Chapter Two - Grace

Chapter Two

Grace 

"Freeze!" I shouted, pulling my gun from it's holster and pointing it at the masked man. He turned quickly, his own gun in hand and I fired twice, my second bullet ripping into his left shoulder and spinning him to the ground. He swore at me and scrambled away, around the corner of the bank. My partner Doug flew past me after him and I followed, hearing another gunshot as I rounded the corner. The a brick next to my ear exploded from the impact of the bullet and I looked ahead to see my partner return fire, catching the man in the chest and dropping him to the ground.

"Are you alright, Abigail?" Doug asked me, glancing over his shoulder at me as I approached.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Better than him."

He shook his head wearily and walked over to the man, kicking the gun away from his hand. "Just once I'd like them to actually freeze."

"That would make our job too easy," I replied, slipping my pistol back into its' holster. "Now we'll have to work to find Johnny's hangout."

"Yeah, work. Wonder what that will be like?" Doug snorted. "Damn it. Every time we have a lead we end up killing them."

"I only shot him in the shoulder, you're the one who insisted on a killshot," I reminded him.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I grinned at him. "My pleasure."

"Cut!" the director shouted. "That's it, people."

I relaxed my stance and smiled at Chris, my co-star. "That was a good one, I think."

"Was decent enough for his taste," Chris said, nodding at the director and heading off of the set to his chair. He collapsed into it and snatched up a bottle of water offered to him by an intern.

I sighed at his endless negativity, but was happy with my performance. I watched as the masked man stood and peeled off his ski-mask and bloody shirt, exposing the wires and bloodbags underneath. I loved this business, I could lose myself in the story, actually become Abigail Smith. I was truly blessed to find my calling so soon in my life. 

It felt like just yesterday that I had been doing commercials and ads. I owed my advancement in the business to my best friend Natasha, who found this world so simple and easy to understand. She knew people, knew what made them tick and how to handle them. That was her profession as a life coach.

I glanced at my watch and moved over to the director, Harry Jordan, who was talking to the producer of the show Dominic Valez about the next few scenes from the script. They argued often, Dominic seemed to think that he was the director of the show himself sometimes. He was very hands on and incredibly picky. He was also a world class jerk, but that was neither here nor there.

"Excuse me," I said when they paused to look down at the script. Harry glanced up questioningly, but Dominic ignored me completely. "Are we done shooting for the day?"

Harry glared pointedly at Dominic and he scowled in reply.

"Yes, we are," Dominic growled.

Harry nodded in satisfaction, obviously pleased to have more time to argue his case. "See you tomorrow, Grace."

I smiled at him. "Have a good night, Harry." I turned and walked away, past Chris to my chair and began collecting my things, packing them away in my leather bag. I had discovered last season that it paid to be organized here, the more quickly you could exit the better. Mostly due to my persistant co-star. I slung the bag over my shoulder and looked at my watch again. Five-thirty, I could easily make my dinner with Natasha.

As I left the set and passed into the back halls on my way to my car I heard the door click closed, then open again a second later. I sighed to myself. Here we go again.

"Grace, great work today," Chris congratulated her, a beaming smile curling up his handsome features.

"Thank you," I said, returning his smile. "You were good as well. I really like where the story is going this season."

"It's getting more interesting with Johnny Baxter in there," he agreed, referring to the mobster villain that he and Grace's characters were tracking.

I nodded and waited for the inevitable. It always amazed me at how two-faced Chris was. When we were on the set he hardly even glanced at me, always rude and blunt. He claimed that it was his focus, but in reality he was just a self-centered prima donna.

"You have any plans for tonight?" he asked, eyes glinting.

I forced a smile and nodded. "Yes, I'm meeting Natasha for dinner."

"Ah. You two have dinner a lot, don't you?"

"When we can. She's a busy person, we usually have lunch."

"Well, have a nice night then," he said, his voice now in it's usual flat and uncaring tone. He fell back and turned to walk in the direction of the set again.

I shook my head helplessly and reached into my bag, withdrawing my cell phone. I dialed up Natasha and it had barely rung once before she picked up.

"About time you called, I was beginning to think you never would," Natasha chastised teasingly.

"Funny," I laughed, pushing through the last door and entering the parking lot. "Dinner's not for another two hours. You still up for it?"

"Mmm. Well, I did meet this incredibly good looking guy earlier. He's a struggling actor, if you can believe that. Rare breed in this town, let me tell you. Only sixty percent of my clientelle fall under that catagory."

"A rare opportunity, then. Which is it, me or him?"

"I'm going to settle on both, I think. Can always just call him over after I get in tonight."

I winced. Natasha wasn't the shy type. "Alright, then. Bellisario's at eight, right?"

"Reservations are all set. See you then."

There was a click on the other end of the line before I could reply and I hung up with a laugh. I reached my car and unlocked it, getting in and putting it into gear. Most of the people I knew in my posistion had expensive sports cars, but I loved my Mini Cooper. It suited me well in every way, from its tiny size to the personality it seemed to have. Plus, it was surprising just how small a space I could fit through in it. It was a lot smaller than it looked.

I arrived at my apartment a short while later and dropped my keys on my coffee table next to my phone. No messages, not much of a surprise there.

Since moving to L.A. from Phoenix six years ago I hadn't made many friends. Just one in fact, and that was after four years in the city. I knew people of course, my co-workers in the coffee shop I had worked in were friendly enough overall, but I didn't make my first friend until I had almost run into Natasha's car in a parking lot. One thing had led to another and before I knew it I was seeing her four times a week, one of her clients. She had really turned my life around. If it hadn't been for her I never would have landed my role on L.A.P.D.

As I got undressed to shower I thought back on what it had been like those four years, alone in the city. I had almost gone back home many times, back to my loving family in Phoenix. I had never lacked friends back there, I had a half dozen that I would hang out with every day, but things in L.A. were different. I didn't fit into the crowds that I was going for, not for a long while. I had been determined to make my dreams a reality, and now I had everything I ever wanted.

Almost everything anyway.

I stepped into the shower and sighed to myself, turning on the water and closing the glass door. The warm water felt good, soaking my thick red hair thoroughly and making it pull heavily on my scalp.

Just as I hadn't made any friends other than Natasha since moving here, I hadn't found a man either. I had dreamed of finding the one, that person that was the other half of me, my center, ever since I was six. So far I'd had no such luck. It wasn't for lack of men asking me out, I was approached five times a day, but they were always either creepy stalker types, egomaniacs or possessive sleazeballs. I had just about given up on L.A. for romance.

By the time I was done showering and getting ready it was after seven o'clock, and by the time I pulled up outside Bellisario's it was exactly eight o'clock. I smiled at the valet as he took my keys and adjusted the strap on my dress, looking past him at Natasha's bright red Lamborghini Gallardo, which stood out like a neon sign even outside an upscale restaurant such as this. Just how she liked it. I walked up to the doors and tried not to look over at the people that lined the sidewalk, large cameras in hand. A few snapped photos of me, but I was a small fish in a big ocean here in L.A., not very newsworthy. I was thankful of that every day. I enjoyed my level of fame, I couldn't imagine being followed by packs of jackals every day like movies stars were.

The doorman opened the door and tipped his hat at me and I nodded in response, walking inside. It was a beautiful restaurant, the floor a deep blue marble and the walls sculpted plaster with intricate designs over every inch of it.

"Ah, Ms. Morgan, a pleasure to have you with us again," Vinnie the maitr 'd greeted me with a broad smile. "Ms. Reynold's is in the bar awaiting your arrival. Your table will be ready in a matter of minutes."

"Thank you, Vinnie," I said. "You're looking thinner." He was, too. He had always been a very broad Italian man, almost stereotypically so with his slicked back hair and fine suits.

He nodded eagerly, running his hands over his jacket. "I've lost ten pounds so far, Ms. Morgan. Thank you for noticing!"

I gave him a little wave and walked into the bar. It was darker in here, as one might expect, but it was still very classy with exorbitantly expensive looking lamps and furniture arranged about the room. I spotted Natasha at the bar right away, an incredibly bright dress barely covering her exposed back. It looked as though it might fall off at any moment, and from the stares she was receiving from the men in the room that was the point. She had three men fawning over her and she tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder, stroking one's arm teasingly. I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to face me, her hungry eyes managing to sparkle in the dim lighting.

"Ah, hello Grace," she greeted with a blinding smile. "This is Tom, George and Frank. They were keeping my company while I waited for you."

"Hello," I greeted, lowering my eyes. The men were Natasha's usual type, muscled and sharp, a predatory look about them. They thought of only one thing, just like her. It always made me uncomfortable no matter how many times I saw it.

"Well, if you boys will excuse us," Natasha said, snatching up her ridiculously small purse and turning from the bar. She grabbed my arm and led me in the direction of the bathroom, laughing loudly. She got like that when she was being pursued by more than one man. It was her drug of choice.

"Nice dress," I said flatly as we entered the bathroom and stepped in front of the mirrors.

She admired herself, adjusting her bra. "Yes, I know," she said smugly. "I found it today, horrifyingly expensive but..." She nodded at herself in the mirror, as though that was explanation enough. She turned her gaze to me and nodded in satisfaction. "You look lovely as well, the green really brings out your eyes."

I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time, prying my eyes off of her. I liked my dress, I had recently bought it myself. It had three times the amount of matieriel of Natasha's dress and probably cost a quarter as much, but just as her dress spoke of her personality, mine spoke of my own.

"Very... Pretty," Natasha complimented, her tone letting me know what she meant by that. She always referred to me as pretty, or beautiful. She referred to herself as sexy or ravishing.

"And you're very s****y tonight," I said brightly.

"Thank you," she winked. "Those boys at the bar certainly thought so, and really that's all that matters. Have a good day at work?" She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse and began carefully applying another layer.

"Typical day, I suppose," I sighed. "I enjoyed the work, but..."

"Chris," she nodded. "Another pitiful advance?"

"Like clockwork. You'd think he would take the hint by now. I mean, I once turned him down with the reason being I wanted to watch Wheel of Fortune."

Natasha laughed. "Well, persistance does pay off sometimes. Some women get a thrill out of being pursued so thoroughly."

I looked over at her and smirked, but she shook her head.

"No, not me, smartass. He's been chasing you for months, and obviously getting more and more desperate with each attempt. Desperation is never an attractive trait."

"But three desperate men drooling over you at the bar...?" I prodded.

"...Is fine for one night. One might even go so far as to say 'thrilling'."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll never get you."

"Mysterious, complicated and sexy all go together nicely. The perfect package. Come on, our table is ready by now."

She led the way out through the bar and past her admirers, who all sat up excitedly like dogs who spotted a steak. I watched, fighting back a smile at the reactions of those around us and looking again at my friend. Her stride in her six inch heels was flawless and her rear swayed from side to side with practiced perfection. I envied her in a way. She controled the room, at first because of her looks but it was much more than that. She was a force to be reckoned with, the most intelligent person I had ever known and if she had never lost an argument in her life I wouldn't be the least surprised.

"Vinnie, you're looking divine this evening," she complimented the maitr 'd as we exited the bar.

"Ah, Ms. Reynolds! Thank you," Vinnie said with a nod so enthsiastic it was almost a bow. "To say that you look lovely would be a grizzly insult."

"Thank you, do you have our usual table ready?"

"It will be ready in a matter of moments, I assure you. The couple who were dining there just left, their things are being cleared away as we speak."

Natasha flashed a dazzling smile at him that no doubt made his heart stop beating momentarily, then turned to me and pursed her lips in distaste. I grinned at her. She hated to wait for anything or anyone, I knew for a fact that she was fighting not to leave right now. She could be patient to play her games, drawing out anything from contract agreements on her book deals to leading on a particularly nice male companion for weeks at a time, but if she was asked to wait against her will she imploded like an punctured submarine.

"Here we are!" Vinnie said moments later, clapping his hands excitedly. "Right this way, ladies." He turned on his heel and pranced through the doorway and into the dining hall, which was crowded with the crème de le crème of the city, movie stars and grammy winners mingling with the super rich. The place was well lit, seemingly by natural light despite the darkness outside the windows. The lights were cleverly blinded and angled to give the place a feeling of late summer, and the live violinists played music accordingly on the stage on the far side of the room. 

Vinnie led us to our usual table in the center of the room and pulled our seats out for us, helping us unnecessarily. He departed soon after and we were left alone in the midst of the chaos around us. Groups of people spoke loudly, celebrating. Couples spoke quietly to one another, leaning over their tables and holding one another's hands. Business men played hardball over their meals, faces taught as they sized up their opponents. And there we were, right in the middle of it all. I felt exposed here, uncomfortable and feeling as though I were the center of attention, but Natasha seemed to become even more vibrant and enthused the moment we took our seats, drinking it all in.

"Mmm," she said, reaching for the wine that was already chilling in the middle of the table. "This is perfect, just what I needed to unwind."

"Tough day?" I asked, trying to ignore the threats two CEO's were firing at eachother at the table beside us.

"Not tough, no. I haven't had a difficult day in a while, my clientele at the moment is so dull. Domestic disputes, parental issues, work problems, actors suffering from a loss of identity... All too easy. That in and of itself is what's stressing me out, I need a challenge."

"It's a shame you get paid millions a year by people you can help in your sleep."

"Tell me about it," Natasha smiled wryly, pouring herself a glass of the wine and passing me the bottle. "Where's my Ted Bundy?"

I made face, shaking my head. "You would want to have Ted Bundy as a client?"

"Oh, yes! Can you imagine the publicity I would get if I coached a serial killer? Helped him get past his Mommy issues. Of course, they would kill him even once I suceeded."

"Once you succeeded, not if you succeed. You think you can undo something so imbedded into their subconcious as the need to cause others pain and suffering? They've been killing since they were five years old in most cases, haven't they?"

"Not humans, but yes, usually. And of course I could. It would be a simple matter, I could do it inside of a year. It's all about tricking the mind, manipulating emotions. I could play the most disciplined man like a harp." Natasha looked around the room as she spoke, wine in hand as she reclined and examined each face carefully.

"Serial killers are sociopaths, they have no emotions to manipulate," I argued.

"They just don't know they do. They were born without the ability to feel, but if you gave me an hour with the Son of Sam I'd have him crying about his little puppy."

"Wasn't it his neighbors dog?" I asked.

"A black lab named Harvey. Don't correct me when I'm ingratiating myself," she said, waggling her finger at me playfully.

"I would never be able to correct you then," I complained, picking up my menu.

"Precisely. Now, why are you looking at the menu? We've been here a dozen times, you always get the fettuccine alfredo with the salad."

I glared at her. "Because I'm never sure what I want it until I see my options."

"Too many options in this world," Natasha agreed. Her eyes roamed the room constantly, landing on me only occasionally. I didn't take offense to it, she was always reading people. It was what made her so good at her job. "That's why you need a plan, step by step as far into the distance as you can see."

"And when things change?"

"You adapt and build a new plan or you die. I prefer the prior, personally."

"I take it you know what you're getting then. You never get the same thing twice."

"Shrimp primavera."

I laughed. "And you decided this...?"

"Four nights ago."

"Nat, you plan way too much," I chided.

She winced at the nickname, but passed up the chance to threaten me for once and took a sip of her wine. It always amazed me how she made every gesture, even a sip from a wine glass, so delicate and purposeful. Her eyes locked with mine and I blushed as a grin spread across her face. She had read me like an open book, a very annoying skill indeed when I was thinking complimentory things about her.

"So, about Chris," she said, setting her glass down and turning her attention fully to me. "What's the little prick done now?"

"Nothing, really," I assured her, taking in a breath. "He just won't give up is all. He chased me down after we were done shooting and asked if I had any plans tonight, the usual."

"Should tell him we're dating. Would either shut him up or open a door to a ton of dyke insults and persecution, depending on his personality. I would wager it's the second choice from what I've heard of him."

"Without a doubt. I haven't outright rejected him yet, even though I've evaded him for a year. One of these days he's going to corner me though and just ask outright."

"He hasn't asked yet? After a year?" Natasha asked incredulously.

"He seems to want me to make the first move, it's a game to him. He blows hot and cold so often I'm getting whiplash."

"Mixing your metaphores there, but I get what you're saying. Well, that works out for you then. I've known that type before. It's a pathetic kind of pursuit, never tempting in the least. He's sloppy at the art. He obviously relys heavily on his fame to bring in the skanks at the local nightclubs."

"From what I've heard that's exactly what he does."

"Lazy," she said venomously. I couldn't help but laugh at how disgusted she was with him. She took seduction very seriously and hated anyone who used it so clumsily.

"I'm so pleased that I amuse you," Natasha said. "If he ever does outright ask you to go to dinner with him you can just tell him that you don't find that appropriate. Be firm, look him right in the eye. Hint at a sexual harrassment suit, but don't just threaten him with it. Be subtle but adamant."

"We don't all find it as easy as you to skate around difficult situations."

"Lack of effort. You're an actress for God's sake, Grace."

"It's different in real situations!" I protested.

"Only because you let it be different. There is no variation whatsoever, only that which you allow."

I sighed and set my menu down, waving for the waiter. "You talk like a shrink when you examine me, you know that?"

"I go easy on you. You should hear the words I use when I'm with a client."

"I used to be a client, I remember the early days. I didn't know what you were saying half the time."

"Precisely the point. They're so busy trying to understand the words themselves that it makes it all the easier to misdirect them, guide them in the direction they would otherwise avoid, but onto the path that the ultimately need to be on."

I ignored her psychobabble and turned to the waiter.

"What can I get for you tonight, Ms.?" he asked politely, pad in hand.

"I'll have the fettuccine alfredo," I said, pointedly avoiding Natasha's smug stare.

"Very good, Ms. And for your appetizer?"

"A caeser salad."

"Good, good. And you?" he asked, turning to Natasha. He seemed to be concentrating very hard to keep his eyes on her face and away from her low dress.

"Shrimp primavera with minestrone soup as my appetizer," she said, staring him in the eye inticingly.

"Uh, right. Yes. Good." His forehead creased as he scribbled on his pad. "I will be back shortly," he said, rushing off to the kitchens.

"You're going to give one of these men a stroke," I scolded.

"We can only hope," Natasha laughed.

Our food arrived a short while later and our night stretched on until the place had emptied out of most of it's patrons. By the time we walked out the doors it was almost midnight, and I was exhausted. Natasha seemed to be ready to hit a nightclub and go on all night, but even though I was younger than her I didn't have a fraction of her seemingly endless energy.

"I had a lovely time this evening, Grace," Natasha said, giving me a hug.

"Me too. I'll see you tomorrow for lunch?" I asked, returning the embrace.

"Yes, of course. I won't be eating much, though. This meal blew my diet for the week."

"You're on a diet?" I asked, looking down at her toned and flat belly incredulously. You could make out her belly button through the tight dress.

"Not so much a 'diet' as my general diet consists of things much less fatty than tonights meal."

"Fair enough. Good night, Natasha."

"Oh, I'll have a good night alright. And a certain struggling actor will have the best night of his entire life."

"Spare me the details, please," I groaned.

She grinned impishly. "As if. I'll fill you in over lunch." She turned with the grace of a gazelle and strode over to her car, sliding into the seat. I shook my head enviously and walked over to my Mini Cooper, both looking forward to and dreading yet another night in my empty bed.