Mrs Willet was sipping tea in the kitchen. 'Are you moving out, dear?' she asked, quite cheerful for a change.
'Haven't made up my mind yet,' Jordanna replied, grabbing an apple from the fruit dish. 'Sorry to disappoint you.'
'I thought with Miss Dahlia and Sport moving back in...'
That's a temporary arrangement.'
'No.' Mrs Willet was adamant. 'Mr Dollar assured me they'd be here on a permanent basis.'
'Well, good for Mr Dollar,' she said, biting into the apple as she walked over to the door. 'Tell you what, Mrs W, if I do decide to move, you'll be the last to know.'
The hatchet-faced housekeeper glared at her.
At the studio there was a message for her to report straight to Bobby's office. She lingered in the ladies' room first, studying her reflection in the mirror. She looked good. Bright-eyed. Too enthusiastic? No. When it came to scoring a role in a major movie there was no such thing as too enthusiastic.
Bobby Rush threw her off balance. He knew all her secrets, so to speak. He'd lived the same experience and come through unscathed. It was unnerving. He was unnerving. She couldn't quite get a beat on him, he seemed so together, and yet she - better than anyone - knew how difficult it must have been growing up with Jerry Rush as your father.
She also found Bobby undeniably attractive, even though he wasn't her type. Oh, no, not at all. She liked them young and hungry or old and successful. Bobby didn't fit into either category.
They were waiting for her when she entered the office. Bobby sat behind his desk, while Mac paced around the room. 'Take a seat,' Mac said. 'And for chrissakes relax.'
Easy enough for him to say. She was uncomfortable, excited, filled with trepidation. Oh, God, it was so unlike her to be nervous.
'So,' Mac said. 'Have you given our idea some thought?'
'Yes,' she said, trying to sound cool and in control. 'If you still want me to test, I'll do it.'
'Did you mention it to your father?' Mac asked, chewing on his thumbnail while watching her intently.
Why would I do that?' she snapped.
'I thought -'
'Mac,' she interrupted heatedly. 'I don't even live there any more - why would I tell Jordan?'
Bobby got up, came around his desk and stood in front of her. 'Your mother was an actress, wasn't she?'
'Yes,' she said, beginning to feel really uptight.
'So how come you never wanted to try it before?'
She decided to be honest. 'Because my father told me I'd have too much to live up to.'
He burst out laughing. 'That's exactly what I heard from my old man, and look at me today.'
'Yeah, look at you. I saw Style Wars, she wanted to say, but she curbed her tongue for once. This was her chance to do something she'd always wanted, and she wasn't about to blow it.
'We'll test you today,' Mac said. 'Bobby'll test with you.'
When?' she asked nervously.
'This afternoon.'
Her stomach churned. 'I can't do it that soon.'
Why not?' Mac asked, quite reasonably.
'Because... because I need more time,' she stammered, unable to come up with a better excuse.
'Don't worry about a thing,' Bobby said, patting her on the shoulder in what she considered a patronizing fashion. 'You'll go over to wardrobe now, then we'll sit down for a couple of hours and read through the test scenes.' He fixed her with his incredibly intense blue eyes. 'Jordanna, trust me. It'll be OK.'
Sure, for him it would be OK, for her it would be a fucking nightmare.
She returned downstairs in a daze.
The good news was that she was going to test. The bad news was that now everybody knew who she was. Somehow word had leaked.
Florrie greeted her with a frown and a sharp, 'Why didn't you tell us who you were?'
'What was I supposed to do? Take out an announcement in the trades?' she fired back.
'No,' Florrie said, with a hurt expression. 'But you could have confided in me?'
Sure, confiding in Florrie would be like buying a full-page ad in Variety.
Jordanna noticed people were treating her differently. The kids around the office who'd once been so friendly and nice were now either distant or fawning all over her.
Nanette called her into the main casting office and gave her a vigorous pep talk. 'Listen, dear,' she said, squinting while dragging hungrily on her cigarette. 'You might be able to pull this off or maybe you won't. The camera loves some people, hates others. Nobody knows until you get in front of it.' She expelled a stream of lethal smoke into Jordanna's face. 'I'm sure you're aware they wanted Winona Ryder for this role.'
Oh, great, make me feel really secure.
Over in the wardrobe department a bossy woman in ill-fitting dungarees tried to talk her into wearing a short red low-cut dress for the test.
'No,' she said, going on instinct. 'My character wouldn't wear, this, it's too cheap-looking.'
'I know what the character would wear better than you,' the wardrobe woman said, ready for a fight.
She refused to be swayed. 'I won't test in that dress,' she said, searching through several racks of clothes until she came across a simple white silk suit. 'Sienna doesn't flaunt her sexuality, she's more subtle,' she explained, holding the outfit up against herself. 'This'll be perfect.'
The wardrobe woman made a face and reluctantly agreed she could wear it.
Reading through the scenes with Bobby was painful. She wished she had a joint. She wished she was stoned. She wished she wasn't there.
Oh, Charlie, where are you when I need you?
Bobby was pleasant enough, but he got impatient if she didn't do things his way and that made her even more edgy. As she got into the character she could feel the vibrations of Sienna. I know this girl, she thought. I know her very well. She's real fucked up. And if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a survivor she could've been me.
'What are you thinking?' Bobby asked, placing his script on a table.
'About the character and her hang-ups,' she said, hesitating for a moment. 'I understand her psychology. Sienna's a little crazy, like me.'
He raised an eyebrow. 'You're a little crazy, Jordanna?' he said, teasing her.
'You know what I mean, Bobby. I'm sure your life hasn't always been easy.'
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment there was a strong connection.
'Right,' Bobby said, breaking the look as he picked up the script again. 'Let's read the second scene one more time.'
The two scenes they'd chosen were quite different. One took place at the beginning of the movie when Sienna was supposed to be naive and innocent. The second scene happened near the end, when her madness finally manifested itself.
Jordanna enjoyed reading the second scene most, playing psychotic was easy.
After they'd rehearsed for a while longer, Bobby got up and said, 'That's it, you're on your own. Get yourself over to hair and make-up and I'll see you on the set.' He took her hand and squeezed it. 'Good luck.'
No flip reply came to mind. What was happening to her?
Thanks,' she mumbled, 'I'll uh... I'll try my best.'
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Kennedy saw Style Wars she went into a fury. They'd taken her piece on Bobby Rush and totally reworked it - adding a whole load of material about his father and his hang-ups, all the stuff Mason had wanted. And her name was on the interview. Her name!
She called Mason in a white-hot rage. He blamed it on an over-zealous copy-editor. She told him exactly what he could do with his job. He pleaded with her to reconsider. She didn't know what to do, this had never happened to her before and she felt so betrayed.
Rosa came over and calmed her down. 'You need a good lawyer,' she advised. 'Stay with the magazine and get a legal document stating they can't change a word or you'll sue their ass. Why blow a good gig?'
Angry as she was, Kennedy agreed that was an excellent idea.
Rosa sat on the floor in the living ro
om performing leg lifts. 'There's been another murder,' she said.
Kennedy snapped to attention. 'When?' she asked.
'A few nights ago - in Pasadena.'
'Who was the victim this time?'
'A woman - strangled in her apartment. She lived with her boyfriend, but he was out of town.' Rosa stretched her legs to the left. 'Here's the kicker. Exactly the same MO. She wasn't raped or robbed, and the killer left that death-to-the-traitors sign on her body. It's not public knowledge, but one of our news guys is tight with the County Sheriffs Department and they got a report of the murder on the teletype. The sign matches the one left on the woman in West Hollywood.'
'What do the police say?'
'Nobody's releasing any statements.'
That's three women strangled within a couple of months.'
'I know.'
'What did this one do?'
'She worked in a bank.'
'Hmm...' Kennedy said thoughtfully. 'Did you know the other two both worked on movies? Margarita was a make-up artist, and I found out that Stephanie Wolff was a script supervisor.'
That could be coincidence. It's certainly not enough to connect them.'
'I know. But surely somebody should be investigating other than me?'
'You're right.'
'Who's in charge of this case, Rosa?'
The problem is that all the murders took place in different counties, so there's several investigating officers. I'll see what I can find out.'
'Do that.'
The next morning she attempted to call Bobby Rush, anxious to apologize. It was no surprise when he failed to take her call. She sat down and wrote him a letter, explaining what had happened. At least it made her feel better.
* * *
Detective Carlyle was an overweight slob who ate doughnuts for breakfast, smoked cheap cigars and was saving up for a hair transplant. He'd been on the force too long to care about anything much, he had too many personal problems.
First there was his wife - she wanted him to retire and go live in Montana. Secondly, there was his mistress - she wanted him to divorce his wife and move in with her. Mostly Detective Carlyle was lucky to make it through the day.
When Kennedy Chase requested an interview he turned her down. Obviously the woman had connections, because an hour later his Captain called him in and informed him that he had to see her.
'What I gotta talk to a magazine writer for?' he grumbled.
'She's doing a story on that woman who got herself strangled. You'd better make sure our department comes out of this looking good.'
'OK, OK,' Detective Carlyle said, agreeing reluctantly.
When Kennedy strode into his office he got a shock, he wasn't expecting this classy looking blonde broad with the sensational body. He perked up considerably. 'What can I do for you, honey?' he asked with his best 'm-a-stud smile.
'You can stop calling me honey for a start,' she said briskly, sitting down in a chair on the other side of his desk and crossing impressive legs.
Another uptight feminist. Whatever happened to the days when you could compliment a woman without getting a snotty put-down?
What can I do for you, Miz? he asked, heavy on the sarcasm.
She chose to ignore his attitude. 'I'm writing a piece on three women who've been strangled in LA over the past couple of months.'
'Yeah, yeah,' he said dismissively.' The one in West Hollywood's the only one concerns me.'
Why's that?'
'Cause she's the only one where the crime took place in my division.'
'But isn't there a feeling that the cases might be linked?'
Where'd you hear that?' he asked cagily.
'It doesn't matter where I heard it.'
'It matters to me.'
'I'd like all the information you have.'
He cleared his throat, snotty broad - who did she think she was? 'The only information I can give you is that we have no proof of anything as of now.'
'How can you say that?' she said forcefully, thinking to herself that this guy was verging on being a moron. 'The murderer left the death-to-the-traitors sign on the last two victims, there has to be a connection.'
Detective Carlyle shifted in his seat, he was dying to let loose a fart, but this uptight drill sergeant would probably complain. 'Rest assured we're investigating,' he said, fed up with being grilled.
She uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. 'When you have something, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call.'
She handed him her card and left.
As soon as she got home she reviewed her files. She'd interviewed several people who'd known the first victim, Margarita Lynda, and they'd all spoken highly of her. According to her neighbours she was a hard-working woman with plenty of friends.
She'd also found out that Margarita was divorced and had lived by herself with no current boyfriend. The ex-husband was not a suspect because he'd died in a car accident six months ago.
According to her best friend, Margarita used to enjoy going to Country and Western clubs every Saturday night. It was an interesting lead. Maybe Margarita had met someone there. A man who'd followed her home... A stalker who preyed on women living by themselves.
The second victim, Stephanie Wolff, was a different case. A lesbian, with a tight circle of friends, she'd lived with her elderly mother and her only interest had been her work.
The only thing the two women had in common was that they'd both worked in the movie industry.
Gerda Hemsley, the third victim, didn't seem to tie in. She'd been a banking officer.
Kennedy hadn't questioned anyone about Gerda yet, but she planned on doing so.
Later she called Rosa. 'How about going line dancing one night?'
Rosa hooted with laughter. 'Line dancing?'
'You'll love it,' she assured her.
'Are there men there?'
'Cowboys.'
'OK, count me in.'
'I knew I could.'
'By the way,' Rosa added, 'I keep on forgetting to tell you.'
What?'
'I talked to Michael the other day.'
'Michael?'
'You know, that incredibly good-looking ex-detective I wanted to fix you up with?'
'Oh yes, another one of your fabulous blind dates.'
The funny thing is he doesn't want to go out with you either.'
Wow,' Kennedy said drily. 'I'm really heartbroken.'
Rosa laughed. 'Hmm... What can I tell you? You're probably perfect for each other.'
Too bad we'll never find out.'
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jordanna had never had a feeling like it. Standing in front of a camera with a crew watching her every move, being the centre of attention, becoming another character. It was the most dizzying, amazing, awesome experience. She felt important - really important - for the first time in her life. Never mind that she'd grown up on film sets, been surrounded by movie stars at home, this was the real thing, this was magic.
Bobby seemed pleased with her performance, so did Mac. They did several takes on both scenes, and then all too soon it was over.
'What happens next?' she asked Mac as they strolled from the set.
He threw his arm around her shoulders. 'We'll see how you come across, and if it works we'll show the test to the studio guys who'll make the final decision.'
'What do you think?' she asked hopefully. 'Have I got a chance?'
'This is a new you,' he replied affectionately. 'You actually sound vulnerable.'
'Sure I am,' she replied seriously. 'Why wouldn't I be?'
'Cause all I've ever seen is the other side of you. The tough biker chick image with hot and cold running guys.'
'I'm changing my life, Mac,' she said earnestly. 'I moved out of the pool house. I don't take money from Jordan any more. I'm finally getting it together.'
'That's good to hear. You know, Jordanna, I've always had a special feeling for you.'
She tried flirting in a jokey way.
'Special enough to put me in the movie?'
Shaking his head he laughed. 'Hey, c'mon, you know it's not up to me.'
She left the studio in a daze, trying to be cool but filled with great expectations. God! What would everyone say if she got the part. Jordan, Charlie, her friends, a legion of Midnight Cowboys with tight butts and hungry eyes. Wow! It would really blow everyone's mind.
And if she did get it, her life would change. She'd have a career, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. She would be somebody in her own right, not merely Jordan Levitt's daughter.
It occurred to her that because she was his daughter they might not take her seriously.
No. Had to think positively. She had a fair chance. Look at Bridget Fonda, Laura Dern, Anjelica Houston. Plenty of Hollywood kids made it, you just had to be prepared to try harder to prove your own worth. And she was ready to do that. She was really ready.
* * *
'Hey, kiddo.' Charlie was happily ensconced in front of his giant screen TV in the den while Sport played at his feet with a selection of toy soldiers. Dahlia was nowhere to be seen.
'Hi, Charlie,' she said evenly, wondering if he felt even the tiniest bit guilty about the previous evening.
He threw her a quizzical look. 'Mrs W tells me you didn't spend the night.'
'That's right.'
As if on cue Mrs Willet bustled into the room, picked up Sport and said, 'Time for this little man's dinner.'
'Good,' Charlie said, waiting until she was gone before returning his attention to Jordanna. 'Where were you?' he asked, using the remote to click off the TV.
'I had an appointment with sex.'
He chortled. 'You're pretty out there, kiddo.' A beat. 'Anyone I know?'
'Not your generation, Charlie.'
He scratched his head. 'A young one, huh?'
She wanted to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. 'Tight butt, hard dick. I needed to jog my memory.'
He took another long beat before replying. 'Sorry if you've got an attack of the damaged feelings, but I never promised you fidelity.'
'I know.'
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