by Brenda Joyce
His own house was on the corner. It was no different from every other house on the block. One side of the porch sagged precariously. White paint had long ago flaked away, revealing green and gray patches beneath. One of the front windows was boarded up; the glass had been shattered. His father had thrown something at it—years earlier—with his mother screaming hysterically and Jack hiding under the stairs. The other front window had a jagged, gaping hole. The screen door had a myriad of tears in it.
As Jack approached the house, getting closer, his mother appeared on the front step. A voluptuous woman, clad in short shorts and a halter top, with dyed blond hair, showing dark roots. She laughed at him.
Jack called to her, wanting to show her something, something important, something that would make her happy, proud, something that would make her love him. He didn’t know yet what that something might be. He quickened his pace, and the house started drifting away, with his mother laughing on the porch.
Jack started running.
The house moved away faster.
He ran faster. Calling her.
His mother’s laughter grew louder.
Now he was running as hard as he could. He could barely breathe. He tried to shout, wanted to shout, Mom, wait, Mom! but he had no air. The house was moving so fast now. It had almost disappeared from his view.
He woke up.
Sweat covered his naked body. Breathing hard, Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed, flicking on the light. Sweet Jesus.
His hands were trembling. And he could barely breathe—as if he’d actually been running.
He now knew that it really was his mother who had called.
He knew it was her for a very distinct reason—one day Melody had brought her to his office.
What had taken her so long to try and reach him? It was a question that haunted him, a question he hated for its power over him. For the past three years he had been on a weekly TV series. A show that had gotten tremendous PR—even its cancellation had been a major controversy. His face had appeared on the cover of TV Guide the first year. Since then he had made the cover of People, Playgirl, Esquire, and TV Guide again. God only knew how many times he had made the front page of the gossip rags on display at every goddamn supermarket counter in the country. So why now?
What did she want?
What did everyone want? Money. Now that he was a big star, they all wanted money, directly or indirectly. Every guy who tried to become his pal wanted him to read a script or endorse a product or put in a word with whoever for a part. It was the same thing with all the broads. Hollywood was a plastic place. Everyone was on the make. Everyone used whoever they could sink their claws into.
He was on the top of every A party list there was. Turned down invitations left and right, only picking those parties that Melody insisted he go to, to advance himself with the right people. Even he had to play the fucking game. He hated it. And everyone knew it.
But it was play or never work.
Every woman he screwed wanted a piece of the pie.
Now she wanted a piece too.
Well, fuck her.
Jack looked at his watch, a gold Rolex. Eight thousand dollars. He had always wanted a Rolex, during all those years when all the people who now begged him to attend their parties and read their scripts and consider their roles had looked down their phony noses at him and told him to go flush himself down the toilet. He had always wanted a black Ferrari. Now he had both. Now he could look down his nose at most—but not all—of those pricks.
What did she want?
Why had she wanted to see him?
And he still hadn’t forgiven Melody for her betrayal, not in his heart, and he didn’t think he ever could. He would never forget that day. Even now, for the thousandth time, it was like the rerun of a favorite movie, the images crystal-clear.
“Don’t hate me,” Melody said from the doorway, taut with apprehension.
“I would never hate you. What’s wrong?”
She took a deep, deep breath. “I’m only doing what I think is best,” she said, looking as if she were going to break into tears. “Because I love you,” she added.
Jack had a horrible feeling. “Mel,” he began.
Melody was looking at the door. “Janet, come in.”
Jack’s mother walked in.
Jack stared, frozen in absolute disbelief.
She looked almost exactly the same. Dyed blond hair that showed dark roots. His perfectly oval face. His green, long-lashed eyes—but on her, made up with tons of dark shadow and mascara. The same overripe figure, clad in tight jeans that showed good legs, no matter how old she was, and a tank top that bared almost everything. She had to be in her early fifties. Her figure didn’t show it. Only her face did, because of the garish makeup.
She smiled. “Hello, Jack.”
Jack looked at Melody, a murderous expression coming into his eyes. “How could you?”
Melody stepped back. “I just thought …”
“You didn’t think!” Jack yelled. He turned to Janet. “Get out! Get the fuck out of here—out of my life!”
“Jack, you can’t talk to me that way,” Janet snapped back.
“Get her out of here,” Jack rasped to Melody, balling his fists. His hands were shaking badly.
“I think you should talk to her,” Melody said.
“Don’t turn your back on your mother,” Janet said angrily.
“You’re not my mother! All you are is a no-good whore!”
Janet stepped forward and slapped him.
Jack stepped back, his hand on his face, his eyes wide with shock. “Get her out of here,” he said again. His heart was palpitating wildly. He felt as if he were having an attack.
Melody was completely shaken. “Maybe we’d better go,” she said to Janet.
“No,” Janet said, staring at Jack. “Not until he hears me out.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I’ll listen to,” Jack snarled.
She stepped close to him. “I have cancer, Jack. I’m dying.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Bullshit,” he said.
“It’s true.” Her eyes pierced his.
“Do you think I care?”
“Jack!” Melody gasped.
“I thought I’d make peace between us,” Janet said.
Jack laughed harshly. “You thought wrong, lady! You’re going straight to hell!”
“And so are you,” Janet said viciously. “You’re just like you’re father, ain’t you? The spitting image, the same drinking problems—oh, I read all about you. He wouldn’t have cared either. He never gave a shit about anyone or anything other than himself.”
Jack didn’t want to touch her. Or he would have thrown her out bodily. He strode to the door and flung it open. “Get out.”
She stared, hostility seething in her eyes. “You’re a prick, just like he was.” She moved to the door. “Don’t you want to hear about your brother and sister?”
“No. Now get out.”
Janet strode out. Melody hung back, looking at him. When he turned to her, his expression was hard and pitiless. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” he said, very low.
“Jack …”
“Never.”
Jack put his face in his hands, his heart racing. She was full of shit, and he knew it. She had left him, and she didn’t deserve any of his concern. Even if she was really dying, he didn’t give a goddamn. As far as he was concerned, she was already dead.
21
What a waste, Peter Lansing thought—again.
He had been greeted at the door to Ford’s office by Melody, and she looked good. She wore a blouse today—disappointing him, because she wore T-shirts so well—and faded jeans that hugged her small hips and rounded derriere. A great ass. He had the hots for her. He had wanted to make it with her from the first and only time he had laid eyes on her, in early August when he’d been hired to find Ford’s brother and sister. He had thought about her las
t night quite a bit. Lansing wasn’t used to having the hots for a woman and not being able to get what he wanted.
That’s why it was such a waste.
He had picked up on it instantly. After all, he was an investigator, trained to observe people and events. But what he had observed hadn’t exactly thrilled him. She had a thing for her boss—possibly a big thing.
Back then he had wondered if they were sleeping together.
He was wondering it now.
“So,” he said, smiling, one step in the door. “How about tonight?”
“What?” Her blue eyes widened visibly behind the glasses.
“Dinner. Say, around seven? I’ll pick you up.” He had a boyish smile and a good one. He knew it, because women had told him it was endearing. Almost as endearing as other attributes—like his hazel eyes, gold-flecked, and straight brown hair. Like his rugged good looks and his body, which was a natural Rocky. Of course, boxing was Peter’s favorite pastime, and he had been a middleweight champ in college.
Apparently Melody was immune to his smile. “Peter, I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
He was crestfallen. “Why? Do you have other plans?”
But she was already leading him to Ford’s office, speaking over her shoulder. “We go on location tomorrow, and afterward we’re going to Aspen for Christmas. There’s a million things to do.”
We. Damn. We. He didn’t like her use of the plural. His hands itched to grab that slender waist, and more. Those fantastic Dolly Parton knockers. He bet she was wild in bed, once she got there.
He had found Jack’s brother, Rick, a month ago, in between foster homes. He had been running with a gang in Houston, and luckily for everyone, had been picked up for assault with a knife—enabling Lansing to locate him. Janet was Rick’s legal guardian, but a judge had been only too glad to remand the boy over to his half brother. Lansing hadn’t followed what went on, being too involved in locating the sister. But after having investigated the kid, he knew he was running with a bad gang, and no one knew where his mother was. Classic case of abandonment.
Ford was looking very tired and grim. As soon as Lansing came in he rose, extending his hand. A surprisingly strong handshake. Lansing had expected some kind of soft, spoiled actor when they had first met, but it had taken him exactly two seconds to realize that Ford had grown up on the other side of the street—his own side. Peter didn’t like him, but he respected him grudgingly.
And did a slow burn whenever Melody turned her moonstruck baby blues on Ford.
To Lansing’s annoyance Melody went and stood behind Ford, who sat behind his desk. She hovered like a mother hen. He couldn’t stop thinking: Were they sleeping together?
“For God’s sake, Mel, relax,” Ford half-snapped. “I’m okay.”
Lansing felt like punching him.
Ford rubbed his face with both hands, then glanced up. “I’m sorry, Mel.”
“It’s okay, Jack,” she said softly. Then, “Peter, would you like a drink, or coffee?”
“A bourbon straight up would be great,” Lansing said, noticing the change in her tone when she addressed him. He was most definitely irked.
“Have you found her?” Ford asked with impatience.
“I’m close.”
They studied each other. Ford said, “Spill it. Look, I know what my mother was. She was a whore. Nothing you can say will surprise me. I want to know everything you’ve found out.”
“Okay.” Melody appeared with his bourbon. “Leah stopped attending school when she was fourteen. Janet has a rap sheet a mile long. Soliciting. Leah has one too.”
“A record?” Ford’s voice was strained. Melody was at his side again, her hand on his shoulder. Ford didn’t notice.
“First picked up when she was fifteen. Soliciting. She was last picked up two years ago, in Houston, by Vice.”
Ford didn’t look too good, so Lansing decided to move on. “I found a friend of hers who said she moved to New York. A friend of mine with NYPD is running a check. Odds are if she went to New York, it wasn’t for a career change. I should have something concrete for you soon.”
Ford was grim. He stood and walked to the window, staring out with his back to the room. Melody regarded him anxiously, and Lansing watched them both. Waiting. After a few minutes Ford turned.
“Find her, Peter, as soon as you can. And I want you to keep me posted on your progress.”
Lansing nodded. The meeting was over and he stood, shaking hands. Melody walked him out. “So.” He smiled again. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
Melody looked at him dumbly. “About what?”
Lansing walked out. She didn’t know what she was missing.
What was her relationship with Ford anyway?
22
“Do you know that I haven’t seen you in two weeks?” Adam Gordon said.
If he was trying to make her feel guilty, he was failing; if he was trying to make her defensive, he had succeeded. “Adam, I am sorry, but I’ve been working like a maniac.”
They were having lunch in Newport Beach in deference to the unusually springlike day. “I know, I know. The Outrage revisions. But you don’t work at night. We could have had dinner.”
Belinda was irritated. “You know that production begins tomorrow! I’ve had two frigging deadlines, and I’m under pressure, Adam. I’ve had to put everything I have into this, every ounce of concentration. At night I’ve been exhausted. Right now my career is taking off, and it’s a priority.”
Adam didn’t appreciate the lecture, just as he didn’t appreciate the pending deal on her second sale, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he took her hand. “I know. I do understand. I’m sorry.”
Belinda sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that. I’m stressed to the gills. Do you know I haven’t gone out once in the past month? Not once.”
Adam was slightly mollified. He squeezed her hand. “You do know that I’m not letting you go today, don’t you?”
“What?”
His look was warm, maybe too warm. “Tomorrow you’re leaving for the godforsaken desert. For God knows how long. Tonight belongs to me. To us,” he corrected.
She had to smile. “It’s only Arizona, Adam, You make it sound like Arabia. And I happen to know for how long—we should be on location eight to ten weeks. It’s not forever.”
Forever. Adam smiled, but that word echoed. This courtship was taking forever. It had been almost five months now, and he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t making any progress. Belinda seemed, and felt, elusive. If he was very honest with himself, he would confess that he wasn’t even sure she was attracted to him. But there was her damn career to factor in, and it was taking up all of her concentration and all of her time.
He had complained once to Glassman, who had laughed. “You’re not going to have to worry about that much longer!” He grinned, and Adam had felt a rush of exultation. The old bastard was as sharp as they came, and he was definitely up to something. But what? Adam had casually tried to find out. Glassman refused to give. Adam wanted to know what he was doing. Given the right situation, such as being Belinda’s husband and accruing power within Glassman Enterprises as Abe’s son-in-law, he could wait patiently, indefinitely. But not now. Chasing an unreachable Belinda was not the right situation. Something had to give, and give soon.
Patience. If she was playing a game, leading him on, it was working. The problem was, he knew she wasn’t. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t have to. Her inheritance made her sexier than almost any woman he knew, and so did this prolonged courtship.
“What do you have in mind?” Belinda asked curiously.
She had just finished the revisions, and she felt like cutting loose. She also felt a touch guilty. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Adam that she hadn’t gone out at all in the past month. She had, however, had Vince over a few times, just for some good sex. In the beginning, she hadn’t felt that she owed Adam anythi
ng, but now—now that they’d been dating for so long and had become such good friends—she was wondering if she owed him something, like honesty, at least, or fidelity.
But could you owe someone fidelity if you’d never even slept with him? Belinda wasn’t sure. She’d only had one relationship, when she was a teenager, and in that one she’d fallen in love, given fidelity, and had had her heart broken. She was an amateur at relationships. She hadn’t had a relationship since, not in almost ten years, unless you counted sexual affairs as relationships. Those could not possibly count. But it did seem that four months of dating was definitely heading somewhere, certainly toward a relationship.
She certainly liked Adam and enjoyed his company. And although she wasn’t madly lusting after him, the warmth she felt for him had grown in the past few months, and with it, sexual curiosity. But just thinking about having sex with Adam made her nervous. She had never gone to bed with a man she was so friendly with before. If she slept with Adam, would that mean they were now having a relationship? Did she want a relationship? Was she ready for a relationship? What if she got seriously involved with Adam and he turned out to be a typical, grade-A prick like her one and only boyfriend had been? And what about Vince?
She would put off making a decision. There’d been too much pressure in the past few months, and right now all she wanted was to relax and kick back. “I suppose I have plenty of time to pack tomorrow,” she said.
“You most certainly do,” Adam affirmed. “How does Chasen’s sound, with dancing after?”
She thought about getting dressed up in high heels and makeup after a month of jeans and bare feet. She grinned. “Adam, you’re on.”
Adam grinned back. Damn it, but tonight was the night. Before she went out of town he was going to bond her to him with a means as old as time—with sex.
