Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  She gave him the finger and kept on dancing. She and Art had shown up two hours late and in Jack’s Mercedes. Mary had made some excuse about Art coming to her rescue when she needed to get away.

  “Could we get it together here?” He pummeled his fist on a trestle table loaded with props. “We’re going to have to use our time, people.”

  Her face flushed, Mary stopped in front of him. “The truth is we can’t afford to waste time, darling. I say we go in tomorrow with a guest host. Me. Polly’s sick. We pride ourselves on real themes, let’s give ’em a real, real theme. Polly’s sick and we’re all worried about her but we’re carrying on.”

  “No way,” Jack said. This wasn’t the first time Mary had paraded her ambition to be on the other side of the camera. “Forget it. End of topic. And we’re getting behind, darling. We need to spend time on upcoming segments.”

  Dressed in street clothes again, Art strolled from the direction of the dressing rooms. “Sorry about that,” he said. He was ruffled, had been ruffled since he’d finally showed up with Mary.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. Mary was sleeping with the guy. If he’d had any doubt, this morning’s deliberate flaunting of their relationship had snuffed it out. “This is a small cast. I created it that way for a reason.”

  “You created it? You didn’t have any help with the concept?”

  He ignored Mary. “I wanted an intimate group.”

  “Oh, we’re intimate,” Gavin said, looking at no one. “Are we intimate? Oh, yeah, we’re so intimate,” he sang, conducting with a paintbrush.

  “Polly’s absence is unfortunately timed,” Jack said. “We’re going to have to put off what we had planned and work on some stuff we can plug her into later.”

  Jennifer joined them. “Polly’s my friend, but I don’t think she should have left like this. Puts us all in a bind.”

  “Shut up, Jen,” Art said.

  “Damn you,” Jennifer snapped back. “Get off my back, will you? I don’t need your bleeding permission to speak.”

  “Children, children,” Gavin said, holding up his arms as if to separate them. “I’ve got a perfect idea. I know Jack and Mary are going to kick themselves for not thinking of this themselves.” He paused for a dramatic moment, making certain every eye was upon him. “We’ll do a piece on a trip to the circus! How about that?”

  “Gavin,” Mary said, the first to recover. “Be serious, will you?”

  “I am serious.” The man’s eyes opened innocently wide. “Polly’s sick and we’re all going to the circus to keep our minds off being worried. Or… Yes, yes, I like this even better. Polly’s not sick. We’re checking out the circus so we can give her a surprise when we take her there. We could do all the side stuff—”

  “Stuff it, Gavin,” Mary said. Her lips came together in a tight line.

  An outside door opened, letting in a shaft of bright, afternoon light. A man came into the building, and the light went out behind him. He stood where he was, just inside the door. Jack couldn’t see who it was.

  “This is a soundstage, buddy,” Art called out.

  “Cripes,” Jennifer said. “For all you know it’s someone important dropping in.”

  “Afternoon,” Jack said shortly. “What can we do for you?”

  With his hands in his pockets, the man walked forward between scattered chairs and heaps of cables. “I’m looking for Polly Crow,” he said.

  “Aren’t we all?” Mary said, not quite under her breath.

  Jack narrowed his eyes to see the man. Tall, with black, curly hair, he appeared to be in his thirties. A body that had almost certainly been hard, had softened. The face was still dramatic in a disappointed way.

  “Polly isn’t here?” he asked. Then he thudded the heel of a hand into his brow. “Damn, where’s my brain? She said something about not knowing exactly what she’d be doing this morning.”

  Cool premonition tiptoed up Jack’s spine. “Polly told you that?” He felt trouble—more trouble.

  “Yeah. I forgot. Is there a Jen Loder around?” The man’s clothes were expensive, and he wore them carelessly.

  Jennifer crossed her arms. “I’m Jennifer Loder. Why d’you want to know?”

  The guy seemed oblivious to the subtle drawing together of the cast. Jack almost smiled. They fought with each other, but they belonged to a different—the same different—breed. When the breed felt a threat, they circled wagons against outsiders.

  “I’m Sam Dodge,” the man said with the kind of smile that set Jack’s teeth on edge. A smile that expected to get what it wanted. “Polly and me go way back. Way back.”

  “Yeah?” Gavin said. “Way back? Geez. That far, huh?”

  All Gavin earned himself was another smile and a stare devoid of guile. “You’ve got it. That far. Could we talk, Jennifer? Polly’s said a lot of nice things about you.”

  Mary moved beside Jack, and whispered, “Did Polly ever mention this clown to you?”

  “I knew it!” Gavin said with gusto. “You love my idea about the circus, don’t you, Mary darling?”

  “Shut up,” she told him with grim intensity. “I don’t recall Polly mentioning you, Mr. Dodge. She’s not here at the moment. Why don’t you leave a note for her?”

  Sam Dodge homed in on Jennifer as if Mary didn’t exist. “You’re from Australia.”

  “What was your first clue?” Art drawled. “This is a set, mate—a soundstage. You can’t just wander in here.”

  Sam slipped off his gray silk jacket and slung it over a shoulder. He looked in several directions. “Doesn’t seem to be much going on. I figured that. No light on outside.”

  “Did you enjoy Universal Studios?” Gavin asked with a faint, downtumed smile. “I expect you saw the Phantom flitting around while you were there. And they told you all about the little lights outside the stages. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Jack decided that if he were Gavin, he’d probably back off. Sam Dodge might be softer than he’d once been, but he didn’t look like a man who’d be fun in the dark if he arrived unexpectedly.

  “Polly and I were supposed to get together for breakfast this morning,” Sam said. His glance in Gavin’s direction was flat, cold. “She told me something might come up. I should have remembered that, but I didn’t.”

  “You’re Bobby’s father,” Jen said. Her arms were still crossed, and Jack noted how she flexed her fingers. “You took off with Bobby yesterday. When he was at the movies with Fabiola.”

  Dodge shrugged and laughed lightly. “I guess Polly told you about that. I honestly thought I’d have him back before anyone missed him. You know—no, you probably don’t know how it is when you’ve got a kid you think the world of, and you don’t get to see him often enough.”

  Jen stared at him blankly.

  “Of course you don’t. But Polly and me are going to change that. We’re getting back together. Mainly for Bobby’s sake for starters.” The next laugh didn’t ring more true than the last. “But for us, too. We’ll just have to work things through.”

  “D’you always spill your guts to people you don’t know?” Art asked, sounding too pleasant. “I don’t see our Polly liking that one bit. Private, she is.”

  “Not about this. She’s as excited as I am. We talked all night. Poor kid’s probably tired out.”

  The guy was inventing his story as he went along. And messing up as he went along, too. “You didn’t try her place before coming here?” Jack asked.

  Dodge hesitated before saying, “We were going to meet here. But I did try to call her. No answer. So I thought she was here for sure.”

  “She isn’t,” Mary said.

  Jack reached for her hand and squeezed. There’d been an agreement among the cast and crew that no mention would be made about Polly’s absence from Kirkland. Only Jack and Mary knew she hadn’t left alone. Ferrito had been closed-mouthed about anything but the fact that he and Polly were going away for a few days—and that he didn’t intend to say where they’d be. I
f the media got hold of any gossip about the nation’s favorite star of a kids’ show, there would be the kind of publicity Jack didn’t want. Polly was squeaky clean. He intended to keep her that way.

  Dodge continued to hold his ground, as if he could wear them down and make them tell him what he wanted to know. “When Polly shows we’ll tell her you came by,” Jack said. The ringing of a phone caused each of them to look around.

  Sam Dodge swung his jacket forward and felt around until he produced a cell phone. He punched it on and said “Yeah,” and, “Hi, Bobby. How’s my boy?” He grinned from one member of the cast to another until he looked squarely into Jack’s eyes. “Hang on a minute, son. I’ll go out to my car where I can talk.”

  Jack barely stopped himself from grabbing for the phone.

  “Why?” Sam said, frowning as he started to turn away. “No, no, don’t hang up.”

  With her free hand, Mary gripped Jack’s arm. He tightened his hold on her fingers.

  “In the mountains? Sounds great. Don’t you worry, your mom and I have talked, but don’t tell her I’m coming. I’ll surprise her.” Dodge took Jack’s pen from the table.

  So much for Ferrito’s secrecy.

  “Doesn’t matter, Bob. I don’t remember numbers good either. Rose’s, right?” Dodge turned his back. He wrote on the flap of an envelope. “Something like that? Belly Rose’s house? You’re sure? Okay, okay. That’s fine. This is going to be great. Not a word. You promise? Great. Bobby, where?… Oh, yeah, I know the town. It’ll come to me. A railroad station. Old railroad cars. Yeah. Near a place called Bend? North Bend maybe? Bobby? Bobby?” He removed the phone from his ear and looked at it.

  “He’s a liar,” Mary murmured. “He couldn’t have been with Polly all night.”

  “No,” Jack said. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just looking to cash in on Polly’s money. He won’t get anything out of her. She’s too smart for him.”

  “Look,” Dodge said when he’d put the cell phone back in his jacket pocket and tom off the envelope flap without asking. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. It’s been great to meet all of you. Polly’s talked a lot about you. When she shows up, tell her I was here, okay? Just in case I haven’t caught up with her by then.”

  The guy actually thought none of them would figure out his game.

  “Sure,” Art said. “We’ll tell Polly for you.” He looked not at Dodge, but at Jen, who gave him a rare smile.

  Sam Dodge left at a much more rapid pace than he’d arrived. Jack didn’t wait for the door to close completely behind him before he said, “Okay, let’s get on with it.” He couldn’t risk a discussion of what had just happened.

  “Jack,” Mary said. “That guy was lying through his—”

  “None of our business,” he told her, but gave her a quick hug. Peace was what he had to have if he was going to keep things on track.

  Gavin picked up a second brush and tapped a tattoo on the trestle table. “Off to the circus, I say.”

  “What would that have to do with teaching kids about life?” Mary snapped.

  “For some of us,” Gavin said, “life has been a circus, my darling. In more ways than one.”

  “Bloody profound,” Art commented.

  Gavin waved his brushes. “Clowning, tumbling, high wire, trapeze. Think of the symbolism.”

  “You want to bring in a whole flaming circus?” Mary said.

  There wouldn’t be any circus segment, but the discussion served to keep agile minds off the subject of Dodge, and Polly. “A circus might have interesting possibilities,” Jack said as if deep in thought.

  “We wouldn’t have to bring in a circus,” Gavin said. “Our Aussie miracles can cover anything we need.”

  “I like it,” Mary said, throwing herself to the potential winning side—as usual. “We learn the same values regardless of the type of life we lead. The circus performer’s act becomes a parallel.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Art said. “Honor and decency always win out, right, Mary?”

  Jack didn’t miss the glare Mary aimed at her most recent conquest.

  “Trust, too,” Gavin said. “I like this. I knew I could get in the mood of it. Trust will be the biggie. Art and Jen can do a knife-throwing act.”

  Art looked heavenward and shook his head.

  “I mean it,” Gavin said. “What takes more trust than standing there and allowing someone to hurl knives at you?”

  “Drop it,” Art said shortly. “We could work something out, Jack. The trapeze could be good.”

  “Knives,” Gavin said. “I still say we do the knife thing.”

  Jen snatched one of his brushes away. “Why are you pushing this thing? Art and I don’t do a knife act. We’ve never done one.”

  “We’d mock it up.” Gavin made a grab for his lost brush but missed. “And we could be politically correct. You get to throw the knives, Jen.” With his remaining brush, he pretended to aim at Art.

  Art cried out and threw his forearms over his face.

  “Jesus.” Gavin took a step backward. “What’s with him?”

  Jennifer Loder went to her brother. “It’s okay, Art.” She caught at his sleeve and turned to Gavin. “Let it go, asshole.”

  “I only—”

  “I told you to let it go. We lost a good friend okay? He was knifed.”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  Jack smelled disaster. He smelled the disintegration of everything he’d set out to accomplish if he couldn’t pull the power back into his hands.

  Art dropped his arms. He went from a standstill into a series of somersaults and ended by vaulting, in a headfirst roll, over the trestle. “Gavin’s a bloody marvel. That’s how we’ll play it, Jen. I’ll be scared out of my ruddy wits and you’ll win me over.”

  Jennifer laughed. She tossed the brush at Gavin and followed her brother’s lead tumbling and somersaulting as she went.

  There was something that had to be done, Jack thought, and done very quickly. The surface shine on his cast didn’t fool him. Cracks were appearing. He couldn’t afford to allow Polly’s Place to crumble and die—not yet. Soon it wouldn’t matter, but he had things to accomplish first.

  “Why don’t we take a break,” Mary said, leaning against him and looking up into his face. “Come on, Jack. Let’s go home and kick back. We’re both too wound up.”

  He considered, then said, “Mary and I are taking five, kiddies. Knock it off for a couple of hours, then meet us back here.”

  “Ooh, Jack and Mary are taking five for a couple of hours, kiddies,” Gavin said. He caught Jack’s eye, and added, “Sounds like a good idea to us, doesn’t it? See you later.”

  Jack got Mary to the Mercedes before she started unzipping his fly. He drove with her head in his lap and managed to park in the slot under their condo building before she finished what she’d started.

  Mary was always a good, predictable lay. Very predictable. She came. She slept.

  He’d make sure she was exhausted enough to sleep long and deep today. And he’d be asleep beside her when she woke up.

  Twenty-two

  From the single room in the top of the unlikely windmill at Belle Rose, Nasty had an almost perfect view over the estate. Polly was with Rose, going through catalogues with every sign of enjoying herself.

  Women were a puzzle.

  Walking from one unglazed window to the next, he swept his glasses over the surrounding area. Nothing moved but trees and shrubs as they bent gently in the early-afternoon breeze.

  The wisdom behind this move had been to draw the enemy into the open. And he would come—or they would come. Who the hell knew how many of them there were?

  He’d made a mistake—a huge mistake.

  The cell phone lay in the open lid of the case he’d brought with him. He’d be as secure using a phone as a radio from here.

  He dialed, and before the first ring ended, Dusty picked up at the other end. “Room Below.”

  “I’m drawing t
rouble my way, Dust.”

  A slight pause. “Yeah. That’s the idea.”

  “I’ve got civilians with me. Not a good idea.”

  “You’re a civilian.”

  “Stay on track, Dust. If we could believe the only target was Polly—and that the old loon, Festus, was our sole mark— dandy. But there were two divers that night. Two damn good, damn experienced divers. No rickety pseudo-warlocks there. And they were after me. They tried to—”

  “Do a purse-seine number on you,” Dusty finished for him. “Turn you into a future fresh catch of the day. Yeah, I know.”

  “Neither of us are talking about it.” Nasty kept his glasses trained on the house. “The South Americans. They promised they’d get me.”

  Dusty grunted. “You thought you heard the honcho say he’d find a way to bring you back. You were pretty much out of it with a busted-up ankle at the time. How d’you know it was him? Or that you really heard anyone at all? And how d’you know what’s happening now is something to do with the Bogota thing?”

  “I know it was Emilio that night. I’d never met him, but I had heard his voice, remember. He thought I was already away, thank God. But he said he would find a way to bring me back. I think that’s what’s happening now. Part of what’s happening.”

  “Did you hear any harps when the guy was promising you a return ticket to the big hacienda?”

  “Don’t kid around. If this is Emilio’s gig, I should get the hell out of here and make sure I leave a trail.”

  “What changed your mind? I thought—”

  “Maybe I’m not thinking as clearly as I should. I need to watch out for Polly. I’ve got to until I’m sure she’s safe. But I won’t help her or Bobby—or Rose—if I bring a couple of cartel shooters up here.”

  “Hold it.” Sounds of Dusty pushing things aside came along the line. Then Nasty heard the doors at Down Below being locked. “Okay. Just want to be sure we don’t get interrupted. Now you listen, and I talk. Got it?”

  Bobby Crow emerged from the kitchen door at the back of Belle Rose. Spike shot into the open behind him and gamboled in circles. “Got it,” Nasty said, distracted. “Bobby’s a nice kid.”