"Of course, I can't promise you the part right now. First you'll have to read for us. But if you do an acceptable job, it would be fun to have you in the role. The r-e-a-1 cop playing the r-e-e-1 cop. The publicists could have fun with it, too."
Nate took an LAPD business card from his wallet with his cell number on the back and said, "I'll be honored to read for you, Mr. Ressler."
"That's fine, Nate," Ressler said. "Just fine."
When Leona Brueger returned, she said, "Ready to go, Rudy?"
"I'll get the car," he said and headed toward the entrance.
Leona Brueger put her arm through Nate's and he walked her to the door, where a stunning young hostess who Nate figured for another aspiring thespian said, "Good day, Mrs. Brueger. Hope to see you soon."
Before Nate pushed open the door, Leona Brueger reached up with her free hand and squeezed his biceps, saying, "You've got impressive arms, young man."
"I have to work extra hard in the gym to keep them," Nate said. "It's hell getting older."
"You don't know older," Leona said wistfully, looking up at him. "Sometime you should drive up to my house and I'll pour you a drink and tell you sad stories about older."
When they got outside, Rudy Ressler's Aston Martin was waiting and he was standing beside it with a cell phone to his ear. He said to Leona Bruger, "Damn! Leona, I'm terribly sorry. I just got a call from our editor, who's practically in a fistfight with the director over the final cut. Can you possibly catch a cab?"
Nate said, "I can take Mrs. Brueger home."
"Could you, Nate? That's great," Ressler said. "Okay with you, Leona?"
"Go referee the fight," she said. "See you this evening."
Before he got in his car, Rudy Ressler said, "I just had a thought, Leona. While we're in Europe, maybe Nate here could drive by in his patrol car once in a while and check in on the house and the new man. What's his name?"
"Raleigh Dibble," she said.
Ressler said, "Yeah, Raleigh. Would you mind, Nate? There's some valuable art in that house and that's a lotta responsibility for a new guy."
"Be glad to," Nate said, realizing that he did not get to do lunch.
When Rudy Ressler had pulled away and Nate was waiting for the parking attendant to retrieve his car, he smiled apologetically and said to Leona Brueger, "When was the last time you rode in a seven-year-old Corvette?"
"At one time in my life I drove an eighteen-year-old bathtub Nash," she said. "I was only slightly older than my mode of transportation but I loved that beast. I was driving it when I met my first husband, who I came to love a lot less than my old car, but through him I eventually came to meet Sammy Brueger. Now how about the story of your life, Nathan? Do they call you Nathan?"
"My mother and father do," he said. "But everybody else calls me Nate."
"Nathan Weiss." When she said his name, she gave his biceps another squeeze and hung on to him unsteadily. "How is it that a nice Irish-Italian girl like me ends up being attracted to gorgeous Jewish men?"
He smiled self-consciously and said, "Must be the circles you travel in. I haven't run into all that many gorgeous Jewish men. But I'm not much of a Jew anyway. Haven't even gone to temple since I was a kid." Then he paused and said, "Except a couple of times when somebody died."
"Relatives?"
"Cops."
"Jewish cops?"
"No, but I still felt compelled to go and pray for them, even though I know it's all mumbo jumbo."
She looked up at him and said, "Revealing that personal information to me just made you even more attractive. But I'll bet you're used to compliments from women, aren't you, Nathan ?"
Nate was relieved when the parking kid arrived, and he drew the Vette up beside a Ferrari 599 that he'd read in Motor Trend was selling for more than $300,000. Another kid delivered an Audi R8 that Nate had read sold for a paltry $150,000.
The kid held the door open for Leona Brueger, and Nate tipped him $10, the most he had ever tipped for car service.
After he got behind the wheel, Nate said, "I do apologize for my car."
She smiled and said, "You really are too cute for words, Nathan." Then she took off her right shoe and said, "These goddamn things're killing me."
She removed the left shoe and held it in her hand while Nate drove north in heavy traffic. He looked over and touched the shoe, saying, "Is it really snakeskin?"
"Damned if I know," she said. "I'm not a shoe whore. I'm one of those broads that just buys the brand and hopes for the best." She yawned and leaned back, slurring her words slightly and said, "Go ahead and ask me."