Beverly Hills Dead Read online

  BEVERLY HILLS DEAD

  BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

  FICTION

  Shoot Him If He Runs†

  Fresh Disasters†

  Short Straw

  Dark Harbor†

  Iron Orchid*

  Two-Dollar Bill†

  The Prince of Beverly Hills

  Reckless Abandon†

  Capital Crimes‡

  Dirty Work†

  Blood Orchid*

  The Short Forever†

  Orchid Blues*

  Cold Paradise†

  L.A. Dead†

  The Run‡

  Worst Fears Realized†

  Orchid Beach*

  Swimming to Catalina†

  Dead in the Water†

  Dirt†

  Choke

  Imperfect Strangers

  Heat

  Dead Eyes

  L.A. Times

  Santa Fe Rules

  New York Dead†

  Palindrome

  Grass Roots‡

  White Cargo

  Deep Lie‡

  Under the Lake

  Run Before the Wind‡

  Chiefs‡

  TRAVEL

  A Romantic’s Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)

  MEMOIR

  Blue Water, Green Skipper (1977)

  BEVERLY HILLS DEAD

  STUART WOODS

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS | NEW YORK

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2008 by Stuart Woods

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Woods, Stuart.

  Beverly Hills dead / Stuart Woods.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 9781101211977

  1. Beverly Hills (Calif.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.O642B48 2007 2007028158

  813'.54—dc22

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  This book is for

  David and Susan Lederman.

  BEVERLY HILLS DEAD

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  1

  Rick Barron took one last look through the viewfinder, then he turned to the assistant director. “Conversation,” he said.

  The AD held up a megaphone and shouted, “Conversation!”

  At once, a hundred and fifty extras, packed into a set that was a replica of Sardi’s, the famous theater-district restaurant in New York, began to talk.

  “Action,” Rick said quietly.

  “Speed,” the camera operator replied.

  Waiters began to move among the tables.

  “Cue the entrance,” Rick said.

  “Entrance,” the AD said into a microphone hanging around his neck. He signaled the dolly man, and the camera began to roll smoothly down the restaurant’s main aisle toward the entrance of the restaurant.

  The front door opened, and his leading lady, Glenna Gleason, wearing a gorgeous evening gown and followed by another actress and two actors, all in evening dress, walked in and were greeted by a Vincent Sardi look-alike. As they walked past the small bar and entered the dining room, the camera backtracked, and, on cue, all the diners stood and applauded.

  Glenna managed to look shocked, then delighted as she followed “Sardi” to their table along the wall. The camera stopped and moved in closer as a microphone boom was lowered over the false wall to pick up their dialogue.

  “My God,” Glenna said. “I didn’t know it could be like this.”

  The actor on her left turned to her. “Katherine,” he said, “it’s going to be like this from now on.”

  On Rick’s signal, the camera began to dolly slowly away from the table and, keeping Glenna’s party in the center of the frame, rose to a height of twelve feet and stopped.

  “Keep the conversation going,” Rick said from his chair on the boom next to the camera. He sat and watched the stopwatch in his hand for ninety seconds, which was what they needed to roll under the closing titles. “Cut!” he yelled, finally. “Print it! That’s a wrap!” It was the fourth take, and it was perfect. They had shot the three scenes set at Sardi’s all on the same day, and now it was done: Rick had made his first feature film as a director. He sagged with relief as the camera operator pounded him on the back.

  Then, to his astonishment, every actor on the set rose from his seat and gave t
he director a standing ovation. Rick stood up, holding on to the camera for support, then turned and faced the bulk of the crowd. “Cut!” he yelled again. “Start the party!”

  A part of the rear wall of the set was rolled away, revealing a huge buffet table and a bar serving real booze instead of the tea in the prop glasses on the table. The crowd of extras surged toward the food and drink, and Rick signaled the boom operator to lower the camera to the floor. He hopped off and slid into a banquette beside his wife, giving her a big kiss. “Glenna, my darling, that was great. It’s going to be wonderful, the whole thing.”

  Two of the actors got up from the table and made way for Eddie Harris, the chairman of Centurion Studios, and Sidney Brooks, the famous New York playwright, who had written the script for Times Square Dance.

  “Rick,” Eddie said, “congratulations.”

  Champagne appeared and was poured.

  “I thought that last scene went beautifully,” Brooks said to everybody.

  “Sid, we’re going to do your script proud,” Rick said. “Just give me a couple of days, and I’ll show you a rough cut.”

  “I can’t wait,” Brooks replied.

  “I have to go pee,” Glenna said, and Rick let her out of the banquette. The actor playing her husband got up, too, leaving Rick, Eddie Harris and Sidney Brooks at the table.

  “Fellas,” Brooks said, “I have to tell you something.”

  Rick looked at the man across the table. For the first time since he had met the playwright, the man looked less than happy.

  “What’s up, Sid?” Eddie asked.

  “I wanted to tell you before it hits the papers tomorrow,” Brooks said.

  “Tell us what?” Rick asked.

  “I’ve been subpoenaed by the House Un-American Activities Committee, along with eighteen other people, mostly writers but a few actors and one director.”

  “Oh, shit,” Eddie said. “Well, don’t worry about it; get a good lawyer.”

  “I’m sorry, Sid,” Rick said, “but Eddie is right about the lawyer.”

  “There’s a meeting tomorrow,” Brooks replied. “I want to tell you fellows…”

  “You don’t need to tell us anything,” Eddie said.

  “You mean, you’d rather not know, don’t you, Eddie?”

  “The first thing your lawyer is going to tell you is to shut up,” Eddie said. “I’m just giving you a head start; don’t say anything to anybody, unless your lawyer approves it first.”

  “I’m not looking to drag anybody into this,” Brooks said. “I just want to be honest with you. This picture has been the best experience I’ve had since I came out here four years ago; it’s the first picture that’s given me the same sort of satisfaction that writing a play used to.”

  “Look, Sid,” Rick said, “these people are going to hold their hearings, grill some movie stars, and then it’ll be over. Six months from now you’ll have put it behind you.”

  Brooks set a briefcase on the table, opened it and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “I’ve been working on this for two years,” he said. “I’ve never told anybody about it, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever written for either the stage or film, and after the wonderful experience I’ve had with the production of Times Square Dance, I want you fellows to produce it, and, Rick, I’d be delighted if you’d direct again.”

  “Thank you, Sid,” Rick said, and he meant it. “I’ll read it tonight.”

  “Tell your agent to call Rick in the morning,” Eddie said. “We’ll have a deal before lunchtime.”

  “But you haven’t even read it, Eddie,” Brooks said, laughing.

  “I don’t need to. I’ll buy it sight unseen.”

  Rick knew that wasn’t quite true, but he knew that Eddie expected to like the script; he would want Rick’s opinion first, though.

  “It’s a western,” Brooks said.

  “What?” Rick exclaimed. “The theater’s urban genius has written a western?”

  “The grittiest, down-and-dirtiest western you ever saw,” Brooks said. “I love westerns, and I’ve always wanted to write one; to tell you the truth, it’s the principal reason I came out here, just to get the opportunity. I’ve had the idea for a long time, but it wouldn’t work on the stage, and I didn’t want it produced without the level of participation you fellows have given me.”

  “Thank you, Sid,” Rick said.

  Glenna returned from the ladies’ room and sat down. “I called home,” she said. “The girls are fine, and I told Rosie to give them dinner and put them to bed. I take it we’ll be here for a while.”

  “I think we will,” Rick said. “I think I’d better circulate and thank everybody.” He handed Brooks’s script to her. “Guard this with your life,” he said. “It’s the next Sidney Brooks film.”

  “Oh, is there a part for me?” she asked excitedly.

  “I haven’t read it yet, sweetheart; I’ll let you know tomorrow.” Rick got up and began making his way around the Sardi’s set, shaking hands, hugging and kissing and enduring many claps on the back.

  A moment later, Eddie Harris caught up with him. “Listen, kid,” he said, leaning into Rick’s ear. “If that script is any good we need to get it into production fast.”

  “I’m supposed to personally produce the new war film,” Rick said. “We could do it right after that.”

  “I got a bad feeling about these HUAC hearings,” Eddie said. “I’d rather have Sid’s film in the can, even if we have to postpone production on the war movie.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you when I’ve read it,” Rick said. Eddie fell away, and Rick continued his rounds, but his euphoria at finishing shooting had been pricked by Eddie Harris, and air was leaking out.

  2

  The wrap party was over by eight. Rick drove Glenna to her cottage/dressing room to change out of her gown, then home. They looked in on their daughters, Louise, two, and Glenn, three months, and found them happily asleep. Glenna went to bed with a novel, and Rick settled into his study to read Sidney Brooks’s new script.

  It was just as down-and-dirty as Sid had said it was, probably the most realistic depiction of the Old West that Rick had come across, and he loved it. He knew Eddie Harris would still be up, and he called him.

  “Eddie Harris.”

  “It’s me; the script is terrific. We may take some heat for the realism, but it’s worth fighting for.”

  “Then buy it. Pay him more than he expects; he may need the money soon.”

  “You’re really worried about the committee hearings?”

  “Never underestimate how far politicians will go to get their names in the papers.”

  “You know what’s-his-name, don’t you? The California congressman who’s on the committee?”

  “Dick Nixon? Yeah, I know him, and as far as I’m concerned he’s a real shit. He beat Helen Gahagan Douglas by telling people she was a Communist, which she in no way, shape or form was, and I won’t ask him for a favor.”

  “You know anybody else on the committee?”

  “Nah, they’re all from New Jersey or the South or someplace.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help Sid?”

  “It’s too soon to tell. All we can do right now is to pay him well and up front for his script.”

  “Up front?”

  “It’s the least we can do after the job he did on Times Square Dance. What’s the new script called?”

  “Bitter Creek. It’s about a fight over water rights.”

  “Tried-and-true western theme.”

  “Believe me, nothing about this is tried-and-true. There are no heroes, just people who are less bad than other people.”

  “Will it sell tickets?”

  “Yes. There are at least three roles that leading actors would kill for and one really good female role, a woman who runs a ranch after her husband is murdered.”

  “Glenna?”

  “Only if she really wants to do it. I wouldn’t try to persuade her; it’s so dif
ferent from everything else she’s done. Think of a younger Marjorie Main.”

  “That sure doesn’t sound like Glenna.”

  “I think that’s what she’ll say, too.”

  “Okay, kid, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eddie hung up.

  Rick poured himself half a drink and reflected on what his life might be like now were it not for Eddie Harris’s friendship. Rick had still been a cop when he had witnessed a horrible traffic accident involving Centurion’s biggest star at the time, Clete Barrow. A woman had run a stop sign and had been killed as a result. Rick had been quick-witted enough to get the actor out of there and, at Barrow’s urging, called Eddie Harris. Before he knew what had hit him, Rick had become Centurion’s head of security, and since that date, Eddie had given him more and more responsibility.

  When Rick had had to get out of L.A. because of a shooting and had joined the navy, Eddie had continued to pay his salary, and when he returned, his knee shot up, Eddie had found the best knee surgeon west of the Mississippi to fix it. Now, with studio founder Sol Weinman dead, Eddie was chairman and CEO, and Rick had his old job as head of production.

  Rick’s career as a cop was already on the rocks when he met Eddie, and if not for Eddie, he’d probably be a down-at-the-heels private eye, doing divorce work.

  Rick emptied his glass and went up to bed. Glenna was still awake.