STACY’S intervention inspired in me a sartorial crisis the likes of which I’d never experienced before. I must have tried on every piece of maternity clothing in my closet before flinging the last stretched-out smock to the ground in a fit of pique.
“Damn it!” I snarled.
“Mama!” Ruby said, pretending to be horrified at my language. I rolled my eyes at her. Unless her teacher was lying, she knew worse words than that one, and felt free to use them on the playground.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Peter said from under the covers, where he and Isaac were building a fort out of blankets.
The only time Felix could see me was on a Sunday morning. While the rest of my family was playing amidst the pillows and sprinkling bagel crumbs in the sheets, I was forced to confront the terrifying paucity of my wardrobe.
“I have nothing to wear!” I wailed.
“What are you talking about? You’ve got piles of clothes in there.”
I’d been wearing the same maternity and nursing clothes for the past six years, with ever-increasing dissatisfaction; and now that I’d been sucked into a more stylish orbit, it seemed I had an emergency on my hands. I threw a rolled-up sock at my husband’s head. “Felix is a fashion designer! I can’t wear your old Fantastic Four T-shirt to a meeting with a fashion designer!”
“So go buy something new,” he said, entirely unsympathetically. The few times in recent years that I’d had to buy clothes had been exercises more in humiliation than anything else. It was no fun to shop for my rapidly expanding and slowly deflating body, and I had decided just to wait until I was back to something approximating a normal size before I hit the boutiques again. I was obviously going to have to reevaluate that decision.
I was on my way out the door when the telephone rang.
“Please hold one minute for Mr. Brodsky.”
A few moments later a deep voice purred into the phone: “Ms. Applebaum. I received your name and number from a mutual friend, Stacy Holland. I’m with the firm of Brodsky, Brodsky & Shapiro. I imagine you’ve heard of us?”
I had. They were a fairly well-known entertainment law firm in the city, and were not infrequently cited in the trades. “Of course. What can I do for you?” I crossed every finger and toe, praying that he had a case for us.
“My firm has lately been exploring the possibility of engaging in a relationship with an investigative office that specializes in criminal defense. The idea would be to have someone on call when our clients find themselves in unexpected difficulties. Difficulties that require a different kind of expertise to resolve than we possess.”
I didn’t scream and shout in a combination of joy and relief, but that’s only because I clamped my lips shut.
“What kind of difficulties?” I said calmly.
He paused, and my stomach tightened. Had my question caused him to doubt me?
“Perhaps situations where claims are made against your clients, either in the press or simply as rumor?” I asked.
“That’s one kind of situation.”
“And I imagine there are the occasional brushes with the criminal justice system; situations where hiring a defense attorney might be premature, but where an investigation might prove useful.”
“Precisely.”
“I think we can certainly help you,” I said. “My partner is an ex-police officer, and thus has both connections and experience that is invaluable in all kinds of different situations. And I am a criminal defense attorney, although I no longer practice in the courtroom. I can make sure that any investigation would not endanger future criminal defenses.”
“That is what Ms. Holland led us to understand. She believes your firm would suit our needs nicely.”
I sent a wordless blessing to Stacy.
“Do you, perhaps, have any references?” Brodsky asked.
I gave him Sandra’s name, but I could tell he wanted someone, well, glitzier. I told him I’d need to consult my clients before handing out their names, but I was sure that I’d have something for him. Lilly would talk to him, I just knew she would. And then I made a terrible mistake. It was an understandable error, born as it was of my desperation to close the deal, of my concern for Al, and for my own professional future, but I regretted the words as soon as they left my lips: “I’ve just taken on a rather high-profile case,” I said. “Of course I can’t go into detail, but it’s a murder investigation involving a number of well-known individuals.”
“A high-profile murder investigation? Going on right now?”
“Yes.”
“The Felix case? The murder of the fashion designer’s sister? You’re investigating that? I know Felix quite well. We represented a company that sought to acquire his a few years ago.”
I gulped and said, “I’m so sorry; confidentiality prevents me from saying any more.”
“Of course, of course. Well, Ms. Applebaum, that certainly is impressive. My partners and I will be watching to see how that case turns out. Why don’t we plan on speaking once things are resolved? At that point we’ll all have a good idea if working together would be in our mutual best interests.”
It was all I could do to keep from strangling myself with the phone cord. Had I really all but told the man that I represented Felix? I had. And had he really made our hiring contingent on resolving Alicia’s murder? He had. Of course, Felix hadn’t even hired me yet, and even if he did, who knew if I was ever going to be able to solve the case? What a fool I was. What a complete and total fool.
In a terrible funk, I made my way to Liz Lange, a maternity clothing store that was so expensive I’d never done more than casually browse the window displays. A meeting with the founder of Booty Rags justified a more intensive scrutiny of their wares, and my misery was more than enough excuse for some retail therapy. Thirty minutes and over two hundred dollars later I flounced out of the store wearing a tight, black, long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off my belly, and a grey skirt that did much the same to my rather corpulent behind. The salesgirl had assured me that tight clothes were in for pregnant woman. The idea, I guess, is to celebrate the vastness, not disguise it. Since I was well aware that any attempts at concealment were at best fruitless and at worst pathetic, I was ready to jump on the celebratory bandwagon. Still, I was not quite willing to buy myself a pair of maternity thong underpants—every girl has her limits. A pair of high-heeled black boots that I’d brought with me completed the ensemble, and I felt great, panty lines and all.
The door to my dream house was answered by a small man with a thick shock of black hair and the largest brown eyes I’d ever seen in my life. His sooty lashes were so long they looked tangled, and his lips were full and red. He was beautiful, although certainly not traditionally handsome. He was far too petite for that. He looked like a miniature movie star, a fashion model writ two sizes smaller than normal.
“Hallo,” he said, in a vaguely European accent.
“I’m Juliet Applebaum,” I said, extending my hand.
“Farzad Bahari,” he said, taking it in his own. His grip was surprisingly firm, for such a delicate man.
He led me through the vaulted entry way and into the long living room. A cheery fire was burning in the green-tiled fireplace, and the many sconces were lit, despite the bright midmorning light shining through the leaded glass windows. I surreptitiously buried a covetous toe in the thick Chinese carpet, and determined to convince Felix and his pretty boyfriend not only to sell me their house, but also to toss in the rug.
“One moment. I’ll let Felix know you’re here. He’s in his room. Resting.”
“Of course,” I said. “This must be very difficult for him. Losing his sister.”
Farzad pursed his voluptuous lips for a moment, and then nodded, almost grudgingly. He left me alone in the room and ran quickly up the stairs. I took advantage of his absence to look once again around the room. When Kat and I had been through the house I’d been far too interested in the tiles, wood floors, moldings, and fixtures to look at the pictures on the walls. Now I could examine the black and white photos at my leisure. There was a long row of them, matted and framed behind museum glass. There were one or two that looked decidedly like Robert Mapplethorpes—few other photographers capture the male body with quite that erotic artistry. The others were dramatic, stylized fashion photographs, including two large prints of ethereal models wearing clothing that bore the unmistakable mark of Booty Rag ghetto-chic.
“Those are Avedons,” a voice said. I leapt back—I’d had my nose pressed altogether too close to the glass.
“Wow!” I said. “The real deal?” I turned to look at Alicia’s brother. He was a tall, thin man with fair hair cropped close to his scalp. His narrow face was dominated by a sharp beak of a nose, made all the more prominent by the diamond stud nestled in the crease above his nostril. He was wearing a black T-shirt in a soft clingy fabric that looked like silk. His narrow hips were having a hard time holding up his voluminous cargo pants, and a pair of black silk underwear peeped above the drooping waist.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.
He nodded, and collapsed into an oversized wing chair, leaning his head back into the nubbly leather. “So you’re a friend of Stacy Holland’s,” he said.
At that moment Farzad came into the room carrying a tray with three small cups and a matching coffeepot. He put the tray down on a side table. Without asking me how I took mine, he spooned generous portions of sugar into each cup and handed them to his boyfriend and me. I took a tentative sip, and then smiled. The coffee was rich and sweet, but plain and strong, too. Much better than the milkshake-like concoctions I’d been drinking lately.
“Mm,” I said.
“Farzad makes a fabulous cup of coffee,” Felix said, smiling at the smaller man. Farzad sat down on the couch and tucked his legs up under him. He nodded graciously at the comment, clearly understanding that it was no more than his due.
I took another sip, and then warmed my hands around the small cup. “I’ve known Stacy forever,” I said. “Since college.”
“Oh?” Felix said, in a voice entirely devoid of interest.
“Did she explain to you why I wanted to meet you?” I asked.
“Sort of. But I’m not sure I really understand. She told me that you were the one who . . . who found Alicia.”
“Yes,” I said softly. I told him how Kat and I had come to be in the house that morning.
“I told Nahid that lock box was a dreadful idea!” Farzad interrupted. I looked over at him. His face was flushed and he looked angry. “She wouldn’t listen. She is just like my mother. Does what she wants.”
“You hadn’t asked her to put the box on?” I asked.
“Of course not!” he said. “It’s a ridiculous idea. Putting your key on the door so anyone can walk in! What’s the point of having a five thousand dollar alarm system if you leave the key for anyone to find?”
“Why did she want the lock box, do you know?”
Felix reached across to the couch and laid a calming hand on his boyfriend’s arm. “We were just about to put the house on the market,” he said to me. “Nahid wanted to be able to get in when she needed to, and to send other agents by to look at the place while we were out of town. She had one of her handymen come and install the box.”
“You were out of town?”
He nodded. “At our place in Palm Springs. We’d been there for a couple of months. That’s why we wanted to sell the house. To move down there, permanently.”
“You’d planned to leave LA?”
He nodded. “Farzad’s been dying to get out of the city. And we’ve fallen in love with Palm Springs. The desert has wonderful energy. So creatively inspiring. We were there working on the preliminary sketches for my autumn collection when we found out about Alicia. So much for the collection,” he said, waving his hand as if to bid it goodbye. “I’m not likely to get any of it done now.”
“Of course you will. You’ll be ready to go back to work in a week or two. It will be a good distraction for you,” Farzad said, managing to sound both tender and bossy.
Felix shook his head. “I don’t know. I doubt it. Maybe you’ll have to do it for me, sweetie.” He laughed humorlessly. “It’s not like anyone would know the difference.”
I gently brought them back to what we’d been talking about before. “So you were out of town when Alicia was killed?”
“Yes,” Felix said. He suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked at me. “I’m not sure I understand, Ms. Applebaum. Exactly why did you ask Stacy if you could meet me?”
I explained to Felix that I was an investigator, and that I was eager to help in any way that I could. “I guess you could say that finding her body makes me feel like I have a kind of personal stake in finding out who murdered your poor sister,” I finished, lamely.
Felix nodded, not looking entirely convinced. He said, “How can you help? The police are investigating her murder.”
“Well, in addition to being an investigator, I was a criminal defense attorney. I can act as your advocate with the police, help you navigate their questions, follow leads they might not be interested in pursuing. I’d be on your side, acting in your interests. You can’t necessarily rely on the police for that.” I thought of Harvey Brodsky and had a sudden inspiration. “My partner and I provide these kinds of services for people in situations like yours. High-profile individuals for whom relying on the good will of the police is simply not an option, but for whom engaging a criminal defense lawyer might not project the right image.”
Farzad nodded, although Felix still looked perplexed, and perhaps a little suspicious.
“Why would I need an advocate with the police?” Felix said.
“Because the police are bound to think you killed Alicia!” Farzad said. “They always blame the family.” He turned to me. “Don’t they? Don’t they always blame the family?”
“Well, statistically, murders are most often committed by someone the victim knows. So yes, they do look to the family.”
“But we were in Palm Springs!” Felix said.
I nodded. “And I’m sure the police will rule you out once they verify that.”
“No they won’t,” Farzad said. “They’ll just say we paid someone to kill her.”
I was surprised by his vehemence. Why was he so sure that he and his partner would become suspects in this grisly murder?
Felix once again patted his boyfriend’s arm. Then he smiled at me, uncomfortably. “Farzad was born in Iran. He doesn’t have exactly warm feelings toward the police.”
I nodded sympathetically. “Of course not.”
“He’s basically pathologically suspicious of authority,” Felix said.
“Have you done this kind of work before?” Farzad asked.
“Yes, I have. Of course my work is confidential, so I can’t give you references, but rest assured my partner and I are experienced in this area.” Lilly’s case qualified as experience, didn’t it? “This isn’t a service for everyone,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t slipping into too oily a register. “Only individuals with a certain public profile can afford this level of protection, or even need it. Most people simply muddle through. Ours is a service appropriate only for the select few.” I was definitely going to need a shower when I was done with this interview.
I wasn’t wrong in my assessment of Felix’s vanity. I’ve found, in fact, that it’s very difficult to overestimate the narcissism of the average wealthy Los Angelino.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have someone on our side,” Felix said. “I do have a public profile I need to protect.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “But what do you get out of this?”
I was not willing to confess my hope to buy his house on the cheap, and I was getting more and more uncomfortable with my own ulterior motives.
“We pay her,” Farzad said. “That’s what she gets out of it.”
I nodded. “That, and the knowledge that I’ve done what I can to help find whoever did that to your sister. Finding her is not something I’m ever going to be able to forget.” I wasn’t lying. The image of Alicia’s violated body was there, in my memory, forever.
“How much, exactly, do we pay you?” Farzad asked.
I outlined Al’s and my rates. They were reasonable, considering how much money Felix obviously had.
After a moment, Felix nodded. “Okay. We can give it a try. See if it works out.”
I hoped my huge sigh of relief was not audible. I leaned forward. “You won’t be sorry,” I said. “Can I ask you a few questions about your sister? To give me some context for my investigation?”
Felix told me that he and Alicia had grown up in Miami. “My dad owns a Chevrolet dealership. The first thing I did when I got out of there was buy a European car.”
After a brief stint at the Fashion Institute of Technology, Felix had followed his sister out to Los Angeles. She’d gone to UCLA and majored in acting. By the time her brother joined her in Hollywood, it was clear to them both that her star was rising.
“She had auditions almost every day, and seemed to get a lot of the parts she tried out for. It was mostly commercials and little one-time roles on TV shows, but she was doing really well. And she was leading this total Hollywood lifestyle. She and her friends would spend every night at parties, or at clubs. She was dating guys you’d recognize from TV, even if you didn’t know their names. To a kid like me, it seemed like the coolest scene ever.” He shook his head ruefully. “Alicia was terrific. She put me up for almost a year—I slept on this stinky little pull-out futon in her living room. She introduced me to people, even set me up with guys she knew.”
“Hey!” Farzad said.
“That was all before you, baby.”
“Did the rest of your family know you were gay?” I asked. “Or just Alicia?”
Felix snapped his fingers in the air. “Oh honey, I’ve been out of the closet my whole life. My mother caught me with our Cuban gardener when I was about fourteen years old.”
“Wow!”
He smiled, ruefully. “Let’s just say she was not surprised. I’d been cutting up her dresses and restyling them for her since I was nine years old. Not many hetero boys can manage a straight seam in velvet.”
I thought of my husband and his wardrobe of jeans, khakis, and T-shirts.
“That’s certainly true,” I said.
“Anyway, I was lucky. My parents were fine with it. They just told me to keep my hands off the help.”
Farzad snorted into his coffee cup.
“So Alicia was getting a lot of parts,” I said.
“For a while,” Felix said. He then told me what I already knew about the downturn in her fortunes.
“That must have been difficult, coinciding as it did with your success.”
He shook his head. “It was awful. I mean, not that Alicia was necessarily jealous. She was glad for me.”
“She certainly liked having someone to borrow money from,” Farzad interjected.
“Farzad! You know full well how much I owe Alicia,” Felix said, raising his voice.
The younger man shrugged and made a zipping motion across his lips.
I paused for a minute, and then said, “Alicia borrowed money from you?”
Felix glared at his boyfriend. “Not exactly. I mean, I never expected her to pay me back.”
“And you gave her a place to live?”
He nodded. “She worked for that, though. She was our personal assistant.” He shot a warning glance at his boyfriend, and I wondered exactly what he was worried the indiscreet young man would tell me.
“What did she do for you?”
“She took care of the house while we were gone, for one. And she did errands and things.”
“What kind of errands?”
“You know. Picking up the dry cleaning. Doing the grocery shopping. Making dinner reservations, booking travel. That kind of stuff.”
I nodded, imagining what it would feel like to be one’s younger brother’s maid and errand girl. I don’t think I could have tolerated it for a minute, and I felt terribly sorry for Alicia. While my career might not be going anywhere fast, it certainly wasn’t sinking into the kind of oblivion that had forced her into this awkward and surely unpleasant situation with her brother.
“What was Alicia planning on doing once you moved to Palm Springs? Was she going to come with you?”
Felix shook his head. “No. She couldn’t have. Not if she wanted to keep auditioning and appearing with her comedy troupe. She’d have found some other work, I guess.”
“Was she upset at the prospect of your move?”
“She wasn’t thrilled. I mean, it meant a lot of changes for her. But Alicia was a flexible person. She would have been fine.” He heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t know what’s going to come of all that now.”
“All what?” I asked.
“Palm Springs. The move. Everything.”
“Don’t be silly, darling,” Farzad said. “There’s even less of a reason to stay here, now.”
Felix rubbed his eyes with his hand. “I can’t bear the idea of selling this house, of leaving, with everything so unresolved. I don’t know. I just don’t know.” His voice trailed off.
I felt my tenuous grasp on my dream house slipping away.
We sat in silence for a few moments, and then I changed the subject. I asked for the names of some of Alicia’s friends, and after a short pause Felix came up with one.
“Moira Sarsfield. She’s known Alicia for ages. They kind of rose and fell together, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you have her number?”
He shook his head. “No, but she works at Franklin’s, the restaurant in that Best Western, the one right before you get on the 101 in Hollywood. You can probably find her there.”
Before I left, I gave Felix and Farzad a printout that Al’s wife Jeanelle had made for us of our fee schedule and expense reimbursement policy. My embarrassment at taking the job solely to get my paws on that house kept me from asking for a retainer, and I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that Al wouldn’t kill me when he found out.
Farzad saw me to the door.
“You have a beautiful home,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s right; you were looking at it with a real estate agent. So, had you planned to make an offer? Before all this, of course.”
I gazed at him for a moment, and then I said, “You know, Farzad, I’d still like to make an offer. That is if you still plan on selling the house. It would be perfect for me and my family.”
He waggled his head in something between a nod and a shrug. “Well, we’ll see how all this pans out. Perhaps you will figure out who murdered poor Alicia, and Felix will be so grateful that he’ll sell you the house!”
My plan exactly! “Perhaps,” I said. “I’ll do my best.”