Page 125 of Mazywood

Lorenzo nodded, although the chiming didn’t sound the least bit natural. His jaw flexed hard as he returned to his speech, which he clearly had prepared. “I don’t feel clean about you, Mazelle. I… did things I shouldn’t have done… and I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

Mazelle tried to keep her armor intact, but inside she was rejoicing in those words. Once upon a time, she had imagined a scene just like this. Craved it. But that person was dead.

“Ten years later,” she said flatly.

“Like I said, on the booze I was an asshole. I leaned on booze so running that studio wouldn’t give me a heart attack. All the money involved. Debts. The Depression. The goddamn war. One thing after another. I talked big talk, but I was scared shitless every day.”

“You owed money to the mob,” Mazelle said, confirming it for herself.

Lorenzo didn’t look surprised. “Guess everyone in town knows that by now. Live and learn, as they say. I tried to break away, they said, ‘Not so fast.’ I don’t care about any of the rest of it, but those Li’l Gumshoes reels…” He blinked, his eyes turning misty. “… those really meant something to me. Sharpe never got over it either. I feel like those were my best days.”

Mazelle understood more than she wanted to.

“I should have let Chaplin take you to United Artists, at least a loan,” he said, nearly whispering. “Chaplin would’ve done better with you. Mentored you. Just look at what he did with The Great Dictator back in ’forty. He was doing that… and I had you doing—”

“Shut up, Lorenzo,” Mazelle said.

“I know Lazy Mazy wasn’t what you wanted. I know it hurt your career.”

Mazelle sprang to her feet, and Lorenzo didn’t flinch away before she slapped him. Hard. Her palm print was bright red against his cheek. He sat calmly, his fingers clasped. It was like he had turned into a monk.

“I had that coming,” he said.

“I liked you better when you were trying to fuck me,” she told him. “At least you weren’t asking me to… What? To absolve you? Well, you are not absolved. It didn’t hurt my career—it fucking killed my career!” Her raised voice trembled the glass beads from the chandelier above her. “ ‘You’ll always be Lazy Mazy,’ ” she quoted. “Remember? Well, you were right about that.”

Lorenzo brushed imaginary hair from his forehead. He looked shaken.

“I know you lied about Reaper,” she said. “You never had the rights.”

Lorenzo stood up too. “That’s not true—I had the rights for a year.”

“Probably for peanuts,” she said. “But you knew you’d never make it. You always knew you wanted me to be Lazy Mazy. That was the one you knew you could sell. You weren’t ready to fight for me, you just pretended you were. Tell me I’m a liar.”

Their faces were a foot apart, and his eyes dimmed while she watched.

“Mazelle… I am so, so—”

“Don’t,” she said. “If you say ‘sorry’ again, I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Lorenzo’s eyes flitted toward her bar counter, but he looked quickly away from her array of a dozen bottles. He was fighting temptation.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“The truth?” He shrugged, his eyes appraising her again. “I wanted to make love to you, Mazelle. I still do. But I had to clear the air first.”

“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

He paused. Her officious tenor confused him. Finally, he said, “I’m at a conference for the weekend in Vegas. That’s my story.” He sounded guarded. “Why’d you invite me here?”

“The truth?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“To kill you.”

He cocked his head. His face paled around her glowing handprint. “That’s not funny.”

“Am I laughing?”