Page 60 of Born for Starlight

Downstairs, a boxy old sedan waited in the drive with the engine running. The man who hopped out to open my door was in his fifties and built like a barrel. I knew casting directors who’d go crazy at the chance to hire him as Brazilian muscle.

"Beto," Matthew said, and there it was, something I'd almost never heard from him except for me, real live warmth and laughter. “Allow me to introduce Angelica Drakos.”

"But of course. Dona Angelica. She needs no introduction." Beto pressed a hand over his heart and bowed like I was visiting royalty. "My wife Marisa has seen every one of your movies. Every one. When I tell her who rode in my car today, she will cry, then she will cook for a week, then she will cry again."

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in this country."

"It's early. Give Brazil time."

I liked him before we hit the first traffic light. He talked the whole way. There was his wife Marisa who he was totally in love with, his three daughters, who were his world, then the one movie of mine he preferred over all the others, which was the one where I robbed banks.

"You liked me as a criminal?"

"You smiled more in that one," he said, and hit his blinker.

He chattered without a care in the world, but I noticed his eyes never stopped moving. Mirror, mirror, side street, mirror. Between him and Matthew, this car was doing surveillance in every direction while discussing my filmography.

The fish market took up a long open block two streets off the water, all ice, shouting, and stacked silver fish. It kind of reminded me of Pike Place Market in Seattle. Beto pulled up short of it.

"I'll be right here," he said. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he would be there when we got back.

Matthew took my hand as we walked through a maze and got to a coffee stall. He made a beeline for a woman waiting near the back, standing at a small counter holding two small plastic cups.

Wasn’t this interesting? Matthew told me to wear flat shoes, but now we have this beauty in a silk blouse and stilettos on wet concrete. Plus, she’s wearing a silk blouse at seven in the morning at a fucking fish market. Can we say, trying too hard?

But I had to admit, she was a knockout.

"Is Beto still driving you when you're in town?" she asked Matthew.

Marking your territory much?

"He's outside."

"Good."

Then she turned and looked at me. She took her time about it—hair, face, shoes, back up to my face, totally taking inventory.

"So, this is the movie star." The words were polite. The voice underneath them was not.

"Layla," Matthew said. "Tone it down a notch."

“It’s okay, Matthew,” I purred as I stroked his arm, as if holding him back. Yeah, sure, like I could hold him back if he wanted to confront somebody. “I know all this Hollywood business can be intimidating to some people.”

Layla raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, and handed Matthew the second cup of coffee she’d been holding, making it perfectly clear she knew how he took it. I knew how to handle that.

“It seems like you go way back. You two must be old friends.” I smiled at the older woman.

“Tone it down a notch, Angelica,” Matthew sighed.

“It’s okay Matthew, I know how elderly—” I started.

“Ladies. Let’s cut the crap. I don’t have time for this shit.”

I giggled. Layla looked pissed. This was getting to be fun.

“Layla, let’s get down to business.” Matthew had turned on a dime. He almost sounded like bodyguard-boy, but not quite.

Layla blew out a breath. "Fine. Business it is. You’ve always been my favorite customer. How are you doing, Matthew?”