Too Little, Too Late (11 page)

“Oh, great,” she moaned, shaking her head, “just what I
don’t
need on top of everything else that’s happened today!”

“Where exactly were you when your Brit got propositioned?”

“We were at Hollywood & Highland,” she replied tersely, “and I was probably in one of the restrooms with my mother at the time.”

Not long after they’d first met, Liz had told Otis the story of her strange and screwed up relationship with her mother and it had cemented their friendship. No one else knew and this was one secret she trusted Otis to keep. To his credit, Otis never judged her or tried to analyze the relationship Liz had with her mother and she was grateful to him for that.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen Maria, hasn’t it?”

She nodded, fidgeting with the crumpled hamburger wrapper. “At least a few weeks.”

“How’s she doing?”

“It took her a while, but at least she recognized me.”

Otis looked at Liz closely, her turmoil apparent. “But?”

“She’s in bad shape, Ote. She’s obviously not eating right and her feet look terrible.”

“Where is she now?”

“That’s just it—I don’t know!” Liz pulled agitated fingers through her hair. “Mom slipped out of the restroom while I was arguing with a security guard about Mom’s mess on the counter.”

“No shit.”

“You know, Ote, I get that she doesn’t want to live with me, but she can’t keep living on the streets either,” Liz told him tearfully, “and I simply can’t bring myself to have her committed again—” She buried her face in her hands. “What am I going to do?”

***

The ground underneath the Hollywood Freeway overpass was littered with beer cans, mounds of garbage, newspapers and used needles. Maria navigated the rows of roughly-hewn shelters with a practiced familiarity. The last one consisted of nothing more than pieces of recycled cardboard built against a concrete support decorated with colorful graffiti whose entrance was covered with a piece of torn fabric. The feeble cries of a baby confirmed she was in the right place.

Pushing aside the fabric, Maria got down on her hands and knees and awkwardly crawled into the shelter while dragging a plastic bag in one hand. A young girl was trying to breastfeed a tiny baby but it kept turning its head away, crying in frustration.

“Don’t cry, baby,” cooed Maria. When the baby kept right on crying, Maria became hysterical. “Shut up, baby!” She covered her ears with her hands and rocked back and forth but she could still hear the baby’s cries.

“What’d you get?” Sandy put down the frustrated baby before snatching the plastic bag out of Maria’s hand.

“Food,” Maria announced.

“I figured that, you retard,” snapped the young girl. “I meant what
kind
of food?” She thrust her hand inside the plastic bag before yanking it out quickly. It was covered in orange slime. “Ah, sheeeit! What the hell
is
that?”

“Pancake,” Maria answered, taking a piece of sticky cheese omelet from the bag and hungrily shoving it in her mouth. She chewed with gusto. “Good.” She pushed a small piece of omelet against the baby’s mouth but the baby started choking. “Uh-oh!” yelled Maria, shaking her head back and forth. “No, no, no! Baby stop!”

“I told you before. April don’t want nothing but tit’s milk and I ain’t got enough!” Sandy slapped the piece of omelet out of Maria’s hand. “Leave her be. She’ll stop bawling soon enough.”

Maria’s bottom lip quivered. She didn’t like it when Sandy yelled at her. Now her feet hurt again. Reaching into the plastic bag, she pulled out a half-eaten chocolate bar, only partially covered in processed orange slime.

Sandy eyed Maria’s chocolate bar hungrily. She took a necklace out of her pocket and held it out to Maria. “Give me the chocolate bar and go pawn this.”

Maria took the dirty necklace from her, a huge smile lighting her worn face. “Maria’s necklace!”

“Yeah.” Sandy stared at her tiny daughter who had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. “Maybe you can get enough for it to buy us some real food.” Snatching the chocolate bar from Maria, Sandy quickly finished it off in two huge bites. Looking around for her can of beer, she found it under a pile of rags and drank thirstily.

“Give me.” Maria held out her hand expectantly.

“None left,” Sandy told her. She belched loudly before crumpling up the can and throwing it in a corner.

Maria retrieved the empty can and held it above her upturned lips. When no liquid came out, she placed the empty can in her plastic bag, watching as Sandy hunkered down beside her daughter. April started whimpering but Sandy just ignored her as she glared at Maria.

“What’ya starin’ at? Go pawn that piece of shit, for Christ’s sake!” she shrieked. Reaching under the rags, she withdrew a gun which she pointed at Maria. “And don’t come back until you got some milk, hear? Otherwise, you know what’ll happen to ya. Now git!”

Maria left, her necklace clutched in her grimy hand as she made her way around the shelters and back up the path that led to the Hollywood Freeway. When she reached the chain link fence just beyond the Freeway, she sat down and carefully put the necklace in her pant pocket.

Noticing the red footprints in the cement, she chortled happily. “Maria’s little piggies!” Standing up, she took a step forward, only to crumple in pain. “Piggies hurt…” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the last of her congealed omelet. After rubbing the omelet on the soles of her bleeding feet, she tried taking another step. This time, they didn’t hurt as much.

Viewings of the Swanson Estate were by appointment only, giving Eve and Kate Stanton plenty of time to ensure that the prospective buyer’s bank account could support the hefty asking price. The original house had once been an old artist’s studio owned by Luella Swanson and Austen Crawford, film royalty back in the roaring twenties of the last century, but the 32,000 square foot mansion now standing on the twelve acre property held little resemblance to its predecessor. The insides of the main house were resplendent with intricate ceiling frescos while the grounds boasted stands of trees, an orchard of lemons and oranges, gardens and ancient wisteria, practically unheard of in modern day Los Angeles, where land was at a premium.

Stanton Realty Inc. had grown into one of the preeminent residential real estate brokerages in Los Angeles, catering exclusively to the luxury market, and the demand for prestigious homes had showed little signs of slowing down, even with the downturn in the economy as of late. These days, Kate was semi-retired and content to leave the day-to-day running of the business she had founded almost twenty years ago to Eve. And it had nothing to do with Kate slowing down – far from it. It was more a matter of her priorities shifting in recent years to volunteer work and other philanthropic endeavors close to her heart. Kate also cherished and nurtured the close and loving relationship she had with her seventeen-year-old granddaughter, Karen. Of course, she still kept an office down the hall from her daughter and spearheaded some of Stanton Realty’s more prestigious listings such as the Swanson Estate.

In the few short weeks the estate had been on the market, Eve had shown it to a construction magnate from upstate New York and to a Japanese diplomat. Today, she was showing the estate to a former commercial airline pilot from Omaha, Nebraska.

“Have you ever been to Hef’s crib?”
“Excuse me?” Eve stared at Calvin Davidson, caught off guard by his question.
“You know,” he elaborated impatiently, “the Playboy mansion.”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied shortly, determined to get on with the tour. Reaching the landing on the second floor, Eve guided him down the hall into one of the bedrooms. “The second floor consists of eight bedrooms including a master suite with two balconies. Each of the bedrooms has an adjoining bath with imported French tile.”
“That’s an awful lot of bedrooms,” was his less-than-enthusiastic comment. “I don’t know about that. I can see it coming in handy,” Eve countered, “especially if you have a lot of friends like Hef does.”
He brightened considerably as he gave her an appreciative once-over. “I’m always open to new friends, especially if they look like you.”
Eve managed to hide her irritation. Her gut was telling her that the client had no interest in this house and it wasn’t because of the daunting price tag. Calvin Davidson could certainly afford it. Years ago, he had patented an epidermal cream for travelers with motion sickness. Thanks to a lucrative licensing agreement with several major pharmaceutical manufacturers, money worries were the last thing on Calvin’s agenda as he sought to find the perfect party pad to rival that of his idol, Hugh Hefner. Unfortunately for Calvin, he sorely lacked Hef’s boyish charm and just the thought of his overweight body in silk pajamas, well –
Eve wasn’t about to let her thoughts stray down that path! She quickly steered the conversation towards more neutral ground. “How about a walk through the gardens?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of giving this four-poster a test drive,” he countered, giving her a lurid grin.
Before she could think of a scathing comeback, a frosty male voice cut in. “Sorry, but test driving the realtor isn’t part of the tour.”
Eve whirled around, seeing the familiar tall frame filling the bedroom doorway. “Paul! This is an unexpected surprise.”
“My secretary booked a full two hours,” Calvin Davidson told him dismissively, “so you’ll just have to reschedule. I’m sure you understand.”
Paul’s tone was clipped as he regarded the younger man with a steely glare. “Unfortunately, your viewing’s just been pre-empted.”
Calvin wasn’t used to being dismissed. “Who did you say you were?”
“He didn’t,” Eve jumped in, trying to smooth things over. “Calvin Davidson, this is Paul Wagner, the owner of the Swanson Estate.”
The two men shook hands warily as Paul adopted a more civil tone. “Sorry to intrude like this, but something’s come up requiring Ms. Stanton’s immediate attention.”
“Well, I—”
“I’m sure Ms. Stanton’s office would be more than happy to reschedule," he told the former pilot, effectively ending the conversation. Eve waited until Calvin Davidson had stormed out of the room and down the hall before turning to Paul. “That bulldozing tactic isn’t the best approach when we’re trying to sell your house, you know.”

“That guy didn't care a hill of beans about this house,” Paul responded acerbically. “He was only interested in getting you between the sheets.”

When her mother had first heard rumors about the Swanson Estate going on the market, she had aggressively pursued the prestigious listing, knowing it would be a coup to the agency. Kate had known Paul since he’d been one of the producers of Eve’s old television show,
Daddy’s Little Girls
. At the time, he had seemed quite happy to sign the listing over to Kate. Eve just hoped Paul wasn’t going to get into the habit of interfering while they were in the middle of a showing.
“Whatever Calvin’s motives were, you needn’t have worried. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I assume there’s a reason for this visit other than your obvious need to guard my virtue.” "There is,” he replied. “I had a proposition for your mother and I thought she’d be showing the house.”

“Sorry to disappoint you but Mom’s been busy with the Foundation benefit and asked me to do the showing.” She looked at him expectantly. “Why don’t you give her a call?”

“I did. And I left her four voicemails,” he told her in frustration.

Despite the scowl on his face, Paul Wagner was a handsome man. In his early seventies, he was tall and trim, his casual outfit of slacks and jacket complimenting his silver hair and handsome features. Eve suspected that even if he were to wear a cassock, Paul would still manage to look distinguished. The thick pelt of silver hair gave him a sexiness women of all ages would find attractive, she decided. Too bad her mother seemed to be immune to his charms.

“Sorry, Paul. Mom sometimes gets tunnel vision when she’s involved in one of her projects. I promise I’ll have her call you.”

Paul brightened considerably. “I’d appreciate that. I’m planning on issuing a commemorative CD collection of the Paisleys’ music later this year.” His production company owned the rights to the Paisleys’ songbook, which Paul had bought from Kate a few years after Marcus’ death.

“Their fortieth anniversary,” Eve mused.

“Exactly. I was hoping to convince your mother to collaborate with me on it, maybe do an interview.”

Eve shrugged her elegant shoulders. “I don’t know, Paul. Something tells me she wouldn’t be interested in resurrecting that part of her life.”

“The glory years, you mean.”

She smiled. “I guess you could call them that although I don’t think Mom thinks of them that way.”

“These days, everybody wants to connect with a part of their youth that was happy and uncomplicated. For many, the Paisleys and their music
are
that connection.”

“You’re the consummate salesman, aren’t you?” Eve couldn’t help teasing him.

“Just like my old man.” He shot her a devilish grin. “Besides, the Paisleys defined an era in music, as did the Beatles, the Bee Gees and all those other groups. Hearing your mother talk about it and listening to their music again would take people back to a simpler time.” He shot her a hopeful look. “So, what do you say? How about helping me convince your mother?”

“I don’t know, Paul. Mom is stubborn about certain things and resurrecting the past might be one of them.”

His piercing blue eyes fixed themselves on her face. “Then I guess I’d better go and fine-tune my sales pitch.”

Eve grinned as she regarded him in amusement. “Just between you and me and these four walls, there’s nothing wrong with your sales pitch.”

***

The House of Chinny Chin-Chin on La Cienega was packed for lunch, as always. It served the best ginger lobster in L.A. and had been a favorite of the Devane clan for as long as Karen could remember. Father and daughter sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, making a pretense of sipping their respective drinks while eying each other warily.

“How’s Killenby and that girl you hang out with?” Eric asked casually.