“I’m pretty sure I can make that. I’ll bring these back tomorrow.”
“They’re only towels for Christ’s sake. Keep them.”
After going home and getting into dry clothes, Trotter had Brandy run the Jag’s plate. Then he waited until dark and took a ride past 1322 Ridge Road. He knew the Jaguar would not be there; but he smiled when he spotted an orange van in the driveway.
* * * *
The next morning he told Palmer, “Captain, we need to set up surveillance at this place.” Trotter gave the player’s names, the address, and a general description of what to expect, without being too specific on how he met Fontaine’s ex-bodyguard.
He added, “This Blaze character put a make on me. I won’t be able to babysit this one. Maybe Dailey can handle it. But I do intend on delivering the search warrant after we get enough incriminating evidence.”
“I’ll check with him. I think his agenda is open.”
Trotter was to be back at the Fontaine Manor at one o’clock that afternoon. Nancy had left a message on his answering machine telling him what time. She also gave him the new gate code.
“One, two, seven, three,” Trotter said to himself as he punched the new code into the keypad. The electric gates opened and he drove up the drive. The same red BMW was there, but a new yellow Corvette, a white Mercedes, and a black Porsche were also there. He knew the Beamer belonged to Nancy Dalton, Fontaine’s secretary, so he took candid shots of the other three plates.
“Come on in Jack,” Nancy said, opening the door. “Today you’ll get to meet Fontaine’s sister, Amber. She’s here for a photo shoot. In the meantime, I need some info from you for payroll, so, shall we go to my office?” Today she wore a two-piece brown business outfit. No more catholic schoolgirl.
Jack simply said, “Okay.” He was wearing tan cargo jeans and a white T-shirt.
Nancy’s office was right next to Fontaine’s office. Not as huge as her diva boss’s, but everything was orderly and in its place. There were no gold records on her wall, just a couple of seascape pictures and a few filing cabinets.
“Fontaine told me you two agreed your annual salary is to be a hundred thousand a year,” Nancy said very casually; apparently, she was used to working with large figures. “Is this correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trotter politely replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t call me ma’am that makes me feel so old. Call me Nancy, or Miss Dalton. You can even refer to me as bitch, but please…no ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am,” Trotter said, smiling.
“Oh! A tough guy with a sense of humor. You’re going to be a pleasant change from Blaze. I wished I’d have seen you kick his ass. Fontaine said you were like a Ninja, and popped his eardrums. I always miss the good shit.”
“I’m not a tough guy. You could have disabled him as easily as I did. You just have to know where a man’s vulnerable areas are.”
She laughed. “My boyfriend’s vulnerable area is between his legs. I always get my way when I attack him there.”
“Unfortunately, that is a man’s weakest spot. And too many men use that brain to think with.” Trotter shook his head as if he was guilty of that also.
Nancy fanned herself with some papers. “It’s getting hot in here. Now…back to these forms. How many dependants are you claiming for taxes?” Trotter never gave that a thought until now. He did not want to show any income that the force could discover. “Cash, strictly cash. My ex-wife will get half if you report it to the IRS. You or her accountant will have to figure out a way. Maybe from petty cash.”
“I don’t have any say so on such matters. That’s something you and Fontaine will have to discuss later. I guess I really don’t have any more papers for you to fill out then. Fontaine said you should get familiar with the place today. I’ll show you the security room for starters.”
In a small room off the main entrance, two monitors linked to two cameras, one at the front gate, and the other in the front of the house. A small desk with a phone and two chairs were also there. “This is where Blaze did his best sleeping. I could always find him here, or out lounging by the pool.”
She showed Trotter the rest of the exquisite, elaborate mansion. The only room off limits was Fontaine’s bedroom. Nancy then explained that the basement-recording studio was in use for Amber’s photo session right now and they were not to disturb her. He would get to see that room later.
A huge garage alongside the mansion housed the tour bus—a seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar motor home to be more specific. Fontaine had her name spelled out in music notes on the sides; it was very stylish even for a diva. The inside was as lavish as her mansion. Her own private bath and bedroom were in the rear. The front of the bus had seating for a dozen of people, a small wet bar, a bath, and a small, but complete kitchen.
Nancy’s pager beeped. “That’s Fontaine,” she said, while turning off her pager.
They returned to Nancy’s office. She pushed a button on her speakerphone. “I just finished showing Jack the place.”
Fontaine’s voice came over the speaker. “Good, have him come to my office.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?”
The Partridge Family
Nancy held the door open for Trotter. He went in, and at first glance, thought Fontaine was standing beside a mirror, or else she was standing next to a life size cardboard poster of herself. Trotter was looking at two Fontaines. They were identical. Both wore tight blue jeans and a black leather vest over a white T-shirt. Carbon copies, right down to the beauty mark.
Trotter looked from one to the other; he could not find a single dissimilarity. Finally one of them spoke. “This is my ugly twin, Amber,” Fontaine said. “We were actually triplets, but the third one died laughing at Amber.” She was the only one who laughed at her own joke while Amber gave her a disgusted look.
“Eat crap, Amy! That joke is getting really old.” Amber told her twin. Then she walked up to Trotter with her hand extended. “A pleasure to meet you, Jack. My evil alter ego told me all about you.” Even her voice was almost identical to Fontaine’s voice. Just slightly higher pitched.
Trotter was more dumbfounded by the surprise of twins; then he was confused even more so when Amber referred to Fontaine as Amy. “It’s a pleasure…and a surprise, to meet you, too, Amber.” Her hand felt so tiny and fragile in his huge mitt.
Then Fontaine spoke, “Your reaction to there being two of us is the same as everybody else’s when they find out. It’s not until we are a hundred percent sure that whoever we do business with is trustworthy, do we let them in on our little secret. Amber is my double. My fill in, sort of like a stunt person in the movies.”
Fontaine explained as she walked behind her desk, sat, and fired up a smoke, “She just finished a photo shoot advertising this new line of leather vests. The teenyboppers who’ll buy this crap have no idea who’s actually in the ads. Even the fucking photographer from Classic Leather thought Amber was me. Do you think I’m going to sign my autograph a thousand God damned times for screaming little Fontaine Wannabes when Amber is happy to do it?”
“Screw you, Amy,” Amber retorted. “I enjoy doing autograph sessions as much as you did. Before you became such a…big star.” Then she addressed Trotter, “It was Mother’s idea for me to be her fill in because, ‘Amy is under so much pressure, I’m afraid she’s going to have a nervous breakdown.’ I saved her butt too many times to count. Does she appreciate it? No!” Amber made quotation marks with her fingers as she clearly mimicked their mother.
Nancy’s voice came over the speaker. “Fontaine, the attorneys are here.”
Amy then told her twin, “Go hide somewhere till I’m done with these clowns.”
“Good. I’m tired of being Fontaine for the day.” Amber then used her fingernail to scrape the fake beauty mark from her cheek and stuck it on Amy’s chin, and said, “That’s
where your mole should be. You’re nothing but a mean old witch.” Trotter’s jaw fell; he never expected the mole to be artificial.
Amy immediately removed the synthetic mole from her chin, threw it in the garbage can, and pointed to the door. “Take Jack with you. You inconsiderate little lesbo.”
Then she looked at Trotter. “You’ll be safe with her, Jack; she prefers pussy over big dicks.”
“You can kiss my ass, Amy.”
Then Amber addressed Trotter, “Let’s go skinny-dipping, Jack.” His eyes got as big as hubcaps. Then she led the way out and down the stairs.
Once the giant glass doors slid closed behind them, Amber said, “My sister has got to be the most ignorant person on this planet.”
“She sure does have her shining moments,” Trotter agreed.
“Either it’s exceptionally hot today or she has me fired up, but I’m jumping in to cool off.” Amber pointed to a small building attached to the house in the corner of the pool area. “That’s the changing room. You did bring a swimsuit I hope?”
Trotter was relieved she was not being serious about skinny-dipping. “Yes, it’s in the car.”
When he returned with his gym bag, Amber had already changed into her white bikini and was standing on the diving board. She looked like a model on a runway, and Trotter thought how much she reminded him of Christine, so many years ago. She executed a perfect dive into the nine feet deep water, surfaced, and told Trotter, “Hurry up. The water’s great.”
Trotter came out of the dressing room in his tight black trunks. Being a show off, he did a perfect one and a half off the diving board. Opening his eyes under the water, he saw Amber’s cute little buns and swam straight for them. He surfaced right beside her, face to face. “That was an awesome dive, Jack.”
He thought how sexy she looked now with wet hair and her tanned skin against the white bikini. “Nothing to it. Just run, jump, and do a somersault in the air.”
“Let’s soak up some rays. I’ll race you to the ladder.” She took off, however, Trotter kept up beside her without even trying. His muscular arms and powerful legs propelled his aerodynamic body through the water with ease. Halfway to the finish line he used his legs only, and still stayed by her side.
“I win. But you cheated,” she said, smiling at him. Their faces were only a foot apart. Trotter had a tremendous desire to kiss her, but he fought the urge and said, “You won fair and square.”
He motioned for her to go up the ladder. When she did, her sweet little tush was mere inches from his face. He felt that familiar aching in his groin. Although Fontaine was an exact replica, she did not evoke this reaction. The combination of Amber’s beauty and her angelic personality is what attracted him to her.
She pulled two chaise lounge chairs close together. “Do you care for a drink?” She threw a towel at Trotter. They both dried off.
“Water’ll be fine. I’m not much of a drinker, thank you.”
Amber slipped into a skimpy little white robe, and slid her tiny feet into flip-flops. Trotter watched as she gracefully sashayed back to the house. His frustration set in deeper.
“I hope you like lemon.” Amber placed two glasses of water on the small table between their chairs. Each glass had a slice of lemon crimped over the rim.
“Absolutely perfect,” Trotter commented, referring more to her, than the glass of water she offered. Amber sat down across from Trotter, and pulled her robe together.
“I’m really sorry you had to witness the crap that goes on between Amy and me. You probably didn’t know her real name till today, did you?”
“No, I thought Fontaine was her real name.”
“Well…since you are now our bodyguard, you might as well know the complete story. First off, I want to make one thing clear…I am not a lesbian. That’s a whole other story I might tell you someday. Anyways, since I do fill in for Amy, you’ll be protecting me, too. Probably more so me, than her. When we are on the road, I get off the bus first, as Fontaine, and she slips into the hotel or the arena disguised as somebody else. While I’m getting bombarded by thousands of screaming fans, she makes a safe get away.”
Trotter bit the fleshy lemon pulp from the rind and made a sour face. Amber smiled, then continued. “‘Fontaine,’ is a creation of my Mother’s mind. Our last name is Fontana. When we were kids growing up, I always had to try twice as hard to be half as good as Amy. Except for her beauty mark, we’re identical twins. Mother pushed Amy into singing and dance lessons when we were three years old. God, did Amy ever put up a fuss. She wanted nothing to do with it, but Mother forced her. For years, Jack, she had no childhood. Any talent show Mother heard of, she entered Amy. It didn’t matter if I showed interest or not; there was only enough money for one of us to receive professional training and seek ‘stardom.’ as Mother would say. Then she changed Amy Fontana to ‘Fontaine.’ Her thinking was, “If Cher and Madonna achieved success with one name, so can Amy.” Her prediction was right. Shortly after that, Amy finally hit the big time.”
Amber took a sip of her lemon water and swirled the ice. “I hope I’m not boring you with this garbage, Jack.”
“No, Amber, not at all. I find the whole thing fascinating, and it’s probably beneficial I am aware of everything. Especially how you take her place.”
“Good. Maybe I think of you as a father image; but I like talking with you.”
“I was hoping you were regarding me as a big brother, not a father,” Trotter said, half seriously.
“Yeah, that will work. I don’t have any brothers. You can be my big brother,” she said, and gave him a big smile.
“And I’m the only child. So yeah, you can be my little sister.” He smiled back, and raised his glass for a toast.
She clinked her glass off his. “To my little sister,” Trotter proclaimed.
“To my big brother,” Amber announced, causing them both to laugh. Then she continued. “I used to blame myself for my parents’ divorce because my dad would always remind my mother she had two girls, not just the one. They fought constantly, but then I realized Mother was the one who caused the split, and I was just an innocent bystander. My father treated his girls as equals, but Mother ruled the house. Especially after Dad died. When the money finally started to pour in, Mother had an attorney write up a contract stating she was Amy’s manager for twenty percent. Once the contract expired, she took her loot and vanished. Amy and I sort of joined forces to keep Fontaine profitable. However, she sees way more profit than I do. Christ, Jack, last year in Seattle, Amy was so high she couldn’t get off the bus. I ended up doing the concert.”
Trotter’s jaw fell, opened wide. Amber explained, “Half of the songs are lip synched. I saved her an awful lot of embarrassment that day. Sure, she compensated me for it, but for way less than what it was worth. Oh, and another thing, her new hit single “One Little Kiss.” Guess who wrote that?”
“That’s easy. My little sister wrote her twin’s smash hit, and she did not get any credit for it.” Trotter took an educated guess. “And then the evil, greedy twin took all the glory.”
Amber raised her glass; Trotter brought his up to hers. “You sir, are one hundred percent correct. Not only is my big brother a good looking hunk; he’s a smart ass, too.” They both enjoyed a good, relaxing laugh.
Then Amber gave him a little wink.
Trotter felt the same butterflies tickling his belly, as though he was in the first day of school at Elderton Elementary, and Rebecca Lynn Felton smiled at him.
* * * *
The few puffy white clouds overhead lazily drifted past, and the sun now beat down, fiercely. Amber stood, took off her robe, grabbed the bottle of tanning lotion from under the table, sat back in the lounge chair and squirted Coppertone up one leg, then down the other.
“Sometimes Amy makes me so mad…that I could wring her neck and move to Australia,” Amber said in an agitated tone.
“Why do you put up with her? Looks to me as though she needs you more tha
n you need her.”
“She does pay me more than I could ever make at a real job.” Holding the bottle in one hand, she spread the lotion evenly on her legs and the tops of her feet. “And I really don’t have any job skills.”
Trotter watched as her hand glided over her smooth, beautiful legs. “But you know the music business, and you write chart topping songs. You must have some connections.”
“It’s a dog eat dog world in the music industry; only a handful of songwriters make a decent living doing just that. Actually, I’m not even a songwriter; I’m nothing more than a lyricist. My plan is to bank as much money as I can while my sister is a headliner.”
Amber reclined, and squeezed more Coppertone onto her flat tummy and spread the lotion around. Then she did her arms and the exposed upper part of her firm breasts. Lastly, she rubbed her hands on her face and laid back to relax, and worship the sun.
“Don’t you just love the sunshine?” Amber asked. “I couldn’t imagine living in a cold and dark place like Alaska. I’d make a lousy Eskimo.”
“No, I couldn’t either. Growing up in the Midwest, I had my share of the cold and the snow. Once I saw how nice California was, I decided to live here.”
Trotter and Amber were still enjoying each other’s company, and making small talk, when Amy came storming out of the house an hour later. “Greedy corporate pigs,” she complained and plopped down in a chair by her twin.
“The fucking label has me obligated to five years’ worth of concerts. Five whole fucking years! If I refuse to do one, I'll owe those bastards 50 percent of what the concert would have grossed. Can you believe that shit?” She slurred her words, then chugged her Tanqueray and tonic. “That tastes like another one. Anybody going to join me?” Obviously, Amy had a few rounds in the house before coming outside.
Born of Greed Page 16
