To make absolutely sure, he'd summoned a locksmith and had special heavy-duty locks put on his door. Nobody was allowed to invade his privacy.
The Man settled in because it was convenient. His family didn't want him back in New York, they'd made that quite clear. But they couldn't cut him off completely - he was their blood, and as such they were obliged to take care of him. So he was given a room in the uncle's house and a paltry allowance.
Did they really imagine they were rid of him for ever?
No way in hell.
But for now it suited him. He had things to take care of before he dealt with his family.
The Man had a list - a long list. And he knew exactly how he was going to dispose of everyone on it.
Retribution.
Revenge.
Kill the motherfuckers who had betrayed him. Every single one of them.
Soon he would begin...
Chapter Five
Homebase Central was the hottest club in LA. Situated on the edge of Silverlake, it was co-owned by Melinda Woodson, a sour-faced sometime actress, and Arnie Isaak, a former child star turned coke dealer. The two of them were close friends of movie star, Charlie Dollar, who'd put up the money to get the place started. Charlie had done it as an insurance policy so he could be assured of a fun place to hang out - plus his two friends were driving him nuts and he'd come to the conclusion it was about time he gave them something to do so they'd quit sitting around his house all day smoking grass, snorting coke and guzzling his booze.
Charlie Dollar was hardly your average matinee idol. He was overweight with a comfortable gut, fifty-three years old and slightly balding. But when Charlie Dollar smiled the world lit up and every female around got itchy pants - for Charlie possessed a particularly wild stoned charm that was irresistible to both men and women. It helped that every one of his movies was guaranteed a box-office smash, thanks to his quirky presence and off-beat performances. Charlie had a way of taking on a role and bending the character until it fit him to perfection. Some said that Charlie Dollar was a genius, others claimed it was just old Charlie up there on the screen jerking off over anyone who'd pay attention.
Nobody knew the real story about Charlie, although there were many rumours. Prison, a drug bust, a difficult tour of duty in Vietnam. He'd burst upon the scene as a burnt-out thirty-five-year-old in an underground rock 'n' roll movie playing the crazed manager of a heavy-metal group. After that one brilliant, insane performance he'd never looked back.
Charlie Dollar was the hero of stoned America. He enjoyed fame, but pretended indifference. Life was simpler that way. After all, a man had to look like he had some ethics.
Because of Charlie, Homebase Central had instantly taken off. It was the place to see and be seen at. The hipper, younger side of the industry took their lives in their hands and drove down to Homebase Central on Friday and Saturday nights, knowing it was good for business, knowing they were either going to get a deal or get laid. Agents, actors, producers, managers - they all made the scene.
Of course, getting laid was hardly difficult. Beautiful girls were everywhere. Girls with spectacular bodies and not much else. Girls with hungry eyes and a talent for spotting the real players. Girls who would do anything for a shot at the big time.
And Charlie was always there, sitting at his usual table surveying the scene like a contented tom-cat.
Jordanna cruised into the club late Saturday night. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. After all, she was a Hollywood kid, one of the chosen few. She had a famous father - alive. And a famous mother - deceased. She was Hollywood royalty.
Arnie Isaak, who liked to play the genial host, greeted her with a friendly, 'Hey, Levitt, lookin' good.' Arnie was skinny with a straggly beard. He lived under the impression that he was irresistible to women. Wrong.
To Jordanna's annoyance Arnie was always trying to hit on her, in spite of the fact she made it very clear she couldn't stand him. Staying out of his face seemed to be the only way to avoid his irritating come-ons.
'Hi, Arnie,' she said, moving quickly past him to join a group of her peers - the other Hollywood kids.
They were all assembled. Cheryl Landers, a cynical redhead with seen-it-all eyes, long legs, and real attitude - which surprised no one, since her father, Ethan, owned a major studio, and her mother, Estelle - a secret drinker in the privacy of her Bel Air mansion - was the high priestess of LA society.
Sitting next to Cheryl was Grant Lennon, Junior, the dissolute son of Grant Lennon, a wildly attractive movie icon. Grant, who worked as a junior agent at International Artists Agents, considered himself the town cocksman, but Jordanna suspected that unlike his studly father he couldn't get it up as often as he would like, which was why he kept trying so hard.
Then there was Marjory Sanderson, the dreamy-eyed daughter of a billionaire television magnate. Marjory was painfully thin, with long wispy fair hair and a plain pinched face. She was a recovering anorexic who spent most afternoons on her psychiatrist's couch.
And lastly Shep Worth, the only son of an ageing sex symbol. Shep resembled a smaller version of his famous mother, Taureen Worth - the woman with a body that never quit, and a long line of ex-husbands.
The group had grown up together, sharing the experience of too much too soon. A Porsche at sixteen. Handfuls of credit cards. European vacations. The best tables in the hottest restaurants. And endless lavish parties.
Jordanna flopped into a chair. 'I need a drink,' she said, grabbing a handful of tortilla chips and tossing them into her mouth.
Tough day?' Cheryl asked.
'It's a bitch doing nothing,' Jordanna deadpanned.
Cheryl laughed a humourless laugh. 'Tell me about it,' she said drily, knowing exactly what Jordanna meant.
Cheryl had moved out of the family home at seventeen, the envy of her friends because her parents had presented her with a condo in Westwood, a new BMW, and limitless charge cards. They were almost as delighted to see her go as she was to depart the family mansion. Since that time she'd been trying to get her life together without much success. There was nothing for her to excel at. Being Ethan and Estelle's daughter meant living up to impossible expectations, so she just didn't bother.
Cheryl was attractive without being dazzling. Had she not been a Hollywood princess she would have been considered extremely attractive. In a town full of outstanding physical beauty she was a six. Anywhere else she'd be considered a ten.
Cheryl had found that being best friends with Jordanna had taken getting used to. They'd never really clicked until after Fran's suicide, then they'd bonded, united in their grief, because they'd both been close to Fran. At first Cheryl couldn't stand Jordanna, as far as she was concerned the coltish bad girl with the wild reputation was an outrageous pain in the ass. But once she'd gotten to know her she'd realized that, like herself, Jordanna came from an affluent dysfunctional family and was merely trying to survive as best she could.
They'd started hanging out together, bringing in Shep, Grant and Marjory as their cohorts. Soon they were known as The Hollywood Five. It suited them fine as they all carried the same burden - parents who were too busy being rich, famous and successful to find time for their kids.
'I suggest you try a margarita,' Cheryl said, barely looking up. Three of those little mothers and you don't even know you're on this planet!'
'You try a margarita while I try the blonde in the tank top,' Grant said, getting to his feet. He was tall and lanky with a long face, thick arched eyebrows and brown hair slicked back in a ponytail. He was handsome, but not as handsome as his famous father - a fact that irked him considerably.
Jordanna glanced over at his soon-to-be conquest. She loathed what she termed the Bimbette Army. They invaded Homebase Central on a regular basis, all tight Spandex, big hair and plumped-up lips - every one of them available and stupid. 'How you guys can get it up for them is beyond me,' she sighed. 'Haven't you heard of having a conversation first?'
'C'mo
n, Jordanna, get real,' Grant said, preparing for conquest. 'I'd like to get an ear on your pillow talk.'
'Screw you, Grant,' she said mildly.
Shep joined in. He had sun-kissed blond hair and small, well-defined features. 'Yes, Jordy,' he said accusingly, 'you do the same as Grant - pick a body for the night and a couple of hours later it's goodbye, don't call me I'll call you.'
'At least mine don't have plastic tits,' Jordanna retorted tartly. 'And they don't show everything in girlie magazines with one leg in the air claiming they love animals and have this burning desire to save the world.'
'Personally, I've decided I'm into celibacy,' Cheryl announced. 'Either that or I might try the dyke route. This whole AIDS thing scares me enough to keep my pants on!'
'Can I watch?' Grant asked, leering.
'Get out of here,' Cheryl said tardy. 'You're a real sicko.'
Grant touched her shoulder. 'And you love it.'
'In your dreams.'
Grant moved rapidly toward Miss Tank Top, who lurked at the crowded bar with a group of similar-looking girlfriends.
'God, I hope he's not going to bring her over,' Jordanna groaned.
'Ignore her, she'll never notice,' Cheryl said, knocking back her fourth margarita. 'She's the kind of girl who only pays attention to the guys.'
'I can't stand these would-be starlets,' Jordanna complained. They honestly believe if they sleep with a guy who's even vaguely connected to the movie industry he'll give them a part. Everyone knows what part they'll get, and the only place it's connected to is his balls!'
'Vulgar!' Shep said.
'But true,' Cheryl said.
They're so dumb!' Jordanna said.
'Not everyone has your rocket scientist IQ,' Shep interjected.
Jordanna turned on him. 'Why are you so pissy tonight? Got your period?'
'What do you mean by that? Shep demanded, his cheeks reddening. Shep was gay, but he still thought nobody knew. They all did, but the closet door remained firmly shut.
'He's always pissy,' Cheryl murmured, causing Shep to glare at her too.
Naturally Grant couldn't resist bringing the hard-bodied blonde to their table. She had that glazed look, like she'd recently posed for a centre spread revealing her big breasts, all-American teeth and ever so slightly protruding eyes to the world.
'Everyone, this is Sissy,' Grant said, placing a possessive arm around her bare shoulders.
Sissy focused on Shep, who was even more handsome than Grant. 'Hello,' she said, in a high-pitched Valley-girl voice. 'And who exactly am I meeting?'
Oh, great, Jordanna thought. This one wants their resume on the table before she puts out.
'Shep Worth,' he said obligingly.
'And this is Jordanna, Cheryl and Marjory,' added Grant, always the polite host.
'We're a singing group,' Jordanna deadpanned.
'Really?' Sissy was impressed. 'And where exactly do you sing?'
Shep burst out laughing.
'Did she say something funny?' Grant snapped.
'They all say something funny,' Cheryl murmured.
Grant took Sissy's arm. 'Let's dance.'
She was disappointed. 'Aren't we going to sit with your friends?'
'Later,' he muttered, pulling her towards the small crowded dance floor where the soulful sounds of Whitney Houston filled the air.
Jordanna narrowed her eyes. 'Do you think Grant uses a condom?'
'He'd be crazy not to,' Cheryl replied. 'He sleeps with at least two different girls a week.'
Jordanna tapped her fingernails on the table. 'Yeah, well, it's that whole macho thing,' she said knowingly. 'Whatever they tell you, men are not into condoms, they figure it slows down their action.'
'I hope you're not telling me you let them get away with that crap,' Cheryl said sternly.
'Do I look like an idiot?' Jordanna replied, brushing back her long dark hair. 'I buy them by the gross and keep them in a cookie jar on the coffee table. They soon get the hint, and if they don't they're out the door.'
Oh yeah? Who was she kidding? Twice the previous month she'd indulged in unprotected sex because she'd been too out of her head to care. Every so often she found herself on a self-destruct course. Drinks, drugs, wild sex, anonymous partners. When she came to her senses she swore she'd never do it again. And yet something always happened that pushed her over the edge.
Wife number five was responsible for her last binge. Gotta get over caring so much about Daddy. He obviously didn't give a damn about her.
The truth was she knew she had to gain control of her emotions and stop feeling that way. If she didn't get it together nobody was going to do it for her. Right now she was off drugs. No grass. No cocaine. No crazed nights. She was cleaning up her act and it felt good.
'I had another death threat,' Marjory said, speaking for the first time in an hour.
Jordanna leaned forward. 'A what?'
'I've been getting these letters,' Marjory confessed.
What kind of letters?' Cheryl asked.
Marjory clammed up. 'I don't want to talk about it.'
The hell you don't,' Cheryl said, signalling the pretty waitress to bring her another drink.
Marjory's voice was low and even. 'He says he's going to slit my throat.'
'For God's sake!' exclaimed Jordanna. 'Have you contacted the FBI?'
Marjory looked mournful. 'I haven't told anyone.'
'Not even your father?' Shep questioned.
'He's too busy,' Marjory said.
They could all identify with that.
Jordanna crammed more tortilla chips into her mouth and asked Marjory how many letters she'd received.
Marjory didn't care to talk about it any more. 'I'm sure it's someone playing a joke,' she said, closing the subject.
'Some sicko joke,' commented Cheryl. 'Give the letters to your old man, he should have his security check them out.'
'Yes, I will,' Marjory said. 'If you think I should.'
'Of course you should,' Cheryl insisted.
'Make sure you do,' Jordanna added sternly.
Arnie approached their table, gap-toothed leer on full alert. 'Hiya, Levitt,' he said, referring to her by her surname which always irritated her.
She gave him one of her direct don't-fuck-with-me stares. 'What do you want, Arnie?' she asked, willing him to leave her alone.
As host of the hottest club in town most women were ready to rock 'n' roll any way he wanted, he got off on the fact that Jordanna wasn't all over him. 'Charlie's throwing a party at his house after we close tonight. Wanna go?'
With you?'
'Yes, with me.'
'No offence, Arnie, but I've told you before - I'm not interested in dating you.'
This wouldn't be a date.'
'Oh yeah? What would it be?'
He scowled. 'What's your problem, Levitt?'
She stared him straight in the eyes. 'I don't want to fuck you, Arnie. It's your problem, not mine.'
'You're a real bitch, Levitt.'
'No. Merely honest. Makes a refreshing change, doesn't it?'
He kept his leer firmly in place. 'Lighten up. Who knows? You and I could be this generation's Natalie and R.J.'
'You're full of shit,' she said offhandedly.
That's what I like about you, Levitt, your gentle reserve.'
'Gee, thanks. It's nice to know I'm appreciated.'
'Give it a rest, you two,' Cheryl said, yawning. 'You're beginning to sound like you're married.'
Jordanna leaped to her feet. 'That's it. I'm out of here,' she said restlessly.
Where are you going?' Arnie asked, disappointed.
To check out the competition.'
'We have no competition,' he boasted.
'I'll let you know,' she said crisply.
On her way to the door she caught a wink from a stoned Charlie Dollar. He was old enough to be her father but still quite sexy. Idly she wondered what he was like in bed - reports varied.
&nb
sp; Out in the parking lot her Porsche was parked right up front. She was a good tipper - learned that from Daddy. 'So you give out an extra thousand bucks a year, it's worth it.' Words of wisdom from the great Jordan Levitt. And he was great, when he wanted to be. When he had time. When whoever the current wife was wasn't messing with his brain. Strike that. Make it cock. Fact of life. Jordan Levitt was ruled by the great erection.
Growing up in Hollywood. Watching Daddy get laid. What an education!
Jordanna had many fine memories, one of the most vivid being the time she'd discovered her father in the family swimming pool - which happened to be drained at the time - servicing a voluptuous movie star, while their respective spouses circulated at a lavish party taking place inside the house. Jordanna had viewed the entire spectacle from her bedroom window. She'd never told anyone - except Jamie - that it was she who'd switched the floodlights on the pool, illuminating her father's bare ass and the movie star's huge quivering breasts. Wife number three had departed shortly after. Jordanna was satisfied. Mission accomplished.
She hit the road in her Porsche and dropped by a couple of supposedly happening clubs. Unfortunately, Arnie was right - Homebase Central was the only place to hang, there was no action elsewhere.
By 2 a.m. she was home. Alone. Another scintillating night in the City of Angels.
One of these days she'd meet someone who could take away the dull throb of loneliness that stayed with her day and night. Someone who would understand and love her. One of these days.
Maybe...
Chapter Six
Five days on Quincy and Amber's couch was five days too many. Michael had an aching back and a permanent headache because the baby never stopped crying and the toddler kept up a particularly aggravating whine from early morning on.
'How do you put up with this?' he said to Quincy as they drove slowly through the residential streets of Beverly Hills - Quincy was giving him the grand tour.
'It's called marriage, doncha remember?' Quincy said, chuckling.
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