Picture Postcards from L.A.: Beryl

That drew a grin from the receptionist before she asked, "What's your name, Hun?"

"Steph... Stephanie Dunbar," I answered, smiling and pretending like I was trying to screw up my courage.

She pressed the intercom button and said, "Sidney, there's a 'Stephanie Dunbar' here to see you."

"Send her in," a masculine voice said before I heard a loud click, ending the conversation.

The receptionist tilted her head toward the closed door and said, "Go on in, Hun."

She was already picking up her magazine before I reached the door and opened it. I entered the office diffidently and quickly scanned it before closing the door, ensuring it didn't latch in case I needed to make a quick exit and Sidney had some means to remotely lock the door. I saw Sidney sitting behind his untidy desk, running his eyes up and down my body, a leer pasted on his face. I could tell he liked what he saw. I was a knockout and could have gone on to be an actress myself if I had wanted to lower myself to that level. I quickly glanced around his office, noting that he had several filing cabinets, two secured with big padlocks in addition to the built-in locks.

"I don't know you. Who sent you?" Sidney asked brusquely, trying to disguise the fact he liked what he saw. I was relieved that he didn't seem to recognize me, so if he had been behind the call to Beryl last night, he didn't know what I looked like.

"I'm a friend of Camille Roach. She told me you could help me find a job in the movie industry?" I said, noting that his eyes narrowed and his brow briefly furrowed when I mentioned Camille's name. "Bingo," I thought, "you are involved in this, you bastard."

Now that I knew I was on the right track, I needed to disengage as quick as possible. Sidney smiled and said, "Well, I think I may be able to help you. I have some forms you need to fill out and sign before I can shop you around." He rooted around on his desk until he found what he was looking for. "Aha," he said as he held up a sheaf of forms.

I reached out and took them from his hand. I said, "Thank you, Mr. Wilcox. I'll get these filled out and back to you as soon as I can." Before he could say anything, I turned and opened the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" I heard Sidney say behind me as I exited his office. The receptionist looked up in surprise as I hurried past her and out the front door. I quickly got in my car and took off, making sure to avoid going by the front of the office. If Sidney saw my car, he could make the connection to my real identity.

I made it back to my room without incident and settled in to review the paperwork Sidney had handed me. They were all standard forms granting Sidney exclusive rights to handle my career and take a percentage of anything I make. Finding nothing unusual, I decided to fill them out and return them to Sidney so I could stay in contact with him. To grease the skids, I had someone who owed me a favor who could make it happen.

After I completed the paperwork using my assumed identity of Stephanie Dunbar, I walked across Sepulveda Boulevard to a Thai restaurant for dinner. The Pad Ped Moo Pa was hot and delicious, and I made sure to tip the waitress well before heading back to my room. I made a couple of calls, the last to Beryl before I turned in for the night...

... We met at our favorite pizzeria, Pudgies Pizza, on W. Franklin Street in Horseheads. Being early March, there was still some snow where it had been piled after shoveling. Steph had gotten there before me and had grabbed a table by the front window. As I approached the table, I thrilled at the sight of her, amazed at how beautiful she looked, her flame-red hair framing her round face and her emerald eyes popping. When she looked up at me, I fell into those emerald pools, willing to dive in and never come up. She smiled, and the whole place lit up like a Klieg light had been turned on.

We ordered a Stromboli to share and iced teas. While we waited for our food, we talked about the upcoming Notre Dame Crusaders Senior Night basketball game against the Corning East Trojans. As the Crusaders' center, I would be one of the seniors recognized at the start of the game. Steph, as usual, was more excited about it than I was. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand in her hands. The impulses that shot through my body reminded me why I was here tonight.

"Ray, you're going to be the first one introduced!"

"I know, Steph."

"I just know you're going to have a great game. Those Trojans aren't any good this year. Their center is nowhere near as good as you."

"I know, Steph."

"I'm so excited!"

"I know, Steph."

Despite my admonitions, Steph didn't let them dampen her enthusiasm. Admittedly, that's one of the things I loved about her. She was enthusiastic about everything, and that enthusiasm helped me overcome my reticence to interact with everyone as she did. I was the moth to her flame and would gladly burn just to be close to her.

"Don't worry, I'll be front and center cheering you on," Steph said, smiling at me and making me melt into a puddle of goo.

"I know, Steph," I said one last time before I took her hands in mine and squeezed them, smiling back at her.

Our gaze held for a beat before the smile left Steph's face, instantly making the world a sad and gloomy place. I couldn't prove it, but I swear it rained in response to whenever Steph was sad. I had to ask, "What's wrong, Steph?"

"Oh, nothing, really," Steph said as she extracted her hands from mine. She tried on a smile once again, but I could tell it was forced. The pit of my stomach started hurting when she said, "I got my letter of acceptance from UCLA today."

"That's great, Steph," I enthused, trying to cheer her up. I knew why this made her sad; we would be going our separate ways after graduation, and neither of us was sure how we'd react to that. We'd been friends since seventh grade, and everyone who knew us swore we were Siamese twins, inseparable and always seen together.

Steph was the scholar, and I was the jock. Neither my athletic ability nor academics were enough to get me any scholarships, so once Steph planned to go off to UCLA, I planned to enlist in the Army. I had talked to a recruiter already, and he had pointed out to me that a career in law enforcement could be in my future. Since my father had been an MP in the Army during WWII, it was something I wanted to do. At least I wouldn't have to worry about being on the front lines in Vietnam, which seemed to be winding down with the Paris peace talks going on.

Neither of us was looking forward to the separation, although we had known it would happen once we graduated. Steph wanted to become a lawyer, so she wanted to go to UCLA and then the UCLA School of Law. I knew she was smart enough to do it, and whenever Steph expressed doubt about her plans, I always encouraged her to go for it.

"But we'll be so far apart," Steph said.

"It won't matter. We'd be apart no matter what. Who knows where I'll end up being assigned? We'll stay in touch. We can always call each other or at least write to each other."

"I'll send picture postcards so you can see what L.A. looks like."

"I'll try to do the same. However, pictures of Army barracks aren't as exciting."

"If it's from you, that's all that matters."

We sat in silence for a moment. Before it got stretched to the point of discomfort, Steph's name was called, meaning our Stromboli was ready. It broke the mood, and when I brought our food back to the table, the mood brightened, and we dug in...

... I woke to the sun shining in the room around the drapes I had pulled shut last night. I threw back the covers and got up, heading to the bathroom to perform my toilet. Once dressed, I came out and got ready to get breakfast. I noted an envelope had been slipped under my door, which meant that Brian Mooney had got my message and had a response for me. I was always amazed at how quickly he always responded, almost wondering if he just sat around waiting for me to call him. I hurried over to pick it up.

When I opened the envelope, I found the usual handwritten note. At the bottom was Brian's signature red large script 'M.' I quickly read it, noting he wanted to meet with me this afternoon. Once I had all of the details memorized, I ripped up the note and envelope and dropped them in the trash receptacle on the way into the breakfast room.

After a hearty, but hardly gourmet, breakfast, I returned to my room. I spent the next two hours calling some people while waiting to meet Brian. I also called Beryl to check on her. After she assured me she had a quiet night, I reminded her to be careful and to keep a low profile before I ended the call.

I had one stop to make before I saw Brian, so I got ready to leave. I jumped on the 405 and then onto the 101 until I reached the Hollywood Boulevard exit. I quickly found the office of Max Weinberg, a movie producer for a small independent film company. I had done a job for him a couple of years ago, and he owed me a favor that I hoped to collect.

When I entered the office, the receptionist looked up at me and, with a Valley accent, said, "Hello. How can I help you?"

She was checking me out and probably assumed I was an aspiring actress, so when I said, "I need to see Max Weinberg," she tried to brush me off. I didn't remember seeing her when I had worked with Max two years ago, so I figured she wasn't aware of who I was.

She confirmed my suspicions when she said, "Mr. Weinberg is very busy. Do you have an appointment?"

"Tell him it's Ray," I said. "We're old friends, and I'm sure he'll want to talk to me."

"One moment, please," she said. She pushed the intercom button and said, "Max, there's a woman out here who wants to see you. She says her name is Ray."

I heard Max ask, "Did you say 'Ray?'" I smiled at the surprise, almost bordering on panic I heard in his voice.

"Yes, Max," the receptionist said, looking up at me again, reappraising her first impression of me after hearing Max's voice.

Seconds later, the door to Max's office burst open, and Max hurried out. When he saw me, he went pale, like he had seen a ghost. I couldn't fault him. Most people I visited to collect on the favor they owed me reacted much the same way. I tried to reassure him that I wasn't going to cut his heart out and eat it by smiling and saying, "Hello, Max. It's good to see you again."

Seeing my smile, Max relaxed and said, "Hello, Ray. Don't take this the wrong way, but I had hoped to never see you again."

"Max, I'm hurt," I said, putting my hand over my heart, feigning a mortal blow. I then smiled and said, "We need to talk, Max."

Max stood aside and motioned for me to enter his office. He followed me after saying, "Alice, hold my calls."

I sat in the proffered chair as Max went around his desk and sat down. He looked at me and asked, "So, you're here to collect the favor I owe you?"

"Yes."

"Who do I have to kill?"

"Max, I said it could be dangerous. I never said it would be illegal."

After a pause, as I watched several emotions flick over his face, Max said, "Okay, Ray. You went to the mattresses for me when I needed your help. What do you need?"

I spent a minute explaining what I needed. By the time I finished, Max had relaxed and was actually smiling. Incredulously, he asked, "Is that it? That's the favor I owe you?"

"Yes," I said. "You do that for me, and we're square."

Max was positively beaming when he said, "I'll have it done by this afternoon. Do you want me to call you when it's done?"

"I won't be near a phone this afternoon," I said. "I'll call you before I go in."

"I'll be here all day, Ray," Max said. "You can count on me to get it done like you asked."

"I know," I said with a smile as I got up to leave. I leaned over the desk, sticking out my hand. Max took it and I gave his hand a squeeze. I finished, "I'll probably never see you again, but if you ever need my help, you know how to get hold of me."

"I do, Ray," Max said, back to his effusive self. He walked me out of his office. As I passed the receptionist, I smiled and said, "Glad to meet you, Alice."

Alice looked at me curiously as I turned to leave. I was sure the two would be having a conversation about what had just happened, but I trusted Max not to say anything that would compromise me. As I walked out and approached my car, I saw that it had attracted a small crowd of admirers. I just smiled at them when they whistled and shouted, "Nice ride!" as I got in, turned it on, and powered out of the parking lot and onto Santa Monica Boulevard.

As I headed to my rendezvous with Brian, I chuckled while thinking about Max's reaction to my showing up to collect on my favor. It never ceased to amaze me that my clients always seemed to expect the worst when it came to the favor I would someday ask of them.

Soon, I was tooling through Beverly Hills, turning off Santa Monica Boulevard, and wending my way to the address Brian had given me. When I pulled up front, I noticed the Sale Pending sign in the yard. I got out and walked up to the front door. Before I could knock or ring the bell, the door opened, and a serious-looking man, who I only knew as Mr. Wilson, said, "Come in, Ms. Fryman."

I smiled at his clipped British accent, which I figured was no more real than his name but aided in hiding his true identity. Of the many times I had done business with Brian, I had never seen him without Mr. Wilson hovering over him like a mother hen. "Thank you, Mr. Wilson," I said as I stepped past him into the foyer.

I spied Brian slouched on a couch in the living room and headed toward him. Brian looked up at me, and a wide smile creased his face. "Hello, Ray. How are you today?" he said, his booming voice relaying his genuine delight at seeing me.

I smiled in return and said, "I'm doing fine, Brian. How about yourself?" I walked over to the chair positioned across from Brian and sat down.

"I'm doing fine, Ray. Business is good, but I'm wondering why you needed to see me?" Brian said, suddenly getting serious. He had such a dynamic and effusive personality that you could easily forget he was one of the most dangerous criminal masterminds in the world. Why he seemed to have a soft spot for me was a mystery that I probably would never solve.

I had encountered him in passing on my first case, and for some reason, he had taken me under his wing and helped me with the case. He was the first person on my short list of people I owed favors to, and I knew he could have asked for it to be repaid several times but had yet to do so. Like many of my clients who owed me favors, I wondered what I would have to do when he decided to call it in. I decided that I'd do it, no matter what. After all, I owed it to him. He'd been helpful over the years on several of my cases, offering information that helped me, and I've shared information with him on many occasions. I hoped he'd have some information to help me this time.

"Do you know of Sidney Wilcox, the talent agent?" I asked, getting down to business. "I'm working a missing person case, and I think he's involved."

Brian tilted his head, and I could tell he was thinking hard about all the people he knew. Brian had once told me that he had an eidetic memory and could remember every detail of every person he had met or done business with and everyone associated with them. For someone in his business, this was sure to come in handy, and I hoped to take advantage of it if he deigned to share anything with me.

"I've heard of him but have never met him," Brian said. "Why do you think he's involved in your case?"

I spent the next few minutes going over the facts as I knew them with him, noting how his eyes narrowed when I mentioned Camille and how she had gone missing from the gala last Friday night. Brian was involved in practically all aspects of crime, but I knew he drew the line at sex trafficking. He had once mentioned to me that he had a daughter around my age, and I knew from the look on his face that he cared deeply for her. By the time I was done with my explanation, I saw that same look on his face, and I could tell Brian would help me with my case.

He spent the next few minutes telling me what he knew and suggesting a few things I should look into. "I'll put out some feelers and see if I can find out anything else for you, Ray," Brian said as he finished, indicating his willingness to help me with this case. He stood up, indicating our meeting was done, and I followed suit, following him out to the foyer.

"Thanks, Brian," I said, putting out my hand to take his proffered hand.

Brian held my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, "Be careful, Ray. People who treat other people like chattel will not hesitate to do the same to you."

"I will, Brian," I averred. I turned and left, got in my car, and drove away. I knew that in the next five minutes, Brian would also be gone and never be seen in this place again. Each time I met him over the years, it was in a different house in a different part of L.A. and a different realtor. I figured he knew someone in the real estate business who could find him a suitable place for a clandestine meeting. Reviewing everything he told me, I again marveled at how connected Brian was and how knowledgeable he was about all aspects of the L.A. underworld.

While I headed back to Northridge, I planned my next visit to Sidney. Armed with the information Brian had shared with me, I expected to gain Sydney's confidence and, hopefully, get him to give up something that could help me find Camille. When I got back to my motel room, I changed into something I figured would catch Sidney's eyes before calling Max.

When Max answered, I asked, "Did he go for it?"

"Like a fish for cut bait," Max answered with a chuckle. "He was a little surprised at first, but I told him I was calling everyone because it was time-critical. He told me he knew someone that fit my description and would get back to me. I think he's ready for you."

"Okay, Max. Thanks." With that, I ended the call and prepared to head out, anxious to get started on working Sidney to get a lead on Camille's whereabouts. Time was important in this case since sooner or later, if Camille was being shopped around as I feared, someone would buy her, and once she left the country, my hands were tied. I made sure I had all the forms filled out and signed, which I received from Sidney yesterday.

I quickly made my way to Sidney's office, pulling into the side parking lot. I got out and smoothed down my dress, a nice little black number with spaghetti straps showing the tops of my breasts, and came down mid-thigh. I walked to the door, pulled it open, and hurried in, remembering to pretend I was a nervous virgin to the movie industry.

The receptionist was once again looking at a fashion magazine as I entered. She looked up, recognized me, and smiled. Before I could say anything, she said, "Sidney is waiting to see you."

She pressed the intercom button, and when Sidney answered, she said, "She here, boss."

The door to Sidney's office burst open, and he came out with a big smile on his face. "Hello, Ms. Dunbar. I'm glad to see you," he said.

I had to smile at his enthusiasm. Max was a big name in the movie industry, and if Sidney could provide him with someone, it would be a feather in his cap. I was counting on that enthusiasm to keep him from getting suspicious about something like this just falling in his lap. "Thank you?" I nervously responded, acting like I had no idea what was going on.

"Please, Ms. Dunbar, come in and sit down," Sidney said anxiously, ushering me into his office. Once I sat in the proffered chair, he asked, "Would you like something to drink, Ms. Dunbar?"