Innocent Little Crimes Read Free Page A

Enough. Go to sleep, it’s two
o’clock. Just sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning. Trust
me.”
    “But—”
    “Good night, Della.”
    Della held her phone for a moment, the
silence penetrating the stillness of the late night. She then
slammed it down and wobbled into the bathroom, turning on the water
to fill the tub. As she undressed, she watched herself in the
mirror with detachment, then eased into the steaming, hot
water.
    She was surprised at how soothing such a
simple thing like a bath could be. Submerging herself deeper, she
felt the warmth penetrate her weary bones as she ran the edge of
the razor blade across the crease line of first one wrist and then
the other. As the bath water turned from pink to red, the last
thing she saw was the white and gold envelope she had taped to the
medicine cabinet become unglued from the curls of steam and flutter
down like a dove from heaven into her placid, wet hands.
     
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    Hollywood, California
     
    “Bend over a little more—that’s it, baby,
more, more.”
    Jonathan Levin clapped his hands impatiently.
He heard snickering and hushed whispers in the darkness behind him.
“Quiet, please, let’s have it quiet so we can wrap up. Everybody!
Let’s shoot this piece of trash.”
    The A. D. held the slate inches from the
actress’s chest. The scantily dressed nurse leaned over the patient
in the hospital bed, her short skirt hiked up, her long legs
spread.
    “My favorite position,” someone
whispered.
    “Quiet!” Levin said.
    “Bedside Manners. Scene twelve, take six.
Marker.” The horn sounded, the red light flashed. Jonathan waited
for absolute silence.
    “. . . Rolling . . .”
    “. . . Speed. And action . . .”
    The actress spoke in a soft southern accent.
“Now, Mr. Barnes, you’re going to have to cooperate a little with
me here. Take your medicine like a good boy. Doctor’s orders, now.”
She leaned over and bumped the patient’s food cart, sending it
rolling across the set.
    Jonathan waved his arms in the air. “Cut,
cut!” Exasperated sighs rippled through the room. Jonathan tugged
at the heavy gold chain around his neck. Sweat dripped down his
chest where his silk Italian shirt was halfway unbuttoned, soaking
into his waistband.
    “You’re off your mark, Priscilla—again!” The
young actress showed distress. She rechecked her feet and moved
over two inches. She sweltered under the hot lights. Makeup
strolled over and patted her face. Props lethargically replaced the
cart. The whole crew had given up making an effort to hurry things
along.
    “Let’s go again, right away. We’re already
into gold. Move, move!” He purposely ignored the crew’s grumbling.
They had been on the set for fourteen hours—the second time that
week.
    Jonathan seethed. Mindless crew, stuck-up
actors who thought they were God’s gift to the public. And that
Priscilla. Great body but absolutely no talent. Some hotshot’s
broad. When was he ever going to get to work with real actors?
    “Have to reload again, Jonny,” the cameraman
called out, not even bothering to hide his apathy.
    Jonathan exploded with a string of
curses.
    First the network boys told him they wanted
all the angles, lots of cleavage and close-ups from behind, when
everyone knew the scenes would end up on the cutting room floor.
Who were they kidding—they were getting their thrills from the
dailies.
    He shot another take. Passable enough for
this mindless Movie-of-the-Week.
    “Okay, it’s a wrap. Get the hell home and be
here on time tomorrow.” He turned to the actress who was hurrying
to her dressing room. “We don’t pay you to keep everyone
waiting.”
    The script supervisor picked up her papers
and stuffed them into her bag. Jonathan noticed the disgusted look
on her face.
    “You can always find another job if you’re
not happy, Louise. A lot of people would give their firstborn to be
here.”
    She started to say something and then changed
her