"Are you an actress? Dancer?" Angel asked me.
I shook my head. "I'm a private—"
"Secretary," Jenny interrupted. "Private secretary."
"What does a private secretary do?" Angel asked.
"Oh, you know," I said with a wave of my hand, "anything my boss wants me to do."
Jenny laughed. "Lucky him. From what I heard, Cat's a tiger in—"
"Jenny!" Christ, she had a big mouth. Although I was kind of curious as to where she'd sourced her information. Evan? Simon, my most recent ex? Both liked to talk about sex. Thank God they lived far, far away from Will.
"Will you be coming to our performance later this week?" Angel asked me.
"Hopefully," Jenny said before I could answer. "I was wondering, is it okay if Cat hangs around with us while we're here in Renford? It's been ages since we've seen each other and I miss her so much."
She was good. I hoped my lies sounded half as convincing. Or maybe she was telling the truth and she really did miss me. Now I felt guilty. I should have called more.
"Of course," Angel said with a sweet smile. She reached out and lightly squeezed my hand. "Any friend of yours is a friend of Play Group's."
It seemed strange that Jenny would ask Angel's permission if I could hang around and no one else's. Maybe Angel was the unofficial leader, being married to the executive producer and co-creator of Play Group.
I was curious about the woman who'd married a man twenty years her senior. The seven-year gap between Will and I seemed insignificant by comparison. With so many sexy men her own age in L.A., including two in her group, why choose a graying forty-something with all the baggage of a previous marriage? From what Jenny had told me, Angel was twenty when she married Frank four years ago. That's a lifetime by Hollywood standards. Marriage in Tinseltown is treated like just another fad where everyone has to have one, like miniature puppies or iPads. Fads usually didn't last long. Angel and Frank must be doing something right to be the exception.
"You have to show us where the best shops are in Renford, Cat," Angel said as she applied moisturizer to her face and throat using long, sweeping strokes. "I've been dying to get a new pair of Via Spigas ever since summer started."
"You're a woman after my own heart," I said. "I know just the place."
Angel's smile quickly vanished. "That's if we can get time off."
"Just bat your pretty eyes at that husband of yours," Jenny said, "and he'll let you do whatever you want." She giggled as she removed her silver suit, revealing a pink bra and matching thong underneath.
Good old Jenny. She didn't care who saw her body. I could be a horny male and it wouldn't matter. With a tiny waist, pert tush and D-cup breasts—thanks to L.A.'s surgeon to the stars—she had no need to be dignified.
Once, when I'd stayed overnight at her place after a party, I got a lot more than just a peek. She'd emerged from the shower completely naked, not even a towel wrapped around her wet hair. She stayed that way all during brunch. When she started to paint her toenails, sitting on the couch facing me, her knees drawn up to her chin, I decided it was time to go home.
"Not today," Angel said on a sigh. She leaned forward and brushed an invisible speck off her cheek with the graceful, fluid movement of a dancer.
"What are you two fighting about this time?" Jenny paused, blusher brush in mid-air, and blinked at Angel's reflection in the mirror.
Angel got up and padded across the room in fluffy pink slippers and robe. "Just a little misunderstanding. It will all be forgotten by dinner."
Jenny watched her a moment longer, a frown crinkling her forehead, then shrugged and returned to her mirror.
Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Angel said.
Frank entered. He looked at Jenny—or her breasts to be precise—then at me, then at his wife.
"She shouldn't be here," he said, jerking his head at me. "Rehearsals are for cast and crew only." His gaze briefly flittered to Jenny's breasts again before moving to his wife. She had her back to him.
Jenny grabbed the robe hanging over her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, not exactly leaping to my defense.
"She was invited," Angel said in a soft voice that I had to strain to hear. She turned round and I was surprised by the hard glint in her eyes. It looked unnatural on her delicate pixie features.
"She should have been checked by me first. You both know the rules."
"Yes," Angel said calmly. "We do. Thank you for the reminder."
Frank eyeballed her for a few beats, maybe trying to decide whether she was being sarcastic or not. I was trying to figure that out myself. If they'd been my words, there'd be no mistake. Sarcasm would smother every syllable like syrup over pancakes, but Angel's tone wasn't so easy to decipher.
Frank turned his back to us, ending the conversation. He opened the door and paused, his hand resting on the handle. "I've made reservations at the hotel restaurant for eight. I want the entire group there for a fun, relaxing meal."
Fun and relaxing? With that man? He put Will to shame in the grumpy-ass stakes. It was hard to believe that someone as gentle and sweet as Angel would willingly marry a hard-boiled man like Frank, especially in twenty-first century America when women had options.
Then again, maybe he had other charms, like a bank balance longer than my telephone number or amazing sexual prowess. Ugh. Still, from what I could see, she had to put up with a hell of a lot.
"We'll be there," said Jenny, sounding less than enthusiastic.
"You forgot," Angel said to Jenny. "Cat offered to take us shopping. And as a token of appreciation, I said we'd take her out to dinner." She looked at her husband, one perfectly plucked brow arched. "Sorry, Darling, but it's already arranged. You and the boys are invited too of course."
Jenny nodded quickly. I looked at the three of them, wondering how the hell I'd been dragged into their domestic squabbles. But I wasn't going to turn down a shopping trip or dinner. It could be an opportunity to find out more about Frank.
"Right," he said through his clenched jaw. "If it's all arranged." He gave a curt nod and started to close the door.
"Wait!" Angel rushed to him and touched his arm. "I'm going to need money for shopping. Darling." She gave him a smile without an ounce of affection in it.
He took out his wallet and handed over a gold credit card. "Keep it under five grand this time. You've got enough shoes." With a rapid movement that I didn't see coming, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and bent to kiss her. It wasn't until he left that I noticed the red marks on her skin.
Angel slammed the door and turned her face away from us. "I've had a little spending problem in the past." Her voice sounded high, girly. "Frank keeps all the money now and pays all the bills. It's nice not to have to think about that boring stuff."
A cop-out if I'd ever heard one. "He's good with money?" I asked.
"There always seems to be loads of it, so I'd say yes." She laughed as if she didn't have a care in the world and shed her robe, revealing a thong and no bra. Apparently the members of Play Group didn't have body hang-ups. The females anyway. Who could blame them with figures like that? Angel was slim-hipped with small, high breasts and a rear like a teenage boy. She slipped the credit card into a cute green bag sitting on a chair and pulled on a short denim skirt and tight green top with skinny straps.
Half an hour later, we were in my Civic heading to The Strip. Jenny and Angel knew their shoes—and handbags and designer outfits. They oohed and aahed over the latest styles and bought up big. Not just for themselves.
"Corey would love this belt," Angel cooed, as the sales assistant rang it up. At two hundred and fifty dollars, he should have an orgasm over it.
For someone in dire financial straits, Jenny bought a hell of a lot of stuff. Admittedly the high heels with crisscross straps were gorgeous, but I thought four pairs in different colors was a little excessive. Especially at three hundred and seventy-five dollars each.
As A
ngel tried on a pair of the same shoes in a size six, I pulled Jenny aside. "Are you sure you can afford these, considering, well…your current cash flow problems?"
"Shhh." She glanced at Angel. "You're going to return them for me," she whispered.
"I am?" I whispered back.
"Tomorrow. Then you'll give me back the money."
"Why the subterfuge?"
"Sub to what?"
"Deception. Why don't you just tell Angel you've got some money problems?"
"Because she'll want to know why and I'll have to tell her about Frank."
"Maybe she should know what her husband—"
"No! No way. Not until you've found out whether this investment thing is legit or not. Angel is my friend and I don't want to…upset her."
I got the feeling she was reaching for another word there. "From my preliminary investigation, it's not looking good."
Jenny's face fell. Clearly she wanted to believe Frank had acted in good faith.
"But there's more work to do," I added. "Hopefully I can find out something at dinner tonight."
"Dinner? How?"
I shrugged. "I'll ask him some questions."
"What sort of questions?"
"I'm not sure. I'll wing it."
Jenny's face lost most of its color beneath her fake tan. "Cat, you can't confront him in front of everyone!"
Angel approached us with a pair of shoes dangling from her fingers. "Who wants coffee?" she said.
At Mama Linas, we assessed our purchases over chai lattés. My single pair of shoes looked sad next to their collections, but I was happy with them. They were cute and baby blue with an ankle strap. I wouldn't be returning them.
Poor Jenny sorted through her packages like a girl watching her puppy die. She fingered delicate silk and leather, each caress accompanied by a little sigh.
Angel had her own crisis to deal with and didn't seem to notice. She'd pulled out all the receipts, spread them onto the table in front of her, and studied them.
"Anyone got a calculator?" she asked, her pert nose wrinkled. "This doesn't add up."
I did a quick approximate calculation in my head. "About six and a half grand," I said.
"Fuck."
I almost laughed because the word sounded so weird coming from her mouth. Sort of like hearing Tinkerbell swear.
"I'm in deep trouble." She stared at her receipts as if they might disappear if she looked long enough. "What'll I do? Frank will kill me."
"No problem," I said. "We've got fifteen minutes until closing. If we split up, we can return enough items to get you under your limit."
Angel's face relaxed. "Okay."
"What can you do without?"
When she couldn't make up her mind between the four pairs of shoes, two sets of earrings, four handbags, and three complete outfits, I took the initiative and selected a few at random. Handing some to Jenny and some to Angel, we separated and raced off. Fifteen minutes later, we rejoined near my car.
"Five thousand dollars," Angel muttered on the drive back to their hotel. "It's so not fair."
"No," Jenny and I said together, neither of us with conviction. I wished I had five grand to spend on whatever I wanted. After the shoes, I'd be lucky if I had five cents left in my bank account. Meeting my rent would be tough, but I was pretty sure I could sweet talk my landlord into an extension, or withhold sex from Will until he gave me an advance on my pay.
Angel stared out the window at the passing traffic. "I earn way more than that in a day."
She had a point. Five thousand was more than my entire wardrobe was worth, yet it was peanuts compared to what Play Group brought in financially, not only for the four members, but for Frank, their creator. TV rights, DVD sales, live performances, not to mention the merchandise, all raked in millions each year. Five thousand dollars here and there was nothing.
So why did Frank limit her spending?
Why was he even controlling her spending in the first place? Or should that be, why was she letting him? It went against my creed. I'd have thought most women my age and younger would tell a man where to shove it if he wanted to take their credit cards away. Paying the bills might be a pain in the ass, but at least I could pay them when I was good and ready and not wait for some old fart to nod his approval.
Maybe I was being naïve. Not being married, I couldn't be sure. Not being rich, I had even less of a clue.
I dropped Jenny and Angel off in front of The Carleton Hotel and drove back to the office whistling a Play Group tune. The songs might be aimed at tiny tots but they were catchy. When I arrived, Faith was just walking out the door.
"Working late on your second day!" I checked my watch. She must want to make a good impression. I did the same thing for an entire week when I first started. By week number two, I'd begun to wonder if the clock on my computer was running on West Coast time.
"It's the least I can do," Faith said. She tucked her head down, hunched her thin shoulders, and headed out into the stiff breeze as if she were facing an enemy across battle lines.
"See you tomorrow," I called after her.
The breeze caught her hair and whipped it around her face, partially obscuring the stiff nod she gave me. She didn't get into a car but walked up the street and disappeared around the corner.
I dumped my bag on the reception desk and wandered up the hallway, past the kitchen and bathroom to Will's office. He sat at his desk and didn't look up from the keyboard.
"So what did you find out?" he asked, giving the period key a final, bone-jarring stab.
"That Frank Karvea is a bully."
"To his wife?"
"To everyone." Although I hadn't seen the way he treated the male members of Play Group, so I added, "To women at least."
"You think he took advantage of your friend?"
"Yes, but I need proof so Jenny can press charges."
Will leaned back in his chair and studied me in that no-bullshit way of his. All business. "Does she want to press charges, or does she just want to confront him?"
"Does it matter?"
He nodded. "The courts need solid evidence, but if she confronts him with suspicions and some hard facts, it might be enough for him to give her the money back. A lot of clients don't want to take things all the way to court. It's messy and expensive. Your client is in the public eye, so it's in both their interests to settle this quietly."
"I'll speak to her, but I still need more. All I have now are a few vague hunches."
"Hunches aren't enough."
"I know that," I said tightly. Christ, was he even listening? "That's why I'm going to dinner with him tonight."
He sat up straight. "Dinner? With a suspect?"
"And the rest of Play Group. They asked me. I said yes. I thought it would be a good opportunity to study Frank."
"Study him?" Will raised a brow at me. "Cat, what are you getting at?"
"Nothing," I sang, spinning on my heel. I strode back down the hallway to my office. Faith had stuck a typed—typed!—phone message to my monitor.
The Evster called.
I picked up the phone and dialed Evan's number as I booted up my computer.
"Hey, Gorgeous," he said when I announced myself. His voice sounded thick, like he was talking around a mouthful of syrup. "Wanna come over and have a piece of the Evster?" I heard muffled giggling in the background. "Tiffany wants to share now, but only if she gets to touch your hot, naked ass." He was stoned. Christ, just what I needed.
"Evan, you called me earlier." I spoke slowly, the way I would to a two-year-old.
"Did I?" A long pause. "What about?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm returning your call. Did you find out something about DataSync?"
"Data who?"
I stifled a sigh. "The company I asked you to look into. Evan, you'll only get your money if you come up with the goods. Now think, what did you find out about DataSync?"
The threat of no payment must have got through to his function
ing brain cell. "Oh, right, yeah, I went to that address. It's a car yard. Used cars, not even new ones."
"Did you go inside and ask about DataSync?"
"Yep. They hadn't heard of 'em."
I wasn't surprised. "Thanks. Take it easy, okay? Maybe ease up on the weed." I hung up as he promised to show me what I'd been missing if I came back to L.A.
I checked my emails but the only one of interest was from my mother with a selfie of herself and a gray-haired man grinning back at me. This is Peter, the email read. He's taking me out tonight. I'll call you tomorrow.
That was it. Nothing more about the mysterious Peter like "He's not an axe murderer," or "I won't sleep with him."
Christ, my mother was becoming more and more like the me of ten years ago. Ever since Dad died last year, she'd started acting strange. The house, once neat and prim, was now painted a bright yellow and had the latest gadgets strewn across the benches, floor, and furniture. Now she'd started dating.
Oh God, what if she met Peter on the internet in a second-rate chat room filled with men seeking women to join them in threesomes? She did spend a lot of time online. She even put my usage to shame back in the days I was office manager. Not to mention she had an adventurous streak a mile long which Dad had somehow managed to suppress for thirty years. Speaking of Dad—what would he think?
I shuddered. Don't go there, Cat.
Will leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, looking edible with his jagged hair partially obscuring his dark, penetrating gaze. Going by the vibes sizzling off him, I guessed he wasn't in the mood for flirtatious play.
"Slim's employee done anything naughty today?" I asked, trying to divert the subject away from the inevitable third degree.
"Spoke dirty to his girlfriend, but that's about it."
I screwed up my nose at the mental image. I switched off the computer and stood. He moved to block the exit. Here it comes. Damn.
"I have to go home and get ready," I said, circling my arms around his waist. "I'll come by your place after dinner." I stood on my toes and kissed his throat. "So wait up for me." I made my way down to the small dip below his Adam's apple. He groaned. His body relaxed.
Something About Money Page 4
