Lynne Heitman - First Class Killing

“Alexandra, these are some of your colleagues from LA.” Tristan turned to present me. “Girls,this is my friend Alexandra. Everyone be nice to her. She’s from the Boston base, and she’s with me.”

For a brief second, I was center stage, and I had exactly what I wanted. This was my chance to meet and get to know some of the LA crowd. This was my chance to hang around and listen to gossip, to be the eager DustBuster when the dirt on Angel started flying. What I had in front of me was an opportunity.

“Um…hello.”

I got an array of tepid greetings and casual nods. I couldn’t think of what to say, and before I knew it, they had turned their attention back to Tristan. After a few minutes of floating and bobbing around outside the circle, I realized the window had closed. There was also no way to siphon energy away from the Tristan vortex. He enjoyed his place in the center too much.

I was looking around for a less-intimidating situation, when I was very nearly run over by a stout, balding guy with one too many buttons open on his black silk shirt and what looked like a large, yellowing mammal’s tooth dangling from a leather thong around his throat. He introduced himself as Tony Something, the actor-notan actor. He was vaguely familiar. What does one say to actors? I couldn’t remember ever meeting one.

“So, Tony, where do I recognize you from?”

He reeled off a few titles, one or two of which I’d heard of, then launched into a few questions of his own. “I heard your friend say you were a flight attendant from Boston.”

“I am.”

“For OrangeAir?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” He pushed his palms together and let loose with a long sigh that appeared to relieve some serious pent-up tension. Then he took me by the wrist and guided me rather insistently to a more secluded spot. I pulled my arm away and stopped before we were too secluded.

“Is there something I can do for you, Tony?”

“I need help. I lost my password.” He had this curious lockjawed way of speaking. His mouth didn’t open much when he talked.

“What password?”

“I know you gals have rules, but I didn’t give it to someone. I didn’t sell it. I lost it. I think I wrote it on the back of one of my scripts and it got thrown out. I’ve got so many goddamned sign-in names and passwords. Who can remember all that stuff? You know what I mean?”

I was beginning to. Flight attendants… Boston…secret passwords. He thought I was one of Angel’s “gals.” Cool.

“Anyway, how can I get it? Or get another one. Or whatever it is you gals do in a situation like this. I’ll pay the charge. I just really need it soon, you know what I mean? If I can’t sign in, I can’t get laid, and if I can’t get laid, you gals don’t get paid.”

That was almost too much information to deal with in one blast. I had to break it down. “I can get that process started for you, Tony, but I have to ask some questions first. This isn’t how we usually do things.”

“Absolutely. Anything. Can’t be too careful, right?”

He took a step back and inhaled deeply while staring at a spot on the ground. Some kind of acting exercise, no doubt. While he did that, I worked on my Perrier and tried to plot a course that would get me the most information for the least amount of suspicion. The key would be to get him talking. So far, that hadn’t been much of a challenge.

He looked up at me with a quick nod. “Go ahead.”

“How long have you been a client?”

He peered up into a palm tree. “About…five months. First part of the summer. I was doing a location shoot.”

“In Boston?”

“Yeah. I was flying every week, back and forth. LA-Boston. Boston-LA. I gotta tell you, it was killing me. But I had to be back here for some redubbing. Meanwhile, back in Boston, they keep cutting my lines. My agent is all the time telling me, ‘Tony, stop kvetching. At least you got work.’ It was a bad time for me. A lot of pressure. You girls saved my life.”

“How did you hear about us?”

“From a friend of mine in New Hampshire who knows one of the girls. She got him started, and he told me about it.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know her name. She was one of the pool girls.”

Pool girls?

“Why would you want to know that?”

Uh…“Because we give bonuses to women who recruit new clients. It sounds as if she deserves one. Besides, she obviously has a pitch that works. I’d like to hear it.”

“Listen, you don’t need much of a pitch to sell this thing. I wish I had a piece of it. You must be raking it in.”

“We do all right.”

“I’ll bet you do. I can’t wait to get back in the saddle, if you know what I’m saying. This password thing has got me crazy. In fact”-he stepped back and looked me up and down, as if it had just occurred to him to see who he was talking to-“are you available tonight, hon? Are you on the clock?”

He reached out and covered my left breast with his right hand. My belly button snapped back against my spine, and I was sure he would notice my eyes nearly bugging out of my head. He’d grabbed me with the hand that had been holding his drink. It was cold and clammy, and it was disgusting to have him touch me that way and beyond offensive that he would presume to do it-and I was working undercover trying to be exactly the person he thought I was.

“You’re not my usual type,” he said, moving his body up against mine. “But for something quick to take the edge off, I’d take a free taste from you.”

Now, this was getting tricky. How to continue to extract information without kicking him in the balls? I smiled, calmly took him by the wrist, and gently removed his hand. “Sweetie, I’m fully booked tonight, and why in the world would I give you anything for free?”

“To keep me from switching. Aren’t you here for the countermeasures?”

Countermeasures. He must have played a soldier in his last role.

“I just thought you girls from Boston might want to throw a counteroffer on the table. Like the airlines do it. Instead of triple miles, I get triple pussy. You know what I’m saying? Or those phone companies. Each one offering better and better deals, trying to get my business. I love being the prize.”

He was a prize, all right, and what was he talking about? “I need to know what I’m competing against. What kind of deal are they offering?”

“Two freebies with any girl of my choice in any city I choose, even in LA. They don’t have that rule about not doing it at home. I get more if I can get my friends to switch.”

Doing it at home…even in LA…which must have meant…ahhhh…

“Switch from Boston to LA?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

Tristan had been right about a new group starting in LA, only it wasn’t Angel. It was a competing group and they were going after her business.

“Do you want to make me an offer, hon? I’ve got a few minutes.”

“In Boston, Tony, we believe the quality of our service should be enough to keep you in the fold. With us, you know what you’re getting. Besides…” This time, I made the move. I took his drink to free his hands, then pressed my body against his, making sure to touch all the right spots. “If you leave now, you’ll never know what sort of countermeasures we came up with.”

He put his hands on my back. I felt his chest-and other parts-expand as he breathed through his nose, which was mashed against my throat. Then I squeezed my hand up between us, stepped back, and handed him his drink. “But if you want to switch, I understand completely, and I’ll hold off on getting that password.”

“No.” He wiped the moisture from his forehead. “Don’t hold off. I haven’t signed up with them yet. I’ll take the password. What do I need to do?”