Harvest Moon

by Rochelle Alers

  Oscar managed a smile he did not quite feel and slipped onto the backseat beside Regina. He pulled her limp body close to his side, struggling to control his temper. What he wanted to do at that moment was return to the house and put his hands around Harold Jordan’s throat and squeeze the life out of his body. He stared at the driver’s broad shoulders instead.

  Not turning around, the driver asked, “Where to, Mr. Spencer?”

  “Take me home.” The three words were quiet—quiet and lethal.

  Chapter 6

  Regina drifted in and out of sleep, succumbing to the smooth motion of the car rolling over the hills and through the canyons of Los Angeles. She remembered someone picking her up and carrying her from the car, but not much else.

  She was totally unaware that Oscar Spencer’s housekeeper had undressed her and covered her nude body with a freshly laundered pajama shirt belonging to her employer. She slept throughout the night as Oscar sat at her bedside watching her sleep. It wasn’t until the following morning that she awoke—disoriented, wondering why she wasn’t in her own bed at her own apartment.

  She lay in bed, trying to remember what had happened the night before. Pushing a wealth of ebony curls off her forehead, she sighed audibly. She had gotten sick at Harold Jordan’s house. Oscar had compounded her dizziness and nausea by forcing her to regurgitate.

  Oscar! Sitting up quickly, she realized she was at Oscar’s house. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and managed to make it to the adjoining bathroom; she washed her face and rinsed her mouth with a cool, mint mouthwash, then searched the spacious, Spanish-style residence for its owner. Within minutes she found him in his study. He sat at his desk, his back to the door, talking on the telephone.

  “You stinking son of a bitch!” he ranted through clenched teeth. “You know damn well what you did. You drugged her, Jordan! Don’t lie to me. All I have to do is have a doctor pump her stomach and have a lab analyze the contents. Don’t tell me what I won’t do. It’s over. I’ll make certain you’ll never get near her ever again. Don’t threaten me, you perverted cretin. One call to the police and you’ll be wearing a pair of bracelets that will require a key to remove.” He slammed down the receiver, his shoulders heaving.

  Regina’s legs felt like blocks of ice. She hadn’t gotten sick because she had eaten something that hadn’t agreed with her. Harold Jordan had drugged her, and she did not have to guess why. He wanted her—in his bed. And because she hadn’t come to him willingly he had taken the initiative of putting something in her drink.

  “Oscar.”

  He swiveled the chair at the sound of her husky voice. Her hair spilled over her forehead and shoulders in a cloud of curling, raven spirals. The hem of his nightshirt ended above her knees, allowing for a generous view of her long, shapely legs.

  Forcing a smile, he rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. He was impeccably dressed in a pair of dark linen slacks and a matching raw silk, long-sleeved shirt.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  Her large, dark gaze was fixed on his mouth. “Well, considering I was drugged.”

  He shifted a thick gray eyebrow, nodding slowly. “I suppose you overheard my conversation?”

  Her expression was impassive. “I heard enough. How did you know he drugged me?”

  “It’s not the first time a woman has gotten sick at one of Harold Jordan’s parties.”

  Closing her eyes, she wagged her head from side to side. “But why me, Oscar? I’ve seen Harold Jordan with enough women whom I assume are sleeping with him.”

  He moved closer, cradling her slender face between his hands. “Don’t ask me why, Regina. All you have to do is look in the mirror. You’re a stunning young woman. And there will be a lot of Harold Jordans who will want you to share their beds.”

  “But some of these women were very beautiful,” she insisted.

  Oscar held her tortured gaze. “You are young. Very, very young. And there are some older men who like young girls.”

  Hot, fat tears squeezed from under her eyelids and made their way down her cheeks. “When I sleep with a man I want that to be my decision. And only when I am ready.”

  Kissing her on both cheeks, he pulled her closer. “There is a lot of ugliness beneath Tinseltown’s glitter and glamour, ugliness someone your age should not have to encounter. You should’ve been told that before you left home.”

  Opening her eyes, she stared up at him. “I heard it, Oscar. I heard it all, and still I had to come.”

  A wry smile curved his mouth under his clipped moustache. “You’ve heard it, yet you still had to come. The bright lights had your name on them, and they were calling you. You have it all, Regina Cole, yet you had to come. You have a perfect face, a perfect body, and an acting ability which rivals Katherine Hepburn’s and Bette Davis’s and you had to come to see if you could make it. Instead of you having to fend off Harold Jordan’s advances, you should be in a college lecture hall taking notes.”

  She smiled through her tears. “You sound like my father.”

  “That’s because I’m old enough to be your father.” He returned her smile, wiping away her tears with his fingers. “In fact, I’m old enough to be your grandfather. And if I were your father, I’d cut you off without a penny and force you to come back home.”

  She took in a quick breath of astonishment. “Daddy would never do that to me.”

  Oscar’s smile widened. “Of course he wouldn’t. That’s because you’re his precious little princess.” His expression sobered. “If you were my daughter I doubt whether I’d be able to do it, either.”

  Her expression matched his, giving her the appearance of being much older than seventeen. “My parents weren’t thrilled that I decided to pursue an acting career instead of going to college. But there was nothing they could do about it once I graduated from high school.”

  “But you graduated two months shy of your seventeenth birthday. Legally you are still a minor and their responsibility.”

  “That’s true. We had round-the-clock marathon discussions, and in the end they gave in. Both knew that I had to fulfill my dream or I would spend the rest of my life floundering while trying to find myself.”

  “They are truly exceptional parents, Regina. I still don’t think I would’ve let my seventeen-year-old daughter leave home for a movie career.”

  “That’s because you don’t have a daughter, Mr. Spencer. I bet you wouldn’t have raised the roof if your son left home at seventeen.”

  He shrugged a shoulder, the gesture both masculine and elegant. “Boys are different.”

  “And you’re a sexist,” she teased, offering him a warm smile.

  “I suppose I am. I must remind you that I’m a product of my generation. We raised our sons and protected our daughters. And because I don’t have a daughter, as of right now I’m unofficially adopting you. I’ll make certain what Harold Jordan did to you will never happen again.”

  Combing her fingers through her hair, Regina pushed it off her forehead, her gaze never straying from the older man’s face. “You think I need another father?”

  “No. What you do need is someone to look out for you until you’re able to protect yourself, or until you come to your senses and return to Florida.”

  She stared up at him from under her lashes, her delicate jaw tightening with a surge of determination. “I’m not leaving. A thousand Harold Jordans will not force me to walk away from my acting career until I’m ready to leave.”

  “And you’re going to leave, Regina Cole,” Oscar predicted sagely. “I doubt if you’ll complete more than three films.”

  She felt a shiver of apprehension snake its way up her spine. “Why would you say that?”

  “Wisdom and instinct, my child. And I’m going to live long enough to tell you I told you so.”

  Regina did not want him to be right. She did not want the heated, verbal confrontations with her parents, the thousands of hours she spent wit
h drama coaches while sacrificing the time she should have spent with her friends and family members, to be negated.

  Oscar Spencer was wrong. She would not walk away from her acting career. Not until she tired of it. And she hoped she wouldn’t tire of it until she was an old, old woman.

  Oscar Spencer kept his promise. He became her surrogate father and protector. Regina continued to rent and share her apartment with the other actress. However, in the coming weeks she found herself spending more and more time at the director’s house. They established a habit of sharing dinner—every night. There were times when he sent her home with his driver, but many more when she slept over in the bedroom where she had spent the night following her drugging episode at Harold Jordan’s house.

  She hadn’t heard from or seen Harold since that night, but realized that in less than a week she would be forced to come face-to-face with the man who had maliciously and methodically planned to rape her. She would attend the Academy Awards ceremony with Oscar, but regardless of the outcome she had made a decision not to attend any of the post-awards parties.

  She sat at the table in the dining area at her apartment, studying the script her agent had delivered to her the day before. Vertical lines appeared between her eyes as she shook her head. It had taken only one reading for her to reach a decision. She could not consider the leading role.

  The soft chiming of the telephone startled her, and she reached for the cordless phone lying inches away on the table. Pressing a button, she said softly, “Hello.”

  “How do you like it?”

  She recognized her agent’s gravelly voice immediately. “I like it, but I can’t consider it.”

  “Why?”

  “You know I won’t take my clothes off.”

  A long, lingering sigh of frustration came through the receiver. “Regina—Baby Doll—don’t do this to me. You know you’re perfect for the part.”

  Her frown deepened. “Simon, don’t fight with me. You know I don’t do nude scenes.”

  “You’re a big girl now, Baby Doll. By the time filming begins you’ll be eighteen and—”

  “It wouldn’t matter whether I was eighteen or eighty,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to do nude scenes.”

  Simon Garwood smothered a savage curse under his breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Tell them to take out the nude scenes and I’ll consider it.”

  “What if I tell them to use a body double?”

  Regina heard a distinctive beep come through the wire. “Hold on, Simon. I have another call.”

  As soon as she depressed the button she heard the excited babble of raised male and female voices. “Hello?”

  “Oh, my goodness—”

  Her pulse quickened as she heard Oscar’s housekeeper’s trembling voice. “What’s the matter, Miss Brock?”

  “Mr. Spencer just took sick. The emergency medical people are here and…”

  Closing her eyes, she tightened her grip on the telephone. “Is he alive?”

  “I think so. But he’s so still.”

  Even though she was sitting, Regina felt her knees shaking uncontrollably. “Where are they taking him?”

  Sobbing, Miss Brock gave her the information, and a minute later she told Simon she would get back to him, then called the car service to pick her up.

  She did not remember changing into a pair of faded jeans, oversize T-shirt, and a pair of running shoes. At the last moment she braided her flowing hair into a single plait and covered it with a navy-blue baseball cap. It was only when she was seated in the back of the late model Ford sedan that she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. When she strode through the doors of the small, private Los Angeles hospital she was unrecognizable as the actress who had been nominated for her role in Silent Witness.

  She asked the clerk at the admitting desk for Oscar Spencer’s condition, lying smoothly when she introduced herself as his granddaughter. The clerk told her she had to wait until the admitting doctor completed his examination.

  Regina lost track of time as she sat waiting on a nearby chair. She alternated staring at a clock and counting off the minutes with pacing. Two hours had passed before a middle-aged doctor approached her. His somber expression told her what she loathed hearing.

  He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Rutherford.”

  Rising to her feet, she shook the proffered hand. “Regina Simmons.” She had decided to use her mother’s maiden name. “How’s my grandfather?”

  The doctor pointed to the chair she had just vacated. “I think you’d better sit down, Miss Simmons.” She complied, and he sat down beside her. “Your grandfather’s condition is grave.”

  Her eyes widened behind the dark lenses. “How grave?”

  “A CAT scan detected a large mass on his right lung. We’re going to need you to sign some papers so we can remove it.”

  Closing her eyes, she swayed slightly as she bit down hard on her lower lip. How could she sign? She wasn’t a relative. And besides, she was only seventeen. What did she know about giving permission for an operation?

  Oscar had a son. A son who was a doctor. A son who hadn’t seen or spoken to his father in more than two years. She studied the doctor’s angular, patrician face. The green scrubs were not flattering to his sallow complexion.

  “If…if he doesn’t have the operation…” She couldn’t continue.

  “Without the operation I doubt whether he’ll survive the year if the tumor spreads to the other lung.”

  “And with it?”

  “We won’t know if the mass is benign until it’s biopsied. If it isn’t, then the worse case scenario will be that he’ll probably have to undergo radiation or chemotherapy to save the other lung, or keep the cancer from spreading. These procedures could possibly prolong his life by several years.”

  A wry smile curved her mouth. Oscar Spencer had promised to protect her, while the responsibility for his very existence was suddenly thrust upon her because she had elected to masquerade as his granddaughter.

  She did not have a choice. That was taken out of her hands the moment he led her out of Harold Jordan’s house.

  “Where do I sign?” she asked in a firm voice.

  The doctor patted her hand in a comforting gesture. “You’ve made the right decision, Miss Simmons. The clerk in the admitting office will have everything ready for you.”

  After signing the necessary documents for Oscar’s surgery Regina lost track of time. She waited in a small, sunny room filled with large potted plants and colorful prints on the cool, beige walls. She made three trips to the hospital’s coffee shop, each time purchasing large containers of the strong brew.

  Becoming a Californian had changed her. She now drank coffee though she had never consumed it before, while eating less meat and more vegetables. She wasn’t quite a vegetarian, but there were weeks when she did not eat fish, chicken, pork, or beef. The result was a loss of nearly ten pounds; ten pounds she could not afford to lose. Standing five-ten in her bare feet, she now tipped the scales at one hundred twelve pounds.

  When her parents had come to Los Angeles to see her they hadn’t been able to hide their shock at her weight loss. Her father promptly made a reservation at a restaurant and ordered every high calorie selection on the menu. Meanwhile, her mother had stared at her with tear-filled eyes before asking whether she was feeling well. She had spent more than two hours reassuring them she felt wonderful and that she was healthy. The elder Coles’ fears were allayed once they saw her image on the screen. Their daughter was sensually entrancing.

  She thought of her parents, brother, and sister as she sat sipping coffee, realizing how much she missed them. She missed five-year-old Arianna following her around and imitating her every motion, and seven-year-old Tyler. Her brother was quiet, reflective, appearing mature beyond his young years. He rarely smiled, and if he did it was a shy, attractive one. Everyone teased him and called him “old man.” Tyler did not seem to min
d. He existed in his own private world, daydreaming and keeping his fantasies to himself.

  Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, willing back tears. In a moment of melancholy she realized she was homesick. She wanted to go home—back to Florida. She was only seventeen, and Harold Jordan’s drugging attempt and planned rape had compounded earlier childhood fears.

  Her eyes opened and she stared at the highly waxed black and white vinyl floor tiles, a slight smile curving her mouth. As soon as Oscar recovered from his surgical procedure she would return home for an extended visit. The upcoming film her agent wanted her to accept would wait, wait until she was ready to step onto a movie set and in front of a camera again.

  Chapter 7

  Present day

  Regina stared at Aaron, who stared back at her in obvious astonishment. “I wanted so much to go home. But…”

  “Did you ever return to Florida?” he questioned after her words trailed off into a prolonged silence.

  “It was another two years before I was able to go home. Meanwhile, I’d moved into your father’s house, even though he had a twenty-four-hour private duty nurse. His moods vacillated from highs to lows. Silent Witness won seven Academy Awards, taking Best Picture and Director. Oscar had finally earned his namesake, but his depression continued.”

  “You did not win for best actress?” he queried.

  “No, and I hadn’t expected to. I made one more film before I left the business completely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Oscar was dying. The cancer returned, and this time he lost the lung. I completed the second film, and we flew to Vegas and married. And when I returned to Florida it was as Oscar’s wife.” Her slender fingers curled into tight fists.

  “My family was shocked. My father in particular was very angry, because I’d married a man who was so old. They didn’t know that Oscar was terminally ill. The mass the doctors removed from his lung had been filled with malignant cells. He spent more than six months undergoing chemotherapy, which weakened him so much that he couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time.