by Sharon Sala
The antiquity of this house along with the historical aspects were impressive, but Sahara’s opinion of the place came from her life experiences, not the grandeur. Each place she talked about held a dark memory. Never one of joy. When she’d finally announced there were no more rooms to be seen, he shook his head.
“There’s one more room you haven’t shown me.”
Her eyes narrowed angrily. “I’m not going there.”
“It was your bedroom,” he said.
“It was my upstairs room. I didn’t live there. It was for show when guests came for dinner. Katarina made a big deal about putting me to bed there, which made everyone comment on what a great mother she was. Of course, she loved the attention, and after I reached my teenage years, they made me live up here full-time. I didn’t know why then, because I missed being down with Mama, but looking back, it was probably her way of splitting us up. She didn’t love me, but she expected me to acknowledge her as the dominant woman in my life.”
“Do you mind if I look at it?” he asked.
The question startled her. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I saw where you lived with Billie. I would like to see where you lived the lie.”
She shoved her fingers through her hair, digging them into her scalp in frustration.
“God, McQueen, whatever…knock yourself out. But I’m not going inside.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
She frowned. “I thought you didn’t want me out of your sight.”
“Then come with me,” he said, and held out his hand.
She sighed. “You tricked me.”
He led her up the stairs, stopped at the first door on the left and walked inside.
For Brendan, seeing the opulence in this room was shocking. Furniture, carpet, draperies, bedspreads, pillows, even the walls were either snow white or as brilliant as Midas’s gold. The walk-in closet was almost as large as the room itself, and the bathroom was spa-worthy and gilded to boot.
“Wow,” he said, and then realized Sahara hadn’t said a word.
What he didn’t know was that she was speechless.
From her standpoint, it was a shock to see everything exactly as she’d left it, considering she’d literally been thrown out of the house.
“I do not get it. What the hell?”
She was obviously angry. Thinking he’d forced something that was going to be a mistake, he quickly reached for her hand.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing in this room has changed except that.” She pointed to a portrait of her hanging over the bed. “That portrait is less than four years old and is from a movie I was in. I can’t begin to imagine how they even knew it existed, or how they got their hands on it. Who does this?” she cried. “They kicked me out of the house and then turned my bedroom into a shrine. Now I’m back, they’re dead, and I own the damn place. Again, who does this?”
“Looking at this mess as an outsider, I can say that it’s far easier to claim a connection to someone without investing in them. Kind of like your fans. They love you so much, and yet you wouldn’t know one of them if you passed them on the street, right?”
She was listening, but he could see she wasn’t sold.
“So for them, the emotion is all from one side. From what you’ve told me, Leopold and Katarina were more in love with the idea of a child than the actual child herself. And once you became an adult, your physical presence beside her would be aging her on sight. People would see a lovely young woman and then her. Like the fairy tale… Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the fairest of them all?”
Sahara gasped. “Oh my God! I never thought of it like that, but knowing Katarina, that is exactly why I was ejected from this house. So I would not be a reminder that they were growing old.”
She stepped back, looking at the room with new understanding. It wasn’t for her. It had never been for her. It had all been for them, playing at being parents without any of the risk—and certainly without any of the love. When she became a vivid reminder of what they were losing—their youth—she was discarded like worn-out shoes.
“Thank you, Brendan. Thank you for making me come back in here and face the past. I have never been able to come to terms with that night. The rejection from Katarina and Leopold, and then believing Billie had rejected me, too, was all-encompassing. I’ve always felt like something was wrong with me, that there must be something deeply unlovable about me. It nearly destroyed me.”
He stroked a finger down the side of her face. She was so much more than the face her fans adored. He would be forever grateful he’d taken this job.
“You’re the easiest person to love in this entire world, Sahara. One day this will all be over. And if you still feel the same way about me—about us—then I’m taking you home to Wyoming and showing you what real families are like.”
“What do you mean…if I still feel the same way?”
“Right now, I am your lifeline to survival. You have no idea how you’ll feel when it’s over, and we both need to know this thing between us isn’t all based on your fear.”
Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t budge.
“Fine. You are so wrapped up in your opinion of my feelings, you refuse to acknowledge what they really are, but there’s something you need to know. I cannot count the number of love scenes I’ve filmed, or the number of astoundingly handsome men who have made passes at me, claiming their undying love for me. But I can tell you I have been in love only once, and it’s with you. I never gave my heart away to anyone but you. So if you reject me, too, Brendan McQueen, then I am done with love. I am done with an emotion that doesn’t really exist.”
“It does exist and I’m holding you to this, because I damn sure don’t want to lose you.”
He kissed her there, beneath a shimmering candelabra in a room of garish gold, banishing the last of her fears that she would always be alone.
*
Lucy landed in LA, and the moment the plane touched down, her thoughts began to stir, thinking of the task ahead. Even though Sahara’s life revolved around make-believe, Hollywood was the city where magic was made. She couldn’t wait to get back to her apartment and unpack, and she still needed to call Harold and tell him what Sahara had sent her to do, then contact Adam and make sure he would be able to get her into the penthouse.
So much to do and so little time.
But first things first.
She had to make a quick call. The phone rang twice, and then Wiley picked up.
“Hello, baby. Please tell me you’re back home,” he said.
She sat down on the side of the bed and kicked off her shoes.
“I’m home, and I came alone. No duties for tonight, and light ones tomorrow until I’m able to get into the penthouse.”
“I’m still on the job, but I want to see you. I’m going to be late, though.”
“Whatever time it is doesn’t matter. I can’t wait to see you again.”
He chuckled, and the sound rolled through her like wildfire.
“Then I’ll see you later,” he said. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks,” she said, and then disconnected with a smile.
*
Brendan had been on the phone off and on all afternoon with Detectives Fisher and Julian. They finally returned his last call as he was waiting for Sahara to get out of the shower.
They were reluctant to go along with the ruse. Frustrated, Brendan challenged them, asking if they were ready to arrest someone for the continuing attempts on her life.
They were forced to admit they were not.
“Then what do you have to lose?” he asked. “Damn it, if ever there were extenuating circumstances, this is it. Two people dead in LA, three dead here, counting Harley Fish. I gave you an heir you didn’t know existed, but you can’t put enough together to even bring him in for questioning. The longer you wait, the more she’s in danger.”
“Look, I hear you,” Fisher
said, “but it’s not my call. This will have to come from the commissioner.”
“Then you ask him if he’s willing to accept the blame for her death after all of the info I gave you.”
“Well, hell, McQueen, why don’t you say what you really think,” Fisher muttered.
“If I haven’t heard from you by tomorrow morning, then be aware we will set it up on our own. There are plenty of people in Hollywood who would do anything for her at the drop of a hat. In the world of film, accumulating a squadron of cops with uniforms and cruisers, along with a believable bad guy, is a simple fix. It’s your call,” Brendan said, and disconnected.
He could still hear the water running and was glad she didn’t know the police in her hometown were dragging their feet.
A few minutes later she came out wrapped in a bath towel and went straight to the walk-in closet to dress. She emerged wearing a knit shirt and slacks, both in a soft shade of blue, and then went to check the cell phone she’d left charging. A big grin spread across her face when she picked it up.
“It charged!” She began searching contacts and email and was elated to find everything intact and functioning. “I can’t believe it! My phone still works!” she crowed, and began scanning the hundreds of messages that had accumulated since the initial attack.
Brendan looked over her shoulder. “Are you going to answer all of those?”
“Not all of them, but a few.”
He grinned. “Now I am about to find out if you’re as manic about your cell phone as other people are.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” she said. “Did you once see me freaking out about it?”
He laughed. “Just kidding you, honey, and no, I can’t say that I did.”
“Okay, then,” she said, and tossed it on the bed. “See. It stays behind. Let’s go down to dinner early and see if Mama needs any help.”
“Good idea,” Brendan said, and then patted her firm little backside as she sauntered past. “Nice slacks,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “You don’t give a damn about my slacks, and we both know it.”
He laughed out loud and followed her from the room.
*
Instead of a solitary dinner at home, Bubba went out with friends. One phone call with the invitation was all it took to send him out the door. He joined them at the bar while they waited for a table, and by the time it was ready, he was three drinks to the good and feeling no pain.
He sat with his back to a wall, giving him a clear view of the patrons, and realized he knew at least half the people in the room. That’s what comes from being successful, he thought, and when one of them saw him and smiled, Bubba raised his glass in a toast and smiled back.
A waiter came with menus, then came back later for the orders. By that time Bubba was on his fourth drink and the room was beginning to tilt just a little bit to the right. He was saved from making a fool of himself with the arrival of a bread basket. Once solid food hit his stomach, he began to level off.
The conversation hit a momentary lull, and when it did, he heard himself asking, “So, what do you think about all the drama going on with Sahara Travis? It’s like something out of one of her movies.”
They stared at him for a few moments, a little surprised by the change of conversation, considering it had all been about their NFL football team, the New Orleans Saints, for the last hour and a half.
“Yeah, I guess,” one of them said. “I haven’t really kept up with it.”
“All I know is both her parents are in the morgue and someone keeps trying to put her there, too,” another said.
Bubba nodded. “Can’t imagine what she’s been going through and I heard the cops haven’t got a clue,” he said.
The only married guy at the table rolled his eyes.
“So what else is new?” he drawled, everyone laughed and the moment passed.
But for Bubba, it was eye-opening. No one at this table seemed to give a shit about what happened to her. That took a little of the joy out of his goal, then he remembered the mass turnout at the gates when they thought she was already dead. There were plenty who would care. They just weren’t sitting with him at this table.
Their food came, and the more he ate, the more sober he became. By the time they parted company, he was stone-cold sober, regretting he’d ever mentioned her name and determined that tomorrow was the day he began his stakeout. All he had to do was to call in at the job tomorrow and tell them there’d been a death in the family and he’d be out of town for a few days.
It wasn’t exactly a lie; it was just a little premature.
Nineteen
Billie was in her room lying down when Sahara came looking for her. She saw the darkened room and the wet cloth over her mother’s eyes and remembered.
Migraines.
“Mama, do you need anything?” she whispered. “Did you take your pill?”
“Yes, took it. Need nothing,” Billie whispered.
“Then you rest,” Sahara said, and pulled a coverlet up over her mother’s shoulders and backed out of the bedroom straight into Brendan. She closed the door and turned around.
“Migraine,” she said softly. “She took her medicine. She’ll have to sleep it off.”
They slipped out of her rooms, then back through the short hallway to the kitchen.
“So, we’re on our own tonight. Let me see what’s already thawed and in the refrigerator,” she said, and opened the door.
“I’m good with omelets,” Brendan said. “We can make them without making too much noise and making Billie’s misery worse.”
Sahara looked at him then, leaning against the counter with his hands stuffed in his pockets, watching her with that calm, steady gaze.
“Brendan McQueen, that might have been the kindest, most thoughtful comment I’ve ever heard. Have I ever mentioned how very much I love you?”
He smiled. “Not nearly enough.”
“Then I will do better,” she said. “Now, there are lots of things here we can put in an omelet, but you need to tell me what you don’t want in it.”
“You can skip the onions,” he said.
“Good call,” she said, and began pulling out ham, cheese and eggs.
But when she reached for the jar of sliced jalapeños and a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce, he whistled softly.
“Now we’re talking,” he said, as he saw the spicy condiments she was accumulating.
She shrugged. “What can I say. I was raised on Cajun and Creole cooking. Sliced bread, bagels and English muffins are in the bread box. You pick what you want to eat with yours. I’d like a toasted English muffin with mine.”
She began breaking eggs into a bowl, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, and the longer he watched the tall, leggy beauty, the movie star she’d become began disappearing before his eyes.
This was the real Sahara, the child who was bartered to a vain and hateful couple for a better place to live—the girl who fell beneath the cracks and crawled out of them on her own.
The love he had for her swelled to the point of pain. Whatever fate had in store, he would not be the one to doubt and betray her again.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and went to the bread box. By the time she was turning omelets out onto their plates, he had a plate of toasted bread and muffins on the table, as well as the butter and peach preserves he’d gotten from the refrigerator.
“I didn’t make coffee,” Sahara said, as she carried their plates to the table.
“I’ll take a Pepsi,” he said.
She danced a little two-step on her way to the refrigerator.
“And I choose ginger ale.”
He got the glasses and iced them while she got the bottles of soda. He watched her pouring ginger ale into her glass, then quickly take that first sip to get the full effect of the fizz. Another facet of the real Sahara was revealed, seeing such simple joy.
They ate together as if they’d been doing it f
or years, talking about the charade they intended to play out.
“What if he doesn’t take the bait?” Sahara said. “We’ll have given the media more fodder to relay false news.”
“It’s the chance we take, but if you want to call this off, I’m good with that. If you’re having second thoughts, all you have to do is say so.”
She shook her head. “No. I want this over. I want to do it.”
“Okay, then,” he said.
They finished their dinner and cleaned up the kitchen as quietly as they could, then went up to bed.
“I’m going to call Lucy and make sure she arrived safely,” Sahara said.
“And I have a few emails to return,” Brendan said.
“Turning down more jobs because of me?” she asked.
“Turning down jobs is part of my job. I can’t ever take them all, and don’t sweat it. I’m right where I want to be.”
She blew him a kiss, then plopped down on the bed and reached for her phone. Just having it back made her feel connected to normalcy again.
She made the call to Lucy, expecting her to answer on the second or third ring just as she always did, and then frowned when the call went to voice mail.
“Uh…Lucy, it’s me. I wanted to make sure you got back okay and to tell you I have my old phone again and it works…so let me know what’s going on when you get a chance.” Then she disconnected.
“She didn’t answer?” Brendan asked.
Sahara shook her head, frowning.
“Don’t worry,” Brendan said. “All kinds of reasons why. Remember the time difference, too.”
“You’re right,” Sahara said, and stretched out on the bed. “Will it bother you if I watch TV?”
“Not a bit,” he said, and went back to work.
*
Lucy was in bed when her cell began to vibrate, but she ignored it for the glorious climax washing through her and the sweaty man inside her.
“You like that, baby?”
“Oh my God, yes, yes,” she moaned.
He grinned and drove deeper and harder.
Their little orgy lasted until well into the morning. Wiley slipped out of their bed and left her sleeping so he could get home in time to shower and clean up for work. He would have liked to stay, but at least she was back. She was his life.
