Jeremy frowns, probably surprised by the sudden turn I’ve taken, and looks a bit longingly at the granite-topped bar behind us. We are all alone, so he can’t play off Sam, or distract me by luring others into the conversation.
“Lovey, I had nothing to do with that fiasco at the club. As for the movie star business, it gets old after awhile,” he says. “Once you realize the lifestyle comes at the cost of your privacy, yeah, I guess it feels like a golden cage. Certainly I’m not enjoying being stalked, but Porsche, once they see fear in your eyes, they own you. I won’t give them that victory, lovey!”
He practically sprints to the bar, opens the wine refrigerator and pulls out a bottle.
I walk over to take a seat in the high-backed chairs rimming the opulent counter. I run the tips of my fingers across the cool surface and see our reflections in its high sheen.
“Why, lovey, it’s getting to you, isn’t it? Darling, are you scared?”
“I’ve ever known, but I’ve never had my life threatened,” I say. “I don’t have people sabotaging my estate or trying to kidnap me. I don’t let myself get into those types of situations. I’m high-profile, but I’m not stupid. Jeremy, I don’t think your security people are doing a good job of protecting you. And the police do what they can, but you need more.”
Jeremy seems uncomfortable with what I’m saying and I truly don’t understand, so I go into therapist mode.
“Jeremy, didn’t you grow up on a farm or something? This must be quite a switch from home. I mean, do you ever get lonesome for your family? Do you get back to see them much?”
“My, my, lovey,” Jeremy says. “So curious!” He has lost his battle with his better judgment and is uncorking a bottle of sauvignon blanc. I idly note the year and vintner, Peter Michael, with approval.
“I get back now and then,” he says. “My mom lives outside Butte, Montana, on a little ranch she and my dad bought when they were first married. It’s just her now, so I try and keep an eye on her.”
“No brothers or sisters?” I ask, knowing the answer but wanting to hear his take on it.
Jeremy pours two glasses of wine, hands me one, and takes a sip of his own before answering.
“A sister and a brother, both older, but we’re not as close as I am to my mom. There’s a five-year gap between me and the next oldest, so I guess I was always a pain in the ass to them.”
A look crosses his face quickly—pain, perhaps? I can’t tell because it is gone and replaced almost instantly by Jeremy the Host.
“Sam tells me Scott brought your ferret and her cage down for the evening, said you insisted?”
I bristle just slightly, even though I know he’s trying to divert me off the subject of his childhood.
“Marlena and I go everywhere together. Besides, she needs human contact and your estate is not her home.”
“Now, lovey,” Jeremy remonstrates. “Consuela would’ve been only too happy to tend to your precious pet.”
I smile. “Now, Jeremy,” I parrot back. “You wouldn’t leave your best friend behind. I don’t see Sam sitting home tending to the ranch.”
Jeremy smiles. “Lovey, Sam’s human and he’s my personal manager. I could hardly leave him behind!”
It is my turn to appear puzzled. “I don’t get it,” I say slowly. “But then again, perhaps I do. Sam is from your hometown, right? I believe Andrea told me he was your drama teacher? Did you bring him out to Hollywood because he was someone you trusted?”
Jeremy looks toward the door, as if expecting Sam to materialize, or making sure that he didn’t before answering my question. When he speaks, his voice is so low I almost have to strain to hear the words.
“I guess I owe Sam a lot,” he says. “I was heading for trouble when he met me. I hated school, didn’t have any use for it. I hated the rules, hated the routine and most of all hated the busywork they handed out to keep us quiet and complacent. I got into Sam’s class when I shouldn’t have—I changed my schedule card from a ridiculous lifestyle skills class to introduction to theater arts. The rest, as we say in Hollywood, was history.”
Jeremy stares out at the hills behind me for a long moment and I know he’s not seeing them. He is drifting on a tide of long-ago memories and I capitalize on it.
“So drama wasn’t boring?” I ask softly.
“No,” he says, still staring out the window. “It was fucking amazing. I could be anyone, anywhere, in any time period. I could become someone else, live their life, and dream their dreams.”
“So it wasn’t Sam, per se, it was acting that saved you.”
Jeremy glances back at me sharply. “No, it was Sam.” He pronounces this flatly. It is fact in his mind. Sam saved him.
“How?”
Jeremy pours more wine into his almost empty glass and gives me an appraising look. “You’re really interested?”
“Absolutely. I find it amazing that someone can go from, shall we say, rags to riches, and still remember the folks back home.”
Jeremy laughs, but it is a short, sarcastic bark of a laugh and not at all gleeful.
“You had to know Sam back then,” he says. “He’s nothing like the man he was then. Ten years ago, Sam was on fire with teaching. He brought the world into the classroom, made us taste it, and taught us to believe in our various acting roles. He made it seem easy and I, for one, loved him for it. You don’t forget someone like that, no matter how big you get, or how far you travel.”
I stretch and push my glass forward for a refill.
“I would think it would be rather difficult to get a man like that to leave the classroom and move to Hollywood.”
Jeremy fills my glass and shakes his head softly. “I don’t think Sam cared where he was or who he was with when I went to get him,” he whispers. “His wife and daughter had been killed in a car accident the year before and Sam had pretty much been livin’ inside a bottle ever since their funeral.”
“So you went back and got him?”
Jeremy hunches his shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug and grins. “Come on, lovey,” he says. “Look at me. I need Sam far more than he needs me!”
As if on cue, Sam walks back into the room, shirt sleeves rolled up, hat and Western-cut suit jacket gone, clearly determined to have his say with his charge.
“I can’t hold them off any longer,” he says, removing the wineglass from Jeremy’s hand. “They’re waiting in the den with Scott. Go get it over with.”
Jeremy grins. “All right, Pa,” he says, in his country-hick voice. “I know—there’s cows need milkin’ and horses need feedin’. I’m a goin’!” He starts off, walking out from behind the bar and taking a half step away, then ducks back suddenly, plucking the glass back up from the bar where Sam has placed it and drains it in one fast gulp. “Jest needed a little fortification, that’s all!”
He grins, cackles manically, and practically dances from the room, leaving me alone with the cowboy.
Chapter 8
Sam and I are silent for a long moment after Jeremy leaves the room. The cowboy is busying himself cleaning up after his charge, while I stare out the window, secretly watching Sam’s reflection and trying to reconcile Jeremy’s portrayal of Sam with the bits and pieces of his personality I’ve been able to pick up on in the past two days. He is moody and compassionate; kind to those in pain, like Andrea, and distant to the rest of us. In fact, I realize as I stand there, that Sam has only been truly nice to me since learning of my father’s disappearance. Does this somehow make me “safe”? Am I a member of his club now, the grievously wounded by life’s capricious whims club?
“I suppose you’d like to see your guest suite?” Sam says.
I realize I have allowed myself to become swept up in the events of Jeremy’s hectic, rapid-paced life and have forgotten all about Marlena. Scott supposedly brought her down from the ranch in case we spent a few days in L.A. but I hadn’t remembered to even check on her!
Sam turns and I follow him down another long
carpeted hallway, watching the slight slump of his shoulders that makes me think he is as tired as I am. I am trying to think up something nice to say, something that doesn’t let on that I know now all about him and feel sorry for him, but he stops in front of a doorway before I can muster up anything other than, “Oh, here?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he says. He is leaning his arm up against the door frame and I realize he towers over me, even when I’m wearing four-inch heels.
“What is that?” I ask, aware of the ridiculous beating of my heart against my rib cage. Why does the man make me feel so nervous?
“That thing you did, walking up on the stage and grabbing the microphone—how did you come up with that?”
I laugh. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “I suppose I was desperate. I didn’t know who those women were and I knew we needed to get to Jeremy and Zoe. I didn’t know if it was a real emergency or not, but I’ve studied crowd behavior and I know how dangerous they can become. I guess I just decided to err on the side of caution and try and help out. I thought they’d take Jeremy out of the club if I didn’t come up with a distraction. I figured if I stopped even a few of them, the rest of you might be able to get to him.”
Sam nods slowly. “It was bizarre in there,” he says. “I don’t get this Hollywood bullshit. I saw the look on Jeremy’s face and I realized he was clearly terrified. He was calling out to Scott and Zoe was screaming her guts out. Scott couldn’t get through all those women and he couldn’t overreact and hurt one of them. It was just chaos. It got out of hand pretty quickly.”
“Sam,” I ask, looking directly into his eyes, “you think someone really is trying to hurt Jeremy, don’t you? You don’t think this is all part of the publicity sideshow do you?”
Sam doesn’t look away. For a moment he just looks at me, as if deciding something, and then he lets me in. “This isn’t a game, Porsche. Jeremy’s a rash, impulsive idiot at the best of times and self-destructive at worst, but he’s straightforward about it. If he’d set this up, he’d have told us.”
I nod. “I didn’t think he did,” I say softly. “But I wasn’t entirely sure.”
I am about to ask more questions but he preempts me.
“Better get your beauty sleep,” he says, pushing away from the door frame. “Leave the worrying to us professionals. Jeremy and you will both be safe. Your little visit is going to go off without another hitch, I promise. Nothing but happy trails ahead, ma’am. Good night!”
As I watch, his face becomes the impersonal mask of the courteous employee. Gone is the accessible moment, the connection between two like-minded individuals. I watch him walk away from me before turning the door handle and stepping into my suite for the night.
Marlena has been waiting for me and she is in a hell of a mood, shrieking, chattering and in general going on about how mistreated she’s been.
“Baby,” I croon, opening the cage door and pulling her out and up onto my shoulder. “Mommy is so-o-o sorry! I have missed you so-o-o much!”
Marlena is only slightly mollified by this. I must provide treats and kisses, which I do with tired abandon. Then I step into the bedroom and find myself smiling with approval. An antique four-poster canopy bed provides the focal point, with rich, brocade tapestry curtains draped to encase the regal bower of soft down pillows, velvet quilts and layers of sweetly scented, cotton sheets and fluffy blankets.
“Oh, Marlena, look!” I whisper.
On the bedside table there are all my favorite magazines—Paris Vogue, Vanity Fair and even the London Times newspaper. A tray is set with cookies and chocolates, bottled water and a carafe that, upon investigation, I find holds hot chocolate. It is perfect.
Along the wall, in a perfect line, are all of my suitcases. In the marble and brass bathroom I find my toiletries and lavender-scented towels warming on their rack beside the freshly filled and somehow still-hot tub.
“Oh, Marlena,” I purr. “Mommy thinks this job is maybe not so bad!”
Marlena isn’t at all sure the fuss is worth it. She scampers down onto the bed and curls into a little ball, content to watch me as I undress and slip into my bath.
I lean back, rest my head on the cushioned bath pillow, and begin to plot tomorrow’s course of action. The celebrity event and, of course, the Oscars and all the celebrations surrounding it, require that I make sure Kristy Burke back at Gotham Central will be sending the appropriate gowns and accessories, immediately. Jeremy’s situation demands that I start narrowing down the field of suspects, so I make a mental note to call Andrea and ask her to come to lunch with me. I have quite a few questions for her, and there is no longer any time to waste.
I now believe, as does Sam, that Jeremy is not trying to stage these attacks as a cry for attention. I think someone really wants to hurt Jeremy and I am beginning to think Emma’s presence will be more helpful than I was willing to admit to myself earlier.
I step out of the bath and prepare for bed. A sense of relief washes over me as I begin to think about how well Emma and I will work together. But I must have a plan. For a start, I will begin looking for people who might wish Jeremy harm. I am thinking it may be someone who knows him, knows his schedule and might have access to the estate. This feels like the easiest answer and it’s always best to start with the simple scenarios and work outward. I position Marlena’s tiny sleep mask over her eyes before lying back and slipping on my own. I fall asleep smiling and don’t awaken until the shrill ringing of my cell phone interrupts a lovely dream I am having about Valentino and Ralph Lauren. They are fighting over which gown I will wear to the Oscars.
“What? Hello?” I mumble into the phone.
I hear squeaking, realize I am holding it upside down, and quickly reverse the phone to fit my ear. I do not remove my sleep mask because I am seriously hoping it is all a dream. Surely I haven’t been asleep for more than twenty minutes.
“Porsche? Wake up!”
It is Renee and she sounds uncharacteristically stressed.
“What time is it?”
“Sorry, darling, it’s eight a.m., my time, so that’s five a.m. yours.”
“No-o-o! Let me sleep!”
“This is important, dear,” she says firmly, and I push the eye shades up onto my forehead.
“All right. Talk.”
Marlena whines in her sleep, burrows deeper into the covers beside me and snores on, her eye mask untouched, her beauty rest undisturbed.
“I’ve spoken with Emma and there’s a problem.”
I sit up in bed, wide-awake now. “Problem? What sort of problem?”
“Well, she’s in the middle of something and can’t break away for another two or three days. She may be able to make it in time for CeCe’s party, but that depends on some very fluid factors.”
“Fluid factors?” I echo, confused.
Renee is clearly not going to tell me any more than she already has about Emma’s situation because she goes right on as if I hadn’t asked. “So, I suppose you’ll get your wish. You’ll get to press on without her for a couple of days. I’d send someone else, but I’m afraid at the moment we’re all a bit jammed with this…situation. Will you be all right, dear?”
I’ll show Renee she can count on me. I’ll do my job and Emma’s, too. I’ll know who’s threatening Jeremy and perhaps even eliminate the risk. Of course, this is getting a little carried away and I realize the fact before I speak.
“Renee, don’t worry about me. I am fairly certain that Jeremy isn’t behind the events of the past few weeks and has probably just provoked someone who wants to get his attention, that’s all. I mean, none of the attempts has actually hurt him, and he’s added additional security personnel, so I think we can relax a little bit.”
Renee expels a sigh of relief. “Good! Now, of course, if the situation changes, call me and I’ll work something out. Remember, you are there to assess the level of danger to Mr. Reins, nothing more. I do not, under any circumstances, want you
placing yourself in jeopardy nor taking any unnecessary risks, do you understand?”
What am I going to say? I reassure her every which way I can that I would never dream of doing any such thing and hang up. Then I lie awake for another two hours, making out my virtual will and planning my funeral because of course, I do exactly intend to move heaven and earth to find out who is after Jeremy and then take care of the problem. I’ll show that cowboy and everybody else who thinks socialites can’t do anything except dole out money. I think I will make a spectacular Gotham Rose!
I roll over and fall back into a dreamless sleep, only awakening when Marlena insists, hours later, that I feed her. Marlena only has her best interests at heart, I know, but she is a lifesaver.
“Baby, how did it get so late?” I ask, pouring her favorite kitty kibble into a china saucer. It is almost 10:00 a.m., California time. Jeremy will be long gone to the studio, probably Sam in tow to keep an eye on him.
I walk into the living area of my suite and find a tray with a carafe of coffee, fresh fruit and an assortment of breakfast pastries and yogurt, along with a note.
“Andrea will be by to pick you up for lunch,” it reads. “She’ll bring you back out to the ranch later. I’ll take care of your bags and the overgrown rodent.” Sam, displaying his moronic sense of humor, I suppose. Rodent! Really!
I don’t have time to think about the cowboy, I tell myself, and rush about getting ready for a day of hard physical labor. Shopping really takes it out of a woman. There are so many decisions, so many…issues; like accessories and borrowed jewelry and coordination. I mean, one must be original and smashing and, above all else, gorgeous. My hand flies to my head and I moan—my hair, who will Kristy find to do my hair? Does she have someone in L.A.? What if I have to take care of these arrangements myself?
Given Andrea’s recent emotional trauma I am expecting no back-up support from her, but to my surprise, when she arrives to pick me up, Andrea is back to her normal self. In fact, she seems almost serene. What is this?
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