“I’M COMPLETELY DISARMED,” Madison said, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her eyes.
They were sitting outside at Farmer’s Market eating Danish and sipping iced tea.
Freddie leaned across the small table. “What was that?” he said.
She laughed, “I said, I’m completely disarmed by you. You’re nothing at all like your public image.”
“Yes, but we’ll keep that between us, won’t we?”
“In everything I’ve read about you, you come across as a cold power broker with a heart of stone. A man who’s only interested in mega deals. Are you aware that everybody’s scared of you? Yet here I am, a journalist of all people, sitting here with you having an exceptionally pleasant time.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, sipping his iced tea. “As I told you before, you caught me on a strange day.” For a moment he paused, staring reflectively into the distance. “You see, yesterday I thought I wanted nothing more to do with Max Steele. And today I keep thinking about how we both started out together, our close friendship, the way we built our agency from nothing. Max was the personality, I was the brains. Not that I’m saying Max doesn’t have brains. He’s a hard worker and street smart—qualities I admire.”
“I only met him briefly,” Madison said, remembering Max climbing into his pristine red Maserati with a big smile on his face. “However, I must say I liked him. He’s a complete egomaniac, but an unabashed one—which gives him a certain amount of charm.”
“How did you meet him?” Freddie asked curiously.
“My girlfriend’s brother, Cole, arranged it so that we bumped into each other jogging. He knew I wanted to ask Max about you.”
“And how does Cole know Max?”
“Cole’s a personal trainer. In fact, I think he’s worked you out a couple of times. Black guy, very good-looking.”
“Diana hires the trainers.”
“I get the picture. Your wife runs your personal life. You run the business.”
He threw her one of his cold looks. “I can assure you, Madison, my personal life is all mine.”
Hmm, she thought, mustn’t go too far; this is an interesting, complex man, and I should hold back. “So far you haven’t allowed me to put on my tape recorder,” she said, hoping he might acquiesce. “Which means I have no interview.”
“That’s all right,” Freddie said, taking another sip of iced tea. “As I told you before, we must get to know each other first before I subject myself.”
“But this would be so perfect to write about,” she said enthusiastically. “The real Freddie Leon. The man who actually bleeds if he’s cut.”
“Maybe it’s the perfect interview for you, “he said evenly. “However, it is not quite the image I wish to present to the world.”
She fixed him with a long look. “When do I get to put on my tape?”
“Maybe later in the week I’ll take you to lunch and give you the official interview, the one I’ve never given before.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He offered a glimmer of a smile. “I’ll tell you how Max and I started out, all about our first clients, the people we’ve dealt with over the years. I’ll give you a good interview. But today I feel like forgetting about everything. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do know how you feel,” she said, nodding vigorously. “When Salli Turner got murdered I was in shock, and it’s only been a couple of days.”
“Was she a friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance. I’m going to her funeral later. Did you know her?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She remembered Salli telling her about how she’d met Freddie in the underground garage of his building. Probably he was stalked by so many would-be actresses that he genuinely didn’t remember.
“Where’s the funeral?” he asked.
“Westwood,” she replied. “Cole’s taking me, he knew Salli pretty well.”
“It seems Cole knows everyone.”
“He does. And all their secrets, too. Sort of like you, although on a different level.” She took a big bite of Danish; Freddie was right, it was delicious. “Who do you think murdered Salli?”
Freddie paused before answering. “Difficult to know with these girls,” he said slowly. “They arrive in town with nothing but their looks and a whole lot of ambition. Then, if they’re lucky, they make a little money, get a touch of fame, and that’s when they all pick the wrong man. They’re incapable of dating anyone with substance. I’ve seen it happen a thousand times. We have a girl at our agency, Angela Musconni. She’s a wonderful young actress, yet there’s something about her—something I know will eventually destroy her—one way or the other.”
“Must be tough for you to watch. Can we talk about that?”
“Don’t push it, Madison,” he said shortly.
She pushed it anyway. “I was thinking of interviewing your secretary, maybe your wife, and some of your friends,” she said. “Would that bother you?”
“When I’m ready, I’ll give you the list of who you can talk to,” he said abruptly.
“You’re very controlling, Freddie.”
“The secret of my success, Madison.”
“Okay,” she said, sighing. “The rules are yours, so I guess I’m going to have to play the game your way.”
“Good. Because otherwise you’d be out of the ballpark.”
An hour later he dropped her off in the underground parking garage at his building. “Call me tomorrow,” he said.
“Will I get past the dreaded Ria?”
“If you’re persistent.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She collected her car from the valet and drove home.
“Am I glad you’re here,” Cole said, greeting her at the door. “Natalie called—she’s breakin’ a big story on the noon news, wants me to tape it. You got any idea how to work this goddamn machine?”
“Put in a tape, and press Record.”
“I don’t have to set it?”
“C’mon, Cole—of course not. When you play it back, you merely fast-forward to where you want to go.”
“Hey—very smart.”
“What’s Nat’s story about?” Madison asked, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of Evian.
“The Malibu blonde deal. She’s been working it all night.”
“What happened with Luther?” Madison asked, swigging from the bottle.
“She gave him up for her story.”
“Natalie putting work before a guy? Now that’s progress.” They both laughed. “What time should we leave for Salli’s funeral?”
“Soon as we’ve watched big Sis. We should get there early.”
“Good.”
“He’s quite an amazing man,” Madison said thoughtfully. “With a great deal of personal integrity.”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “Never heard that about Freddie Leon. Around town they call him the Snake—y’know, he’ll bite you soon as look at you.”
“You’re a cynic, Cole.”
“Takes one to know one,” he said, turning on the TV and fiddling with the tape machine.
“I have bad news,” Madison said, flopping down on the couch. “The story hasn’t broken yet, but Max Steele was shot in a robbery yesterday.”
“Whaaat?”
“He’s in intensive care. Don’t spread the news; I was told in confidence.” “Anythin’ we can do?” “Guess not.”
Cole shook his head and turned the sound up on the TV as Jimmy Sica appeared on screen and began reading the current news.
“Jimmy’s one good-lookin’ dude,” he commented.
“And straight, too,” Madison murmured dryly.
“A guy can fantasize, can’t he?”
“Personally I think his brother Jake’s more attractive. Jake doesn’t realize how sexy and handsome he is. Jimmy does. He probably spends most of his life admiring himself in front of a mirror.”
“That’s ’cause he’s on TV,” Cole pointed out. “The dude has t’look good.”
“Jake would get my vote any day.”
“Gotta feelin’ you’re into him, huh?” Cole teased.
“We’re friends, that’s all,” Madison said defensively. “As I told you last night, the man is taken.”
“That, sugar pie, would never stop me,” Cole said with a wicked grin.
“Hey, if a guy is bagged, it’s okay with me—I can walk away.”
Natalie appeared on screen. “The sister’s lookin’ fine!” Cole exclaimed proudly.
“She sure is,” Madison agreed, impressed with Natalie’s businesslike image: a black Armani suit with a white silk shirt, and no outrageous jewelry— Natalie’s usual trademark.
“Good evening,” Natalie said, poised and in control. “Natalie De Barge reporting.” A short dramatic pause. “Hollywood. Land of dreams. A fantasy paradise where anything can happen, and some-times does. Yesterday a young girl’s body washed up on the Malibu shore. We were all quick to christen her the Malibu Mystery Blonde—after all, this is L.A., land of the instant sound bite, and we—the media—go with it every time. What could be better? A beautiful young blond female to titillate our thirst for the latest headline. But our Mystery Malibu Blonde has a name. She was nineteen-year-old Hildie Jane Livins from Idaho. Hildie came to L.A. three years ago, just like thousands of other young hopefuls with starry eyes and Hollywood dreams.”
The camera cut to a medium shot of a plain-faced woman in a print dress standing outside a remote farmhouse. “Hilda was a good girl,” the woman said. “I lived next door to her family going on thirteen years. She was a pretty little thing. Never gave no one no trouble. Minded her own business an’ helped her mom around the house.”
The camera cut back to Natalie. “In Hollywood Hildie tried to make it in show business. She got a job working as a checkout girl in a supermarket, attended acting class, and hung out with her friends who were also trying to make it. Mavis Ann Fenwick was Hildie’s roommate for two years.”
Cut to shot of a skinny brunette with a big ass. She was standing on a Hollywood street, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “Hildie was the coolest,” Mavis Ann said, blinking nervously. “We always had fun, and when things weren’t going good, she never complained.” A manic giggle. “Once we lived on Campbell’s soup for three solid weeks ’cause we couldn’t afford nothin’ else.”
Camera back to Natalie in the studio. “Eventually the temptations of Hollywood lured Hildie into a life of decadence,” Natalie continued. “This innocent young girl met a sophisticated worldly-wise woman who goes by the name of Darlene La Porte. Darlene’s real name is Pat Smithins—a former convicted prostitute who has also been arrested several times for pandering. According to Mavis Ann and other friends of Hildie’s, Darlene promised Hildie money and acting opportunities if she agreed to sleep with movie stars and rich men. Darlene, in fact, became Hildie’s madam.” A long pause. “Now Hildie is dead, murdered by drowning and dumped in the ocean to make it look like an accident. When we tried to reach Darlene La Porte for her comments, we were informed she had nothing to say. Tell that to Hildie’s grieving parents.”
“Jesus!” Cole exclaimed, leaping up. “Whaddya think?”
“I think it’s damn good investigative reporting,” Madison said. “I only hope she has plenty of hard facts to back up her story, because Darlene whatever her name is will have her lawyers crawling all over everyone.”
Cole grabbed his jacket. “Come on,” he said. “We got a funeral to attend.”