Poor Little Bitch Girl

by Jackie Collins

  After I was dressed, I emerged from the bathroom to find Sam busying himself in the kitchen making pancakes.

  “Are you sure you’re a writer and not a chef?” I quipped, thinking how fine he looked in a faded denim shirt and jeans. He was barefoot, and his curly hair – still damp from the shower – was ruffled and quite sexy.

  “Yesterday was a big surprise,” he remarked, throwing me an appreciative look. “I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman to fall into my local coffee shop.”

  I felt myself blushing. And I am so not the kind of girl who blushes.

  “I wasn’t exactly expecting to spend the night with such an . . . uh . . . interesting man,” I managed.

  He raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. “Interesting? Is that all you can come up with?”

  “It’s short notice, give me time.”

  “You can have all the time you want.”

  “Thanks,” I said, slightly flustered, “but I’ve got to get two people on a plane to L.A. so you’ll have to give me a rain check.”

  “It’s only nine,” he said, handing me a glass of what looked suspiciously like freshly squeezed orange juice. “Sit down and enjoy your pancakes.”

  “You sound like my mom.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said wryly. “My life’s ambition has always been to sound like someone’s mom.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I should definitely have breakfast with this man that I’d spent the night with, because I’d probably never see him again. And I liked him. Besides, I had nowhere else to go. I could hardly stand outside Annabelle’s front door for an hour.

  “Can I get syrup with my pancakes?” I asked. “The real thing, not some low-fat substitute.”

  “Do I look like a guy who’d give you a substitute?”

  “No,” I said, sitting down on a stool, watching him flip a pancake.

  “Then relax and enjoy,” he said, transferring the pancake to a plate and handing it to me, following up with a glass bottle of organic maple syrup – the expensive kind. No Aunt Jemima for him.

  I poured on the syrup and took a bite. “Delicious!” I exclaimed. “Who taught you to be such a whizz in the kitchen?”

  “Remember the bitch fiancée I was telling you about . . .”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “She was – is – a professional chef.”

  “Well, at least she left you with something.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Not at all,” he said easily. “I’m a great believer in things happen for a reason, and if I was still with her I wouldn’t be spending the morning with a refreshingly bright and beautiful L.A.-based attorney.”

  Hmm . . . that’s the second time he’s called me beautiful. Flattery will definitely get him wherever he wants to go.

  “You’re pretty free with the compliments,” I remarked, gulping down my orange juice – which was indeed freshly squeezed.

  “Only when they’re deserved,” he said, flipping a second pancake onto my plate.

  “Are you trying to make me fat?” I joked. “I’m already enormous by L.A. standards.”

  “You have an incredible body,” he said.

  Wow! The compliments were coming fast and furious. Enough already.

  “Do you mind if we put on the TV?” I said quickly. “I need to see what’s happening with the Maestro case.”

  He handed me the clicker. “Go ahead.”

  The Today Show was all over it. Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann were in the middle of one of their group discussions. The theme was Hollywood justice. The question was – how come celebrities always manage to walk? They didn’t mention Ralph by name, but the implication was, it was a big possibility that he could’ve done it.

  “Give me your cell phone,” Sam said, leaning over me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m putting all my information in it so you’ll have no excuse not to stay in touch.”

  I couldn’t think of a good reason to object. Besides, I wanted all his various forms of communication – address, cell, home phone, e-mail. I’d just spent the night with the guy, so why not?

  Obediently I handed him my phone, and in return he handed me his. Obviously it’s the latest form of intimacy – downloading all your information into someone else’s cell phone.

  “So . . .” I ventured, “I’ll be going soon.”

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  Oh dear me, I hope it’s not payment for our night of lust. How humiliating would that be if he thought I was a hooker masquerading as a lawyer!

  Did I mention that I have a very active imagination?

  “What is it?” I asked tentatively.

  “No arguments,” he said, reaching down and handing me his knit cap and striped scarf.

  “Wow!” I managed, graciously accepting his gift.

  “At least it’ll keep you warm on your way to the airport.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” I said, quite touched that he was concerned about my welfare. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  He grinned, crooked teeth fully on display. “Don’t mention it,” he said, before leaning over again and giving me a warm hug.

  I reached up and hugged him back, inhaling his masculine scent and quite loving it.

  What a shame he doesn’t live in L.A. This could be the start of something . . .

  Or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carolyn

  Waking up lying on an unmade bed in an unfamiliar room, Senator Gregory Stoneman struggled to remember where he was and what exactly had taken place. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. Jesus Christ! Had he been shot? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital? What the hell was going on?

  His head was throbbing as he attempted to sit up and get his bearings.

  A scowling but pretty young girl in cut-off jeans and a tight orange tank-top loomed into view, gazed down at him and yelled over her shoulder, “Yo – Benito! The old dude’s awake.”

  Benito, the energetic Latino male with the red bandanna cutting a swathe across his forehead, sprang into the room.

  “Yo, man,” Benito muttered, wild eyes darting around like a caged rat. “You had some kinda shit-ass fall. We took you in so’s we could help.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gregory said, reaching up to examine the side of his head with his hand. His temple felt sore, rough to the touch, and extremely tender. “I didn’t fall,” he said, filled with a sudden flash of anger. “If I recall correctly, somebody took a shot at me.”

  “Accident, man,” Benito said, shifting on his colorful sneakers. “Bullet skimmed past – you got nothin’ but a dumb-ass graze.”

  “Excuse me?” Gregory said, his fury building.

  “Listen, man – nobody want trouble, an’ you don’t want no bad publicity up in yo shit, that’s why we help you.”

  “You didn’t help me,” Gregory said outraged, sitting up all the way. “It was no doubt you who shot me. I’m calling the police.”

  “Told ya,” the scowling girl brayed triumphantly. “He gonna turn yo mothafuckin’ ass in.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Benito snarled, turning on her. “He ain’t callin’ no fuckhead cops.”

  “Why am I here?” Gregory demanded. “Why didn’t you take me straight to the Emergency Room?”

  “’Cuz I tole ya – you ain’t got nothin’ but a scratch,” Benito explained. “You one lucky sombitch. Gun went off by accident. But if the cops get a smell, I go back inside, an’ I ain’t goin’ back again ’cause a some dumb-fuck accident. You unnerstan’?”

  “No,” Gregory said grimly. “I certainly do not understand.”

  Benito bounced around on the balls of his feet. The large gold medallion sitting on his chest began flying across his baggy T-shirt.

  “Accident, man,” he repeated, taking a reassuring grope of his crotch. “Ya gotta unnerstan’. I did you bad, now you be here, an’ I be puttin’ it t’
you like I’m sorry, that kinda shit. An’ anythin’ you want me t’do – anythin’ – then we gonna be even.”

  Suddenly Gregory felt everything fall into place. He understood. He got it.

  God had heard his pleas for help and handed him the solution to his biggest problem of all.

  Benito was standing before him. His savior.

  * * *

  Most people dreaded going to work on a Monday morning since it signaled the end of the weekend, and five long working days loomed ahead. Carolyn, however, couldn’t wait. To her, Monday morning meant five exciting days working in close proximity to Senator Gregory Stoneman. Her Senator Gregory Stoneman, because soon he would be all hers.

  She couldn’t help wondering if he’d told Evelyn yet. Had the opportunity arisen? And if not, why not? The time had come for him to quit with the weak excuses. The time had come for him to be strong and stand up to Evelyn once and for all. That’s exactly what he’d promised to do.

  She was smiling as she entered the office. She greeted Gregory’s newest male intern, and nodded at his other executive assistant, Muriel – an older woman who took care of arranging his speaking engagements and social events.

  “Morning, everyone,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day?”

  Muriel, drab in a sludge-brown pantsuit that emphasized her pear-shaped figure – glanced at her as if she was out of her mind. “It’s actually extremely cold,” Muriel said, tight-lipped. “And this afternoon the weather forecast calls for rain and maybe even snow.”

  “Ah yes,” Carolyn answered cheerily. “But right now the sun is peeking through the clouds, and later, if we’re lucky, we might see a rainbow.”

  “Always the optimist,” Muriel said, making optimist sound like a dirty word.

  There was not much love lost between the two women. Muriel had worked for the Senator for ten years, and when Carolyn had come aboard, she’d felt slighted. Muriel had always resented Carolyn, especially when she’d begun to suspect that there was more than a professional relationship between “the new girl” as she always referred to Carolyn, and her boss, the esteemed Senator.

  “Senator Stoneman will not be in this morning,” Muriel said, delighted that it was she imparting the information and not Carolyn telling her.

  “What do you mean he won’t be in?” Carolyn asked, the smile slipping from her face. “How do you know?”

  “Mrs Stoneman called me at home.”

  “And said what?” Carolyn asked, her mind racing in all directions.

  “She told me that he won’t be in until this afternoon.”

  “Why did she call you?”

  “Is there a problem with that?” Muriel snapped, stretching her scrawny neck.

  “Uh . . . no,” Carolyn said. “I simply wondered why she didn’t call me.”

  “I’ve known the Senator’s wife for many years,” Muriel replied with a superior smirk. “We often speak on the phone.”

  “That’s – uh – fine,” Carolyn said, determined not to let the fact that she was ruffled show. “Did she give you a reason why the Senator is coming in late?”

  “No,” Muriel said, satisfied that she’d ruined the “new girl’s” day. “I’ve already cancelled all his morning and noon appointments, no need for you to bother.”

  Furious that Muriel had taken it upon herself to cancel appointments that she should have been dealing with, Carolyn retreated to her small but pleasant office.

  Had Gregory told Evelyn, and that’s why he wasn’t coming in until later? It was a possibility. Evelyn might be hysterical, so it stood to reason that he was busy handling the situation. Perhaps they were already meeting with a divorce lawyer.

  Experiencing a shiver of excitement, Carolyn decided that Gregory had finally done it, she was sure. After their talk on Saturday when she’d revealed that she was pregnant, he’d obviously realized that it was time to take action. There could be no more stalling.

  Good for Gregory. She couldn’t wait to see him.

  * * *

  Late Sunday afternoon, Gregory had returned home with a plaster covering his grazed temple and a raging headache. Evelyn was in the living room entertaining several of her women friends to a game of canasta. She’d hardly looked up when Gregory had walked into the house. Later on, she’d noticed the plaster, and with an extreme lack of interest had asked him what had happened.

  “Ran into a door at that damn slum you sent me to,” he’d said shortly, and that was that. She hadn’t even bothered to inquire what had transpired between him and Ramirez.

  That night he’d hardly slept. His mind was on high alert, wondering if the scenario he’d arranged with Ramirez’s brother Benito would work. It was a crazy insane plan that he’d come up with and he knew it. But had Carolyn given him any choice?

  No.

  Carolyn was determined to ruin and shatter his life; she’d forced him to fight back. It wasn’t his fault, it was all hers.

  Benito. A young Latino man with criminal tendencies. A drug dealer who’d been in and out of juvenile hall and then prison from the age of fourteen. A desperate man, for if Benito was accused of shooting at a Senator, they would surely throw the book at him, lock him away for a long, long time. There was the matter of a kidnapping too. Instead of taking him to a hospital or the Emergency Room, Benito had bundled him into his wreck of a car and transported him to the rundown condemned house he called home.

  Yes, that was kidnapping all right – a federal offense.

  The truth was that Benito had not been shooting at him at all. As Benito was leaving the community center, a car full of rival gang members had driven by, spotted him and started shooting. Benito had immediately retaliated, hence the stray bullet that had whizzed past Gregory’s head.

  Gregory was well aware that had it been a direct hit he would’ve been killed. Just like that. Gone in seconds.

  But it wasn’t a direct hit. And as it turned out, it was a fortuitous happening. A happening of which he planned on taking full advantage.

  * * *

  For over an hour Carolyn debated with herself whether she should call Gregory’s home. After all, she was his assistant, and it was a workday. Surely she was allowed to call his house?

  Unless Evelyn knew about her, then it wouldn’t be such a clever move. No. Not clever at all.

  But still . . . she was, as always, anxious to speak to him, if only to hear the sound of his voice.

  Reluctantly she ventured into Muriel’s office. The room smelled of lilac and stale cigarette smoke. Yes, Muriel had a bad habit – she smoked, although she always pretended that she’d given it up. The overpowering smell of lilacs concealed nothing.

  “Did Mrs Stoneman give any indication of what time the Senator might come in today?” Carolyn asked.

  Muriel glanced up from her desk, brow furrowed. “No, dear, she didn’t.”

  “I see,” Carolyn said, adding a cheerful, “Well, I’m sure he’ll be in soon.”

  “Or not,” Muriel said tartly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Perhaps he’s taking the day off,” Muriel suggested with a sly smirk. “Perhaps he and Mrs Stoneman are spending some quality time together while the children are at school.”

  Carolyn couldn’t help herself. “Why would he want to do that?” she blurted.

  “Their wedding anniversary is coming up next week,” Muriel said, the sly smirk still hovering on her thin lips. “I would imagine he might be taking her shopping to her favorite jewelry store.”

  Carolyn backed out of the room. That was so not happening. He’d be in soon, and everything would be fine.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bobby & Annabelle

  While Bobby waited for M.J. to pick him up, Frankie called to tell him that if they wanted to see Annabelle, they should come to the SoHo apartment. “We’ll be there,” Bobby said.

  Try as he might, he could not seem to put Zeena on the back-burner. She was on his mind big-time. And how dumb was that
? The woman was famous, a freaking superstar, and he didn’t even have her phone number.

  He hadn’t asked.

  She hadn’t offered.

  Which meant that if he wanted to reach her, how was he supposed to do that?

  It didn’t matter because he had no desire to contact her, did he?

  A warning voice in his head stated, “No way.”

  Another voice said, “Sure. Why not? It’s one helluva crazy ride. Why not take it?”

  Obviously his emotions were conflicted. His hunch was that whenever Zeena decided, she would simply turn up at his apartment unannounced, just as she had the first time, and knowing Zeena she’d expect an instant replay.

  He realized this was not a healthy situation. The woman was messing with his head, and if he was smart he’d get out now before she appeared at his door armed with handcuffs, vibrators, and God knew what else.

  Was he strong enough to turn her away?

  He would have to put that one to the test.

  * * *

  Annabelle fidgeted on the back seat of the Mercedes. She was all packed and ready to go to L.A., but as they headed for the SoHo apartment to meet the lawyer her father had sent, she couldn’t help feeling scared. What would it be like, facing Ralph? She hadn’t seen him in over a year. In fact, she hadn’t seen either of her esteemed parents for that amount of time. Now she would never see her mother again – unless Ralph opted for an open casket, and she suspected he wouldn’t go for that, not since Gemma had been shot in the face, her ethereal beauty obliterated for all time.

  Annabelle remembered their last meeting. Ralph’s latest over-the-top movie was première-ing in New York, and they’d invited her to attend the grand opening. She hadn’t wanted to go, so she’d claimed she was too busy with her design business, and instead she’d dropped by the Four Seasons where they were staying.

  The three of them had sat down for breakfast in their luxurious VIP suite. As usual Annabelle could remember thinking that they were the most beautiful couple she’d ever seen, so physically perfect in every way. Ralph, tall and craggy-faced – resplendent in silk pajamas, a burgundy robe, and fancy monogrammed slippers. Gemma, a fairy princess in a pale-pink negligée, golden curls surrounding her exquisite face, small diamond stud earrings affixed to her delicate earlobes.