“So, I think he’s younger than I am! No way am I gonna get any cheesecake work from him, much less anything substantial. Let’s face it, Yvonne, as far as Hollywood’s concerned, I’m yesterday’s news; just another strumpet who made it past twenty-two, otherwise known as retirement age.”
They chuckled, shaking their heads.
“It’s a shame though, Ker. You were really good.”
Kerri shrugged. “I’d have taken even the smallest roles on any of Mark’s movies if they could have swung it.”
“And they could have,” Yvonne said. “If they didn’t, it’s because Mark didn’t want you there. You have to start thinking about why that is.”
“All right, Yvonne, okay, let’s say he was cheating on me. He’s dead now, there’s no reason to go on hating him for his mistakes.”
After a thick pause, Yvonne asked, “Then why go on hating yourself?”
After the mud bath they bathed and swathed in thick, white robes and enjoyed a fruit smoothie. Kerri’s familiar smartphone music played and she reached into her purse to glance at the screen.
Yvonne asked, “Who is it?”
“George.”
“Oh,” Yvonne said with a sexy grin, “the lawyer.”
“It’s not going to be personal.”
Yvonne’s grin faded to a disgusted sneer. “Oh, the lawyer.”
Kerri raised the phone to her cheek. “George, hi.”
“Kerri,” he said, his voice low and professional, “Glad I found you. What’s your schedule like this afternoon?”
“Um, today?”
“Yes, Kerri, today; as soon as possible.”
Kerri looked nervously at Yvonne. “I’ll be in your office by two.”
* * *
George Hume escorted Kerri to the chair in front of his desk, exchanging pleasantries as he took a seat in his big leather chair.
“Glad you’re doing well,” he said with a smile. “Any movie roles coming up?”
Kerri smiled, more polite than enthusiastic. “George, we both know you didn’t call me over here ASAP to ask about my career.”
George smiled, looking younger than his sixty-some years, hair dyed black but eyebrows still graying. “Well, not entirely. It’s not only small talk though, Kerri.”
“George, what is going on here?”
He twitched to free his neck from his collar as he handed her a piece of paper. She recognized the letterhead immediately as being from the Internal Revenue Service. Glancing at the letter, she looked up at George for an explanation.
“Two years income taxes, plus fines and interest.”
Kerri shook her head trying to wrap her head around the news. “Well, I knew Mark couldn’t handle those things, that’s why we got Morrison Talbot, what about him?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
George nodded and sighed as he leaned back, clicking a few keys on his keyboard and glancing at his monitor. “Believed to be in Mexico, the Caribbean side, maybe Barbados.”
“Maybe Barbados,” Kerri repeated, shocked. “As of when?”
“Months, maybe, it’s hard to say. But between him and your late husband, you’ve got a big bill and no money to pay it.”
“No… what do you mean, no money?”
“Don’t you ever check your balances?”
Kerri shrugged. “Sure, of my personal account. But the big accounts, I, um — ”
“You left it to Morrison Talbot to take care of.”
Kerri’s stomach turned, goosebumps rising on the backs of her arms. “What about you? Where were you in all this?”
“I’m your lawyer, Kerri, not your business manager, your accountant, your agent or your babysitter.”
“Okay, okay, there’s no need to be snide.” Kerri paused before bitterly adding, “You know I don’t have an agent.” George smiled, taking it as a joke to lighten the mood. After a long, tense silence, Kerri asked, “Well, what do we do?”
“Not much you can do,” George said. “The bill’s about a million three. You can probably sell the house. — ”
“In this market? I’ll get crucified! It’s everything I have … according to you.”
“And I’m not wrong, Ker. Listen to me; it’s more house than you need. You and Mark never did, um, fill it up, so to speak.” Kerri sat in her sorrowful guilt of not having given Mark a child and George seemed to read that, clearing his throat to add, “You could get a job, one of those horror movies.”
“They don’t pay anything near that,” Kerri said.
“Even for you? Mark McCall’s ex, maybe something a bit more … revealing than your other movies.”
Kerri rolled her eyes. “What do you mean, a sex tape? A Skinimax soft-core? C’mon, George, no.”
George sighed and shrugged. “So, call your realtor then?”
Kerri looked up from her lap, tears threatening to push through and run down her cheek. “I … I don’t have one.”
* * *
Yvonne poured them each a glass of chardonnay, cold, crisp and refreshing, tangy and tart on the back of Kerri’s tongue. “I dunno,” Yvonne said, setting the bottle down and taking a sip of her own. “It’d be a shame to sell your home. Can’t you get some kind of relief, make a deal and pay less? I hear about that happening all the time.”
“Yvonne, I’ve barely got a penny, just a few grand in a private account. No matter what they reduce it to, even if they spread the payments out over time, I’ve still got bigger problems. If I want to keep the house, I won’t have money to pay for it! I’m about two months away from defaulting, then foreclosure, and then I’m homeless. No, Yvonne, I’ve lived out of a car before, I do not want to go through that again, I can’t and I won’t.”
“I don’t blame you, sweetie, not one bit.” They thought it out, the wine passing slowly. “Isn’t there anything you can do … with your celebrity status? I mean, a reality show, anything? You could get another agent.”
Kerri had to shake her head, trying to relax in Yvonne’s couch, her orange tabby, Maniac, jumping up on her lap with a loud purr. “I doubt I even could, and to go through all that shit, auditions, everyone snarling at the twenty-five-year-old has-been. And that’s something else; unless it’s a role with any real depth, I’m too old! I’d have to play the teacher who gets killed in the second act or maybe the stepmother who dies in act three. Those won’t pay enough to cover my bus pass to and from the lot.”
The old friends chuckled, but silence soon returned. Yvonne cleared her throat and sat up higher on the couch next to Kerri. “Okay, Ker, I have an idea. Well, it’s not my idea exactly, just something I know about. And if you’ll have an open mind, I think it might be exactly what you’re looking for.”
Kerri leaned forward in cautious anticipation, raising her hands and her eyebrows, wordlessly begging Yvonne to go on. So she did: “Kerri, have you ever heard of The Million Dollar Bash?”
Chapter 2
Kerri shook her head and took an extra big sip of wine, knowing somehow that she’d need it.
Yvonne explained, “Okay, it’s one of those underground things, it’s real Eyes Wide Shut kind of stuff.”
“So it’s an orgy.”
“No, not an orgy, no sex happens at all. But it is a party; a very, very exclusive party.”
Kerri gave it some thought, but she just didn’t have enough information to deduce her friend’s riddle. “And it costs a million dollars to go to this party?”
“Oh no, hell no. I went, and I didn’t pay any million bucks. But I did go with Hamilton Johns, who’s a member or something.”
“Hamilton Johns,” Kerri repeated, “Wow. And you let him get away?”
“Loved his boyfriend more. Anyway, this … this party, it’s kind of like an auction.”
“An … auction?”
“Yeah, and people, men and women, auction themselves off to these very rich men … and women … ”
“They sell themselves?”
“No, sweetie,
no, they sort of, um, rent themselves, for a weekend.”
“Rent themselves … as sex slaves.”
“No, honey, no … well, yes, kind of. Not slaves, really, more like … serfs. But it’s nothing dangerous, nobody’s ever been seriously hurt.”
“Seriously?” Yvonne raised a sexy brow, but Kerri was quick to wave her off. “No, Yvonne, no. You’re worse than George and his Skinimax idea.”
“It could pay up to a million dollars.”
“A … no, is that why they call it that?” Yvonne offered no answer. “No, that can’t be true,” Kerri went on, thinking aloud. “This is Los Angeles, Yvonne, Hollywood, the most beautiful girls in the world are crawling around every corner, and they’ll all do anything they’re told for five grand and the promise of a sitcom walk-on. Why would anybody pay a million dollars?”
“Ker, they don’t all pay that much. But you’re a scream queen; you got hacked to death by Freddie Kruger!”
“No, Michael Meyers … I’m pretty sure. Or was it that other guy, with the hockey mask?”
Yvonne rolled her eyes. “And there’s, y’know, the whole thing about your ex … ”
“What? What do you mean, that some twisted weirdo would want to fuck me because I’m Mark McCall’s widow? that’s really gross.”
“It is, Kerri, you’re right, it is really gross. But this is Hollywood! And you know what else is really gross? Eating each other’s shit, and some people do that. This is a lot less disgusting.”
“I suppose that would depend on what my new master would desire, wouldn’t it?”
“No, there are contracts, insurance, it’s all pretty tightly run. And everyone’s of age, Kerri, or they’d be paying a lot more than half-a-million.”
“What happened to the full mil?”
Yvonne shrugged. “Being realistic, I’d say three hundred thousand easy. But if you negotiate that tax bill, you can cover it, get back on your feet. And who knows, you might enjoy it.”
“Or I might get chopped up and turned into cat food.”
“Who would pay so much money just to kill a person when they could find some whore for fifty bucks? Like you said, Kerri, this is Hollywood.”
“You said that.”
“So did you! And you’re right, we both are. They pay for class here, Ker, they pay for discretion, they pay for the very best.”
Kerri sighed as she considered her options. Reading her slowly turning skepticism, Yvonne said, “If you really want to piss your mother off; I mean, you know how she'd feel about such a thing.”
Kerri chuckled. “She didn’t even want me to grow tits. When I had my first period, I thought we were going to have her committed.”
“No wonder you turned into such a voyeur.”
“Yvonne, I am not a voyeur!”
“Really? Your profession, your career, was to be treated like a sex object, then chased around and murdered, usually just before, during, or after having sex. And a big part of that was having people watch, perhaps millions of people. Now tell me that idea didn't turn you on. Tell me the shame that brought your mother didn't make you feel just a little bit more powerful than her?”
Kerri thought about it and sighed. She couldn’t deny the truth of what her incisive best friend was saying. She knew she couldn’t bullshit Yvonne but even her powerfully conflicting feelings about her mother weren’t enough to get her to agree to that wild scheme.
Kerri silently resolved, There has to be some other way.
That evening Kerri went for a long walk around her hilly Los Feliz neighborhood, at the foot of massive Griffith Park. She strolled past mansions of varying styles, lined up like Beverly Hills North.
Maybe I never should have come here, Kerri couldn’t help but reflect, even as she saw it all dissolve right in front of her eyes. Maybe this is a place I was never meant to be, a place I shouldn’t remain. Maybe I should just cut loose of it all, start fresh somewhere else.
Going over the numbers in her head, she frowned; they were grim. After paying fees on the sales of the mansion, plus the mortgage, which Mark had nearly doubled in the last year of his life, there’d be virtually nothing left of the proceeds even if the taxes were covered in the bargain. In all likelihood, she’d still be out of pocket and out of luck.
There was just simply no way to earn that kind of money, not even prostituting herself either privately or publicly, something she was loathe to do.
Well, she silently rationalized; it isn’t really prostitution, any more than anybody else does every time they step in front of a camera. At least that’s better than auctioning myself off to some rich weirdo for a weekend, Yvonne!
Maybe I can stall all this tax business and get some crappy role, cover a down payment and then figure something else out next year. As Kerri approached her own huge and increasingly empty home, she saw clearer ways of staying where she was, maybe even yet moving up in the world.
I just need a little more time.
With a turn of her key, she stepped into the foyer. The house was quiet, grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the living room. Suddenly, a hard hand clamped around her throat as a heavy body spun her around and shoved her back against the wall. Before Kerri knew what was happening, a big, black gun was shoved into her mouth, the metal cold and oiled. Her heart nearly burst, her body trembling, her brain racing through scenarios desperate for escape.
Her focus was quickly drawn to the gun, in her open mouth, pushing her tongue back, scraping against her palate, blood already trickling down her throat.
A man she didn’t recognize stood mere inches in front of her, snarling, his olive skin clean shaven. “Not a word, sweetheart, not a word.-” Kerri was slow to calm, her focus on that gun and on what would surely be the last moments of her life. She was blinded by confusion, dazed with fear. “Atta girl,” he said as her breathing slowed, “Very good, very good. You gonna be a good girl, be nice, behave yourself?”
Kerri could only nod, noticing for the first time a second man standing only a few feet away, wearing a black duster to match his friend’s. The first man said, very slowly and quietly, “You listen to me now; I’m gonna take this gun out chor' mouth. One peep and I’m gonna knock your teeth out. Right?” Kerri nodded, but the man repeated even louder, “Right-?”
Kerri nodded, mouth open and around that terrible tool. The man nodded too and slowly removed the gun from her mouth. Kerri’s muscles were cramping, the sides of her face hurting as her heart threatened to explode behind her ribs.
The man stepped back and the other stepped forward. “Missus Mark McCall, aka Kerri Abernathy? Former B-movie actress.”
“That’s right,” Kerri managed to say, but just barely.
The first man said, “My name is … well, that’s not really what’s important, but you can just call me Mr. Death.” The name sent a wave of cold fear through Kerri’s body. He spoke with a very deliberate professionalism that only revealed his ignorance. The strong Jersey accent didn’t help. “That’s my associate, Mr. Kill.”
Kerri looked at the man and tried to smile, failing miserably.
Mister Death said, “I know you’s is wondering why it is we’ve come here … unpronounced, as it were.” He smiled, apparently had no idea how far off his language was. “Missus McCall, when your late husband was still among us, he accrued quite a gambling debt which, as you may imagine, has increased over time, what with the interest and penalty payments and whatnot.”
Kerri repeated, “Gambling? On what?”
“Football, mostly. I tried to collect from his business manager, one Morrison Talbot, but he no longer seems to be available.”
“Yeah, they say he left of the country. Try Barbados.”
Mister Kill smiled. Mister Death didn’t. “Perhaps one day,” Mr. Death said as Mr. Kill paced around the big entryway. “But for now, I would like to collect on your late husband’s debt, so that I may close the books on this whole situation.”
Kerri sighed, shaking her head.
“How much?”
“The entirety of the debt is currently at two-hundred thousand dollars American,” Mr. Death said, overly articulate. “We would prefer a wire transfer, for reasons which I am sure that you may construe.”
Kerri shook her head. “Well look, I just don’t have that. I’m sorry, but … I don’t have it. Talbot stole all my money. — ”
“That is not our problem, Mrs. McCall. And it won’t remain your problem for very long, if you catch my drift.”
Kerri’s blood ran cold, mouth going dry. But she mustered her strength, driven by an anger and an impatience she didn’t know she had. Her late husband had been haunting her long enough.
“What do you mean, breaking into my house and threatening my life?”
“That, Mrs. McCall, is a question which answers itself. Today is Thursday. Next Friday you’ll owe another ten thousand, for a total of two-hundred-ten. I suggest you do what you can to ensure a friendly business transaction, and that includes keeping this strictly private, especially where the cops is concerned.” Mister Death looked her over before leading Mr. Kill to the front door. On the way out, he said to Kerri, “The alternative will not be pleasant, I assure you.”
They left, closing the door behind them, and Kerri’s knees gave out from under her. She dropped to the cold marble floor, barely able to keep from passing out as she regained her senses and began to mull over her alternatives.
She only had one.
Chapter 3
Yvonne went with Kerri, and she required little convincing. Kerri could never have gotten in without somebody who’d already been there, and Yvonne was one of the very few. They pulled up to a huge mansion and stepped out, both wearing their best black dresses, Kerri’s blonde hair pulled up in a bun, ringlets around her pretty face.
The men wore tuxedoes, the women fine evening-wear and dazzling jewelry. Kerri didn’t recognize any of the faces, even though she’d partied with just about every A-, B-, and C-lister in Hollywood over the previous five years, pretty much in that order.
Billionaire Bash: The Complete Steele Series Page 2
