Crown Jewel

by Fern Michaels

  “Listen, Buck, while I was shaving this morning, I had the TV on. That movie star’s studio issued a statement saying Ricky Lam was coming out of retirement to star in a movie about his brother. Then they threw in a teaser about a scandal that would rock the White House. I’m taking my family on a vacation, too. None of us got a call from Adam. What’s he going to do, ignore this?” Neil demanded.

  “How the hell should I know what he’s doing or what he’s going to do? I put in a call to him last night, but he hasn’t returned it. Remind me not to call either one of you if I ever find myself in a jam,” Buck snarled.

  “Cancel my reservation for that good old boy reunion in September,” Neil said.

  “Cancel mine, too,” Leon said. “If Adam fathered the waitress’s child, that has nothing to do with me. Hell, I never knew any of this until yesterday. The way I see it is this is between Adam and the woman. You might be on the hook, Buck; you were Adam’s room-mate for four years. No one is going to believe you didn’t have anything to do with this. You’re on your own, buddy, so don’t try dragging me into it. I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again, either.”

  “I’m with Leon on this all the way. I’m hanging up, too, Buck,” Neil said.

  “Son of a bitch!” Buck Grisham seethed as he glared at the phone receiver in his stubby hand. He replaced it in the console on his desk. It rang almost immediately. He picked it up, his eyes wary, his voice cautious. It was the operator saying his second conference call was ready to be put through. “I’m sorry, operator, I need another fifteen minutes.”

  Buck broke the connection and immediately dialed Adam Nolan’s private number, wondering if he was making a mistake. He canceled the call before it had a chance to ring. Leon and Neil were right.

  He sat down in his chair, which fitted him like a glove. He wasn’t guilty of anything. Yes, he’d known about the girl’s pregnancy. Yes, Adam had told him what he’d said about the two bucks each. At the time, he’d laughed. What the hell was the big deal? The girl had gone away quietly. Obviously she’d had the baby at some point. More than likely she placed it out for adoption.

  Buck racked his brain as he tried to recall anything else Adam might have told him about the waitress. Other than the two-dollar business he could only recall one other conversation, when Adam had gone to meet the girl after she had called him dozens of times. When he got back, he’d opened a bottle of beer, looked at him, and said, “I took care of it. I don’t ever want to talk about this again.” And they never had.

  Buck felt a chill race up his spine. He picked up the phone, pressed nine for an outside line and punched in his home phone number. “Judith, how would you like to go to South America for a few weeks?”

  Just as Gracie was about to leave to start her vacation in Antigua, the phone started to ring. She’d been fielding questions over the phone for two solid days, saying whatever popped into her head. The only person who hadn’t called her was Adam Nolan, and she’d bet her last piece of bikini underwear that it was not he. Still, hope springing eternal, she finally picked up the phone. “This is Grace Lick,” she said in her most professional voice.

  “Please hold for the vice president of the United States, Miss Lick.” Gracie almost strangled herself on the telephone cord as she gyrated and wiggled so she could get out her tape recorder and press the RECORD button. She was illegally taping the vice president. Bile rose in her throat at the mere thought. She’d placed her call to him three days ago. He was just now returning it. She struggled to take a deep breath.

  “Miss Lick, this is Adam Nolan. I understand you called me the other day. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, but the nation’s business has to come first. I hope you understand.”

  “Oh, I do, Mr. Vice President.”

  “What can I do for you, Miss Lick?”

  “As I said in my message, I just wanted to know if you would care to comment on the movie Hollywood is going to film after the first of the year. Ricky Lam is coming out of retirement to star in the movie. He’s going to be playing the part of his brother. As I said in my message, when I was doing in-depth research on Mr. Lam for an article I was writing, which by the way will appear on Sunday in the Los Angeles Times, I came across some very odd information. It all led me to dig a little deeper, and in the process I came across Lorraine Woodworth. Her nickname was Laney when she was a teenager. An underage teenager at the time she met you and your friends. Let’s see, they were Buck Grisham, Neil Carpenter, and Leon Franks. She said you got her pregnant and refused to take responsibility and that you went so far as to say your friends would swear they had her for two bucks each if she had any thoughts of naming you as the father. That baby, Mr. Vice President, was Ricky Lam’s adopted brother. The same baby Laney Woodworth said you snatched from her, put in a Dumpster, and left to die. Fortunately for you, and for the child, Laney had followed you and rescued the child. Is there anything you would like to say?” Gracie’s breath escaped her lips in one long swoosh of sound.

  The laughter, even though it sounded forced, was the last thing she expected to hear. “Miss…Lick, was it? I’m always amazed by Hollywood and what they come up with. I sincerely hope you’re jesting. If you’re serious, I’ll have to put you in touch with our attorneys.”

  Gracie’s back stiffened. Did the man live in a bubble? Or was he bluffing? Well, she knew how to play that game. When she’d worked for the tabloids, the publisher got sued on just about every issue of the slimy rag. “I have a pencil, Mr. Vice President. Give me the name of your attorney, or is it just the general White House counsel? You know, sir, you could call those three friends of yours. I spoke to them personally. You can also call the studio to verify what I said. The script has been written and turned in. You do know, don’t you, that Laney Woodworth is now Lorraine Farquar, the widow of recently deceased Armand Farquar? She told me she called you but that you hadn’t returned her call. I guess you have no comment. Or can I quote you on the Hollywood business and putting me in touch with your attorneys?”

  “No, you may not quote me, young woman. Why are you doing this? All you reporters are muckrakers. Tell me right now how I can get in touch with that movie star. I’m going to put a stop to this immediately.”

  “I resent that, Mr. Vice President. Facts are facts. I don’t care if you are the vice president, SIR. What you allegedly did is far worse than anything I could ever think about doing. Mr. Lam is at Camellia Island in South Carolina.” She rattled off his phone number.

  Gracie thought she heard him say, “My attorney will be in touch with you.”

  And this was the guy who might someday run the country. He’d never get her vote, that’s for sure. She shrugged. She’d done her part. The rest was now up to Ricky Lam and Lorraine Farquar.

  Now it’s vacation time! All the new clothes! Well, minus one piece of underwear. An exotic island! Ten whole days! Max Lam! Woweeee. “Here I come, Antigua!”

  Gracie sashayed out of the house and out to the waiting car. She’d splurged on a car service because it was something she’d always wanted to do. She felt like Cinderella going to the ball.

  “Anna, cancel the rest of my appointments. I think I’m coming down with a bug of some kind. You can reach me at home if it’s an emergency.” Was it his imagination, or was his secretary looking at him strangely? His heart pounding in his chest, Adam Nolan left his office.

  He entered the vice presidential quarters twenty minutes later, shouting his wife’s name. Where the hell was the other half of the all-American family? Then he remembered what day it was. His wife’s late day. That meant he had the house to himself. Behind these walls, he could think and plan his strategy. He could call his friends, seek their advice. He could turn on the news and watch it for the rest of the day to see if he could work some damage control. In his life, he’d never felt such fear. Well, maybe one other time. The night Laney Woodworth told him she was pregnant.

  Who in the hell would have ever thought that skinny lit
tle waitress with the big boobs would eventually become Armand Farquar’s wife? Certainly not I.

  Nolan poured himself a triple shot of cognac and gulped at it. He paced up and down the library, his favorite room, back and forth, up and down. When the amber fluid was gone from his glass, he poured more. When that was gone, he thought about the faceless son he’d never known. Did he look like him or did he favor the greasy-haired waitress? Now he had to deal with Hollywood trash.

  He visualized a gurgling drain and saw all his hopes and dreams swirling away. All because of some trashy waitress and some dick-weed movie star. Maybe he could appeal to Armand’s widow. Or the kid. Where was the kid? Probably looking for acknowledgment so he could brag that his father was the vice president on his way to being president of the United States. Yeah. Yeah, the kid was his best bet. Only he wasn’t a kid anymore. He must be forty-seven or forty-eight. A man. You couldn’t reason with a kid, but you could reason with a man. All he had to do was find the kid. How hard could that be? He’d use the internet.

  The computer came to life with the Great Seal of the United States on the screen saver. He stared at it and felt like crying. He reached out to touch the screen. It was almost his.

  Nolan flexed his fingers before he typed in the name, Ricky Lam. He reared back when the screen exploded to life with flashing pictures of the famous star. He was incredibly photogenic. Hollywood and the fans loved him. He read tributes, testimonials. Twenty minutes later he realized his own life story compared to Lam’s was extremely boring. He scrolled down the site map until he saw the word, Biography. He clicked on it and read about the star’s life. He found it interesting, found that a fifty-thousand-member fan club was current and equaled only by Elvis Presley’s. His parents were deceased, and he had a brother named Philip, who was his business manager. The last time the site was updated was a year before Lam’s Hollywood retirement.

  Nolan continued to read but eventually gave it up. All he had discovered thus far was his son’s name.

  He turned to his Rolodex and dialed Buck Grisham’s number, only to be told he was in South America for six weeks and no, they didn’t have a number where he could be reached.

  Next he tried to reach Leon Franks, who, it turned out, was out of the country, and Neil Carpenter, who happened to be away on business. Pure bullshit! What kind of friends were they if they didn’t stand by him? They could all just kiss his ass. They weren’t going to be on the VIP list for the Inaugural Ball or the swearing-in ceremony.

  The last name on his list was Mrs. Armand Farquar. He probably should have called her first. He shuddered when he remembered how startled he had been at her words the day of her husband’s service. He’d actually stumbled, he’d been so stunned. That same night, his wife had commented on his strange look, asking him what Mrs. Farquar had said to him. He’d made up some story, but for the life of him couldn’t remember what it was. It was a lie, so what did it matter.

  His hands were shaking so badly he needed both to hold the glass. He drained it before he set it down on the edge of his desk. He punched in the number from the card in the Rolodex and waited. A cool, aloof voice informed him Mrs. Farquar was out of town. She had no idea when the madam would return and she didn’t offer to take a message.

  Like that was really true. Did she think he just fell off the turnip truck? “Tell Mrs. Farquar the vice president of the United States called. I’d like her to return my call as soon as possible.”

  Nolan sat down in his chair. He stared at a family picture sitting on the corner of his desk. The same picture the media had dubbed the All-American Family. What a crock. If they only knew he had another son someplace. Where? Where was his flesh and blood? Suddenly he wanted to know. He needed to know.

  He looked over at the piece of paper where he’d jotted down Ricky Lam’s phone number. He knew he wasn’t sober enough to make such an important phone call. He’d catch a few winks and make the call later. Movie stars never went to sleep.

  19

  Roxy watched from a distance as the golf cart Ricky was in swerved off the road and around to the back of the resort. He appeared either to be looking for something or at something. She used her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. With the agility of a cat, Ricky leaped out of the cart and onto the hood and continued his intent scrutiny. She called out to him twice, but he was too far away to hear her. What was he looking at? She sighed. One of the plants or one of the trees must be crooked.

  Ricky liked to eyeball everything, at times actually getting down on the ground to peruse something from a snail’s vantage point. Invariably, he was right. She found herself chuckling at that and some of his other antics.

  At present, he looked like a bronze Adonis in his shorts, work boots, bare chest, and hard hat. She knew how that bare chest felt against her own bare chest. She shivered in the ninety-degree temperature. Sweat dripped down between her breasts. She wished she could go braless, but her ample bosom prevented such a luxury. She waved frantically when she saw that Ricky was looking in her direction. She motioned for him to join her. She watched in fascination as he made a half turn off the hood of the golf cart, somehow hooked one of his legs around the side of the bar holding up the canopy, and landed smoothly in the driver’s seat. A lean, muscled, sensuous cat. She shivered again. This time with anticipated pleasure.

  “Whassup?” He grinned, stepping out of the golf cart to wrap her in his arms a few minutes later. He felt so good.

  “You had a call. Actually, you had two calls. Gracie called; she arrived in Antigua safe and sound and is probably sunning herself or sleeping as we speak. I can never keep the time differences straight in my head. All is well on her end. Your other call was from the vice president. There was no secretary involved. He found it very hard to believe I did not know where you were or that I was unable to reach you. There was no charm in the man’s voice at all.”

  Ricky laughed. He removed the dark blue bandanna he had tied around his neck. He wiped at his face and neck before he stuffed it in his pocket. “Did he say he was going to call back?”

  “No. He said you were to call him the minute you got his message.” Roxy held out his cell phone.

  Ricky waved it away. “That will be the day! See that fourth palm from the end. It’s off by six inches. It throws the whole row out of whack. Get that guy from the nursery and have him fix it. Today. Did Max or Lorraine call?”

  “I thought you wanted to talk to the vice president. No, neither one called.”

  “I do. Look, my one goal from the beginning was to try and figure out what made my brother the person he was. I found that all out. I’m satisfied, and I can handle it. Philly asked one thing of me, and that was to tell his parents, if I found them, that he had died. I’m going to do what Philly wanted, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it on the phone. Hell, I don’t even know if the man knows his son is dead. I want to see that bastard’s face when I tell him. If the veep wants to talk, he’s going to have to come to me. The way I look at it, we owe him squat. We could make it easy on him and go to Antigua. That way we’ll all be there. Let’s do that, Roxy. I can be ready to go in a heartbeat. Charter a plane and make all the arrangements. Call Max and clue him in.” Ricky looked at his watch. “I have to meet with the pilot and take him to the hangar so he can check out our brand-new helicopter.

  “Roxy, think about this. We’ll get there just as Carnival gets underway. For the first time you can be a spectator instead of working behind the scenes. Call your daughter and ask her if she wants to join us.”

  “I called her earlier this morning, and she’s snowed under. Maybe next year. Did you check out the progress on the clinic?”

  Ricky sighed. “Roxy, I couldn’t even find the damn place. When you said secluded, you meant secluded. I took one of the golf carts and started out but got sidetracked. Guests who come to use the facility will love the privacy you arranged. I’m kidding,” he said, at Roxy’s stricken look. “Of course I looked at it
. It’s magnificent. Patients can get their face-lifts, nose jobs, implants, whatever, without fear of anyone seeing them. I think the reflecting pool was a particularly nice touch. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so much vegetation. It smells heavenly. Those tea olive trees were a stroke of genius. Look, I gotta run. I’ll be back in an hour. Ninety minutes tops. I can be ready to go anytime after that.”

  The cell phone in Roxy’s pocket rang. Ricky waved his hands as he sprinted off. He couldn’t wait to see the brand-new helicopter.

  Roxy clicked on the phone. “Roxy Nelson,” she said coolly.

  “Miss Nelson, this is Adam Nolan, the vice president. Has Mr. Lam returned?”

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President, but he had to leave again. However, he did leave a message for you. He said to tell you he does not discuss personal, private matters on the phone. Mr. Lam is leaving in a short while for Antigua. I can give you a number where you can reach him once he arrives there to set up your own appointment. Or, I can schedule you for a personal appointment, which is probably the only way you’re going to be able to talk to him.”

  The voice on the other end of the line started to sputter. “I don’t believe this. Did you tell him who I am?”

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President, I told Mr. Lam exactly who you are. Right now Mr. Lam is taking possession of a new helicopter, he’s also in the middle of building a new resort and overseeing a million details, while at the same time negotiating with Hollywood and actors’ agents for a new movie he’s agreed to star in the first of the year. On top of that, he flies back and forth to the other two resorts his corporation owns on a regular basis. He is rather busy. As I said, I might be able to tentatively pencil you in for the day after tomorrow. What would you like me to tell Mr. Lam, Mr. Vice President?”