Lethally Blonde

by Nancy Bartholomew

  Jeremy is content to stand by my side for a little while, but eventually he allows Andrea and Mark to lead him off to a table where Kim Cattrall is holding court. I shift my weight from one high-heeled foot to another and force my attention back to garnering money for the needy orphans. At one point the line thins and I spot Sam, his head thrown back as he laughs at something Andrea and Emma are telling him. As if feeling my gaze on him, he abruptly turns and our eyes meet. Emma reaches up to tell him something else and this time all three of them turn to look at me. They are laughing!

  “What?” I mouth silently to my traitorous best friend.

  She pretends not to notice. The three of them turn back to their conversation and I can’t help but see the way Sam is smiling at the two women. He smiled that way at me too, before we left for the Oscars. With a sinking feeling I realize he probably smiles this way at all women and that it really doesn’t mean anything at all special. After all, isn’t this the man who taught Jeremy Reins, the consummate actor, everything he knows about high drama?

  As if summoned, Jeremy appears at my elbow, closely tailed by a quite morose Mark.

  “Dance with me,” Jeremy murmurs in my ear. “Mark’s driving me insane and you are such a lovely antidote to boredom.” He leans past me and lays his hand and a considerable amount of charm on CeCe. “You don’t mind if I steal her, do you, lovey?”

  CeCe’s too sharp to let opportunity pass her by. “Well, dear, of course,” she says, all smiles. “If you’ll think about giving me that interview I’ve been dying for!”

  Jeremy plays her well. He smiles, bows just enough to be courtly and then winks at the piranha.

  “Do you think your viewers can take me live and unfiltered?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he leads me out onto the floor and sweeps me into his arms in a grand and very public display of attention. I hear the clicking of a million shutters and wonder where Emma has stashed Marlena. Marlena has little patience with flashing lights.

  “Lovey,” Jeremy whispers in my ear, “you’re being very obvious. That’s why I came to get you.”

  I start to pull back but Jeremy’s hand tightens on the small of my back.

  I relax into him but manage to mutter against his chest. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m being obvious. Isn’t that the point?”

  Jeremy kissed my temple softly. “Obvious about Sam. You’re practically falling off your heels trying to follow his every move, lovey. I had no idea you fancied him so.” The English accent is broad and thick and completely put on.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” But the protest sounds weak even to me.

  “Lovey,” Jeremy cautions. “Don’t try and bullshit the best. I know the look and frankly, I am delighted you appreciate the man as much as I do, but I must warn you, I don’t want him hurt. He’s had enough pain, Porsche. Don’t trifle with that man. He’s not the kind. He’s too raw. If it’s sex you want…”

  He’s not strong enough to keep me from rearing back to frown at him now. I barely register the whir of shutters as I rush to defend myself.

  “Unlike most of your lady acquaintances, I am not the kind to go looking for a casual fuck. And while I do find your friend somewhat attractive, I have absolutely no intentions of pursuing anything other than polite conversation. Furthermore, I was not looking at Sam, I was watching my friend, Emma. After all, I’m the only one she knows here.”

  Jeremy chuckles. “Well, now, that’s not exactly so. It seems to me she and Sam are getting along right well.”

  The music is slow and seductive with a pulsating, Latin rhythm that should lull even the most staid couple into a steamy dance floor encounter, but I am making us look like wax figures. I am becoming more agitated and would like nothing more than to push Jeremy aside and leave, but I can’t. Jeremy underscores this by smiling indulgently and kissing me on the forehead.

  “Remember where we are, lovey,” he directs.

  I force myself to smile and mold my body into his as he expertly guides me around the floor. Jeremy has worked his way under my skin and now all I can think about is Emma and Sam.

  “Why is it you have a problem with me hypothetically liking your buddy, but Emma appears not to bother you. She’s almost as wealthy and well-traveled as I am. What’s the difference?”

  Jeremy’s answering whisper burns through my chest and singes my very heart.

  “Lovey, the money has nothing to do with it. Emma’s not a player. You are. She’s looking for love and you’re running from it.”

  I keep my face safely hidden in the hollow of Jeremy’s neck, fighting back tears that seem to have materialized out of nowhere and now threaten my suddenly shaky composure.

  She’s looking for love and you’re running from it, echoes like a mantra inside my head and it is all I can do to keep breathing. Am I truly like that? Do I run from love? I mentally review every love affair—well, serious love affair—of my adult life and realize there haven’t been any. Not really. No relationship that’s lasted more than nine months. My longest love affair was with an Italian millionaire, Milos, and it only lasted a year because it was a continental relationship. The longest we ever spent together was on a two-week cruise in the southern Caribbean.

  The music ends and Jeremy makes no move to leave the dance floor. He stands still, his arms cradling me from the prying eyes of the paparazzi cameras. When the next song begins with a rapid dance beat, he makes no effort to change position.

  “I’ve upset you, Porsche. I’m sorry,” he says.

  That is all it takes for me to pull myself back together. Pity. I don’t do pity. I raise my head and smile brilliantly at him.

  “I am fine,” I say. “Let’s have more champagne, shall we?”

  Inside I feel like ice, hard and cold. Impenetrable. I don’t know why I allowed myself to get so upset. It’s not as if I actually care about the cowboy. It’s not like he matters. I must be tired, that’s why I suddenly found myself feeling so absolutely yucky.

  Jeremy looks at me strangely, then seems to get it, because he takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor, right to the table where Andrea, Mark, Sam and Emma are all sitting.

  “We are parched,” he announces as he arrives. “Poor Bug has been glad-handing the wealthy public forever and I have talked to reporters until I’m hoarse. Let’s have some champagne!”

  “Where’s Marlena?” I ask Emma.

  Emma looks at Sam, as if seeking permission to answer, and he is the one who answers for her. What in the hell is it with those two anyway?

  “When we got here the police stopped us. I had no idea but there’s a law in California that prohibits having ferrets for pets. They were going to call Animal Control until I made a few phone calls. We took her back to the penthouse. I thought it would be safer.”

  “A law against having ferrets as pets?” I can feel the frown lines creasing my forehead at the same moment Andrea pokes me and gestures toward a photographer. I throw my head back and laugh. He snaps his picture and I turn to Sam again.

  “You’re telling the truth, there really is a law?”

  Sam’s eyes darken. “I would never lie to you about something as important as your pet rodent.” The words are uttered like a solemn vow, but his jaw twitches and I realize he’s teasing me.

  I take a sip from my newly filled flute of Cristal and feel Jeremy slip his arm across my shoulders again. I lean back against him and play the smitten socialite to the hilt, but I am really wishing I could throw Emma off Sam’s scent. The minx! I’ll have her ass if she’s chasing Sam. I mean, he is vulnerable, and while Jeremy thinks he reads Emma, I know her to be a conniving schemer.

  I lean back into Jeremy and look up at his face, following his line of vision to the doorway. Great. Zoe, Diane and Zoe’s entourage are entering the ballroom. What in the hell are they doing here? The Governor’s Ball is the biggest party in town. Why have they left?

  “Oh, shit!” Jeremy swears under hi
s breath as Zoe approaches our table. “Let’s dance.” He starts to get up, tugging at my hand, and I seize my opportunity to get Sam to myself. “Oh, Jeremy, I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room, ask Emma, she’s dying to dance with you.”

  Jeremy sees this, grabs Emma’s hand and says, “Shall we?” The two are on the floor before Zoe can utter a word.

  Andrea and Mark are up and gone, too. I look at Diane’s triumphant smile and realize this is just what she enjoys most, upsetting the peaceful lives of others. I am fantasizing about slapping the woman silly, seeing myself wiping the smile right off the homewrecker’s overly made-up face.

  “Come on,” Sam says in my ear. “You look dangerous.”

  A little frisson of anticipation runs the length of my spine as I stand up and allow him to escort me to the dance floor. When we turn to face each other and he places his hand on the small of my back, I feel the heat from his hand radiate through my body.

  “So, you prefer to dance with dangerous-looking women, do you?”

  He chuckles, pulling me into him with a practiced air and I hope he doesn’t feel my heart beating as I relax against his chest.

  “Usually? No. But you looked like you were about to start a catfight, and I try to avoid those at all costs. You’re unpredictable.”

  “Unpredictable?” I coax.

  “Well, you have a history of fountain jumping and…”

  “Now, wait, that was only one incident. I’m quite…” I stop, not certain what to say next. I can’t say that I’m predictable, staid, conservative or anything even approaching this because I’m not and I don’t want to be.

  “What about the skydiving?” he says.

  I have to laugh now. “That was done for charity,” I say. “And I was totally terrified.”

  “Really?”

  My God, he smells good! I love the feel of his starched dress shirt against my cheek. “Well, maybe a little, but mainly I was thrilled. It gave me an excuse to do something that scared me a little bit.”

  “Un-huh.” I am certain he doesn’t understand me. “So, you like to feel challenged, a little bit scared? I guess routine bores you.”

  His tone has changed, becoming more serious, and I don’t give him the flip answer I think he’s expecting.

  “I love the excitement of pushing myself beyond what I think I can do, so in that respect, I suppose I love a challenge but routine has its place. There wasn’t really a place for routine in my life before I went away to boarding school, and by then I suppose I felt obligated to rebel against it. But to tell you the truth, I yearned for it. I wanted limits and boundaries. I wanted someone to care enough to impose them and protect me from myself.”

  “And did they?”

  “The school? Hell, yes. My family? No.”

  Sam is quiet for a moment, spinning me slowly around, his hand gently guiding me through familiar moves and steps. I forget about the questions and focus instead on feeling this one moment, memorizing it to savor later.

  “Andrea told me you went to see your father,” he says abruptly. “How’d it go?”

  I look up at him and grin. “He’s a lunatic. Maybe that’s where I get it from. He was in Vietnam, and to talk to him, I think he believes he’s still there.”

  Sam frowns. “I’m sorry.”

  I cock my head and inspect him for signs of pity. When I find none, I answer. “Don’t be. I like him. I’m glad I went. I needed that…closure.”

  The song comes to an end and instead of leading me back to our table, Sam heads for a side exit.

  “Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t look back as he’s answering me. “Outside. I think we could both use a little fresh air.”

  We walk down a thickly carpeted hallway, past security guards and uniformed police officers, out a doorway that leads to the pool and down the sidewalk that dances with eerie colored lights from the water’s reflection. He doesn’t break stride, in fact he seems to walk faster and with increased purpose, until we round the poolside cabana and escape into a dimly lit garden.

  Without warning or preamble, Sam stops. I bounce into him, scramble to disentangle myself, and find that his arms have encircled me, preventing my escape. I look up, about to ask him what in the world he’s doing, and find him staring down into my face, his expression completely unreadable.

  “See any photographers?” he asks.

  I frown and look carefully at the surrounding bushes. “No, why?”

  Sam smiles softly. “I wouldn’t want them wondering about Jeremy and this.” He cups my chin with one finger and lifts my mouth to meet his. His lips brush mine and as I move my hand to grip his waist, the kiss deepens. He kisses me with an intensity that is both intimidating and breathtaking. His tongue explores my mouth and his hands pull me closer, into his embrace. I want this moment to go on forever. I feel the heat of his body catching mine like dry timber and suddenly wanting him consumes me.

  When he breaks the kiss, he is smiling. “Scared yet?” he asks.

  My heart thuds against my rib cage and my knees are completely unreliable.

  “I don’t know if I’m scared,” I say. “Maybe you should do that again so I can be certain. Or maybe you’re the one who’s…”

  There is no finishing my sentences with this man. When he kisses me this time there is no doubt about his intent. Sam the cowboy wants me every bit as much as I want him. His fingers trace their way across my back, leaving the silk of my gown and finding bare skin. I hear a soft moan—mine—and feel my fingers clutch his waist, imploring him not to stop.

  The sound of voices growing closer breaks the intensity of the moment and we move apart just as a couple emerges from the pool area, arguing.

  “I don’t care what you have to do. I just don’t want her around. She’s everywhere!” It is Andrea’s voice, angry and desperate.

  “Babe, we’re in the middle of a project. She’s not a star, but she’s a key secondary actor. I can’t just tell Zoe to cut her. The project’s already over-budget. It will cost too much.” Mark’s voice echoes off the garden walls, pleading with his wife for understanding.

  “Keep her around and it may cost you your marriage,” Andrea answers quietly.

  “Babe, you know I’d do anything…”

  “Almost anything, it seems,” she answers coolly.

  Sam pulls me deeper into the shadows of a palm tree, hiding us both behind its broad trunk. Andrea and Mark pass by without noticing us.

  “Babe, I just won’t go to the studio unless there’s a crisis. You can come with me, if you want. Honey, please, this is business.”

  Andrea’s response is drowned out by the sound of a loud explosion. The ground beneath us rumbles, sirens and alarms sound everywhere as car alarms and security systems are triggered.

  Sam and I run toward the hotel’s interior, both of us worried that Jeremy is in terrible danger.

  Chapter 12

  I am the first through the doors, the first to stumble to a halt amidst the carnage that once was the elegant lobby of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. People are everywhere, evening gowns mix with security uniforms. Tuxedo-clad men lift pieces of furniture and debris off injured party-goers.

  “Emma!” I scream. The sound of my voice is swallowed in the panicked cacophony that surrounds us.

  Sam grabs my arm, pointing outside as he pushes me forward. “Jeremy.”

  We make our way slowly through the swell of people exiting the shell that once was the Wilshire’s magnificent entryway, emerging into the cool night air as more ambulances and emergency vehicles rush into the rectangular drive and attempt to draw closer to the scene. Firefighters have surrounded the burnt-out hulk of a vehicle and continue to coat it with chemical spray even though the flames have apparently been extinguished.

  Jeremy is standing flanked by Scott, uniformed police officers and plainclothes security men on a manicured square of lawn across from the front entrance. He is holding a blood-soaked white handkerchief to his foreh
ead and doesn’t see us approach. He and the others are clustered around a body lying on the ground, a body that is mostly obscured by kneeling EMTs.

  I start to run, when one of the medics shifts his position and I catch a glimpse of a slender foot clad in a lavender metallic Rene Caovilla sandal. It is Emma.

  I push past anyone in my way, almost unaware that Sam is helping me or that Jeremy is telling the others to let me through. I stop when I see the emergency techs working furiously to stop the flow of blood from Emma’s right arm. She is unconscious but breathing. Another medic is starting an IV in her left arm as a third relays information into a cell phone. I have a moment of ridiculous relief that she is not dead, not dying, followed by the horrible realization that, for Emma, she is critically wounded. Emma is a pianist, a classically-trained composer.

  I look up and around the courtyard, the hairs on the back of my neck rising as I remember the fear in Emma’s eyes when she arrived at Jeremy’s estate. She was running from something or someone. Had they discovered her, followed her to the Oscars and tried to kill her? Or was this the first serious attempt on Jeremy’s life? What were they doing outside?

  Emma is so pale, so still. When an EMT returns with a gurney and the others prepare to move her, Emma moans and her eyelids flutter.

  I elbow my way past one of the medics who is standing by Emma’s side and kneel down by her head. I reach out, stroking the blood-matted hair away from her face and waiting for another sign that Emma is regaining consciousness.

  “We need to move her, miss,” someone says.

  I nod. “Well, go ahead. Just be careful!”

  Still, when they lift her, Emma cries out sharply and this time her eyes open. Disoriented and in pain, she stares up, wild-eyed. “Bug!”

  I am by her side, rushing to keep up with the fast-moving gurney. “I’m here, honey.”

  “What happened? Jeremy?” Her face clouds, then she struggles to sit up, finds herself restrained by the stretcher’s transport straps and struggles harder, panicked. “Did you see him?”