“Ah, I always find a way to track ‘em down,” Mary said. “They don’t get out that easily.”
“So what do you mean he’s gone undercover?” Alice said. “He’s a homicide detective. They don’t go undercover, right?”
“He was put on temporary duty with Vice,” Mary said. She sighed.
“Why the big sigh?” Alice said, and then glanced at Mary. “Oh, I get it. It had something to do with you. What, you two get caught in a broom closet playing with his nightstick?”
“I wish,” Mary said. “No, it seems Jake had a bit of a falling-out with his boss. My name may have come up a time or two.”
Mary noticed Alice’s glass was empty. She refilled it, then topped off her own.
“You know,” Mary said. “An LAPD detective in a relationship with a private investigator. . Sometimes, that put him in awkward positions.”
“Oh, I bet you put him in awkward positions all the time,” Alice said. “You’re probably a pervert.”
“The indignation coming from you is precious,” Mary said. “Should we get the opinion of your yoga slash sex teacher? I bet you’ve begged him to teach you the downward doggy style.”
“My lips are sealed,” Alice said. “Except to drink this wine. Because it’s delicious.” She took a sip, laying on the dainty, ladylike mannerisms a bit thick, Mary thought.
“So are you going go talk to this missing girl’s agent?” Alice made the quotation marks with her fingers around the word “agent.”
“No, I’m thinking the direct approach isn’t the best strategy,” Mary said. “So much hostility in the porn industry toward a woman who asks a lot of questions. Big surprise there.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“Well, I was thinking of going undercover too. Hell, if Jake can do it, I can too.”
“You mean you’re going to pretend to be a porn star?” Alice said, her voice incredulous. “At your age? Wow, talk about a tough acting gig.”
“What do you mean at my age?” Mary said. “I’m a total hottie. I could play a teenage babysitter. Or a gym teacher gone wild.”
“Oh dear me,” Alice said, then started to stand up. “Let me get you a mirror.”
“Oh sit down,” Mary said. The wine was hitting the spot. Maybe she felt a little fuzziness sprinkle its way across her forehead.
“I like where this is going,” Mary said. “A porn star. I could pull it off. So to speak.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Mary. And you can’t pull it off,” Alice said. “What if they want you to audition? I mean, they’ll be able to tell you haven’t had sex in ages.”
“I can look trampy if I have to,” Mary said. “They’ll think I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. No problem.”
“They say the camera adds ten pounds,” Alice said. She glanced at Mary’s body.
“That’s perfect, I’m about ten pounds underweight,” Mary said.
“Yeah, if you were six foot four,” Alice said.
“I actually think I’ve got a better idea,” Mary said. “Instead of being an actress, maybe I’ll be a producer.”
Alice snapped her fingers. “I’ve got the perfect idea for a film! It’s about a mature, older woman who lets herself get seduced by her incredibly hot Indian yoga instructor.”
Alice looked wistfully toward the mountains. “The sex could be so hot. .”
“Maybe I’m not an American porn actress,” Mary said. “You know, maybe I was European.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it — I was an Italian porn star, but now I’m in America, looking to produce a porno film here. You know, breaking into the industry. And I’m looking for fresh talent to star in my new film.” Mary clapped her hands together. “It’s perfect.”
“I don’t know, sounds a bit thin,” Alice said.
“No, it’s dead-on. But I think I might need someone else,” Mary said. “If I’m an actress turned producer, I need a director. I think it would be more believable if I had a director with me.” Mary glanced at Alice.
“You wouldn’t work,” Mary said.
“Why the hell not?” Alice said.
“Jesus Christ, you look like an overgrown Girl Scout,” Mary said. “Maybe if I told them you were in charge of baking muffins for the porn stars between takes.”
“Don’t give me that,” Alice said. “I’ve got Hollywood harlot written all over me.”
“No, I need someone totally sleazy,” Mary said. “Someone that doesn’t have to act too hard to come across as being completely without morals. Someone totally inappropriate. With absolutely no shame.”
Mary lifted her eyes for a moment. Then she glanced over at Alice. They locked onto each for the briefest of moments, then both spoke at once.
“Kurt.”
10
Ten
Mary and Alice sat at the back of the Calabasas City Fair’s main stage. Calabasas was northwest of Los Angeles proper, near Topanga Canyon, and it had taken them quite awhile to get through traffic.
Now, Mary sat and looked around. There were forty steel folding chairs, approximately thirty-five of which were empty. The faint smell of livestock hung in the air, along with the sickly sweet smell of fair food, tinged with deep-fried everything.
Kurt Cooper, Mary’s uncle and Alice’s brother, was on the stage. He was younger than Alice, but looked about ten years her senior. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, a T-shirt, and a shabby sportcoat — probably the only one he owned, Mary surmised. She’d never seen him wear a different one on stage.
“I don’t want to say last night’s audience was old,” he told the audience, “but when the ladies got all turned on by my act, instead of panties they threw their Depends on stage.”
One of the audience members — Mary guessed he was one of the ride operators on break — started snoring.
“How much does he make for something like this?” Mary said to Alice.
“Whatever it is, they’re paying him too much.”
Mary heard someone scream. Probably trapped on the Ferris wheel. The entire audience of five people turned toward the commotion, but Kurt Cooper was not about to lose his audience.
“But don’t get me wrong,” Kurt said. “There are some pretty hot females here. Unfortunately, they’re all down in the livestock barn. You don’t even have to buy them dinner and drinks. Just give ‘em a blue ribbon, and they’re yours for the night.”
“Oh dear,” Mary said.
“Check out the guy with the cotton candy,” Alice said. Mary spotted the audience member, clearly stoned, poking the pink cotton candy as if it was some kind of science experiment.
“Isn’t that — ” Mary started to say.
“Jason.”
Jason Cooper, Kurt’s son and Mary’s cousin, was in his early twenties, and Mary noticed that whenever she bumped into him, he was usually encased in a marijuana cloud.
“Jason,” Alice whispered at him.
Mary looked at her. “Yeah, whisper. . wouldn’t want to throw off Kurt’s act.”
Mary’s cousin stood and walked over to them, a tall, gangly young man with curly hair and stooped shoulders. He sat in the chair next to her. The scent of pot followed him.
“Hey,” he said. Mary looked at him. He wasn’t actually a bad-looking guy, she thought. Kurt’s brother, Brent, who’d been murdered the year before, had always been a ladies’ man. Jason had luckily taken after him, not his father.
“How’s the cotton candy?” Mary said.