Bombshell Read online

“You enjoy it as much as I do.”

  A production assistant hurried up with a stack of pictures and résumés. He set them on the table next to the director’s chair. “Here’s the first batch of Lolas.”

  Peter looked at the huge stack. “I thought Deirdre was going to weed them out.” Peter’s casting director handpicked the actors who would get to audition.

  “She rejected hundreds. This is what’s left.”

  “Success is fatal, Peter,” Tessa said. “Everyone wants to be in your picture.”

  The outer door opened and Viveca Rothschild burst in, followed by her agent. “Peter Barrington. So nice to finally meet you. And, Tessa Tweed. I love your work.”

  Peter rose from his chair to meet her. “Miss Rothschild, this is an unexpected pleasure. How can I help you?”

  “I came to read, of course! You are the hot young director everyone’s talking about. Oh, this is my agent, Warren. Don’t mind him. He thinks if I land a part without him I won’t need him anymore. Relax, sweetie, it’s just like it’s always been. I get the part and you make the deal.”

  “Oh, dear,” Peter said. “This is terribly embarrassing. I don’t know who you set this up with, but the part of Claire is already cast. Tessa is playing it. I’m sorry you came all the way down here, but I’m not going to read you for a part you can’t have.”

  “I appreciate that. But surely you have another role I could read?”

  “Only supporting roles. I don’t have another part for an actress of your stature.”

  “Good supporting roles are hard to come by. Is there one I’d be right for?”

  “We’re auditioning the part of Lola, the main supporting role. Tessa plays a bank president who is being held hostage by a gang setting up a bank robbery. Lola is the kidnapper’s girlfriend. She’s scheming, manipulative, and the brains behind the outfit.”

  “That’s right in my wheelhouse.”

  “You can read for it if you want to,” Peter said. “In fact, I’d be delighted if you did.” He stole a look at her agent. “But I need to be up front that this is a supporting role. It won’t pay anywhere near what you’ve been getting.”

  “Warren is duly warned,” Viveca said. “Okay, I understand. Let’s give it a shot.”

  “Are you doing the trailer scene?” Tessa said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Great. I’ll read with her.”

  Viveca was surprised. Stars didn’t read roles they were already cast in for the sake of an audition.

  Viveca and Tessa accepted the script pages from the production assistant and walked out on stage.

  “Okay,” Peter said. “To set the scene. Claire has been kidnapped and kept in the trailer over the weekend. Lola is priming her to help them rob the bank when it opens Monday morning. Lola is tough as nails and has been treating her harshly, but it’s been a couple of days, and Stockholm syndrome is starting to set in. So, Viveca, you have a grudging respect for this woman, even though you hate everything she stands for.”

  The actresses started reading. In the beginning Peter followed along with his script. After the first few lines he put the pages down and just watched.

  They were sensational. They played off each other perfectly, with a give-and-take that was subtle, nuanced, and right in character. For a cold reading, it was the best Peter had ever seen.

  When they were finished, Peter said, “Oh, my God. Viveca, I don’t know what to tell you. If I thought you would really take it, I would offer you this part right now. I would like nothing better than to have the two of you working together in this movie.”

  “So would I,” Tessa said. “I don’t know what that looked like out there, but it felt electric.”

  “Well,” Viveca said, “I’m not hurting for money, but I am hurting for good, meaty roles. They don’t come along that often. If you want to offer me the part, I want to take it. As for the rest, it can be negotiated.”

  Viveca turned to her agent. “Warren. Make it happen.”

  18

  Viveca was pleased with herself. Crashing the audition had been a brilliant idea. She’d hoped to get the scoop about her competition, but she’d come away with something even better: a role with one of the hottest directors in Hollywood, and at a time when she’d had no new part on the horizon. She’d been picky since Paris Fling, not wanting to follow that triumph with a bad career move. It was tricky having pulled off a departure role. If she were to do another light musical comedy, it would be seen as a commercial move, just cashing in on her newfound success. Another comedy role would be nothing new, just a pale imitation of what she’d just done. She might even be offered Paris Fling 2, a complete sellout. A meaty character role was just what she needed. And she’d be playing opposite Tessa Tweed, a chance to show her up in a head-to-head competition. There were tricks to upstaging another actress, and Viveca knew them all. Tessa Tweed would never know what hit her.

  Bruce was out in the home gym doing his exercises when she got back to her house. Viveca had outfitted the rec room just for him. Daily workouts were an important part of his regimen. Structured physical activity went a long way toward taking the edge off his post-traumatic stress. Barbells, floor mats, a chinning bar, punching bags (both speed and weight), a stationary bicycle, and an outdoor lap pool gave him all the physical activity he needed.

  Bruce was cooling off with a moderate jog on the treadmill when Viveca came in. He slowed the machine, hopped off, and hugged her, not noticing how sweaty he was from the workout. It was the sort of social cue he was always missing.

  “So, what happened?” he said. “Did it go well?”

  Viveca extricated herself from his clutches. “It went very well. I got a job.”

  “What?”

  “I got a part in the picture.”

  “In a Tessa Tweed picture?”

  “Not her picture. Peter Barrington’s picture. It’s about a bank robbery.”

  “That’s her picture. I saw her talking about it on TV.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Will you be talking about it on TV?”

  “I’m sure I will.” Viveca exhaled. “You’re sweaty. Go swim your laps.”

  “Okay.”

  Bruce went out the door and dove in.

  Viveca went into the kitchen to make herself a drink. She was going to have a lemonade but decided on something stronger. She got out the blender and started whipping up a margarita.

  It was amazing how Bruce could do that; send her crashing to Earth with some offhand comment. Yes, she’d be talking about it on TV. As would everybody else.

  Damn.

  She had taken a part in a film with Tessa Tweed. An excellent strategic move in terms of showing the public who was a better actress, but that wouldn’t come until later, long after the Oscars. Right now the only public perception would be that she had taken a supporting role. In a Tessa Tweed picture. God, those words grated. Why did he have to phrase it that way? Unfortunately, Bruce often put his finger on the simple truth. And that simple truth was what the immediate public reaction would be. Viveca Rothschild playing second fiddle to Tessa Tweed.

  What an image to put in the minds of Oscar voters who had yet to cast their ballots. Would Academy members be influenced by the public perception? Of course they would. Academy members could be influenced if the wind changed. Otherwise she’d already have an Oscar.

  This had to be handled with kid gloves.

  Viveca went to the phone and called her publicist. “Annie, sweetheart. We’ve got to get out a release.”

  Annie laughed. “Don’t we always.”

  “No, this is serious. I just signed on to do a picture.”

  “I heard.”

  “You heard?”

  “That’s why I’m the best publicist in Hollywood. I’m on top of things. That’s what I do.” />
  “We’ve got to get out a release, and it’s important it resonate the right way with Oscar voters. The wrong publicity could cost me a win.”

  “Nothing’s going to cost you a win, kid. I tell you, you’re a lock.”

  “I signed on to do a picture with Peter Barrington at Centurion Studios. We need to put out a release, and it must be before the studio does.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “The studio beat you to the punch.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m reading their release now.”

  “Shit.”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you’re worried about. They did a perfectly adequate job. Not as good as I would, but all things considered.”

  “Damn.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We can’t have Oscar voters getting the idea that Tessa is a star and I’m a supporting player.”

  “That’s not the tenor of the release.”

  “‘The tenor of the release’? Don’t give me biz-speak. What does it say?”

  “Nothing that’s going to hurt you with Oscar voters. It says ‘Oscar Nominees Tessa Tweed and Viveca Rothschild to Co-Star in New Film.’”

  19

  Teddy dropped the Porsche off at a body shop to get the front-end damage repaired.

  The mechanic examined the crumpled fender and shook a gloomy head. “That ain’t good.”

  “You should see the other guy,” Teddy told him.

  Teddy took a cab back to Centurion and found Peter in his office. “We have a problem.”

  “I’ll say.” Peter picked up a tabloid from his desk. “The gossip columnists won’t quit. This one hints that the reason Tessa Tweed had all her lines dubbed was because she was drunk on camera and slurring her words.”

  “That’s low.”

  “No kidding. Ben’s ripshit, and it’s all I can do to keep him from going after these guys.”

  “The worst thing he could do,” Teddy said, “as I’m sure you told him.”

  “You bet I did. If I could keep him from reading the tabloids, I would.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve got more troubles than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yesterday a car followed me from the studio and tried to run me off the road.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Aside from a dented fender.”

  “You think they’ll try again?”

  “He won’t. I don’t know who he worked for.”

  “You have no idea who’s doing this?”

  “No. I’m certainly going to make every effort to find out, but until I do Billy Barnett appears to be an endangered species. It occurs to me it might be a good time for him to go away on a location scout.”

  “I was actually going to propose it,” Peter said.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “To make it easier for you to become Mark Weldon.”

  “Mark Weldon isn’t in the picture.”

  Peter smiled. “He is now.”

  “What?”

  “The public can’t get enough of the man they love to hate. You got a Golden Globe and an Oscar nomination. It makes no sense not to have you in my movie. I intended for you to take a break on this one, so it didn’t look like I’m working with a cadre of actors, what with Tessa already in it. But I realize that’s just bad business. You have to give the people what they want, and they seem to want bad boy Mark Weldon. So I’m offering you the featured role of the bad guy. I certainly hope you take it.”

  “I don’t know,” Teddy said. “I’d hate to get a reputation for being typecast.”

  Peter blinked, then grinned. “You had me for a moment. So, that works. Billy Barnett goes on a location scout, and Mark Weldon shows up to rehearse. I take it you can arrange to delegate your responsibilities?”

  “Hey, it’s not my first rodeo. I’ll be fine. But I must point out, Mark Weldon doesn’t have a contract yet.”

  “It’s all right,” Peter said. “I don’t pay Oscar nominees any less than other actors.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  Teddy went down the hall to his office. His secretary was typing a letter.

  “Margaret, I’m going on a trip to scout locations and will be out of reach, if anyone asks. You know the drill.”

  “How will I reach you?”

  “I’ll get you a cell phone number, and I’ll check in from time to time.”

  Margaret was accustomed to Teddy’s unorthodox style. She cocked her head and smiled. “You do know we’re making a movie?”

  Teddy grinned. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  20

  Teddy went out to the long-term parking garage where he kept the Buick he used as stuntman Mark Weldon.

  “I’m going to be gone for a while,” Teddy told the garage man on duty. “Keep the space for me.”

  “As long as you keep paying for it.”

  Teddy took the car out. It looked exactly like what it was, a rough-and-ready secondhand jalopy, just good enough to get you there.

  The car was filthy after months of disuse. Teddy drove it through a car wash on the way home.

  Teddy pulled up his driveway and opened the middle door on the garage with the zapper in the glove compartment. He drove the car into the garage, locked it up, and went into the house, punching in the numbers to turn off the alarm.

  Teddy got a suitcase out of storage, and brought it to his home office on the first floor. He pulled back the wooden double doors on the large closet, revealing the massive floor safe Mike Freeman had installed for him. Teddy didn’t need to check if it had been tampered with. The slightest attempt would have triggered a dozen alarms. There weren’t half a dozen people in the world who could have opened that safe.

  Teddy was one of them. He was out of practice, so it might have taken him as much as ten minutes to pick the lock. Of course, he didn’t have to. He had the combination.

  Teddy swung the door open. Inside was a treasure trove of espionage equipment. He chose a handgun and shoulder holster; a sniper rifle, not the custom-made one he’d designed and handcrafted himself, but a perfectly serviceable CIA issue in a compact carrying case; a few burner phones, always useful; ten thousand in cash; and an assortment of credit cards, passports, credentials, and driver’s licenses, along with the hair and makeup necessary to depict the men in the ID photos.

  When he was done he locked the safe, went upstairs, and changed his appearance from producer Billy Barnett to stuntman Mark Weldon. He packed a few basic outfits to support his various identities, lugged the suitcase out to the car, and locked it in the trunk.

  He backed out of the garage, zapping the door closed behind him. He pulled out of the driveway, keeping a sharp eye on the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following him. He made a couple of figure eights just to be sure, then drove into town and parked around the corner from the apartment he’d rented in the name of Mark Weldon.

  Paco Alvarez was out on the front stoop. As usual, the super wore a sleeveless T-shirt and was holding a beer in a paper bag.

  His eyes lit up when he saw Teddy. “Hey, look who it is!” he said, saluting him with his beer. “Big-time movie star. I see you on TV, I say: Look who that is. You tell me you’re a stuntman, like it’s nothing, like you take any job you can get. Next thing I know you’re on TV winning awards. So that’s where you been, huh? That’s why you can afford to keep your rent paid and not come around. You here for a while, now?”

  “In and out,” Teddy said.

  He escaped from the super’s clutches and lugged the suitcase up the stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door, went in, and threw the suitcase on the bed.

  Teddy wasn’t happy. Mark Weldon’s apartment was only useful as long as no one gave a damn about him
. As just another stuntman he could come and go virtually unnoticed. He could pop into Mark Weldon’s apartment, change his appearance, and pop out again; and if anyone noticed at all, they’d see just a small-time actor dressing up for a part. But as Oscar-nominated Mark Weldon, whose comings and goings would be trumpeted by a starstruck super and a brass band, he couldn’t get out the door in another outfit without being asked what part he’d landed in what new movie.

  Teddy had heard the phrase “success is fatal.” He’d never really appreciated what it meant until now.

  Teddy waited ten minutes, took the suitcase, and went back out the door.

  The super was shocked to see him go. “Leaving so soon? I thought you were coming back.”

  “Just stopped by to pick up a few things. Like I said, I may be in and out for a while. We’re gearing up to shoot a new movie.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “I can’t really say until the studio announces it. I’ll tell you when I can.”

  Teddy lugged the suitcase to the car, drove into downtown L.A., and checked into the Hyatt Regency under the name Fredrick Sabbit, whose driver’s license photo looked enough like Mark Weldon to get by the hotel clerk.

  Teddy went up to his room and unpacked the clothes and hair and makeup items. He locked the IDs, cell phones, and cash in the hotel room safe. He locked the handgun and the sniper rifle in the suitcase, brought it back to the front desk, and asked them to put it in the hotel safe.

  He went back up to his room, opened the safe, sorted through his credentials, and selected those of a Santa Monica police officer named Glen Hanson.

  21

  Teddy went down to the L.A. police station where a bunch of detectives were hanging out on their lunch hour. He took his shield out, flipped it open, and casually flipped it back. “Lieutenant Hanson, Santa Monica PD. Who can tell me the disposition of a B and E suspect, one Chaz Bowen, charged and out on bail?”

  One of the detectives chuckled. “You’re a little behind the times, Lieutenant. Chaz Bowen graduated to murder victim. He’s got his own case file and everything.”