Fade to Blue (3 page)

“Good. I get into researching a role. I really want this to look right.”

Ryan sits down in a nearby chair and I turn sideways on the piano bench. “Don’t forget, Forrest Whittaker never had a saxophone in his hand, but he looked pretty good playing Charlie Parker.”

“Where’s your lady?”

“Taking a nap.”

Ryan smiles. “Yeah, Melanie too. Wore her out.”

I let that go and get up. “I’m going to check on her.”

“Hey,” Ryan says. “She’s not still mad at me.”

“No, she’s just a little touchy about guns and shooting.”

Over dinner, Ryan announces that he’s throwing a party Friday night. “Some of the cast from
Don’t Die Again
, few friends, you know, just something casual.”

“Sorry I have to miss it,” Andie says. “I have to get back to work.”

“Catch some bad guys, huh?” Ryan says.

“More like catching up on some reports.”

Ryan turns to me. “Hey, invite your cop friend. What’s his name again? Cooper?”

“Yeah, Danny Cooper. I’m sure he’d enjoy it. I’ll call him.”

“Do that,” Ryan says.

Emillio begins to clear the table. “We’ll have coffee in the screening room,” Ryan tells him. He motions us to get up. “C’mon, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

We follow Ryan to another level of the house. There’s a huge screen, several soft easy chairs, and a couple of couches. Andie grabs my hand and we curl up on one; Ryan and Melanie sit on the other. Next to Ryan’s is a small panel of buttons. He presses one and the movie begins. It’s black and white. Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis in
Sweet Smell of Success
. I’ve seen it once before. Lancaster as a powerful columnist and Curtis as a sleazy press agent are both fantastic, but I know it’s the music scenes that Ryan has chosen it for.

Martin Milner, who later played in
Route 66
and one of the television cop shows, plays a jazz guitarist involved with Lancaster’s sister. The band is drummer Chico Hamilton’s group. Milner must have had a good tutor as his hands on the guitar match the sound track very well. It really does look like he’s playing with Chico Hamilton.

“You going to make me look that good, Evan?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I,” Ryan says. “So do I.”

Chapter Three

Driving down the Pacific Coast Highway toward Santa Monica in a red BMW sports car, courtesy of Ryan Stiles, is an experience I won’t soon forget. I glance over at Andie. She leans back against the headrest, her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses. With the top down it’s too noisy to talk, which is probably just as well. But before I drop her at LAX, I know I’m going to get another lecture about Ryan Stiles and Hollywood.

I bypass the California Incline and speed through the tunnel and pick up Lincoln Boulevard. The traffic is light for a late Friday morning, so when I pull into the airport, we make it to departures with plenty of time to spare. I stop the car, turn off the engine, and look at Andie. She takes off her glasses and meets my eyes. Smiling, she pats the dashboard.

“You like this, don’t you,” she says.

“I like it better that it’s Ryan Stiles’ car,” I say, grinning, knowing I’m pushing her buttons. I glance in the rearview mirror and see a security guy heading for us. Andie sees him too, and takes out her Bureau I.D. and holds it up for him as he nears the car.

“FBI, special assignment,” she says without looking back at him.

The guard looks, gives her a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Andie turns back to me. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, two or three weeks maybe for the piano tutoring. If I ever get a look at the script, that will come later. I can’t score a movie that hasn’t been made yet.”

“That’s just one of the things that bothers me,” Andie says. “Why wouldn’t they want you to see it? That can’t be normal.”

It bothers me too, and I’ve already decided to push it with Ryan and Grant Robbins the next time I see him. “No, you’re right,” I say. “What else?”

Andie opens the door and gets out. “Keep an eye on Melanie,” she says.

“Hard not to.” I grin again and get a glare from Andie. I get out and take her bag out of the BMW’s small trunk.

We stand at the curb for a moment, passengers and cars flowing around us. “Maybe I’m just jealous that you get to spend a couple of weeks at a movie star’s Malibu beach house while I’m writing reports in San Francisco.” She moves closer and hugs me. “Just watch yourself, okay?”

I nod and kiss her. “Maybe you can get back for a weekend.”

“Maybe.” She turns, smiles, and heads into the terminal. “Call me.”

I stand for a minute, watching her disappear into the crowd, then get back in the car and merge with the exiting traffic. At a signal on Lincoln, I call Coop.

“Hey, you busy?”

“Ah, pianist to the stars. Always busy keeping Santa Monica safe,” he says. “Am I going to see your picture in
People
magazine anytime soon?”

“How about breakfast? I just dropped Andie at LAX.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” Coop says. “Norm’s?”

“See you there.”

It’s more like a half hour when Coop slides his bulk into a booth opposite me. He’s in jeans, a black tee shirt, and a light, dark blue windbreaker, his gun and badge clipped on his belt. I’m already working on a Denver omelet and coffee. “Sorry, I was hungry.”

Coop nods and signals a waitress for coffee. She brings it and a menu which Coop waves away. “Short stack and bacon,” he tells her, then turns to me. “So how goes it with the rich and famous?”

I catch him up on the house and the little I know about Ryan Stiles and Melanie, who interests Coop far more. “She’s Stiles’ girlfriend? She was one of the
Sports Illustrated
models. And you had lunch with her with Andie sitting at the same table?”

I push my plate aside. “Ryan was there too. You can see for yourself tomorrow night if you have a spot in your busy schedule.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Ryan is throwing a little party and told me to invite my cop friend.”

“I like him already,” Coop says as the waitress brings his pancakes. “Tell me more.”

“Stiles is okay. He’s eager and I think we’ll get along.”

Coop nods. “I’ve seen all his movies. I like those action flicks.”

“Why does that not surprise me? This one is going to be a small-budget independent type.”

Coop wipes some syrup off his lip with a napkin. “Oh, you mean one with a story and dialogue, that slow kind.”

“Yeah, maybe a little too deep for you.”

“And Stiles will play a piano player who—”

“Gets caught up in a murder or two, and no you don’t have to remind me.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“More coffee, guys?” The waitress has returned.

“Did you know I’ve been invited to Ryan Stiles’ party in Malibu tomorrow night?”

“Give him my regards,” she says. “You gonna arrest him?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Coop turns back to me. “So what’s the catch? My detective skills tell me something is not quite right.”

“Just what Andie says. I don’t know. He and his agent know an awful lot about me already, and they’re being very evasive about showing me the script for some reason.”

Coop shrugs. “Security? They like to keep things secret in Hollywood, then make a big splash announcement, don’t they?”

We walk outside to the parking lot. “I guess that could be it, but I am now kind of in the loop, so to speak.” I grin at Coop and lean on the BMW.

His eyes get big. “Does this belong to…”

“Yep. Sure does.”

Coop nods and walks toward his car. “Hey, enjoy the experience and keep your eyes off Melanie.”

“Funny, Andie said just the opposite.”

“Sure she did. Oh, about the party?”

I get in the car and start the engine. “I’ll have my people call your people.”

***

Back at the house, it’s all quiet. I find Emillio fussing around in the kitchen but Melanie and Ryan are nowhere to be seen.

“Miss Blake went shopping,” Emillio says. “Mr. Stiles is at the gym for his workout.”

“Oh, where’s that? In Malibu?”

“In the basement.” He points to some stairs leading off the kitchen.

I should have known. I go to the guesthouse and change into some swim trunks and a tee shirt, opting on a walk along the beach. I find the stairway to the basement and decide to look in on Stiles. I open the door and I’m suddenly assaulted with earsplitting rock music. Stiles is on a stair master, his tank shirt darkened with sweat.

The room is filled with all kinds of equipment besides the stair master. Free weights line one wall in front of a huge mirror, a life cycle exercise bike next to that, along with several pulley machines. The ultimate home gym.

Ryan senses me or the open door and turns. “Be with you in a minute,” he yells. I can barely hear him over the music. He stops finally, turning off the machine, grabs a towel and switches off the stereo.

“Aerosmith,” he says. “It pumps me up. Want to have a go?” He takes in my swim trunks.

“No, I’ll pass. I was just going to take a walk on the beach.”

“Cool, mind if I join you?”

“Hey, it’s your beach.”

We pass through the kitchen and stop for a couple bottles of water, then down the path to the beach. Ryan jogs every few steps, like a fighter cooling off. I look at the surf. The waves are fairly big and the sun is very bright. It’s been a long time. I strip off my tee shirt.

“You do any surfing?” I ask him.

“No. Living here, I guess I should buy a board and take some lessons.”

“It’s been a while for me, but I have to see if I can still catch a wave or two.” I break into a run, splash through the churning surf and dive in, chilled for a moment at the water’s coldness. I surface and turn back toward Ryan who’s watching me. “Feels good. Come on in.”

Ryan stands still for a moment. He looks up and down the beach then takes off his shirt and tentatively walks in, letting the water churn around his legs then his chest as the water gets deeper. I turn and swim out toward the break. Ryan catches up eventually and we bounce up and down at neck level.

“Here we go,” I say. A mountain of water rolls toward us, bigger than I would have liked, but what the hell. I turn, facing the beach, and start swimming, feeling the mass of water catch me, start to feather at the top then rise up. Ryan looks a long way down as I start to slide across the face of the wave. He’s too close to avoid the rising wave, not far enough back to avoid the break of tons of water.

I catch just a glimpse of his panicked face as I put my arms to my sides and let my body rush down the incline of the wave. It’s a good ride. It finally breaks and I’m under water but in control as I dig for the surface. It feels so good I start laughing, then look around for Ryan.

I turn back and see him bobbing in the water, his arms thrashing as another wave looms, his head going under, over and over. On the beach I catch a glimpse of Melanie, pointing, yelling something. I turn and go back toward Ryan, swimming against the undercurrent to reach him. I hook my arm around his chest and start to pull him toward the beach. He fights me off at first then relaxes and lets me pull, swimming with one arm till we reach waist-high water. Ryan collapses against me, then flops on his hands and knees, coughing and spitting up water as Melanie rushes over.

She tries to help him to his feet but he angrily brushes her aside. He staggers a few more feet and lies back on the sand. I reach him and look down as Melanie kneels beside him. “You, okay, baby?”

Ryan sputters, “No I’m not fucking okay,” he says.

“What happened?” I move closer.

He gets to his feet and bends over, his hand on his knees, taking in gulps of air.

Finally, he stands upright and stares out at the ocean. “I can’t swim.”

Back at the house, Ryan has dismissed Melanie, and we sit at one of the poolside tables. He’s changed into a white terry cloth robe with a hood, leaning back, staring at the ocean that almost got him.

“My dad was one of those guys who thought it was best to learn by doing,” he says. “We were at one of his friends’ home. They were drinking, having a good time and decided it was time for me to learn. He just picked me up and threw me in the deep end of the pool. I sank like a rock. It felt like I’d swallowed half the water in the pool. I heard my mother scream and jump in after me and drag me out.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven. My dad was just laughing about it, thought it was hilarious. He and my mom had a huge fight all the way home. You couldn’t get me near a pool after that. Stupid huh?”

“Not really. That’s a pretty scary way to be introduced to water.”

“I went to Mexico with some friends when I was in college. I thought I was over it and went in the ocean. I was okay at first but I drifted out too far. Strong current and I couldn’t get back. I thought that was it, man. Then some guy on a surfboard saw me, gave me a ride back in. I told my friends I got a leg cramp.” He laughs. “They all bought it. Until today, I haven’t done anymore than splash around.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Action movie star can’t swim. I didn’t want you to think I was a pussy.” His voice trails off.

I lean toward him. “Ryan, it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Sure. Anyway you know something about me only a couple of people know. I just hope there were none of those paparazzi fuckers around with a telephoto lens.” He looks at me. “Can I trust you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The trade press would love to get wind of this.”

“Not from me.”

He turns and looks at me. I hold his gaze for a long moment. He nods. “I believe you, and thanks for pulling me out.” He stands up, slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m going to lie down for awhile.”

I go back to the guesthouse, shower, and stretch out on the bed, already missing Andie. She was right. There was a lot not right about things with Ryan Stiles.

I’m still getting dressed when Emillio knocks on the guesthouse door. “There’s a policeman here to see you,” he says. “A Lieutenant Cooper.”

I smile. I thought Coop would be early. “Tell him I’ll be right there. No, wait. Send him down here.”

I’m pulling on a light sweater when Coop taps on the door and walks in. He looks around, takes in the furnishings. “I’m in the wrong business,” he says. “All this just to make him
look
like he’s playing piano?” He’s dressed in a sports coat, slacks, and loafers. “Hope this is okay. Been awhile since I’ve been to a Hollywood party.”

“Come on, let’s find Ryan and I’ll introduce you.”

“What about Melanie? Do I get to meet her, too?”

“Down, boy. She’ll be around.”

We go into the main house, dodging catering people headed for the kitchen with trays of hot food, all under Emillio’s direction. I take Coop to the living room. He checks out the view, runs a hand over the piano. “Wow, wonder what the payment is on this place?” Coop says.

“Seventy-five thousand a month.” We both turn. Ryan and Melanie are standing in the doorway. “Of course I have an option to buy,” Ryan adds.

Ryan Stiles is in all white—shirt, pants, shoes, and a thin gold chain around his neck that matches the gold watch on his wrist. Melanie is in all white too, but in much less material. A mid-thigh skirt, scoop-neck top, and three-inch heels. For once Coop is speechless.

Ryan steps forward and holds out his hand. “You must be Dan Cooper.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I am.” He can’t take his eyes off Melanie. “My friends call me Coop.”

“I’d be honored,” Ryan says. “And this is Melanie Hammond. She sways over like a model, one foot directly in front of the other. She takes Coop’s outstretched hand. The white outfit accents her tan, and when she smiles her teeth are dazzling.

“Can I call you Coop too?”

I try not to laugh as Coop swallows. “You call me whatever you want.”

“Well, you guys ready to party?” Ryan says. He grins at the effect Melanie is having on Coop.

Coop looks at me and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good,” Ryan says. “Bar is in there.” He points toward the kitchen. “I have to make sure everything is going okay.” He takes Melanie by the arm and starts away, then turns back. “Oh, Evan, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Later, maybe, can I get you to play a couple of tunes?”

I glance at Coop and shrug. “Hey, why not.”