You Don't Know Me

by Nancy Bush

  “Would she?” Irony deepened the lines beside his mouth.

  Hayley managed a faint smile, realizing she honestly didn’t know.

  She found herself comparing him to Connor. As handsome as he was, Callahan couldn’t quite match that smoldering something that Connor Jackley possessed. At least not for her. Callahan was direct and tough and moved with that slow-walkin’, slow-talkin’ cowboy way, but Hayley was more seduced by Connor Jackley’s laconic comments and quiet intensity.

  She shivered involuntarily. But you couldn’t trust men. Not any of them. “You might have to apply some pressure, but she’d tell you the truth eventually.”

  “Denise isn’t good with the truth.” His hands tightened on the wheel, and his jaw muscles tautened reflexively. Hayley realized he was under some severe emotion where Denise was concerned. So what else was new?

  “She’s so screwed up, she’ll never be right,” he went on, as if she’d asked. “I don’t give a damn about her childhood. It’s too popular these days to blame everything on events from your past. Lots of people have been abused.”

  “I hate thinking about Thomas Daniels,” she admitted tautly.

  That got a look from him. His brows drew together and she thought he was going to ask her something else, but he changed his mind.

  And then they were at their destination. Titan Studios.

  “What are we doing here?” she demanded, nearly jumping from her skin.

  “I’ve got a meeting with the head of the studio, Rodney Walburn.”

  Rod? The color emptied from Hayley’s cheeks. Oh, God, no!

  “I can call you a cab. This might take a while.” He smiled as the guard waved him through the gates. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t really in the mood.”

  Hayley’s pulse jumped erratically. She was inside the studio lot. “No, I’ll wait.” She was safe unless Rodney decided to leave his air-conditioned environs to walk John to his car. No chance of that . . . was there?

  Thirty minutes later she got her answer. Walburn himself waddled John back to the Land Rover. Alarmed, Hayley glanced around frantically wondering where to hide. If he recognized her from his private party . . .

  Oh, shit!

  John introduced them. “Hayley Scott, Rodney Walburn.”

  Walburn managed to pull his lips into a smile. His hair was as neatly gelled as before. Hayley inwardly shuddered as she shook his hand. Her own was ice cold.

  His mean, little eyes swept over her. “You remind me of someone.”

  Hayley gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. Time to act, and give an award-winning performance. Her heart hammered. “Oh?”

  John snorted. “She looks like Denise,” he clipped out.

  “Oh, yes.” He glanced past her, back to John. Hayley’s slamming heart slowed down. “Good to be working together, John,” he said. “I like the deal. Fuck, it’s the best in town. You know it, I know it. You’re such a son of a bitch, you don’t deserve it!” He laughed with forced heartiness. “Any other problems you’ve got, bring ’em to me. I’ll take care of them for you, you know that. Who’ve you got for the lead? You know who comes to mind, don’t you?”

  “Denise,” John offered flatly.

  “Yeah, she’s a fuckin’ bitch, but you know she’s big box office. I don’t have to tell you.”

  His language hadn’t improved much, Hayley silently observed.

  Callahan responded with a terse good-bye as he climbed in the driver’s seat of the Land Rover. If she’d thought he looked severe before, she hadn’t known what the word meant. He didn’t bother to wave as he tore away from Walburn.

  “Nice guy,” she observed.

  “I got what I wanted.”

  “Really? How do you look when you lose?”

  “I don’t lose,” he told her flatly. “Not to Titan.”

  With that they wheeled out of the lot and headed back to his production offices. “What is it exactly that you want?” he asked her.

  Time for the big plunge. “A part in Blackbird.”

  “Uh-huh.” He was surprised only by her candor, not her request. “And if I don’t give you one?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me a tale about being Denise’s sister, then you ask for a part. Which tabloid will you call first and what wild story can I expect to see if I don’t take you seriously?”

  “You think I’d blackmail you for a part?”

  “Yep.”

  “All I want you to do is look at this audition.” Feeling deflated, she pulled the DVD from her purse.

  “I have a casting director,” he replied.

  “Then give it to them,” Hayley said with a return of spunk. “I’m good at what I do. Damn good. All I want is a chance, whether you believe I’m Denise’s sister or not.”

  They pulled to a screeching halt in front of his production offices. John sighed and shot a glance at the determined young beauty in the seat opposite him. She could be Denise’s sister; they certainly looked enough alike, but hell, with enough plastic surgery, everyone in Hollywood was a clone.

  He accepted the DVD from her outstretched hand with a certain weariness. The lengths people went to never ceased to amaze him. One guy had parachuted into a special preproduction party for Cosmo wearing a pair of suspenders, green Speedo trunks, and army boots, and singing “What the World Needs Now Is Love.” He’d tossed an audition video John’s way as he was led out by security.

  He had balls, but no talent. John expected more of the same here.

  “This might have worked better for you if I were fonder of my ex-wife.”

  “Don’t judge me before you’ve looked,” she replied. Sketching a wave, she departed to a dilapidated Chevy, which wheezed and backfired its way out of the lot.

  John watched her moodily, his mind already twisting to more painful thoughts. Denise. He’d pushed her out of the house and she’d left in a fine rage that had pinkened her skin and turned her aquamarine eyes to glittering gems of repressed fury. He’d then drunk himself into a stupor, paid the price by suffering mightily the next day with a queasy stomach and unsteady hands, growled at the sympathetic gofers at his office, then done his damnedest to forget.

  One look at this Hayley person, however, and he was done for. Snap decision. Invite her along. Pump her for information.

  What information? What? He knew too damn much about Denise already and he didn’t believe for a minute that this look-alike was really related to her. No. It had been grasping at straws. The wispiest, most fluttery, unattainable straws. This is what he’d been reduced to, just because she’d gotten under his skin, made him believe she’d changed, then sunk right back to her old habits so quickly and thoroughly that he’d felt like she’d ripped out his insides and left a hollow shell.

  Well, the hell with her. And the hell with this Hayley, too.

  Striding down the hall to his office, he tossed the DVD in the direction of one of his assistants.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “An audition video.”

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Send it to casting.”

  “Is it someone you recommend?” she yelled after him as he crossed the threshold to his office.

  John didn’t bother answering. Slamming the door, he slumped down in his chair, mentally swore at himself for being such a fool for love, then picked up the phone and called Frank Carello, Blackbird’s director.

  “Dr. Stone’s unavailable at the moment. If you leave your name and number he’ll call you back.”

  The receptionist’s voice was bored and disinterested. Dinah considered, then decided against leaving any information. It would be simpler just to see the good doctor, maybe catch him off guard. He could lead her to Denise faster than anyone, were he so inclined. Failing that, she’d have to hire a private investigator because Lambert Wallace of Beverly Hills was a well-kept secret, which Dinah Scott couldn’t solve unless she gave away her identity—and that she
wasn’t willing to do.

  Dinah exhaled wearily. She’d been summarily tossed out and now she was staying at this modest-rate motel, about the only thing she could afford, and wondering what the hell to do first.

  Bobo mewed and jumped from the edge of the bed, trotting her way and rubbing his head against Dinah’s leg. Absently, Dinah bent over to pet him. Her one reminder of life with His Highness.

  So what next?

  Doodling on the motel notepad, Dinah circled and re-circled Dr. Hayden Stone’s name and office address. There were several doctors named Stone, three of them psychiatrists. Dinah wasn’t really sure which one was the doctor Carolyn Lenton had referred to, but she had no intention of calling back and asking her. Carolyn would know she wasn’t Denise, and Dinah was unwilling to subject Denise to the public scrutiny that would follow the revelation that she had a secret twin sister. Too many questions would follow. Too many threads to the past.

  That could all come later. Or better yet, not at all.

  From the notepad, Dinah’s gaze switched to her laptop where the text from her latest column, “The Myth of Sexual Freedom,” glimmered in silvery waves at her. Its message: beware of letting emotion rule common sense and risking pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease. Its subtext: it can happen to anyone, even the most highly educated and motivated, if you let yourself believe the fantasy, even for a second.

  Her own mistake lay heavy on her heart. Yet, foolishly, but with painful reality, another part of herself didn’t care. Didn’t care! Because it was John Callahan and she loved him. The stupidest reason of all. Truly high school. Truly fatalistic. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet mentality, which was the scourge of truth.

  What we do for love, she berated herself, angry and shocked. She was smart. She was cool. She was in control.

  “Oh, God . . .”

  She knew with dreadful certainty that she would sleep with him again. The recognition of her own lovesick craziness robbed her of strength. If this was how she felt, what hope was there for those millions of starry-eyed romantics who turned themselves over to their lovers, body and soul?

  So what answer was there?

  No answer. Not when an individual was in the throes of love and lust. So this week’s column held a real message. Know thyself. Know thy own weaknesses.

  Well, she was getting a damn good look at herself and she didn’t like what she saw.

  But for her, Dinah Scott, it was a moot point. John had thrown her out. Correction: Denise out. And that was the end of that. Now she had to pick up the pieces and sort out what she wanted. No easy task.

  So on to Dr. Hayden Stone and the rest of the shrinks and finding Denise. In fact, the need to see her sister was growing to monstrous proportions. When they’d fled Wagon Wheel, it was tacitly understood they would all split up and forge separate lives. Dinah had reinforced the notion, though pushing Hayley out of the nest so early hadn’t set well. But then Hayley hadn’t handled Dinah’s relationship with Glen well (her younger sister was smarter than ever credited), and she’d left when Dinah moved in with him.

  Now it was time to get together again. At least it was for Dinah.

  Damage control. If they didn’t get their stories straight, who knew what could happen?

  So thinking, she went online to find the business addresses of the erstwhile shrinks named Stone of Greater Los Angeles. She would start with the closest and work her way out.

  Maybe her next column would be: “How to Introduce Yourself to a Man with Credentials.”

  Or, better yet, “Stalking the Big Bucks via a Man with a Medical Degree.”

  It was sad how many women readers lived for that advice.

  But maybe it was safer than chasing after love.

  “Take that doughnut out of your mouth and pay attention, Gus,” Connor drawled, listening to the sheriff munch away on the other end of the line.

  “It’s carrots. The wife’s got me on a diet.”

  “More like carrot cake.”

  “No, seriously. She’s worried I’m working too hard. We’re on this friggin’ campaign to lose weight and she means it. The woman’s downright nasty when she wants to be.”

  Gus? Working too hard? Connor pictured his cozy little, slightly rundown environs and decided right then and there that he was quitting L.A. and the whole stinking rat race and moving back to Oregon. With his L.A.P.D. credentials, he ought to be able to find something in a snap. And if not, who cared? He’d grown up ranching; he’d go back to it if law enforcement fell through.

  “So how’s the Daniels investigation going up there?” Connor asked.

  Gus chewed noisily. “Truth?”

  Connor grunted his assent.

  “Let me tell you what’s been happenin’ since you left. I got some boys here who played tag with a .22. One blew his friend dead away by mistake. Families devastated all around. And then we caught ourselves a little drug lab workin’ overtime last week with some kids from good families. And there’s the usual Saturday night brawls from weekend cowboys. And I got me a principal accused of improper relations with a student.”

  “So the Daniels murder’s on the back burner,” Connor concluded.

  “It’s a slow simmer,” Gus admitted. “But the investigation’s still open, of course.”

  Connor thought about Hayley Scott’s blue eyes, the determined thrust of her chin, and the overall sense of needing and wanting she emoted without being aware of it.

  “I’ll keep checking.”

  “No hurry,” said Gus.

  Connor grimaced as he hung up. No hurry? Then why did he feel as if he were sitting on a time bomb?

  “You sure as hell’ve got balls,” Jason snarled, looking superior behind Stanbury’s counter, as if he were King of the New World.

  “I need a job. I’ll be better. I promise I’ll be to work on time,” Hayley told him.

  “Bullshit.”

  “God’s honest truth.”

  She pleaded silently. Why she’d stooped to coming back to Jason was a bit of a mystery, but after interviewing at several other places, and having one man, if you could believe it, ask her if she’d ever considered another profession, his hand drifting down her arm as he leered, Hayley wondered if her street time might not be catching up with her. The guy sure as hell didn’t mean an acting job. And he did look a little familiar.

  So back to Jason. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

  “Make yourself useful,” he muttered harshly, showing a rare side of compassion. He’d been mad enough to commit murder when he’d fired her.

  She hid a smile as she accepted a Stanbury’s black apron. Jason, the bastard, was still one of the few men she actually trusted. A sad, sad state of affairs.

  At break, she wandered into Jason’s office for some privacy and placed a call on her cell phone. He caught her and read her the riot act, proceeding to tongue-lash her so thoroughly, she almost quit on the spot.

  “Sorry I stepped into your private space,” she told him tartly.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Still gonna be a famous actress?”

  Hayley narrowed her eyes and glared furiously. No one messed with her dream. No one.

  The truth was she’d called Callahan Productions and was lucky enough to get Tonja on the line. Her old buddy was starting to irritate her, however, because Tonja, now that she sensed her job was secure, had pretty much decided to dump Hayley.

  “I’ll buy you lunch,” she’d promised Tonja, who’d tried a dozen ways to say no before finally caving in.

  Of course, now Hayley had to leave Stanbury’s in the middle of her shift.

  Pressing fingers to a spot above her left eye, she moaned, “I’m going to have to get this sinus infection taken care of before it puts me in a coffin.”

  Jason snorted. “You’ve worked exactly four hours. A record for you, I believe.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Jason.”

>   “Leave now, and leave for good.”

  “I’m taking a lunch break,” Hayley told him. “I’ll be back even if I feel near collapse, because that’s the kind of employee I am.”

  Expelling a sound of pure disgust, he stomped off.

  “I’ll be back even if I get run over by a truck!” she added for good measure.

  It wasn’t any fun unless you pushed the bastard to the limit.

  Tonja was waiting outside the building, looking pissed. She swung into Hayley’s Rent-A-Wreck, the corners of her mouth bending down further, a nearly impossible task given how high her nose was pointed skyward.

  “I really hate being pressured,” she complained as they drove to a tiny restaurant that was big into chicken avocado burgers and sprouts. True Californian fare, though Hayley, raised in central Oregon, still believed in beef.

  It was time for some home truths. “Tonja, who gave you the courage to get a job with Callahan Productions?”

  “What do you mean?” She squirmed.

  “I told you about Callahan, about my plans, about everything. Now you want to shut me out.”

  “You think I owe you something?” she screeched, incensed. Overacting, Hayley thought. No wonder Tonja had chosen the production side.

  “You didn’t give him the audition video. I had to do it myself.”

  “I gave it to him,” she insisted. “I put it on his desk.”

  “Whatever. I had to give him another copy, okay? All you gotta do is make sure he views it. Think you can manage that?”

  Hayley chased lettuce around on her plate with a fork, eyeing Tonja. She didn’t expect to have friends. Friends cost too much thought and energy, and then they stabbed you in the back anyway. You could only rely on yourself. Period.

  But she did expect payback. And Hayley had felt sorry for Tonja when she’d met the down-on-her-luck screenwriter-cum-waitress who’d been turned down by Jason when she’d applied for a job at Stanbury’s. So Hayley had wheedled and cajoled until Tonja was finally hired, then Hayley had pointed her in the direction of Callahan Productions and Tonja had been overjoyed when she’d gotten her first lowlier-than-low position.