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Product Description
It is a hoarse whisper over a crackling cell phone - "Angel" - and then the connection is lost. Angel is convinced that the voice belongs to his beautiful and enigmatic neighbor, Angela - and that she is terrified for her life. He paces the floor, waiting for the phone to ring again, calls the police, searches her apartment, but there is no trace of her anywhere, not for days. So begins a haunted man's quest to uncover what happened to the woman he has fallen in love with. Only now does he realize that he knows nearly nothing about her. Angel has his secrets, too. He is the son of one of Hollywood's most successful movie producers, but he has turned away from that bright and power-ridden world. Instead, he leads a cloistered existence, nursing an unfinished screenplay as Ridley Scott's Blade Runner loops ceaselessly in his darkened apartment. But now, for the first time in years, because of Angela's sudden disappearance, Angel is propelled into action. Following the few clues he has gathered about her, he trails Angela through the hard glitter of Los Angeles days and nights. With every new piece of knowledge arrives another question and an even more chilling possibility: Did he merely imagine Angela? Is someone deliberately leading him? Is the phantom he is pursuing the very fear he has been running from? In the murky underworld beneath the bright surface of Los Angeles, everything he knew about her - and himself - begins to unravel. In this city of secrets that aren't meant to be told and people who aren't meant to be found, Angel may soon discover that the most dangerous lies of all are the ones you tell yourself.
Amazon.com Review
You’ve got to feel at least a bit sorry for Angel Veronchek, the 34-year-old leading man in Los Angeles, Peter Moore Smith's second novel of psychological suspense (after the Edgar-nominated Raveling). Sure, Angel's lucky enough to be the son of a renowned action-movie producer and a French model who's way too invested in cosmetic surgery; sure, he needn't work for a living, but can spend his time writing "the ultimate screenplay" about LA's "glitter-town disillusionment"; and sure, he's just commenced a passionate affair with his West Hollywood neighbor, a young, free-spirited black stripper named--coincidentally--Angela. The downside, though, is that Angel's a reclusive, light-sensitive albino obsessed with the movie Blade Runner, and boasting an in-home pharmacy of striking breadth ("all the drugs I had been prescribed for anxiety, depression, and social phobia, as well as the other meds designed to counteract the side effects of the first set"). It takes every ounce of willpower for him simply to exist in a city as belligerently bright and boisterous as LA. So, when Angela suddenly disappears, following a phone call that suggests she's in danger, Angel must stretch well beyond his cramped comfort zone to get her back--or even learn who she really is. His pathetic investigation leads him to a rock concert in Rio; into conflict with his father's unctuous attorney; and to the conclusion that everyone knows more about what’s going on here than he does. "This was a movie, and I was just a character," Angel remarks at one point. "I could even feel the pages of the script unfolding."
Smith's prose is supple and seductive, and he's at his best when chewing over the porous demarcation between reality and fantasy, or recounting the fractured fairy tale of his protagonist's upbringing (Angel's repeated efforts to impart some color to his skin are particularly poignant). Less firm is the mystery that forms Los Angeles's spine. Though the plot cleverly manipulates the reader, as much as it does Angel, it's unduly complicated and requires considerable suspension of belief. Still, the author deserves applause for subverting the supposedly familiar patterns of noir storytelling. His City of Angel is devilishly deceptive. --J. Kingston Pierce
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