By the time he was ten, his father was seventy and tired; Adelaide was twenty-seven and sleeping with any good-looking jerk who came her way. When Pete complained, Adelaide laughed in his face. Pete Lorenzo had lost his power. He was too old to control her, and she was too wild to be controlled.
Joey, an introverted kid, watched it all. He adored his pretty mother, but he soon realized she was untrustworthy, therefore, he figured, all women were the same.
When he was eighteen, his dad suffered a massive heart attack at the racetrack and died on the spot. After that, Adelaide went through a series of live-in boyfriends, each one worse than the last. She was into hoods and lowlifes. Con men and hustlers. She’d also started drinking and gambling big time.
Joey decided he’d better distance himself before he beat up one of her dumb boyfriends, so he moved out, trying a variety of jobs—busboy, waiter, car mechanic, limo driver. And a different girl every week. Girls went for him because he was so good-looking, but he never let them stay around long enough to get close.
After a while he took the big step and moved to New York, where he immediately got the acting bug. One day he walked into Madelaine Francis ’ office, and there she was, his big opportunity—an agent with clout.
She’d gotten him a couple of great movie roles, and everything was looking good until the phone call from his mother.
“I don’t have any money, Ma,” he explained, feeling guilty anyway. “I’ve only had two acting jobs. When I make more, I’ll send you plenty.”
“You don’t get it,” she replied, sounding drunk and none too friendly. “This time it’s different. This time it’s life or death.”
“What about Danny?” he asked, mentioning her current boyfriend. “Get him to help you.”
“Danny’s a no-guts loser,” she spat. “He can’t help shit. And I need ten thousand, otherwise they’ll kill me, Joey, they’ll kill me.”
“You’re crazy, Ma.”
“So help me it’s the truth.”
He didn’t know what to do. He loved Adelaide, but she was a degenerate gambler who was never going to quit. Now she was coming to him to pay her debts.
Where the fuck was he supposed to come up with ten thousand bucks? He’d tried to distance himself, make a new life. So he was living with a woman over twenty years older than him. He’d finally gotten smart and found himself someone who could do him some good. Madelaine was okay. She didn’t hassle him about making a commitment—unlike his contemporaries, who made him extremely nervous with their clinging ways and petty demands. Besides, none of them was ever as pretty as his mother—his gorgeous mother, who was such goddamn trouble.
He called her back the next day. “Can’t get my hands on any money right now,” he said.
“Then you can kiss your poor mama good-bye.”
“Don’t snow me with that dramatic crap, Ma.”
“I told you,” she said, her voice hardening. “Unless you come up with the money, I’m dead.”
He wrestled with the problem. Madelaine kept cash in the apartment. Could he ask her for a loan?
No, she wouldn’t buy it.
So what if he just took it? Helped Adelaide out for the last time, then came back and explained everything to Madelaine.
Yeah, that was the way to do it. Madelaine would understand.
As soon as she left for the office the next day, he broke into her safe. He felt bad doing it, but what choice did he have?
He found seven thousand dollars in the safe. It wasn’t enough, but he took it all.
Adelaide had to quit with the gambling. This was positively the last time he was bailing her out.
• •
A car horn blared, making him jump. He realized he hadn’t been concentrating and quickly swerved, almost skidding, taking no notice as the other driver gave him the finger.
Lara needed him more than ever. He had to hurry home.
CHAPTER
64
AS SUMMER STOOD OUTSIDE NORMAN Barton’s hotel in the pouring rain, it occurred to her that she had absolutely nowhere to go. Tina, who she’d thought was such a good friend, had dumped on her big time. Well, she didn’t want to be friends with Tina anyway, not if she was into doing coke. Smoking grass was one thing, but getting into coke could lead to nothing but trouble.
She hovered outside the hotel entrance in her skimpy little dress, shivering.
“Can I get you a cab?” a young uniformed doorman asked.
“No, thanks,” she said, shaking her head.
“You one of those girls from the Norman Barton party?” he asked, edging nearer.
“Excuse me?” she said, freezing him out with a cold glare. “I’m staying at the hotel with my parents
“Sorry, miss,” he said, backing off.
A limo slid curbside, and Summer watched in awe as Johnny Romano, the famous movie star, got out. Although he was with three girls he threw her a moody look and a slight wink. “Hi, chickie,” he said as he slinked on by.
What was it with all these stupid movie stars? One girl didn’t do it for them? Apparently not.
She tried to take a peek at the limo driver. If it was Jed she’d be saved. But no, it wasn’t Jed, it was some gnarled old black man. And the annoying thing was she couldn’t remember Jed’s number.
She sighed, feeling let down and disappointed—not to mention slightly giddy. God knew what was in the pill Tina had forced her to take. Norman had told her to call, he’d insisted he wanted to see her again, causing her to fantasize about them having a future together. Now he’d turned out to be nothing more than a coked-out bum. Well, it was good she’d found out before she’d gotten even more involved.
She shivered again and wrapped her arms across her chest. What was she going to do? She was alone in L.A. with nowhere to sleep and all her possessions—including her money—at Tina’s.
“Where are your folks?” the young doorman asked, coming over again. “Do they know you’re out here?”
“Have you ever heard of minding your own business?” she said haughtily.
“Excuse me for talking to the princess,” he snapped back.
“I could report you,” she said indignantly.
“Go ahead—like losing this job would ruin my day.”
“If you must know,” she said. “I had a fight with my parents.”
“You shouldn’t wander around this town by yourself,” he said. “Not a girl who looks like you. I get off in an hour. If you want to go to the coffee shop and wait, I’ll drive you wherever you’re going.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she admitted.
“You could stay at my place.”
“As if!” she said in disgust.
He laughed. “Do I look like a crazed rapist?”
She took another look at him. He was not traditionally handsome. He had a Tom Cruise look, with a toothy grin and spiky hair. He wasn’t Norman Barton, but what choice did she have. “I suppose you’re an out-of-work actor,” she said with a sigh.
“Wrong,” he replied. “I’m an artist, doing this to make my rent.”
“What kind of artist?” she asked, not quite believing him.
“I paint portraits. In fact, I’d quite like to paint you.”
“In the nude, I suppose.”
“You offering?”
“Get a life!” she said scornfully.
“You want to camp out at my place tonight or not?”
She didn’t see any other alternative. “Okay.”
He nodded. “I’ll meet you in the coffee shop in an hour.”
• •
“Maybe Mick knows something,” Nikki said, close to tears. “Where does he live?”
“Calm down,” Aiden said. “Knowing Mick, he’s left the party and gone clubbing. Leave a message on his machine.”
“I can’t just sit here doing nothing. She’s my child—out there on her own.”
“Hey, Nik, with all due respect, you’re coming on like the concerned m
other a little late, aren’t you?”
“Are you saying I haven’t been a good mother?”
“What’s your take?”
“I know I could have given her more attention. But when she insisted on staying with Sheldon, I guess my feelings were hurt.”
“She’s a kid—you abandoned her. Have you considered the fact she was angry?”
“Richard didn’t give a rat’s ass; he can be such a cold sonofabitch.”
“Hey, get with the program. Richard has his own agenda.”
“She could have gone to Lara’s.”
“Call her.”
“We’re not exactly on good terms right now.”
“Call her anyway.”
“You’re right,” she said, dialing Lara’s house.
Mrs. Crenshaw informed her nobody was home.
“Is Sheldon coming here from the airport?” Aiden asked.
“Yes, then we’ll call the police.”
“He hasn’t done that?”
“Apparently you have to wait forty-eight hours before you can report someone as a missing person.”
“Summer’s a minor—doesn’t that make a difference?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to talk to Sheldon.”
“Hey,” he held open his long, thin arms. “Come over here, you need a hug.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“I said a hug, nothing else.”
She allowed him to embrace her. He was right. She was in dire need of love and affection. “How come you’re so understanding?” she sighed.
“ ’Cause I’ve been everywhere and back,” he said with a wry laugh. “If I was you, I’d probably be imbibing every drug known to man. There’s no way I could handle this. You’re doing great, Nik. Just hang in there, we’ll find her.”
• •
“Before I go with you, you’d better tell me your name,” Summer said, staring at the young doorman, who looked even cuter out of uniform. If she hadn’t felt so sick and dizzy, she might be enjoying this new adventure.
“Sam,” he said. “And you’re—”
“Summer.”
“Summer and Sam. What a team!”
“You’re sure I can trust you, Sam?”
He laughed and took her arm. “What’s your choice? Me or the streets, right? Guess you’re gonna have to trust me.”
And’ with his words ringing in her ears, she left the hotel with a total stranger.
CHAPTER
65
ALISON SEWELL OFTEN DREAMED ABOUT what it would be like to be famous. As she turned off the lights of her station wagon and followed Lara’s car down the dirt road, she couldn’t help reflecting on the excitement that world fame would bring. Charles Manson and his cohorts were as famous as any president; John Hinckley, Jr., was a name everyone knew because of his attempt to assassinate the president; Robert Bardo had made world headlines by killing Rebecca Schaeffer; and Mark Chapman had waited outside the Dakota in New York and shot John Lennon dead.
Because of their actions, these men would go down in history. They’d become icons themselves, appearing on the covers of Time and Newsweek. They were written about constantly, interviewed from their jail cells, feted and acclaimed. Everyone knew their names. They were as famous as any movie star.
It occurred to Alison that she, too, could be famous. And why not? Was she supposed to be a nobody forever? Pushed around and treated like dirt? No. She could do something about it.
Uncle Cyril would be so proud of her if she did. And the cretins she’d worked alongside all those years—well, they’d be fighting to take her picture.
A smile spread across her face at the thought. Alison Sewell on the cover of Newsweek. She’d have to do something pretty outrageous to get that kind of coverage.
Was killing Lara Ivory outrageous enough?
There is a very thin line between love and hate. Alison Sewell had crossed that line.
She’d loved Lara Ivory with an absolute passion. Now she hated her enough to kill.
Tonight Lara Ivory was going to pay.
Tonight Lara Ivory was going to die.
CHAPTER
66
THE BIG OLD HOUSE WAS deserted, dark and cold. Cassie had gained access through an unlocked kitchen window, then let Lara in through the back door. “There’s no power,” she complained. “Lara, if you don’t mind my saying so, this is not a good idea.”
“We’re here now,” Lara said stubbornly. “All we’re going to do is sleep.”
“Oh,” Cassie said, unable to hold back a twist of sarcasm. “Like eating went out of style, I suppose. Not to mention heating.”
“I can tell you never camped out,” Lara said. “A little hardship is good for you.”
Screw hardship, Cassie wanted to say. NYPD Blue is on TV and I want my dinner. But she didn’t, because Lara was in one of her weird moods. The photo spread in Truth and Fact had obviously freaked her. But why was Joey being punished?
“I’ll get the flashlight from my car,” she said.
“Good idea,” Lara answered, thinking that all she really wanted to do was get into bed and shut out the world. Joey Lorenzo had completely fooled her, making believe he cared, while all the time he was waiting to score off her. And then who knows what would have happened?
She’d never had much luck with men. Foolishly she’d thought Joey was different, but it was not to be.
The house was freezing. Maybe Cassie was right—a hotel might be a better idea.
But no, if she checked into a hotel she’d be recognized, and before she knew it, Joey would find her. She wanted complete anonymity. In a way she was punishing herself for having been such a lovesick idiot.
She thought wistfully of Tommy and his wise advice. He’d tell her the photographs were yesterday’s news and to forget about them. And as for his take on Joey—“All men are pigs,” he’d say. “It depends on what degree of piggery you’re prepared to put up with.”
If only Tommy had been straight, she thought with a wan smile, we could have gotten married and lived happily ever after. That’s if he hadn’t gotten sick and died on her.
Cassie came back with a flashlight, and they began looking around. Although she’d bought the two-story house furnished, everything was covered in dust sheets.
As they started upstairs, Cassie said, “It just occurred to me—there’ll be no linens, so I guess my hotel suggestion is the only way to go.”
“Will you stop carrying on about a hotel,” Lara said sharply. “God, you’re such a complainer.”
Unfortunately, Cassie was right, there were no linens on the beds.
“You see,” Cassie said triumphantly.
“No, I do not see,” Lara said, throwing open the big linen closet in the hall. It was stocked with everything they needed. “Sorry, Cass,” she said. “It seems we’re going to be making beds after all.”
“I can’t spend the night here unless I get something to eat,” Cassie muttered.
“Okay,” Lara said. “Here’s the plan. You go find a supermarket and stock up, while I stay here and make our beds.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to make the beds.”
“I’m capable, Cass. Besides, I feel like it.”
Cassie had no idea she used to be a maid at Aunt Lucy’s motel and could make a bed in record time. Anyway, she didn’t mind. Sometimes housework was therapeutic.
“Okay,” Cassie said. “If you’re sure. I’ll buy food, batteries, candles. Anything else?”
“Nope,” Lara said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be perfectly comfortable here.”
“What can I get you for dinner?” Cassie asked. “How about a couple of Big Macs?”
“Hmm . . . we’re really going to have to do something about your eating habits,” Lara scolded.
“I can’t help having a healthy appetite,” Cassie said defensively, well aware she was fifty pounds overweight.
“Healthy is the wrong word if you’re talking Bi
g Macs.”
“It’s oral satisfaction.”
“Don’t get me started, Cass. You should look after yourself.”
“I will,” Cassie promised, knowing she wouldn’t. “But not tonight. Now, what would you like to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” Lara said, feeling depressed and sad. “You pick up whatever you want.”
“I’ll be quick,” Cassie promised.
“No need to rush. Who needs television or lights? If it stops raining I might even take a walk along the beach.”
“Don’t even attempt to go down those rickety stairs,” Cassie said sternly. “This place is in much need of repair.”
“You worry too much,” Lara answered lightly. “I’ve got a new policy—I’m doing what I want whenever I want, and I refuse to worry about anything.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Cassie said curiously. “Will Joey be joining us tomorrow?”
“Joey?” Lara looked at her blankly. “Who’s Joey?”
• •
The dogs greeted him before Mrs. Crenshaw.
“Is she back yet?” he asked.
“Not yet, Mr. Joey.”
“Jesus! Where is she?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, a touch officiously. “I’ve prepared dinner if you’re hungry . . .”
“No, thanks.” He stared at the old housekeeper. Was she telling him the truth? “You’re certain she didn’t leave a message?”
“Quite certain.”
He petted the dogs for a few minutes before going upstairs. The bedroom was empty. It was almost ten o’clock. He could understand Lara was upset about the pictures, but why hadn’t she called?
He went back downstairs to the den and put on the TV. NYPD Blue was just starting. He watched moodily for a while. Jimmy Smits, smooth as silk; Dennis Franz, crotchety as usual; Kim Delaney, edgy and wild. It was one of the few programs he enjoyed; in fact, he’d decided to talk to Quinn about maybe getting him a guest shot. Of course, he wasn’t into doing TV, but appearing on a show as good as NYPD wouldn’t be a bad thing.
He had no intention of becoming Mr. Lara Ivory simply because they were married. Oh no, Joey Lorenzo was planning on making a name for himself.
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