A/N: A little name dropping amusement. All of the celebs Steve thinks he sees were part of the it-crowd of the time. I guess it's important to remind people that I'm not making any money off the use of these names. Far be it from me to suggest that any of the fine people mentioned would ever consider doing anything illegal. None of this ever happened, it's a figment of an over active imagination. I'm just having fun. Hope it brings back some memories. (Hope you're having fun, too.)
Steve pulled up to the gallery, slightly taken aback by the level of activity on the street. Along with cars, there were several photographers camped out across the road. Instead of trusting his baby to the valet he went around the corner and doubled back, parking in front of the deli he and Mike had visited earlier on Mason Street. After locking the car, he hoofed it to the front door of the gallery, careful to avoid the press.
A thirty something brunette wearing a tight black dress and holding a clip board was assigned as the gatekeeper to this evening's soirée. "Name?" she asked Steve eyeing him up suspiciously. Instead of responding, he produced the invitation. She scrutinized the document as if she was screening a passport at the airport.
"Where did you get this sir? This is a private function."
Half expecting an issue, Steve responded, "Anna gave it to me, Ted couldn't make it."
The woman stared at Steve, who turned on his warmest smile. She smiled back, "Oh, I guess it's ok, but have you seen her? She's been MIA since last Thursday. Boss is about ready to fire her ass, if you know what I mean."
That answered one question. Anna was found on Saturday, so she had been missing from work at least two days before then. Anna's and Ted's identity had yet to be released to the press, and having been to the morgue, he answered truthfully, "Yeah, I saw them this afternoon."
She waved him through, adding. "Well, if you talk to her, tell her she better check in but soon."
That's unlikely. Steve thought as he smiled again, passed by the woman and entered the Gallery. "A" list didn't even begin to describe this scene.
A cloud of bluish grey smoke hung in the quasi lit gallery. Steve coughed a little as the combination of burning cigarettes and illegal inhalants entered his lungs. His eyes started to water from the toxic fog, so he slipped on his sunglasses and waded into the crowd. Shades at night generally were not a good idea, but half the crowd seemed to be so outfitted and he could see well enough, even though the room itself had very little ambient light. The walls were bathed in bright direct illumination, highlighting the photographs of the artist. Plus, with sunglasses darkening his eyes; he could directly observe people without alerting them to his scrutiny.
Had Steve been a few years younger and not technically there on duty, he more than likely would be acting like a star struck teenager. People were milling around looking at the photos, while the artist stood holding court at one of the several tall tables spread around the gallery. She was deep in discussion with a small oriental woman in black with round dark glasses and a taller woman with dark curls. Was that really Yoko Ono and Grace Slick?
Another couple was ambling hand in hand looking at the photographs, talking quietly. Unless he missed his guess, it was fellow Berkeley grad and current California Secretary of State Jerry Brown. His father had been a big wig in San Francisco. The woman could have been his constant companion and up and coming rock star in her own right, Linda Ronstadt. They stopped and spoke to another man in dark glasses, Bob Dylan?
There was a couch and chairs towards the back of the space. Steve was pretty sure that Hunter S. Thompson was passed out in one of the chairs. The brilliant inventor of "Gonzo" journalism and author of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" was a frequent contributor to Rolling Stone and a notorious over imbiber. There was a liberal amount of something spread on the table in front of him and Steve was having a hard time turning off his cop impulses.
He thought that he recognizing Jerry Garcia and Bianca Jagger talking quietly with actor Ryan O'Neal. Steve knew from the bulletin traffic in the department that O'Neal was currently filming a movie in the city with Barbra Streisand. Jagger and O'Neal looked more than a little cozy, arm in arm holding glasses of red wine. For some reason, the whole event vaguely reminded him of a song that had gotten a lot of play on the radio recently called Garden Party by Rick Nelson.
He noticed Todd Walters with an older gentleman in front of one of the divider walls and decided to sidle over under the pretense of looking at the photographs. Mike would probably say he was wasting his time eavesdropping on the art teacher, or was just prejudiced by the way Walters had treated him earlier. Walters certainly fit the profile that Lenny had come up with and knew at least one of the victims, possible two, as Kohler was an alumni of the Institute.
Steve concentrated on the displayed photos, which even to his untrained eye were brilliant, viewing them one by one until he was standing right behind Walters, straining to discern the conversation. He hoped to hell Walters wouldn't recognize him after a single meeting and completely out of context.
"Don't you think I know that?" Walters was highly agitated.
"Look, we had a deal, and if you don't follow through, well I don't think you want that information seeing the light of day, do you?"
The older man had noticed Steve's approach and put an arm on Walters shoulder, attempting to pull him out of the inspector's range.
"Maybe we should take this in the back, Todd."
Walters chose that moment to turn around. He did a subtle double take at the sight of the Inspector.
"Maybe you're right, Charles," Todd said in a low voice as the men walked toward an exit marked employees only and closed the door.
Steve was starting to feel a little buzzed and dizzy. He wasn't sure if it was from lack of food, the air borne intoxicants, or both. He looked around, relieved to find a small buffet set in a brightly lit ante-room. Knowing he had no chance of following up on the odd conversation between Walters and Campbell, he decided some food and caffeine were the next best things.
00000
Lizzy came up to the door and slipped the invitation out of the envelope. When she pulled it out, she noticed there was another smaller enveloped tucked inside the larger one. She dropped it back in her bag and handed the card to the woman at the door.
"Name?" the woman asked skeptically.
"Lizzy Grisko, I'm a guest of Pam Woodward."
"Oh," the woman looked down and seemed genuinely surprised to find Lizzy's name on the list. "Hey wait, didn't you apply for an internship here about 6 months ago?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh nothing, it's just, well, you might think about reapplying."
Lizzy was perplexed at the statement, but didn't follow up on it. "Hey, do you know if Pam has shown yet?"
The woman looked back on her list, "No, not while I've been out here, but it's early, this shindig will be going on for quite some time, I suspect. When she gets here, I will let her know you've already arrived."
Lizzy nodded her thanks as she opened the door. The party was in full swing. Pam had told her it was going to be a big-time event, but she couldn't believe her eyes when she looked around the room. It was like a rock and roll hall of fame. The people that caught her eye, however, were California artist Wayne Thiebaud in conversation with the new bad boy of the art world Jamie Wyeth.
Trying to get her courage up, she checked out the photographs and snagged a glass of chardonnay from a waitress, downing it in a few gulps. Between that and a few deep breaths of the gallery's intoxicating cloud, she was already starting to relax.
As much as she wanted to talk to the world renowned artists in attendance, she was starving. She saw a light in the small room off to the side and made a B-line for the buffet and the bar. A little food and some additional liquid courage wouldn't hurt at this point of the evening.
There was a handsome man helping himself to cheese and crackers. She didn't recognize him as a celebrity, but when he gave her a heart melting smile, he might as well have been. That was until he fumbled what he was carrying and dumped most of the drink he held all over her. This outfit is cursed. She though as she grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to sop up the majority of the mess.
"Oh, man." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief. He slipped his sunglasses up to the top of his head and looked at her with gorgeous green eyes.
"It's ok, I got it." She took the handkerchief and tried to finish the job. "Well, at least it's dark out there."
"I'm sorry? Uh, what's your name?"
"Lizzy, Lizzy Grisko"
"Lizzy, I am so sorry. The um, atmosphere in here has got me a little worse for the wear."
Lizzy laughed, she knew what he meant.
"Let me at least give you some cash for the dry cleaners. And I'm Steve." He turned and reached to grab more napkins.
Lizzy was just thinking that the night might turn out to be kind of interesting when Todd Walters entered the small room.
"Miss Grisko, fancy meeting you here. This is a little up market for a girl from the burbs isn't it? Where's your friend Pam? I'm sure she got you invited to this little do. I thought you were too much of a prude to swing with this crowd."
"You know what, Todd, it's bad enough I have to put up with your crap at school, but in public, no way man. Just leave me alone." She knew she would pay for her little outburst next Thursday in class, if he even remembered her comment, but she didn't care. She was really tired, hungry and felt a little reckless from the combination of wine and weed.
She turned back towards Steve. Todd put his hand on her arm. She tried to shake him off but he held fast. Steve turned around and stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Mr. Walters, take your hand off the lady please."
"You know what pig, that badge and gun you carry doesn't mean a hell of a lot with this crowd. You can't harass people like me, especially here."
"Be that as it may, you still need to respect the lady's wishes, GET YOU HANDS OFF HER." A few people looked up from main room and peered at the building confrontation in front of the buffet.
Todd dropped Lizzy's arm and put his finger to Steve's chest, backing him up to the wall.
"You are WAY out of your league, Mister Police man. One word and I'll have you put out like that." Todd pulled his hand back and snapped his fingers in Steve's face for emphasis.
Lizzy's eyes grew wide, "cop?" she mouthed. Steve shook his head in the affirmative.
As much as he wanted to grab this jerk's arm, swing it behind his back and push his face into the wall he knew he couldn't. Walters was right, with the quantity of illegal substances present and his own diminished capacity, he knew better than to cause a scene. He would hate to have to call Mike to bail him out if this party got busted. As much as the arrogant SOB annoyed him, he stepped aside.
"Peace, man. I was on my way out, Lizzy, can I see you home?"
She really didn't want to leave, but Todd had managed to take the shine off of what could have been an incredible evening. "Sure, whatever."
Steve held the door for Lizzy and they both took deep breaths of the bracing November air as they exited. The black clad hostess gave Lizzy a subtle thumbs up.
"Can I give you a lift somewhere? I feel like it's the least I can do." Steve wasn't sure if it was a bright idea for him to drive just yet. Between the contact high and the adrenaline dump after his confrontation with Todd, his hands were visibly shaking. He made the offer anyway.
"I actually live just up the block. I share an apartment with my roommate Pam above the deli on Mason."
"I'm parked over there. Walk you home?"
"Sure. Are you really a cop?"
"Guilty as charged. Is that guy always such an ass?"
"You don't know the half of it. He is my drawing teacher at the Institute."
They walked silently along the block to the corner of Chestnut and Mason. Light was spilling out of the door of the deli. Steve looked at his watch, it was nearly 11 and he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"How late are they open?"
"Till midnight on Friday and Saturday. A lot of students live in the neighborhood."
"You hungry?"
"Starved."
They entered the store. Lizzy cringed as she saw Vince at the counter.
"Another one of your friends, like Todd?"
She laughed at the comment. "No, perverted son of my Nonna, no wait, um, my landlord, um Mrs. Molinaro." She felt confused. "It's Vince Molinaro, his mother owns this place. They live next door. He works at the college. He's a creep." For some reason Lizzy couldn't get her words to come out in the right order, but they continued to spill out anyhow. "Geez, I must be totally wasted. What the hell were they smoking back there?"
Steve sniffed his clothes now that they were a block gone from the gallery and wrinkled his nose. His clothes and hair reeked of pot. He'd have to get this stuff in the wash asap. "I don't know, but I better not get pulled over on the way home or I'll wind up in the tank," Steve said laughing.
Lizzy liked his laugh. Actually she liked a lot about him and didn't know if it was his smile or the grass, but she could totally go for a guy like him. She shook her head to clear it as the voice of the robot from "Lost in Space" was screaming Danger Will Robinson in her brain. She mentally told the robot to shut up. Oh god, I am so stoned.
They ordered a couple of sandwiches and grabbed two sodas from the cold case. Steve made to sit at the counter, but Lizzy waved him off. She wanted to be as far away from Vince as possible in the tight space. They sat down at the single small table in the corner.
"So tell me about Lizzy Grisko." Steve drained his coke. What he really needed at this point was about 6 cups of coffee.
"Girl from the burbs, as Todd said, Hillsborough. Illustration major at the Institute up the block. Waitress at Fisherman's Wharf. That about sums me up."
"What about you Steve?
"Keller, Steve Keller." He was about to continue when Vince dumped the sandwiches unceremoniously on the table and gave Steve a dark look. After Vince left, Steve gave her an equally short version of his life story. "Berkeley grad, law school drop-out, SFPD Homicide Inspector."
"How did you wind up at that scene down the block?"
"I'm investigating a murder." She raised an eyebrow.
They were both quiet while they devoured their sandwiches. Steve got up and bought two more cokes. Vince was still giving him the evil eye.
Steve's head started to clear as he downed the second soda. "Lizzy, tell me, do you have drawing on Thursdays with Walters." His semi-functional brain was now putting crazy ideas together with Lizzy at the center. The school, the gallery, the Wharf. He needed more information.
Lizzy stared wide eyed, "How the hell did you know that?"
"I'm a detective." Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Did you see Ted Brooks on Thursday?"
Lizzy choked on her coke, spit some out and spilled the dregs of the bottle onto Steve's jacket. "I'm sorry," she said as she furiously tried to mop it off with napkins, while giggling.
"I guess we are even," Steve laughed, blotting up the last of the coke.
After regaining her faculties, Lizzy explained, "You could say I saw all of him. He's a nude model, you dig?" She giggled again. Steve blushed. Lizzy found it charming.
The door chimed as a young man walked in. Vince reluctantly turned his attention from Lizzy and Steve to the new customer. Lizzy turned her head and saw Jeff buying Fritos and a Mountain Dew. She waved at him. He nodded and walked over to the table.
"Hey Jeff, you're out late. Jeff this is Steve, Steve, Jeff Powers."
"Yeah, I'm trying to finish up some stuff so I can leave town over the weekend. I'm supposed to go skiing."
Vince walked over. "I hate to break this up, but it's closing time, so get out."
Steve looked at Lizzy, "A real charmer," he said in a whisper. She giggled again and touched his hand. Steve looked back at her brown eyes. He thought she was cute in a kind of off-beat way, but really, really young. He heard Mikes voice in head.
Jeff bid Lizzy goodbye and he headed out the door. Steve really needed to continue his conversation with Lizzy but with the way she was looking at him, he thought going up to her apartment was an extraordinarily bad idea. Mike would be so proud.
He walked her up the stairs. Digging in his pocket, he came up with two cards and a pen. He handed her one. "Well it's been an interesting evening all the way around." He cleared his throat as he was trying to figure out a way to ask for her number without leading her on. "I'd like to talk to you about Thursday's class. Can you give me your number so I can call you?"
She fingered the card, shoved it in her bag and frowned. Lizzy looked disappointed and Steve felt bad as he handed her the pen and the second card.
"Whatever." She wrote down the number and handed it back. "It's been real, Keller," Lizzy said as she unlocked the door and shut it with a little too much force in his face.
Steve walked down the steps. The store was now dark. As he went over and unlocked the Porsche, it felt like someone was watching him. He looked around and saw nothing. Pot makes you paranoid. He started the car and drove to Union Street.
After parking, he climbed the steps and took off his jacket, leaving it on the railing to air. It would have to go to the dry cleaners, but the night air would take care of the lingering illegal odor. He went into his apartment, stripped and took a long shower to wash the remnants of the party out of his hair, donning shorts and a t-shirt when he was done. Now that he was clean, the clothes on the floor reeked like a rock concert. Grabbing them and the rest of the clothes in the hamper, Steve ran down to the washer before collapsing into bed.
It felt like no time had passed when he was startled awake by the telephone. He looked at the clock. No time had passed, it wasn't even three AM.
"What?"
"And good morning to you Inspector."
"Come on Mike, it's the middle of the night."
"Up and at 'em sleepyhead, we have another body."