Hollywood Scandals

by Gemma Halliday

  “To see Jake Mullins’ widow.”

  “The guy ‘if’ Pines murdered?” he asked, following me to the elevator.

  “Can the sarcasm. Trust me, I know a long shot when I make one up.”

  “The nice thing about long shots is when they pay off, they pay off big.”

  I turned on him, expecting to see a mocking smirk on his features. Instead, that same unreadable expression.

  “Hmm,” I said, making a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Because there was no way I was letting Barbie win.

  Chapter Nine

  Echo Park is a quiet suburb off the 5 freeway in the hills near Dodgers Stadium. Quaint little fifties bungalows and seventies apartment buildings cling to the hillsides, dotted with fragrant eucalyptus trees and hearty daisy clusters, flowering despite their proximity to the state’s most traveled highway. Alexis Mullins lived in an eight-unit complex behind a Ralph’s grocery, just a block up from Sunset. The paint was a dull beige, and the thick shrubbery helped hide the years of smog-induced grime coating the stuccoed walls. A Saturn hybrid and two electric cars sat at the curb. Cal did a U-turn and opted to park his Hummer in the Ralph’s parking lot.

  “You know, I’d pay good money to see you try to parallel park this thing,” I told him.

  He grinned. “I’d take your money, Bender, but I know all you carry around in that lunchbox of yours is quarters.”

  I stuck out my tongue. What can I say? He brought out my mature side.

  "By the way," I said as I jumped down from the passenger seat, "thanks for having my back there with Felix."

  He beeped the car locked. "The cat was already out of the bag. What did you want me to do, lie for you?"

  "Yes!"

  He shook his head. "Sorry, Bender, that’s your gig."

  “Well then you better let me do the talking here."

  Alexis’s unit was the second on the bottom, wedged under a dark stairwell that had “don’t forget your mace” written all over it. I rapped on the door, inhaling the scents of stale curry and cigarette smoke that seem to pervade every pre-1990 apartment complex in California.

  I saw a shadow cross the peep hole. A few seconds later the door opened a crack, the chain still in place.

  “Yeah?” asked a voice, still gravelly with sleep, despite the fact that it as well past noon.

  “Hi,” I said, doing what I hoped looked like a friendly wave. “My name’s… Mary Ann. Mary Ann Summers.”

  “And?” the voice asked. Through the crack I could just make out frizzy blonde hair and a yellow robe.

  “I’m… an author. I’m writing a book about Hollywood stars who have been taken too young in life. I was wondering if I could talk to you about your husband?”

  “Jake?” the woman asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yep. Jake. I absolutely loved his work in that last Pines film. What a loss to the acting community.”

  There was a pause. Then the door shut, and I heard the sound of the chain being slid from the lock before it opened again, this time revealing the occupant behind.

  She was taller than me by at least a head, long and lean, and, like 90% of Hollywood, her C cups were obviously not natural to her frame. She had green eyes, rimmed in dark circles as if she hadn’t slept much lately. An oversized Van Halen T-shirt hung on her bony shoulders, a yellow robe draped around her, the sash loosely tied in front. And her blonde frizz rivaled my bed head any day.

  I guess it had been a while since she’d flashed her girlish dimples on The Fenton Family.

  She gestured toward a futon-slash-sofa thing, and Cal and I sat as she shut the door, sliding the chain back into place behind us.

  “Uh, coffee?” she asked. Then shot a furtive glance at her kitchen, as if having second thoughts about whether or not she actually had coffee.

  “No thanks,” I quickly said.

  “Sorry, I work nights,” she said, gesturing to her pajamas. “At the twenty-four-hour deli near the Sunset Studios? It’s handy when last-minute auditions come up.” She took a seat opposite us on an orange La-Z-Boy chair. It creaked as she tucked her long legs up underneath her.

  “You still act?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Here and there. Things have been picking up a bit lately. I’ve got a call back for a cable movie next week, and VH1 has offered to put me in some celebrity reality series. My agent says all the child stars are staging comebacks these days.”

  “That’s great,” I said. Though I was having a hard time picturing her doing the red-carpet glamourista thing at the moment.

  “So, what do you want to know about Jake?” she asked. “He was a good actor, but it’s not like he’s on the walk of fame, you know? He mostly took bit parts.”

  “Except for the Pines movie.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. He was stoked about that one.”

  “How did he land the job?”

  “Bastard got lucky.” She let out a sharp laugh. “Came into the deli to see me one day and sits down next to this guy eating a turkey on rye. Turns out, the guy is casting director for Pines’s latest flick. Jake chats him up, and the next thing I know, he’s got the part.”

  “How did he and Pines get along?”

  She shrugged. “Great. They palled around on the set.”

  I felt my internal radar perk up. Jake was a two-bit actor - guys like Pines were way too high up the Hollywood food chain to waste their time on him. So, what was the common bond that prompted Pines to buddy up with the likes of him? An affinity for kiddie porn, perhaps?

  “Did Jake talk about Pines?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Sure. Just the normal stuff. How he was a great director. How the film was going to be phenomenal once they were done.”

  Hmmm… If they had bonded over something shady, it was clear Jake hadn’t shared it with his wife. “How long had you and Jake been married?”

  “About seven years.”

  I did a low whistle. Wow. In Hollywood that constituted a silver anniversary. Any marriage that last longer than six months was considered a success in this town.

  “Can you tell me what happened on the night he… passed,” I said, trying to sound as compassionate as possible.

  She licked her lips, pulling her robe tighter around her middle. “I was at a party. A friend’s birthday. Jake had planned on going with me, but he got an audition for the next morning, so he didn’t want to be out late. Instead, he said he was going to go over his lines, then get to sleep early.” She licked her lips again. “I should have stayed with him.”

  “I’m sorry, I know this must be hard.”

  She nodded. “I’m still not used to him being gone, you know? Like, any second I just expect him to walk in that door. I have to remind myself every day that he won’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated, at a loss for what else to say. I couldn’t imagine loving someone that much, then having him suddenly taken away like that. I could tell by the look in her eyes that what she’d felt for her husband was something much deeper than I’d ever experienced. Sure, I loved Aunt Sue, but this was a whole different kind of being wrapped up in someone. And, even though it was currently breaking Alexis Mullins’ heart, I couldn’t help feeling just a little jealous that she’d known that kind of connection, albeit briefly.

  “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”

  “What?”

  Alexis pointed a finger at me. “For your book. Shouldn’t you be writing this down somewhere?”

  “Oh. Uh…” I looked to Cal for help.

  Unfortunately, he just raised one eyebrow at me, as if daring me to come up with a good lie to get out of this one. What women saw in the strong, silent type, I’ll never know.

  “Uh… I’m recording it,” I said, quickly pulling my pocket recorder out and holding it up. I hoped she didn’t notice it was switched off.

  Luckily, she didn’t. “Oh. Right.”

  “You don’t mind,
do you?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “Whatever.”

  “The papers said that Jake died from an overdose of sleeping pills. Did he take them regularly?”

  “Sometimes. Usually when he had to get up early, like for a shoot or audition. He didn’t want to short change himself on sleep, so he’d take the pills, go to bed early, wake up fresh for the camera the next morning.”

  “How many pills did Jake usually take?”

  “One or two.”

  “How many did he take that night?”

  “I don’t know for sure. The police said it looked like he’d taken a handful, at least.”

  I leaned forward, realizing just how important the answer to this next question was. “Alexis, do you think Jake would have done that? Accidentally taken so many more pills?”

  She shrugged. “Look, Jake was no rocket scientist. It’s possible he panicked about the audition and took too many.”

  “Who else knew your husband took sleeping pills?

  She toyed with a piece of lint on the armchair. “I don’t know. He didn’t exactly keep it a secret.”

  “Would, say, his coworkers have known? People he was filming with?”

  “Probably.”

  Like Pines. It wasn’t exactly conclusive evidence, but it didn’t disprove my theory either. Which was a start.

  “Who else is in the book?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “The book you’re writing? Which other deceased stars are in it?”

  “Oh… uh…” I drew a total blank. Where was Max when I needed him? “I wish I could tell you, but my publisher wants me to keep a lid on it until they’re ready to put out a press release. You understand.”

  “Oh.” Alexis nodded, even though it was clear she didn’t.

  “Just one more question,” I said, feeling like I was losing my audience here. “Did Jake ever mention anything about the boy who played his son?”

  “I guess so. I mean, he said the kid was cute.”

  “Really? Did Pines think so, too?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know he’s been in some trouble with the law lately, but Pines is still the most powerful director in town. It would be career suicide to say anything negative about him.”

  I hated to say it, but from the looks of her, it was clear her career had jumped off a tall bridge years ago.

  Unfortunately, it was equally clear that if Jake had told his wife about Pines’s little fetish, she wasn’t sharing.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mullins. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to us,” I said, rising.

  Cal followed suit, Alexis unwinding herself from her perch to walk us to the door.

  “Hey, let me know when the book’s out, ‘k? I’d like to have a copy.”

  “I’ll send you one,” I lied as she shut the door behind us.

  “So,” Cal said as we crossed the Ralph’s parking lot, “Jake died just like the papers said. Accidental overdose.”

  “Hello? Did you hear the wife? Pines knew he took sleeping pills. He could have easily poisoned Jake.”

  “Bender, people make mistakes with this kind of medication all the time. They take a few pills, get drowsy, forget how many they’ve had, and take a few more.”

  “A handful? They take a handful more?”

  He shrugged, conceding the point. “Okay, so what now?”

  I leaned against the Hummer’s door, looking out at the busy shoppers pushing carts full of screaming kids and ground chuck.

  “Think there’s any way we could get in to see Pines?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have a prison connection?” Cal teased.

  “Very funny. But I’m not exactly sure I’d be on the list of approved visitors.”

  “Lucky for you, I happen to have a few friends in law enforcement.” Cal pulled out his phone. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Five minutes later he hung up, a look of triumph on his face.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So, we can see Pines at five.”

  I looked down at my watch. Two-twenty.

  “Let’s go back to the office.” As much as I was dying for that Mullins lead to land me on the front page, I still had a daily column to write. And since Pines wasn’t going anywhere, this seemed like an excellent time to do it.

  I climbed into the Hummer as Cal beeped the doors open.

  “So… Mary Ann Summers?” Cal asked, roaring the beast to life.

  I grinned. “From Gilligan’s Island.”

  Cal laughed as he slid his shades on. “I guess that makes me the Professor, huh?” He winked at me.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was more the Skipper type.

  * * *

  As soon as the elevator doors opened at the second floor, I ducked behind a partition, purposefully taking the long way around the office. The way that didn’t lead past Felix’s glass-walled office. While I was sure I was making headway tying Mullins’s death to Pines, I was far from having copy ready yet. And copy was the only language Felix understood.

  I plopped back down at my desk (Unseen. Yes!) and listened to my voice messages for any hot tips I could spin into a quick column. Luckily I had four. The first one from my morgue guy telling me that, as Max had said, there was no official ME ruling on Mullins’ death yet. Bummer. But no ruling meant no one had ruled out murder yet, right?

  As I listened through the next three messages, I realized they were all about the same story - Blain Hall allegedly fathering Cherry Chase’s baby. Mental forehead smack.

  So, I tried to spin what I’d gleaned from my celebrity interrogations for column fodder.

  THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

  BAD: JENNIFER WOOD GETS A NEW TITLE THIS WEEK TO ADD TO REIGNING QUEEN OF TWEEN - LITTERBUG. TURNS OUT SHE NOT ONLY PUTS TRASH ON TV, BUT ON THE GROUND, TOO, LEAVING A TRAIL OF LATTE CUPS IN HER WAKE.

  GOOD: KATIE BRIGGS WAS SEEN AT A CHARITY EVENT IN THE VALLEY LAST WEEK. HER DATE? HERSELF! TRUST ME, IT’S TRUE LOVE.

  I bit my lip, tapping a pencil on the desk, trying to come up with an “Ugly” to round the column out.

  UGLY: RUMORS ARE SWIRLING THAT HOLLYWOOD WILL SOON BE SEEING THE LOVE CHILD OF REHAB ROCKER BLAIN HALL AND HIS DIRTY DOGS BASSIST, CHERRY CHASE. ALL I CAN SAY ARE MY CONDOLENCES, MISS CHASE - IF BABY LOOKS ANYTHING LIKE DADDY, LET’S HOPE HIS TRUST FUND INCLUDES A PLASTIC SURGERY STIPEND.

  “Don’t tell me you’re seriously printing this?” I looked up to find Cal reading over my shoulder.

  “What? It’s true. The rumors are swirling.”

  “But you started them.”

  I waved him off. “Semantics.”

  “Aren’t these three on our suspect list?”

  “So?”

  “So, assuming one of them is your stalker, you really think it’s a good idea to piss them off like this?”

  I swiveled in my chair to face him. “Look, this is what I do, Cal. I poke fun at celebrities. And these are the only celebrities I have at the moment.”

  “So, maybe you should take a break from printing the column until this whole thing dies down.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’m a writer, Cal.”

  “I know.”

  “A good one.”

  “And humble.”

  “Look, laugh all you want. I know what I am and what I’m not. I’m not pretty like Cam, I’m not stacked like Allie, I’m not a born leader like Felix. But I am a damned good writer. I can make an entire story out of nothing and word it in such a way that you’re dying to know more when I’m done. That is a skill. And I’m not letting some buttmunch with a voice disguiser take that away from me. I’m stronger than that.”

  “You’re wrong,” Cal said.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Cal cut me off before I could get it out.

  “You’re very pretty.”

  I shut my jaw with a click, my cheeks instantly going hot. I looked down at my shoes, clearing my throat. “Look, why don’t you make yourse
lf useful and go get us a couple of sandwiches, huh?” I asked.

  “You’re trying to get rid of me aren’t you?”

  “I have work to do, and I can’t do it when you’re all hovery.” I snuck a look up at him through my bangs. His eyes were laughing at me, I could feel it.

  “What kind of sandwich you want?” he asked.

  “Salami.”

  Cal grinned, the laugh transferring to his lips. “I thought you hated salami.”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m a big fat liar.”

  The grin widened. “Yeah, you are. Alright, I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him walk away, fanning my cheeks as soon as his back was turned.

  Work.

  Right. I had lots of work to do.

  I hit spellcheck, loaded my column into an email for Felix, and had just hit the send button when a new window popped up.

  Hey, Bender.

  That familiar flip hit my stomach. Man in Black.

  Hey.

  Missed you last night.

  I scrunched my nose up. Right. Last night.

  Yeah, sorry about that. Something came up.

  There was a pause. Then, No problem. You okay?

  I took a deep breath.

  Kinda.

  Tell me.

  I wondered how two simple little words could convey such concern. But they did. I suddenly felt the entire weight of the last few days crushing down on my shoulders and realized I was dying to unburden it on someone. So I did, spilling everything that had happened in the past two days, from that first weird phone message to the break-in last night and my tenuous position here at the Informer ever since Miss Jugs walked in. When I finally finished, I had paragraphs of text filling up my little IM window. I hit send and sat back, watching the cursor blink, waiting for his reaction.

  Wow.

  No kidding.

  You okay?

  My first reaction was to say yes. But somehow my fingers typed the word No instead. I’m scared. Which, as I stared at the words on the screen, was true. I know, I know, I’d played macho for Felix, because, frankly the idea of losing all the contacts I’d made in the last three years since I started here scared me even worse. But that didn’t mean that having someone break into my home hadn’t shattered my illusion of safety and security into a million little pieces.