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7

The 1961 Phantom V is a lovely car, and when Mason carefully pulled up next to a beat-the-fuck-up Nova and three police bikes, she almost felt like apologizing to it. It was apparently a slow news day: The paparazzi were out in force. She got out of the car and leaned against the front wing, fishing a piece of bubble gum from her pocket and slowly unwrapping it. There was every possibility Julia was going to keep her waiting.

Four seconds later, Julia emerged from the police station, accompanied by Archie, who looked sternly at the press and took a position just behind his client. Julia was wearing a long, deep yellow cape with fur around the collar, a cunning little hat, and about ten thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry. Mason had no idea where any of it had come from, and Julia certainly hadn’t sewn it out of the jailhouse curtains. She took a more comfortable position on the car and prepared to watch Julia hold court. She also had an excellent view of Archie, not that that factored in at all.

Julia paused on the stairs. “Ladies and gentlemen, though I use those terms advisedly: Yet again the LAPD has arrested me for a crime I didn’t commit. If I’d wanted to kill Tony Eckenridge, I could have done so many times, and I wouldn’t have been so boringly obvious about it. The fact that I didn’t shows remarkable restraint, and I will apply the same restraint and not sue the department. However, if they continue to harass me, I may be forced to reconsider.”

Mason watched Archie struggle throughout this speech. On the one hand, the lawyer hand, it wasn’t great to have your client goading the police. On the other hand, the agent hand, it was a great speech and an excellent tactic in the Relaunch Julia’s Career plan. In the end, he just looked uncomfortable and at one point actually bit his lip. Not that Mason was looking at his mouth.

One of the photographers called Julia’s name, and she turned her wide smile in his direction. “Hello, Dicky, darling, long time no see.” She angled her head back and forth several times so they could get all the shots they needed. Then she raked the crowd for Mason, flicked her eyelids meaningfully, and waited till Mason had opened the Phantom door before she said, “That’s it, y’all,” and walked elegantly down the steps. Archie looked perplexed for a moment, then followed her.

The photographers came, too, and several snapped photos of Mason while shouting questions at her.

“Who are you, darling?”

“Who’s your girlfriend, Julia?”

“Too old to do your own dirty work now, Mrs. Mann?”

Mason looked at Julia as she slid into the back seat of the car. Archie hesitated, but Julia snapped her fingers and he climbed in after her. Mason hadn’t appreciated how tall he was until she watched him fold like a deck chair to get through the door of the old car. Julia slid along the back seat until the photographers could see her through the window for one last shot. She smiled like the timeless movie star icon she was, then pointed at Mason to get in and drive.

The photographers turned to Mason. Fresh meat.

“Chauffeur for the day, lovely?”

“Like being told what to do? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Mason smiled and gave them all the double finger. She popped her bubble gum, and climbed behind the wheel.

“Photoshop that, bitches,” she muttered, as she pulled away from the curb.

“I’m not the only one who needs to show restraint, Mason,” said Julia, mildly. “Claudia texted you the address of our next destination. I have to change and get ready. This color is in-a-fucking-ppropriate for where we’re going.” She dug about in her bag for lotion and started rubbing it into her hands and neck. “Move over, Archie. You’re taking up too much room.”

Archie was already wedged into the corner, and Mason grinned at him in the driver’s mirror as he compressed himself further. When they got to a red light, she looked at the address from Claudia and clicked to start navigation.

“Claudia said we had company. What is she talking about?” Julia asked.

Mason nodded. “A dude showed up at your door this morning claiming to be the son of Jessie Sharp.”

Julia frowned. “Ben Sharp?”

Mason was amazed. “How do you remember that?”

“That’s all Jessie ever talked about. Ben this and Becky that. I could probably tell you their immunization history if I thought about it. Did Claudia feed him? I bet she did.”

Mason laughed. “She had to; he passed out in the hall. He looked like crap.”

Julia shrugged. “I assume he showed up because he needed some help.”

Mason nodded. “Yeah, but you’ve got your own troubles to deal with, so presumably he’s out of luck.” She looked at her boss in the rearview mirror. “We should get you to a meeting as soon as we can.”

“I’m fine for now. We can do that later. Of course I’m going to help him. I made a promise. A jailhouse promise.”

Mason laughed again. “I didn’t realize jailhouse promises were legally binding. The appellation ‘jailhouse’ in front of something doesn’t usually…”

Julia Mann snorted impolitely. “Stop speaking. In this case, it was a plain old vanilla promise, made in prison, actually, not in jail, but by people who keep their word. There were four of us in that room besides Jessie: me, Claudia, Lemon Lily and Jennifer Who Is Now Jason.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Mason looked at Archie in the mirror and found him already looking at her. She raised her eyebrows at him and he glanced away.

Julia looked affronted. “I am not fucking with you. That’s who was there. No idea where Lemon Lily is, but Jason is alive and well and living in Key West.” She paused. “Or was it Key Largo?” She shook her head. “Not that it matters.”

Her phone started ringing, and she made a crowing noise in Archie’s direction. “Your boss…About fucking time…” She poked at the phone and a man’s voice filled the car.

“Baby! The kid got you out?” It sounded like a very old New Yorker with a very sore throat.

“The kid” rolled his eyes.

Julia was smiling. “Larry! I’m mostly glad you’re not dead. They fix your heart?” Mason looked in the mirror and was amazed to see an expression she’d never witnessed before on Julia’s face. A sweet smile. No subtext.

“Once they found it,” he cackled. “It’ll take a lot more than a dicky ticker to keep this asshole down, am I right?”

“You are. The kid seems to have his brain in gear. Go rest. I’m all good.”

“No! Wait! Did you kill Tony?” Larry sounded like he was asking her if she’d already ordered coffee. Apparently, any answer would be fine. “Archie said he wasn’t sure.”

Julia shot Archie a look. “Of course not!” Julia scoffed at the idea. “As if.” She paused. “Pretty sure.”

“Didn’t think so. Just as well. You need to be out and about, baby. Getting calls up the wazoo over here.”

“About what?”

“Everything, baby doll. Movies, TV shows, magazine profiles, it’s all heating up. People are Codex crazy; the curse is catnip, you know that. Spielberg wants you! Christopher Nolan wants you! Oprah wants you!”

Mason flicked another glance in the mirror. Julia’s smile was fading.

“I don’t care, Larry. I’m done, you know that.”

“Baby, don’t break my brand-new heart. This is your chance for a comeback.”

“I don’t want to come back. I left on purpose. I’m retired from acting, Larry.”

“You’re killing me. I feel pain, actual pain. People are offering money, darling, real money, ten percent of which would be mine. Don’t do this to me.” The voice broke. “I feel the life force leaving me…”

“Quit it, Larry. I told Archie, no to Cinespia, no to all of it.”

He roared. “No to Cinespia? Baby, it’s just standing and talking for two minutes. You could do it in your sleep. Put on your silver suit, show off your incredible gams and collect the check.” He paused. “You know, they’ll get Jessica Lange if you don’t do it.”

“Great, she’ll be amazing.”

“Glenn Close.”

“Super.”

“Susan Sarandon. Any number of actresses would love to cameo in The Codex .”

“Wait, now we’re talking about a cameo? I thought we were talking about presenting a movie on a single evening this summer. What are you playing at, Larry?”

“Oh, shit, babycakes, the nurse is coming. Gotta go. I’ll tell them to send the script over, yes? I’ll tell the kid to give it to you.”

“No, Larry, don’t…” There was a silence. Then Julia put the phone in her bag and sighed. “Damn him, he knows I’m a soft touch for a sick old man.” She leaned forward and pointed at Archie’s chest. “Work on that. I’m not an actress anymore. I don’t give a shit how excited people are about me, they’ll have to get unexcited.” She looked out of the window. “We’re nearly there. It’s the purple warehouse on the left. Pull over.”

Mason did so, and Julia climbed out of the car. “I’ll be twenty minutes. You ”—she pointed at Mason—“bring Archie up to speed on Becky and Ben, and you ”—she pointed at Archie—“work your contacts and get whatever information is available. I’ll be right back.”

Mason was confused. “Where are we? And where are we going that you need to change?”

“We’re at my friend’s studio. I need hair and makeup. We’re going to a funeral, Mason. I can’t dance on a grave in these shoes.”

Mason turned in the driver’s seat and looked at Archie.

“Shall I come back there, or can you handle this slightly strange dynamic of driver and passenger?”

“It gives the conversation a weird power imbalance, but I can bear it if you can. Of course, I’m the one being dri— Jesus wept, can’t you use the door?”

Mason threw off the seat belt and climbed up and over the back of the driver’s seat, giving Archie an excellent view of her ass as she folded against the roof and slid onto the seat next to him. Once she was there, she immediately regretted it, because now she felt like she was sixteen and they’d parked in order to make out. Or maybe that was just in her head because this man was tickling her limbic system in a way that made her want to drink and then sink her teeth into him, one right after the other. Mason had taken the suggestion not to date in the first year of sobriety very seriously, then decided to take the suggestion into her second year, then the third rolled around and she punted the whole topic. She wasn’t in any way ready to entertain even fantasies, but this guy was very appealing.

She settled into a corner and started to explain. “So, this kid showed up this morning to ask for help for his sister.”

“Because?”

“She’d been arrested for murdering her stripper girlfriend.”

“I think they prefer the term exotic dancer. Is the fact that she’s an exotic dancer relevant?”

Mason thought about it. “I guess not, although she was killed in the strip club where she worked.”

“Then you don’t need to mention it. Let’s not be prejudiced against dancers who may or may not also be sex workers.”

“You’re very enlightened.”

“I have three sisters and an ardent second-wave feminist for a mother.”

“Congratulations. Julia wants to help. I think she’s going to take on the case.”

“I’m sorry, why does she care about this person?”

“Her name is Becky Sharp. Because Julia was in jail with her mother,” replied Mason, as though that made everything crystal clear.

“And was her mother in jail for murder also?”

“No,” said Mason. “Drugs.”

He sighed. “Yesterday I was a junior agent, working at a big talent agency, shepherding contracts and negotiations. Today I’m defending a woman accused of murder who now wants to defend another woman accused of murder. Like a Russian nesting doll of accusation.” He looked at his watch and pulled out his phone. “I don’t really understand what happened.”

“Julia happened,” said Mason. “She has this way of saying things that makes them sound like facts when they are absolutely not. We’re both conscripts in Julia’s little army.”

“She’s not even my client—she’s my boss’s client,” mused Archie, frowning as he waited for whoever he’d called to answer their phone. “Hello, is Charlie there? It’s Archie Jacobson.” He shook his head. “Having a heart attack probably felt like the easier option.” He paused. “Hey, Charlie! How’s it going? Long time no see.” He held the phone away from his mouth for a moment. “Could you get back in the front seat, please? You’re making me uncomfortable and I’m working here. You’re cramping my style.” Then he went back to the call. “I’m looking for information today, rather than sharing it, but I feel like you owe me…” He paused. “Well, that’s true, but this way I’ll owe you and I know you prefer it like that…” There was a laugh in his voice that made the edges of Mason’s underpants curl, and instead of returning to the front, she started inching silently along, forcing him to move away. Just for the fun of it, of course.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Julia was back.

“Hang up,” she said to Archie, and to Mason, “You, out.”

“Who is this, Juju?” A very skinny blond woman wearing what appeared to be a dress made of pipe cleaners examined Mason as she climbed out of the car. “Are you a model? You have bones. Walk for me in Milan.”

“Uh, no, and…thanks?” Mason squeezed past her and started to open the driver’s door. Archie climbed out after her and stood a little ways away, still talking on the phone. He’d ignored the order to hang up, and continued to ignore Julia’s pointing and clicking of fingers.

“Take this,” said the woman, handing Mason a paper bag. “It is your job.”

Julia was wearing a long black dress covered in pleats and folds. It looked like origami in clothing form.

“You must,” said the blond woman, “steam her immediately upon arrival. Pinch each pleat to a knife edge, steam, move on, quickly, quickly, quickly.” She squawked at Julia. “No! Do not sit! Recline! Lean!”

“Don’t be so daft,” said Julia, settling herself on the seat. “I’m not going to recline at an angle from here to the funeral. You’re mad.”

“That is Issey Miyake. Original. Vintage. Older than this girl of yours. I loaned it to you for love, Juju, but it better come back in one piece or we will not be speaking again.”

“Calm yourself, Madrigal. It’s a dress. It’ll be fine.”

Behind her, Archie hung up and cleared his throat. “I spoke to a journalist friend of mine. Becky Sharp has been working at Galliano’s for the last six months.”

“Tell me in a minute,” said Julia. “First, get back in and hold my skirt.”

“I’m sorry?”

Madrigal moved her pipe cleaner–clad body and pushed Archie back into the car. “Hurry, she’s creasing.” She arranged him on the back seat. “Protrude!” she said. “Straight out, long-legged man, straight out like a clotheshorse.” Then she draped the skirt of the dress over his legs, arranging the folds and pleats carefully. “Now don’t move.”

There was a pause as Archie’s eyes met Mason’s in the driver’s mirror and neither of them said a word.

“Drive slowly,” said the blonde to Mason. “And try not to turn at anything greater than twenty miles an hour.” She looked back at Julia. “One piece, Juju, one piece!!”

“Yes, yes,” said Julia, unconcerned. “Go back to work. I’ll send the dress over later by courier. Thank the girls for me.” Mason looked at her properly and realized she had a full face of makeup and a complicated and shiny hairdo that she hadn’t had twenty minutes earlier. She looked incredible. Elegant. Otherworldly.

Then she looked at Mason and barked, “Drive, for fuck’s sake. I want to make sure Tony Eckenridge is completely dead!”

It was possible the other world she was from was Hell. Mason sighed, and pulled away.

“Alright, talk,” said Julia to Archie. “Tell me about Becky. How much trouble is she in?”

Archie, still sitting very carefully, replied, “Well, like I said, she was working at Galliano’s.”

Galliano’s was Los Angeles’s oldest burlesque venue, and not in any way a standard strip joint. Oak paneled and celebrity filled, it had hosted Gypsy Rose Lee and other major stars in its day. Often the women who performed there kept themselves relatively covered, but it was still considered one of the sexiest shows in town. Mason adjusted her mental picture of Becky Sharp accordingly.

“Is there actually a Mr. Galliano?”

“No, there is a Mrs. Galliano. And some financial partners, including one Tony Eckenridge, through the studio. He owned ten percent; the current Mrs. Galliano owns sixty percent; and an investment firm, Agosti Partners, owns the remaining thirty.”

“Huh,” said Julia. “That’s news to me, and I know the current Mrs. Galliano very well.”

Mason was surprised. “The club is run by a woman?”

“Yes, and always has been. This is LA history. I’m surprised you don’t know this.” Archie was raising his eyebrows at her. He was really very good-looking, Mason decided, but there was no point in hating him simply because he was successful and attractive. She’d have to find some other reason, and quickly.

“I’m not from here. NorCal, baby.”

“San Francisco?”

“Berkeley.”

“Ah, a hippie.”

“Yup. Can’t you tell?” As Mason was currently wearing skintight jeans and a T-shirt with Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony on it, he couldn’t, but he just shrugged.

“Well, the original Galliano’s was started by Annabel Galliano, back in the 1920s, during Prohibition. Word was the Mob was involved, too, but the Mob was involved in anything slightly illegal back then. It was a regular restaurant up front, with a burlesque and bar for those who knew the right people. After Prohibition, she simply switched things around, putting the girls front and center, and running a private restaurant in the back. Lots of power brokers used it, old Hollywood, you name it. It was quiet, the food was good, and security was tight because, like I said, Mob. Over the years, it’s pretty much stayed the same. The current Mrs. Galliano, Maggie, is about your age, Julia, and the victim, Samantha Harris, was twenty-seven, according to my source. She was found in the club, and the toxicology report showed a massive overdose of fentanyl. However, the coroner found petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes. She’d been semiconscious when it happened, but someone smothered her.”

Mason looked in the rearview again. “Was she naked?”

Archie raised his eyebrows again. “No. You have a vivid imagination, Miss Mason.”

“True story.”

“She was fully dressed and completely dead.”

Julia considered this. “Why did they arrest Becky Sharp?”

“Because she was right there, unconscious, her wrists slashed. Murder-suicide. However, the wrists were really just for show. Horizontal cuts, not vertical, and shallow. The cops took her to the hospital and she’s still there. Under arrest and on suicide watch. A twofer.”

“What has she said? What does her lawyer say?” Mason was driving carefully, but took a corner slightly above twenty, causing Julia to roll a little and make a squeaking noise.

“Mason! Careful of the dress.”

Archie Jacobson was calm. “She’s said absolutely nothing, and as for her lawyer, she doesn’t have one.”

Julia spoke. “Yes, she does, she has me. You two can go talk to her later. It’ll be sweet. You can hold hands.”

Archie blushed, surprisingly. “Shouldn’t you speak to her, as her lawyer?”

“You can be my legal assistant. Or cocounsel.”

“I’m not really a lawyer in the sense that I can take on outside clients…Larry wouldn’t…”

“Larry’s in the hospital, just like Becky. You can visit him afterward and tell him for the nineteenth time I’m not a working actress anymore.” She rubbed her hands together. “Alright, pull over behind these other cars, Mason, and bring the steamer.” She waited until the car was stopped and ordered Archie out.

Mason climbed in the back, holding the bag.

“I’ve never steamed anything other than broccoli, Julia. Archie might be more qualified for this. He looks like he irons.”

“Not sure why I feel mildly insulted,” said Archie, through the window. “But I do.”

Mason pulled out the steamer, which looked a little like a vacuum cleaner, and switched it on. “It’s broken.”

Julia was carefully standing as much as she could and shaking out her dress. The pleats and folds looked perfect to Mason, but what did she know? “It’s not. It takes a minute to warm up. Honestly, I can see why you might not have used a steamer yourself, but surely you’ve seen one before.” She looked at Mason’s outfit. “I mean, in someone else’s hands or something.”

Mason shook her head. “Oh, wait, here it goes.”

Julia demonstrated, and for five minutes Mason steamed and folded and pinched. Slowly, the windows steamed up, and Julia started muttering about her hair. Eventually, she declared herself satisfied and got ready to leave the vehicle.

So it was that as the other mourners filed up to the chapel they were treated to the sight of Julia Mann, actress of some repute, emerging from a Rolls-Royce in a cloud of steam, her folded black gown making her resemble a bat straight from Hades.

“And that,” said one of them, quietly to another, “is how a great actress makes an entrance.”