Close to the Ground Page 8

  After a while — more like forty-five minutes than the twenty or thirty Jack had estimated — Angel heard an upstairs door close and footfalls descending the staircase. He went into the entryway and saw Karinna coming down. She’d changed from the pants and tank top she’d worn for dinner into a short leather skirt that hugged her hips and thighs, spiderweb-pattern black stockings, a black leather bustier, and a leather collar. She wore tall spike-heeled shoes, and she wavered unsteadily as she walked down the stairs. Her hair was up and perfect, not a strand out of place. Her makeup looked great from where Angel stood, too. The scent of her perfume reached him before she did.

  At the sight of her outfit, he found himself hoping she didn’t want to go to one of those fetish clubs — there were always vampire wannabes at those places, and they just got on his nerves. But no, he remembered, she’d already said he wanted to see the new DJ at Hi-Gloss, which Angel recalled Cordy saying was one of several hot clubs in a former warehouse district near downtown L.A.

  “You look great,” he told her when she came toward him. He ushered her out the mansion. As he opened the convertible’s passenger door for her, Karinna looked at Angel with an odd smile. “Are you American, Angel?” she asked.

  “Why?”

  “Nothing, I guess. It’s just, Angel’s kind of an odd name, isn’t it?”

  “My family’s from Ireland,” he explained. The dodge seemed to work.

  He climbed into the car on his side, gunned the engine, and pulled onto the long driveway. “So, Hi-Gloss?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Am I dressed appropriately?”

  “You’re dressed fine for someone who’s having dinner with the famous head of a famous movie studio,” Karinna answered. “For Hi-Gloss . . . I guess you’ll have to do.”

  The music was, as he figured it would be, deafening, with a pounding beat that never seemed to vary. He couldn’t tell when one song ended and the next began, and he couldn’t imagine what it was the DJ was doing that earned him his pay, much less any accolades.

  But then, he knew people had been saying that about the next generation’s music for as long as there had been generations. He could remember a time before rock and roll, before jazz, before big band music — before there was a recording industry at all. He took a long-term view of trends. There was no point in complaining about them, he had decided long ago. They came, they went, something else followed. He had stopped thinking of any kind of music, or art, or literature as his, and just accepted them for what they were.

  But that didn’t stop this techno beat from hurting his ears.

  Karinna had been dancing since they came through the door, allowed in by a ponytailed doorman who either recognized her or recognized that she was the kind of attractive young woman the owners of the club wanted on their dance floor. She hadn’t settled in with any single dance partner but instead had been dancing with a number of men and women, and sometimes Angel couldn’t tell if she was dancing with anyone at all. He stood near the bar and kept an eye on the dance floor. He’d bought a soft drink, for show, but it sat basically untouched on the bar behind him.

  She came toward him, sweat gleaming on her forehead and beneath her collar. “Isn’t it great, Angel?” she shouted. “Are you having fun?”

  I’ve had more fun in Hell, he thought, but he called back, “Sure, it’s great. You ready to go yet?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m just getting warmed up!”

  “Oh, good.”

  “This DJ rocks, doesn’t he?”

  “I’d have to say, yes, he does.”

  “Dance with me?”

  “I’m working, Karinna. I can’t dance.”

  She tossed him a pouty look. “Spoilsport!” she yelled. “Stick in the mud.”

  “That’s me.”

  She turned away from him, nearly running into a handsome young guy carrying two tall sparkling glasses of something. She sized him up in an instant and put a hand on his chest.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t make you spill anything, did I?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied.

  “Well, I’m glad. I shouldn’t have run into you though.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She gestured toward one of the glasses. “Is that for someone? You here with a friend?”

  He scanned the crowd quickly, as if to see if his “friend” was witnessing the exchange. Satisfied, he took another look at Karinna. “Yeah, a friend. Kind of a buddy, you know.”

  “A buddy,” Karinna echoed.

  “That’s right.”

  “Would your buddy mind if we danced? You know, so I can apologize for almost knocking you over?”

  Another quick scan. He doesn’t want to get caught, Angel realized. But he wants to do this.

  “I’m sure that — he — would be fine with it.”

  Karinna touched his hands, caressing his fingers and then plucking the glasses from them. “Here,” she said. She turned to Angel, handing him the two cold glasses. “Hold these,” she said.

  Angel took them, sniffed them, and set them on a nearby table. Fruity, but not alcoholic, which was good. But he wasn’t here as a personal servant or drink tender. If anything happened, he’d need his hands free.

  Karinna shrugged and led her new friend by the hand, out onto the dance floor.

  Call me old-fashioned, Angel thought, but I think a guy who comes to a place like this with a date should leave with the same date, and should probably even pay some attention to her along the way.

  After a few minutes a young lady passed by. She was searching through the crowd, looking for someone or something. It was hard to make anyone out on the floor — the lighting was blue and indirect, reflected off a series of banked mirrors mounted on the wall almost level with the high ceiling, with occasional sweeps by a brighter spotlight across the writhing mass of dancers. And everyone was uniformly young and fashionable, which meant no one really stood out. Even Karinna’s outfit was more or less standard dress for some of the girls.

  When the young woman saw the two drinks on the table, condensation creating little pools around them, she smiled and looked around for the person who had been sent in quest of them. When her eyes fell on Angel, he gave a little shrug and cocked his head toward the dance floor.

  Karinna was hanging on to the young man, pressing herself against him like a longtime lover. When the young woman saw them, her face fell. Angel felt terrible — that she had seen, that she had in fact been the “friend,” that he had been instrumental in her discovery.

  She grabbed one of the glasses, giving Angel a second look. He leaned close to her so he could be heard over the music. “Better to find out now than later, right?”

  “Guess so,” she responded. “So, you busy?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Too bad.” She shrugged and vanished back into the crowd. He was sure she’d find someone else to ease the hurt before the night was through.

  But he felt uncomfortable about Karinna’s role in the whole thing. Her behavior didn’t seem appropriate for someone her age. He didn’t believe that he was bringing eighteenth-century standards to twenty-first-century situations, just wishing that people would practice consideration in all their interactions.

  She’s better off, he told himself. Hoping, at the same time, that the other young lady made a better choice next time. For a moment he thought he felt sorry for her, but then he realized the ache he felt was something else. She was looking for someone else with whom to make a connection, of whatever kind. But he was past that. He had made his connection, and it was over, and there wouldn’t be anyone else like that for him. There couldn’t be, or he’d lose his soul again.

  He was apart from all these people, as surely as if there had been a window between him and them. He was not one of them and never would be.

  He had a feeling the guy who had abandoned this one wouldn’t be happy with his decision, either. He’d already seen Karinna dancin
g with a dozen guys the same way, leaving each one with the impression, he had no doubt, that she was going home with them.

  But he remembered one of Jack’s rules — no unchaperoned time with boys. And he realized that he couldn’t see Karinna anywhere. He’d looked away for a moment, and she had taken advantage of it.

  No wonder she can’t keep a bodyguard, he thought. I’m going to be fired, too.

  He pushed his way onto the floor, reminded of the first time he’d gone looking for her, at Sugar Town. At least this club, as dark and gloomy as it was, wasn’t as hard on the eyes as that pink monstrosity had been. But it was hard, even for someone whose senses were as keen as Angel’s, to find a single person in the mass of movement that was the dance floor.

  He stood on tiptoe to see over everyone’s heads, hoping to spot her upswept red hair out there. No luck. He made his way to the far side, and tried looking back the way he’d come. Nothing. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch a trace of her perfume, but there were too many scents intermingled, and he couldn’t pick hers out.

  If she’s left the building, he thought, I’ll . . . I don’t know what. But she won’t like it.

  Then he remembered the mirrors. They had the advantage of height, and a bird’s-eye angle on the crowd. He turned and checked in the nearest one. She wasn’t in view here, but there were mirrors on every wall, to give the illusion of more space and to reflect the blue lights. He started to work his way around the perimeter of the room, scanning the floor in the mirrors as he went. He could get a good panorama of the club in them, so he knew if she was still in here, he’d spot her.

  At the same time he kept checking the door to the rest rooms and the exit, just in case she appeared at either.

  He made it all the way back to where he’d started without any sign of her. She wasn’t visible in any of the mirrors, she hadn’t used any of the doors. She was just gone.

  He decided to try outside. Maybe she hadn’t gone far. One more look in the mirror —

  “Looking for someone?”

  He turned and there she was, right by his arm.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  “Dancing,” she replied. “Where’d you think I was?”

  “I didn’t know. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is, Angel. I was right there.”

  “I don’t want you to leave my sight again,” Angel said, realizing as he did it that he sounded just like someone’s dad. “I thought you were —”

  “You’re wound way too tight, Angel,” Karinna said with a wry smile. “You need to loosen up. You ever had a girlfriend?”

  He ignored the question. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We’re going home.”

  “But, Angel —”

  “Home.”

  She sighed again. Angel felt very much like a parent at that moment. He felt his age.

  Every single century of it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  There are days, Cordelia Chase thought, stretching luxuriously in her bed, when everything is right in the world. Days when the fates or the gods smile down upon you, when your stars are all in alignment, when your ducks are in a row, whatever that means. On those days the future is spread out before you like a road map to destinations with names like Contentment, Peace, Happiness, with side trips through Fame and Wealth and “I Told You So” to Those Who Ever Doubted You.

  She shook her head, scootched out from under the covers, and planted both feet on the floor.

  This was one of those days.

  And it felt great!

  Monument Pictures was out there waiting for her. A new career, a new life. Stardom. The devotion of millions of fans. She couldn’t wait.

  She jumped into the shower, singing all the way through. Blow-dried her hair, brushed her teeth. Tore through her closet looking for something to wear. Phantom Dennis took a couple of dresses from the closet and floated them around the room on their hangers, but neither one really projected the image she was going for.

  A dozen outfits later, she decided it didn’t matter all that much since wardrobe would dress her for whatever her part was anyway. She could show up in dirty sweats, and it would be okay with them.

  She settled on a simple red dress with crisscrossing straps, and red pumps. A little makeup, a touch-up with the hairbrush. She checked herself in the mirror for about the thousandth time that morning.

  Perfection. She left the apartment with a smile on her face.

  When she reached the studio gate, she was terrified.

  The guard’s going to turn me away, she suddenly thought. He’s going to laugh in my face. He’s going to have me arrested for impersonating a successful person.

  Her legs turned to water, and she could barely walk up to the little checkpoint.

  The guard, a skinny black man in a clean blue uniform, gave her a friendly smile. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Yes,” Cordelia said. “Morning, I mean. And good. It’s just about as good as a morning could be, isn’t it?” She looked up at the blue sky. “I mean, it’s got all the elements, right? Sunshine, sky, birds singing . . . I’m sure they’re singing somewhere, even if the traffic noises are a little too loud right here, exactly.”

  “Something I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

  This is where he spins me around and kicks me on my stupid — but shapely — behind, she thought.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m supposed to be on a list or something, but I’m thinking I’m probably not there, so —”

  “Well, what’s your name?” He reached in through a little window and pulled out a clipboard with a number of sheets of paper on it. “Let’s just have a look-see.”

  “A look-see, that’s always a good idea, isn’t it? And what an interesting word, don’t you think?”

  “Your name, ma’am?”

  Be there, she thought. Be there, be there, be there. If it wasn’t there — and by this point she was more convinced that it wouldn’t be than she had ever been convinced of anything in her life — she didn’t know how she’d face Angel and Doyle, or anyone, really, for the rest of her miserable existence on Earth.

  “Chase. Cordelia Chase.” Her voice sounded very small and far away.

  “Oh, of course, Ms. Chase,” he said, breaking into a big smile. “We’ve been waiting for you. Welcome to the lot.”

  Cordelia looked around to see if there was maybe another Ms. Chase behind her. But there wasn’t, she was the only Ms. anything waiting on the walkway to get in. Cars drove past to another gate where another guard met them, but she had not anticipated having a parking place on the lot, hence the walking in.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. It’s right here. Cordelia Chase you said, right?”

  “That’s right. I mean, that’s me, I think.”

  “Well, then, welcome to the lot. Do you know where you’re going?”

  No clue.

  “Umm, I think so, but I guess I could maybe use a refresher.”

  The guard nodded. “No problem at all,” he said. He pointed toward a roadway that led between two huge sound stages. “See that road there? Turn right, then at the first corner, make a left. That’ll take you up past some soundstages and the mill. Then you get to some office buildings. The second one is the one you want. It’s called the Fairbanks Building. You go on in there, second floor, Room 213. Got it?”

  “I think I can manage.”

  “That’s good, that’s good. You have yourself a great day, Ms. Chase. I’ll see you around.”

  She liked the sound of that. She liked the sound of everything: the cars idling at the gate, the voices raised in greeting, the traffic rushing by on the avenue. Now she could hear morning birds. She was on the lot. They were expecting her. They wanted her here.

  Life was good.

  The soundstages were huge. Their walls loomed huge beside her, like multistory apartment buildings with no windows. The wide doors were
open on a couple of them, and she peeked in. Inside, they were like empty warehouses, only warehouses big enough to herd dinosaurs in. They reminded her of airplane hangars, but maybe for zeppelins instead of mere planes.

  The feeling of walking on the lot — alone, without a tour guide leading her along in a group — was remarkable. It was like she belonged here. She’d been to auditions in casting offices, and done a few commercials in tiny, cramped studios around town. But the sheer space of all these enormous sound-stages made her think about the enormity of what she was doing. The movies.

  Everyone on the lot seemed so cheerful. It was not even nine yet, and people were already at work, chatting and laughing as they went about their day.

  But then, why not? They were involved in the business of making movies — making dreams. What was there not to be cheerful about?

  And now the business would include her. Cordelia Chase. For a moment she couldn’t wait to tell the Scooby Gang about it, but then she thought better of it. Let them be surprised when they see my name on a movie poster. Or on the cover of People. They had doubted her prospects in Hollywood, but they’d be eating their words now.

  She wondered for a moment what her first picture would be. Action adventure? Maybe a romantic comedy? Something opposite Richard Gere or Tom Cruise, maybe.

  Looking ahead, Cordelia saw the office buildings the guard had told her to look for, three-story Mediterranean-style structures with tiled roofs. The second one was the Fairbanks Building, where her nine o’clock appointment was. As she approached it, her feet barely seemed to be touching the ground.

  Inside was a large lobby area with a board listing the various offices inside — production offices owned by famous actors and directors, mostly. Who would she be working with? She could hardly stand to wait for the elevator that would take her to the second floor.

  When she got off, it was in a quiet, carpeted hallway. Office 213 was to the left, four doors down. There was nothing on the door but the number in gold-plated numerals. She hesitated outside the door, not sure if she should knock or just go in. After a moment she decided to go for it. She turned the knob, pulled the door wide, and entered.