Hollywood Kids (45 page)

'Was I supposed to?'

'Jeez! I'm payin' a lot of green stuff for you. Didn't your boss tell you nothin'?'

'I'm afraid not.'

At least she was honest. He took the drink out of her hand and put it on a table.

'Turn around, baby,' he said. 'I'm gonna unzip your dress real slow, then I want you to just stand there an' don't do nothin'. Got it?'

In spite of herself she felt a tingle of excitement. This was so different, so out of her range of experience. She did as he asked and felt his cold hands on her back as he pulled down the zipper of her dress. It fell to the floor, and she kicked it away with the tip of her shoe.

'Hmm...' he said appreciatively, regarding her through hooded eyes. 'Now I wancha t'take a nice slow stroll around the room just for me.'

Once again she did as he asked, parading in her black pantihose with the lace bikini tops, and her peekaboo Victoria's Secret bra. This was insane, but she was beginning to get turned on.

'You got hot legs, Bambi,' he said, licking his lips.

His admiration was even more of a turn-on. She felt her nipples harden as she strutted across the room feeling totally powerful and in control. 'All the better to wrap around your neck,' she purred sexily.

Grant would
love
that line.

'Lose your bra,' he said in a throaty voice. 'Only make sure you lose it real slow.'

'Excuse me?'

'Do it.'

She unhooked her bra, still consumed with excitement. Her breasts were not huge, but she was proud of them - she'd never had any complaints.

He stared hungrily at her bare breasts. 'Not bad,' he growled, shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie. 'You ain't what I expected,' he said gruffly. 'But you'll do.'

'What did you expect?'

'A real LA broad with big tits and a dumb face. You - you're different. You kinda remind me of my mistress.'

'It wouldn't please me if I reminded you of your wife.'

'I don't have a wife no more.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Don't be. I ain't gotta mistress either. They both dropped dead on me.'

Her adrenalin was pumping. This was excitement with a capital E. Standing half-naked in front of a total stranger carrying on a bizarre conversation. Jordanna would not believe it if she could witness this scene.

'Come over here,' he commanded.

She sashayed slowly towards him, prolonging the moment.

When she reached him he cupped both her breasts in his hands as if he was weighing them. 'Perfect,' he said. 'No more than a handful - just the way I like 'em.'

Her legs felt weak. This was total submission.

He let go of her breasts. 'Lose those stockin' things,' he said gruffly.

'My pantihose?'

'Lose 'em.'

She peeled off her pantihose - making a show of it - until she stood before him quite naked.

He stared at her, breathing heavily, his eyes taking in every single inch of her.

She'd never felt so exposed and vulnerable in her life. But it was still a turn-on. 'Where do you want to do it?' she asked, ever the polite, well-brought-up call girl.

'Don't be in such a hurry. I'm payin' big bucks for you.'

'Is there anything in particular you'd like me to do?'

Walk around again - I get a charge outta eyeballin' you.'

She strutted her stuff. This was the most appreciation she'd ever had from any man. Maybe she'd missed her vocation - she could have been a great stripper.

'How long you bin doin' this, Bambi?'

'Long enough to know what you want.'

'I can see that. How old are you, anyway?'

Twenty-four.'

'A good age to get outta the business. Find yourself a decent guy with plenty of bucks an' settle down.'

'How old are
you
, Mr Nanni?'

'Let's put it this way - twenty- four and countin'.' Unzipping his pants he beckoned her over. 'Down on your knees, honey. Gimme some talented tongue.'

How simple, Cheryl thought. The customer gets what he wants, and I get a potload of money.

But she didn't plan on making a habit of it.

This one was for Grant, and once was more than enough.

Kennedy paced restlessly around her apartment. She was excited about the next day, and yet at the same time she was confused. What was she supposed to do with the new information she possessed? Should she try and meet with the Chief of Police after the press conference and tell him what she'd found out? Although he probably wouldn't appreciate hearing it from her. But still, she had to reveal it to someone.

Michael Scorsini was on her mind. She needed to talk, and maybe he was the person to talk to, after all, he was a former detective, so he'd be able to advise her.

She decided to call him. After a few rings his machine picked up.

'Hi, this is Kennedy,' she said, leaving a message. 'Sorry I didn't phone you back earlier, but I had to go out. I... uh... I wanted you to know I didn't forget.'

Where was Rosa? She'd said she'd phone, and there was no message.

Her computer beckoned. The names of the four murder victims neatly filed. In the morning she planned on going through the newspaper files on
The Contract
and finding out the full story.

Reluctantly she went to bed. Tomorrow she needed to be totally alert, because tomorrow everything was going to fall into place.

The Man sat in his car for a while. He watched Uncle Luca and companions depart in their long black limousine. Then he waited until it began to get dark. When he felt it was safe enough, he made his way up to the house, parking in his usual discreet spot. No Shelley to plague him now.

The maid was in her room in the back, he could hear the loud noise of her television.

He wondered what the old bitch had told his uncle. Nothing he hoped, because if she had, he'd be forced to shut her up once and for all.

Fortunately they'd not been able to gain entry to his room. The locks he'd installed were a good investment.

Taking out his keys he let himself in, moving rapidly. Then he packed up as fast as he could, piled everything in the trunk of his car, and left.

He studied Shelley's new address on his map. The house she was staying at was situated somewhere up Laurel Canyon.

He drove slowly up the winding canyon, turning on to a side road and continuing for some way until he came to a wooden mailbox stuck into the ground. The number matched the address he was looking for. He turned off yet another deserted road way up into the hills.

He'd wanted a remote spot, and now here it was. It was as if the gods had said to him, 'Yes, we will deliver you a place where you can reap the proper vengeance. We will help you.'

When he finally reached the house he was delighted to note it was completely isolated. Shelley's car was nowhere to be seen, and there were no visible lights. It was more than likely she was not home, which suited him fine.

Parking his car under some trees way over in the shadows, he circled the small house on foot. In the back he discovered French doors leading into a living room. There were no signs for alarms, and no barking dogs.

It took him only moments to force the French doors and break into the house.

Seeing his uncle today had shocked him.

How his mother used to kiss Uncle Luca's ass. She'd fawned all over him. She would've done anything he'd asked... anything.

When he was finished with the people in California he planned on taking care of Uncle Luca too
. And
his mother
. And
her new husband. They all deserved to die
.

The house was laid out on one level with a cellar. He explored the cellar, making his way carefully down the rickety wooden stairs into a windowless dark storage space. He could hardly believe how perfect it was.

After he'd explored downstairs he checked out the rest of the house. Two bedrooms and one bathroom. A kitchen and a small living room.

He clicked on the television in time to watch that bitch, Rosa Alvarez, reading the news. When she was finished, the newscast repeated the Monday night appearance of Kennedy Chase.

Another bitch. Another too-clever-for-her-own-good whore.

He should never have left any clues. Let them figure it out for themselves. They were all so stupid, especially the police.

Entering the bedroom, he opened the dresser drawer. Shelley's clothes were stacked neatly - T-shirts, underwear, tights, socks.

He picked up her panties, holding them to his nose, inhaling what he hoped was the aroma of her body. Much to his disappointment they smelted only of laundry detergent.

What would she say when she found him here?

He didn't care.

He knew what he had to do.

Bobby could not believe the damage done to his house. The destruction of his possessions was truly vicious. Furniture ripped, every drawer and closet opened and the contents spilled out. Flour, jam and coffee tipped and smeared over everything. His bedroom was wrecked, and in his dressing room he found his clothes cut to shreds. On the bathroom mirror, scrawled in bright-red lipstick, someone had written:

He knew immediately it was Barbara Barr. Obviously Business Affairs had wasted no time in contacting her agent. This was her sweet revenge.

'Nice people you're involved with,' Jordanna remarked, picking up half of an Armani jacket and tossing it on the bed.

He made a helpless gesture. The furniture and clothes he could replace, but Barbara had also wreaked her fury in his office, tearing up scripts, personal letters and photographs that meant a lot to him.

'Barbara Barr did this, didn't she?' Jordanna questioned, as if reading his mind.

'I didn't encourage her,' he said wearily.

'You fucked her,' Jordanna said bluntly. 'And then dumped her from your movie. If you didn't want to get involved you shouldn't have let your prick do the walking.'

Christ, she could be aggravating! 'Do you always say exactly what's on your mind?'

'As a matter of fact, yes.'

The cops came by the house, surveyed the damage and asked if he knew who'd done it and if he wanted to file a complaint.

He answered no to both questions.

'No?' Jordanna said, pulling him aside. 'Why not? You know it's her.'

'Do you think I want this all over the front of
The Enquirer
for weeks and months?'

She couldn't believe he was doing nothing. 'So you're letting her get away with it?' she asked, outraged.

'What else can I do?'

'Have her arrested and thrown into jail.'

'You're too militant for me, Jordanna. You know what the press are like,
I'd
end up looking like the bad guy.'

'This is too depressing,' she said, surveying the wreckage.

'I'll check into a hotel for the night.'

'No way. You'll stay at Marjory's. There's eight thousand guest rooms there.'

'I don't know Marjory.'

'I'm sure you know her father - Franklyn Sanderson?'

'We're not exactly close.'

'He's away. Marjory will love having you stay.'

'Do we bring the southern fried chicken?' he asked, trying to make a joke of it.

'Along with your sense of humour,' she said. 'Which I'm thrilled to see you still have. I'll go phone her - that's if the phone's in one piece!'

He wandered around his house inspecting the damage. Great. Get into bed with the wrong girl and this is what happened. Jordanna was right, he'd let his prick do the walking. When was he going to learn?

'Marjory's psyched,' Jordanna said, coming back into the living room.

'I bet.'

'Now let's see - I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, and you'll share my toothbrush.'

'You never stop joking, do you?'

She tilted her head to one side. 'Gotta laugh, Bobby, otherwise you'll cry.'

He took one last look around before they left.

'Fortunately,' Jordanna said, as they roared down Sunset in his car, 'every guest room in the Sanderson mansion is fully stocked for just such an emergency. Hey, you can even borrow a pair of Franklyn's black silk pyjamas.'

'How do you know he wears black silk pyjamas?'

'Didn't you see his interview in
Playboy
? She imitated a man's voice. '"I favour black silk pyjamas, long thin cigars, and long thin women." That's a direct quote. At least Jordan would never do the
Playboy
interview. By the way, did I mention Jordan's new wife is pregnant?'

'No, you didn't.'

'Yep, I'm going to have a baby brother or sister - ain't
that
a kick?'

'You upset about it?'

'No.' She was silent for a moment. 'Did I ever tell you about my brother?'

'I didn't know you had a brother.'

She took a long beat before replying. 'Jamie's not around any more. He took a jump from a high building. It was the fashionable way to go.'

'I'm sorry.'

'So am I.'

'When was this?'

'Eight years ago,' she said matter-of-factly, trying to cover up the hurt and feeling of abandonment that had stayed with her ever since. 'I was sixteen.'

Bobby glanced across at her. 'It must have been very hard for you.'

She nodded, choking back a sudden wave of emotion. 'Don't know why I'm telling you now,' she muttered. 'He had a drug habit. Speed. LSD. You name it, Jamie did it.'

'How old was he?'

'Twenty - the best-looking guy you've ever seen.'

Bobby reached out and squeezed her hand. She held on to him tightly and felt better.

They arrived at the Sanderson mansion at the same time as Michael.

'Hey, Brooklyn!' Jordanna greeted, putting on a cheerful front. 'Can't keep away, huh?'

'It's all work.'

'That's not what Marjory says.'

'I hope you're kidding.'

'Jordanna's always kidding,' Bobby said, joining in.