I pushed through the door and tried to look like a customer. The paintings were all squares of various sizes, each square painted a single color. A yellow square, a pale green square, a luminous green square, a black square, a lavender square. Ten or twelve squares filled the walls, and each square had a black dot in the upper right corner except the black square. The black square’s dot was red. I was staring at the red dot when E. Claude Sidney joined me.
“Are you drawn to the dot?”
“I am.”
“I find this fascinating. Everyone watches the dot as if it might move. Are you interested?”
“I’d like to get in touch with Skylar Lawless.”
She made a wide, toothy smile.
“Isn’t her work fabulous? The originals are sold, but I do have a series of signed prints.”
“If I wanted to commission an original, could you arrange it?”
She smiled even wider.
“I’m sure I could. What did you have in mind?”
I held out my license. The moment she saw it she frowned.
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you recall a Josh Schumacher?”
“I do. Of course. He interviewed her on his podcast.”
“Then you know Josh and Skylar are close.”
“What is this about?”
“Josh is missing. I’ve been hired by his mother to find him. Skylar might be able to help.”
She frowned again.
“What does missing mean? Is he all right?”
“We don’t know. I’ve called, but his message box is full. As I said, Skylar might be helpful. It’s even possible he and Skylar are together.”
She looked uneasy.
“I don’t think so.”
“May I ask why?”
The younger man lingered at the red painting. E. Claude glanced his way, motioned me to a small desk in the corner, and lowered her voice.
“Josh phoned last week, asking if I’d heard from her. He was trying to find her.”
“Did he leave a message, or say where he was?”
“I’m sorry. He didn’t.”
“So what did you tell him?”
E. Claude Sidney looked nervous.
“Sometimes, she’s away.”
“She’s out of town?”
E. Claude looked even more uncomfortable.
“I don’t know, but she’ll be in touch. She has more prints to sign, and I’m holding money from sales. I can’t guarantee she’ll call, or when, but I’ll certainly give her a message.”
“I’ve left messages, Ms. Sidney. It would help if you called her for me, and asked her to speak with me.”
“Mr. Cole. There are times when she won’t return anyone’s calls. Even mine.”
“If you can reach her for a commission, please try to reach her for this. Josh promoted the hell out of her work.”
Ms. Sidney looked straight up at the ceiling. She touched her throat with the tips of two fingers, looked down at the floor, and took a breath.
“Well, it’s nothing she hasn’t said in the interviews.”
“What?”
She went behind the little desk and took a card album from the drawer.
“Skylar’s income as an artist doesn’t yet cover her expenses, so she makes other arrangements.”
“Are we talking about sex?”
“When she’s engaged this way, she turns off her phone. I doubt she even checks her messages.”
She found a business card, took it from the album, and placed it in front of me.
“Speak with her. If Skylar returns anyone’s calls, they would be hers.”
The card showed a woman’s name in a classic font, an address in Canoga Park, and the usual contact info.
Meredith Birch
The Birch Agency
Talent Management
I looked from the card to E. Claude Sidney.
“Her agent?”
“In Skylar’s former career, yes. My understanding is they still have business.”
E. Claude touched her throat again. Embarrassed. The careers of actors and actresses in the adult film trade were uncertain. Most performers made next to nothing, and most careers had the shelf life of a fish in the sun. More than a few gigged on the side as escorts.
I said, “I see.”
Meredith Birch was a pimp.
“And you know this for a fact?”
She nodded.
“Skylar is, perhaps, too open about such things.”
The name looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Could I ask you to call? As an introduction?”
“I’d rather not.”