He glanced reassuringly at Skye, who felt so guilty she couldn’t even meet his eyes.
He’s being so nice – he’s protecting everyone. And the only reason I’m here is to set him up. God, I feel terrible.
‘And because you are in breach of your behavioural contract, I should specify that your prepayment of the fee for your thirty-day stay will not be refunded on a pro-rated basis,’ added the lead lawyer.
‘Sure, whatever,’ Joe said easily, dismissing this with a wave of his big hand. He heaved another deep sigh, his chest rising and falling majestically. ‘Time to face the music. This’ll be all over the news by now.’
‘We’ll need to plan your exit carefully,’ Daniyel chimed in. ‘There’s a huge pack of paparazzi outside the main doors.’
‘Oh, I just bet there is,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll call my publicist, Carmen; let her work out how she wants to handle this.’ He pulled a face. ‘Can I get a Valium from anyone? Carmen’s gonna be yelling at me for the rest of the day, non-stop. I could do with a little something to take the edge off.’
‘Joe,’ Dr Raf said, but even he couldn’t help smiling.
‘Oh, give the man a Valium if he wants,’ Dr Solomon said impatiently. ‘He wasn’t here for drug dependency, was he?’
‘No, just blonde woopsies,’ Skye said.
Dr Solomon actually had the grace to look embarrassed at this.
‘Well, we’re done here,’ he said bluffly. ‘Daniyel, would you arrange for these two to leave in whatever manner you think best to manage the crowd outside? Dr Raf, would you please draft a statement for me to make to the assembled ladies and gentlemen of the press, and then have the lawyers look at it? And I believe, Dr Lucy, you have a theory about who is responsible for this appalling situation?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Dr Lucy said grimly, as Skye and Joe, shepherded by Daniyel, turned to leave. ‘An immature narcissist with highly developed attention-seeking tendencies and strong connections to the British press? I wouldn’t say we have far to look. Raf, I can’t believe we let her have her cell back!’
‘She was doing very well in group, and really opening up and doing the work in our one-on-one sessions,’ Dr Raf said unhappily. ‘The phone was a reward for good behaviour. And we still don’t have definite confirmation that it was Petal—’
‘Oh my God, this is Petal Gold we’re talking about?’ Dr Solomon interrupted. ‘Damn it! What the hell’s been going on here? I leave you in charge so I can finally have some much-needed down time, and look what happens!’
Daniyel closed the door behind Skye and Joe, cutting off Dr Solomon’s tirade. But they had both heard more than enough.
‘Petal?’ Joe said reflectively. ‘Well, well, well. Didn’t see that one coming.’
‘I’m going to kill that little bitch when I get my hands on her!’ Skye said between gritted teeth.
Petal
Petal was slumped next to a pile of her suitcases, tears trickling down her face. She’d tried everything she could to persuade them to let her stay; she’d begged, pleaded, cried, entreated, and eventually retreated to her room, sobbing, lying on the bed and refusing to pack her bags, so that Daniyel, together with another tech, had had to do it for her.
The one thing she hadn’t been able to do was deny her crime. Because when they’d called her in, and Dr Lucy had told her to hand over her mobile, what could she have done? How could she have refused?
And then, when they’d found the clip of Joe and Skye, it was all over.
Bar the shouting. Because there had been a lot of shouting.
‘Dr Raf!’
Seeing him emerge into the reception area, Petal jumped to her feet, and unfortunately caught sight of herself in one of the mirrored panels that decorated the pale green entrance walls of Cascabel’s lobby. She looked like shit. Her white skin never did well when she cried; it went blotchy at once, bright patches of red on her nose and cheeks. And her eyes were red too, from rubbing them.
Great. Yellow hair, white skin and red nose. I look like a fucking clown.
‘Dr Raf, have they changed their minds? Can I stay after all?’
She ran towards him eagerly, her voice thick with snot from all the tears she’d cried. But as soon as she got close, her heart sank again. She could tell from his expression that the answer was ‘No’.
‘I’m sorry, Petal,’ he said sadly. ‘You know I feel, on balance, that you should stay. You’ve made such strides since you’ve been here.’
‘I have! I have!’ she wailed.
And it was true: she had. Of course, she was desperate to stay because she knew very well that Gold would be as good as his word. If she didn’t complete the thirty-day programme, her trust fund would be cut off.
But it isn’t just that. This really is helping me. I’m talking about all this stuff I’ve never really acknowledged before. And when I do, I feel better afterwards. A lot better. And Dr Raf is so wonderful . . . he really understands me . . .
‘The management won’t be budged, I’m afraid,’ he continued. ‘And I can’t blame them. You’ve caused incalculable harm to the reputation of this facility.’
Petal hung her head.
‘We help people here, Petal,’ he said gently. ‘Vulnerable people who are in terrible trouble. Think of Amber, what she’s going through. And Brian. And poor Mitch. Your actions have imperilled all of that. If people think rehab can’t be taken seriously, that it’s just somewhere to hook up or get laid—’
He broke off, going red. Petal looked behind her, to see if anything had happened that she didn’t realize, but no. Something must have occurred to Dr Raf.
He cleared his throat, still blushing. ‘Anyway – if rehab becomes a laughing stock, people won’t try it, and that will deprive them of a resource that could literally save their lives,’ he finished.
Petal could barely breathe for shame. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
‘We’ve decided you can continue as an out-patient,’ he said kindly. ‘I can continue to be your therapist with sessions on a daily basis.’
Oh, thank God. Petal’s shoulders sagged in relief, but it was only momentary. ‘That still won’t count with Gold – with my dad!’ she corrected herself. ‘And where am I supposed to go? Where am I supposed to stay if I’m still having therapy here?’
Dr Raf’s handsome face brightened into a smile. ‘That’s what I’ve been organizing,’ he said more cheerfully. ‘By California law, you’re underage, so we wouldn’t have admitted you if you didn’t have a family member or responsible adult in the state.’
‘Not my mum?’ Petal exclaimed, her eyes widening in shock.
‘I called her just now. She’s on her way to pick you up,’ Dr Raf said. ‘She was near the Palisades, as it happens, so she should be here very soon. Traffic permitting,’ he added wryly.
‘What? What did she say? How did she sound?’
‘Uh, she was a bit taken aback,’ Dr Raf admitted. ‘Clearly your dad hadn’t told her that she’d been put down as an emergency contact for you, so it took a while to explain the situation . . . but I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ He looked down at her, his dark eyes serious. ‘You know, Petal, I don’t mean to play social worker, but this could be a great opportunity for you to reconnect with her.’
‘Oh, God!’ Petal collapsed onto the suitcases. ‘You don’t know what she’s like now,’ she wailed. ‘She’s had all this plastic surgery . . . she’s doing a reality TV show, apparently . . . the last thing she’s going to want is her daughter showing up on her doorstep.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,’ Dr Raf said, in an overbright encouraging voice. He fished in his pocket. ‘And here’s your phone. Dr Lucy’s deleted the video, obviously.’
Petal took the phone. It felt like a huge anticlimax. Finally, she was free to use it whenever she wanted; but the price she’d paid for that freedom was much too high. Turning it over in her hands, staring gloomily at the shiny Swarovski crystals, she debated who to call first
with her news.
But what can I tell them? Maybe my credit cards will work OK to get me a flight home, but what if Gold – Dad – cuts me off as soon as I’m there? At least if I stay in LA and finish therapy here with Dr Raf, Dad might agree to keep my cards funded . . .
‘Hey! I’m looking for Petal Gold,’ called a woman’s voice from the doorway, her accent an odd blend of Cockney and American, her tone irritated. ‘Some doctor called me from here and said I had to come get her. What’s the parking situation here? Do I need to get something validated?’
‘Mum?’ Petal clambered to her feet, standing nervously in front of her cases.
‘Petal? Look at the state of you! What have you done to your hair?’ Linda exclaimed.
You’re a fine one to talk, Petal thought crossly.
When Gold had met Linda, twenty years ago, Page Three girls were all-natural. The big boobs were what nature had given them, the equally voluminous hair might be teased up by a stylist, but was without benefit of hair extensions. And if their lips weren’t full enough, they slicked on light-reflecting pale pink lip gloss, smiled their pretty faces off and stuck their bosoms out to distract the viewer.
So Linda had been, at twenty-one, an extremely attractive girl, albeit with a figure too generous for her to make it in mainstream modelling. It was no surprise that Gold had fallen for her, hard, enough to marry her and have a baby with her.
But if he met Mum now, I doubt he’d even recognize her, Petal reflected, staring at her mother. Linda had had work done on her face, clearly; her eyes had that wide, staring look that happened with over-enthusiastic eyelid lifts, and her lips were swollen beyond their natural contours.
And then there was the liposuction. Most actresses/models/whatever started off naturally thin, and bought their breasts as necessary; Linda had done the opposite. When she arrived in LA, after her divorce, and realized that the standard of beauty on the West Coast was pin-thin, she had promptly spent some of her very large divorce settlement on lipo and a personal trainer. She had had her boobs lifted a few years ago, but their size was all her own, and they were so disproportionate to her skinny frame that Linda looked as if she were about to topple over on her face.
Still, they were balanced to some degree by her hair, which was as pale as straw and as shiny as cheap gold-plated jewellery, the kind that tarnishes your skin. And it was piled up on the top of her head in a whole arrangement of curls that was so thick and heavy it must have been filled out with extensions.
‘You look different,’ Petal said frankly.
Linda, fortunately, took this as a compliment. She raised a manicured hand to pat at the back of her hair, smirking.
‘I should say so!’ she agreed happily. ‘I’ve been filming a series for VH1 – I had a lot of work done.’
Linda looked her daughter up and down, taking in the suitcases. Then her gaze moved onto Dr Raf, and her eyes brightened visibly.
‘Well, hi,’ she said flirtatiously. ‘Are you Dr Green? You’re much hotter than you sounded on the phone!’ She giggled. ‘God, I’m awful, aren’t I?’
She wriggled across the lobby to him on her flip-flop kitten heels, which were the same hot pink as her Juicy Couture velour hoodie.
‘It’s very nice of you to come to pick up Petal,’ Dr Raf said.
‘Yeah, about that . . .’ Linda flashed him a smile. ‘Do I have to take her with me? It’s really inconvenient at the moment. I just wrapped a show, I have to do publicity for it . . . Couldn’t she stay on here? Pretty, pretty please?’ She fingered the lapel of Dr Raf’s jacket, stroking it seductively.
Petal writhed with embarrassment. As if that girlie stuff would ever have worked on Dr Raf – even when you were young and pretty enough to pull it off.
Gently, Dr Raf removed Linda’s hand.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gold,’ he said, his tone genuinely apologetic. ‘I would have liked to keep Petal on as an inpatient, but it’s not my decision. She can see me on a daily basis for therapy.’
‘God! Do I have to drive her here every day?’ Linda exclaimed, trying to frown and failing because of the Botox in her forehead. She turned to Petal, hands on her hips. ‘What kind of stunt have you pulled that they’re kicking you out?’ she fumed. ‘I should put you on a plane and send you straight back to your dad!’
‘No, Mum, please . . .’ Petal pleaded. ‘I need to finish my treatment!’
Dr Raf smiled at her approvingly.
‘Ugh! So I’m stuck with you!’ Linda said crossly. ‘This is lousy timing!’ Then she brightened as a fresh thought occurred to her. ‘Though, mind you, I suppose it might help with publicity for the show . . . I’ll ring VH1 and see what they say . . . Maybe they’ll give us a show together! Mother and daughter! Like The Gastineau Girls!’
Petal glanced at Dr Raf. He was too well-versed in the ways of Hollywood to be surprised at Linda’s reaction, but he did give Petal a sympathetic glance.
‘Well, come on then, if you’re coming!’ Linda said to Petal. She wiggled her fingers in farewell at Dr Raf. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said. ‘And you’ve got my number now . . . feel free to use it!’
Grabbing the handles of her Samsonites, Petal followed her mother out of the lobby, bumping the cases over the slate path. She loaded them into Linda’s lime-green Beetle, Linda speculating loudly as she did so about the possibility of a new VH1 reality series.
‘They have this whole strand called Celebreality,’ she babbled happily, ‘and they’re always looking for new ideas . . . we could go in together and do a pitch . . .’
‘I’ve had enough publicity for a while, Mum,’ Petal said. She stopped for a moment, amazed. ‘God! I can’t believe I just said that!’
‘You’ll have to sleep in the pool house,’ Linda said, starting up the car.‘It’s a studio – it’s got its own bathroom. Give us both some privacy that way.’ She giggled. ‘And I have to tell you about Bobby! Ooh, this show’s been so much fun!’
‘Who’s Bobby?’
Petal closed her eyes as her mother pulled out into traffic without checking her mirrors or indicating; a car behind them beeped angrily.
‘Bobby’s my boytoy!’ Linda said happily. ‘I picked him out! This show, right, it’s called Cougar Hunt. I had fifteen twenty-somethings to choose from – we all moved into this big house in the Hills to film it – apparently they usually hire it out for porn shoots, isn’t that a blast? One of the kids recognized it from a porno he watched. So funny. Anyway, fifteen hot boys jumping through hoops to be with me! Can you imagine! Each episode I can one of them by saying: “Sorry, but you’re not cougar bait!” Hilarious, right?’
‘Hilarious, Mum,’ Petal echoed drily.
‘Oh –’ Linda turned her head to look at Petal, taking her eyes completely off the road – ‘about that? Could you call me Linda? Anything else makes me sound really old. I had you so young . . . I mean, really, I could be your older sister . . .’
Oh God, Petal thought hopelessly. Cascabel, with all its restrictions, was looking more and more like paradise on earth.
Skye
‘Joe’s publicists sure are doing a good job getting ahead of the story,’ Kevin said, leaning back in his chair and watching the TV. It was showing E! News, and an excited presenter was saying breathlessly: ‘And now, the biggest story in celebrity news, breaking live from Hollywood! Joe Jeffreys leaves sex rehab in disgrace after being caught with a stripper – and dashes straight to his fiancée, Jennifer Downs, to plead for forgiveness! Check out our footage!’
‘Oh my God,’ said another National Investigator journalist, coming into Kevin’s office and staring at the screen. ‘This is better than Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley after he got caught with that tranny . . .’
‘Check out what she’s wearing,’ said Kevin gleefully.
Carmen might have pushed the envelope just a little too far with Jennifer’s styling this time. Jennifer’s short crop had been dyed to a pale blonde, which gave her an even more ethereal
appearance than usual; her huge, wide-set hazel eyes were heavily mascaraed, and she was wearing a white crepe slip dress, which fell to below the knee. Round her neck was—
‘It’s a freaking cross,’ the other journalist breathed in awe, as the camera panned in on it.
The scene had been staged in the garden of a friend of Jennifer’s, specifically chosen so that the news cameras (summoned by a tip-off from Carmen) could get a perfect view of Jennifer and Joe over the low stone wall. Jennifer was seated on a garden swing, its pale pink canopy casting a rosy glow over her. It was, indeed, a silver crucifix, large enough to be clearly visible, hanging round her slender neck.
And before her, in supplication, kneeled Joe.
‘Too much,’ Kevin said. ‘Way too much.’
‘He’s been a bad, bad boy!’ the E! News presenter continued, almost salivating in pleasure. ‘And now the burning question is: will Jennifer forgive him? Should she forgive him? They were America’s sweethearts – is it all over now for this golden couple?’
The focus was a little blurry, and the angle meant that all that could be seen of Joe was his back. Skye stared at his strong, muscular shoulders, his thick fair hair, with real yearning.
I’ll never touch him again, she thought. I’ll probably never even see him again, apart from up on a big screen, pretending to be in love with his gay fiancée. She heaved a deep sigh. I’m such an idiot. Falling for a movie star who was just killing time with me. Talk about your basic stripper mistake.
‘Keep tuned for the latest on this breaking news with E!’ said the presenter, as they went to a commercial. Kevin reached for the remote and clicked off the sound.
‘We’ve gone through the footage you recorded, Skye,’ he said, swivelling his chair to face hers, nodding at the other Investigator journalist to leave his office. ‘Nice work! Though I don’t understand why you didn’t just leave when you had it and bring it straight to us.’ He steepled his fingers together, propping his chin on top of them. ‘That way we wouldn’t have been pipped at the post by that damn British paper.’
Bad Girls Page 30
