Celebrity Sudoku (7 page)

But there are people who go out every day on walkers,
she thought.
I guess Mrs. H. knows what she’s talking about when she says old age ain’t for sissies.

They arrived at the little white house—not much more than a bungalow, Liza realized—where she and Michael had lived as husband and wife. A lot of those years had been fun, sharing pleasurable discoveries and companionable silences trying to solve Will Singleton’s latest sudoku. Later on, the quiet became tenser as Liza’s career outstripped Michael’s. Freelancing on series novels and working as a script doctor on straight-to-video movies was all right for starting out, but Michael couldn’t make it to the next level. When Liza got promoted to partner, the silence became deafening . . . and they started living apart.

Michael helped Liza from the car, bringing her walker around. As they got to the door, it opened and a cleaning woman came out.

“I figured it was better to bring in some professional help,” Michael said with an embarrassed smile.

They entered the living room, where the furniture had been polished until it shone—even the bookcases. Liza noticed that plenty of gaps still showed where she’d removed her books from their joint library. Someone—Michael? The cleaner?—must have pressed knickknacks from all over the house into service to fill the spaces. Liza recognized a few wedding gifts that had stayed boxed in the garage since she and Michael had returned from their honeymoon.

“We moved a bed into the office and made sure you had a clear shot at the bathroom,” Michael went on as Liza maneuvered her walker to the couch.

She looked up. “Where are you going to work?”

“Anywhere I have to,” he responded with a serious look, then ruined it by grinning. “They set up a place for me at the studio. Which is pretty good, considering that the script seems to change from shot to shot.”

“So, do you have to go back to work now?” Liza tried and failed to keep a note of anxiety out of her voice.

Michael shook his head. “We’re on hiatus right now. It seems the female lead’s husband visited her on the set and interrupted an extremely intense session between her and the director. Apparently the producer has to decide who stays and who goes, so I’m going to be around.”

He got Liza settled on his recliner. “I checked it out,” he said. “This will actually keep your knee higher than your heart, and that’s what they want you to do—rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

With that, he hustled into the kitchen and returned with large bag of frozen peas. “I figured we could use these, since ice tends to melt.”

Liza shot a quizzical look at the bag as Michael wrapped it in a towel and applied it to her knee. “I know you hate peas. That’s not the bag I left in the freezer when I moved out, is it?”

“C’mon, Liza, the peas would have frozen into a solid lump by now. I got rid of them.”

“Exactly when?” she asked.

“Ummmm . . . yesterday?” Michael admitted with a shrug.

Shaking her head, Liza laughed. “I can live with that. Just don’t tell me we’re having pork chops for supper. I put them in the freezer the same day as the peas.”

“I thought maybe we could have dinner at the hotel where you were staying,” Michael suggested, “after we pick up the stuff from your room.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll just chill for a while—”

The ringing of the phone interrupted her. Michael answered, then handed the receiver over to her.

“Liza?” She recognized Wish Dudek’s distinctive voice immediately. “Are you settling in there okay? Personally, I think you should have taken full advantage of the producers and the studio, staying in that hotel and living on room service. Did you know they were debating getting you a nurse?”

Liza rolled her eyes. “Just what I need. Besides, I couldn’t really relax, sitting in the lap of luxury when I hadn’t earned it.”

“Someday you’ll have to do something about that annoying independent streak,” Wish told her.

“In the meantime, what are they deciding to do about Celebrity Week?”

“The powers that be are going over the footage that was shot, seeing whether there’s enough to do some sort of memorial for Ritz Tarleton,” Wish told her. “Otherwise, I think they’re going with twenty-five years of
D-Kodas
memories instead.”

He paused. “They are checking schedules to see how soon they can reorganize with the celebrities. Claudio Day has an exhibition game, but most of the others will be in or around L.A. in the near future.”

“I guess I’m not going anywhere fast.” Liza let out a low, annoyed sigh.

“That knee hurting you?”

“No. I’ve got a dog at home, and a dog-sitter who expects me to collect my pooch tomorrow. Guess I’d better give her the bad news.”

Liza rang off with Wish and dialed up Mrs. H. Her neighbor was shocked to learn of Liza’s mishap—and way too happy to hear that Liza was staying with Michael.

“Well, I certainly couldn’t stand in the way—”

Of true love,
Liza grumpily thought.

“Of your recuperation,” Mrs. H. went on. “I’d be glad to take care of Rusty. He’s a good dog.”

From the background, Rusty let out a loud bark on hearing his name . . . followed by a louder crash.

“Up till now.” Mrs. Halvorsen sighed.

Liza ended that call shaking her head.

She looked up to see Michael hovering over her like an over-attentive headwaiter. “Do you want to catch a little sleep, or would you—”

The phone rang again.

Michelle’s voice crackled over the line, elaborately matter-of-fact. “Jocelyn was getting ready to cut Ritz Tarleton loose.”

“How far into your jolly reunion did that pearl of wisdom pop up?” Liza asked.

“Pretty quickly. I wasn’t about to stick around that rat hole of an office one second more than necessary.” Michelle’s claws showed for a second, even over the phone. “I have a few things to take care of at the office. Buck and I can be in Westwood around dinnertime. We’ll bring the eats.”

“But—” Liza wasn’t sure Michelle even heard that. The phone was already dead in her ear.

She looked up at Michael. “Maybe we should head over to the hotel now,” she began. “I’ll explain on the way.”

 

 

When they returned, Michael carried Liza’s bag, while Liza moved as if the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders. She dropped onto the couch, shrugging repeatedly in an attempt to stretch the muscles. “We’ve got a little time before Michelle and Buck turn up. Do you want to watch some TV?”

“Sure.” Michael handed her the remote and then headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get the peas for your knee.”

Liza began surfing through channels. The local TV lineup had changed since Liza was down here last. Lots of new syndicated shows turning up—

Her finger froze on the channel button when she spotted a face she recognized—hers.

Liza blinked, realizing this was the front entrance of the hospital where she’d stayed. And there was Lolly Popovic, holding the door.

“So who’s that?” a voice off camera asked. “Lolly’s grandmother?”

The scene shifted to the motley crew of staffers from
The Lowdown with Don Lowe
. The boss man, Lowe himself, stood in front of a blue screen with the image frozen, arms crossed over his burly chest, shooting an aggravated look at his underling. “Who cares? At least it shows Lolly has good manners.”

Buck and Michelle arrived soon after Liza clicked off the television. But when Liza complained about her brush with
The Lowdown
, her partner didn’t join in her indignation.

“You were standing beside Lolly Popovic, and you knew paparazzi were stalking her,” Michelle said. “What did you expect?”

“I didn’t expect some jackass on TV to call me a grandma,” Liza growled. “Where do they come off doing that?”

“It’s the new wave of celebrity news.” Michelle’s voice got a bit flatter. “Thank Don Lowe for that.”

“Who is this Lowe character, anyway?” Michael asked.

Michelle shrugged. “Believe it or not, he started out as an investigative journalist.”

“Before he went over to the dark side?” Liza said.

“Actually, he was sort of a crusading investigative journalist for several papers across the country.”

Michelle pulled a face. “Yes, there was a time after
All the President’s Men
when going into journalism was like joining the Peace Corps.” She made a dramatic gesture. “Go forth and write the truth.”

“I’ll bet it seemed like a steady job,” Michael offered. “People would always read newspapers.”

“Until the Internet came along,” Michelle finished. “Lowe found himself laid off. But unlike most of his jobless colleagues, he didn’t start gassing away on public affairs with a blog. He looked for a market with some growth potential—and found it with the public’s insatiable interest in celebrities.”

“Growth?” Liza scoffed. “There aren’t enough tabloids?”

“Not many that have credibility,” Michelle answered. “There’s no dealing with the ones that run stories about women having Elvis’s alien child. But they get away with that kind of nonsense, rumor, and innuendo because people don’t take them seriously. The tabloids that count try to run a serious news operation—sometimes they even break real stories before the traditional media pick them up. Those are the ones people pay attention to—and unless it’s a really bad story, they can be controlled.”

Liza looked at Michelle when she said that.
Translation: I can control those tabloids,
she thought.

“Whatever stories they manage to dig up or buy, the big tabloids need interviews with the stars to make their circulations profitable,” Michelle explained for the benefit of Buck and Michael. “Our control of access to celebrities prevents the worst excesses.”

She shook her head. “What Lowe did was create a new paradigm—a new market for out-of-work or wannabe journalists, photographers, paparazzi, even civilians with videocams or cell phone cameras. Catch a celebrity in an unguarded moment, get a paycheck. He doesn’t need the goodwill of the celebrity, or even a press release. And considering the way most celebrities act when they don’t have handlers—and that includes our own clients, I’m afraid—they provide plenty of fodder for snide comments.”

“I know the website was so successful it spawned the TV show,” Michael said. “But I keep wondering whether Lowe isn’t going to kill the golden goose. If he brings celebrities down to the level of the folks at home, doesn’t that kill the magic?”

Michelle shrugged. “Maybe it’s the appeal that Jerry Springer had—or those court shows where yahoos missing a couple of teeth wrangle over who totaled the family car.”

“Some people just like watching train wrecks,” Liza said.

Michael grinned. “There’s an idea—Train Wreck TV. Maybe I should work up a proposal and circulate it among the cable networks.”

“It won’t garner you as much cash or notoriety as Lowe has gotten,” Michelle told him. “The website alone has generated so much ad revenue that he’s able to buy stories that the big syndicated gossip shows wouldn’t dare touch—and he’s killing them in the process. Why do you think they’re drumming up all these phony controversies these days?”

“Still, I wouldn’t mind wiping that smirk off Don Lowe’s face,” Liza said.

“You and about half of Hollywood,” Michelle dryly replied. “Let’s get the food out and discuss the case.”

Liza wanted to tell her partner that there was no case, but there was no talking to Michelle when she was in this kind of mood. Instead, she just passed utensils around while Buck opened several buckets of surprisingly spiced roasted chicken. From the sauces and side dishes, Liza deduced the food had a Middle Eastern origin, but that was as far as she got.

“A new fast-food discovery?” she asked Michelle.

“Actually, Buck found the place, but I’ve sworn him to secrecy. We’d like to enjoy the food for a while before everybody starts getting it and the lines are twice as long.”

Liza glanced over at Buck, wondering for about the thousandth time exactly what kind of relationship the big ex-cop and her razor-tongued partner shared.

After eating her fill, Michelle leaned back and took a sip of beer. “Now, on to what dear Jocelyn told us.”

“Was she really going to cut the cord on Ritz?” Liza asked. “I’d have figured she had to be Jocelyn’s biggest client.”

“Maybe she was just too high-maintenance,” Michael suggested.

Michelle shook her head. “No amount of maintenance was going to keep Ritz Tarleton out of the junkyard. It’s amazing she managed to stay in the public eye as long as she did. Although in the last few years, she was more of a joke than a celebrity.”

“She was good enough for you to wrangle her into my trial sudoku class at Seacoast Correctional,” Liza pointed out.

“You work with what you can get, dear,” Michelle responded. “According to Jocelyn, that class managed to create a last-gasp opportunity for Ms. Tarleton. She’d approached Jocelyn about getting on
Celebrity Dance Challenge
.”

“Also known as ‘Has-Beens in Dance Shoes,’ ” Michael interjected.

“Exactly,” Michelle said. “Learning that the producers of the show considered her too past it to join their collection of dimming stars finally burst Ms. Tarleton’s bubble.”

Liza nodded. Working with Michelle, she’d often encountered the invisible bubble that formed around the rich and/or famous, insulating them from reality. Often it led to horrendous career and personal miscalculations for celebrities—and, doubtless, golden opportunities for media vampires like Don Lowe.

“Ritz pressed her agent and Jocelyn to find her some sort of high-profile booking, but the best they could do was a backup spot on
D-Kodas
.” Michelle glanced over at Liza. “No offense meant.”

“None taken.” For Liza, the show offered national exposure for her puzzle-making skills. For Ritz, five days on a syndicated game show was a definite downward step—maybe more than one, if she were only an alternate. Just a little farther down, and she’d have ended up the celebrity draw for car dealership openings in the Valley.