, shaking.

  “Yes. He’s a friend of my wife’s. What are you doing here?” He didn’t look angry. Just confused. He had no idea I was on to him.

  “Does that really matter? I heard everything,” I said with an accusatory look on my face.

  “Heard what?” he said.

  “The accident. Tonight. Laurette.”

  It took a minute for him to process what I was talking about. And then it dawned on him, and his eyes went wide. I probably should have dived for my phone and dialed 911, but I stood my ground. Juan Carlos looked at the blonde, and then, they both laughed. Big, hearty, guffawing laughs. I didn’t see the humor in the situation, so I remained stone-faced.

  Juan Carlos disappeared back inside and then returned with a DVD. He tossed it out the window and I grabbed it. It was a classic fifties melodrama, Sudden Fear, starring Joan Crawford, Jack Palance, and Gloria Grahame. What this had to do with anything was lost on me.

  “You ever see it?” Juan Carlos said.

  “Yes,” I said. It was actually quite a potboiler. Playwright Crawford rejects actor Palance for her play, he returns later to romance her and plot her murder with his ex-girlfriend Grahame . . . Oh no.

  I slowly raised my eyes to Juan Carlos, who had a big grin on his face. I didn’t dare ask. I didn’t have to.

  “We’re doing a scene for our acting class.”

  The blonde piped in. “Our teacher’s a Crawford fanatic. Everyone’s doing scenes from her films. It’s so funny that you thought . . .”

  I shrugged. The joke was on me.

  Once Juan Carlos and his scene partner stopped laughing, and Badger finally stopped growling, there was a deadening silence. I knew what was coming.

  “So what are you doing here, Jarrod?” Juan Carlos folded his arms and his eyes narrowed. There was no getting out of this one.

  Chapter 7

  As I stood in the hedges, caught, embarrassed, and totally screwed, my mind raced with a number of scenarios I could attempt to use to explain my way out of this botched stakeout. But I decided the truth was probably the best way to go. Well, almost the truth. I had to protect Laurette at all costs. So I would just leave out the part where she asked me to tail her husband and find out if he was a lying, cheating cad.

  The blond woman, whom Juan Carlos finally introduced me to as Tammy, rushed outside to retrieve her pit bull, Badger. She flashed me a look of warning, as if I were the one who was growling at her precious four-legged soul mate. Badger snapped at my leg as she pulled him by the collar back into the house, and I heard her murmur under her breath, “Good boy.”

  That left me alone with Juan Carlos, who looked down at me from the kitchen window, not budging, frustration rising the longer it took me to offer up an explanation.

  I let out a deep sigh. “The thing is, Juan Carlos, I love Laurette with all my heart.”

  “As do I,” he said emphatically, a hint
of defensiveness in his inflection.

  “Well, I’ve known her a long time, and she can sometimes be impulsive, and well, when she rang me up to tell me she was marrying you after only knowing you such a short time, naturally I became suspicious of your motives.”

  Juan Carlos didn’t flinch. His brown eyes, almost empty of emotion, stared at me. I pressed on. “And, well, I just wanted to make sure you’re sincere about your feelings for her because the last thing I want is for Laurette to get hurt.”

  “I would never hurt Laurette. She’s my life now, my whole life,” he said.

  “But surely you can understand where I’m coming from,” I said.

  Nothing. Not even a slight nod. Apparently he didn’t understand.

  “With your ex-girlfriend showing up at the wedding and a dead body at the reception, I mean those are pretty big red flags.”

  “I already told you and the police. It’s over between Dominique and me. It has been for a long time. And I don’t even know that man who died at the wedding.”

  “He didn’t just die. He was murdered.”

  Finally. A slight reaction from Juan Carlos. His eye twitched and he shifted in the window, a little uncomfortable hearing the word “murder.”

  “Poisoned. Didn’t you hear?” I said.

  “How could I? Laurette and I just got home last night.” His patience with me was waning. “Look, Jarrod, as you can see, Tammy and I are just scene partners, not secret lovers. Dominique is long gone. I have no idea where. And I had nothing to do with that man who died . . . excuse me . . . was murdered at my wedding. You should be talking to the hundred other people who were there that day.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been very foolish.”

  He softened a bit, and even offered me a slight smile. It wasn’t sincere. He was just the kind of guy who liked to keep his enemies close.