After forty five minutes of squinting at every passerby, trying to identify who might be someone important, Lenny ground out his last smoke, swung his camera around to his back so it would be less noticeable, and crossed the street to the Marquee.
He felt a little out of place, not dressed for a club, but it didn’t matter, the place was dead. A few men sat at the bar getting an early buzz, the mid shift staff clustered in the back listlessly chatting, barely giving him a glance. The throb of music was ridiculously loud in the near empty room. It took only a few seconds to see that there were no brass or celebrities.
Back outside, Lenny’s tipster JT was hopping from foot to foot, his forehead hidden in a hoodie, a walking cliché of an informant. Either that or high on crack.
“Where you been?” JT asked in a loud whisper, the squeaky voice more from his nose than his mouth.
“I waited forty six minutes for something to happen. Then I went inside to have a look around.”
The hoodie turned toward the street, a bobblehead in the wind. “Yeah? Well, while you were looking around, you missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“Darren Kent and Violet Calmly of Sideways drove by in private cars.”
“So?”
“Separate private cars. Word on the street is they ain’t having a good time on their reality show.”
“You dragged me here to watch two people, who aren’t married, drive by in separate cars? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“Dude, why ain’t you getting this? They’re on the same show. They’re supposed to be having a thing going, hot and heavy. If they were that into each other they’d be riding in the same car. But they hate each other. So they’re in separate cars. It means their reality show is a fake. If you got a picture you could reveal the whole secret.”
“Nobody in the world would pay me a fucking cent for a picture of two cars.”
“Well, you’ll never know, now, will you? Because you went inside to have a look around.”
Lenny resisted the urge to slap some sense into JT, a temptation he’d had many times in life about many people but had never actually acted on. This would be a good time as any, JT nothing more than a stick on legs. But JT had been the only local contact he’d managed to cultivate. Maybe he just needed a little seasoning, some of Lenny’s expertise.
“How did you know it was them in the cars? Did you see them get in?”
“I didn’t, someone else did.”
“Who?”
JT’s eyes narrowed. “Hey man, you aren’t trying to get me to give up my source, are you?”
Lenny hadn’t been, but it was a good thought. “No, I just want to know how good your info is.”
JT bopped left to right and back. “I know one of the limo drivers,” he mumbled.
Lenny stashed that piece of information away for the future. “Okay, watch.” He swung his camera around and deftly shot six quick photos of passing cars, panning, letting the autofocus do its thing. He pulled up the first image on the screen and held it out. “What do you see, JT?”
JT peered out from his hoodie. “A car.”
“No shit. What else?” Lenny flicked to the next image.
“Someone driving.”
“Who?”
“Shit man, I don’t know. I think it’s a woman.”
“Exactly,” said Lenny. “You can barely make out who it is.” He clicked through all six images. “See? Car shots are useless, you can never tell who’s driving unless the windows are down.”
“Yeah, but if you say it’s them in the photo, who’s to know?”
Lenny shook his head. He hated dealing with amateurs. “It’s just no good, JT. Keep that in mind down the road.”
“I guess this means I won’t get my ten bucks?”
“Bring me something good next time.” Lenny snapped his camera around his back, holstering his gun. “And JT? No more of this clandestine shit. If you have something, just text it to me.”
JT called out after him. “Hey, Lenny, you at least got a smoke?”
The question did remind Lenny of his mother’s cigarettes, and the groceries, which he hadn’t remembered to take home before his trek around town. The milk was no doubt spoiled, another few hours wouldn’t matter now.
Instead of heading back to the Caddy he went the other way down Main, angry now; he’d have to get more milk or risk his mother’s wrath. The incident with JT hadn’t helped. He just couldn’t get a single fucking break, one break was all he needed, was that too much to ask?
Lenny spotted two women on the sidewalk ahead, walking toward him, in high spirits, laughing. A blonde and a brunette, dressed elegantly, one in a designer skirt outfit, the other in a great dress, both in heels. Even from a distance Lenny recognized the expensive handbags. The blonde put her hand on her friend’s arm, and Lenny forgot all about the milk and JT, thinking, wow, that’s hot, wondering if they were lesbians or maybe bi.
He was openly staring as they neared, taking in everything, both wore wedding rings, huge diamond studs, all the trappings of well kept women, married to rich guys. Exactly the kind of woman Lenny expected he’d get once he made it big, graciously giving his wife a platinum credit card to buy sexy clothing, bringing her to clubs in his Corvette. No, a Masarati. Or maybe a chauffeured limo. His wife so thrilled to be with Lenny she’d put out for him anytime, maybe even in the back of the limo. Maybe even with one of her girlfriends.
Lenny was so taken by his fantasy he didn’t even think to get a photo of them, one of the few times he’d missed a chance to add to his personal real life porn stash. As they passed him he purposely brushed against the blonde, just a graze, but enough to make his legs weak.
Neither one of them even glanced at him.
Lenny turned, watching them walk away, their asses seductive, his mind chasing after them, catching them, transporting himself with them to another place, a bedroom . . .
Some old guy skirted around him, and Lenny reached out to push the geezer away, the asshole was blocking his view.
The old guy spun around, an aged hippy with long hair. “What’s your problem?”
Lenny took in the deranged eyes, the faded ink on the guy’s arm. “Nothing,” he muttered. He glanced down the street, the two women were gone.
Lenny left the crazy hippy behind and stalked off, continuing up Main. The guy yelled after him, but Lenny’s mind was already on Melanie. Hooking up with a woman like Melanie could be his ticket out of poverty. If he could just spend some time with her, make her see what kind of talent he had. He’d make her famous, and not only be along for the ride, he’d get to ride her. A twofer.
Across the street from the restaurant Lenny leaned against the wall of a Starbucks. He reached for a cigarillo but he was out, hopefully he wouldn’t look too suspicious. Outside The Café the tables were filled with diners, Lenny praying that Melanie was working and had the outdoor station. An older waitress came out, definitely not Melanie. He considered going in to the restaurant to check, decided it would look too obvious. He didn’t want Melanie to think he was stalking her, or desperate.
A halfway decent Latina was sitting alone at one of the Starbucks outdoor tables, immersed in her laptop. An empty seat against the window would give him a nice view of her legs, so Lenny went inside, ordered a basic coffee, and hurried back out. Two old ladies had taken the table he had scoped out. Lenny gave them a dirty look and sat at another table where he could keep an eye on the restaurant, but unfortunately not on the Latina.
A slow hour went by, Lenny’s coffee long gone even though he had nursed it. But the cup on the table made him look like a customer, and no one bothered him. The Latina was gone, but fortunately so were the two old ladies, so Lenny was able to grab the table against the window, where he had a clear view of both the women coming in and out of the coffee shop as well as the restaurant. Still no sign of Melanie. Lenny was trying to figure out when the shifts would change, maybe she’d be coming on or off duty. He toyed w
ith his phone to kill time. Maybe call the restaurant, ask for Melanie? He could always hang up, at least he’d know if she was working. Too risky, she might pick up, see his caller ID.
If this were LA, just sitting here would be a joy, so many good looking women walking around, as good as surfing porn. Well, not quite as good, but there was something about seeing hot women in the flesh, no photo or even video could duplicate that. Lenny had spent many hours just like this, sitting with an empty cup, checking out the ladies, all shapes and sizes, Asians, Latinos, black, white, a rainbow of possibilities. It was amazing how many beautiful women were in LA, not just in Hollywood, not just near the studios, but everywhere, women from all over the world descending on the city to try their luck. The locals fought to keep up, knowing the men would always be on the lookout for some plaything.
But here it was different. Really attractive women were the exception, not the rule. Lenny thought about what power that must give them, how they probably got their pick of the men. That one over there, the blue eyed blonde, for example. In LA, she’d have to jump up on the table and flash her boobs to get noticed, but every eye at the Starbucks was on her, men walking by checking her out, even though her clothes were just a little off, like she had read about chic instead of understanding it. Not that Lenny would kick her out of bed. Maybe he’d try his line on her, offer to take some pictures, even though she was too short.
He fondled his camera, about to make his move, working out the dialogue in his mind. Maybe lay his usual rap on her, about helping her build a portfolio for commercials, try to get her away from the crowd at the Starbucks, wondering where he could take her for some privacy. He fingered the last of the roofies in his pocket. He’d never tried putting them in coffee, he could offer to buy her a cup, get her in his car . . .
Two guys were at the table in front of him, doing exactly what he was, checking out the female scenery. One of them said, “Shit, look at her,” Lenny thinking they were talking about the blonde. He was so immersed in his plan for her that it took him a moment to realize the men were looking across the street, where Melanie had just stepped out of the restaurant.
She was wearing a short tight dress, not likely what she had gone to work in, meaning she’d changed in the restaurant. A date? Lenny slunk down but Melanie wasn’t even looking his way.
Lenny let her get a few steps before he stood up, just as one of the voyeurs in front of him said, “Just think, some guy gets to hit on that,” which is just about what Lenny was thinking, only instead of sitting around mentally masturbating like these two losers he was going to make sure he’d be the guy they were talking about, the one Melanie would be with.
He walked down the street, keeping watch on Melanie. Surprisingly, she still had on her clunky work shoes, not what he expected of her, a fuck me dress with bulky flats. Melanie turned into the restaurant parking lot, heading toward the back, maybe where her car was parked. Lenny was blocks from the Caddy, he’d never get there in time. He stood helplessly on the corner, undecided.
For once the gods were with him. In two minutes Melanie returned from the parking lot, walking right toward him, a forward gait, now in tall heels, Lenny so entranced by her legs that he waited too long to turn away, she’d notice him for sure. When he looked back up, though, Melanie had turned onto Main.
Lenny paralleled her from across the street, now and then pretending to look in a window in case Melanie glanced his way, but she seemed to be in a hurry, not looking around at all. Lenny dodged through the early evening strollers, ignoring even the good looking women. He matched Melanie’s cadence, in his head hearing the click of her heels on the sidewalk, even over the rush of cars. Maybe he could cross over to her side, get a better look at her ass. Too risky, she might turn around . . .
And right then she did, Lenny so surprised he tripped, and almost expected her to as well, feeling the connection. They were linked, that had to be it. Had she been unconsciously looking for him, wanting Lenny to be there? She had swung her head back around again, never breaking stride. Lenny mentally willed her to look his way. It would be worth the risk, it would prove that something was going to happen between them, like when you were speeding down the street and you made the light change to green just with your mind.
But Melanie didn’t look, she was on some kind of mission, fully decked out in her sultry weapons, those perky breasts, those legs. At the next corner the light was against them, Melanie impatient, jostling to the front of the pedestrians, Lenny doing the same on his side of the street. At the next corner Melanie didn’t cross the side street, she was going to come across Main, toward him. Lenny missed the move, he was already in the crosswalk, too late to stop, he’d stick out like a sore thumb.
He kept walking, slower now, glancing back every few steps, praying for the light to change. He turned to look in a shop window, the display not registering, listening for the traffic behind him to stop, a signal that the light had turned red. Only then did he risk a quick peek over his shoulder, seeing Melanie coming his way. Frantic, Lenny stepped into the shop, an image flashing in his mind of Melanie heading into that very store, was this how they were fated to begin their relationship?
“Can I help you?”
Lenny spun to see a gray haired woman with too much makeup looking at him expectantly, the shop completely empty, no place to hide.
“Uh, no, just looking around.” Lenny pretended to do just that, his mind still wrapped up in the connection to Melanie, expecting her to come in behind him. The clerk was staring at him, a smile frozen on her lips, Lenny thinking he was making her day, this good looking guy showing up in her shop. Over her shoulder stood row upon row of female mannequins, wearing only underwear, not sexy underwear, but girdles, thickly padded bras, something that looked like a fucking diaper. A sign read, ‘Living your life with incontinence.’
Stunned, Lenny swung around, the entire store a sick orgy of adult pads, walkers, bedpans. The clerk said, “Don’t be embarrassed, it can happen at any age.”
Lenny felt himself shrivel, he couldn’t let Melanie see him here, he had to get out, out, and was reaching for the door just as she walked past. The glass was all that separated them as she crossed by, so close he could have touched her if the door hadn’t been closed. He leaned forward involuntarily, her pull was that strong. Then she was gone, in his mind hearing the swish of her thighs, forced together by the tight dress.
He waited as long as he dared, then stuck his head out the door, almost getting it knocked off by a kid on a skateboard, then he was out, free, the woman calling from the shop, “Come back soon!”
Lenny shivered, shaking off the feel of the shop, keeping a few people between him and Melanie, Lenny getting hotter with each step. Two blocks later she turned, and Lenny laughed, a partial release of pent up excitement. Melanie had gone into the Marquee.
A bouncer who hadn’t been there before stopped Lenny. “Ten bucks.”
“A cover? You gotta be shitting me,” said Lenny.
“Ten bucks,” repeated the bouncer, his tone suggesting he didn’t care whether Lenny went in or not.
“I just saw someone walk in without paying.”
The bouncer looked Lenny up and down, taking in his black khakis and midnight silk shirt. “She’s dressed better than you are. Better legs too.”
Lenny bit off a retort about his legs being pretty good, not wanting to appear to come on to the guy in case he was gay. “Covers are just stupid.”
“Ten bucks.”
Lenny dug in his pants, came up with his mother’s second twenty. The bouncer took his time giving him change, ten ones. Lenny stepped into the club, muttering, “Jerkoff,” only half hoping the bouncer would hear.
Inside, the club was already surprisingly crowded, Lenny wondering where all these people had come from in just a few hours. If this had been LA it would have been empty, no one hit a club before eleven, and usually much later for the good ones, which the Marquee would never be.
Lenny drifted toward the main bar, and not finding Melanie there, he bumped his way through the throng to the back room. He was a little underdressed, good thing even his casual clothes were stylish. He spied Melanie on a stool at the bar in conversation with a good looking waitress.
He chose a table at the rear of the main room where he wouldn’t be so noticeable but could still see Melanie. The whole vibe of the club had changed since he had been there earlier, people must have come in after work. Keeping half an eye on Melanie, Lenny checked out the action.
Every nightspot had its own feel; Lenny had been in enough of them to know. This was the hopeful crowd, hoping to have some fun, get a buzz, maybe a hookup. He spotted the budding actors right away, trying not to look obvious as they scanned the room for agents and producers; the too thin models, trying to look bored; and the suits, the production company execs, ignoring everyone except who they were with. Lenny wasn’t quite in the club, but he certainly knew what its members looked like.
A gap in the crowd gave Lenny an unobstructed view of Melanie, looking good even in profile, her dress hiked up to her thighs. The waitress was giving Melanie another drink. Their heads were pretty close, friendly, Lenny thinking maybe the waitress was Melanie’s date. Nah, she couldn’t be gay, it would be such a fucking waste. Besides, he would have picked up on that.
Melanie turned away from the bar, Lenny’s eyes drawn like a magnet to her legs, simply amazing. She was looking deeper into the back room, as was the waitress, so Lenny followed their eyes. He immediately spotted Michael Stevens, in the corner with two other men. Lenny had shot Stevens a few times, mostly with almost underage women, the first time thinking he had a real scoop, then finding out that shots of Stevens with women less than half his age were a dime a dozen. Most of the photographers only shot Stevens to get pics of the girls to keep for themselves. Stevens had good taste in women.
Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1) Page 5
