Dream Town

Chapter 5

Archer next drove them to Wilshire Boulevard and through the gates of the Ambassador Hotel, a twelve-hundred-room extravaganza set on over twenty acres with pools, tennis courts, columns of private bungalows, and enough pretentiousness to satisfy the most inflated of egos.

A spiffy valet in a mauve-colored uniform took the car key with a grin.

“That’s a Delahaye 165 cabriolet,” he said.

“Yes it is,” said a surprised Archer. “How do you know that?”

“My granddad’s French,” he said. “He worked at the company before World War I.”

“Great, but this has the steering wheel on the other side of the English Channel.”

They entered the main dining room. It had once been the grand ballroom for the hotel; a thousand diners were eating and drinking, all while sitting next to fake, full-sized palm trees with mechanical monkeys swinging overhead.

Archer knew the Academy Awards had been held here numerous times, and he had a feeling that Callahan would love nothing more than to walk down the red carpet with that little statuette. Now he looked at Callahan, and she eyed him back.

“I won’t be long,” she said in an apologetic tone.

“Sure you won’t,” he said dully.

They had talked about this on the way over.

Callahan was not really here for a drink. She was here to work.

While Callahan went to mingle and see who she needed to see, Archer reversed course and went directly to the hotel bar, which looked like the world’s biggest palm tree had sprouted right behind the smiling countermen. Archer didn’t want a frond in his face, just a drink in his hand. And a minute later, in return for two bucks, he was saddled with a whiskey and water, where the whiskey appeared as a nominal oil slick on the water’s surface.

One fresh-faced girl, presumably from out of state and there with her equally goggle-eyed parents, came up to him and, giggling excitedly, asked if he was famous and could she have her picture taken with him.

“I’m famous, but only in my own mind,” he had dutifully replied.

And she still had her picture taken with him and would go back to wherever to tell everyone about her once-in-a-lifetime encounter with someone who was so famous he denied being so.

He downed his weakened whiskey and thought, Only in this town.

He got up once and peered into the Grove and watched as self-important tuxedoed men sat around in their wicker chairs ignoring their meals and their powdered and primped wives and girlfriends while looking for fresh, if wildly impossible, female prospects. For their part, the wives and girlfriends smiled regally and tried to rise above it all, while really wanting to strangle their gents.

Despite the flow from an air-conditioning system, sweaty waiters carried trays piled with steaks rare, oceans of mushrooms, and mountains of fried onion rings. A live orchestra played away, while lithe and limber dancing girls helped to boogie-woogie and tango in the new year. Ingots of golden light illuminated the show to such a bright degree that Archer eyed several patrons who had donned sunglasses.

When Callahan circled back to him later, he said, none too happily, “See who you needed to see, or do I have to sit here hydrating with more water than whiskey, while you make another pass through the chow line?”

She stroked his cheek in apology. “I know, Archer, it gets me down, too.”

He got her a drink because she looked like she needed it. “Is it really worth it?”

“I don’t know. Yet. And look at you.”

“Look at me what?”

“You’re right here in the thick of it in wild and woolly LA. Must be a reason.”

“Maybe I just like to be close to you,” he said, eyeing her over his tumbler of whiskey.

“Right. When you work down here the only ones you’re close to are your clients and whoever ends up dead. And you’re thinking about Ellie Lamb. I know that look.”

“I admit she interests me.”

“Why?”

“She’s holding back. Clients who lie to you are always interesting.”

“What makes you think she’s lying?”

“Just call it a professional hunch. She may not know who’s doing these things to her, but I think she has an idea why they are.”

“If she does, why won’t she tell you?”

“And therein lies the interesting part.”