“Not really. You can’t fool me that it should be part of Europe with all this European Union crap. It’s still got the Iron Curtain mentality—their people are half starving to death. Underprivileged is the same the world over, especially in the East. A poor, working class boy, that’s Leo. Criminal record, you told me. Jailbird. Served time. Star has money. She’s beautiful. He must have thought all his Christmases had come at once, dollar signs flashing in his eyes.”
I longed to explain to Brian that it was me she’d been with, me she desired, but I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of saying, “I told you so” and that it was my fault for fooling around with such a vulnerable teenager, fresh out of rehab, and I’d brought this upon us all. Besides, Brian was right. And maybe the Cassie stuff had really got to Star. Perhaps Star’s feelings were genuine for me and I’d hurt her quite badly. But then the vision of Leo and her, as good as kissing, sent another fresh spike of jealousy ripping through my veins—I could feel the tightness of my mouth, my fists clenched—I wanted to punch somebody. I wanted to punch my own reflection in a mirror. I’d fucked up. Big time.
Brian went on, “Both their passports are with them, or at least missing, so they must have taken them. Suitcases packed, with clothing also missing—all this confirmed by Star’s assistant, Janice—and Star’s Porsche gone. You think maybe they decided to go on ahead of us to the Badlands?”
“If so, her Porsche would have been parked at one of the airports. Unless they decided to take a road trip and join us in a few days’ time. Do some sightseeing in Mount Rushmore, or the Black Hills, or something.”
“But Star knew we were meant to be shooting this evening—she wouldn’t just not show.”
“But their phones were left behind, Brian. Left on Star’s kitchen table. That spells abandonment to me. They’ve scarpered off somewhere to be together. I just don’t get it, though. So fucking unprofessional.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Jake. Leo? yes. Star? Not a chance. She’s been in this business from the age of two. The show must go on—that’s every actor’s mantra. It’s part of an actor’s DNA. Come rain or shine, no actor worth his or her weight abandons a project midway. It’s like a sailor with his ship. There are unspoken rules. This just doesn’t make sense.”
“So what do we do now?”
Brian shrugged. He was chewing Juicy Fruit and drinking coffee at the same time. “Shoot around her? That’s what Pearl Chevalier wants us to do. Use the stuntwoman we hired and a double for the car chase and wait until Star shows to do the close-ups and two-shots. Maybe she’s just gone AWOL for twenty-four hours. Needs to clear her head. Who knows? But we have a lot of money at stake here, Jake. Payrolls, unions—I just don’t think we can persuade the insurance to cover this. It isn’t an ‘accident’ or anything. We’re in a fix—a weird predicament. That’s why a bodyguard was hired especially to watch her—” he raised his bushy eyebrows at me—“so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen. I think all we can do is keep the investigators on it—see if they can track them down, which won’t be easy without their cell phones acting as GPSs—and wait until she calls.”
“If she calls,” I mumbled. Guilt gathered thick in my throat. It was my fault that John had been given the go-ahead to let Leo drive Star back to my place. He probably wouldn’t have agreed had he not seen Cassie in floods of tears, begging him to take her to the airport, and flinging her arms about his bear-like body—a damsel in distress. She’d wanted to get away from me as soon as possible, so when he called my cell I told him yes, to take Cassie to the airport—to book her into First Class—use the company credit card, which I’d pay back, and to give her whatever cash he had—I’d pay that back too—and yes, that it was fine for Leo to accompany Star home. But “home” turned out to be Star’s house, not mine, where she’d planned her getaway.
What a fucking fiasco.
“DO YOU KNOW that there are more stars than all of the grains of sand put together in the whole wide world?”
I finish braiding my Barbie’s hair and look up from where I am on the trailer floor. I see a pair of dirty knees. His boot is planted right on top of Ken’s face.
“Just goes to show how common stars are. Nothing special. Your new name is dumb. You’re dumb.”
“Please get your big ugly boot off of Ken’s face,” I say.
“Ken’s gay, don’t you know that? He’s fucking your boy teddies behind dumb bitch Barbie’s back.”
“He is not.”
“He is too.”
I push my brother’s pale, freckly leg away—or I try—but he squishes his foot harder into Ken’s beady eyes, and his plastic head pops right off. Mom had gotten me Ken and Barbie from Goodwill—I wanted to give them a forever home, another chance, some love—and now look. I can feel a tear threatening to fall, but I won’t cry. Not in front of HIM.
“I’m telling Mom you cussed,” I tell my brother.
He laughs at me, his turned-up, piggy nose scrunching. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK. She won’t hear you ‘cos she’s sleeping. Taken some blue ones.”
“Get away from me, Travis. I wanna be alone.”
“You’re a spoiled little brat, you know that, Diane. Die Anne. I wish you would. I wish you’d just go and DIE so me and Dad can live in peace.”
I WOKE UP WITH A JOLT—my dream having given me a clue. “Travis?” I shouted out. “Where am I?” But all I heard was silence ringing in my ears. My head was still heavy, and I sensed a bruise on the right side of my neck. I heaved myself up but fell straight back down, so I crawled on my hands and knees until I felt, not the mattress beneath me, but the linoleum floor. I smelled food, like the food Leo bought yesterday/today? I had no concept of time. It was the hummus, and it reminded me that we never ate, and my stomach was rumbling with hunger, but I also smelled a whiff of bleach—the two smells were somehow intermingled.
“Hello?” I screamed out as loudly as I could. “Is anybody there?”
I heard a low groan coming from the corner of the space—the room—wherever I was. The blackness was engulfing me. Still pitch dark. I couldn’t make anything out. “Leo?”
Another groan.
I managed to crawl until I felt a wall, and I scrambled to my feet, walking and feeling the wall at the same time. My hands frantically paced up and down—hoping to find a light switch somewhere. Then I heard a siren in the distance; my ears becoming accustomed to the tiniest sound, and something made me suspect that we were high up, in a skyscraper, perhaps. I could make out the lonely drum of traffic, maybe twenty floors below.
“Star, is that you?” It was Leo, his voice a muffle, followed by another groan like he was in pain.
“Leo, I can’t see you. Are you okay?” I wanted to rush to him, to the sound of his voice but my legs were weak, and I knew I’d collapse without the wall to hold me up.
“I think I’m okay,” he moaned. “Where are we?”
I continued to shuffle my way around the edge of the room, feeling the wall as I went. It had the same kind of surface as piano practice rooms. Soundproofed. Plywood, with little holes to bounce the sound back. Finally, I felt something. I flicked up a switch and fluorescent light flooded the room.
Leo cried out, the flash of light obviously blinding him. “Ah, Jesus, like when I came out of cell to outside.”
“Sorry.” Cell? Had he been in prison? I covered my hands over my eyes to stop the dazzling glare. After thirty seconds or so, I peaked out, letting light seep between my fingers—my vision had just about adjusted itself. We were in an empty office space. Black paper had been duct taped over the windows. The door was next to me. No handle. Also soundproofed. The room was bare except a double mattress, and in one corner was another door—perhaps it led to a bathroom because it did have a handle. Leo was doubled-up in another corner, clutching his belly as if in pain. No blood, thank God. He was naked except for his boxer briefs. More of those smudgy tattoos decorated his chest and biceps. He looked out of place—such a tough-looking gu
y in a position of vulnerability. I felt a pang in my solar plexus. A longing to hold him and tell him everything would be all right.
But it wasn’t alright. Not by a long shot.
I started to rush toward him, but my legs gave way and I fell down, smack on the floor. Rather than try to get up, I crawled forward and, like curious babies wanting to check each other out, he and I both made our way over to each other on our hands and knees. I practically crashed into him, wrapped my arms around his neck, tears stinging my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
He held me close and I felt momentarily safe in his strong grip, although I knew I wasn’t. Our situation was terrifying. Both of us alone. Naked. Bruised.
But it could have been worse: at least we had each other.
For now, anyway.
He kissed my forehead and kept me clutched in his embrace. “Why sorry, Star? What fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. We were in the Lexus, in the driveway at my house, and then I blanked out. But I have an idea. It’s him; I know it is.”
“Who?” he asked, weakly.
“Travis, my step-brother. He wants to punish me. This is just the kind of thing he’d do.”
My eyes slid to that door again. I wriggled out of Leo’s arms and crawled along the floor. “I’m hoping that’s a bathroom,” I said. “I need to pee.”
It was. There was a basic shower, a toilet, and a sink. And, a mirror. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and shuddered. There was a massive bruise on my neck and dried blood that looked like a hickey. I’d been jabbed with a needle. Yeah, that made sense. That fucker’s favorite TV show was Dexter. Travis had injected us with some knock-out drug, Dexter-style. What was it that Dexter used on his victims? Travis once told me. Etorphine? Enough to knock out an elephant. Immobilize even the most dangerous animals. Vets used it. That explained why Leo had been rendered immobile and unconscious—instantly. The only chance Travis had of knocking out a guy as big and strong as Leo. I’d been waiting for something like this to happen—hence my bodyguards—although I hadn’t imagined a scenario such as this. It wasn’t the public who I’d feared but my psychotic brother, who’d had it in for me the moment he’d set eyes on me when I was five years old. He was nine at the time. Not much of a difference now, but a four-year gap was a lot between young siblings then.
Asshole.
I turned on the faucet and rinsed my face with cold water. And glugged down several mouthfuls—I was thirsty. There was a bar of soap and a couple of towels. A tube of toothpaste too, and a couple of brand new toothbrushes in their packaging. Travis’s idea of generosity probably. I slumped down on the toilet seat, pulled down my panties, and let a rush of urine flood out. I flushed the toilet, but simply sat there, my weary, aching head propped up by my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. I was exhausted.
“You okay, Star?” I heard Leo call out.
No, I wasn’t okay. Everything good in my life had come to an abrupt end. “Sure,” I yelled back through the closed door, tears welling in my eyes, wondering what Travis’s end game would be. Did he want me, literally, dead? or did he have some kind of ransom in mind?
The worst thing of all was . . .
Nobody knew we were here.
STILL NO WORD. I couldn’t concentrate. Six more hours had gone by and we had arrived at our cabins in the Badlands. There was no way I’d be able film anything, let alone shoot Star’s double, who had been hired at the last minute. She didn’t look like Star up close, but she had the same build, hair, and skin-tone—everything to make you do a double take (no pun intended) and make me believe that Star had returned to the set. A momentary blip. A mini relapse, perhaps. But, no. Star was good and gone, and by now, I was no longer angry or jealous, I was fucking worried.
I should have been marveling at the awesome landscape. Awesome in the true sense of the word. The extraordinary pinnacles of rainbow-colored earth and gullies, all once upon a time under water, rose up majestically in mini mountains, lit in pink and orange hues by the setting sun. I saw some bison in the far distance. All this beauty for nothing. Where, where, where are you Star? was all I could think, all I could feel. I missed her and longed for her sassy, smart-ass personality to come sashaying onto our “set”, our movie. We were partners, she and I. Partners in creation. And I wanted her to be my partner in other ways too.
I pulled out my cellphone and dialed the producer, Pearl Chevalier. There was no fucking way I could film. Not until Star was in front of that lens.
“Hi, Jake,” Pearl said, her voice quiet. “I’m so, so sorry about Star. No news from your end, obviously?”
“Not a dicky-bird,” I said. “Look there’s no way—”
“No, of course not,” Pearl cut in, “we’ll have to postpone until she returns. We’ve got people on it. We’ll find her.”
“People?”
“Yes, my husband has contacts, you know, people who are used to this sort of stuff.”
“Stuff?” My mind was a blank; I couldn’t think straight.
“Shady, off the record detective work, you know. They have ways of finding missing people.”
“So you don’t think Star’s done a runner?”
“No. She wanted this part, Jake. Badly. She’s a professional, despite her antics. I would never have hired her if I thought otherwise. Her drinking and drugs have never stopped her from being on set before. If that’s the case.”
I stood there in silence, golden rays of sun warming my closed eyes. I didn’t know what to reply.
“We’ll find her, Jake, don’t worry.”
I pressed END to stop the lump in my throat choking into tears.
I had Pearl Chevalier in my mind’s eye. A billionaire’s wife who could have practically passed for Charlize Theron’s double. A woman who had it all: wealth, power, beauty, a happy family, and didn’t need this film the way I did. Didn’t need Star the way I did. She was probably just trying to placate me. Make me feel as if everything would be hunky-dory when I knew we were heading into some sort of nightmare.
Because it had suddenly dawned on me: Star Davis is a megastar. What if some bastard had kidnapped her? Then I thought of Leo and I ruled that possibility out. No, he could have passed for one of her bodyguards and was a protective type; he wouldn’t have let anyone near her. Nothing made sense.
Nothing made any fucking sense.
I LAY HUDDLED in Leo’s arms, never having needed a man so much in my entire life. After going to the bathroom, we dozed off together—the drug was doing that to us—knocking us out again soon after we woke up. At least we felt comfort in the rhythm of our breaths, glad not to be in this horror alone. Somehow, I felt safe with Leo, although I knew I wasn’t.
I WOKE UP, I don’t know how much later, and the first thing I did was massage the bruise on my neck where the needle had been jabbed in, hoping to God that Travis hadn’t injected me with some sort of lethal virus used for chemical warfare, or some crazy shit like that—if it really was Travis—I still couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. Had we been kidnapped by some other nut-job? It was a possibility.
Leo sat up, looking less pale than a while earlier. He squinted his eyes. The neon-light was still on.
“You really think your own brother would pull something like this?”
I stretched out my arms above my head. “He hates me, Leo.”
“How could anyone hate their own sister? Impossible, no?”
“Jealousy. He feels like his life came to an end when his dad met my mom. He had a complex about being a freckly redhead. He was also asthmatic. I was already acting. He was dyslexic and couldn’t learn lines. He tried. My agent took him on but it didn’t work out. He couldn’t act to save his life. I was the breadwinner. I got good grades in school; he sucked. It was a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but . . . you’re grown-ups now. Get life.”
“Get a life?” I laughed at Leo’s accent, always missing pronouns. He was cute when he spoke.
&n
bsp; “I’m starving,” he said. “Feel like shit. Headache still.”
“Me too.” I managed to stand and made my way over to the trash can, led by the smell of hummus and pita bread. I picked the take-out bag out of the trash and smelled it. “Fuck him.”
“What?”
“He’s poured bleach on the food. Yeah, it’s Travis alright who’s abducted us—just the kind of thing he’d do.” A memory came back to me of how he’d pissed on my birthday cake once. Urinated on my birthday cake! That’s how screwed up he was. I looked around the square room that had obviously once been some sort of office. The bed was empty except for the sheets. Our clothes were nowhere to be seen. Our cell phones gone. Leo’s watch: gone. I shuffled over to one of the blacked-out windows, feeling a little exposed in just my bra, panties, and thigh-highs. “There’s thick tape all over this. Are you able to get up and help me?”
Leo staggered to his feet, his large, muscled frame swaying, trying to find balance. He gripped his head with his hands. “Feel like someone smashed me on head with baseball bat.”
“Well, at least we didn’t wake up wrapped in cellophane like mummies, with a knife at our cheek.”
“What?”
“Dexter. You watch that show?”
“Oh yeah, once or twice. I hope your brother isn’t serial killer.”
“No, just a cereal eater and a crazed psycho.”
“Yeah, well, if it is him who’s done this to us, he must be pretty fucked up. I need a drink.” Leo lurched off to the bathroom, and I heard him frantically drink from the faucet. The drug had dehydrated us both, obviously.
I clawed my nails into the edges of the shiny gray duct tape, picked at it and tried to pull it off. “This is stuck down good,” I shouted out.
Leo reappeared, water splashed all over his face and body. “We need a knife.”
I tried to laugh. “Naked and knifeless.”
We set to work on the duct tape, my nails breaking in the process. Finally, a corner came off, then more, until we managed to peel away the black paper. The window was triple-glazed. “Fuck,” said Leo. And then he screamed in anger, “It’s fucking unopenable!”
Falling Star (Beautiful Chaos #2) Page 6
