SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 59

Slightly off the main drag of Sunset Boulevard was an old dive bar named The Sidecar Lounge. Sparsely decorated and poorly stocked, the place could be described as nothing other than a dump. Scott and I first discovered it as freshmen after having our fake I.D.s rejected at every club we'd tried, but even after we'd turned twenty-one, we occasionally went back to the old Sidecar for Friday night drinks -- in part, because we'd grown to like the place but also because the three-for-one special on beers was one of the best deals you could find in the city. 

Scott and I would always joke that, if we were gangsters, the Sidecar would be the perfect place to hold our shady business deals. For one, the lighting was so dim that seeing from one end of the bar to the other was a challenge in its own right but, more importantly, the only people who ever frequented the place seemed to live deep inside their whisky bottles. Even if the drunks at the bar cared enough to listen to your conversation, the crackling jukebox in the corner would've made it nearly impossible.

I arrived at the Sidecar at a quarter to nine and flagged down a waiter as soon as I found an empty booth. Sliding onto the bench that faced the door, I didn't bother opening the menu before ordering a draught beer and a side of garlic fries. I hadn't eaten since leaving the hospital that morning and I hoped some food might calm my nerves, even if that food was over salted and soggy.

Then, I waited.

It didn't take long before Marc Corona's white baseball cap came through the door. I shook my head, wondering if he even removed his hat to shower, and then watched him casually scan the bar before lifting a hand to wave him over. When he saw me, his face brightened, though he took his time making his way towards me. The cocky grin on his face made me bristle but I plastered on the friendliest smile that I could muster.

I stood as Marc neared the booth and shook his hand, noting the patch of wetness that spread beneath his armpit. The callouses on his fingers and palm felt like sandpaper against my skin but what fascinated me the most were always his jagged, yellowed teeth. Whatever he'd eaten for lunch lingered on his breath along with the bitter scent of a recently smoked cigarette.

We broke our handshake and Marc lowered himself into the seat across from mine. "It's nice to see you, Parker," he said, studying me levelly. "Although, I have to admit that I was surprised when you called. I figured you'd still be upset with me for publishing those photos."

Holding up my hands, I shrugged. "Hey, I get it. No hard feelings."

"Good." Marc smiled as he looked around. "Cozy place, isn't it? I've probably been coming here longer than you've been alive."

For some reason, Marc's familiarity of the seedy joint didn't surprise me, though I didn't know how anyone could describe the Sidecar as 'cozy'. Ignoring the tension between us, Marc and I talked for a few minutes until the waiter arrived with my order. As expected, the fries swam in a thick pool of oil and each bite begged to be washed down with a long sip of beer. Marc ordered an Old Fashioned before helping himself to a handful of fries when I offered them. He licked the grease from his tobacco stained fingers with a satisfied sigh.

"So, then," Marc said, leaning forward. He propped his chin up with his hands. "Why are we here?"

Nodding, I felt along the booth's old leather bench until I found what I was looking for. I picked up the manila envelope I'd brought along and set it down in front of me, watching Marc's eyebrow twitch while I folded my hands and placed them on top.

Marc's eyes shone with excitement. "What's this?"

"I have a story you might be interested in," I began, pushing the bowl of fries towards Marc's side of the table. "But I want to talk to you first."