Chapter 14 #3
“One thing I know? You are absolutely not boring. You want to see boring? Step into my life.”
“How about this wild ride you’re taking me on? This is more of an action thriller than some of the films I’ve been in.”
“And so out of character for me as to be unbelievable. But don’t get me wrong, I like boring. I love boring. When all this is over, when I confirm Vivien is safe and we can laugh about how much I overreacted, I’ll happily go back to getting my kicks from reading books.”
“Or—and come with me on this—you could go really wild and add films to your life.” He faux-gasped.
“Who has time? There are already more books on my Tbr list than I can get through in a lifetime.”
“That’s the perfect reason to balance it with movies. We could watch three incredible films before midnight. Films that will change your life. I could change your life in three ways in the next eight hours.”
“My life has had enough upheaval in the last eight hours.”
“Once your sister is safe, let’s do a movie marathon. A triple feature. The Godfather, Vertigo and The Shawshank Redemption. No—Inception, Thelma and Louise, and Apocalypse Now. Just one night—push out that comfort zone.”
“Well, see, I’ve read the books, so…” He couldn’t see her face, but he could tell she was screwing it up in that cute way she did.
“All of them?” He pulled into a parking spot near the soundstage Natasha had directed him to. The roller door was open, and half a dozen people stood around outside. Crew, by the look of them.
“Except for Inception and Thelma and Louanne. I’m guessing they’re original screenplays.”
“Wait, Vertigo’s a book?” he said, as they got out.
“Based on a French novel called D’Entre Les Morts. ‘From among the dead.’ And Apocalypse Now was inspired by Heart of Darkness. I’m assuming The Shawshank Redemption is based on Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption.”
“So we’re on?”
They faced each other over the car roof.
Various expressions moved across her face, like a sky that hadn’t decided between rain and sunshine.
Not surprising, since he’d just told her how much it sucked to date him.
Not that they were talking about dating.
Just watching movies. Alone, together, in the dark.
“Step outside your comfort zone,” he said, surprised to hear nerves in his voice.
She held up a finger. “Only if I can subject you to reading The Atlas of Lost Roads with me. Like, in the same room. A ‘read-in.’ I’ll get two couples out. Copies. I mean, two copies.”
He liked the sound of that. “It’s a date—two dates.”
She blushed, and he liked that too.
As they walked toward the soundstage, he was aware the crew outside were watching. In his peripheral vision, he tracked a woman as she broke from the group and approached.
“Excuse me,” she said sweetly, “could I have a selfie?” She held up a phone.
“Not today.” He knew it sounded harsh, but this was supposed to be stealth Griffin.
As they walked into the building, he detected Lana watching his face.
“It’s never just one selfie,” he said. “They multiply. If I gave everyone a piece of me every time they wanted one, there wouldn’t be any of me left. And we’re not here for that.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Just for, you know, when you give your tell-all interview. My 24 Hours With Hollywood’s Biggest Jerk.”
“Griffin! I hear we’re having a meeting.” Griffin hadn’t seen Elmore approach, but he was engulfed in a handshake, a backslap and a semi-hug, all at once. “This mean you’ve changed your mind about my French Connection remake?”
“Sorry, man, I dropped your name to get through the gate.”
“The mighty Griffin Hart dropping my name? I’ll take it.”
“Shoot it over summer hiatus and we’ll talk.”
“Ah, I couldn’t afford you anymore. You are the definitive Achilles. Looking forward to seeing what Estelle brings this season.”
“A lot. She brings a lot. Hey, this is Lana.” Griffin pivoted toward her.
“Lana, Elmore. Elmore directed my third film, Stormbreak.” They shook hands.
Elmore was evidently awaiting a clearer definition of who Lana was, but Griffin breezed on past. “Listen, can we have a quick chat with one of your guys? Julian Vega. Personal matter.”
“So long as you’re not poaching him—he’s good.” Elmore gestured to the assistant at his shoulder. “Great to see you, man. If you mean it about French Connection, I’ll be in touch.”
The assistant approached a guy standing near a camera—Julian, presumably. She pointed out Griffin and Lana, and the guy frowned. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strolled over, glancing around as if it were an April Fool’s joke.
“Lana,” he said as he neared. “Everything okay?”
Lana introduced them. Like the director, Julian evidently expected an explanation for the unlikely pairing, but Lana didn’t give one. What could she say? Griffin’s this random guy I somehow pulled into the hunt for my sister? And by the way, we kissed.
“I need to ask you something about Vivien,” she said instead.
“She’s not still missing, is she?”
“She is. I’m guessing you haven’t heard from her?”
“Not a word.” He shot a look at Griffin, as if he’d had a lightbulb moment about the tenuous connection between Griffin and Vivien. Not that that explained things, either.
“Listen, I…” Lana pressed her lips together. Griffin guessed she hadn’t considered that she might be breaking the news that Julian had fathered a child. “Is there a chance Vivien could have been pregnant when you guys broke up?”
“Jesus, what?” Julian drove a hand through his hair, clutching it. Then his expression relaxed, and he released his grip. “No, wait. She had her period that week.”
“You remember that?”
“We had an argument because she said I wasn’t ‘sympathetic’ to her. And by that time, I gotta say I kinda wasn’t. You think she’s pregnant?”
“Possibly.”
Julian stared into nothing, biting the side of his cheek.
Griffin crossed his arms. “Got a theory on that?”
Julian glanced over his shoulder. “Lana, you know how I said she was acting cagey, before we broke up?”
“Yeah?”
“I thought for a moment she was seeing some guy. Older—much older.”
“Why did you think that?”
“So this one day, I come home early and she’s on the phone.
She’s talking to this dude on speakerphone, freaking out that someone’s photographed them together.
I heard his voice, super-quick, before she clocked me and took it off speaker and went out into the hall.
She was upset, saying sorry, saying she always ruins things.
After she hung up, I asked what it was about, and she blew up at me.
” He shrugged. “Nothing else came of it, so I let it go. We were pretty much over at that point—I just didn’t want to be the one to call it, because she wasn’t in a good place.
I guess she could have gone to him, when she left. ”
Lana shook her head. “She moved in with some stoners, but they haven’t seen her for a month—we went there this morning.”
“Why is everyone so interested in Vivien?”
“What do you mean, ‘everyone’?”
“Private investigators. Said they’d been hired by Vivien’s family, which I guessed meant you.”
“Not me. What did they look like?”
“Two white guys. Buzzcuts, built, military looking. Just after I last saw you.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing. They wanted to know where she was, and I couldn’t help. And then there was that detective.”
“Detective?”
“Yeah, pregnant lady? She wanted to know what Vivien had been looking into, or if I had anything related to it, but I had no clue, so…”
Lana and Griffin shared a look. So the detective had looked into Vivien’s claims, whatever they were.
“Did any of them share theories?” Griffin said.
“Nah. They all said it was some privacy thing.” The assistant called Julian’s name. “I gotta get back. Look, I still feel bad about walking away from her. But she gave me an out and…”
“I know,” Lana said. “It was more than you signed up for.”
“I guess.” He turned, then swiveled back. “Did you find her laptop at her new place?”
“No. I guess she took it with her.”
“How about the binder?”
“Binder? What binder?”
“Red, with an elastic strap holding it together. It was stuffed full—documents, newspaper articles. She kept it hidden, but I saw it occasionally. I’m guessing it was part of the ‘evidence’ she found for this theory of hers. If you can find that binder…”
“It definitely wasn’t at her house.”
His name was called again. He looked at Lana apologetically.
“Go,” she said. “And thanks.”
“I really hope she’s okay. She’s got a good heart.”
As he jogged away, Lana turned to Griffin. “Weird that the detective didn’t mention she’d spoken to him. But then, she was distracted by her uterus.”
“And those private investigators—has to be the goons.”
“Why would they lie and say my family had hired them?”
“Whoever they’re working for, they don’t want anyone to find out.”
“This older guy—maybe he was the pocket-dial. What did he say? ‘Don’t contact me again until it’s all over’? What’s all over?”
“A divorce?”
When they returned to the car, Darnell was there, taking selfies with the group of crew. He excused himself and joined Griffin and Lana.
“I couldn’t track the number for that butt-dial,” he said, “but I did figure out where the call was made. I got a sound engineer buddy of mine to pull it apart, and in the background, you can hear someone call a doctor’s name.
Plus, there was beeping—hospital call buttons, patient monitors.
I looked up the doctor, and she’s an oncologist at the Beverly Grove Health Center. ”
“I know it,” Griffin said. “I was born there.”
“You and half of L.A.’s rich and famous. I have an … associate there who owes me a favor, and she got me a spreadsheet of staff and current patients.” Darnell reached into his car—another rental—pulled out several sheets of paper, and handed them to Lana.
“There are a lot of names,” she said, holding it so Griffin could see, “though we can eliminate the women, and we can start with oncology.”
“Don’t look at what’s there—look at what’s not,” Darnell said.
Lana seemed confused.
“Darnell likes to talk in catchphrases from his show.” Griffin pointed at a name on the list. “That’s a director I worked with once.”
“Franklin Ross?” Darnell asked. “Saw that. Palliative, so you can probably rule him out. You got a bunch of high-profiles there. Let me know if anything pops.” He got into the car. “Oh, and leave by the back gate—your stalker in your old Chevy is waiting out front.”
“You don’t want your car back?” Griffin called.
“Just return it to my man when you’re done. I got a few other ideas—I’ll go home and sift through them. I’m trying to track Vivien’s movements before her phone went dead.” He saluted. “The city doesn’t sleep, and neither do I.”
Griffin stared as Darnell reversed out.
“Griffin?” Lana said, touching his arm.
“The city doesn’t sleep, and neither do I. Another catchphrase from his P.I. show—the salute, too. He’s even putting on the ‘face.’”
“He did look a little different.”
“Let’s head back to mine and go through this list.”
As they reversed out, a voice cut through from among the crew. “Griffin Hart is an asshole.”
He drove past, ignoring them. Again, he felt Lana’s eyes on him.
“Did I do that thing just then?” he said. “Blank? Retract.”
“You did.”
“Huh.” He’d felt himself do it. He’d never thought about it before, not consciously.
“I see you, Griffin. At least, I think I do.”
“You know what? I think you do too.”