Final cut, p.25
Final Cut, page 25
“Because he seems so volatile. I’m not saying I blame him,” Joey said quickly. “The death of a child would send anybody round the bend; it’s no wonder if he’s not quite himself.” She shook her head sympathetically. “But this is a very unhealthy situation, with the two of you here, working for Pray.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Sam’s face was suddenly flushed. “We can take care of ourselves.”
But Joey couldn’t let this go.
“He’s angry, and my guess is he’s looking for someone to answer for Sofia’s death,” she argued. “That could make him a danger to anybody he thinks is responsible, or even to himself.”
“He’d never hurt anybody,” Sam said staunchly. “He couldn’t.”
“I know you love him, but if he’s got emotional problems, you need to speak up and get him some help,” Joey insisted. “For his sake as well as yours.”
“Daddy’s right, you don’t know the first thing about us.” Sam’s eyes turned cold. “I need to go find him now.”
She abandoned the clean-up and started toward the stage door, then turned back to face Joey. “He’s a good man and a good father. Everybody needs to just leave us alone.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joey felt terrible about her run-in with Stuart and Sam, though in a way it was just bad luck. She was sure Sam had been on the brink of confiding in her when Stuart interrupted them. Joey wanted to reach out to her again but thought it was probably best to give Sam time to cool off.
Despite all the ugliness and confusion of the morning, she couldn’t shake the feeling that some crucial insight hovered just beyond her reach. She kept collecting information that seemed important to the investigation of Courtney’s murder; she just couldn’t quite see how the pieces fit together.
She wondered if the police were making progress with the case, and for one brief second she wished she could call Detective Blankenship to ask what was happening on her end. But until the cops officially checked her off the suspect list, Joey needed to keep her head down.
In the meantime, she wasn’t willing to sit back and wait for somebody else to figure things out. Maybe she didn’t have the big picture yet, but she believed that Pray’s pattern of sexual abuse and manipulation was key, and she wanted to understand more about the nature of the relationships he had with Courtney, Sofia, and, by extension, with Stuart and Sam. The fact she despised the man wasn’t the only reason she wanted to expose him, but that goal gave her a renewed sense of purpose.
As always, her sources for information were scarce. She wouldn’t trust anything Caleb had to say, even if he’d take her call. He’d been evasive from the start, and if he wasn’t directly involved in his sister’s death (and Joey wasn’t ready to count him out) there was still something shady about his attitude that made her think he had more to hide than a grieving brother should.
Given her limited options, she decided it was time to take another crack at Sofia’s agent, Eva Birkus. Courtney was the second of Pray’s girlfriends who’d died in less than two years. Joey wanted to know more about what happened to the first one.
The dark corner by Crafty that had been her refuge now seemed claustrophobic: Joey needed to get out into the light. She pushed through the door of the soundstage straight into a wall of heat that felt like a convection oven set to broil. In other words, just your normal summer day in the Valley. She didn’t want to go back to the wardrobe trailer, where there was no privacy and her side of the call to Birkus would be up for public consumption, so she pressed herself into a scrap of shade provided by an alcove near the stage entrance.
But the Warner lot was busy and noisy, with the usual studio traffic. Trucks and equipment rumbled along the narrow passageways between soundstages, dodging trams full of tourists buzzing with excitement as their guides pointed out the buildings where beloved TV shows like Friends and The Big Bang Theory had been shot.
Joey had to strain to hear the receptionist who answered at Olympus Artists Agency. This time when she asked to speak to Birkus and was told, “Please hold,” she got ready to leave a message on the agent’s voice mail.
“This is Eva Birkus.”
Taken by surprise, Joey fumbled her intro. “Oh, hi. I expected to get your voice mail.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” The agent’s voice was low and gruff. “What do you want?”
“I’m calling in regard to Sofia Campbell, who used to be a client of yours,” Joey said cautiously.
“I’m aware Sofia was a client. Who are you, and why are you calling about a girl who’s been dead for more than a year?”
“My name’s Joey Jessop, and I’m a friend of Sofia’s sister, Samantha.”
“Really.” Her tone was steeped in skepticism. “And the purpose of your call?”
“It’s a long story.” Joey cringed while she gathered her thoughts; she should’ve had her spiel down pat before she made the call.
“I’ll give you thirty seconds before I hang up,” Birkus said.
“Sofia’s sister, Samantha, and I are working on a movie being directed by Marcus Pray, and we’ve gotten to be friendly.” Joey knew she was talking too fast. “But I’m worried about her; I think she took this job because of what happened to her sister.”
Birkus didn’t hang up, but she didn’t respond either, so Joey plunged ahead.
“Sam’s a sweet girl, but she’s delicate, and Sofia’s death hit her hard. I know this isn’t your problem, but I care about her, and I’d like to find a way to help.”
Joey caught her breath with a little gulp. There was a long pause, and she was afraid she’d blown the contact with her garbled explanation.
“Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke,” Birkus finally said. “No way on God’s green earth should Sofia’s sister be working for that degenerate.”
Her worries the agent might have ties to Pray disappeared.
“It’s no joke,” she said. “Samantha does craft service for the movie.”
“Well, you don’t sound like a reporter, not that a single one of them has shown the slightest interest so far.” Birkus’s tone softened. “If this is Samantha, I’d like to meet you, honey. I was very fond of your sister.”
Joey didn’t blame Birkus for doubting her story. “I’m not, but I think she might speak with you if you want. My name really is Joey, and I work in the costume department.”
“All I can say is, if you have any influence with Samantha, get her out of there. You should go too, you want my opinion. Nothing good can happen with Pray running rampant.”
“Then maybe you can help me,” Joey said. “I’ve been looking for information about what happened to Sofia, but I haven’t had any luck online; and when I tried to talk to Sam about it, I got the impression she may not know a lot of the details herself.”
“I hope for her sake that’s true,” Birkus said emphatically. “If you’re her friend, trust me, you’ll want it to stay that way.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Ms. Birkus, and I don’t discount your advice. I’d never want to do anything to hurt Sam.”
“I’m glad to know that, young lady, so please listen carefully when I tell you again to get out of there. Take Sam with you and go.”
“It’s not that simple,” Joey countered. “I have other responsibilities … other people involved. That’s why I need your help to understand what happened to Sofia. I know she died on New Year’s Day in 2022, and Sam told me she drowned accidentally—”
“Wrong!” Birkus said harshly.
“Excuse me?” The venom she put into that one word brought Joey up short.
“There was nothing accidental about it. She walked naked into the surf in front of Pray’s Malibu beach house while he was entertaining a new lady friend or two inside, and she didn’t come back out. Not alive, anyway.”
Now Joey heard the pain in the other woman’s voice. She swallowed hard, unable to trust her own.
“Hello? You still there?” Birkus’s tone went flat again. “You see why you’re not doing her sister a service by pursuing this?”
“Are you sure?” Joey closed her eyes, knowing she could never be the one to tell Sam.
“I wasn’t an eyewitness if that’s what you mean. But yeah, I’m sure.”
“But I couldn’t find a single mention of her death anywhere when I looked; nothing in any of the newspapers or the trades, not even the tabloids.”
It was easier for Joey to focus on facts than the heartbreak of this discovery.
“Pray’s a very powerful man in this town,” Birkus said, as if the answer was obvious. “It happened on his private property, and he was able to control the flow of information from the beginning.”
“Then how do you know all this?” Joey asked.
“Lots of people know, believe me,” Birkus said grimly. “But they’re not going to say anything because they don’t want to get on the wrong side of Marcus Pray. There’s no percentage in it. A jilted girl dead by her own hand isn’t reason enough to make him angry.”
“So why are you telling me this now?” Joey persisted. “Aren’t you worried about making him angry?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re in any position to make much trouble for a man like Pray, even if you wanted to. I’d be rooting for you if you could.”
Her words were a bitter pill for Joey, especially after the scene in Pray’s trailer that morning.
“The truth is, I still feel guilty,” Birkus went on. “I hadn’t spoken to Sofia for several months before she died. Pray convinced her to dump me and sign with his agent. I know she felt bad about it, because she was a sweet girl, and we were fond of each other. I did try to warn her about him, but she said he was a changed man.”
Joey thought back to the months of happy Instagram posts. “I guess it didn’t take.”
“Men like Pray don’t change,” Birkus said. “And to answer your question, I guess I’m telling you now because you asked. Nobody cared enough to call and ask about her before. She’s been tossed away and forgotten.”
“You don’t sound like any Hollywood agent I’ve ever met.”
“Never fear, I’m as cold-blooded as the rest of them. I just think it stinks she got such a rotten deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“You all right?”
Joey looked up to find Lionel watching her. She still stood outside the stage door with her phone clasped in her hand.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling the opposite.
He shook his head. “You’ve been standing there staring at nothing. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” Frowning, she pocketed the phone.
“Listen, I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier.” Concern puckered his brow. “Anything I can help with, just say the word.”
“Sure, I will.” She nodded woodenly. “Thanks, Lionel.”
“Okay.” He opened the stage door. “See you later, then,” he said with a doubtful glance back at her.
Joey wished she had someone to use as a sounding board to talk through all she’d learned, but she knew her coworkers wouldn’t want to be burdened with the information. Gossip was one thing, but a politically sensitive scandal that could jeopardize their jobs? Nobody wanted a piece of that. Then who could she talk to, and who could she trust? Certainly no one higher up the corporate ladder at the studio. The warning they delivered through Bill made it clear they’d shut her down as soon as they got the gist of what she had to say about their megastar producer/director.
So where did that leave her? It was no secret Pray was a sexual predator, but what if he was a killer to boot? Courtney was the second of his girlfriends to wind up dead in the past eighteen months. That should raise a few red flags if only someone with official standing would take an interest.
Anxiety gripped her. Who could say for sure Sofia’s death was suicide if, as Eva Birkus claimed, Pray controlled the narrative around her drowning from the beginning? That was enough to make Joey question the cause of death, especially after her up close and personal encounter with him. The man had a taste for violence; she felt that at the cellular level, like a hunted animal senses danger. Birkus’s story only confirmed Pray was a toxic menace, as if Joey needed more evidence of that.
None of these insights helped much; she still couldn’t decide what to do next. She felt seriously out of her depth, with nowhere safe to turn. Even if she rolled the dice and went to the cops with the information she had, there was no reason to think they’d take her word to go after a powerful man like Pray. Nobody had so far. It was maddening, but she’d hit a brick wall.
To keep from sinking into utter despair, Joey threw herself into her busy schedule for the day, starting with her check-in at Hammer and Tongs. Damir had cast his net wide and filled every available nook in his costume house with skilled craftspeople who were frantically pumping out work to meet the Wednesday goal for camera.
From there she went on to FabricArt, a studio that was custom printing fabrics for six of their superheroes; the next stop was Sylvia’s to inspect the embroidery for Renée Zellweger’s cape. That’s how she spent the better part of the day, making the rounds of her vendors, bouncing from one to the next with a pinball’s momentum.
Glendale to West Hollywood, then downtown, the west side, and north to the Valley again, Joey crisscrossed the city. The day was another SoCal stunner, sunny with cobalt skies spreading from the foothills of Pasadena to the coastline of Santa Monica. And at each of her stops, she found the work going well: no hitches, no delays, no complaints. After the past couple of days, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Normally, she enjoyed this routine. Photos and texts could tell you only so much; there was no substitute for seeing the garments, touching the fabrics, talking with the artisans who brought the designs to life.
But even the progress with the work couldn’t lift her spirits. There was no escape from the dark thoughts that trailed her like an unwelcome shadow. The rift with the Campbells was never far from her mind; and the more she learned, the more she worried for Sam in this setting with Pray in command, although (as with so much else lately) she wasn’t sure what to do about that.
Pray remained an open question, and no matter how many ways Joey approached the problem, she couldn’t see an effective path forward. Then there was the looming issue of the mystery man, the big guy she spotted on set. Was her follower from PCH on the movie’s crew or were her fears twisting her perceptions?
As she steered back onto the Warner lot, she got a text from Dahlia:
Find me when you get to set.
The text pulled her head back into the workday. She hadn’t heard from Dahlia since that morning when she sent her photos of the three new actors on set and in costume just before camera rolled. That felt like a lifetime ago. The designer replied to the message with a thumbs-up emoji, but she hadn’t shown up on set to watch them work.
Now Joey decided Dahlia would have to wait. Before she did anything else, she wanted to check in with the set costumers to see how the day was shaping up. When she came in the side entrance to Stage Five, she scanned the area automatically for any sign of Pray or the mystery man. It galled her to realize this had become her first instinct when she walked onto set. All the work lights were on, and she found Zephyr reorganizing the set rack near video village.
“How’s it going so far?” she asked.
“I don’t want to jinx us, but it’s all good.” Zephyr gave her a quick smile. “We’re moving fast for a change.”
Around them, the stage was alive with activity as the grips, electricians, and camera crew hustled to get ready for the next shot. Joey noticed Eli standing on the sidelines, supervising the work, his expression dark and serious. She wondered if that meant more trouble was brewing.
“You doing okay with our new cast?” she asked Zephyr.
“Dreamboats, all of them, couldn’t be nicer.” She lowered her voice. “The set feels different today; maybe they brought us good luck.”
As if, Joey thought, but she wasn’t going to grinch on Zephyr. “Where’s the rest of our crew?”
“Crafty and bathroom. Christine and I are spelling each other so one of us stays with the rack; I’m going to break when she comes back, and that should be any time now.”
“There’s my secret weapon.”
Dahlia appeared at Joey’s side, looking camera-ready herself in a green brocade coat and black silk trousers. Her hair was a cascade of carefully blown-out curls, her makeup understated and flawless.
“Where are you off to?” Joey asked.
“I’ve already been.” She linked her arm through Joey’s. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. But not here; I only popped in to make an appearance.”
“I just got back myself, but Zephyr says everything’s going well, the best day so far on set.”
“Even a blind pig finds an acorn every now and then,” Dahlia sneered. She swiveled, looking around the stage. “Speaking of pigs, where’s Marcus? I need to see him for a quick sec before we get out of here.”
Zephyr cleared her throat. “I heard him tell Lionel he’d be in his trailer for the break.”
“Hopefully, doing something that will put him in a good mood when he comes back to set,” Dahlia said, absently fluffing her curls.
Joey couldn’t help being curious about the change in Dahlia’s attitude. The designer seemed almost playful, a one-eighty reversal from her chilly behavior at the superhero fittings the day before.
“Look who’s here.” Pray swept through the door of the mayor’s office set. “I thought I heard your voice, Dahlia.”
Joey had to work to keep a neutral expression on her face. She felt no obligation to acknowledge Pray, but she didn’t want to give any sign that it bothered her to see him.
“There you are.” Dahlia pasted on a smile as she crossed the stage to greet him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“You know, we have three principal actors working for the first time today.” Pray’s tone was brittle with false cheer. “Have you met them, by any chance?”
