Cut to the Chase (8 page)

Avalon brightened. “I did, didn’t I?”

“What is it?”

Avalon smiled mischievously. “An isolated desert laboratory.”

“I need more clues than that.”

“1955.”

It wasn’t enough. “More…”

“An experiment with growth hormones to increase the world’s food supply.”

“Oh, shoot! It’s familiar but I can’t place it.”

“One more clue. A pretty doctor’s assistant whose all-time best line is, ‘Science or no science, a girl’s got to get her hair done.’”

“Oh, my God! You’ve got
Tarantula
!”

“In the flesh-eating flesh.”

“Score!” This was one film she hadn’t seen since she was a teenager, spending a flu-stricken weekend at home with her two younger brothers. But at the time, she had laughed so hard at the “Science or no science” line that she’d coughed herself into a frenzy.

Halfway through the film, Avalon reached for a quilt and wrapped it around them. The night had gotten colder and Paige welcomed the comfort. And when the credits rolled on
Tarantula
, she was surprised that it was after ten o’clock.

She told Avalon that she needed to get home. In truth, nothing was waiting for her there. Her attraction to Avalon had grown, and halfway through the second film, Avalon was no longer the famous actress, but a comfortable and exciting woman who seemed to be responding to her presence. But somehow, it just seemed appropriate that they end the evening there. If she’d read more into the evening than Avalon intended, she didn’t want to burst her own bubble just yet. The night had been too perfect.

Avalon walked her to the front door. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a great evening. I can truly say that it was better than the Oscars.”

They both paused while Paige nervously dangled her keys. Suddenly, the awareness of Avalon’s Hollywood status crashed back into her brain. “Tonight wasn’t exactly a red-carpet event.” Damn it, she thought. She hated demeaning their time together, but even more, she would hate it if Avalon was just being cordial.

“That’s different.”

“How?” She’d gone this far, so she might as well find out.

“The food was better,” Avalon said. “The films were more entertaining than a lot I sit through, and the company was unrivaled.”

Paige didn’t know what to say. She wanted to kiss Avalon, just an innocent kiss to say thank you for the night, but at the same time, she was afraid Avalon might lean in for one. She was convinced that if they did kiss, it would mean more to her than to Avalon. After all, Paige had followed Avalon’s career and always thought she was incredibly beautiful. And until the other day, Avalon didn’t know Paige existed. Maybe Avalon thought she was just a new amusement, someone that could be a fun but fleeting pursuit. Paige didn’t want an uncomfortable working environment, knowing the discomfort from some momentary liaison would be hers alone. Actresses of Avalon’s caliber had to be used to a certain high standard of lovers: case in point, her ex, Jessica Wiley. Who could compete with that? No, there was too much of a possibility that Paige would end up the short-lived catnip in Avalon’s mouse toy. More than that, she didn’t care to want something she couldn’t have.

“Thank you for everything,” she said as a flutter of regret passed through her. She had sounded so diffident.

“We’re shooting another car chase after lunch tomorrow. It’s the only action scene of the day. See you then?”

She tried to brighten what she knew was a weak and vulnerable smile. “Absolutely.”

She walked to the car as frustrated as a six-year-old forced to leave Disneyland. No fluffy toy, no balloon.

And like the child who doesn’t want to know that a person lurks inside those costumed characters, she didn’t want to know what Avalon might really be like on the inside. Just for tonight, she needed to imagine that Avalon really liked her and had genuinely singled her out.

The pull to stay with her longer still reverberated vigorously in her gut, but she was afraid the bubble might burst and she’d realize that she was just a time-filler for Avalon.

And though the decision to leave came with a flood of regret, she couldn’t trust that her longing was reciprocal, so she started the car and pulled out of the driveway, telling herself that leaving was safer than taking a risk and staying.

*

“Where are you?” Chris was on patrol somewhere in Hollywood, and Paige needed to talk.

“On Curson, off Santa Monica.”

“Busy?”

“Just doing paperwork in my car.”

“I’m close, can I come by?”

Paige found her easily and parked behind her squad car. Abel barked from the backseat, as he always did when someone approached.

“Stills.”
Chris gave Abel the order in Dutch and unlocked the passenger door. “What’s up?” she said as Paige sat down and blew out a long breath.

“Avalon.”

“Is she being a bitchy, self-important superstar?”

“No, just the opposite. I just came from her house.”

“Her house? Seriously?”

She nodded.

“So why do you look like someone just keyed your car?”

“She invited me over and we had dinner. We watched some movies and had a great time.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“But I’m asking myself, what does she want?”

Chris furrowed her brow.

“I know, it sounds stupid. It just seemed…too nice.”

“Your ex sure did a number on you.”

“No, it’s not about Marlene. Avalon’s a celebrity. Why is she spending the evening with me?”

“You do know how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”

She waved her hand, frustrated. “What I mean is, I don’t understand how she could be with Jessica Wiley, a damn superstar, and then invite me over.”

“Maybe she wants mundane.”

“That helps.”

“Not you. A mundane time. No crazy parties, no paparazzi. Just a really nice woman.”

Paige stared out of the squad car’s windshield, listening to the police radio as a dispatcher reported the results of a license-plate inquiry. The voice sounded monotone and routine, kind of like her life.

“Paige.” Chris adjusted her gun belt and turned toward her, shifting the computer screen aside to make room for her knee. “Do you like her?”

Star or not, Hollywood or not, she really liked Avalon. Especially when it was just the two of them. “I do.”

“Then don’t overthink this. Maybe she just wanted to make a new friend. Maybe she likes you more than that. Either way, just chill or you’ll make yourself crazy.”

She was right. Avalon’s star status clouded Paige’s judgment and made her hypervigilant. Whatever it was or wasn’t, she still had a job to do. And she’d done this before. Hollywood movies and celebrities weren’t new to her. This was her third book, and she was becoming a Hollywood regular herself. She couldn’t say she was in the industry exactly, but she made her money from the entertainment world and knew her way around a movie set as well as anyone.

She wasn’t a groupie and didn’t care to make herself available because of the lure of the luminary. She just needed to remain professional and do her job. If they shared a laugh or two in the meantime, fine. Thank goodness she’d caught herself so quickly. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself by thinking she was in Avalon’s romantic sights.

Paige left her house at six thirty in the morning. Skipping breakfast and even coffee, she didn’t want to be late for her meeting with Bubba Densman on the set of his cowboy movie. She drove through the high desert to Lancaster, about an hour north of Los Angeles at the edge of the Antelope Valley.

Though the town had begun as a railroad water stop in the 1800s, it now boasted a population of almost half a million people. Still, many outlying areas in the vicinity afforded film crews a dusty desert landscape on which to build a Western set with a backdrop of an uninhabited and seemingly forsaken desert.

She spent the first couple of hours photographing Bubba and an hour with him as they sat in director’s chairs and talked about his experience in action films. He was a big clod of a guy with broad shoulders and gargantuan hands. She realized right away that he wasn’t as graceful as previous film editors had portrayed him to be. All morning, he’d bumbled about, trying to hit his camera mark and clumsily throwing his weight around as if he were fighting a colossal sack of angry turkeys. But he was gentlemanly, which Paige appreciated.

She got a lot of great pictures of him in a saloon brawl and captured moments when he was discussing a scene with the director as well as sitting alone on a bale of hay, ostensibly contemplating the next scene.

After she thanked him for his time and asked him if she could return to do more shooting, they parted ways. She began to head for her car but turned around to take one last look at the set. The crew was still busy preparing the next shot. Off set, she saw the back of a hulking figure heading for the craft service table. It had to be Bubba.

Her gut told her to go back, so she got out her camera and caught up with him just as he bent over to examine a table of fairly elaborate hors d’oeuvres. Her timing was flawless as she snapped a number of completely paradoxical photos, focusing on his huge, dusty sausage-like fingers delicately picking up a petite crostini, his pinkie pointing daintily up.

“Perfect,” she said with extreme satisfaction, then headed to her car.

*

Paige found parking on the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Seward Street, close to where Avalon said they were shooting. Her cell phone rang as she locked her car. “Paige.”

“Marlene.” She shook her head in annoyance. “What?”

“I need to come get my flat screen. The one in the bedroom.”

“That’s not your flat screen.”

“I wanted the TV, you didn’t.”

Marlene’s sense of entitlement was unbelievable. “I bought the TV, remember?”

“If I hadn’t wanted it, you’d never have gotten it,” she said as her voice rose quickly. “If you hadn’t been so fucking boring in bed, and out, may I say, the TV wouldn’t be there at all.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“You don’t need the TV, Paige.”

She pressed the End button and tried to remind herself again to ignore the ranting of a woman who cared only about herself, but it wasn’t easy. Her words still hurt.

Tilting her head back, she let the Southern California sun warm her face. Marlene was obviously pissed and not getting what she wanted. Let her say what she wanted to. Paige took a deep breath, lowered her head, and walked down the street.

Avalon’s production company was shooting only one action scene that day, and Avalon had said they’d film it after lunch. Friday traffic had treated her kindly and she was walking up Seward Street at ten minutes past one.

Helen, Avalon’s assistant, cleared her with the police officer who guarded access to the set at Seward and Romaine Street.

“She’s in her motor home,” Helen said. “It’s just past the honey wagon. On the right.”

The thundering bass from some hip-hop song rumbled so loudly from the motor home that she stopped at the door, not sure what to do. She stared at a sign that read T
HE
L
AST
S
TAND
—A
VALON
R
ANDOLPH
. No one could possibly hear her knock because of the noise, so she decided to wait for the song to end. The windows shook like little children who’d just climbed out of a swimming pool. If she waited long enough, maybe the door might just jiggle open on its own.

“That could go on for a while.”

She turned to see Brent Hastings standing behind her. His sudden approach hadn’t surprised her as much as the knowledge that the biggest actor in Hollywood was a foot from her face. The only other time she’d seen him in person was the day before, but she’d been too busy capturing their last action scene to notice that up close, he had perfect hair and a startlingly chiseled face. But she hadn’t remembered much after he clocked Avalon just as startlingly.

“Here,” he said, “let me help.” He put his hands on the side of motor home and, with all his weight, began to rock the large vehicle back and forth. It picked up some decent momentum and, within a few seconds, the music stopped and Avalon’s door flew open and she jumped out, eyes open wide.

When she saw Paige and Brent, she immediately laughed. “I knew that couldn’t be an earthquake. Shit, Brent.”

“Shit, nothing, Avalon. You were keeping this young lady waiting with that deafening racket you call music.”

Avalon turned to look directly at her, smiling widely. “Brent is a sort of old-fashioned kind of guy. He comes from Texas and appreciates his music with more violin and banjo.”

“That’d be fiddle and guitar,” he said, before stepping toward Paige. “You’re the photographer I saw yesterday, aren’t you?”

As she nodded, Avalon quickly took her hand and pulled her into the motor home, calling out to Brent. “And no, you’re not going to see the pictures from yesterday.”

With a click of the door, she was alone with Avalon.

“How’s your head?” She followed Avalon to the little kitchen area.

“You tell me.” Avalon turned toward her, offering the left side of her face.

“No swelling,” she said, “but your bruise looks worse.” She winced, not sure if she should be so blunt.

“I thought I was the one who doesn’t mince words.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s refreshing, actually. Want some iced tea?”

“If it’s as good as what I had last night, yes.”

Avalon beamed widely as she retrieved a pitcher from her refrigerator and poured two glasses. “It should be. I made it myself. I have a lot of talents, Miss Cornish.”

“That reminds me of a question I want to ask you.”

Avalon handed her a glass and rested her hip against the counter, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“If you couldn’t act, what would you do for a living?”

Avalon took a sip and Paige liked the way she seemed to be considering her answer. Her green eyes were bright, the color of the delicate lichen found on river rocks. The lightness of her eyes, framed by the golden blond of her hair, made her appear fair and fragile. Her reputation was far from that, since the tabloids liked to talk about her wicked mouth and her sometimes-fierce manners. But in that moment, Paige felt more than saw that she was relaxed and peaceful.