Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors (5 page)

“…too playful and eccentric. I know exactly what you mean,” Nicole completed my self-evaluation. “We have to change that. Giorgio is a good friend of mine, and he told me that most of his success was hard work, pure luck, and knowing the right people.” Nicole waved toward the
vely nelvous
Chinese waitress who was undecided whether to ask for an autograph or to faint right away. She came forward, and Nicole asked for the check.

“You know … we really do have to change that.”

I asked, “Change what exactly?”

“Throw away that Vivienne Westwood image of yours and remake you into a Giorgio Armani of the jewelry world, of course.” Nicole snapped shut her little Prada purse and put down the bill and a generous tip.
 

“Thank you, but—”

“No, thank you, this is what you deserve.” She gave me a generous smile. “And we will start right away on Monday. Would you join me for the Academy Awards ceremony?”

And that was that. Of course it didn’t stop with the ceremony. There was a pre-show lunch hour, the walking down the carpet hour—and, most important, the after-show party.
 

Mundy’s mouth fell open. “Oscar. Nicole Berg. Swan Collins’ party.”

I was jumping up and down excitedly in front of my collected wardrobe spread on my bed. “I have nothing to wear! Nothing! Emergency shopping, now!”

“Wow, my girlfriend is becoming a superstar. Will you still know me tomorrow?” Mundy actually looked a little dubious, and I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not.
 

Mundy and I had a strange and complicated relationship. He was in love with me; I wasn’t with him. It fortunately did not put a large strain on our relationship. We had met at Berkeley University first, lost sight of each during my East Coast jeweler apprenticeship years, and had met again, right here in Redondo after I had opened my shop. He was one of the few people who knew about my clandestine hobby, the result of a strange affair involving one of his former bosses and a story scoop that had been suppressed but had needed to be published in order to clear Mundy’s name. I had broken into the publisher’s home, had stolen the evidence, and Mundy had been able to prove his story. Over time, Mundy became my good conscience and confidante, trying to keep my feet grounded. At least sometimes! As I said, I was not in love with him. He simply was not my type of man. I wasn’t into the 1969 Jimi Hendrix Afro look, baggy corduroy trousers, and trusting, puppy-dog eyes.
 

I turned to Mundy. When he got sarcastic, he was usually trying to make a point. “What is it?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Come on; what is there not to like?”
 

Mundy went over to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and walked me over to the dining table. “Okay, your old wise friend Mundy Millar is going to tell you a story from the vaults.” Mundy was neither old nor wise; he was my age and worked for the local paper. “When I used to work for the
Washington Post
, I had the pleasure of interviewing Swan Collins once. It was about five years ago, and she was on top of the heap with her first blockbuster under her belt. Imagine shy young reporter Mundy on one of his first assignments. Man, was I nervous.” He sat down opposite of me. “So, I was ushered into this presidential suite in the Waldorf Tower after a trip through a sequence of assistants and different management spheres. Mrs. Swan Collins was sitting on a beige sofa, her legs tucked away at her side. She wore a white dress and looked like a goddess ready to be painted. I sat down on the low chair in front of her, introduced myself, and asked my questions—probably the very same questions she had heard before all day, only this time asked by a stuttering black hippie.”

“She was acting the bored actress bitch?” I asked.

“That was the amazing part; she didn’t. She was answering each and every question with total enthusiasm and honesty. After I was through with my list, we were chatting about the weather and New York, and she asked about my background.” Mundy had to smile at the memory. “I told her about San Francisco, Berkeley U, and the hard fight to get a job at the
Post
. And she looked interested and gave me feedback, her thoughts on difficult jobs. This little impromptu personal exchange took less than a minute, but when I left the hotel room after my interview slot was over, I had the feeling that we had formed a very special bond.”

“You had the feeling that she had wrapped you around her finger?” Why was I so negative about this? Could this be … jealousy?

Mundy shook his head, “No! The opposite. I left with the impression that we had become friends and that if I called her in four weeks’ time she would not only remember my name but would also be glad to hear from me. Yes, I had the feeling I had found a friend.”

“So call her. Maybe she did indeed. You are a special person, you know. At least for me you are. Get yourself invited to the after-show party. We could party together.”

Mundy didn’t smile and held up a finger. “The story is not over, yet. When I was back in the lobby, I went into the bar and had an immediate post-interview drink to compensate the female superstar exposure and get my hormone level back to normal. I met my colleague from the
New York Times
, who had had the interview slot right before mine and was cooling down, too. And guess what. We shared the very same impressions. Both of us were new best friends of Swan Collins.”

Mundy and I were sitting opposite each other, and he was holding my hands now.
 

I may have sounded a little defensive when I finally said, “So, what do you want to tell me through your little story?”

“Simply that: remember that your new friend Nicole Berg is an actress just like my BFF Swan Collins. And that both ladies use their talents not only to make great movies and dazzle on the big screen but to influence people, pull them to their side, and make them allies. And there is no way but to pry open their skull and look into the brain to see what they really think of their world. To you, it may feel like a newly formed friendship, but it may be just that: an act or a means to an end.”

“You mean that Nicole was dishonest with me? I don’t buy that. What does she have to gain?”

Mundy patted my hands. “I am not saying that she has something evil in mind. Maybe she really likes your stuff; maybe she is a closet lesbian and is trying to seduce you; maybe she is a jewelry art buff. We don’t know. All I am saying is: don’t expect to be a real close part of her life, and don’t put too much true faith from your side into that friendship until she has built up a certain credit with you.”

I nodded. “Fair enough, Mundy.”

Mundy said, “There are two things I would hate to see happening to you. One is to see you get hurt.”

“I am a big girl and have been hurt in relationships before. And second?”

“Second is to see your butt, your beautiful butt, in jail.”

“Is it really that beautiful?”

“Beyond compare!”

“And you really like the lesbian option, don’t you?”

“Beyond com—”

I slapped the back of his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Getting Away With It

Mundy’s words were echoing in my ears as I sat in the party tent of Swan Collins’ Beverly Hills estate, looking at my pending doom in the handbag.
 

Rip had also turned white and said, “I don’t even want to know you, suddenly.” His eyes darted back and forth between the necklace, my face, and the policemen that were calling up people for the search, now only five tables away.
 

My thoughts were racing. If they found me with the stolen necklace in my possession, I was done. No excuse in the world would help me out of this, not even the truthful, “I didn’t do it! I don’t know how it’s in my bag!” Not if they took a closer look at some of the stuff that was circulating about me.

A look into Rip’s eyes told me that he was undecided what to do with me. One word from him would bring over the police right away. So, my first priority lay on making him an accessory.

Rip seemed to have the same thought. “Would you have sex with me if I keep my mouth shut?” he suddenly asked.

His wincing face told me that my kick had connected correctly under the table. “Depends on how dirty you talk,” I answered.
Lie first; deny later.
Maybe I could find a way to weasel myself out of the commitment later.
 

I carefully quick-searched my small purse—and developed a plan. A quick look up gave me four more tables before the cops would reach us. Our other table companions were deep in their own conversations.
 

“Would you mind moving a little bit closer to me with your chair? As if you want to lean on the table for a while. A little bit more, thank you.” Rip now effectively blocked the view for most of my left, and the table and my back covered the rest. I pried open the miniature-Leatherman tool I always had in my purse in case of jewelry mechanics emergencies, stubborn car electrics, or alarm equipment that needed disabling. A quick visual inspection under the table told me the type of chains on Pretty McAllister’s Van Winkel star necklace and the measures. Tricky, but it could be done. Four tables’ time.

“Try to look innocent, please, and do not look into my lap for a few minutes. Make mock conversation.”
 

Rip looked dutifully in the other direction and left me alone. “You are a woman of rare resources, Calendar Moonstone,” he said.
 

I made three strategic cuts on the necklace, probably ruining it for good, if I got out of this alive. “If you are attempting to distract or confuse me, forget it. This woman’s mouth and hands operate independently.”
 

Rip threw me a sideways glance with an amused smile. “That sounds like a very dirty promise to me.”
 

Another cut, and I had two short Van Winkels. I took one half and started to pry at the rough side to improvise a lock.
 

Done!

“What about tomorrow?” Rip asked, calling in his debt.

“Only if you promise dinner and a movie before any action,” I mocked.

“That can be arranged. There is this new romantic comedy with Pretty McAllister and Duncan Johnson.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” I finished what was effectively an ankle charm from one necklace half that was almost unrecognizable from the original piece. I lifted my left foot as if to scratch it and fastened it around my leg. Giving it a slight shake, I decided it didn’t look too bad. My work wouldn’t survive an Irish folk dance, but it should hold for a walk to the police tent and my car. And it didn’t look out of place.
 

Now for the other half! Another cut along the length of the necklace sent a few diamonds falling into my lap. A quick look around told me I had two tables left, but one of the DEA guys was making a general round and came marching toward the direction of our table. I had to stop for a second, covering my work in progress with my purse. Unfortunately, there were still the telltale sparkling loose diamonds in the folds of my black evening dress. Rip shot me an amused glance and gallantly put his hand into my lap—which gave me flushed cheeks and red ears! But what could I do?
 

“Going criminal with you is fun, actually,” Rip said. “Should I start to wiggle a finger?”

“If you plan to do your next casting audition with a finger-cast, why not?” I shot back, staring into his face.

The DEA agent passed within two feet of us, making his way between the narrow tables toward the other side of the tent. The coast was clear again. I continued to work under the table, and Rip took his hand away, sighing.

“Maybe we could make a competition out of this, like
Battle of the Chefs
on TV.
Jewelry Jest
– ‘the fast and the precious’. By the way, they started picking up the guys from the table next to us.” Rip made conversation, his voice not bearing any stress. Strange guy, to be investigated later.

“Rip Delaware, is there something you forgot to tell me?” I asked him. I improvised lock number two, but the first attempt wouldn’t hold.
Breathe in, breathe out. Once more! Steady hands now. Once more!
 

The last couple at the table next to us stood up and marched over to the police tent, a DEA agent escorting them.

“Can’t imagine what you mean. Maybe I am so desperate to get you into bed that I am willing to risk my brilliant, stalled career,” Rip answered, an amused smile around his lips. “You got about twenty seconds left, darling.”

Done!

I had turned the second half of the former necklace into an improvised diamond bracelet that I could wrap around my left wrist twice. Fortunately, I hadn’t worn any jewels myself, so it didn’t look too bad. If Pretty McAllister had a look at me, I doubted she would recognize her missing precious. I managed to lock the piece, folded the tool one handedly under the table, spoke a quick prayer, and snapped my purse shut.
 

“The stones?” Rip’s voice actually had a little stressed undertone in it now. He thumbed toward my lap where the leftovers were still sparkling in the artificial light. Two DEA agents were moving toward our table; we would be first for a search.