“Pizza,” she said.
“Deal,” Malcolm said.
“But my parents can’t know about this date, so I gotta plan how we’re gonna do it,” Naomi said.
“Why can’t your parents know?”
“I’m not old enough to go out with a guy your age,” Naomi said. “You’re an adult.”
That made him chuckle. He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as an adult. “If we were both ten years older, our age difference wouldn’t mean a thing,” he said.
She was quiet for several seconds and then she said, “It doesn’t mean a thing now. Not to me. You’re a very easy person to talk to, Clark.”
“I’ll be calling you in a day or two, Naomi,” he said. “Payday’s coming up and I wanna have some money to spend on you.”
“You don’t have to spend money on me,” Naomi said. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“You’re a special kind of girl to me,” Malcolm said. “I’ll be calling you.”
“I’ll be here,” Naomi said.
Before ending his call, Malcolm said, “Don’t forget me. Don’t ever forget me.”
“Of course I won’t forget you!” Naomi said. “How could I?”
Hollywood Nate said passionately to Kenny, the thirtyish, flamboyant waiter at Hamburger Hamlet, “Why can’t I just quit you? Why?”
“Pick a newer movie line,” Kenny said. “So what’re you having?”
“I’ll have a salad, honey,” Dana Vaughn said. “Low-fat dressing. And a Coke.”
“High-octane or diet?” Kenny asked.
“Diet, of course,” Dana said.
“With voltage or without?” Kenny asked.
“What?” Dana said.
“Caffeine,” Kenny said.
“With,” Dana said. “I’m feeling dangerous tonight.”
“How about you, Nate?” Kenny said.
The waiter wore a trendy “emo chic” cut, with his highlighted hair falling over one eye, a style that was said to express deep emotions.
With his best Bogie accent, Hollywood Nate said to Kenny. “If she can take it, so can I. You’re doing it for her, do it for me. Serve it again, Ken.”
“Two skinny salads,” Kenny said. Then to Dana, “I wish he’d find an agent that could get him a job. Nate’s a lot easier to take when he’s got a gig to worry about. Has he done Cary Grant for you yet? And his Jack Nicholson is just awful.”
“I might be reading for a cable movie next month,” Nate said to Kenny. “Remember the producer you introduced me to when we were extras on that biker show?”
“He’s a porn producer, Nate,” Kenny said. “Is it straight porn or gay for pay?” Then he looked at Dana and said, “I figured Nate would cross over someday.”
“How many times I gotta tell you, Kenny, I am gay except for the sex part,” Nate said, adding, “Not the porn producer. I’m talking about the fat guy who told us he had a TV pilot he was prepping. The one who’s into aromatherapy? That guy.”
Unimpressed, Kenny said, “He comes in here once or twice a month. A notoriously bad tipper. Lots of luck with him, bucko.”
“Are you an aspiring actor too?” Dana asked.
“Isn’t everybody?” Kenny said. “Be right back with your drinks.”
When the waiter was gone, Dana said to Nate, “How long have you been knocking at the door of stardom?”
“I’ve had my SAG card more than a year. I’ve done TV movies.”
“Speaking parts?”
“Yeah, sort of. In a couple of them I had a line or two. But I’ve done lots of extra work.”
“You enjoy it?”
Clearly uncomfortable discussing his show-business struggles with a woman he was not trying to seduce, Nate said, “Sure. It’s, you know, better than most… hobbies.”
“Is that what it is?” she asked in that penetrating way of hers that made him feel like a kid.
“Yeah, and maybe if it turns into something… well, you never know.”
Dana nodded and said, “Hollywood is more than several square miles in the middle of L.A. Hollywood is a state of mind, isn’t it?”
When Kenny returned with the drinks, he said, “I didn’t mean to sound pessimistic about that fat producer, Nate. I just don’t trust guys that stiff restaurant people.”
By now, Hollywood Nate was getting depressed talking about it and said, “Maybe I’m kidding myself. Hell, I’m thirty-seven years old, with sixteen years on the Job. I might end up like the Oracle and die on the Walk with my boots on.”
“Who’s the Oracle?” Kenny asked.
“The late legendary sergeant of the midwatch,” Dana Vaughn said. “I never worked for him, but his picture’s hanging in the roll call room. Forty-six years on the LAPD and died of a massive heart attack on the police Walk of Fame, right in front of Hollywood Station.”
“Yeah, you guys have your own stars in the marble, don’t you?’ Kenny said. “Just like on Hollywood Boulevard. Once I went to Hollywood Station when somebody stole my bike, and I saw those stars. For the officers from the station that were killed on duty, right?”
“A heart attack after forty-six years of this?” Nate said. “That’s being killed on duty in my book.”
Kenny studied Hollywood Nate for a moment, and seeing how dejected he seemed now, the waiter said, “Don’t give up your hopes and dreams, Nate. Gloria Stuart was an eighty-seven-year-old actress when Titanic was released, and she got a lotta good gigs out of it. You gotta be patient.”
“What a silly goose I’ve been,” said Hollywood Nate. “Here I am, studying the trades and paying parking tickets for casting agents who think I can fix them, when all I gotta do for success is wait fifty years. Cue the Rocky theme!” Then he pushed his plate away and added ruefully, “My appetite’s gone.”
“I’ll eat your salad, honey,” Dana said cheerily. “I need plenty of roughage if I’m gonna keep my ballerina body for your first red carpet appearance.”
SIX
AWARNING POSTED on the board said, “Don’t go to Taco Bell!” That was because a cook who worked there had gotten booked by vice cops the previous night for snogging a hooker in his car. The cook had been an extremely resentful arrestee, since many of the cops ate at Taco Bell regularly and he’d figured that gave him a get-out-of-jail-free card. The midwatch feared he’d take his revenge in their tacos.
Sergeant Lee Murillo was conducting the midwatch roll call without any other supervisors present, so the troops were really airing it out. The bitching started this time because an officer on Watch 2 was being disciplined for choking out a combative suspect. The carotid restraint, or “choke hold,” had been the salvation of cops since the forming of the LAPD, but in the era of the federal consent decree, it was considered a use of lethal force. It would trigger the same sort of exhaustive investigation as an officer-involved shooting. This resulted in cops believing that if things came down to one or the other, they’d be better off using guns. Or, as the troops put it, “If you can choke ’em, you can smoke ’em.”
After the kvetching had drained off most of the bile, Sergeant Lee Murillo read the crimes and talked about the sexual assault on Sharon Gillespie in the parking garage the prior evening. He read the description of the assailant and said, “The victim believes the suspect was of Middle Eastern descent, so you might keep that in mind.”
“That only takes in half the employees of every liquor store, gas station, and taxi company in Hollywood, Sarge,” Flotsam said.
Jetsam said, “Not to mention the wealthier nightclub patrons from countries where donkeys and camels are beasts of burden and occasional lovers. They park their Beemers and Benzes in every freaking no-parking zone within two blocks of the boulevards.”
“No ethnic wisecracks,” Sergeant Murillo said. “All I need is another complaint to investigate.”