“Let’s put it on my tab and blow out of here. I’ve got better things to do,” Jake says with a knowing smirk.
Victoria, Amelia, and I walk down the triple wide sidewalk on Venice Beach Boardwalk, an assortment of languages, and weed wafting through the air. A string of weathered hole-in-the-wall buildings house eateries, tattoo parlors, and T-shirt shops. To our right is the Pacific Ocean, a wide swath of sand interspersed with a skateboard park, outdoor showers, a court lined with basketball hoops and painted circles.
“You guys are having all the fun,” Victoria says, stripping off her Chicago Bears T-shirt, and shoving it in a bag with her other purchases. She shrugs on her new Venice Beach Lifeguard T-shirt. “And I’m doing all the grunt work.”
“How so?” I ask.
“You’re going to the Hollywood parties. I’m beating a middle-aged man with a riding crop as he crawls across the floor with a gag in his mouth.”
“You’re the one who picked kink as your specialty,” Amelia says.
“You told me to do that,” she says.
“I did, didn’t I? Oops, sorry. Well, you know, specialties help you brand.”
We wander over to the basketball courts. They players are all ages, moving fast and furious. I can’t help but wonder if a future NBA star is working on his game right here.
“Easton’s a producer on Jake Keller’s movie,” Amelia says. “We’re going to the screening tonight. I bet between me and Evie we can score you tickets.”
“Really?” Victoria asks.
“Yes,” I say feeling irritated, not knowing why.
“That would be amazing,” Victoria says. “A much needed break. Hey – not to be judgmental, but there are some cray cray people on this boardwalk.”
“The guy in the Michael Jackson mirror costume scares me,” Amelia says.
“Speaking of weirdos,” Victoria says. “Did you send the fan letter to the cops?”
“Yes,” I say. We wander back toward the boardwalk and I spot a cute taco truck. “I’m hungry.”
We grab Mexican food, sit on the sand and munch on ceviche, tacos, and quesadillas. “I sent the detectives pictures. I’ll give the actual letter to them when I get home,” I say. “They didn’t make it sound like an emergency.”
“Do they have any leads on who left that box?” Victoria asks.
“Not that I know.”
“What was in it?” Amelia wipes hot sauce from her lips.
“Hair,” Victoria says.
“Ew,” Amelia says.
“It was the night before I left for this gig. It’s not a big deal, really.”
“You were crawling out of your skin,” Victoria says. “I’ve never seen you that upset.”
“So creepy,” Amelia says. “Do you think it’s the guy from a few years back?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“What if – oh, never mind,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“What if it’s from a client?”
“Why would one of her clients do that?” Victoria asks.
“I don’t know,” Amelia says. “I used to get fan letters. One person even tracked me down.”
“Get out,” Victoria says.
“Suzie Sandowski from high school. She found out I work for Ma Maison.”
“Was that awkward?” I ask.
“Kind of. She thought my life was exciting. She wanted to write a book about me.”
“Seriously?” Victoria asks.
“She writes true crime. I told her I’m not a criminal.”
“You’re probably more noteworthy than anyone else she went to high school with,” I say.
“Which does not necessarily a book make,’” Amelia says. “I just want to make a decent living and enjoy this crazy job while I can. Someday, I’ll leave this behind and carve out a normal life.”
“What’s a normal life?” Victoria asks.
“The happily ever after,” Amelia says, a faraway look drifting across her face. “Mr. Right. He’ll be devoted with a decent job. He doesn’t have to be exciting. He can be an accountant or an attorney or a banker. Someone who pays the bills, worships the ground I walk on, and wants two kids. If he already has kids I’ll happily be a stepmom.”
My heart lurches because in this moment Amelia once again resembles the grade school teacher she used to be: her arm nestled around a crying five-year-old. Sweet. Earnest. Like when I first met her at St. Matthew’s Elementary School.
“It’ll happen,” Victoria says.
“It will totally happen,” I say. Amelia’s a sweetheart, a total catch. I want her to find the fairytale ending. I want her to find that guy.
The movie premiere’s five days away and we attend another screening of Jake’s movie at a retro-style theatre on Hollywood Boulevard.
After the applause, and the obligatory people stopping by to congratulate Jake on his performance, he runs a finger up and down my arm and gives me one of his panty melting smiles.
Ray Stark stands on the opposite side of the aisle, and eyes me with one of his signature creepy looks.
“Let’s skip the after party,” Jake says. “Go home. I think the guys went out bowling tonight and took Nikki with them. We’d have the entire house to ourselves. Just think of all the trouble we could get into.”
“Tempting, but no. You’re the man of the hour,” I say. “Everyone wants to talk to you at the party. Besides, Ray is giving me dagger eyes. He’ll shred me to bits with his jagged little shark teeth if I don’t get you up and running in time for awards season. He’ll have my hide.”
“I’ll have your hide,” Jake says, nuzzling his face into my neck. The scruff of his beard makes all the little hairs on the backs of my arms stand up. “And trust me – it will be more fun than what Ray Stark could do any day.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I say. “But you’re not paying me for that. You’re paying me to help you heal.”
We take Mulholland Drive, the windy road on top of the Santa Monica Mountains that straddles the busy Westside to the right and the colossal Valley region on the left.
The driver pulls up to an estate and we are waved through the gates by a guard.
Jake and I make our way toward the main house, its doors wide open. The sound of a Frank Sinatra song greets us. A breeze kicks up the night air, rustling the leaves on eucalyptus trees. Wind chimes hanging from the wooden eaves tinkle.
We walk inside the house packed with people. Floor to ceiling windows line one wall of the sunken living room, and millions of lights from the Valley sparkle below us.
I spot Victoria on the far side of the room with a handsome middle-aged guy I recognize from some magazine or newspaper – I can’t keep up. She mouths ‘Thank you’, squeezes his arm, and propels him into another room.
Ray is standing next to the white-brick fireplace with a couple of guys who look like younger versions of him. Hungry baby sharks with jagged baby shark teeth.
“Jake,” Ray beckons.
“Go,” I say. “Make Ray happy.”
“We’re staying for ten minutes.” Jake kisses me. “Then we’re blowing this place.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
He turns to walk away but pauses. “You ever think about sticking around L.A. for a bit longer than what was originally planned?”
I gaze up at my beautiful movie star. He is stunning. A thick head of hair. Full lips. There is a sweetness to this man that no matter what he’s been through has not been stamped out. I fantasize for a moment about how great it would feel to run away with him. To escape from the crowds that want everything.
“We can talk about the future when we’ve accomplished what I came here to do in the first place,” I say.
“Okay, boss.” He smiles and walks into the crowd. They suck him in and within twenty seconds I can barely see the top of his head. He’s consumed by a sea of people clambering for his attention.
Sticking around here for a bit longer isn’t going to happen
. I’m here to get Jake back up and running. Let the Hollywood machine have its way with him. I’ll help him campaign for the award I know he so richly deserves, and then I’ll leave. He’ll get on with his life and I’ll get on with mine and I will forever remember the time we had together.
I pinch the acupuncture spot on the thick web of flesh that lies between my thumb and forefinger, and this time its sharpness grounds me.
I glance over at the bar. Easton has one arm wrapped around Amelia’s waist. He looks up at me, his eyes practically pinning me to the wall. The room goes from warm to cold in the blink of an eye, goose bumps spread across the backs of my arms.
I break free from his gaze and wander outside, pumping my hands into fists to get the blood flow going again.
16
Bless Your Heart
BLESS YOUR HEART
I grab a burger, salad, and a beer from the buffet table, and sit down next to Adam at a fire pit in the far corner of the property. It’s summer, but still a chilly night.
“How’s our guy doing?” Adam cranes his neck and glances back at the house.
“I don’t know.” I turn and peer at Jake who’s talking with a group of people including Ray.
“I think he’s doing better,” Adam says. “I know you told me you don’t fuck all your clients but whatever you’re doing with Jake is working.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“He looks happier. He’s taking meetings, he’s open to new projects. It’s a start.”
“You said you grew up together. What was that like?”
“Small town outside of Albuquerque. It was dusty and low maintenance. We lived down the street from each other. Our parents were working a lot so we suffered from benign neglect. No helicopter parenting for us.”
“So, what’d you do?” Out of the corner of my eye I see that Amelia’s left Easton’s side and is chatting with a few folks that I recognize from a Reality TV show. She’s laughing. Maybe her happily-ever-after lies in L.A. rather than Chicago.
“We took off on our bikes, and rode wherever we wanted. We climbed hills, played ball, snuck into places we weren’t supposed to sneak into,” he says.
“Sounds somewhat idyllic.”
“It wasn’t half bad,” he says. “Oh, and there was church. A lot of Catholic church. Catholic grade school. High school. Altar boys. When we weren’t being dumb wild boys we were making up for our sins in church. Until the shit hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?”
“The scandal with the priest. Father Tate. Ugh. What a fucking nightmare that turned into.”
“What happened?”
“What do you think happened?” Adam asks. “A bad priest. A bunch of kids. I was one of them.”
“I am so sorry,” I say. “How do you get over something that horrible?”
“Years and years of therapy,” he says. “And I talk about it now. Being silent only gives it more power.”
Easton comes and sits down in the chair next to me. He crosses his legs, his hard quad muscles tensing under his pants.
Adam turns to Easton. “So? The movie. What do you think?”
“People are loving it,” Easton says. “It seems like they’re accepting Jake in a grittier role not just his standard action adventure romance fare.”
“Which means he’ll be taken more seriously,” Adam says, “and get offered the juicier parts.”
“It’s a win-win for everyone,” Easton says. He turns to me. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know that much about movies – but as far as I can tell – I think it’s all coming along pretty well,” I say, a little shocked Easton was nice enough to ask my opinion.
“Good. I’ve been meaning to ask. Does it bother you I hired Amelia to be my date for the movie launch?”
“And, I’m out of here.” Adam springs out of his chair looking like someone lit a fire under his ass. “I never dish on the ‘who’s dating who’ talk. Too dangerous! Have an amazing night. Bye!”
“Bye,” I say, wishing that he’d stay.
“Amelia’s a sweet girl.” Easton drinks from a frosty long neck. “I didn’t know you two were best friends when I picked her.”
It bugs me that Easton’s sexy. It irritates me that he smells crisp and intoxicating, like the scent of a brilliantly colored forest on a perfect autumn day.
I kick off my shoes, and the crackling logs warm the bottoms of my bare feet. “I don’t care,” I lie.
“Good,” he says. “I was starting to sweat it.”
“Bless your heart, Easton. Keep Amelia around.” I move my chair away from his. “Date her. Marry her. Have a kid with her.”
“I haven’t quite gone there,” he says.
“I don’t care if you do, because at the end of the day that’s what she wants. Just please, Easton, be nice to Amelia. If you knowingly hurt her – as God is my witness – I’ll hurt you back.”
“Slow down, Liam Neeson in every action movie ever,” he says, adjusting his chair to face mine. “You’re over-reacting. The thing with me and Amelia is just a gig.”
“I’m over-reacting?” My fingers curl into a fist.
‘Do not punch that man,’ Hope says. ‘Use your energy productively.’
‘Punch the asshole,’ Queasy says. ‘Trust me, you’ll never ever feel that good again.’
I squeeze my nails into my palm until they bite. “You’re the guy who called Ma Maison and hired my friend to accompany you for a week of Hollywood debauchery just so you could – oh, I don’t know – one up me? One up Jake?”
“Not Jake,” Easton says, shaking his head.
“Me? Seriously?”
“No. Hiring Amelia is just research.”
“Research, right.” Ugh, I hate this man. “Research for what? A porno?”
“Ha. You’re funny. I didn’t expect you to have a sense of humor.”
“Yeah, life knocked most of that out of me.” I take a swig of my beer, and stare into the flames because I need to focus on something and I refuse to look into Easton’s eyes because his gaze burns hotter than any fire ever could. “I can’t believe you’re related to Wyatt.”
“That’s rich. Do you even remember my brother?”
“I’ll never forget your brother,” I say, my heart thump-thumping in my chest, my face flushing with warm, pissed-off, angry blood. He’s pushing all my buttons and I need to get a grip. I’m not here for Easton Arrogant Wolfe. “Wyatt was the nicest, kindest boy in the world.”
“What do you really know about Wyatt, sweetheart? As far as I can tell you haven’t talked with him in thirteen years. You and your mom weren’t exactly pounding down our door with apologies after the accident.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I say, my palm itching, dying to punch him. “You don’t know…”
“What?” He asks. “Don’t know that your mom served time? I know.”
“That was a just and fair sentence,” I grind my teeth. “Mom was committed to making amends. It was part of her penance.”
“But not so easy for you, I imagine.” He scoots his chair closer to mine. His dirty blond hair falls behind his ears, and down the nape of his neck. His T-shirt skims the hard planes of his muscular chest. “Tell me, Evie. Did you heal Jake Keller yet?”
“What are you talking about?” The skin on my throat and chest flush hotter.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I know the word is out about what I do. But now the word is out with a guy I despise and it’s awkward bordering on painful. “It’s not for me to share,” I say.
“Dylan McAlister told me what you did for him.”
‘Goddamn Dylan and his talky mouth,’ Queasy says.
‘Dylan likes to help people,’ Hope says.
“Did what?” I ask, playing dumb.
“You know. McAlister told me how you helped him get his game back.”
“Take what he says with a grain of salt,” I say, thoroug
hly irritated with Dylan right now. “We have a thing. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated. Right. Martin Gunter Research Scientist Nerd was complicated. But you know that.” He rakes his gaze over me. It lands on my lips as if he is willing me to take the bait.
But I will not answer him.
“Martin Gunter was inches away from cracking a genetic breakthrough for kids with Pitt Hopkins when he shut down. He couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate, was missing deadlines,” Easton says. “He lay in bed for days on end watching The Great British Bake Off and The Real Housewives. He was driving me nuts. Then he goes and hires you.”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“I can. Martin told me he hired Evelyn Berlinger, a 21st century courtesan out of Ma Maison in Chicago. My ears pricked up. Ding, ding, ding – I’m hearing about Evelyn Berlinger again. First it was Dylan. Then it was Martin. Apparently, little Evelyn is all grown up, working as an escort at Ma Maison and she’s healing broken men. Weird. It’s not all that different from the way you tried to keep Wyatt alive after the accident.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. How in the hell could he know what I was doing with Wyatt after the accident? Easton was lying twisted and broken in a snow bank when I walked past him.
Amelia looks over at us from across the yard and cocks her head. ‘You okay?’ she mouths.
I nod curtly.
“I do know that,” Easton says. “You figured out what was shutting Martin down. You helped him deal with the shitty thing eating away at him. You got him up and running and back to the lab. He cracked that piece of the code and now, God willing after a ton of testing, we’ll have drug studies we can use with those kids that would never have stood a chance a few years back.”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“Three guys shared how you helped them heal, Evelyn. I’m impressed with your work, but don’t you think it’s ironic that you’re healing people for a living when you and your mother broke me and my brother thirteen years ago?”
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