by Mia Carson
She appeared to be squeaky clean. Her open marriage was well known in Hollywood, and every six to eight months she made a splash in the trades when she took another young lover. As Neil did with women, she appeared to have men standing in line to fall into her bed, so it didn’t make sense she would be so vindictive. On the other hand, there was the old saying about a woman scorned.
I continued to dig. Through Clearview Investigations, I had access to databases not available to the public, but her name didn’t turn up in any of them except in the places where you’d expect to find it. As best I could tell, she’d never been involved in anything even as minor as a domestic dispute. Her sole brush with the law was a speeding ticket about ten years ago.
That much I’d found last night. Today, I spent my time digging through the LA Times vault. Back when Dad started in the business, if you wanted to search through back issues for information, you had to go to the vault and look it up on microfiche. Now it was all online and searchable, and for only $2.99 a month. I spent an hour searching the back issues, but nothing of interest came up. Lots of puff pieces about how she was breaking the mold of the Hollywood producer, how she was the most successful female producer in Hollywood, how the latest Emily Bellona film was the top grossing film of the year, etc. The problem was, the lack of evidence didn’t prove she wasn’t smearing Neil. It only proved there was nothing in her past that indicated she’d done something like it before.
Movement caught my eye. I pulled off my glasses and began shutting down my computer as Neil walked around the front of his car.
“Love the glasses,” he said as he flopped into the car.
I grinned and held them up for him to see. They were square with thick dark frames. “I need them if I do a lot of reading, or my eyes get tired.”
“I like them. They make you look very… I don’t know… sexy librarian or something. Did you find anything?”
He was such a flirt, but I liked it. “Nothing.”
“So she’s not the one doing it?”
“I didn’t say that,” I corrected. “I just haven’t found anything to prove she is the one doing it.”
He bobbed his head as he started his car. I spent a lot of hours sitting in a parked car. This early in the morning the wait hadn’t been uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean the cold air from the air-conditioning didn’t feel good when it began to blow.
“A subtle, but distinct difference.”
I nodded. “Yeah. She causes a lot of tongues to wag because of her lifestyle, but I haven’t found anything implicating her or to suggest she’s the type of person who would intentionally try to ruin you for rejecting her advances.”
“Do I hear a but?” he asked as we turned right onto a busy road, his car pinning me back in the seat as he accelerated hard.
“But, she’s all I’ve got at the moment. I’m going to talk to some people who know her to see what kind of person she is. I’ll start with you. You think she’d capable of doing something like this?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. She was always pleasant, if forward, with me. The only time I heard anything was when she got a phone call once. I don’t know what happened, but she ripped somebody a new one for not having a camera crane where it was supposed to be, when it was supposed to be there.”
I nodded in understanding, but that was business. “Do you think she has a temper?”
“Not that I could tell.”
I drummed my fingers on the center console in annoyance. I’d told him this was probably going nowhere, and he was finding out for himself. “I hate to tell you this, but you’ve spent half your deposit already and I’ve got nothing.”
His lips twisted to the side in a half-smile. “Well, you tried to warn me.”
“I did, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about not being able to help you. You want to pull the plug? If you do, say so, and I won’t charge you for today.”
“No. Absolutely not. Let’s run out what I’ve already paid, and if you still have nothing, we can talk about the next step.”
“Neil, there may not be a next step.”
“Of course there is. Not extending the contract could be the next step. I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but you seem very thorough. If there is something to find, I have faith you’ll find it.” He paused and grinned at me. “After all, you’re the best.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes you did.”
“When?”
“The first day, at Rob’s house. You said you were better than your dad. Since Rob said your dad was the best in the business, if you’re better than him, you’d have to be the best.”
I remembered saying that, but at the time, I’d said it just to back Rob off. Dad was one of the best investigators in LA, maybe the whole country. He’d started out on the LAPD, but he’d quickly grown tired of the bureaucracy, the disrespect by the community, and his captain’s cavalier attitude. After three years, he started Clearview Investigations as a side job, slowly growing the business until it could support us. I think the proudest day of his life was when he turned in his badge and told Captain Baller to shove his attitude.
I had confidence in my abilities. I’d learned from the best, but sometimes there was nothing anyone could do. If there was no trail to follow, there was no trail. I kept my misgivings to myself. One of the keys of being a successful PI was to project confidence, even when you were winging it. If you acted like you belonged where you were, knew what you were doing or talking about, people tended to believe it. I’d broken more than one case by bluffing, pretending to have proof or information I had only guessed at.
“Maybe. If I don’t come up with something in the next couple of days, my recommendation is not to extend my contract and wait. Maybe some additional information will turn up.”
“We’ll see.”
I sat quietly, lost in thought, mentally picking away at the problem, turning it this way and that as I tried to find a crack.
“We’re here,” he announced.
I glanced around. “Already?”
“Already?” he asked with a teasing grin. “It’s been forty-five minutes since we left Bill’s. You were a million miles away.”
I grimaced. “Sorry. I hate being stuck like this. It bugs me.”
“Which is why I have faith you’ll turn something up. I can tell you’re like a bulldog with a bone.”
I made growling noises as I chewed on an imaginary bone, causing Neil to laugh. I liked his open, honest laugh.
For the next two hours, I watched as Gillian, the photographer, ran Neil through a series of poses, feeding him a constant patter of encouragement. She dressed him several different ways, but always in white and blue with a splash of red, and she changed the printed backgrounds to get the look she wanted. By far my favorite poses were the series of him shirtless, his medals hanging around his neck, with what appeared to be a sports venue in the background. When he first pulled his shirt off, my mouth went dry and I felt a heaviness in my womanhood. He was simply gorgeous, every muscle of his smooth chest and arms clearly defined.
As they worked, I idly wondered if he’d shaved his chest for the photoshoot, if he was naturally hairless, or if he manscaped regularly. Whatever the reason, the look worked for him, and in a big way. While Gillian was the consummate professional, considering the number of photos she’d taken of him like that, I think she liked him shirtless herself.
One of the things I liked about Neil was he didn’t take himself too seriously. That was never more evident as when he was hamming it up for the camera, flexing and posing ridiculously, cracking jokes, and making faces to cause both Gillian and myself to trade amused glances and occasional giggles at his antics. Yes, I could certainly see what women found attractive about Mr. Neil Gibson.
When they finished, Gillian gave Neil her card, along with instructions on how to see the photos she’d taken. She was wearing a wedding ring, but I couldn’t help but smile when she offered to reshoot any
shots he liked but weren’t quite what he was looking for. The photo shoot was completely professional, but I could tell she wouldn’t mind getting him back in her studio for another session. Who could blame her? I could stand there and look at him all day myself.
“What are the photos for?” I asked as we stepped outside.
“My book.”
“You’re writing a book?”
“No. The publisher hired a ghostwriter to do it. Remember the thing about acting? Writing is the same way. They probably wouldn’t like getting my manuscript written in crayon.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Is there anything you’re not involved in?”
He shook his head. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m just a regular guy that’s had a few lucky breaks in my life. The book isn’t about me as much as it’s about my philosophy on nutrition, health, and life. It’s kind of a self-help, motivational book.”
“I’ve seen you with your clients. You’re very good at motivating people.”
He shrugged. “You can’t get to the top of your game in anything if you don’t have self-motivation. There were times when I thought about quitting gymnastics. It was so much work, and I didn’t have time to do anything normal people do. For example, I never dated. I went to school, helped on the farm, and did gymnastics, and that was it. I would think, ‘There has to be more to life than this,’ but then I’d win a competition and all the doubts would disappear. Success breeds success.” He paused and grinned at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture.”
“It’s alright. It’s nice to have a client that has a positive attitude for a change. So many people who come to see me are at one of the lowest points in their life. You’re like a breath of fresh air.”
“Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t accomplish anything, so why do it? If you don’t like your circumstances, change them.” He paused with a slightly embarrassed smile. “That’s it. No more speeches, promise.”
“It’s okay. You can give me motivational speeches anytime you want. Where now?”
“Lunch. I’m starving. How do you feel about fish?”
“I don’t eat much of it, but it’s fine. Is that what we’re having?”
“If you don’t object.”
I waved at the windshield. “I’ll eat anything.”
He drove us to a little out of the way place named Something Fishy, a restaurant that served only seafood. It was decked out in a fishing motif, with aged wood, nets, buoys, and commercial fishing tackle providing the decor. By far its best feature was the huge aquarium that took up an entire wall. Their menu bragged on the freshness of their fish, and I wondered if the aquarium had anything to do with it.
We had a quick, late lunch of seasoned and grilled fish served on a bed of greens. Considering how plain and healthy the dish was, the meal was surprisingly tasty. I’d always assumed people like Neil ate only grass, pinecones, and flowers, or some such, but he was showing me that healthy eating didn’t have to be tasteless and boring. I wasn’t the kind of person that binged on burgers and fries all the time, but he was beginning to make me reevaluate my eating choices.
“Where now?” I asked as we walked out of the eatery.
“I have to go shoot some video for the website. It’ll take the rest of the day and it’s not going to be anything but me standing in front of a camera yammering. If you want, I can drop you back at the office.”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to the production crew, if that’s okay?”
“Sure. No problem.”
As he drove, I considered that it made sense Neil would be on good behavior around his well-paying clients. I didn’t know what he charged, but it was obvious from the houses we were visiting that only the well-to-do could afford him. He wouldn’t want to risk that. But the everyman on the street? That may be a different story. The only flaw in my thinking was he didn’t seem the least concerned with me talking to the film crew, and Julie had leapt to his defense with teeth and claws bared when I asked her if she thought the rumors might be true.
“What are these videos for?” I asked to fill the growing silence.
“The website.”
“I know, you said that, but specifically.”
“We post a new video every weekday. Monday through Thursday, it’s a short one or two-minute video on diet, exercise equipment, stretching, something like that. On Friday we post a thirty-minute workout video.”
“Jesus! That sounds like a lot of work!”
He smiled. “It’s not so bad. I do all the short videos for the week in an hour or so. That’s what I’m doing today. Tomorrow I’ll do a month’s worth of workout videos. That takes about a half-day to shoot.”
“Same crew?”
“No. Well, part of them. Today it’s just me, the makeup artist, the videographer, the sound guy, and a production assistant. Tomorrow it will be the same crew as today, but we’ll add two more cameras, plus a director and a couple more production assistants.”
“Pretty big operation.”
“It sounds bigger and more elaborate than it is. You’ll see.”
“I won’t interfere with you by talking to the crew, will I?”
“Not so long as you use some common sense. It takes a few minutes to change over between segments and not everyone is busy at the same time. You can talk to them after we’re done, too.”
“Who does your scripts?”
“I do. I write them up, send them to the production company, along with a request for whatever props I want, and they take care of the rest.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t write?”
“There’s a big difference between writing a book and writing a one or two-minute spiel on portion control, or how a particular exercise affects certain muscle groups, or whatever.”
I nodded in understanding. Minutes later we pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript masonry block building in a commercial business park. Impact! Productions was neatly stenciled on the entrance.
“Neil!” the woman sitting at the desk cried as we entered. She was probably in her mid-thirties and attractive in a mom-next-door kind of way. “They’re almost ready for you back there.”
“How are you, Katy? You still following the plan I gave you?” Neil asked.
“Yes! Down another two pounds this week!”
“Great job! You keep at it, okay?”
“Oh, you can count on it! I looked at some pictures of myself from before to remind myself of what I used to look like. I can’t believe the difference! And Kevin,” she paused with a playfully dreamy sigh, “can’t keep his hands off me anymore.”
“That’s good to hear. I hope he knows what a lucky guy he is.”
“Oh, he does. I remind him all the time.”
“You keep reminding him, okay?”
“I will. Go on back.”
I followed him through a heavy steel door into a large, open, production area. The room was a large, windowless, concrete box, with scaffolding and bright lights hanging above. Along the walls, pushed out of the way, was a jumble of items and backdrops. Sitting in front a backdrop with Gibson Fitness in bold red letters trimmed in white on a rich blue background, was a high-end video camera on a tri-pod. I smiled as I looked over the set. Neil went in big for the good old red, white, and blue theme. I guess I understood that. He’d stood and represented all of us, competing against the best athletes in the world for the pride of the United States.
“Hey, Carlos! Ready to get started?”
“Ready when you are, Neil. Want to start with the food segments?”
“Sounds good.”
It took about ten minutes for the woman to make Neil up. She had to be at least eighty, her hair the color of a stop sign, but her hands moved with practiced ease as he sat in a chair. Finished, he quickly stripped out of his shirt and pulled on a red polo shirt with Gibson Fitness embroidered in white on the left breast.
The crew went about their tasks in quick, sure movements. I stood well ba
ck and watched as he ran through the segments. Most he got in one take, though it was clear from the pauses as they moved the camera, or he changed his position, the video would be edited before it was posted.
He’d made fun of his acting ability, but he appeared to be very comfortable in front of the camera. He spoke naturally and easily, as if he were speaking to a friend. He quickly ran through two segments on food, a production assistant providing plates of food for props. He did a segment on how to combat sore muscles, and another the importance of giving muscle groups a rest. I found it interesting after the food segments, they swapped the blue background for a red one, the lettering now in blue, and Neil changed his shirt from red to blue. It was all very slickly done.
While the crew was swapping stuff around, I talked with the makeup artist. Other than finding out she’d been doing makeup for more than sixty years, I learned nothing interesting, and she was the only woman on the production crew today. Less than two hours after we arrived, we were done.
“We’ll get the raw footage edited and have it sent over to Blue Monkey,” Carlos said.
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for the workouts?” Neil asked as he wiped makeup from his face using a towel the makeup woman had given him.
“We’ll be ready.”
“That was easy,” I murmured as we walked back to his car.
“Not too bad today. Sometimes it doesn’t go that smoothly. Sometimes I keep flubbing my lines, or something breaks, or whatever.” He grinned. “About two month ago, a sneeze snuck up on me. I sneezed so hard that I took a step back, stepped on a weight I’d sat on the floor to get it off the table, stumbled, and fell through the backdrop, knocking it down.”
“Oh my God!”
“Yeah. That’ll be on this year’s blooper reel for sure. Each year, on April Fool’s day, we post a video of all my funny screw ups from the previous year. It is, by far, the most viewed video each year. Needless to say, I don’t put things on the floor anymore.”
