BLACK Is the New Black

by Russell Blake

  Black removed his hat. “Hello, Mrs. Stills. Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

  “Mr. Black. Sure, no problem. Have a seat on the couch. Hailey, did you offer Mr. Black anything to drink?”

  “No, Mom,” Hailey answered, her tone that same odd timbre.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Black. Hailey’s just worn out from all the shoots, and trying to cram for her PSAT. Would you like something? Water? Soda? Beer?” Trish asked, her voice the polar opposite of Hailey’s, with a nearly manic quality of excitement.

  “Thanks. I’m good.” Black handed Trish his business card and sat where directed on the worn Sears sofa. His eyes roved around the room, where there were at least a dozen more photos of Hailey in large frames, mostly magazine shots, including three recent covers. Hailey seemed luminescent in the photographs, appearing to leap off the page with presence – a stark difference to her subdued mood today.

  “Hailey, leave us to this, would you? Mr. Black has some questions for me.”

  Black cleared his throat. “Actually, Mrs. Stills, I’d prefer if Hailey stayed. That will save me the time of having to ask her all the same questions afterward.”

  “Please. Call me Trish. Are you sure? She’s awfully busy…”

  “Which is why I don’t intend to take up much of your day with this” – Black paused – “Trish.”

  Trish appeared confused for a moment, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. She leaned forward and smiled at him, her eyes on Hailey. “Honey, have a seat.” She returned her attention to Black. “Now, am I correct that you’re with DNA?” she asked, picking up his card and studying it.

  Black nodded. “They’ve hired me to look into the recent incidents with Demille’s firm, in anticipation of the merger.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose that’s good. These poor girls work so hard. I’d have hoped that someone would start looking out for their interests.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Wait…you look very familiar. Were you…were you at the Cabo shoot?” Trish asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “Wasn’t that horrible about Clarissa? So sad. She had her whole life ahead of her.”

  “Yes, she did. Which really brings me to the reason I’m here. I’m trying to piece together how that night ended, by collecting statements from everyone who was there.” Black’s gaze strayed to Hailey, who was sitting silently, her legs folded beneath her on the far end of the couch. “You were at the dinner, right?” he asked Hailey.

  “Oh, yes. Wasn’t it wonderful? The food was heavenly,” Trish said.

  Black returned his focus to Trish. “What did you do after dinner?”

  “After? We went into town. Neither Hailey nor I had ever been in Cabo before, and she wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

  “About what time was that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably…11:00 or so? I don’t really remember.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We had the driver drop us off at the mall, and we walked along the marina. Isn’t that right, Hailey?”

  Hailey nodded assent, her eyes on the television screen.

  “Okay. And what time did you return to the hotel?”

  “Boy, it had to be a couple of hours later. We wandered around town, and then Hailey wanted to see Cabo Wobo – she’d read about it on Facebook, I guess.”

  “Cabo Wabo,” Hailey corrected softly.

  “Yes, well, anyway, we stopped in there and looked around, and after a few minutes we called the driver and had him pick us up.”

  “What time do you think that was?”

  “Maybe 1:00. No later. I remember we were both tired after a long day.”

  “And after you returned to the hotel, you went to your rooms?”

  “Room, Mr. Black. Yes, we did. Like I said, we were exhausted by then. And we had a morning flight to catch. You know, I told the police all this…”

  “The Mexican police?”

  “Of course. They had a very nice man translate and take my statement.”

  “I see. Unfortunately, they haven’t shared that with their U.S. counterparts yet. Sorry if these are all the same questions. Tell me, did you see anyone else you knew out that night?”

  “Two of the photographer’s staff were on the Marina, having drinks at one of the little bars there. The Nowhere Bar. I remember that because it was such an odd name. It was crowded, too, although I don’t understand what the draw was. At least that other place had music and dancing.”

  “Never been, but I’ll take your word for it. So you didn’t see anyone else, is that correct?”

  “Right. We tend to keep to ourselves, Mr. Black. Hailey’s younger than the other girls, and she has a different…lifestyle. It’s not staying out at all hours, drinking and doing God knows what else.”

  “No, of course not. Hailey, I’m sorry, I should know this. How old are you?” Black asked.

  Hailey looked to her mom for approval. Trish nodded. “Go ahead. Tell him.”

  Hailey turned to Black, her piercing blue eyes fixing on him with quiet intensity. “I’m going to be sixteen in three more months.”

  Black smiled and nodded, but his stomach fluttered. The way she’d answered the question reminded him of adolescents who wanted to appear older than they were. Like a six-year-old assuring him that she was almost seven, any day. He wondered for a fleeting moment whether she was on some kind of powerful tranquilizer, or maybe illegal drugs, but her eyes were clear and her pupils normal-sized.

  “That’s an amazing career you’ve had for someone so…young. You’re very lucky,” Black said, for lack of anything better.

  “Oh, yes. Hailey’s going to be one of the top stars in this business one day. Her popularity’s exploding. She’s going to do big things, Mr. Black. I keep telling her that in a few years she’ll be on the cover of every major magazine. While that seems like crazy talk right now, it could happen,” Trish assured him with the devout conviction of the true believer.

  “I have no doubt. How long have you been modeling, Hailey?” Black asked her.

  She shrugged, a very childlike gesture, and while her expression was completely neutral, Black would have described her attitude as sullen. Maybe she’d had a fight with her mom before he’d come over? Or it was a bad time of the month? Black was the first to admit that he understood very little about women of any age, so he was having a hard time getting a handle on her.

  “Hailey’s been in the business since she was four. She grew up in it,” Trish said.

  “Wow. So already an eleven-year veteran.”

  “I know. The time flies, doesn’t it?” Trish said, making a show of looking at her watch. “Speaking of which, is there anything else?”

  “Just a few more questions. Let’s go back to the New York shoot, where Daria…Daria’s last job. Were you there?” Black asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course. There hasn’t been a major shoot this year Hailey hasn’t been in,” Trish responded defensively. “I told you. She’s one of Demille’s biggest stars now.”

  “Mom…” Hailey protested, her voice still quiet.

  “It’s true. It’s not conceited to tell the truth, young lady.”

  “I certainly didn’t take it the wrong way,” Black said. “Then you were at that wrap dinner, too?”

  “Absolutely. I can still remember it. They had one of the top restaurants in town cater it. And everybody who was anybody was there.”

  Black took them through a list of routine questions, switching to the beach shot after covering New York. Much of what he, or Stan, did was to question and probe, waiting for an inconsistency to appear or for the stories not to add up. Unfortunately, that was a time-consuming and thankless process, and usually required a larger cohort group than just one. He’d done a soft version of the questions with Tasha, but other than her statements, he really had nothing to go on, so part of what he was doing was collecting stories so h
e could spot the flaw when he compared them.

  “This may seem a little out of left field, but can you think of anyone who might have it in for any of the models?” Black asked.

  “No, not really…although I know Zane Bradley blames Hailey and me for killing his career.”

  “Ah, yes. I heard about that.”

  “I just felt we didn’t want to be associated with a company that would condone that sort of behavior. It would be bad for Hailey’s image.”

  “Interesting. Did he ever threaten you?”

  “No, but I heard that he was badmouthing us before he was fired. Apparently he’d thought there was a chance he could stay with Demille, and believes we were the deciding factor.”

  “Did Zane have any problems with Daria or Clarissa?”

  “Oh, quite the opposite. He and Clarissa were inseparable at one time. BFFs.”

  “What about the model who was injured in the acid incident?”

  “I…I honestly don’t know.”

  Black probed that line of reasoning a little more before switching gears. The question of the merger came up, and Trish, for the first time, became almost as introverted as her daughter.

  “I know a fair number of Demille’s models are considering going elsewhere after the merger. Why do you think that is?” Black asked.

  “Honestly, Mr. Black, I can’t speak for the rest of his talent. Demille’s been nothing but good to us, but I can see how some might think that they could advance their careers with more personal attention than what he’s going to be delivering once he’s part of a big corporation,” Trish explained.

  “That’s funny, because I would have thought that becoming part of a larger, more prestigious firm would be good for everyone.”

  “From the outside, maybe, but a model’s often only as good as her relationship with the person repping her, and if Demille’s not handling things personally anymore…well, that’s a judgment call every model needs to make for herself. There’s no right answer. Some will do really well with a bigger company behind them. Others might feel like they’re working for a faceless entity with a lot more talent to push, and no real personal relationship or loyalty.”

  Black nodded. That made sense. Being a smaller fish in a bigger pond might work out poorly for some, and if the sense was that Demille was going to be missing in action a lot…if they were only as good as his agents were, it might not be all that great, judging by Tasha’s alcohol-fueled nights. He wanted to ask her whether she’d had second thoughts, but decided that wasn’t his place – it wasn’t his problem, and knowing the answer wouldn’t help him with the case.

  As he wrapped up with his closing questions, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something really wrong with Hailey. Maybe it was just her personality, but it was creepy. She was an absolute stunning beauty, no doubt, but talking to her was like talking to a rock with a face painted on it.

  Trish, on the other hand, was every bit as annoying as Tasha had led him to expect, so no surprises there other than the house as an altar to Hailey’s image. A part of him conceded that he hadn’t had it so bad with his parents in comparison. Maybe parents who were completely spaced out weren’t the worst possibility, if Hailey’s demeanor was anything to go by.

  He took his time making his way back to the car, mulling over Hailey’s odd behavior. He was out of his depth with that, but thought maybe Tasha could offer some insight. Black fished his phone from his pocket and dialed her cell, but it went to voicemail. He hoped that their miscommunication the prior night hadn’t soured her on helping him. But the truth was he hadn’t done anything besides behave honorably, so she didn’t have a lot of ground to stand on. If she didn’t call back tonight, he’d reach her at the office tomorrow and go the official route rather than the personal. She still worked for Demille, after all, whose self-interest was best served by the merger going smoothly, and if he had to lean on that to get what he needed, he’d do so. He hated to play that card, but he wasn’t being paid two hundred and fifty smackers an hour to not deliver results, and if Tasha couldn’t get over that he wasn’t interested, so be it.

  Black lowered the convertible top and pointed the Cadillac at the freeway, feeling better as the wind blew through his hair, a long nap on the horizon before picking up Sylvia at eight.

  At dinner, he told Sylvia about Hailey’s odd state, in the hopes that she could offer some perspective.

  “Maybe she’s got some kind of personality disorder. Although, are you sure she wasn’t high? Because that would be my first guess,” Sylvia said.

  “That’s kind of what I thought, but I didn’t get the stoned vibe from her. Then again, I have no idea what kids these days are taking, so what do I know? And for all the glamour, she’s really just a fifteen-year-old girl, still adjusting to moving toward adulthood – and with a domineering mom from hell.”

  “That can’t be easy. Especially if she’s been performing since she was just a child. Sometimes I wonder what parents are thinking when they turn their kids into wish fulfillment tools for their own broken dreams. There should be laws against that sort of thing.”

  “Luckily that’s not my problem. I just thought it was weird, and figured maybe you had some ideas I didn’t.”

  “Sorry. Do you suspect her, though? A kid?”

  “Not really, but my first rule is, you never know.”

  “That’s a rule? Sounds more like a maxim.”

  “You’re probably right. But the point is, I never assume anything, because I’m usually wrong, and I run the risk of coloring the data with my bias.”

  Sylvia reached across the table and took his hand. “I love it when you get all analytical on me.”

  “I was hoping we could stop by my place and you could watch me do algebra equations or something.”

  She raised her glass. “Keep pouring the red and miracles can happen, Black.”

  He smiled and toasted.

  “Like I said, you never know.”

  Chapter 14

  Black was whistling as he bounced down the apartment stairs in a lightweight herringbone suit paired with a black and white checker-patterned tie. A stiff breeze blew from the east, rustling the treetops as he neared his car and pushing dust clouds down the street. He sniffed at the air and confirmed his fears – the wind was unseasonably dry, which meant the possible resumption of the Santa Anas, and with them his allergies.

  He stopped at the franchise coffee shop four blocks from his office and ordered a large drip for himself and a chai for Roxie, figuring that a little forethought might go a long way. The barista was new, barely up to the task, and Black decided not to spar with him, the young man’s attitude lacking the requisite snide superiority that made Black’s blood boil. He had no doubt that within a few days he’d be as dismissive and arrogant as a veteran, but Black would fight that battle when the situation warranted and not before.

  He tried Tasha’s cell as he waited in line for the cashier to ring him up, and it went to voice mail again. After leaving a message, he decided to give her an hour to get into the office and call him back, and if she didn’t, he’d go on the offensive.

  Next he called Demille, whose cell just rang and whose receptionist assured Black that he’d be in later and would certainly get all his messages – an empty promise he knew better than to take at face value. If Demille didn’t call him back by noon, Black would show up unannounced and camp out in his lobby, with Daniel waiting on the other line. Let Demille explain to his new boss that he had better things to do than speak with his representative. A part of Black hoped he wouldn’t get a call so that he could bring the hurt, but the adult portion of his brain wanted to question Demille with as little fanfare as possible. There was no evidence he was guilty of anything but blowing Black off, which might well have been because he simply found it annoying, or beneath his station, to have to talk to him. Be that as it may, today was the day he’d go to war with Demille unless he showed a serious attitude adjustment, and quick.r />
  When he got to the office, Roxie was lying on the floor, her face inches from Mugsy’s plump jowls, scolding him. Black watched her for a few moments before setting the chai on the coffee table.

  “Should I get some popcorn and pull up a chair? This looks like it could be good.”

  “I could strangle him,” Roxie fumed.

  “Assuming you could find his neck. What did he do?”

  “This,” she said, standing and stomping over to her desk. She held up what looked like a sheaf of paperwork that had been put through a blender.

  “Wow. Go, Mugsy, go. What is that?”

  “My travel paperwork and immigration forms for Germany.”

  Black felt a surge of emotion he didn’t recognize, and realized that it was pride in Mugsy’s performance. He fought to keep his face a blank, sensing that even the slightest twitch would be correctly interpreted as unsupportive, and he didn’t want to risk making Roxie any angrier than she already was. “Could be worse. It could be your chair. I know what that’s like.”

  “Still. I mean, I was only gone for two minutes. What was he thinking?”

  “I think he’s just destructive. He doesn’t think. He just eats, sleeps, and claws things to pieces.” Black pretended surprise as he looked at the cup he’d placed on her desk. “Hey, look! What’s that? Oh, nothing, just a tasty hot chai for Roxie. Courtesy of the best boss in the whole world.”

  She held up two fingers and pointed at her eyes, and then pointed at Mugsy. “I’m watching you, Mr. Mugs,” she growled. Black stifled his natural urge to smile.

  He continued as though he hadn’t seen her warning to the bloated feline. “What’s that? Chai, you say? ‘Wow, boss, I love chai, and I especially love that you got it for me without being asked. How thoughtful. Really. I’ve completely misjudged you.’”

  Roxie sat down hard and shook her head. “I guess it’s not the end of the world. It’ll just take more time to fill it all out again.”