Part 11 (2/2)
”You're replacing me with another actress, aren't you?”
”Jake Jackson wants to meet with you. That's all.”
”Just be honest with me. Save me the trip.”
”Sometimes we have to feed the beast, Diana. You know how the game is played.” He hung up.
I did know how the game was played. I also knew if you had to feed the beast, in this case Jake Jackson, there had to be prey and that was me. I was surrounded by b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.
I Googled a Camarillo cab company on my iPhone. Ordering a car to pick me up, I gave them the address. Then I leaned back in the booth and waited.
Heath returned and sat across from me. Rubbing his hands together he said, ”I ordered us chicken tostadas, they aren't bad here. Or don't you like men ordering for you?”
”No, it sounds good.”
His eyes narrowed. ”I thought you'd be more upset.”
”You mean about my iPhone? I didn't expect less from you.”
”That was a well-placed jab to my chin.”
”Who were you talking to in the kitchen?”
”The chef. He's a client.”
”He can afford someone who has a fleet of expensive cars?”
”He's a good man who's in a little trouble. I'm just helping him out.”
The waitress brought our meal, two gla.s.ses of white wine, and the check, which she left on the table underneath two red and white peppermint hard candies.
”Wine?” I smiled my soft pliable you-can-do-anything-you-want-to-with-me smile.
Heath started to respond, then stopped, wary. ”Tastes like water with a bite. But I thought maybe you could use it after what we put you through. Cheers.”
”Cheers.”
We clinked gla.s.ses and drank. I ate my tostada. It's not easy to eat with clenched teeth.
”What did Zaitlin want?” He l.u.s.tily shoved food into his mouth.
”How did you know it was him?
”Saw his name on your phone.”
”You don't miss a thing, do you? I told him about Ben. He said you would handle it.”
”Let's hope there's nothing to handle. I like Ben.” He broke off a hunk of tostada sh.e.l.l, dipped it into the salsa, and stuffed it into his mouth.
”So I take it you were in the military?”
He nodded, chewing. ”Army CIU.”
”What's that?” I glanced out the large plate-gla.s.s window. No cab yet.
”Criminal Investigation Unit.”
”And who did you investigate?” Feigning interest. ”The enemy?”
”The bad guys. Ours.”
I was genuinely surprised. ”You mean American soldiers?”
”There are always a few bad apples looking to scam, to earn a buck on the side.”
”How?”
”One guy was selling arms our men had confiscated from the Taliban back to the Taliban. CIU wasn't too popular among the rank and file, even though they might agree with what we were doing. They always felt we were there to spy on them while they were getting their a.s.ses blown off by IEDs. And they were right.”
”They must've been confused about which side you were on.”
His head jerked back slightly. I had hit a nerve.
Finally, the cab arrived. I gave my lips a ladylike dab with the napkin and put it down. Then I grabbed my purse and slid out of the booth, glaring down at Heath. Raising his head toward me, he stopped chewing, balancing in midair a neat pile of chicken, lettuce, avocado, and sour cream on his fork.
”You're right,” I said in a low controlled voice. ”I don't like men who order for me. I don't like men who lie to me. And you may have the biggest security firm in the world and help out a few people who can't afford you, but to me you're just another Hollywood player. A fixer getting paid the big bucks to clean up other people's s.h.i.+t. The army trained you well.”
I felt his eyes burning into my back as I stalked out of the restaurant.
Feeling miserable, I slouched in the corner of the taxi's back seat as the driver careered onto the freeway, honking his horn, tailgating, and mumbling to himself in a language I couldn't make out. I thought I'd feel vindicated walking out on Heath, but I didn't. Even though I had every right to. And now I was heading to my meeting with Zaitlin and Jackson, where I was probably going to have the proverbial rug jerked out from under me. Worse, I knew what was going to happen. Christ, how pathetic is that? But I had to play the game because if I didn't, there might not be the possibility of the next movie, the next role. Possibility and hope is what actors lived on.
Once we got onto Laurel Canyon, the cabbie was lost. I had to give him directions all the way into West Hollywood.
I took out my compact and checked my face in the mirror. Ignoring my sad tired eyes, I put on lipstick and lightly patted a little powder onto my s.h.i.+ny forehead and chin.
”You're an actress,” the driver said in his thick accent.
Purposely avoiding his reflection in the rearview mirror, I brushed my hair.
”An actress,” he persisted.
”Yes.” I snapped.
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