Part 5 (1/2)
”We've met,” I said. ”Except you gave a different name. But maybe you don't remember.”
”How could I forget?” His smile slipped sideways as his dark eyes grew bemused.
Afraid I wouldn't be able to control my anger, I said nothing more. I didn't want to compromise Celia in front of Zaitlin.
Zaitlin turned to Beth. ”Take Diana and introduce her to Pedro Romero before he leaves. He's too artistic to stay for any length of time at a party.”
As we walked out the door, the clamor of the guests a.s.saulted me again. Beth and I made our way through the throng and out onto the veranda. ”What does this Heath do?” I asked.
”He owns a security firm. Does a lot of work for Zaitlin. These are his men working the party now. He also helps Zaitlin get things done that need to be done.” She rolled her lips inward, pressing them together.
”So he's a fixer.”
”You can look at it that way.”
I gazed out over the rolling lawn, the glittering pool, the tennis court, the rented pavilion, and in the distance a guesthouse, lamplight burning in its paned windows. More security guards looking like stern funeral directors with buds in their ears and cords running down their thick necks patrolled the grounds. In Hollywood, a party without security was like a premiere without limos. What was it about us that we needed so much expensive protection? Maybe it was for our threatened egos.
”Is Heath going to fix Jenny Parson?” I asked her.
”Maybe ease the situation. Did you have any personal dealings with her?”
”Such as?”
”I don't know.” She shrugged, and for a moment her square, defiantly unfeminine jaw appeared soft and weak. It was as if her strength had been drained from her. ”I don't believe in good and evil. But if I did, Jenny would be evil.”
”How?”
”She sensed people's weaknesses. Knew how to use them.”
”Did she know yours?”
”My fear of never working again? That's my weakness. Who doesn't have that fear in this town?”
Her gaze settled on a man lurking in the shadows of a large potted palm, surrounded by his walking-around guys. It was as if he was too sensitive to come out into the light.
”Pedro!” She waved, nudging me toward him.
My hand automatically went up to smooth my hair. And for the first time in the entire day, I thought about my lack of lipstick, blush, mascara, and powder. But it was far too late for any of that.
”Pedro Romero, this is Diana Poole, the actress Robert told you about,” she announced.
”I know who she is.” A small, thin man with dark slicked-back hair took a few tentative steps toward me, then bowed slightly.
”I'll leave you two to chat.” Duty accomplished, she hurried back toward Zaitlin's office.
”You carry death with you.” Romero's eyes twinkled darkly.
”My mother's ashes.”
”Ah, Nora Poole. I always wanted to meet her.”
I couldn't help notice that he didn't say he'd always wanted to work with her.
”It is very Latin of you to be so intimate with death,” he said. ”In my country we celebrate it, we make fun of it, and we defy it.” Raising a fist, he pulled his legs together and thrust out his chest. He was a matador.
”No, I'm afraid it's very American of me. The door locks on my car don't work, and I was worried someone might steal her.”
He chuckled. ”You mean 'American' in that you always have a more pragmatic reason?”
”Yes.”
”I like that you do not apologize for being American. Most everyone here does.” He flipped a small hand indicating the guests. Then his eyes burrowed in on me, and I watched him studying the planes of my face with the impersonal eye of a camera.
”I enjoyed our conversation very much,” he said, as if he had just finished editing a film. He took my hand and kissed it so softly I barely felt his finely trimmed mustache. Patting the urn, he added, ”I finally get to meet Nora Poole.” He slipped away toward the living room, his guys miraculously appearing around him again.
”Diana!” Ben Zaitlin pushed his way through a group pretending to listen to a newly axed but still famous news anchor pontificate. ”My mother sent me out here to give you this.” Ben held out a plate piled with food. ”And I'm not to mention the ashes.” His smooth pale skin was flushed from too many drinks. Black hair flopped around a lean pointed face.
”Thanks for the food but I'm not hungry, besides I don't have enough hands to hold the plate. Happy birthday, Ben.”
Ben balanced the plate on the bal.u.s.trade. He had the same elegance as his mother, and the same aura of sadness. He was dressed in a stylishly hip suit with a pink rumpled s.h.i.+rt hanging, untucked.
”I haven't seen you in a long time. How's Princeton?” I asked.
Putting their children in Ivy League colleges was still important to Hollywood royalty. After all the years on the West Coast they were still looking for East Coast acceptance.
”I flunked out. Mother was p.i.s.sed.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and swayed as if he were trying to balance on a rowboat.
Surprised, I said, ”So you're living at home again?”
”I have my own place. Please don't ask the next question, Diana.”
”And what would that be?”
”'So what are you going to do now?' I'm so sick of talking about my future. I wish I didn't have to think about one.”
”All right, I won't ask.” I couldn't help smiling just a little.
Glancing around, he lowered his voice. ”I just heard someone say they got a message on their cell that Jenny Parson was murdered. Is it true?”
”Yes. I suppose you're going to know soon enough. I found her body.”
His eyebrows shot up and his head went back. ”Wow. What was that like? Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a jerk.”
”I know what you meant. It was awful.”
He s.h.i.+fted uneasily. ”I guess that's why Robert hasn't come out of his office yet. How come you found her?”
I briefly told him why I had gone to her condo and where I'd seen her corpse.
”G.o.d,” he murmured, taking his hands from his pockets and resting one on the bal.u.s.trade to steady himself. ”I always wondered why Robert hired Jenny. He was always b.i.t.c.hing about her. But why would someone want to kill her?”