Catch and Kill, page 20
“Anyway, I get to the little office Charles has on set. We were on location, shooting in the desert for a few days, and it’s crazy hot and he’s in shorts and sandals, which is fine, and he tells me that he knows I’ve worked hard, wants to give me a bigger role in his next film.
“So, I’m like, ‘Yeah, that would be great,’” Audra recalled. “Then he says he wants me to audition right there and then. And he would set up the scene for me, but I would improvise the lines with him. He says he wants to see how I handle myself, where I can go when I’m not bound by a script—some bullshit like that. And I kid you not, he hands me a robe and says, ‘Put this on, and, please, nothing underneath, I need to see some authenticity here.’
“And I’m dumbstruck. Like, how dense do I look? So I say to him, ‘Mr. Weaver, if you want me to audition, you’ll have to get in touch with my agent and he can set something up.’ And I flew out of there and back to my trailer. I call Ben—we were dating at the time. He goes ballistic. Says I’m never to work at DreamWeaver again.
“Well, that wasn’t really an issue, because I didn’t get called in for anything after that, at DreamWeaver or anywhere else,” Audra concluded.
“Wow,” Angie breathed.
“Hell, I got lucky. He could have locked the door and attacked me. He’s a big guy.”
I don’t think Scarlett was so lucky.
“It hurt to leave LA, but Ben and I got married and moved to Menlo Park for his work. I do theater up here. I’m okay with how everything turned out.” But she didn’t sound okay with it. “Who knows, maybe someday I’ll get back to film work or a series . . . It’s a crapshoot—the industry. It can be an inhospitable place for women, and some just get a lot of bad breaks.” Angie didn’t know if Audra was including herself in that. “And, listen, I’m sorry about your sister.” Then her voice hardened. “If you find out that sonofabitch had anything to do with her death, you nail him to a cross. And I just might help. Call me back anytime.”
Angie was lying on the floor, going over the conversation in her mind as she looked at the whiteboard, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I need to get to bed. I can start again tomorrow. But the next thing she knew, she was jolted awake by her phone.
“Hello,” she answered, her voice thick with sleep.
“Did I wake you?”
Angie sat upright as if she’d gotten an electric shock. Charles! Why did she pick up without checking the number?
“Is everything all right?” She scrambled to her feet and ran downstairs to the front door to make sure it was bolted shut.
“Well, let me apologize,” he purred into her ear. “I’m not that far from you, and I just wondered if I could talk you into meeting me for a drink. But I don’t want to drag you out of bed. No man in his right mind would want to persuade a woman like you out of bed.” He laughed lightly.
She ignored the innuendo as she checked the back sliding doors. “No, it’s fine. I haven’t quite turned in for the night yet.”
Is he here? Would he try to get in? She broke into a sweat as she snapped off the kitchen light and surveyed the small bank of screens that monitored the property. They showed nothing unusual. Skulking to the foyer, she peeked out at the drive, toward the street. She saw nothing amiss but that didn’t quite allay her fears. If he tried to come on the property, he’d trip a motion-sensor light. I can call security. Or the police.
“Angie. Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yes. Of course. I’m just not feeling that great.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like a good night for drinks then, but I won’t take no for an answer forever.” And I can’t put you off forever. Not if I want to catch you. “Maybe this weekend? I would love to grab a glass of wine.”
“That works.”
“Glad to hear that, Angie.” His tone had grown a bit sharper. “I’ll be in touch.” He hung up before she had a chance to say goodbye.
She went into the living room and lay down on the couch, pulling one of Scarlett’s soft throws over her. It was chilly, and all she wanted to do was sleep and forget the world. Just for a night. The cool night and the warm blanket were cozy and she easily drifted off to sleep.
She was a kid again, sitting between Scarlett and Scott in the back of their parents’ old Land Rover on their way to the beach. Scarlett was to her left, and every time Angie looked over at her, she’d laugh, then turn her head to the window. When she glanced right, at Scott, he’d look at her and smile, then go back to staring straight ahead. The car was flooded with light and music was playing. She couldn’t see her parents, but they must have been in front, navigating the family’s path. The music got louder. Scarlett started to sing along. Scott chimed in. Angie tried to sing, but she didn’t recognize the song. She tried to ask her sister and brother for help, but they couldn’t hear her. They sang louder and louder. Soon the music was so loud, it filled the entire car. The Land Rover was going very fast then, hurtling down the road, faster and faster, as the light got brighter and brighter and the music grew louder and louder. Angie couldn’t see the road anymore. The car felt like it had lost contact with the roadway. It was flying through the air in a sea of light. She could hear Scarlett, but when she turned to look, she was gone. Same with Scott. Angie started to scream. “Where are we going? Where are we going!”
She woke suddenly, gasping. A dream about Scarlett, again! She was always there and then suddenly vanishing from reach. Angie tried to ward off her growing panic by rocking gently. Breathe in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. What was that music that was playing in the Land Rover? She couldn’t quite dredge up the tune. But then she abruptly stopped swaying. She was really hearing music. Now
She sat up. It was unmistakable. Classical music, some sort of symphony. Outside. Charles? He’s here? She wrapped the throw tightly around her and got up to peep through the spyglass in the front door. A white convertible was just pulling away, and in the dark of the night, she couldn’t see the driver’s face.
The light over the porch was on, meaning someone had walked up to the front door, triggering the sensor. The vehicle was gone, but she didn’t know how safe it was to open the door. Or if there was even reason to.
She turned the lock and slowly creaked the door open.
And there, on the Bienvenue! welcome mat, was a single red rose.
11
“Who do you think it was?” Nicole had come out to Angie’s the next afternoon to wrap up their part of the database project so it could go to IT Monday for the final review and implementation. Angie had shown her the red rose, which lay wilting on the kitchen island. “You have a mystery admirer?”
Angie hadn’t told her about the late-night call from Charles or let on that she was worried the rose was from him. She still wasn’t sure how connected she was to the studio’s leadership so she didn’t know how freely she could speak.
“First an orchid, now a rose,” Nicole pondered. “What’s next?”
“The orchid was from my parents, remember?” Her phone vibrated. Rita. So she let it go to voice mail. She didn’t know what was going on with Mackenzie and didn’t want Nicole overhearing the conversation until she did know.
“Sure.” Nicole gave a knowing smile.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve clearly caught Charles’s eye. It was obvious at the Oscars party. And then he took you out to lunch. Granted, dropping a rose on someone’s doorstep isn’t exactly his style, but still, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to get to know you better, so to speak.”
Shit. Did Nicole know something or was she really just sussing it out? To get herself out of the situation, Angie excused herself to check her voice mail, and went out the sliding glass doors.
“Hey, Ange, honey, it’s Rita. Call me, will ya? Mackenzie is driving me crazy. She’s nervous, she hasn’t heard anything since she signed the contract. Now, I know movies take time, but I want to tell her something. Hope you’re doing well in La La Land. Call me. Bye.”
Angie disconnected and walked back into the kitchen. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
They set up in the living room, where Angie opened her laptop and called up the latest version of the Development spreadsheet. But she couldn’t focus.
“Bad news?” Nicole sat cross-legged on the floor, spreading folders on the coffee table. “The call? You look . . .”
Angie ran her eyes down the column of titles in front of her, Peregrine the most recent. The contract for Mackenzie’s book had been finalized May 4, exactly a month ago. Not long at all in the world of film development. So she decided to come clean to Nicole. She needed insight. “It was Rita. She says Mackenzie Martin is getting edgy because she hasn’t heard anything since the IP contracts were signed.”
“So?”
“So she’s worried. I think she wants reassurance. She was so concerned about making the right decision on selling the rights.”
“Well, her lawyer and agent should give her that,” Nicole said a little dismissively.
“Rita does want to give her that, that’s why she called me.” Angie was already sorry she’d opened up. Looking at the rest of the titles on her list, she said, “You know, I’ve never heard of one project coming from any of these books. What percentage of the IP we buy is even seriously considered for development? Five percent? Ten?”
“Can we just get the rest of the missing info locked and loaded already? Why are you so concerned about it? Honestly, I don’t care what happened to the stuff. You can’t worry over the fate of every project.”
“I’m not talking about the fate of every project. I’m looking at the big picture of a studio gobbling up rights like Pac-Man and having nothing come of it. And now I’m worried about Mackenzie. Because maybe I deceived her into thinking we were her best shot at getting a good film made when no film will come of it at all.” She pointed at the folders on the table. “There are hundreds and hundreds of titles. There seems to be an awful lot of IP that never goes anywhere. I thought DreamWeaver acted in good faith.”
“And why doesn’t it? Because not everything turns into a movie? Please. You really need to chill out about this.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out,” Angie said, her voice low and serious. “I have real concerns here, and I don’t want people who trusted me to get screwed over. What don’t you get about that?”
Realizing she was getting angry, she went into the kitchen and inhaled slowly. She couldn’t lose her shit like that in front of her boss. Especially about work. She needed Nicole on her side.
She continued to breathe rhythmically, in and out, then closed her eyes and placed a hand on the opposite side of her head, letting the weight of the arm draw her ear down to her shoulder, then repeated it on the other side. The stretching helped alleviate tightness in her neck and shoulders and gave her something to focus on.
“Hey, you okay?”
Angie didn’t turn. She had just found a taste of equilibrium and she needed to maintain it. But a moment later, Nicole’s arms slipped around her waist and she was being held from behind. It shocked her—she wanted to recoil. She hadn’t been touched intimately by anyone since . . . What was his name? Her mother’s friend’s son. And now Nicole was breaching a space she hadn’t been invited into. She was her boss. Her fucking boss.
Angie surprised herself and didn’t pull away. She still felt awkward, but there was something nice about it too. It was a gentle intimacy that she hadn’t experienced before. Or hadn’t allowed herself to experience before.
She breathed into it and gave herself permission to relax. She was very still and closed her eyes. Then she placed her hands over Nicole’s, making out the narrowness of her wrists, the knuckles of her fingers. She grasped them and held them to her torso, then released them so she could turn to face her.
Nicole’s lips were just inches away. Before Angie could think what to do next, Nicole was kissing her gently on the mouth. Angie couldn’t help but kiss back. Nicole’s lips were soft, sweet. A strange mix of comfort and passion tore through Angie’s core. She realized she’d wanted this since they’d first met, she just hadn’t understood her feelings. But she did now, and she wondered if Nicole had been wanting her this whole time or had only just realized it herself. It didn’t matter.
When the kiss broke organically, Angie leaned her forehead against Nicole’s, grateful neither spoke for a moment. Was this what she truly wanted? Could it endanger her quest to find out what happened to Scarlett? Nicole had as much to lose as she did, maybe more. Yet she seemed to want it just as much.
Angie took her by the hands and led her up the curving staircase and crossed the threshold into the bedroom. She pulled Nicole onto the bed and locked her arms around Nicole’s waist as Nicole ran her fingers through Angie’s hair. Her touch was gentle, sensual. Angie kissed her again, letting her lips part this time, inviting Nicole in. She let instinct take over, followed the sensations of fingers trailing over her skin like feathers, Nicole’s lips exploring her warm, shadowy places. Drops of sweat inched down her neck, her back, her legs. Angie couldn’t think straight, and wasn’t sure she ever wanted to again.
Afterward, as they lay there, Angie reveled that this kind of passion was within her. It made her feel powerful. And free. And strong. And it had been there the whole time.
“I’ve never been with a woman,” she said, eyes on the ceiling.
“Do you regret it?”
Angie gave a soft, throaty laugh. “No. I do not regret it.”
“Well, that’s a good start.” Nicole laughed too. “But, listen, we have to keep this absolutely quiet. It’s okay for you, but for me? If HR were to find out I was in a relationship with a subordinate, I could get charged with sexual harassment and fired. I know it was consensual, but that doesn’t make any difference.”
“I get it. But . . . relationship?”
Nicole laughed again. “Don’t worry. I’m not packing up the U-Haul.”
Angie’s phone buzzed so she reached down to the floor to wrestle it out of her jeans. There were two texts from Jango.
I have information.
Can you meet?
Yes, when?
Tomorrow morning?
I can come to you.
Okay.
Will send time/place.
***
Angie got up quietly the next morning, trying not rouse Nicole, who was still asleep curled up on her side. Downstairs, she poured herself a travel mug of cold brew and almond milk and scribbled a note: Back soon with breakfast. ~A
She arrived at the overlook just off Mulholland five minutes early and found Jango already there, waiting in a beat-up brown Volkswagen Beetle. He glanced at her in his rearview mirror, pulled out, and headed down the road. Angie sat there, wondering how long she should wait to follow. Obviously, he wanted to be certain they were alone. A moment later, her phone buzzed.
Don’t follow yet.
Go up to Bonilla in five minutes
and take a left.
She did as she was told and found him parked at the end of a quiet residential street. She knew there were houses, nestled at the end of long driveways or hidden behind tall fences or dense thickets of foliage, that couldn’t be seen from the road.
“Sorry about all that,” Jango said when she opened a creaky passenger door and took a seat. “But I had to make sure we weren’t being followed. I have no idea if Weaver’s thugs are watching you. Or me.”
“He could be watching us?”
Jango gave her an arch expression. “Miss Norris, a man of Charles Weaver’s status keeps track of everything that goes on in his world. He has to if he’s going to stay on top of the world he’s cultivated. Don’t you think he wonders why you’re out here? You think he thinks you came out to the place where your sister died just for a job, a change of scenery? C’mon, he knew you had more in mind from the start. And now we’re both asking questions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out what we’re digging up.”
Angie gaped through the windshield, surprised she was surprised. It made her feel jittery. “Okay, then we should cut to the chase. What have you found out?”
“You remember we talked about actresses having to give in to Charles’s sexual demands?”
“Of course. I heard the same from a woman I spoke with, Audra Atkins.”
“Right. Well, it’s not just that. It turns out Charles doesn’t just want the women who give in to his demands. He wants the ones who won’t.”
Angie remembered what Nicole had said about powerful men like Charles wanting what they can’t have, and the phone conversation with Audra.
Jango shifted in his seat and continued. “No matter how long I do this job, people’s ugly behavior still gets me angry. This guy uses his power to abuse, manipulate. It gives him particular satisfaction when they resist. I’ve heard from at least two people, the more a woman resists, the more determined he becomes to have her, to the point of forcing himself on her.”
Angie sat, her gaze fixed straight ahead. A wave of nausea turned her stomach and a trickle of sweat tickled her forehead. “Do you have a Kleenex somewhere?” she asked, dabbing her brow with the back of her hand.
“Uh, hang on.” Jango turned around to rifle through papers, files, cookie wrappers, old fast-food bags, and empty coffee cups on his back seat. A McDonald’s bag held a prize stack of clean paper napkins. “These work?”
