Again with the, “I dunno.”
“I bet people were very sympathetic when they heard what happened to Jake.”
She nodded. “Everyone has been very supportive.”
“Your friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Agent?”
“Sure.”
“Casting directors?”
She chomped down on that fingernail again.
“It’s because of Jake’s death that you’ve been getting roles again, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer.
“Look, it’s okay. I know Hollywood loves a sob story. I mean, you practically have to be dead to get a cover of Entertainment Weekly these days, right?”
“I guess,” she finally conceded, her eyes darting to the front door as if really wishing she hadn’t answered it.
Cal must have noticed, too, as he nonchalantly moved so he stood directly between her and any chance of escape.
She shifted on her heels.
“I talked to a couple of people who worked with Jake on the set of his last film,” I continued. “Did you know that your husband was trying to blackmail Edward Pines?”
“No!” Alexis vehemently shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “That’s not true. They’re lying. Jake would never be that stupid.”
“Why would they lie?”
She bit her lip, not sure how to answer that one.
“Pines said your husband tried to extort a hundred grand. He said he’d tell the world that Pines was into kiddie porn if he didn’t pay.”
Alexis shook her head again, but I could see doubt creeping into the gesture this time.
“Pines refused to pay,” I went on. “He said he’d ruin Jake, make sure he never worked in Hollywood again.”
Tears started to fill Alexis’s eyes.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew your husband was making enemies, knew he was ruining his reputation at the studio, killing his career.” I paused. Then mentally crossed my finger I was on the right track with this. “And he was taking you down with him.”
“That bastard!” Alexis suddenly shouted. “Sonofabitch gets a chance at a real film-fucking Edward Pines!-and what does he do? He throws it away. Pines wouldn’t have touched him again with a ten-foot pole. I’ve been waiting fifteen years to get back into the business, and just when I get a chance to walk those red carpets again, he goes and ruins everything. And he wasn’t going to stop with Pines. He said he had even bigger fish lined up for the next time. The next time! God, how stupid could he get.”
“So, you killed him,” I slowly said.
“He had to be stopped! Look, you should be thanking me. Everyone in Hollywood should be thanking me. Who knows how many people he could have blackmailed. How many lives he could have ruined.”
Sure. She was a regular Mother Teresa.
“But he was your husband,” I said, feeling like a complete dope for ever having bought her grieving widow role. I had to hand it to her, the woman had mad acting skills.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I did the world a favor. Did you see his last film? The man couldn’t act himself out of a paper bag.”
Ouch.
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Cal dialing on his cell, probably calling the cops for the second time that day. (Hanging out with me lately, he’d be smart to put them on speed dial.)
Unfortunately, Alexis saw it, too. Her eyes cut to the door-still being guarded by Cal-and then to the bedroom, her body making a split second decision as she bolted toward the bedroom door.
I lunged after her, one quick step behind. Unfortunately, her legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine, and the door slammed in my face.
“I’ll go around back,” I heard Cal yell, throwing the front door open.
I jiggled the bedroom doorknob, but no luck. She’d clearly locked it from the inside. My eyes darted wildly around the apartment for anything I could use to break the thing down. Lamp, CDs, old copies of Variety. Damn.
Then I spied it. A Golden Globe award from 1983 sitting on the bookshelf.
I grabbed it, testing the weight in my hand. Stars weren’t kidding in their acceptance speeches. The thing was hefty.
I lunged for the door again, raising the Golden Globe up over my head, and brought it down as hard as I could on the cheap renter’s doorknob. The force knocked it sideways.
I heard shouting from the other side of the door. Cal’s voice outside, Alexis screaming back, “Leave me alone! I’m a celebrity!”
I lifted the award for another go, slamming it down on the dented knob, knocking the brass thing to the ground with a clang. The lock fell away on the other side, and I easily pushed the door open, still brandishing the Golden Globe as a weapon.
“Freeze!” I yelled, suddenly feeling very Law & Order.
Though it turned out Alexis didn’t have much choice. She had the screen off her bedroom window, one leg thrown over the sill, her pleather skirt around her waist, and her fishnets caught on the latch, capturing her halfway between Cal and me.
She was totally stuck.
And crying, “I want a lawyer. Get me Robert Shapiro. Get me Paris Hilton’s lawyer. I’m too famous to go to jail!”
Chapter Seventeen
Three cups of coffee, two statements to the cops and four hours later, we were finally released from the police station for the second time that day. I swear the detective in charge was starting to look at me funny. Like I had some golden touch or something, but in reverse; whatever I touched eventually ended up in a homicide.
By the time we pulled Cal’s Hummer back onto the freeway, it was five thirty. Prime traffic time. And I only had half an hour to get my threatening column into the printer behind Felix’s back.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I asked as we crawled up the 101.
Cal shrugged. “Sure. I’ll drive on over the top of these other cars. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
Smart-ass.
I pursed my lips together. “Well then, maybe we should take surface streets, huh?”
He shot me a look. “What’s the hurry, Bender?”
“Nothing. No hurry. I just…want to get back to work.” I turned my face to the window so he couldn’t read the obvious lie in that statement. If Cal had even a whiff of my plan, there was no way he’d let me follow through with it. Not that I’d normally let or not let anyone tell me what to do, but Cal was bigger, stronger, and I had a feeling he wasn’t above using bodily force if the situation called for it. All in all, the less he knew the better.
So, even though I felt as antsy as a six-year-old on a double espresso as we inched forward, watching the minutes tick off on the dash clock, I kept my mouth shut. Trying not to do a little impatience dance in my seat.
At five forty-eight, the traffic miraculously parted as we neared Hollywood and exited the freeway. I held my breath as we hit two red lights in a row, losing precious seconds, then, of all the luck, got stuck behind a Beemer double parked outside a nail salon.
“I hope you get toe fungus!” I yelled out the window as we finally slipped into the left lane and passed.
Cal raised an eyebrow my way. “You okay?”
I shrugged. “What? Double parking is very rude. Oh, there! Right in front!” I pointed to the left as a cab pulled away from the curb, leaving an open space right in front of the Informer’s building. After making a semilegal U-turn, Cal maneuvered his tank into it, and I bolted, grabbing Strawberry Shortcake and flying through the lobby with a speed generally only seen in Olympic trials.
Giving up on the ancient elevator, I took the stairs, jogging up two at a time until I reached the second-floor landing, panting and holding my side. I looked up at the clock over Cece’s desk. Five fifty-six.
“Jesus, Bender, where have you been?” Allie slipped behind me, whisper-yelling in my ear. “I thought you said six o’clock?”