Joseph Wambaugh - Hollywood Hills

Nate was out of costume and on his way within the hour. If he could do it over again, he’d do or say whatever was asked of him without comment. It had been so hard to get work even as a day player that he hadn’t done anything lately except take jobs as an extra a few times a year. And at age thirty-eight, time was surely of the essence.

Remembering his humiliation at the hands of that director caused him to get up and find the business card of Rudy Ressler. He opened his cell and dialed the number.

A young man answered, saying, “Rudy Ressler’s office.”

“This is Officer Nate Weiss, LAPD,” he said. “Mr. Ressler asked me to call.”

The young man said, “Just a moment,” and put Nate on hold.

Nate almost gave up, but after nearly five minutes, the director came on the line and said, “Officer Weiss. I’m glad to hear from you!”

“You asked me to call you, Mr. Ressler,” Nate said.

“I certainly did,” Rudy Ressler said. “I owe you. Let’s do lunch today. How about two o’clock?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Nate said, disappointed. He’d hoped for more than lunch from this man.

“I certainly do,” the director said. “And I’d like to discuss the possibility of you reading for me. I’ll be starting a movie for cable a few months after I get back from Europe.”

A job! That perked him up, and Nate said, “I’d love to have-do lunch with you. I don’t have to go on duty till five fifteen. Where and what time?”

After they finished talking, Nate got dressed. He started to put on a Tommy Hilfiger jersey but decided instead to wear a red tapered Polo shirt to reveal his biceps in case the part was for a buff-looking guy. And then he had to settle on gray cargo pants from Banana Republic because they were the only pair he had that was clean other than jeans. He figured the cargos would be okay because he wanted to look younger. He wondered if he should tell Rudy Ressler that gray temples were very premature in his family and offer to dye them dark if the director preferred. He hated to think about the fortieth birthday about to befall him in just eighteen months.

Nate showered and got to feeling upbeat because this was the first night he’d be working with Hollywood Station’s new arrival, Snuffy Salcedo. Of course, all cops were notorious gossips, and a police station secret was as hard to keep as a first marriage, but Snuffy was surely in a class of his own. Hollywood Nate figured he’d get an earful about the chief and Snuffy’s life among all the police brass and the drones at City Hall. But for now, Nate had big game to hunt.

At 1:50 P.M., Hollywood Nate pulled into the parking lot of a hot restaurant in west Hollywood. It was one of the new Italian places he’d read about that charged exorbitant prices to paint the food on the plate. They featured bite-size morsels of “imaginative” pasta and unrecognizable tidbits of sea creatures that wouldn’t fill the belly of the baby opossums that raided the trash cans near Nate’s apartment in North Hollywood. But he wasn’t there for the food.

He spotted Rudy Ressler sitting at a patio table shaded by potted palms with an attractive woman who Nate figured was probably Ressler’s age, though she looked younger. Nate understood the magic that was performed every day in the offices of plastic surgeons and dermatologists who almost outnumbered Realtors on the west side of Los Angeles. She was dressed for summer in a champagne-colored button-front sleeveless linen dress, and her highlighted chestnut hair was cupped just below her tiny ears.

Next to her was a younger man about Nate’s age in a Calvin Klein multistripe gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a necktie that cost more than everything on Nate’s body. He had been around Hollywood types long enough to recognize the uniform of the day for agents from ICM and CAA.

Rudy Ressler was dressed supercool in a wrinkled cotton shirt, a black T-shirt beneath it, loose-fitting, acid-washed jeans, and retro black tennis shoes. In short, he took pains to dress as he had when he was in middle school, as did most of the above-the-line people on any shoot that Nate had ever worked. In the light of day the director looked older than he had on the red carpet. His rusty thinning hair was growing out at the roots, and his skin was getting blotchy. The director’s eye job wasn’t great either, and when Nate got close he could see the surgical scars by Ressler’s ear. Nate thought the director ought to sue the quack who remodeled him.

At first Rudy Ressler didn’t recognize Nate, but when he did, he jumped to his feet. “Officer Weiss!” he said, loudly enough for others at nearby tables to hear, obviously thinking it exotic and cool to be doing lunch with a cop.

Nate smiled and they shook hands. Rudy Ressler said, “I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Leona Brueger. And this is my agent, Todd Bachman.”

Leona Brueger gave Nate a dazzling smile, held out her hand palm down, so that he didn’t know whether to shake it or kiss it, and said, “Well, this is a treat. A real cop. Or should I say police officer?”

“Cop’s fine,” Nate said. “In fact, it’s my favorite word.”

He shook her hand, and it was quite cool for such a hot afternoon. The agent gave him a vigorous sweaty handshake and said, “Rudy tells me they call you Hollywood Nate, but I’m not sure why.”

“He works at Hollywood Station,” Rudy Ressler said. “And get this. He has a SAG card!”

“You’re an actor as well as a cop?” Todd Bachman said.

“When I can get work,” Nate said.

Rudy Ressler said to Nate, “Todd’s with CAA.”

“Would I have seen you in anything?” the agent asked Nate.

“I’m not sure,” Nate said self-consciously. “But I’m always available if you need my type in a production you may be packaging.”

Nate thought that everyone laughed too hard at that. He was trying to be amusing but he was also being very serious here.

“Are you represented?” Rudy Ressler asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Nate said, getting stoked over the possibility of being represented by CAA.

Leona Brueger chuckled and said, “He’s got a great look for anyone casting a cop character, doesn’t he, Todd? The camera would love him.”

When she said it, her lashes fluttered subtly, and Nate thought, An older chick batting her eyes at me? But then he noticed that her eyes were a bit heavy-lidded and there was an empty wine bottle in an ice bucket beside her, but neither the agent nor Rudy Ressler had a wineglass in front of him. So then he realized that Ms. Brueger liked to get her drink on.

The agent looked at his watch, and Nate saw that it was a Swiss Army watch like the one he wore. The absence of at least a Rolex made Nate conclude that the guy’s client list probably included a lot of B-listers like Rudy Ressler.

The agent said, “Rudy, Leona, must go. More tomorrow. Will loop you in as soon as I hear more from A amp;E. Good to meet you, Officer.”

He kissed the air in Leona’s direction, rose, and departed. And Nate was disheartened that the agent hadn’t even offered him a business card.

When he was gone, Leona Brueger stood wobbling for an instant and said to Rudy, “Damn these new Jimmy Choos. Too sky-high for me.”

Nate looked down and thought that the double ankle straps looked very smart around her shapely ankles, but the leather resembled snakeskin, and he was not fond of reptiles. She took a little step sideways before righting herself and heading for the ladies’ room. Sure, Nate thought, it’s just the shoes.

When she was gone, Rudy Ressler said, “Leona and me, we’re going to Tuscany for three months. At least that’s the idea, but I don’t think I can stay away that long. We plan to get married before the end of the year and move up to Napa. Leona’s got a yen to own a vineyard and make wine.” He pulled a sour expression and said sotto, “I don’t know how long her fantasy will last, but you know how women are.”