“Okay, whatever drugs they’re giving you, I want some,” I say when we’re seated on the outdoor patio at The Ivy.
Andrea smiles, letting her gaze wander around the patio of the small cottage restaurant and nodding to a few people who wave and seem happy to see her. I lean back in my seat, sheltered by the cozy white umbrella overhead, and wait for her attention to turn back to me.
“Mark’s drug test results came back,” she murmurs. “It was positive.”
“Andrea,” I say, leaning forward, “what are you talking about? What drug test?”
The waiter appears beside the table and it is all I can do not to scream because I want to know so badly and will now have to wait.
“Two juleps,” Andrea says softly, and the waiter disappears, but reappears almost as quickly with two mint-sprigged drinks.
“House specialty,” Andrea says, indicating the drinks, and I want to strangle her.
“Who cares about the drinks?” I hiss across the table. “What drug test?”
“The other night, when Mark drove off and left, after…well, you know. He went straight to his doctor, called him on the way back into town, and demanded that he meet him at his office and do a drug test. It was positive for Ecstasy.”
I felt one skeptical eyebrow shoot up involuntarily.
Andrea sips her drink and holds up one well-manicured hand, warding off what we both know is the obvious barrage of questions I’m just dying to unleash.
“I know—you want to know how he could’ve been that high and still driven, let alone had the forethought to call his doctor.”
“Well?” I demand.
She shrugs. “He says by the time the police left, he was feeling more alert. Apparently Mark realized Diane must have slipped him something.”
I am frowning harder now. “So, is he going to press charges?”
Andrea shakes her head. “No, but I wouldn’t try getting a job in the business if I were Diane,” she says. “Mark’s word is golden in the business. No one will work with her.”
I lean back against the soft cushioned back of my chair and study the woman across the table from me. If I found myself in her situation, would I be as cool and forgiving? I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine not wanting to personally exact revenge, on someone, either my husband or the woman involved.
“So, Mark says ‘Hey, she slipped me something,’ and that’s it? You forgive him and go on just like that?”
Andrea shrugs. “Pretty much.” She meets my gaze, her wide blue eyes darkening with intensity. “Porsche, it’s different in Hollywood. The rules are different, the entire game is different. You can’t understand and I wouldn’t expect you to unless you lived and worked here. Besides,” she says with a tight-lipped smile, “what goes around comes around. Diane’ll get hers, don’t you worry.”
Andrea laughs and it sounds genuine, which makes me laugh along with her before I remember that I am panicked.
“Andrea, I haven’t heard a word from Kristy in New York. Renee assured me that she would be taking care of my gowns and accessories, but I don’t know if that means she’ll be arranging for me to have my hair and makeup done or…”
She interrupts me with a reassuring pat of the hand. “Porsche, darling, don’t worry. I forgot to tell you, Kristy called. We’re meeting my stylist today at three. She’s already talked with Kristy and the two of them picked out some lovely gowns for you to try. Someone from Harry’s is coming, too, you know, for the jewelry. Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“But, my hair and my…”
Andrea smiles. “Like I said, Porsche, this is Hollywood. We do things differently here. Relax, everything has been taken care of. Trust me!”
And I do because I like Andrea, I really do, but I still can’t rule her out as a suspect. And what had she meant that Diane would “get hers?”
When we arrive back at the Paradise Ranch, exhausted but triumphant, I find a short note taped to Marlena’s cage. It is in Sam’s handwriting and reads, “I need to see you alone. I have something for you. S.”
Something for me? I open the cage doorway and Marlena scampers into my arms and up onto my shoulders. “What does the cowboy have for Mommy?” I ask the disgruntled ferret. But if Marlena knows, she’s not telling.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Let’s go see the nice man who has something for Mommy. If Mommy doesn’t like her present, I promise, you may bite him.”
When I find him, Sam is sitting out by the pool, reading. He looks up as I approach and indicates a chair next to him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, when Marlena and I sit down. “I took the liberty of following up on our talk last night.” I must look puzzled because he prompts me. “You know, about losing your father?”
A sudden sense of dread overwhelms me. “What have you done?” I ask quietly, fighting to control my voice.
“Well, you seemed pretty upset about not being able to find your Dad and that P.I. of yours coming to a dead end, so I called a buddy of mine up that way. He’s retired state patrol.” Sam frowns. “You know, he found your father right off. I don’t know why the guy you hired him couldn’t locate him.”
Probably because I made that part up, I scream silently.
“You found my father?” My voice cracks on the word father and for a second my throat feels funny, like it’s closing up on me.
Sam reaches over and hands me a piece of paper. “That’s his address and phone number. Jeremy and Zoe are editing all day tomorrow, so they’ll be working. There are no social activities on tomorrow’s calendar, so you’re free all day.”
I look at him, not comprehending what he’s trying to tell me.
“I can take you up there, if you’d like,” he says. “It’s a little less than an hour away. It’s a real nice little town—a lot of celebrities have their mountain get-away cabins in the hills around Carlito.”
The world is moving too fast now. It’s one thing to know about my father, but confronting him is quite another. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he really is a horrible person and not at all the laughing man of my memories? Furthermore, I have a job to do. I have to stay close to Jeremy. I can’t go running off to see my long lost father!
I jump up and Marlena almost bounces off my neck. She digs her little claws into my cashmere Mizrahi shrug and emits a series of frightened squeaks.
“Thank you,” I say, in a voice that doesn’t even resemble me. “I believe Andrea said she’s booked us in at Skin Spa, so tomorrow’s looking kind of full.”
Sam is watching my hands and when I look down, I see that I have twisted the piece of paper he’s given me into a tight coil.
“If you change your mind,” he says, “just let me know. My apartment is above the stables, or you can call on the house extension.” When I forget to acknowledge this, he continues. “I hope I haven’t upset you. I guess I was thinking you’d be glad to know he isn’t really lost.”
I try and snap back into some semblance of composure. I straighten up and smile politely. “Of course you haven’t upset me,” I say. “I’m just surprised that’s all. I never thought you would…” And to my absolute horror, my voice fails and I burst into tears!
Sam is up and out of his chair. He moves to touch my arm, and Marlena apparently remembers my instructions because she strikes, sinking her needle-sharp little teeth right into Sam’s wrist.
“Ouch!” Sam pulls his arm back and is shaking it vigorously.
“Are you all right?” I cry and try to step toward him but he sees Marlena, still hissing, and backs away.
Lights go on in the bar area as the French doors to the dining room are suddenly flung open. Jeremy, Zoe, Mark, Andrea and an assortment of other guests spill out onto the patio just in time to catch Sam hopping around like a lunatic. Everyone stops and just stares, watching as I pursue Sam and he tries to get away.
“Is that blood?” I hear Zoe ask. “Oh, my God, he’s bleeding!”
&n
bsp; “What is going on?” Mark asks. “Someone get the man a towel.”
A woman shrieks. “She’s got a rat around her neck! Help her!”
This stops me. I step back and Sam stops twirling. We both look at the horrified faces of the small crowd around us and after a long moment of absolute silence, Sam begins laughing. It is not the hysteria of a terrified victim. It is a genuine laugh of deep amusement, and when I realize this, I begin to laugh, too. So, of course, we look like two absolute loons.
Jeremy is the one who saves the situation. He laughs and keeps right on walking over to the bar where he begins pulling out bottles and lining up glasses.
“Obviously we have some catching up to do!” he cries, and begins asking for drink orders. The others follow Jeremy in a swarm, leaving Sam and me to compose ourselves. Consuela materializes silently from her hiding place in the kitchen, a white towel and first-aid kit in her plump, sturdy hands.
“Marlena’s had all of her shots,” I say tentatively. “I don’t think she really meant to bite you. Ferrets are very smart creatures. She apparently thought you meant me harm and so she was trying to defend me. I feel just awful!”
Sam shifts his attention to Marlena, who still isn’t at all sure about our situation. “Is that how it was, weasel?” he asks softly. “You’re a trained attack-rodent?”
“Ferrets are not rodents,” I correct. “They are from the Mustelidae family—genus Mustela. Their relatives are the badger, otter, mink and…” I don’t finish the family roster, because I suddenly remember the weasel is included and do not want Sam calling my precious a weasel.
“So,” Sam says, nodding, “another example of what pedigree can do for you, huh?”
I know he is maligning my privileged background and ignore his attempt to bait me.
“I’d better take Marlena back to her cage,” I say. “We really are sorry.” I turn away, but not before Sam notices that once again my eyes have started leaking. Honestly, it must be a hormonal thing, I reason. There is absolutely no reason to be this upset. I’ve seen Sam’s wrist and Marlena barely broke the skin. Okay, well, at least he doesn’t need stitches!
“Porsche,” he says. “Wait!”
But I don’t wait. I can’t stand here another second feeling like a pimple-faced wallflower at a school dance. I just need to be alone. I need to think and I need to figure out what I’m going to do with the piece of white paper that I have managed to hang on to throughout the crazy events of the last few minutes.
I reach the guest cottage, put Marlena in her cage, walk back outside and try to calm down. I am sitting on the cottage patio for the longest time, but I feel as if I’m going to jump out of my skin. I stare out at the starlit sky in front of me.
“Porsche?” Andrea’s voice startles me and I jump.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
Andrea gives me a funny look and sits down in the Adirondack chair next to mine. She is holding a champagne flute and takes a long sip before she starts talking.
“So, what’s with you and Sam?” she asks quietly.
“Nothing!” I say a bit too loudly.
“Porsche,” Andrea admonishes. “Don’t go Hollywood on me. What is it?”
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” she says. “There’s this…current between the two of you. I mean, it’s obvious—something’s going on…”
She lets her voice trail off and I could swear she looks almost, well, wounded. I feel torn between spilling my guts and playing it cool. This lasts for about three seconds and then I feel the words welling up inside me. I’m like the Crespi fountain in Italy, spilling over with every drop of information and unable to stop myself.
“I mean, I suppose it’s wonderful that he’s found my father, but I don’t know if I want to…I mean, something like that is sort of…well, private. What if…”
“What if he’s a complete loss and there you are with Sam, a relative stranger, albeit an attractive one, and you feel exposed?” she finishes.
“Exactly! And then there’s Jeremy,” I add. “I am not here to take care of my personal business. I am here to find out…”
“Whether Jeremy’s pulling a stunt or not, and I think you’ve done that,” Andrea finishes. “I mean, didn’t the last few nights rule that out for you?”
I can’t tell her I want to find out who’s behind all of this. What if she calls Renee? Renee would have my head if she thought I were not waiting for Emma and instead doing more than my assigned task.
“Right,” I say and feel very uncomfortable lying to my new friend.
Andrea pushes her hand deep into her pocket, pulls out her car keys and hands them to me.
“Here. I won’t need my car tomorrow. Take the keys.” When I frown, she adds, “Don’t worry that something will happen and you’ll miss it. Scott’s got the place crawling with extra security and the cops have been here off and on all day, completing their investigation. Only a fool would try something now.”
Maybe her reassurance is what makes me reach for the key and slip it inside the pocket of my black Armani jeans. After all, Andrea is right, a person would have to be insane to try and attack Jeremy with the estate so well-guarded.
Besides, Carlito is only an hour away. I’d only be gone for three hours and I’ll leave early, before the others are even up. What could happen in three short hours?
Chapter 9
Marlena and I are so sleepy! Actually, I am the one who’s tired, but Marlena feels my pain. She is sitting beside me in Andrea’s green Jaguar convertible, wearing her dark glasses, too. I pick up my cup of Starbucks Café Verona and bring it slowly to my lips. The entire night was filled with anxieties. I couldn’t seem to shut my mind off. I worried about Jeremy, sorting through the list of suspects endlessly. I got stuck when I reached Sam’s name and obsessed about my feelings for him until dawn, it seemed. Then I worried about meeting my father after so many years. What was I going to say, “Hello, what’s new?” I take another sip of coffee. Ahead of me, at the end of a dusty cul-de-sac, up a winding, tree-lined driveway, sits my father’s trailer.
I turn to Marlena and whisper, “You know, I’ve always thought trailers to be quite romantic. Like tree houses for grown-ups, or paper plates instead of china. It’s all so…disposable, you know? You pick them up and plop them down and when you’re done, you just toss them out! And so cozy, too!”
Marlena sighs and nuzzles the leather seat.
“You know they’ve got almost everything in them these days,” I add, “even fireplaces and Jacuzzi tubs.” I chew my bottom lip and look at Marlena. “I know what you’re thinking, you know, and you’re quite wrong. I am not stalling. I’m just waiting to make sure he’s up.”
The sun is directly overhead making the early awakening theory just a tad lame, but I am desperate. I want some sort of sign that what I’m about to do is right. After all, I know about psychological trauma, and being rejected by two fathers, one biological and one a stepfather, couldn’t bode well for my mental health.
“We must keep our expectations low,” I warn Marlena.
She isn’t paying a bit of attention to my case of nerves. She has jumped up onto the dash and is quivering with ill-concealed excitement. Standing in the middle of the gravel driveway is a huge, long-necked, white fur ball on four spindly legs. I squint, then pull my sunglasses down and squint harder. Too small to be a camel.
“Why, Marlena, I think that’s a llama! Oh, look, baby! He’s the same color as you!”
The voice inside my head wakes up and takes over. There’s your sign, princess, it squawks. Now let’s get going and get this over with!
I slip the car into Drive and begin to slowly edge my way up the driveway. The llama watches us with a disinterested expression on its face, apparently not inclined to move out of our way. I stop a few yards away from the animal and turn to Marlena.
“Now what?” I say. “Do you spe
ak llama?”
Marlena begins chattering and squeaking away, running from her seat to my lap and back to the dashboard again in a frenzy of excitement. She’s spotted something else. A huge white duck waddles out to join the llama, followed by what appears to be her entire brood. As we watch, a large mutt appears and joins the crowd of onlookers. The menagerie is just standing there, unmoving, and I am feeling distinctly nervous. There is absolutely no sign that any human is in charge of this zoo.
“I think maybe we should blow the horn or something,” I tell Marlena. I actually get ready to press the heel of my hand to the midsection of the steering wheel before second-guessing myself and letting my hand fall back onto the gearshift.
We are at an impasse. I pick up my Starbucks cup and take a sip to reassure myself that I have not left civilization as we know it. I find myself smiling nervously at the stone-faced llama and have to stop myself from waving a little “hello” wave.
Finally I can wait no longer.
“Marlena, baby, I want you to stay here like a good girl. In fact—” I lean down and open the door to her kitty carrier “—I want you to wait in here, just to be safe.”
Marlena needs a little shove of encouragement to crawl into her carrier and tells me, in no uncertain terms, that she thinks I’m being unfair, but I only have her best interest at heart. The dog looks hungry.
I cut the engine, slip the keys into my jeans pocket and open the driver’s side door.
“They’re just animals,” I tell myself. “Sweet, little animals.”
Another dog picks this moment to wander out from behind the trailer, breaking into a trot as it realizes there’s action on the front drive. This dog doesn’t look hungry. It looks like a crazed maniac. It is three times the size of the shaggy-haired mutt and I am certain that it is at least half wolf.
“Nice doggie,” I say softly.
The big dog joins the others. It doesn’t bark or growl or do anything other than sit down beside the duck family and pant.
I take one slow step toward the crowd of animals.
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