Part 6 (1/2)
His forehead wrinkled and he c.o.c.ked his head to one side, still looking up at me. ”I think I liked you better naked.” A waiter rushed to him and started to pick up the pieces of plate and food. Heath turned on his heels and strode away.
Son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h.
As applause erupted from the marquee I went downstairs and across the lawn, the gra.s.s sucking at my heels. Stopping at the door to the guesthouse, I could hear Ryan muttering ”Ouch. Ooooh. Ouch.”
”I'm not hurting you,” a voice as thin as the blonde whined.
”I'm sunburned.”
I pushed open the door. Ryan, his Bermuda shorts and briefs hanging down around his Uggs, gaped at me. The Sliver was on her knees in front of him, mouth open. Ryan clamped his hands over his genitals.
”If you want me to drive you home I'm leaving now,” I announced.
”This minute?” he gasped.
”I'm sure she can take you home.”
”I'm not driving all the way out to Malibu and back,” the Sliver whined.
”Do we have to discuss this now? I'll take a cab.”
I looked at the Sliver. She was young. Maybe Jenny's age.
”You want to be an actress?”
”Who doesn't?”
”Then get up off your knees.”
”What are you trying to do to me, Diana? You're a bitter woman.”
Ryan's words stayed with me as I made my way back across the lawn toward the valet. What could be worse than a bitter woman? A beat-up woman. A murdered woman.
CHAPTER TEN.
When I was a child I believed Sunset Boulevard could take me anywhere I wanted to go, from the Pacific Ocean to downtown Los Angeles, to New York, even to Paris, where mother had once shot a movie. As I grew more aware of my surroundings, I was shocked to discover Sunset Boulevard had its limitations. And I began to understand the limitations of my own life.
It was 10 P.M. when I curved down Sunset onto Pacific Coast Highway and drove past my house to Celia's. I had called her and told her I was coming. She thought I wanted to talk about Jenny Parson's murder, which was now all over the news. But I didn't. I needed to tell her that Zaitlin was doing business with the man who had beat her up. And I knew it was going to turn her world upside down.
Sitting at the pine farm table in Celia's kitchen, I stared at Jenny Parson's smiling face spread across a wide plasma screen, the sound off. It was the perfect headshot of a hopeful young actress. But then, according to Jenny, she wasn't a hopeful young actress. She had only been doing what her father had wanted her to do.
I glanced at Celia, who was wrapped in a white terry robe, her long hair tied back into a haphazard ponytail. The bruise on her face was darker and meaner-looking than it had been in the morning. I had told her about the call from the Bel Air Hotel and finding Jenny's body. Smelling the homey aroma of the waxed wood surface and hearing the hum of the spotless stainless steel refrigerator, two things happened: I realized I was starving, and my unexpected tears began to flow. Again.
Celia took my hand, this time comforting me. ”I can't even imagine what you've been through, having to pick up your mother's ashes and finding Jenny Parson. What can I do?”
”You could get me some bread and cheese,” I sobbed.
Along with the urn, there was a Kleenex box on the table next to a half-empty bottle of white wine. She grabbed a tissue and stuffed it into my hand.
”Did you know Jenny Parson well?” She opened the refrigerator, letting its cold light escape into the warm kitchen.
”Just enough to feel what a horrible waste her death is.”
”Was she talented?”
”Funny, Gwyn asked the same question. Would it matter less if she wasn't talented?”
”Gwyn? You went to the birthday party for Ben after discovering ... ?”
”Zaitlin wanted to know what had happened.” I blew my nose and tossed the Kleenex onto a pile of other discarded tissues. I looked more closely at Celia's face. ”Have you been crying?”
She nodded. ”I don't think I'll ever be the same again. Will you? After what you saw?”
”I haven't been the same since Colin died so I don't know what 'the same' is anymore.”
Retrieving what she needed, she slammed the refrigerator door and glanced at the TV. Jenny's face had disappeared and now there was a picture of the alley, police cars, and the body bag containing her corpse on a gurney being loaded into the coroner's van. The gurney hit a b.u.mp, and the body moved and jerked as if Jenny were kicking, trying to get out. We both turned away from the awful image.
She placed a baguette and some Brie on the table. ”The bread is stale.” She sat down and poured us more wine.
”I have to tell you something, Celia.” I stared into my gla.s.s.
She pushed the cheese plate closer and waited for me to continue.
I raised my head. ”It's ... it's about the man who hit you.”
Her body went rigid. ”What about him?”
”I met him. He was introduced to me as Leo Heath. Not Ward.”
”Introduced? Where was this?” She balled up a tissue, tightening her fist around it, her knuckles going white.
I gulped wine. ”Tonight at Ben's party. In Zaitlin's office.”
”In Robert's office at his house?” Her brow furrowed as she tried to take in what I was telling her. ”What was Ward or whatever his name is doing there?”
”He owns a security firm and does some jobs for Robert. His guards were working the party.”
”You're telling me Robert knows him?” The fear I had seen in her this morning returned full force.
”Robert had called him about Jenny's death. He's a Hollywood fixer.”
Her hand trembled as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ”Did Ward ... Heath say anything to you?”
”Not really. I mean, he knew I recognized him. I tried to dump a plate of food on him.”
”What?”