Hollywood Nights (23 page)

And in a way, I was. I finally had something I’d been missing: clarity about everything.

I wanted to forget Tanner Vance and get on with my life. Whatever we’d once had was obliterated. Perhaps that was for the best.

Two Months Later

“H
ave a seat.” Ian Rose shook my hand, then stroked his rough gray beard and returned to his own chair, an ancient leather one with a long gash across the cushion, which duct tape held together. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Except, this was our second meeting, and the first one hadn’t been pleasant. At least, it hadn’t been for me. I shrugged and sat down in the wooden chair facing his desk.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.

Ian tapped his fingers on the desk, and the whole overall greasiness of his office stood out to me. A few hamburgers from In-N-Out over here, a lone, empty soda can and a tray full of days-old cigarette ashes over there, stacks of papers that covered every open space, and a small laptop fighting for air amongst the clutter. Ian himself rounded out the picture—a mess of scraggly beard hairs, remnants of bad life choices, and deep wrinkles that etched trails across his face. Had we not been in an office with his name stenciled on the door, I might have thought he was homeless.

“I have your report.” Ian shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Both reports, actually.” He cleared his throat when he retrieved two thick manila envelopes from the piles. Both had IR Investigations printed on the front.

“What did you find?” I said, aware I sounded haggard and frustrated. It had been such a long couple of months. “Anything?”

“You came here a month ago because you had some—suspicions. Questions. Doubts. I hope today you can get some answers.” He presented the folders to me. The top one was much larger than the other. “You’ll find a complete report inside the top one.”

What I found when I opened the envelope made me suck in a long breath. It was all there, right on top, in large, glossy photographs that left nothing out. I leafed through the two dozen, and each one surprised me more than the last.

“This is extensive,” I said, when my shuffling got to a series of photos taken outside the Beverly Hilton. The most telling one showed me how far the betrayal had gone. “You all do good work.”

“We try.” Another cough from Ian. “At least, that’s what we often hear from clients. The other guys don’t find out the kind of information we do.”

“How many times?” I said, my voice wooden and flat. “How many times, do you think?” Here was confirmation of what I had long suspected, but instead of feeling angry or relieved, I had a numbness all over my body. Almost as if this hadn’t happened to me at all.

“At least fifteen times. More than my guys expected. Enough to prove what you think.”

“That she’s a liar,” I said, finishing his sentence. “That she’s a goddamn motherfucking bitch of a liar, and she’s not going to get away with this anymore.”

Ian opened a greasy, stale wrapper and took a large bite of hamburger. He spoke to me as he chewed. “Isn’t it better to know? Better than being on the hook for something.”

A flush of flush of anger pulsed through me. How dare Lana? How dare she cheat on me? And how dare she lie to me like this?

“She’s pregnant and she says I’m the father.” I rubbed my face, as if that would wipe away the magnitude of this information and the proof of what I now held in my hands. “But now this changes everything.”

“Honestly, from the looks of it, this has been going on for a while.” Ian ate some more of the hamburger, ketchup and mustard staining his lips and chin. “People who are new at things like this usually aren’t so—comfortable with each other.” A third bite. “She waits for you to leave, then makes a phone call. A few times, he’s been over to your house when you’re not there.”

If I hadn’t needed the photos, I would have ripped them all up right then, just to get out some mounting aggression.

“What about the pregnancy?” I said. “Is the baby mine?”

As if a private investigator I had hired in a fit of rage one night had the answer to this mystery.

Ian licked his lips. “I can’t tell you for sure. You might be the baby’s father. All I can tell you is Lana is seeing someone else, besides you.” He pointed at the manila envelope. “And those photos prove it, and we’ve cross-checked everything. My men do good work.”

He was right; they did. I wouldn’t have hired IR Investigations if they didn’t.

“Lana is going to pay for this,” I said. “I won’t let her get away with it. Not this time.”

Ian hesitated. “There’s something else you need to know.”

“What?” I braced myself for anything.

“He’s married.” Ian shook his head, but his eyes softened in relief. “We’ve been able to confirm that, too.”

I gulped. I had no idea how to reply.

“Please don’t do anything drastic,” Ian said, the concern in his voice clearer than anything else in his office. “Well, if nothing else, don’t do it in the name of our investigation.”

He was making a joke, but I didn’t find it funny.

“I’m fine,” I said, and stood up from the rickety chair. “I’m going to be fine.”

I paid the outstanding bill and left, not allowing myself to open the second envelope until I got inside my Acura. That one didn’t have any photos, just a generalized report and some basic information. Still, it told me as much as the one about Lana. I had a place, a narrative, and enough basic details to go on when it came time to pursue the next steps. And for the first time in weeks, I had something else: hope.

I turned on the car and threw it into gear. It was time.

R
oberta placed a cup of coffee on the glossy end table next to my red couch and sat down on the edge of the chair next to it. She looked down at her shoes and not at me.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said. We hadn’t said much in the last half hour or so, and the air in the house had become thick with tension and anticipation.

“I have to admit, I wish I hadn’t seen those photos.” She shuddered, and her gaze met mine.

“Some things can’t be unseen, but in a way, I’m glad. At least I know now, before it’s too late.”

Roberta gulped. “And what are you going to do about the baby?”

“I don’t know.” I raked a hand through my hair. “I keep thinking, what have I done to deserve all of this bullshit? All of this personal hell?”

“Nothing.”

“I should never have gotten involved with Lana,” I muttered, more to myself than to Roberta. “Biggest mistake of my life. It has cost me
everything.
”

Sitting there, as I counted down the minutes until Lana walked through my door, I thought about the night we first met, more than three years before. We’d both been on the guest list for some
Chatter
magazine Oscar party in Malibu, and Lana bumped into me as the crowd thickened around the line for one of the bars. She’d spilled her white wine on my shirt and she’d seemed so upset about it; there, under the mix of pink and blue lights, I had marveled at the way they played with her honeycomb hair, and how her blue dress hugged every curve and twist of her body. Lana could dazzle when she wanted to, and she had certainly done that with me.

But now, that dazzle had faded.

I looked at my watch. “She said she’d be here about four.”

Roberta nodded.

We fell into an awkward silence again as the last few minutes stretched into hours and then days. I had never wanted time to pass so fast in my life. When the engine of Lana’s BMW rumbled up the drive, my heart quickened, and my lungs threatened to jump out of my throat.

She appeared, seconds later, a whirlwind of perfume with an air of breezy satisfaction.

“There you are, babe,” Lana said after she blew through the front door. She carried a large shopping bag from
Bye Bye Baby
on one arm and a Balenciaga bag on the other. She set them both down and took of her Ray-Ban sunglasses. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Roberta.”

Roberta’s eyes widened and one eyebrow raised. She had never been Lana’s biggest fan. I nodded at her.

This was it.

“How was your day, Tanner?” Lana said.

Lana moved into the living room and unzipped her cream leather jacket. The rest of her calculated outfit showed off her body, which hadn’t been affected much by the pregnancy. Black leggings, purple boots, a long dark gray T-shirt, and a long gold necklace. That morning, before she left for a late lunch in Brentwood, she had dressed for the paparazzi.

“Sit down,” I said, my voice as firm as my words. “Now.”

She followed my orders and took a place on the red couch. “What’s wrong?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, being extra careful to keep my voice steady. She might be used to control, but she didn’t get to control this—
whatever this was
—that remained between the two of us. Not anymore. “I think you have a lot of things to say to me that you haven’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not now, and not ever again. Tell me the truth, Lana.”

“What?” She looked from me to Roberta and back again. “I don’t understand.”

“Why don’t we start with your recent visit to the Beverly Hilton?” I tapped my finger on the thick manila folder so she’d notice it on the couch between us. “From what I read inside this report, you had a pretty nice time there.”

Her jaw went slack for half of a second, but then she recovered. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is insane.”

I laughed. “Insane? You were there twice in the last week. Both times with the same guy. In fact, you met him for lunch in Malibu the week before, and in downtown LA a week before, when you told me you had a prenatal Pilates class.”

“You had me followed?” She recoiled. “What the hell?”

“You’re a liar. You’ve been cheating on me, haven’t you? For months.”

Roberta stood up from the chair, wringing her hands. “Maybe I should tend to a few things in the kitchen.”

“Sit down, Roberta,” I said. “I asked you to be my witness, and I expect you to stay.” I glared at her, and she complied with my orders. “Now, Lana. Is there anything you want to tell me? You get one chance, and it’s right now.”

“I’m not cheating on you. It’s not what you think. It’s business.”

“Bull-fucking-shit, bitch.”

“Don’t call me that.” Lana’s jaw hardened. “Have you been drinking again? Because this is crazy.”

“Oh no. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to turn this around on me.” I folded my arms. “You know, the private investigator I hired is good at his job. Almost too good. He found out about everything I needed to know about what you’ve been doing behind my back. Robert Markum, producer. It’s all in this file. Even worse: Robert Markum,
married
producer. Did you think he’d help your career got to the next level?” I scoffed. “I hate to be the one to break this ugly news to you, but that plan isn’t going to work. You’re a train wreck, and it’s going to catch up with you.”

“You’re wrong. You don’t know anything, Tanner.”

“So you
don’t
deny the cheating.”

“Robert’s not anything to me. It’s not what you think it is.”