Lara stood up, stifling a yawn. “Let’s go inside, it’s bedtime.”
“Yes, and I’ve got to catch an early plane.”
“Wish you could stay longer,” Lara said wistfully.
“I have to get back. Can’t leave them alone too long. You know Richard—he expects my full attention.”
“Tell me about it,” Lara murmured.
They entered the house, where Cassie was busy supervising the caterers as they packed up.
Lara headed for her bedroom. “Don’t be shy about it,” she called over her shoulder. “When you’re selling the movie, use my name; that should get you all the financing you need.”
“God, Lara, I really appreciate it,” Nikki said gratefully. “Can’t wait to tell Richard.”
“Oh, you’ll return the favor one of these days.”
“Any time,” Nikki replied earnestly. “You call, I’ll be there.”
• •
Joey left the party early, Barbara Westerberg in hot pursuit. There was no point in staying when he couldn’t get close to Lara—everyone wanted to be near her, and he wasn’t about to join the line. Now was not the time to make his move.
In the hotel lobby he extricated himself from Barbara, who was intent on luring him up to her room. “Look,” he finally said. “You’re a very sexy woman, but I’m engaged. I can’t do this and have a clear conscience.”
“Nobody will know,” Barbara assured him, licking her lips suggestively.
“Everyone will know,” he replied. “Besides, you’ve got a husband.”
Barbara played her ace card. “Y’know, Joey,” she said, circling him with words. “I have three movies in development . . . it’s quite possible I can help you with your career.” A meaningful pause. “We’re talking big-time help.”
If Lara Ivory hadn’t existed he might have been tempted. Why not? If he could sleep with Madelaine Francis he could certainly sleep with Barbara Westerberg. But things had changed. Since meeting Lara he had no desire to do anything that might jeopardize his relationship with her. “Sorry,” he said regretfully, trying to let her down easy. “Can’t do it.”
Her expression was flinty. “Can’t or won’t?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, making his escape and going up to his room, where he lounged on the bed, staring at the television for a while.
There was a bottle of vodka on his dresser. He got up, demolished half of it, fell back on the bed and eventually drifted into a troubled sleep.
In the morning he made up his mind. He wanted Lara Ivory more than he’d ever wanted anyone in his life.
And somehow or other he was going to get her.
Betty was out for adventure. Well, of course, I was not averse to a little adventure myself, so we made the perfect pair. There I was, seventeen, ready to rock and roll, and on my way to California.
I gotta tell you, though—Betty was the biggest pain in the ass a man could ever get stuck with. She nagged the shit out of me. The only time she was quiet was when I was jamming it to her—and that didn’t last long.
We hitched most of the way. I lurked in the bushes, while Betty stood at the side of the road in the shortest shorts known to man and an almost nonexistent tank top, upright little tits on red alert. Every trucker screamed to a stop. As soon as they pulled up, I’d run out from my hiding place and we’d both climb aboard. The truckers weren’t happy, but tough shit—there was nothing they could do. A few of them came on to her anyway, and she winked at me and asked what they’d pay for a threesome.
I wasn’t into that. To tell the truth, at the time I didn’t even know what a threesome was. After a few years of living in California it had become my specialty—me, two sexy girls and three thousand bucks a show. Money for pleasure, we all got off.
But I’m getting ahead of my story.
Finally we arrived in L.A., Betty and me. I had it in my head we were on our way to a fancy house with a big swimming pool, just like I’d seen in the movies. But no, she dragged me down to Oxnard, a small seaside town halfway between L.A. and Santa Barbara, where her dad and his girlfriend lived. Thing is, you gotta be where it’s all happening. Oxnard was a stopgap. I knew we were going nowhere if we stayed there.
It wasn’t a problem, because Betty’s dad took one look at us and more or less told us to piss off. He wasn’t into his daughter screwing up his life. So we hit the road again, hitching our way back to LA., where we lived on the streets around Hollywood Boulevard for a couple of months, even though we still had Avis’ jewelry stashed in Betty’s backpack.
Betty got off on living on the streets, she was into spending time with all the other kids who’d run away from home. It wasn’t my scene, sleeping in abandoned houses with a bunch of misfits, scrounging food from the back of restaurants and hanging out on the Boulevard. I was used to comfort and a proper bed.
“We should sell your mom’s jewelry and rent an apartment,” I informed her.
“Then we’ll havta pay rent every month,” Betty complained. “How’re we gonna make enough bread t’do that?”
She had a point. Truth was I didn’t know. I’d never had to make money; there’d always been a woman to take care of me.
Finally, in spite of Betty’s objections, we sold the jewelry and rented a one-room apartment. When the money ran out, Betty started hooking to pay the rent and buy her coke—a habit she’d gotten into in a big way.
Betty didn’t get off on being the only one making money; she thought I should get a job. We fought all the time. “Shift your lazy ass and do something,” she’d yell at me.
Who made her ruler of my fucking planet?
I had my eye out for another deal, and one day, while walking down Sunset, I found it. Attractive woman in her late thirties, white convertible broken down; car phone out of action.
“Hey,” I said, zeroing in ’cause I knew a good thing when it was staring me in the face. “You look as if you need help.”
“My car died,” the woman said. “Can you do me a favor and call AAA for me if I give you my card?”
I did better than that. I fixed her car myself, then I asked her to give me a lift to Fairfax. By the time we got there, I’d told her I was an out-of-work actor who’d recently broken up with his girlfriend and was looking for a place to crash.
“What the hell—you can stay in my pool house for a couple of nights,” she said, checking me out and liking what she saw.
That’s all it took. Three days later I moved into the main house and into her bed with the leopard-skin throw and smooth satin sheets.
Although she wasn’t in the movie industry, she certainly had money. And after I showed her a good time in bed, she wasn’t averse to passing some of it my way.
I didn’t tell Betty I was moving on, because I knew she’d make a scene. I simply never went back.
So here I was, two days before my nineteenth birthday, living with a hot babe in a house in the Hollywood Hills, feeling like I’d definitely arrived. Trouble was, I still didn’t have any money.
Soon after moving in I discovered my new lady love was a high-class call girl, which didn’t bother me at all.
“You should do what I do,” she told me one day, lounging on satin sheets, wearing nothing but stiletto heels and an enigmatic smile. “The women in this town are desperate. The men too. You can take your pick.”
And so I started a new career. It wasn’t the one I’d had in mind, but it would do. For now.
Becoming a movie star would have to wait.
CHAPTER
16
WHEN NIKKI ARRIVED HOME FROM New York the next afternoon, she found Summer entertaining. The house was full of young people lounging around in their shorts and swimsuits, acting as if they owned the place.
She stood in the hallway, perplexed. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
“Have you seen my daughter?” she asked a long-haired surfer type, who gazed at her blankly with glassy eyes and a dazed smile. “Summer,” she repeated, “my daugh
ter.”
“Oh, yeah, Summer,” the guy said, scratching his chin. “She’s like, on the deck.”
Seething, Nikki made her way out to the deck, where she discovered a dozen other bikini-clad babes and longhaired dudes lolling around. She spotted Summer over in the corner, necking with a bare-chested boy who was wearing tight-fitting chinos that rode dangerously low on his skinny hips. Marching over, she snapped out a sharp, “Excuse me.”
The boy had his thumbs in the top of Summer’s bikini pants. He barely turned his head. “Get lost,” he mumbled.
“No,” Nikki responded. “You get lost. This is my house, and that’s my daughter you’re slobbering all over.”
Summer pushed him away and sat up. “Oh, hi, Mom,” she said, casual as can be. The boy took off.
“I don’t remember you asking if you could throw a party,” Nikki said, quietly furious.
“Well, you were away, an’ Richard said it was no biggie,” Summer said, Little Miss Innocent.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah, I mentioned I was like, having a couple of friends over, and he said I should go for it.”
“Summer, there are at least fifty people trashing my house. That’s not exactly a couple of friends.”
“You know how it is, Mom. Word gets on the street, an’ it’s Sunday and people have nothing to do, so it kinda turned into a crowd. S’not my fault.”
“Whose fault is it? Mine?” Oh, God! Nikki thought. I’m beginning to sound like my own mother!
“Hey,” Summer’s pretty face clouded over. “Like what do you like, expect me to do—throw them out?”
“Yes,” Nikki said. “That’s exactly what I expect you to do. Get everyone out of my house. And do it now.”
“Gee, Mom,” Summer said, curling her lip in disgust. “You’re sounding so old.”
“Five minutes,” Nikki said through clenched teeth. “Do you hear me, Summer?” She turned and marched back into the house, going straight to her bedroom.
There was a naked couple making out on her bed. The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen, the boy maybe a year or two older. “Are you aware you’re in a private home?” she said angrily. “And this is my bedroom.”
The girl grabbed her panties, the boy grabbed a joint, smoldering in an ashtray on the floor next to the bed. She couldn’t help noticing he was well hung and very muscular. They grew them big these days.
“Listen,” she said wearily. “I’ll look away while you get dressed, then kindly get the hell out of here.”
She turned around and listened to them scrambling for their clothes, which were littered all over the floor. A few moments later they ran past her and out of the room.
Locking the door, she picked up the phone and called Richard in the editing rooms. A woman answered.
“Who’s this?” Nikki asked.
“Kimberly. Who’s this?”
An assistant with attitude, just what she needed. “This is Mrs. Barry. Get me my husband.”
After a few moments, Richard came on the line. “Hi, sweetheart, you’re back,” he said.
“Yes, I’m back, and our house is full of sex-crazed teenagers,” she said sharply. “Did you tell Summer she could have a party?”
“Excuse me?” he said, sounding completely uninterested.
She knew why. He was sitting in front of the editing machines with his team of editors, completely absorbed. He couldn’t care less if Summer was entertaining the Dallas Cowboys.
“Summer said you told her it was okay if she had people to the house,” she said accusingly.
“You can’t begrudge her that on a Sunday afternoon. The kid had nothing to do, so I told her it was all right to have a few friends over.”
“The few friends turned into fifty people. When I went into our bedroom there were a couple of underage sex addicts making out on our bed!”
“Aw, Jesus!” he groaned.
“Weren’t you supposed to give her some kind of supervision while I was away? Obviously, she’s running wild.”
“Then obviously you shouldn’t have left her with me,” he said sourly, like she was the one in the wrong.
Nikki took a deep breath, striving to stay in control. “I don’t want to fight over this.”
“You’re the one making it into a fight.”
“I am not,” she said indignantly, furious he was taking Summer’s side.
“Look,” he said abruptly. “I’m working. I can’t handle this kind of aggravation.”
“Thanks a lot!” she said, slamming down the phone. She couldn’t believe that with all the good things about to happen in her future she had to deal with this shit. And Richard was no help, all he thought about was his precious movie.
She waited a good fifteen minutes before emerging from her bedroom. The house was clear.
“Summer,” she called out. No response. She hurried into the guest room—Summer’s temporary quarters. It looked like a disaster area. “Summer,” she yelled again.
Still no answer.
She went back into the living room and out onto the deck. Summer had taken her party down the beach. They were camped in front of somebody else’s house like a raggedy band of gypsies, a portable CD player blasting loud rap music.
She went back into the house. It was a shambles. They’d broken into the liquor cabinet, spilled drinks on the carpet; ashtrays were overflowing, boxes of half-eaten pizza everywhere. They’d even invaded Richard’s study, although they hadn’t touched his desk. Thank God for that. Or maybe it would have been a good thing if they had. Finally he’d wake up to what a devious little madam Summer really was.
“I’m not clearing up,” she muttered to herself, picking up the phone and trying to reach Sheldon in Chicago.
“Mister Weston, he away,” a maid’s heavily accented voice informed her.
“When is he coming back?”
“Don’ know. He in Bahamas.”
Trust Sheldon—he’d gotten rid of Summer and gone off on a fabulous vacation. Typical. The kid was with her and he didn’t give a damn. At least he could have warned her what a prize pain in the ass their daughter had turned into.
No. That wasn’t Sheldon’s style. He’d wanted her to find out for herself.
• •
“Rad party!” Tina remarked. “Shame your mom had to ruin it.”
“I know,” Summer agreed, swigging from a can of beer as they sprawled on the sand, watching the party disintegrate around them. “She’s a real downer.”
“Wouldn’t’ve thought it—her being so young and all.”
Summer picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers. “She left me when I was a kid. Took off.”
“Who looked after you?”
“My dad. He’s a big-deal shrink.”
Tina nodded, like she understood. “I bet he spoils the shit outta you.”
No, that’s not what he does, Summer thought, wishing she had the courage to confide in Tina. He comes into my room late at night, slobbers all over me, then shoves his thing inside me. He’s been doing it since I was ten. Now that he’s married to Rachel it’s not so often, but he still does it when he thinks there’s nobody around to discover his dirty little secret.
“My dad’s in Chicago,” she said flatly. “I’m staying here with my mom and her new husband.”
“Oooh, stepfathers!” Tina said, with a fake shudder. “They creep me out! I’ve had three, and the pervs all came on to me. That’s why I split when I was sixteen. I so couldn’t take the hassle. I mean it’s embarrassing—some old dude with a hard-on chasing you around the room while your mom’s out cruising Saks.”
Summer wished she could put things into perspective the way Tina did. “Your mom ever find out?” she asked.
Tina shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares?” She jumped up. “I’m getting another beer. Want one?”
Summer shook her head as Tina took off. The party was still going on all around her, but she didn’t f
eel like joining in. The mere thought of her father was enough to bring back the old familiar sickness in the pit of her stomach that had been such a part of growing up.
The first time he came to her room was bad enough, but after that he’d visited her once a week, and there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was ten years old and petrified. Besides, he’d sworn her to silence, threatening all kinds of terrible things if she talked.
After a while she’d learned to tolerate his abuse. She was too ashamed to tell, because whoever she confided in would think she’d condoned it. So, as painful as it was, she’d kept the terrifying secret to herself.
Maybe if she told Tina it would make things better.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
• •
“Your wife sounds like a real bitch,” Kimberly whispered in Richard’s ear.
He glanced over at his two editors to see if they’d heard. They were too intent on the Avid machine to notice.
Kimberly’s hand rested on his crotch. “She obviously doesn’t understand you,” she whispered.
Wasn’t that supposed to be his line?
“Richard,” Jim, his chief editor, said, turning around. “Take a look at this and see if it’s what you meant.”
Richard moved away from Kimberly to view the sequence of film they’d put together at his request. “We need the close-up on Lara,” he said brusquely. “My mistake. Put it back in.”
Kimberly was right; ever since Nikki had gotten it into her head she could be a producer, she had turned into a bitch. Treating him like the goddamn baby-sitter. Phoning up and complaining when she knew he was working. Where the hell was she coming from?
Jim put the close-up of Lara back in. Richard viewed the film and was satisfied. It had been a long week, but they were getting there; the assembled footage looked great.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, standing up and stretching. “See you early Monday. Go home to your families; they’ve probably forgotten what you look like!”
Kimberly hung around, waiting until the two men left. Richard was busy entering notes into his laptop.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked, when he finally realized she was still there.
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