Watched the big screen TV come to life, its image shaky at first before settling. A home movie.
A lush green field. A park. The kids looked younger by a couple of years. Amy was helping Carrie fly a kite. Caleb went to kick a soccer ball but missed, toppling over in the process. The camera shook, laughter from the holder probably. The camera moved higher, then fixed in one spot. A tripod.
And here he came. Yes, he’d been laughing—he jogged towards his son with the remnants of the laughter on his smiling face. He scooped his son high up onto his shoulders so Caleb could have a seat on the back of his father’s neck. Patrick kicked the soccer ball around, periodically reaching overhead to slap his son a high five. Caleb’s joy was immense.
This made Monica smile.
She continued to watch.
Amy and Carrie had given up on the kite. All four playing soccer now, Caleb still on Patrick’s shoulders.
They all looked so happy.
This made Monica happy. She was smiling and happy. Because all of it was now gone. No more of this. Ever. Because of her.
As if things couldn’t get any better, Domino suddenly stood, his massive frame blocking most of the TV screen, his face somber. He said something to Amy, then headed for the front door, behind him the Lamberts still playing soccer in the park.
Monica watched Amy follow, a look of concern on her face. She spoke to Domino, and he replied with a shake of his head before giving her a hug goodbye.
Ate you up inside, didn’t it? Monica thought. Amy could watch, yet you couldn’t, could you? Poor big Domino. Shame you can’t bench press your guilt away.
Monica wanted that video. The things she could do with it. It would be so much better than what she already had planned for the final act of her masterpiece.
So much better.
She needed that video. What luck to have been here on the precise night Amy had screened it for Domino. Monica ordinarily didn’t believe in luck, but tonight…
“Like a gift from my father,” she whispered beneath the Fujinons still held to her eyes.
“Huh?” Kelly said.
“Nothing.” Monica lowered the binoculars and gestured back towards the car. “Come on, we need to follow him to wherever the hell he’s staying.” And then back here to rent me a movie, she thought with more than a little delight.
32
East Hampton, New York
Kathy Lennox leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed the top of her son’s head. “Watching some tube for a change?”
Ben Jane accommodated his mother’s wit with a pleasant enough chuckle, but continued staring at the massive flat-screen.
“You want to take a ride into town?”
Still watching TV, Ben said, “And have eight billion people swarming us? Thanks, but I’ll continue to value my anonymity.”
She flicked the top of his head. “It’s not like that here. People keep to themselves. I’ve seen plenty of celebrities going about their business without anybody bothering them.”
Ben waved a lazy hand. “Pass.”
Kathy sighed. “So is this your plan? TV all summer?”
Ben pointed to a towering fixture next to the flat-screen that boasted every video game system under the sun.
Kathy flicked her son’s head again. “Smart ass.”
Again, Ben offered up a friendly chuckle. He loved his mom. He knew she was only trying to help. But Ben didn’t like the Hamptons. All of his friends were back at school, back in Massachusetts. He’d ventured to the beaches of West Hampton in the past, but found the kids his age to be exceptionally obnoxious…and ridiculously attractive.
Ben was not Quasimodo, he knew that, but he was no Brad Pitt either. And he refused to say he was the son of the twenty-million-a-picture actress, Kathy Lennox. Hell, even if he did, he’d probably get a snort in return; have a kid tell him he was DeNiro’s son.
Back at St. Anthony’s his friends knew who he was, but they didn’t care. As far as they were concerned, he was just good old Ben. Every now and then one of his buddies would tease him, tell him his mom was hot, but it was always laughed off. Partly because he knew they were just playing, and partly because the Kathy Lennox didn’t really seem like his mom. Kathy Jane was. Kathy Lennox was some manufactured name in print, an image on a screen, a picture in a magazine. Kathy Jane was a real person. Someone who only carried vague similarities to the lavish, celluloid persona the rest of the world saw. She was, when not working, a mom. His mom. And when she wasn’t working—which was rare—she was a good mom.
But that still didn’t make him miss his friends back at St. Anthony’s any less. Make him pine for a spot here in the Hamptons that he could frequent with no preliminary judgment; kids who would talk to him with no preliminary judgment; and, dare he dream, a girl who would thump his heart and curl his virgin toes with no preliminary judgment.
“I’ve got you for a whole month, Benny. If you don’t want to hang with your mom the entire time, I totally understand. But at least get out of the house. Why not give Devon a call? He’ll be around.”
“I don’t really like the people he hangs out with.”
“Devon’s a good kid. You said you liked him.”
“I do, I do. Devon’s cool. It’s just some of the people he hangs with are annoying. They’re all so into themselves.”
“Well you don’t have to hang out with them. You and Devon can do something. Just the two of you.”
“The guy is crazy popular. You need a reservation.”
Kathy moved around the sofa and stood in front of the TV.
“Better door than a window, Mom.”
“I’m serious, Benny. I’m not going to let you sit in front of the TV the whole time.” Kathy started fishing into the pocket of her jeans. “Here.” She tossed him a set of keys. “Take my car. Give Devon a call. Go into town. Go to the beach. Go do drugs. I don’t care.”
The keys sat on Ben’s lap. He looked down at them and sighed. “Fine. I will call Devon. I will go into town. I will go to the beach. And I will do drugs.”
Kathy smiled and winked at her son. “That’s my good boy.”
33
“Bennyboy!” Devon shouted as soon as Ben stepped out of his mother’s black Escalade.
Devon Haye was seventeen, and, like Ben, spent his summers in East Hampton with his mother.
That was where the similarities ended.
Devon had dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He was tall and fit, and to top it off, British. That meant an accent. The total package. Ben had even overheard one of his mother’s friends ogling over Devon at a private party last summer. Something about it would be worth the scandal and jail time if her husband found out.
But unlike other heartthrobs their age, Devon was either unaware of his immense popularity, or he was aware and didn’t care. Yet another admirable trait—one that happened to pass Ben’s test with high marks.
Ben and Devon embraced with a quick bro-hug, then stepped back.
Devon looked Ben up and down. “You look good, mate. Taller.”
Ben had been a late bloomer, hitting puberty at fifteen. At seventeen, he now stood five-nine to Devon’s six feet, but carried potential—he’d seen pictures of his father; the man was tall.
“I hope so,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t mind being as tall as you some day.”
Devon waved a hand at him. “Bah. We walk through a spider web together and I’d be the first to catch the bastard.”
Ben laughed.
“So what’s on the agenda for today, Bennyboy?”
Ben shrugged. “I kinda figured that was more your field of expertise. You seem to know everyone around here.”
Devon ignored the compliment. “Well we could wander about the village some. There’s a group of lads hanging out over the west end.”
Ben tried, but could not hide his reluctance.
Devon spotted it. “It’s all good, Bennyboy. You know I’m not wild about half the dickheads ’round here eithe
r. But I’ve met these lads; they’re alright.” He gave Ben a playful punch to the arm while pumping his eyebrows. “Some fit birds down there as well.”
“Great. I can watch them fawn all over you.”
Devon snorted. “Emma would string me up.”
“You’re still seeing her?”
“Three years and counting. Calls me from London every day. I fancy my bollocks too much to have them clipped before I reach my eighteenth.”
Ben laughed again.
“So what do you say, Bennyboy? Shall we head over?”
Ben smiled. He was starting to feel pretty good about it. “Okay. I’m down.”
Devon smirked and tried an American accent, all of it coming out like an IQ-challenged southerner who’d just read an outdated book on hip colloquialisms: “Are ya down, home slice? Does that sound fresh and dope to you, dude?”
Ben tried a British accent, equally horrid as Devon’s try at an American one. “Piss off, ya bloody wanker, you.”
They both laughed, and as they started heading towards the west end of the village, Ben felt grateful his mom had gotten his butt off the sofa today.
34
Ben couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Apparently, neither could anyone else. Boys constantly approached, only to be constantly rebuffed—politely, though; she didn’t come across as a bitch.
Girls weren’t so subtle in their feelings about this new threat. They huddled and whispered, occasionally shooting glances over their shoulders, studying, judging, envying.
The girl didn’t seem to care. She sat alone on the bench, cigarette in one hand, a bottle of Diet Coke in the other, looking bored, yet somehow comfortable.
Ben marveled at this. Her beauty had hooked him, but it was her self-confidence that pulled him into the boat and clubbed him over the head. She was everything he wasn’t. And sadly, this meant he would never have her. So he stopped looking.
“Fuck me,” Devon whispered to Ben, throwing a subtle gesture the new girl’s way.
“Who is she?” Ben asked.
“Don’t know. Someone said she was here with her aunt.”
Both glanced at her again. She ran a hand through her long blonde hair then tilted her head skywards, eyes closed, taking in the sun. Both arms rested along the back of the bench, stretching out her torso, showcasing a pair of perky breasts in a top that needed no help showcasing. The knockout punch was when she crossed her legs, skirt riding high to accommodate the movement, giving Ben and Devon and whomever a brief but bountiful glimpse at her thighs. She even let one of her sandals fall to the ground without a care, exposing a delicate foot.
You could practically hear every guy moan, and every girl hiss.
“Fuck me,” Devon said again.
“She’s hot,” Ben said.
“Hot? A quasar is hot, mate.”
Ben looked at him.
Devon shrugged. “Took astronomy last semester.”
A boy joined Ben and Devon. “Are you fucking kidding me with that?”
“Fancy her, do ya Mike?” Devon said.
“I don’t know what you mean by fancy, but if you mean would I prefer she be sitting on my face instead of that bench, then yes, I fancy her.”
“Well go and have a word then.”
“Already tried.”
“What did she say?” Ben asked.
Mike shrugged. “Nothing really. I bummed a smoke from her, then asked her where she was from and all that.”
“And?” Devon said.
“Name’s Erin. Said she was from California, here visiting her aunt. She was nice and everything, but that was it, ya know? Just nice.”
All three boys glanced over at her. Erin was finishing her cigarette then placing the butt in the neck of her Diet Coke bottle. She stood with the bottle and headed towards the nearest trash can, giving everyone a good look at her back. If you asked Ben, it was just as good as the front. He wondered if the sway of her hips was deliberate. It certainly looked like the movements of a woman drawing attention to a great ass, but she had such a confident way about her, Ben felt such transparent means at being noticed contradicted everything else.
But what the hell did he know? For all he knew, the girl was a tease who played hard to get. The confidence merely an act. That thought made Ben feel a little better. It meant she wasn’t his type. An attention whore. It made knowing he could never have her easier to digest.
“Seriously,” Mike said, not even trying to hide the fact that he was gaping at her ass, “are you fucking kidding me?”
Devon laughed. “I know what Mike will be doing tonight.”
Mike nodded, shameless. “’Til it’s fucking raw, man.”
“You should take a shot at her, Bennyboy.”
Ben chuckled with no amusement. “I’d say she’s a little out of my league.”
“Why not?” Devon said. “Some girls like a shy lad. Gives ’em a challenge.”
Ben shook his head. “Nah.”
“Go on,” Devon said. “All else fails you can tell her your mum is Kathy—”
Ben punched Devon in the chest.
Mike frowned and looked at Ben. “Your mom’s who?”
“Nobody,” Ben said.
Devon chimed in: “She’s nobody, mate. I mean, she’s somebody…she’s just nobody important. Well, no…she’s important, she’s just—”
“I get it,” Mike said.
Devon glanced at Ben, gave a quick bump of his eyebrows in apology. Ben smiled back; he knew Devon meant no harm.
“Why don’t you go talk to her, Devon?” Mike asked. “You got all those girly features chicks love. You lay that sissy accent on her and I bet you’d bang her tonight.”
Devon smiled. “Such a classy yank you are. I reckon we can add ESP to the young lady’s already stellar list of attributes.”
Ben laughed.
Mike frowned. “I don’t get it.”
Devon put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t, mate.”
Mike shrugged Devon’s hand off. “Whatever. I’m out.”
After Mike was gone, Devon said, “You should go talk to her, Bennyboy. What have you got to lose?”
“Whatever’s left of my self-confidence?”
Devon shook his head. “You’re too hard on yourself, mate. I wish I could swap eyeballs with you, let you see what I see.”
Ben was curious. “What’s that?”
“A hell of a nice guy.”
“Yeah, that’s what women are clamoring for. Nice.”
“The ones that are worth it? Take home to mum? Too fucking right. Who wants a girl that’s only into the superficial nonsense? I’d reckon you and I would be rich lads if we had a dollar for every girl that’s been shit on by pretty boys with nothing to offer past the display window.”
“Unfortunately, a lesson they learn much later in life. Right now, it’s all about what’s in that display window. And we are rich lads. Well…our parents are.”
“Stinkin’ thinkin’, Bennyboy. Nothing but stinkin’ thinkin’.”
“Says the guy with the girly features and the sissy accent all the girls want.”
Devon barked out a laugh and threw his arm around Ben. “What am I gonna do with you, mate?”
“Buy me something to eat.”
“Can do.”
As they headed out, Ben shot one more glance over his shoulder towards Erin. When she smiled and beckoned him over, Ben looked behind him, sure she was gesturing to someone else.
When he looked back at her, she was smiling wider, nodding and mouthing: Yes you.
By now, Devon had caught it all. He gave Ben a subtle shove forward and started singing: “Oh Bennyboyyyy…”
35
Monica sat in the vast living room of her parents’ home in East Hampton, her parents gone, visiting Europe, or South America, or wherever the hell they jetted off to every few weeks. It was irrelevant either way. They would be gone during the time Monica needed their place in East Hampton, and that was all tha
t mattered.
Stretched out on one of many grand sofas, Monica dialed a number on her cell.
A deep male voice answered in Russian. “Privet.”
“Eto Monica.”
“Da?”
“Nu, kak dela?”
“Khorosho, khorosho.”
Monica continued the conversation in fluent Russian. The man on the other line kept assuring her everything back at the Pines was good and safe. Monica reminded him what was waiting for them when she got back if they succeeded in keeping it that way. The man groaned into the phone and gave a guttural “Da.”
Monica shook her in disgust, knowing she would shoot the fucker dead before she ever sucked his dick again. Still, she told him he was doing a good job, and she would be back soon so he and his other two colleagues could collect their rewards.
The man gave another eager “da” and made no mention of the money Monica had promised—sex, apparently, being the more important of the two. Monica wondered how the male sex had ever achieved such a lofty status with such an inherit weakness. It truly was pathetic.
If Kelly did her job right tonight, Monica would be on her own. Maybe she would invite a random guy back to the house and cut his dick off.
36
Ben approached her like a kid caught stealing. Head down, posture weak. His confidence, despite the girl’s smile and beckoning, seemed to want to leap out of his throat. God, if he puked…
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Just words, no puke. Thank you, thank you…
“What’s your name?”
“Ben.” He knew that Mike had said her name was Erin, but he asked anyway. “What’s yours?”
“Erin.” She slid over a few inches. “You want to sit down?”
“Sure.”
Ben remained standing.
Erin smiled. “Are you going to sit?”
Oh shit! “Yeah.” Ben took a seat on the far end of the bench.
Bad Games- The Complete Series Page 63
