Maxi sat in a back booth at Land’s End, a small café on Pacific Coast Highway, drinking coffee, scanning the L.A. Times,watching the door, trying to stay awake. It was 6:38 on Saturday morning, she was exhausted, and Debra was late. She’d managed about four hours’ sleep between falling into bed the night before and falling into her car this morning for the hourlong drive to the beach. Debra had called—they had to meet, she’d said, but wouldn’t say what was so urgent.
Maxi and Debra belonged to an exclusive club, whose membership roster was now permanently closed: former wives of Jack Nathanson. They’d shared some laughs at his expense, of course, but they also culled surprising insights from each other. It helped, because both women, different though they were, had the same misgivings about themselves when it came to Jack. Jack Nathanson wasn’t a man you could dismiss from your consciousness when you signed the divorce decree.
Debra had just arrived and was climbing down from her jaunty vermilion-red Jeep, in exercise sweats and dark glasses, trying to keep a low profile. Still, she turned heads when she walked into the half-empty coffee shop. That was Debra. She slid into the booth opposite Maxi and took out a cigarette.
“I thought you quit,” Maxi said. “This time was for good.”
“Yes, darling, but it’s better than doing drugs, don’t you agree?” She lit up.
“They’ll make you put it out,” Maxi protested. Debra shrugged and took a deep drag.
“So how goes it?”
“Oh, splendid,” Debra returned, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. A few other diners shot her a look, but when she met each of them squarely in the eye and gave them a little nod and a smile, they all smiled back sheepishly and returned to their breakfasts, content with a personal acknowledgment from the extraordinary Debra Angelo.
“Oh, splendid. Everybody in this town thinks I gunned down my ex. I guess it’s a short leap from I should have to I must have. Meantime, my phone isn’t exactly ringing off the hook—the industry doesn’t relish stopping production because one of its stars is sent up the river.”
Maxi smiled. Debra went for the comic take even in the worst of circumstances. “So why are we here?” she asked her.
“Because I didn’t want to talk about this on the phone, Maxi. I was brought in for questioning again, Marvin was with me, and they grilled me again, intensely, on everything I saw, heard, and did last Saturday. I told them I saw you driving away from my house right after Jack got shot.”
Maxi blanched.
“What the hell were you doing there, Maxi?”
“I didn’t know you saw me—”
“Well, I did. I didn’t tell them at first, but goddammit, Max, I’m out on bail on a murder rap! I could go to prison for ten years! These guys aren’t fooling around. I’m terrified,” she breathed, grabbing Maxi’s arm. “So talk to me. What were you doing at my house last Saturday?”
“I was running errands, and I was going to drop off that computer spelling program I ordered for Gia.”
“So how come you didn’t call? You always call.”
“I just happened by the store and stopped in on a chance, and they’d just received it. I thought if I ran it out to you before Jack came for Gia they could work on it over the weekend. Jack was always great with helping Gia learn—”
“So why didn’t you just drop it off at Jack and Janet’s place? That would have been a hell of a lot closer.”
“It didn’t occur to me.”
Debra looked dubious. “So you decided to drive all the way out to Malibu with it without even calling on the way? Let me know you were coming? You have a cell phone, Maxi.”
“I was going to call, but you know you can’t get a signal down through Malibu canyon, and when I broke out at the coast I was just about there, so I didn’t bother.”
“You knew Jack was coming at two. You knew he was never late. And neither of us liked running into him if we could help it. So you got to my house precisely when you knew he’d be there? Come on, Maxi.”
“Hey, if I saw him it would’ve been, ‘Hi, Jack,’ a smooch for Gia, ‘here’s the speller that works with her Mac, the instructions are inside, happy spelling,’ and out of there—I had nails at three back in town.”
Debra’s eyes narrowed behind her shades. “What was the big deal about rushing it out right away?” she asked. “We’ve been waiting for that spelling program for three weeks.”
“Debra, you told me she flunked two spelling quizzes that week, remember? If I didn’t get it to her that weekend, she’d have had to wait another week. You know I can only do errands on weekends, and you can’t depend on the mail.” Debra was interrogating her, and Maxi didn’t like it.
“Okay, so out you came with the speller, all the way to the house. So why didn’t you come in?”
“Because when I was driving down your street I heard sirens behind me, so I pulled over to let whatever it was pass. Turns out it was the Malibu sheriffs, as you well know, and I watched them screech to a halt in front of your house! So I just got out of there.”
“That’s not you, Maxi. You’re a reporter—you don’t take off when you see police action. You go find out what’s going on. More important, you don’t run when a friend might be in trouble. We are still friends, aren’t we?”
“Well, I saw you at the door letting the deputies in, so I knew you were okay, and I knew Jack would never hurt Gia, so I thought maybe something was going on between you and Jack, and I didn’t want to be a part of it. So I took off.”
Debra digested this. “Okay,” she said slowly, “all very innocent. So why didn’t you tell the police?”
“Oh God, Debra, I know that was stupid, but I didn’t know you saw me. I didn’t think anybody saw me. And when I heard the news, heard what happened, I freaked. I knew it would not look good if they found out I was there when he was shot. It looks bad enough as it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“Debra, I have not told you half the financial horror stories that have been landing on my head.”
“You mean the back taxes?”
“I mean the income taxes, I mean the capital gains tax on the house he sold before he moved in with me, I mean another million-dollar signature loan that turned up, and on, and on, and on—it was looking like I might be working for his creditors for the rest of my life.”
“So you figured they’d think you killed him?” Debra asked incredulously.
“Well, somebody killed him.” It was Maxi’s turn to look closely at Debra.
“It wasn’t me, Maxi.”
“And it wasn’t me.” The two women sat in silence now, and Maxi could see that behind the dark glasses Debra was weeping. “I am so scared,” she whispered, tamping out her cigarette.
Maxi took her hand. She had marveled that Debra had the mettle to talk to the press, video and print, tell how outraged she was, how she and Jack had made peace, how Gia needed her daddy, it was shock enough that her father was dead, and now they were actually blaming her mother, think of it, she’d tell them, choking up. It was a vigorous front, and an exhausting acting job, she’d confided to Maxi. That’s why she’d wanted to meet at this early hour, and at this out-of-the-way place—to avoid them.
“Max,” she said, “if something happens to me… I mean, if I have to go away, you know, even for a little while, I want you to take Gia. Will you? I don’t want her in Italy with my mom and dad. I want her to continue with her school, and her friends, with no more disruptions—”
“Of course I will, you know I will, Deb,” Maxi cut in.
But there was no stopping her. “There’s only you, Maxi, and Gia adores you, and you’d be good for her….” Debra was sobbing now.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Maxi cautioned, squeezing her hand, looking around to see if people were noticing, and of course they were. Everyone, especially in the tight little community of Malibu, knew who they both were, and knew that movie star Jack Nathanson, their mutual ex-husband, had been murdered.