Poor Little Bitch Girl

by Jackie Collins

  Once more he was filled with dread.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Denver

  Bobby was a take-charge kind of guy, and since I’m a take-charge kind of girl it could’ve developed into a battle of who’s going to make the decisions. But I was in a weakened state, so whatever Bobby suggested I went along with.

  Apparently he’d obtained information about the area where the calls from Carolyn’s cell were coming from. His decision was that we drive around the streets in that part of town, simply to check things out.

  Normally I would’ve said, “What’s the point?” But since it was a better plan than sitting in a hotel room waiting for news, I went along with it.

  Our driver, a friendly guy from Sierra Leone, informed us we were venturing into foreign territory. “You don’t want to leave the car,” he said, puzzled as to why we would consider going there in the first place.

  “Not planning to,” Bobby assured him.

  But when we were in the thick of the dilapidated and supposedly dangerous neighborhoods, I kept on spotting vacant lots full of overgrown brush and abandoned buildings surrounded by broken fences, and I thought, Oh my God – what if Carolyn’s dead body is lying out there somewhere? We have to do something.

  “Shouldn’t we get out of the car and search?” I said to Bobby.

  He looked at me as if I was certifiable. “Search where?” he asked, as we drove by a graffiti-covered wall, a bunch of derelicts huddled against it, hiding from the rain under a makeshift awning of old cardboard boxes.

  “I . . . I don’t know. Anywhere, somewhere. There’s all those empty lots. Why aren’t the police here with tracker dogs? Shouldn’t there be search-parties out looking for her?”

  “They can’t start searching with nothing to go on,” Bobby said gently.

  “Then we should do it!” I burst out.

  “Hey,” Bobby said, “I know you want to do everything possible, but this is a big city. She could be anywhere.”

  I slumped back against the leather seat. “I know,” I said softly. “But doing nothing makes me feel so helpless.”

  “You want to go back to the hotel?” Bobby asked, reaching for my hand and squeezing.

  I’m not psychic or anything like that, but something told me we should keep looking.

  “No,” I said. “Let’s drive around some more.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Annabelle

  Several people gave eulogies at Gemma’s funeral. Her longtime agent. A studio head. Her most recent co-star. A celebrated director she’d worked with many times. Her best friend – an older woman who could barely contain her tears. And finally Ralph Maestro himself.

  Ralph cut an imposing figure standing at the podium – larger than life in every respect, cleverly concealing his anger regarding the fact that his daughter had dared to put in an appearance with her low-rent boyfriend. The two of them had balls of steel. He was outraged that they’d had the nerve to turn up.

  Commonsense prevailed. The press were out in force, so he’d said nothing to Annabelle. At Pip’s urging he had not ignored her. He’d greeted her with a distant kiss on each cheek – Hollywood-style – and walked away to mingle with other mourners.

  Ralph spoke about his beautiful wife with great sincerity. His eulogy was touching and gentle. The audience of friends sitting in the neo-Classical Hall of Liberty at Forest Lawn Memorial Park were filled with compassion for this bereaved movie star, destined to be a lonely man.

  But of course, this being Hollywood, everyone knew that Ralph Maestro would not be lonely for long. Women were already surmising about who would have first shot at Ralph Maestro. He was a major get.

  * * *

  “This is an excellent start,” Fanny Bernstein whispered in Frankie’s ear. “Annabelle’s a natural. Did you see how our little dollface handled the press?”

  Frankie nodded, none too pleased. Yes, he’d seen all right. Who would’ve guessed that Annabelle possessed acting talent? She’d done a fine job of portraying the inconsolable daughter. She’d expertly deflected any questions about the piece in Truth & Fact. And the assembled media had fallen in love with her.

  Frankie, on the other hand, found himself ignored. He wasn’t important enough for the press, they couldn’t care less about him, it was Annabelle all the way.

  Frankie’s considerable ego had taken a major nose-dive.

  Fanny appeared to know everyone, but she didn’t bother introducing him – another irritant. Goddamn it, she was supposed to be representing both of them, not just Annabelle.

  After the funeral he planned on having a serious heart-to-heart with Fanny Bernstein. It was about time she treated him with the respect he deserved.

  * * *

  After the private service, everyone trooped out to the cemetery to watch as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

  Several helicopters swirled overhead. It was a perfect California December day; no clouds in the sky, a warm but slight breeze.

  Annabelle wondered if they should go back to the house with all the other mourners.

  Fanny said they should.

  In a strange way Annabelle was highly elated. People were being so nice to her, they were talking to her about how she resembled her mother and how lovely she was. They were asking whether she’d ever consider a career in the movies. Nobody – not one person – mentioned the damn tabloid.

  The studio head handed her his card and suggested she call him. Her mother’s best friend said they must have lunch. Gemma’s most recent co-star, a handsome actor with a Johnny Depp swagger, inquired if she was single.

  “Yes,” she answered quickly, hoping that Frankie wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby.

  Hollywood. Beverly Hills. Los Angeles. Suddenly Annabelle felt she was finally home.

  Goodbye, New York. L.A. was her future.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Bobby

  They’d been driving up and down the mean streets for over an hour.

  “We should head back to the hotel,” Bobby suggested, feeling Denver’s pain. “This wasn’t such a brilliant idea.”

  “Maybe ten more minutes?” Denver said hopefully, her eyes glued to the side window, scanning the street.

  “No,” Bobby said firmly. “This is a useless exercise. I’m sorry, Denver.”

  She nodded, eyes still watching. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed.

  “Hotel?” their driver asked, a man who couldn’t wait to get away from this area. His passengers had to be from out of state – they obviously didn’t realize how dangerous these streets could be.

  “Yeah,” Bobby said. “The hotel.”

  The driver put his foot down, a happy man.

  Suddenly, Denver let out a cry to stop the car.

  “What?” Bobby said, startled.

  “For God’s sake! Stop!” Denver yelled at the driver.

  The poor man didn’t know what to do. One passenger wanted to return to the hotel – now the pretty woman wanted him to stop. And even though it was daylight, stopping was not safe. He tried to explain to the woman, but she was having none of it.

  “Stop this car,” she commanded. “Now!”

  “What have you seen?” Bobby asked. “C’mon, what is it?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Denver stammered as the car pulled into the curb. “Back half a block, there was a person on the street . . .”

  “A person on the street,” Bobby repeated blankly, shaking his head.

  “No, really . . .”

  “What person, Denver? Someone you know?”

  “I . . . yes . . . I think it was Carolyn!”

  Chapter Eighty

  Carolyn

  “What are you doing here, Senator?” Detective Lennox inquired.

  Gregory stepped back out of the rain into the entrance of the community center.

  Slumming. What else would I be doing here?

  “I am concerned about the welfare of the youth in this city,” Gr
egory said, launching into smooth politician talk. “Ramirez Ortego and I often meet to see what I can do to help. Getting these kids off the street is of major importance.”

  Ramirez shot him a look.

  Detective Lennox sighed. “Can we go inside? I’d appreciate it if you would come too, Senator.”

  Gregory experienced a leaden feeling in his stomach. What now? Had the detective discovered Carolyn’s body, and somehow linked it to him and the Ortego family?

  Stay calm, he reminded himself. Do not panic.

  Ramirez and Detective Lennox obviously knew each other, for as the three men walked inside, Detective Lennox placed his hand on Ramirez’s shoulder in a familiar fashion.

  “I came here to tell you myself, Ramirez,” he said gently. “I didn’t want you hearing it on the street.”

  Ramirez’s face was a mask. “Is it Benito?” he said. “Is it my brother?”

  Detective Lennox nodded. “I’m sorry, Ramirez. I’m really, really sorry.”

  * * *

  Carolyn did not think she could make it any further. Every street she turned onto was another desolate row of broken and empty buildings. And every person she attempted to approach turned their back on her.

  She was cold and alone. Her foot was blowing up, and in spite of the freezing cold she felt feverish and dizzy. If she didn’t get help soon she would give up, find a corner and curl into a ball. No food. No water. A sharp pain in her lower abdomen.

  Was she losing the baby? Was that blood she felt trickling down her leg?

  She couldn’t go on. It was too much.

  She leaned against the wall of a boarded-up shop and gasped for breath.

  A car drove past. A decent-looking car.

  Would they stop for her? Feebly she waved.

  No. They wouldn’t stop. Nobody would.

  She crumpled to the ground on the wet pavement and closed her eyes.

  “Carolyn?”

  It was the voice of an angel she was hearing.

  “Oh my God, Carolyn!” the voice said. “It is you!”

  Chapter Eighty-One

  The Shocker

  In Hollywood, expecting the unexpected is an everyday occurrence. Scandals take place on a daily basis.

  Phil Spector shoots a woman in the face. O.J. Simpson slashes up his wife and her male friend. Britney has a public meltdown. Lindsay Lohan runs around smashing up cars and wearing no panties. Heath Ledger overdoses. Jessica and Jennifer and Cameron break up with yet another boyfriend. Michael Jackson dies amidst much speculation.

  There is always something going on. The Hollywood community is rarely shocked.

  But once in a while, something happens that is so off the chart that people are actually stunned.

  The Gemma Summer funeral presented such an event.

  Everything went off smoothly. The ride to Forest Lawn Memorial Park. The heartfelt eulogies. The lowering of the coffin ceremony.

  And then came the big finale, witnessed by everyone present.

  Several police cars. A scattering of cops. And two detectives. Detective Preston – a tall African-American man. And Detective Lee, a younger Asian woman.

  The two detectives approached Ralph Maestro as he walked away from the grave site, their expressions determined.

  Immediately alarmed, Pip, loyal PR flack that he was, stepped in front of his important client.

  “Move,” Detective Lee said in a surprisingly deep voice.

  “Ralph Maestro,” Detective Preston said. “You are under arrest for your involvement in the murder of your wife, Gemma Summer Maestro. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have—”

  “This is an outrage!” Felix Saunders exploded, as the detective finished reading Ralph Maestro his rights.

  Ralph remained stoic, his larger-than-life movie-star face devoid of any emotion. After all, this was Hollywood and he was a star.

  Nothing was going to happen to a big celebrity such as himself.

  Nothing at all.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Denver

  Wow! So much happened in such a short period of time that I’m kind of dazed.

  Discovering Carolyn wandering the streets was a total fluke. Amazing!

  I have to thank Bobby for working behind the scenes and finding out everything he could. Guess it’s pretty useful, coming from a family who can pick up a phone and call the Chief of Police.

  We rushed Carolyn to the emergency room with me holding her in my arms all the way there, and Bobby taking care of reaching the Hendersons and Detective Lennox.

  A Dr Glass met us at the ER and whisked Carolyn off, while I hugged the Hendersons and tried to make sense of the whole thing.

  Bobby was there for me all the way – fielding everyone’s questions, getting me coffee, watching over me. It’s kind of a strange feeling, having someone look after me. I’ve always been so independent, so sure I could handle any situation. But right now I realized that having Bobby around was pretty damn comforting.

  When we picked Carolyn up and bundled her into the car, she’d looked so pathetic and wrecked, and she was quite hysterical. God knows what kind of ordeal she’d been through.

  Detective Lennox was waiting to question her, but Dr Glass had not given him the go-ahead, which I think kind of pissed him off as he paced up and down drinking endless cups of coffee out of Styrofoam cups.

  Finally Dr Glass appeared in the waiting area. “Carolyn’s going to be fine,” she assured us – paying special attention to Mrs Henderson, who looked kind of wrecked herself. “She’s suffering from exhaustion, severe dehydration, and she has a nasty cut on her foot which will need stitches. We’re giving her a tetanus shot just to be safe. However, you will all be happy to hear that the baby is fine.”

  “Baby?” Mrs Henderson said, confused.

  “Baby!” I gasped, equally confused.

  “Carolyn is almost two months’ pregnant,” Dr Glass revealed. “I thought you all knew.”

  So that was Carolyn’s exciting news. Finally!

  Bobby took my hand and squeezed it.

  Hmm . . . who knew that mere hand-holding could send chills down a girl’s spine?

  “You surprised?” Bobby asked.

  “You bet!” I replied. “Now I need to find out who the father is.”

  He gave me a slow smile.

  Oh man! Those whiter than white teeth. Those lips. Those dark, intense eyes.

  Should I be getting turned on at a time like this?

  I think not.

  But screw it. Carolyn’s safe. So what was wrong with concentrating on Bobby?

  Nothing.

  “Why?” he said sensibly. “Isn’t it up to her to tell you when she wants you to know?”

  Smart too. Questioning her right now was not a good idea.

  I suddenly realized how tired I was. Emotionally drained and ready to go home and crawl into bed with Amy Winehouse beside me.

  There was nothing more I could do here. The Hendersons needed time with their daughter; I would just be in the way. Besides, if all was okay, Carolyn would be coming out to stay with me in a week or so.

  I asked if I could see her. Dr Glass said no, only family for now.

  Bobby kind of read my mind. “How about I fly you home?” he suggested. “Your friend is safe, there’s nothing more you can do here.”

  “But you live in New York,” I murmured. “I can easily catch a commercial flight.”

  His dark eyes bored into mine. “I’m taking you home,” he said, his tone inviting no argument.

  I said my goodbyes to the Hendersons, wished them well, and made them promise to have Carolyn call me as soon as she was up to it.

  We both shook Detective Lennox’s hand, and then took off, me and Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos.

  Sitting in a car on the way to the airport I felt a shyness overcome me, and that’s not me at all.

  Oh God! In the midst of all the drama
was I falling in . . .

  No! No! No!

  “Whereabouts do you live in L.A.?” Bobby asked.

  “Why? You planning to have your plane land on my street?” I answered flippantly.

  “Maybe,” he said, grinning. “That way I can get rid of you sooner.”

  “Get rid of me? How dare you!” I joked.

  “Y’know,” he said, giving me a long, lingering look, “you’re even prettier when you’re mock-angry.”

  I swallowed hard. Usually I would come up with a smart retort, but Bobby had me flummoxed.

  The plane was waiting. Naturally. It seemed Bobby snapped his fingers and things happened.

  Hani and Gitta were on board to greet us, clad in their smart uniforms.

  Hmm . . . I think I could easily get used to this style of travel.

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost noon, Washington time. Three hours earlier in L.A. The Maestro funeral would soon be underway and I would not be there to participate.

  Too bad.

  Or not.

  The moment the plane took off I fell into a deep sleep, curled into a tight ball. Someone – I think it was Bobby – put a blanket over me and a pillow behind my head, but nothing was about to wake me. I was totally beat.

  When I did surface a couple of hours later, Bobby had news.

  Apparently Ralph Maestro had been arrested for ordering his wife’s murder. It was all over the internet.

  Unfortunately – or fortunately – I’d missed the whole thing.

  I couldn’t wait to get home and find out everything.

  As soon as we landed, Bobby had a car waiting – of course – and we set off for my apartment.

  I was major conflicted. Was I going to invite him in? What kind of state had I left my apartment in? Where were we headed? Could this possibly turn into something?

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  But fate always has a crazy way of intervening, and standing outside my apartment was Sam – the screenwriter I’d spent one night with in New York.

  “Hey there!” Sam exclaimed, full of enthusiasm. “I just sold my screenplay to Universal, so here I am!”