16 Millimeters Page 3

  A voice piped from a hidden intercom. "Mr. Shackleton to see you," said Lana.

  "Shizzles. Hells. Hells to the shizzles." But I could do this. Or at least Julia Pinkerton could. Her character knew how to run a private eye office. As a high schooler in a cheer skirt, for cripes sake. If Julia Pinkerton could do this, I could do it. I was Julia Pinkerton after all.

  Well, I'd acted as her fictional character.

  I took a deep breath, resourced my inner Julia Pinkerton, and strode to meet Leonard Shackleton at my hopefully-not-fraudulent front door.

  Three

  #ShackletonShakeup #MalteseMaizie

  Leonard Shackleton shook my hand and gave me an appraising once-over, followed by a firm yet fleeting smile. We sauntered to Sam Spade's desk, where he took a seat in the vintage scuffed (but not ripped) leather chair and I took the antique-ish worn (but not worn-out) desk chair. I set aside the old-timey candlestick phone and placed my open hands on the desk.

  "Mr. Shackleton, what can we do for you?"

  He glanced around. "We?"

  "Mr. Nash is currently out. But he was excited to hear you might drop in." I gave Leonard Shackleton my best Julia Pinkerton smile. Sassy with an eyebrow lift. "Mr. Nash can meet you later. Wherever you want. Just not here.” I gave myself a mental slap and rushed to recover. “Do you need security help? Or investigative research?"

  "It's not for me." Leonard leaned back in his chair. "It's actually for Cambria."

  "Does she need investigative work? Or a bodyguard?"

  "More like a babysitter."

  I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, I mean, can you explain?"

  "Look." Shackleton smiled apologetically. "I know your past. You've worked with Cambria. And there are similarities, right? Child actresses. And recently she's gone off the rails. Personally. Not professionally. Yet. Just like you."

  "Sort of." I drew out the words. "But I've changed. That's why I'm here in Black Pine." As was Cambria. "I mean for work." As was Cambria. "I quit acting. And reality show acting. Anything to do with the industry."

  Leonard waved a hand. "I heard. Judge's orders."

  "My therapist recommended it too. But also because my heart lies in private investigation-ing."

  Which wasn't a word.

  "Private investigations."

  I stopped talking.

  "I just need someone to look after Cambria. We're filming in and around Black Pine as you've gathered. The movie is an epic role for her. Our director loves her work, and he wants her on this project. But Cambria's a hot mess. The world doesn't know it yet, but she's one meltdown away from shitting up my movie. The investors are leery of her. We almost couldn't get artist liability insurance on her. The production company requires a big policy for a film of this magnitude. Even with the bond, we had to work in the babysitting clause to get the underwriter to agree to the policy."

  "Is it worth it?"

  "I think Cambria's smart. She's got the chops. Ed Farmer, the director, thinks she's hot. Oscar hot. Ed says she's Angelina meets Jennifer."

  "Lopez?"

  "Lawrence."

  "Wow."

  "Exactly. She's also getting a cash break on the film, thanks to her agent. Net and gross points. We want to make sure her shenanigans are squared. Hence that chunky liability coverage. Ed believed in her, though."

  "Cambria knows all this is riding on her? To be honest, I was surprised when I heard the stories about her current lifestyle. I didn't believe them. She wasn't like that when I knew her. As a kid, she was super serious. Always studying. No time for reindeer games, if you know what I mean.”

  "Kids change. Maybe she got tired of studying and the stage. She wanted to cut loose and didn't know how to stop." Leonard shrugged his shoulders. "Our insurance company wants to send someone to keep an eye on her, but you gave me a better idea."

  "I see." I totally saw. "So you want Mr. Nash to act as her bodyguard, but really you want him to make sure she stays away from…things that will…shit up your movie."

  “Not Mr. Nash. You. I’d like to work with you personally. Plus, Cambria would trust you. She'd sleep with him, and that'd be it. That's Cambria, you know. From what I hear, it's one of her addictions. You know how that is."

  It wasn't one of my addictions, so I didn't really know. I thought about protesting the idea of Cambria seducing Nash. But I'd heard Cambria recently had a fierceness when it came to men. And Nash was totally sleepable. Actually, I personally didn't know that. But he looked like he was. Which was one of my many issues.

  "Unless he's…unattainable?" continued Leonard.

  I shook my head. Nash was attainable. So very attainable.

  "So you just need me to keep Cambria from partying?" This wasn't strictly investigation work. Nash might not object. In fact, when it came to hanging out with a celebrity who liked to hit anything not tied down, he'd want me to do the job and not him. Brilliant. "I'll do it. But you should know, Cam-Cam and I worked together, but we were never best friends. Like I said, she was busy studying, and I was the one…partying."

  "Earlier I think you said something about 'living in the now?'" He smiled. "I completely agree. Like I said, kids change. And Cambria is no longer a kid. Neither are you."

  OMG, he'd been listening to Vicki's snide comments when we thought he was focused on his phone call. How embarrassing.

  "I'll have my people draw up a contract."

  "Great." I stood to shake his hand.

  Leonard clasped my hand in his. "Maizie, this means a lot to me. Personally."

  "You're welcome." I put away Julia Pinkerton, unnecessary now, and gave him my Maizie Albright smile. "I'm happy to help. I could have used someone looking out for me back in the day."

  "Too bad we didn't know each other back in the day."

  I nodded. Vicki would have killed somebody for that kind of in.

  He gripped my hands. "But that's all behind you. Right? You have a sponsor and all that? Because the last thing Cambria needs is an enabler."

  My smile tightened, and I wiggled my hand within his large palms. "I had therapy. All sorts. Just loads of therapy. It's all good. I'm a true professional. I mean, I'm professionally being mentored. In private investigations. But I'm so done with the old lifestyle. Like totally done. I don't touch anything. Except carbs. But we're allowed one vice, right?" My laughter was cut short by the confusion in Leonard's eyes. Not everyone thinks carbs are funny.

  "I'm happy to hear it." Leonard shifted to draw my hand closer to him. "You look good. Healthy."

  "Thank you." Healthy was LA speak for fluffy. Fluffy was Georgia speak for chubby. I preferred curvy.

  "How did you know I was a Bogey fan?"

  I didn't. But obviously Vicki did. Figured.

  His eyes took a slow trip south. "You remind me of Bacall in The Big Sleep. I'm a Bacall fan, too. Nice dress. Very nice. I always admired your red carpet style. Back in the day."

  "Thanks very much." Back in the day, I was a teenager. I yanked my hand from his. "I should go find Nash and let him know about the contract."

  "Why don't we meet for dinner at the Cove tonight? With Cambria, of course. We can all get to know each other."

  "With Nash?"

  "If you think it necessary."

  I thought it very necessary. Since I knew Cambria and Leonard knew Cambria, that meant Leonard and I would be getting to know each other. "Let me check my scheduler." I looked at the desk and realized besides the blotter and faux leather account books; there wasn't a single item I could pretend was a diary. Or a computer.

  Theodore Malthus went a little too vintage.

  I opened an empty drawer, pretended to look inside, and shut it. "Looks like I'm free, Mr. Shackleton."

  "Call me Leonard. Eight o'clock?" At my nod, he continued. "Why don't you pick up Cambria and bring her to dinner? That'll give you an excuse to check up on her. She's staying at the club villas. Number six."

  "Alrighty."

  "What's your number? Your p
ersonal number. You just gave me the business number. I'll need to be in touch. A lot."

  "I left my phone in California and haven't gotten a new one yet, Leonard." Which drove Nash and Vicki crazy, but I found the loss of a phone very useful. Like now, for instance. No need for Leonard to be a lot in touch. "You can leave messages for me with the office phone, and if I'm with Cambria, you can reach me by her phone. I'll see you at eight."

  I slipped out from behind the desk to hold the door open for him.

  "I'm looking forward to it." He dipped forward to kiss my cheek. "And Maizie. This movie is important. Whatever happens, I'm holding you responsible for Cambria."

  Craptastic. If the rumors about Cambria were true, I'd have my work cut out for me.

  Leonard had better pay well, because on this gig, I might lose my job, my probation, and my lunch.

  * * *

  Lana and I departed the office, making sure to roll up the "Nash and Albright" shade and roll down the normal one to hide the evidence. She dropped the key in her vintage handbag with a wink and sashayed down the street. I watched her for a minute, wondering why she looked familiar, but left that quasi-déjà vu for more serious pondering. As in how to convince Nash to sign the contract for this job with Leonard Shackleton. I traipsed back through the Dixie Kreme shop (with a quick stop-in hello to Lamar and a snagging of a sour cream donut) and up to the Nash Security Solutions office.

  The office was empty. Likely Nash still avoided the possibility of a Jolene Sweeney invasion. I called him with the all-clear and mention of a job offer.

  He strolled in ten minutes later.

  "Were you nearby?" I sat behind his dusty desk, where the account books were not leather, but on a computer spreadsheet. The phone was vintage. If an eighties era IBM with an actual cord counted as vintage.

  He shrugged and fell into a chair across from the desk. Crossing his ankle over his knee, he folded his hands on top of his head and raised his brows. "Nice dress. Where did you slip off to?"

  I glanced at my Ulla Johnson, having forgotten I had dressed the part for our Bogey drama. "Thanks. Just the cabin to change."

  "What for?"

  I released the thumbnail I'd been nervously chewing. "The meeting with Leonard Shackleton."

  "I see."

  What did he see? Did he see our faux office? The sign declaring me a partner when I was two years away from finishing my mentorship? Assuming I made it the full two years. Had he seen Lana Miles in her cute gingham? Or Theodore's crew of burly men?

  Nash watched me do more damage to my thumbnail. "Obviously, you convinced that Malthus guy to leave the office alone. Thank you. No friend of Jolene’s is a friend of mine, I can tell you that."

  "Right. Although I don't think they're friends. More like Black Pine society acquaintances."

  Nash wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes.

  "Anyway, the meeting with Leonard Shackleton went well." I gave him my Cosmo Girl smile. Charming, flirtatious, and trustworthy.

  "Yeah, about that. I don't know if it's such a good idea. I'm trying to be careful about the cases I choose after what happened with the last big one."

  "I totally understand. But this could be very lucrative. And lucrative is kind of necessary right now?"

  "Some cases are not worth the money."

  "But you wouldn't have to do anything with this one. He just wants me to keep an eye on Cambria so she doesn't…'shit up' his movie. Cambria has gotten into some trouble recently and—"

  "That sounds exactly like something I don't want to get involved in. Babysitting a Hollywood hot mess?"

  My face burned, but I didn't take the jab personally even though that headline had been used a time or two on me. "You don't have to get involved at all. Leonard wants me so Cambria doesn't suspect I'm babysitting. I used to know Cam-Cam."

  "But how do you keep her from doing drugs or boozing or whatever she does? Move in and stick with her twenty-four-seven until the movie is finished? How can you work here if you're doing that?"

  Admittedly, I hadn't thought that through. I took a moment of consideration. "I could befriend Cambria. Counsel her into staying clean through the picture. Sometimes what an actor really needs is a trusted friend to help them stay sober. Someone not interested in their career, money, or gaining status."

  "A trusted friend hired by the producer as a ruse so he doesn't lose money on the picture?"

  "I do care that she's become a hot mess. I really do. I know what Cam-Cam's going through—mostly—even if I wasn't as big a star as she might become. Which kills Vicki, to be honest. I was the star when Cambria and I first worked together, but I screwed that…never mind. I know, rule number one." I took a deep breath. "But I honestly want Cam-Cam to straighten out her life. I hate knowing that she's gotten this far in her career and may blow it. She'll hate herself even more than she probably already does and then something awful really will happen."

  Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger, willing myself not to tear up. My ability to easily cry proved useful in acting but was terrible for my new career. I wanted bad ass, not baby. I breathed deeply and focused on Nash's upraised biceps, bulging out of his t-shirt sleeves.

  Studying Nash's anatomy was a better refresher than yoga.

  I flicked my gaze from his arms to his face. "I'd hate to have that on my conscience. Like, I knew her when and I could have helped. It happens too much."

  Nash studied me for a beat. "Fine. But you can't save everyone. You need to harden yourself for something like this."

  "Right, hard." My gaze had drifted to his arms again. I zipped my focus back to his dreamy blues. And then to a safe, neutral spot just above his head. "And it'll be about quality time, not quantity. I'll explain our strategy to Leonard."

  "This Leonard. He came here? To this office?"

  I blinked away the spot and glanced at Nash, fearing he had seen the staged office. "Why?"

  "I guess you used that dress to distract him from our hovel." Nash's left eyebrow took a dramatic trip north.

  I smoothed the Ulla and pretended coy. The dress was totally fetch. "I heard Leonard's a fan of Lauren Bacall."

  Nash pursed his lips. "Shame."

  "Why?"

  "I always liked Katherine Hepburn myself."

  Dammit. Tweed and blazers were so not my thing.

  * * *

  Black Pine, the city, edged along Black Pine, the lake, which bordered Black Pine, the mountain. This lack of creativity in the name department occurred when rich carpetbagging Georgians of the Gilded Age decided to escape the summer heat in the North Georgia Mountains and parked a golf resort at the base of Black Pine Mountain. In the 1930s, their children persuaded the federal government to spend WPA money on Black Pine. They dammed off a river, creating Black Pine Lake, thereby expanding Black Pine Resort into a yacht club. Now along with wealthy Georgians, rich Californians resort at Black Pine, playing golf and tennis, yachting, and boozing at the Cove bar and restaurant.

  I'm sure that's exactly what Roosevelt had in mind for the New Deal.

  Cambria and the other big stars, as well as Leonard Shackleton and the director Ed Farmer, stayed at the villas. The villas were part of the resort, built to resemble their '20s bungalow ancestors. The Craftsman-styled one and two bedroom cottages dotted the lake and one golf course. They were darling. Handcrafted wood and stone, with overhanging eaves, little porches, and hipped and gabled roofs. Besides the bedrooms, each cottage had a living room with a kitchenette. Mucho dinero to stay in a villa. And there weren't many. Twenty in all. Expensive and exclusive.

  Hollywood's favorite words.

  Leonard had called Cambria and arranged for our dinner — "for old time's sake," which was weird because Leonard wasn't part of our old time — and finagled me a pre-dinner invitation to her villa to "catch up." I showed early, hoping to find her before she began any evening imbibing. I parked my childhood dirt bike, Lucky, at the Cove.

  Long sto
ry, but minimum wage and the cost of freedom meant I couldn't afford a real vehicle. Yet. But — as I like to tell myself while I rub Sisley-Paris restorative cream onto my inner thighs at night to relieve them from dirt bike fabric burn — at least Lucky is motorized and not an actual bicycle because I've always detested spin.

  Anyway, I planned to be on Cam-Cam like Donkey Kong. Referrals were everything. If we did a good job for Leonard Shackleton, it could lead to any number of jobs related to Black Pine's film and television industry. And like Donkey Kong, I needed to lock Cambria in a tower to prevent the Marios of the world from carrying her off into a booze and drug-infested sunset.

  Donkey Kong is so misunderstood.

  Summer in Georgia promised the sun heating my bare shoulders at six o'clock. Yachts and speedboats bobbed next to the docks. A few sailboats drifted on the lake. With Black Pine Mountain in the backdrop, the tranquil lake and golf course made for a beautiful setting. The club's paths were for electric, low-speed use only. No gas vehicles, not even dirt bikes allowed. All the villa’s guests were given golf carts. I wasn't a member or guest. My appearance would give me more street cred with Cambria, so, I swapped my sensible Golden Goose sneakers for a pair of delicious Gianvito Rossi Marquis d'Orsay sandals.

  After ten minutes of walking, the charm and placidity wore off. Sweat pooled in my bra and darkened my Juan Carlos Obando blouse. My feet ached. After a half-mile hobble, I pulled off my Rossi's and minced off the smoldering rubber path. Taking a deep breath, I wiggled my toes in the cool grass. A cart sped from the cottages toward the resort. I pulled out a packet of wet tissues from my carryall. Checking for stray golfers, I wiped my pits and folded the tissues in the armpits of my cut out sleeves.

  Ruining a Juan Carlos Obando with sweat stains was worse than getting caught with tissue hanging out of your armpits, IMHO.

  Continuing along my route, I enjoyed the non-pinched feeling of my bare feet and the scent of fresh cut grass breezing from the golf course. The lane moved away from the lake, leading into the woods. Another cart flew past me, the driver intent on gunning the whining engine to its max. Which was totes ridic. Like 20 miles-an-hour was going to get you to the bar that much faster? These industry peeps needed to take a note from the South and slow the hells down. Stop and smell the roses. Or the golf greens, as it were.