The Fault Read online

  Chapter One

  Los Angeles, California

  Shane Montgomery stared out the window at the line of late-morning street traffic, longer than the line he had been standing in since the doors of Bingham and Associates Talent Agency opened at six o’clock. There were still over a hundred people already waiting. Catching the eye of the person in front of him, he saw a woman who was around fifty years old with platinum hair and a tight-fitting black dress. Shane thought that she might have gone out the night before and hadn’t been home yet to change clothes. In an attempt to pass the time, he tried speaking to her.

  “I hope that this is more than just dropping off your headshot and stats and out the door. I went to three agencies yesterday, and that’s all that happened.” Shane hoped he wasn’t sounding like a defeatist.

  The woman stared out from under her false eyelashes for a second and then replied, in a seductive whispering accent that sounded Southern or British. Shane couldn’t tell which. “Let’s see your resume, sweetie.”

  Shane removed the glossy eight-by-ten from the leather portfolio, a graduation gift from his parents before he left Chicago and handed it over. The picture was a year and a half old now, but he still had the same smile, and all the working out he did was evident under his blue t-shirt.

  She looked at it for several moments, making sounds Shane couldn’t identify as pleasure or the opposite, and handed it back to him. He copied the same smile he had held in the picture while he waited for her input. “You haven’t been in LA long, have you, sweetie?”

  “No, only six weeks, and I’ve been to nearly every agency in Hollywood and the Valley.” Visions of plain white painted offices with the same green carpeting flashed through his brain.

  She pursed her red lips and leaned in toward him, making him feel as if she were about to share some important secret meant only for his ears. “You need to get a new photo taken. This is too wholesome farm boy. What the studios out here want is handsome and sexy. Cut that hair, put on a tighter shirt, and look at the camera like you want to leap out at the studio execs and make love to them… and bringing treats to these calls doesn’t hurt either.” Smiling, she opened the large bag at her feet. She took out a large plastic container and lifted up a corner, revealing homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, but put them away without offering him any.

  “Next!” a voice called, and Shane stepped up to the small desk. The young man didn’t look up from his tablet.

  “Name? Age? Height and weight?” He sounded like a parrot.

  Shane rattled off the facts he had repeated a dozen times before at these agencies. “Shane Montgomery, twenty-three, five feet nine, and one hundred and forty.”

  “Leave your resume, and we’ll be in contact. Next!”

  Shane backed away from the desk and turned to leave, casting only a quick glance back at the person seated behind the computer screen. The desk person repeated the same words to a middle-aged man wearing a black Star Wars t-shirt, but he didn’t wait around to hear what else the man had to say.

  In front of the building, Shane stood with his face lifted to the warm California sunshine, remembering what his mother had told him last night when she called. “Just be lucky you aren’t in Illinois right now. It’s been raining and cold three days straight. How’s the acting going, and when are we invited to the premier?”

  “I got a job in a pretzel commercial, but I don’t have a speaking part. I just take a bite and pretend I’m enjoying it,” Shane had told her, but he didn’t tell her the hours he had spent chewing stale snacks for a camera were cut from the final edit. Lowering his head to walk to the rental car, he removed the photos from the folio, tossed the stack into the closest trashcan, keeping only one, and headed to the parking space. He paused, glancing up at the building he had exited. I came all the way out here to act only to find myself standing in endless lines and reciting my height, weight, and age like a parrot. I’m told, ‘We’ll call if we’re interested. Next person please,’ by some intern who doesn’t even look up at me. Maybe I should give this up and go home.

  Shane was about to turn the key in the ignition when his cell phone went off. He thought about letting it go to voicemail, but it was from his friend Forrest.

  “I’m on break. Coffee in ten.” Forrest’s voice was terse, with a hint of command. He hung up before Shane could come back with an equal response.

  Shane was sitting with his coffee and croissant on the patio of Starbucks on Santa Monica Boulevard when he saw Forrest turn the corner. Forrest’s walk was unmistakable. He took long strides, signaling to whoever might have been walking his direction to get out of the way or be run down. He was at the table in seconds, throwing an arm around Shane’s shoulders.

  “Darling, it’s wonderful to see you again,” he said, pulling out a chair and dropping into the seat.

  “You saw me at breakfast this morning, Forrest. Would you like a coffee or something?” Shane asked, preparing to take out his wallet. Forrest waved his manicured fingers for him to put his money away.

  “I’m only having coffee because I’m dieting this week.” Forrest got up again. He disappeared inside and returned a few minutes later with a mug in one hand and a large cookie on a plate in the other. Shane wanted to bust out laughing, but he held himself. At last Forrest was settled, and he was serious when he began to speak again. “All right, Shane, so tell me what happened today. Did any of these agents see you?”

  “I saw their front office clerks, at least. Who knows if or when they’ll even see my headshots?” Shane didn’t discuss dumping a stack in a trash bin outside the agency.

  “Not to burst your bubble, dear, but are you sure you want to get into this whole acting thing? I mean, look around you. Everyone sitting here probably wants the same thing. The city has a plethora of writers and actors. You know Trace really likes you and wouldn’t mind if you gave up this whole thing, or he could help you with your career.”

  “If I didn’t act, then what would I do? Sit around a condo all day like a piece of furniture or take parts that only ‘he’ approves because his dad is a studio bigshot? No, thanks.” Shane slapped his palm on the tabletop.

  “What’s wrong with that? I would kind of like the idea of doing nothing all day instead of working on Rodeo Drive showing expensive jewelry to the wives of studio executives and their rich friends.”

  Shane stared at him for a second, and then leaning slightly forward, he spoke. “I’ll trade places with you, but I would like to know— has Trace said anything to you about me?”

  “Do you need to ask? He only talks about you every time I see him, and you know his parents are rich and influential…”

  “If that’s the case, then why haven’t you gone after him yourself?” Shane asked, curious.

  Forrest picked up his cup, swirled the liquid around once or twice, took a sip and set it down. “God knows I’ve tried. I dated his brother a few years back, you know. Trace and I remained friends, but then a month ago, you were at one of my dinner parties, he saw you across the room, and he wanted to meet you. This could be the big break you’re looking for, dude. It helps to have powerful friends in LA.” He snapped his fingers.

  “I’ll talk to him and listen to whatever advice he may have. There, does that make you happy?”

  “Excellent idea. Now you’re seeing some reason.” Shane was on the verge of responding when Forrest’s cell phone buzzed. He answered on the third ring. He got up and started pacing on the sidewalk.

  Shane picked at the remnants of his croissant.

  Shane had been at Forrest’s apartment for two weeks when they had a dinner party. There were two couples and two single men who arrived separately. Forrest exchanged air kisses with them, then led everyone into the room toward the small bar he had set up on the kitchen counter. They had only advanced a few feet when a guy of medium height, muscular and tan with a wide smile showing bright, white teeth, saw Shane, and his eyelids lowered. Shane only nodded and smiled back before his friend steered him into the dining room because the caterer was ready to announce dinner. Shane glanced over his shoulder briefly to see the stranger watching him. He wanted to ask Forrest who he was, but his host had moved away and was rounding up the other guests to come in and dine.

  Shane and the stranger were seated at opposite ends of the table, and it wasn’t until the end of the evening when he came over and introduced himself.

  “I’m Trace Nelson, and you are?” Trace said, holding out his hand.

  “Shane… Shane Montgomery. I’m Forrest’s new roommate,” Shane remembered stammering.

  Then Trace completely floored him. He moved in closer and whispered, “Would you believe me if I told you that I think I’m in love?”

  “I don’t believe it. Do you say that to every guy you don’t know?”

  “Just the hot ones.” Trace burped, and Shane caught a whiff of alcohol and food. He couldn’t recall what he said, but Trace ignored his words and went on.

  “My father is a producer and executive for one of Hollywood’s top studios, and Forrest tells me you have acting ambitions.” Trace moved closer, and Shane backed away, out of reach of Trace’s hand. Nearby on the buffet was a vase of flowers, a combination of daisies, roses, and carnations. Trace pulled a yellow daisy out of the container and handed it to Shane with a sweeping gesture.

  Thankfully, a couple of men came over to speak to Trace, leaving him with an escape. He went over to the bar for a drink.

  When they were alone in the kitchen clearing up after dinner, there was another episode, and Sh
ane had to place a chair between them in order to keep Trace at a distance.

  Trace caught him later while everyone was preparing to leave and kissed him. The kiss tasted like alcohol and was cold, and there was no feeling behind it.

  Shane saw his friend waving a hand in front of his eyes. He shook his head and smiled.

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”

  “Yeah, dude, I was telling you to be careful with Trace. He can be a friend or an enemy in this town. He bides his time, like a cat playing with a mouse.” Shane didn’t respond, forcing his friend to clear his throat loudly. “When’s the last time you got laid, dude?”

  “There was a guy in my drama class at Northwestern University. He looked like Brad Pitt, and every time he walked on stage, I would forget my lines.” Shane smiled at the memory of his friend, Kenny, with his green eyes and killer grin and the ability to attract both men and women. They had never made love, and he doubted Kenny even knew how he felt about him. The last Shane had heard of him was through a friend, who told him he was living in New York and working for a bank on Wall Street.

  “That has nothing to do with my question.” Forrest frowned.

  “When I meet someone and fall in love with them, I’ll know, but until then, I’ll be fine like I am.”

  “Ha, you’re one of those guys that’s looking for something special, like a guy with black hair, or one who works out seven days a week. Maybe even the rocket scientist type of guy who always has his nose buried in books, and you’ll be lucky to have sex once a week maybe, and then you’ll both fall asleep.” Forrest burst out laughing, causing people at other tables to look around.

  “I’ve only been here for a month and two weeks, and I haven’t been out much yet. Give me a chance, all right?” Shane sighed.

  Forrest nodded and alternately looked at the screen on his phone and sipped his coffee.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning. I have the invoices you asked me about before you left last night,” someone called out to Ellis.

  “Put them on my desk, and I’ll look at them in a few minutes.” As he strode across the room, Ellis ‘El’ Gibbs didn’t look up from his cell phone. In the office he shut the door and removed his suit jacket, laying it over the arm of a chair. He looked at himself in the mirror behind the door. His face was still warm from his hour-long workout at the gym, and his sandy brown hair was still damp from the shower. He ran his fingers through it to slick it back.

  On the other side of the door, he heard all the usual signs his restaurant, Gibbs West Hollywood, or Gibbs WeHo as it was widely known, was running smoothly. The chefs were chopping and slicing, the wait staff was chatting casually and studying the specials of the day, and, further away in the dining room, the pianist was warming up to play. On the opposite wall in the mirror’s reflection, El saw the framed restaurant reviews and awards and the handwritten testimonial from Gordon Ramsey himself, stating Gibbs WeHo was the top-rated restaurant five years in a row.

  El straightened his tie and smiled. This place was his kingdom. Seven years earlier, after he graduated from college where he had studied the hospitality business and culinary arts, he used the inheritance given him by his grandmother to purchase a failing café on Santa Monica and turn it into a successful restaurant. The reservation books were filled every day, even for lunch, with the names of Hollywood’s top stars: singers and bands, sports figures and politicians. Even the president had dined in the private room when he had come to LA a couple of months before.

  El smiled and checked his tie once more.

  It was five minutes before eleven o’clock, and the doors were ready to open for lunch when El left the office and walked to the marble-clad hostess station. As he stepped around the desk to stand beside her, his hostess Sharon looked up from the computer screen, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.

  “Hello there, El. So how did it go last night?”

  “How many reservations do we have this afternoon?” El pretended not to hear her question.

  “Twelve reservations for noon, and one of them is for the singer, Nikki Mann, and a party of seven, but that’s not what I want to know…” Sharon said with a smile.

  El frowned and shrugged. “It was a disaster.”

  “Tell me all about it. Inquiring minds desire to know.” She smiled, nudging him playfully in the ribs.

  “You should mind your own business.”

  “Not until you tell me something… Come on, El,” she pressed.

  He finally sighed in annoyance. “Okay, I know when I’m beat. The date was horrible. The guy is a surgeon, and I really don’t want to hear the gory details of his job when I’m trying to drink… I don’t think I can drink red wine ever again.”

  “Well, was he at least good-looking?”

  “Tall, grey-haired, and I could tell he worked out, and it looked like he had some other things under his clothes I won’t mention in front of a lady.” El’s sly grin made Sharon blush.

  “Doesn’t sound like a disaster to me. You can always overlook the sordid details of the job.”

  “Whatever. I don’t have time for relationships anyway. You see how busy I am around here.” Ellis swept his left hand over the large dining room and back to the computer with all the lunch and dinner reservations listed.

  “I’ve known you since grade school, so can I be honest with you?” Sharon pushed her hair out of her face.

  Because he knew what was coming, El turned his head away from her, waiting for it.

  “You haven’t dated anyone in six years, not since Roger... Well, it’s time. I’m not talking about the random hook-ups and living vicariously through the surfers and models you hire as waiters. When will you ever get up the nerve to ask one of them out?”

  Ellis didn’t know how to answer her right-away. As if trying to keep the wound open, she always mentioned Roger at every opportunity. He met Roger in their first year of college. He was handsome and looked a lot like the models who worked at Gibbs WeHo: just under six feet tall, a square jaw framed by black hair, and bright blue eyes. They had good times together, until their senior year when their relationship began to cool.

  Roused out of his thoughts by another sharp poke in the ribs from Sharon, he jumped. “Roger’s gone, Sharon, and I don’t know if I’m ready to replace him.”

  “Nobody wants you to replace him. Honor his memory by moving forward, and I don’t mean living here almost twenty-four hours a day either.”

  “This place wouldn’t be as popular as it is today if I didn’t. Though sometimes I think maybe I should sell the place and go somewhere else.”

  “You have a gold mine here. Why give it up?”

  “A guy can get tired and want something new, can’t he?”

  “What am I going to do with you, dude?” Sharon laughed.

  “Well, it’s time to open our doors and let in the crowds, so get ready.” Ellis walked around the desk and toward the door. When the door was opened, he excused himself and returned to his office. He still had to get out one email to a vendor before he went out to supervise the dining room with Sharon.

  In the middle of typing a sentence, he stopped and closed the laptop. He sat with his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his folded hands.

  “I wish Sharon hadn’t mentioned Roger. I loved him once, but dammit, it’s over. He’s gone, and I was just beginning to forget him,” Ellis whispered out loud.

  A loud knock on the door nearly startled him. “What is it?” he asked brusquely.

  “It’s Ted,” came the answer from the other side.

  Ellis sat there silent for a minute and then invited him in. He opened the door and stood in front of the desk. “You know my rules. If a member of my waitstaff wants to speak with me, the proper time to do it is before we open for business.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gibbs, but this is the first chance I had. You looked busy this morning when you came in,” Ted said, shifting his weight from one foot to another, his hands behind his back. Ellis looked at the waiter across the space between them.

  Ted was an actor for some small theater in the Valley; he was short and tanned, which showed off his buzz cut blond hair and white teeth. Ellis thought he actually looked nervous.