Unraveling

by Owen Thomas

  “Why?”

  “Says she didn’t really think about it, she just did it. Terrified, she says.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Wycoff ignored the question.

  “So Joe spins her around and tries to pick her up and carry her off and she’s sure that real bad things are about to happen. So he’s got her by the waist and she grabs on to the edge of the tank to keep from being hauled away. She said there was a cracking sound in the shelving and that Joe stopped and put her down. He tried to convince her to sit down in a chair so that they could talk, but she wasn’t buying it. She refused.”

  Wycoff held out his hands balled into fists hovering above the table.

  “She refused to budge. Kept a firm hold on that tank. Joe made a sudden move for her hands. She pulled everything down and took off. She said she tried to make it to the front door but that he was closer. So she changed course for the bathroom. He caught her by the dress and ripped it. She locks the door and calls 911. She doesn’t know the address. But when they are trying to figure that out, Joe’s call comes in and our dispatch puts two and two together and sends up a car.”

  “Holy Christ,” Hollis whispered, shaking his head. Captain Wycoff nodded. “Some friend you have there,” Hollis said.

  “So you believe her?”

  “She’s not the type. She’s not into drugs. She doesn’t steal.”

  “How well do you really know her?”

  “Well enough,” said Hollis feeling his very blood beginning to coalesce and rise to her defense. “I know her well enough, officer.”

  Captain Wycoff leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, sizing him up. Hollis filled the silence.

  “They can’t both be telling the truth.”

  “Clearly not,” said Wycoff.

  “Someone is lying.”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you so sure that Joe, or whatever his name is, isn’t lying?”

  “Well, I’m never sure of anything in this business, Mr. Johns. But it sure doesn’t sound like him. And I’ve known him a whole lot longer than you’ve known her.”

  “Does Bethany seem to you like someone that… that…”

  “She tells a credible story. I’ll give her that. If she’s a liar, she’s a good one. But I’ve seen some good liars, Mr. Johns.”

  “She’s not that kind of person.”

  “Is she the kind of person that has a different identity in Yonkers? Does she seem like a Lynnette to you? Carol Ann?”

  Hollis was quiet, turning the plastic fob to his rental keys over and over in his hand. “Where is she?” he asked finally, looking up across the table at Wycoff.

  “Locked up. Still in holding. You took your time getting here.”

  “I… I came as soon as I could. I had to make arrangements…”

  “Relax, Mr. Johns. You didn’t have to come at all. I thought you’d call. She said you would be calling. And you didn’t even have to do that. Okay? You’re not in trouble here. I’m just saying that there is only so long that I can wait before I process the paperwork on this mess and we formalize this in front of a judge. She doesn’t live in this state. I can’t just let her go and expect her to hang around and I can’t just keep her locked up. She’s been very cooperative so far. We keep rolling over her temp-hold status with her consent. I mean she knows I’m trying to work something out. But still. She’s looking at felony charges. One more day and I’d have to transfer her over to Maricopa County lock-up and start the process and then there’s no going back.”

  “What do you want from me? I mean… wait, she hasn’t been charged?”

  “Not formally. We’re using the words misdemeanor mischief a lot right now just to keep things status quo.”

  “Has he? Has Joe been charged?”

  “No. Okay, look, here’s the deal. If I charge either of them, then I have to charge both of them. Based on the evidence, I can charge her with destruction of property and assault. Maybe attempted theft since they found three rings in the debris.”

  “He could have put them there.”

  “Yes.”

  “And assault?”

  “Shoe to the head.”

  “What about self-defense?”

  “Depends on who you believe, doesn’t it? Joe says he was trying to stop a thief and he almost took a high heel though the eyeball.”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay, so if I do that, if I charge her, then I’ll have to open an investigation into her claims of assault and attempted sexual assault, and I’ll have to deal with the drug thing, because this girl is not going quietly into the good night, and of that I am certain.”

  “She wants to bring charges.”

  “Yes. Well, put it this way; if he accuses her, she’s accusing him and is prepared to make it ugly. Joe really wants to avoid all of that. Okay? He wants justice, he wants her locked up, but he does not want this thing all over the newspapers and he does not want us getting within a hundred miles of Mr. O’Donnell to corroborate how Bethany showed up at the house. He’s very protective of that relationship.”

  “And then there’s his wife,” said Hollis.

  “And then there’s his wife. Yes. Very perceptive.”

  “I’ve got one of my own. His wife is still on vacation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she the suspicious type?”

  “That’s none of my business. But…,” Wycoff gave a little smile. “There may be some history there, yeah.”

  “So… so then why doesn’t he just let it drop? I mean, just let her go. If he drops it, will she drop it?”

  “Yeah. No question about that. She’s ready to lump her own grievances to get out of this mess.”

  “So? What’s the problem?”

  “Pride.”

  “Pride?”

  “He wants to be paid for the damage.”

  “He wants… I thought this guy was rich.”

  “Oh, he’s loaded. It’s not that he can’t. That’s just where he’s decided to draw the line in the sand. He’s willing to drop everything if, and only if, she agrees not to press any charges and she pays for the damage. And let me tell you something; this Department has got more important things to do,” Wycoff closed his eyes and shook his head sharply as if to take back his own words, “I’ve got more important things to do, than to get mired down in this bullshit... Pardon me… to get all tangled up with these two yahoos and a bunch of lawyers and newspapers and politicians and Department brass. Joe has a lot of pull.”

  “So then just don’t bring any charges against either of them.”

  “Tried that. Joe wants his money.”

  “What does she say?”

  “She’s willing. She’ll do that deal. One big problem though.”

  Hollis looked at him, waiting.

  “She doesn’t have any money.”

  It took him a moment to see the end, his mind getting hung up on the numbers.

  “How much? How much is he asking her to pay?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars?”

  Wycoff shook his head.

  “Fifteen thousand? She did fifteen thousand dollars in damage?”

  “I can show you the estimates. Water damage. Structural damage. He’s got to rebuild the whole…”

  “No, I believe you, I mean, I just can’t believe… I … Oh.”

  Captain Wycoff nodded slowly, stroking his mustache.

  “She doesn’t have the money.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s where I come in.”

  “Right.”

  “For any of this to work… the fish tank is my responsibility. I’m the uncle.”

  “Right,” he said. “You’re the uncle. The fish tank is your responsibility.”

  CHAPTER 59 – Tilly

  As upset as I had been about Blair’s final words – Get off of my boat and stay off my bloody set – I did not take him seriously.

  Sleep that night ca
me after the squall of drunken sobbing left me hoarse and exhausted. But when I awoke Sunday morning I had a better perspective. Blair was hurt, and certainly humiliated given his Australian-sized ego, but he would recover. He would be an absolute bastard to work with, sullen and brooding and lashing out in fits of rage at every little thing, but nothing I had not endured from him before. His ego was not only big, it also had magical recuperative powers. I would grow to hate him for the abuse and then, somehow, he would rehabilitate himself and the old affinity would resurface.

  On Monday, I drove in to the studio for what was to be our last week of shooting the Santa Maria transit scenes. I braced myself for the awkwardness. I was prepared to let Blair off with the meekest of apologies for the vitriol that had ended the evening by acknowledging that it had all been the alcohol talking. I also knew that in the days to follow I would not escape having to sit down with him over drinks so that we could confess our mutual affection and proclaim how we both thought it was unwise, for the sake of the friendship and the professional relationship, that we not venture any further.

  Of course, Blair would have a much more difficult time staying credible in that inevitable conversation than I would since he was the one who had proposed marriage and had then gotten so upset at my response that he had thrown an extraordinarily expensive diamond into the Pacific Ocean. But I had no interest in making such a conversation difficult. As far as I was concerned, the sooner Blair course-corrected the better, and if that meant I had to look the other way while he reassembled his dignity, then I was willing to sacrifice that bit of truth for the sake of good relations.

  When I arrived at the soundstage, the guard in the security booth consulted a roster looking for my name with a sour expression, shaking his head.

  “Nope,” he said, returning to his little doorway. “Not today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Today’s schedule on that set has been cancelled. Didn’t get the memo?”

  He thought this was clever and gave me something like a smile. A car pulled up behind me, waiting.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “If they could trust me with that kind of information I’d ask for a raise.”

  “When was it cancelled?”

  He looked at his clipboard.

  “Sunday. Yesterday.”

  He pointed to the place where I was to turn around and drive out. I stared at him in confusion, wanting to re-ask the why question. He patted the hood.

  I turned the car around and drove directly to the Brightleaf offices. Erica greeted me with her preternatural eyes and a decorous smile.

  “He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He has a full schedule. Meetings.”

  “Why wasn’t I advised that the shoot schedule for today was cancelled?”

  “I didn’t handle that.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who does know?”

  “I don’t know. You could try Dana.”

  “Where’s Dana?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s her number?”

  “I’m not authorized to provide personal numbers.”

  “When do you expect her in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And so on. I left abruptly, reeling in the rising tide of suspicion that Blair had actually cancelled the entire shoot schedule so that he could brood over Saturday night and avoid seeing me. Halfway to the parking lot I stopped and doubled back and stuck my head back into the door of the lobby. Erica looked up, her eyes brightening.

  “Have you actually seen Blair today? I mean like, in person?”

  She thought for a moment, processing whether this was information, which, if revealed, would violate the ethical code for movie studio receptionists. She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

  I went back out to the car and called Blair’s cell. It rang through to voice mail. I hung up without leaving a message. Then I called him back.

  “Blair. Tilly. I’ve been to the set this morning and was told that you cancelled the shoot. Apparently I’m the only one who showed up today. I’m really hoping, Blair, I’m really hoping that the fact that no one told me about the cancellation was just a stupid oversight and not… Well, I’d like to hear it from you. I’d like to have a civil conversation with you about this, so call me.”

  I hung up and called Stewart Glenn to find out what, if anything he knew about the reasons for the cancellation and how he was notified. He too was unavailable. I left a message for him to call me.

  I threaded my way back through Burbank and picked up the I-5, headed south. My phone rang. I was expecting Stewart.

  “Till? This is Dana Winn. Erica said you were looking for me?”

  “I was looking for Blair. Did you cancel the shoot?”

  “Yeah, the shoot’s cancelled this week. Didn’t you know?”

  “I know now. I want to know … wait, the whole week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. Blair said something came up. He’s the boss.”

  “Why wasn’t I notified?”

  “Blair said he already told you. He didn’t?”

  “Miscommunication, I guess,” I said, knowing that Dana kept no secrets from Blair and that he would soon learn whatever I said to her. Though my anger and suspicion were skyrocketing, I did not care to involve his assistant.

  “I’m so sorry, Tilly, I…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I shouldn’t complain about a surprise week off. Hey, I’ve got another call coming in.”

  I begged off, ready to lay into Blair. I should have looked at the phone.

  “Tills?”

  “Oh … hey Simon.”

  “You sound positively morose, if you’ll pardon the contradiction in terms.”

  “No. I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “Chinese fusion. You. Me. Wolfgang Puck on the 24th floor of the Ritz. That’s what’s up. What time are you guys stopping today?”

  I made the mistake of telling him that the schedule had been cancelled at the last minute and that, therefore, there was nothing to stop. The consequences of conveying that bit of information were immediate.

  “Dude! That’s splendid!”

  “Don’t say dude, Simon. You can’t pull that off with your accent.”

  “Right. Let’s meet for coffee and biscotti. What are you doing?”

  “When?”

  “Now. This minute.” Then he added with a slight drop in tone, “And all of the following minutes that you would otherwise have spent locked inside Blair’s set filming that ridiculous movie had your shooting not been cancelled.”

  I agreed to meet him for coffee. Thirty-five minutes later I was ordering a cheese Danish off the menu of a coffee bar on Wilshire Boulevard. Simon, in all of his men’s store redolence and dark blue double-breasted glory, overplayed his sympathy for the inconvenience of my morning. I did not explain about Blair’s drunken proposal or, for that matter, my history with Blair and my suspicions that he was lashing out like a scorned lover. That backstory, as it turned out, was not actually necessary to whip Simon into a froth of sympathy. My inconvenience was sufficient.

  “That’s terrible,” he said, wiping whipped cream from his lip with a finger. “That shows a disgusting lack of regard if you ask me. How hard is it to make a phone call?”

  “That’s Blair.”

  “No. That’s a load of bollocks. That’s just disrespectful.”

  “I’m probably making too much of it. Could’ve been an oversight. Shit happens. Either that or he’s about to fire me.”

  “For what?”

  “Who knows?”

  “If I was your agent…” he stopped himself and shook his head and drank his coffee. “Well. There’s no reason to get paranoid. You’re back at it tomorrow and you can just see how he treats you.”

  “Dana said he cancelled the whole week,” I said shrugging
.

  “A week! With no explanation?”

  I shrugged.

  “One day could be a hangover,” he said. “Or the flu. One week? That sounds like money problems. Someone’s walked out on him. Someone has pulled their money.”

  “So why don’t you just go on and tell me, Simon. I know you want to say it. So say it. Get it over with.”

  “Say what?”

  “I told you so, that’s what. You and Milton told me not to do this movie.”

  “So we did.”

  “Vindication is sweet I suppose.”

  “Not it all. I hate seeing you suffering such indignities, Tills. It’s not supposed to be this way. Hang Milton. This will all work out. You’ll see. Blair will pick it up next week and you’ll be smashing in this cute little lion thing. Let’s not bemoan your week off. I have something for you.”

  It took a second.

  “For me?”

  Simon smiled broadly revealing a few too many teeth. He pushed back in his chair and dug his hand into his pants pocket. My heart slowed, thickening with dread. Just as a bird watching a cat lower its shoulders and still its tail knows innately that the pounce is imminent, something in my reptilian brain identified Simon’s body language as a prelude to presenting an engagement ring. In hindsight, Blair’s proposal aboard the Lady Dragonfish was obviously still exerting some influence over my perception. Simon held out his hand and opened it.

  “For you,” he said. “Why are you wincing?”

  “What is it?”

  “Well it’s not going to bite you. Take it.”

  It was a ring, of sorts, only not the kind that fits over a finger. I picked it up and Simon retracted his hand. The metal ring was attached to the small end of a black leather key fob made in the shape of a teardrop. In the middle of the teardrop was a chunk of aquamarine, secured to the fob with a wire threaded through a hole drilled through the back of the stone. It was like a drop of water sitting in a field of black barren lava. The essence of something precious.

  “Simon. It’s…”

  “Oh, it’s just a trinket. I was doing a bit of business in Silver Lake. There’s this little shop with a million little things and I just happened to see this I thought of you.”

  “That is so sweet of you.”