by Julie Kenner
After that, it wasn’t too hard. The all-powerful Google confirmed that the Chateau was modeled after a Loire Valley castle. And the Chateau’s own Web site said that Bogie and Led Zeppelin had stayed there (and the rockers had ridden their bikes through the lobby). Even the reference to John became clear. John Belushi. One of the Chateau’s sadder claims to fame.
I let the guys know where we were going as we hurried out the door, tote bag with laptop in tow. The rationale, I filled in on the way as we sped out the gate and onto the deserted streets of Beverly Hills.
Now, as we turn onto Sunset, the wind whips through my hair, and I’m glad Blake left the top down on Blue, his 1960-something Buick. I was with him when he bought her, after trading in the late-model sports car convertible that had twice as many problems and not nearly as much character.
The thing is, a big honking boat of a car like this really is Blake. He’s not pretentious. He just is. And that was what I’d loved the most in him. That boy-next-door outlook on the world coupled with looks that will soon have every other woman in American drooling.
Unlike me, Blake didn’t grow up in the spotlight. He wasn’t used to the pressures of coming up with a quotable comeback on the spur of the moment. He hadn’t taken media training in lieu of kindergarten.
Is it any wonder he completely blew it on Letterman? Because assuming he really did—and does—love me, then that’s all that happened. Letterman caught him by surprise (not so unusual, that), and he blurted out something that to his un-PR-educated brain sounded like the right thing. After all, the PR devil would have been sitting on one shoulder telling him to look sexy, act hot and available. Make millions of women wish they were in his bed. And the honesty angel would be urging him to just say what he felt.
So he did both. He told America we were together, but there were no plans for marriage in our future.
A technically true statement, even if it had scared me and angered me. Because if I could give my heart to him and he could so casually toss it aside…
The truth? I still think I had a right to be scared and angry. But I do know where he was coming from. I’ve learned a bit about stress and pressure in the last few hours, with Andy being a case in point. And I think it’s fair to say that we don’t always say or do what we should. Or even what we feel.
“Shit,” Blake says, his stern tone interrupting my reverie. “Hold on.”
And then, before I can ask what’s up, he jams down on the accelerator. I heave back against the seat, breathless. “Blake!”
“What the hell is going on?” Andy leans forward from the backseat, his head and shoulders between me and Blake.
“We have a tail,” Blake says.
I turn around and see a car in the distance, its headlights moving as we move. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure,” he says.
“Well, don’t go to the Chateau,” I say. “If it’s the assassin, we can’t let him know where we’re going.” On the whole, I feel very calm. Maybe it’s the unreality of the situation. Maybe it’s because I’m with Blake and Andy.
Or maybe I’m just in denial.
All I know is that my mind is whirring, but it’s not freaking out. Thank goodness for small favors.
“Can you lose him?” Andy asks from the backseat.
“Gonna try,” Blake says. We’re on Sunset now, and he hits the accelerator, sending us screaming through a red light.
“Yikes!” I screech as a clunker swerves out of our way, the driver yelling curses.
“Are we even sure that’s our assassin?” Andy asks, but when the other car runs the red light, too, that pretty much answers the question.
“Lose him,” I say, reaching over to grip Blake’s leg.
“That’s my plan.” But we’re foiled pretty quickly by the traffic on Sunset in front of the various restaurants and nightclubs.
I might have enjoyed it at first, but now I am seriously regretting leaving the top down on the car, especially as Blake orders me to get down, just in case the assassin has a gun.
I don’t waste any time, but even as I scoot down, I see and hear people on the sidewalks calling our names. A flurry of camera flashes follow, and I know damn well I’ll be reading about this tomorrow.
“Go!” Andy said.
From my perspective, I can see only that the light has changed, but the car in front of us must have moved, because Blake guns it, then shifts to the left. I shift, too, and as I lean sideways, I’m looking almost straight up at a huge billboard hanging from the side of one of the office buildings on Sunset. “The Givenchy Code,” it says, along with the cool logo the studio’s art department came up with. “Coming this Christmas.” And there’s my name and Blake’s right at the top, larger than life.
I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. Because if we don’t survive this game, somebody else is going to be in my movie.
And that would wreak havoc with my comeback.
“You okay?” Blake asks, reaching down to hold me in place as he makes a sharp turn onto Laurel Canyon.
“Yeah. Just a little hysterical.”
“Understand that.”
“We need a gun,” I say.
“No argument from me,” Blake admits.
I risk a peek over the seat and find myself staring at the back of Andy’s head. “Where is he?”
“A few cars back,” Andy says. “I’m surprised this car’s got it in her.”
“She’s got a few tricks,” Blake says.
“We’ll need them. He’s gaining.”
I’m still thinking about the gun. I have sudden visions of me hanging out of the back of the car in typical action-movie style, a pistol in one hand and an Uzi strapped across my back. Instead, I’m cowering on the floorboards.
“I don’t see him,” Blake says, his eyes on the mirror. He turns sharply onto Mulholland, and we careen along the famous street, the lights of the city far below us.
“Headlights,” Andy yells.
“Turn! Turn!” I scream.
Blake turns, and now we’re barreling down Coldwater Canyon. Blake turns off as soon as he can, heading into the neighborhoods and following the winding streets until we’re pretty sure we’ve lost the guy.
We weave around a while longer, just to be sure, but after twenty or so minutes with no sign, we’re all breathing a little easier.
“How did he find us?” Blake asks.
“He was near my house,” I say. “Oh, God. He must know where I live.” Memories of the last time Janus was at my house start to overwhelm me, and I take deep breaths, reminding myself that this time it’s different. This time, the nightmare has rules.
“Or he’s got a tracking device,” Andy says. “We’re at the point in the game where it must have turned on.”
“Of course,” I say. I know from my research and the script that the assassin usually has access to some sort of tracking device, provided by the game. The yuck part is that whoever’s running the show got close enough to me to tag me with something for the device to cue off of.
I look around the car, trying to think where something could be hidden. Once again, though, I go back to the basic point that I’m hard to get near. So how could something have been planted on me?
“Phones,” Andy says, when I voice the comment. “Phones have GPS built in now.”
“Give me your phones.” I hold out my hand, and both men comply right away. I toss our three phones into various yards as we tool down the mountain.
We’ve reached the bottom of the hill, and Blake maneuvers his way over to Ventura, then turns right toward Laurel Canyon so that we can head back over the hill.
This time, we make the journey at a much more relaxed pace, and by the time we hook a right onto Sunset, I’m feeling almost normal. I see the simple brown sign that marks the entrance to the Chateau Marmont, and I have to smile.
Score one for the home team.
Just in case, though, we ask the valet to park the car out of sight.
/> “We made it,” Blake says, as we climb out of the car. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“It will be,” I say. “The clue’s here.”
What I don’t mention, of course, is that I have no idea where.
Chapter 34
The Chateau is one of the most happening places in Los Angeles. At all hours of the night, you can find movie stars, billionaires, power players, rock stars. Folks gather in the bar, the lobby, and the little bungalows that dot the property. People come and go. It is, in all honesty, a free-for-all.
Just walking into the place I see four people I know, including last year’s Best Actor winner. He gives me a kiss, then pats Blake on the back, congratulating him on the movie and on getting back together with me. I guess the fact that I’m clinging to his arm in both fear and exhaustion telegraphs the renewal of our relationship.
Andy, thank God, is all business. He aims us through the crowd to the concierge desk, fully manned even at three a.m.
A woman about my age with a blond ponytail and an expression way too perky for the hour greets him with, “How can I help you, sir?”
Andy looks at me.
“Ah, right. Are there any messages here for me?”
“Just a moment.” She taps at her computer, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor. Nothing.”
See, that’s another reason I love the Chateau. Even though she’s delivering horrible news, she’s doing it in a nice way. I mean, she knows who I am despite the fact that I haven’t stayed here for over a year and don’t exactly look my best at the moment.
The bad news, though, is that there is no message. Which leaves us in a bit of a quandary.
“What now?” Andy said.
“I have no idea,” I admit. I’d been so certain that the ‘find the message’ reference in the clue was literal. Now, I’m at a complete loss.
“Now we get a room,” Blake says.
“Blake, no—”
“Yes.” He cuts me off gently but firmly. “We’re all dead on our feet. We need a place to huddle down and figure this out, or that will be more than just a metaphor.” Tension lines his face, and I can tell he’s worried about the time ticking away.
“Fair enough,” I say. “And you’re right. We know the clue centers around the Chateau. It just makes sense to stay here.”
The concierge—who must have been puzzled by whatever snippets of our conversation she overheard—immediately waves over a bellman, who escorts us to one of the poolside bungalows. No check-in. No discussion over what type of room I need or want.
This is the nice part of being a celebrity. These folks just know.
Honestly, I think part of their job is to study the trades. I can almost imagine them at staff meetings, taking pop quizzes on the likes and dislikes of up-and-coming celebs.
I shake my head, realizing I’m drifting into that zone of exhaustion where everything is amusing.
The bungalow is just as charming as I remember it. We enter through the front door into an airy living room decorated with modern, comfortable furniture. It’s two bedrooms, too, and I head inside, then make a left turn into the kitchen, leaving Andy and Blake behind to work out their sleeping arrangements between themselves.
I hear them tip the bellman, who obviously has decided that we don’t need to be shown the lay of the land. After a few minutes of low conversation, Blake comes in. I’m standing in front of the red-and-black-tiled sink, the faucet running. I lean forward and splash my face, then look up at Blake as I pat my skin dry.
“I told Andy to go upstairs and get some sleep. I finally convinced him he’s not any use to us if he can’t think. He agreed to a one-hour nap.”
“Good,” I said. “He’s smart. He’ll be smarter if he’s sharp.”
“I told him I’d sleep on the couch.”
I lick my lips, not certain what to say to that. But then again, Andy is upstairs. So I nod. “Right. Of course. Although…”
“What?” I hear the hint of interest in his voice.
“Well, maybe you should have the bed.”
“Because this may be my last night in a bed?”
“No, no,” I protest. “I didn’t mean that.” Except I did. Just a little. Because I’m so afraid we’re going to fail him and not find the antidote in time. I feel horrible even thinking that, though. And I feel all the more horrible since it’s because of me that he got sucked into this damn game in the first place.
“Yes,” I say. “You definitely should have the bed.”
“Only if you join me in it.”
“Blake…” I lace my voice with warning, and glance upward to where Andy is probably now sleeping.
“Well, that’s progress at least,” Blake says.
“Huh?” I say, completely confused.
“You didn’t tell me to go to hell,” he clarifies. He tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “In fact, if Andy weren’t here, I think you’d take me up on my offer.”
As if to illustrate the point, he moves forward, hooking his arms around me so that his palms cup my rear. I press up against him, hooking my arms around his neck and lift my face for the kiss I know is coming.
He doesn’t disappoint, and the demand and need in his kiss make my entire body tingle. I want this so badly, and I lose myself deep in the kiss for just a little while.
My knees seem to lose their ability to hold me up, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got me. And I let that knowledge fill me, heart and soul.
At the same time, I can’t help the niggles of doubt that fill my head. Regretfully, I pull away, breaking our kiss and meeting his eyes. “Blake, we shouldn’t.”
“I think we should.”
“You walked out on me,” I say, having to choke my words out. “You left a hole in my heart.”
“I didn’t walk, sweetheart. You did.”
He’s right, and yet at the same time, he isn’t. “I wasn’t going to be a victim again.”
“So you left me before I could leave you. That was your way of fighting.”
“Yes,” I whisper, as a tear slides down the side of my nose.
“Like you’re fighting now. Like you’re fighting in this game?”
“Yes.”
“Like you’re fighting for me. For finding the antidote.”
“Yes. What are you—”
He silences me with a firm finger. “Well, I’m fighting for you. And I’m not going to give up.”
Tears seem to knot in my throat, and I know that I’m going to be undone. If not by his words, then by the expression in his eyes. “Don’t do this to me, Blake.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t make me fall in love with you again,” I whisper, this time looking at the floor.
He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. “You never stopped loving me.”
“No,” I say, my voice choked. “I didn’t. But if you leave again, I don’t think I can survive.”
“Babe,” he says, pulling me close for a kiss, “I’m not going anywhere.” To prove it, he pulls me in even tighter, sealing the promise with a deep kiss.
I melt against him. All my doubts, all my fears, melting from the heat we’re generating.
I press myself against him, my body wanting more and my mind going along with the program. A small voice in my head justifies that this might be his last night. But that’s not the real reason. The real reason is that I want him.
I love him.
And right then, I think I’ll die without his touch…to hell with what happens in the game.
“Devi?” he whispers, the question in his voice asking so much.
“Yes,” I say. “Oh, please, yes.”
Chapter 35
I wake up to the harsh jangle of my cell phone. Then I remember. I don’t have my cell phone. I sit up, confused, then realize that it’s not my cell that’s ringing but the bungalow phone on the bedside table.
I scoot across the bed, over the still-warm spot where Blake slept next to me last n
ight, at least to the extent we got any sleep. I check the clock. Seven a.m. I managed two hours of sleep. Gee, I should be bright as a rose.
The phone rings again, and I allow myself one slow, satisfied stretch, and then I snatch up the phone.
“Hello?” I say, expecting to hear from the front desk. Instead, I hear Lindy.
“What the hell are you up to?”
Since that is about as loaded as a question can get, I sit up and run my fingers through my very tousled hair. “Um. What?” My brain kicks in, I remember the game, and I suddenly feel small, vulnerable, and very exposed. “How did you find me here?”
“I tried your cell,” she says. “I keep getting voice mail. What did you do? Toss it in the trash?”
Since that’s just a little to close to the mark, I sit up straighter. “I’m serious. How did you know I was here?”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. About five different blogs have your picture front and center today. I guess you went there with two men? Honestly, Devi, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She’s teasing me, of course, but the odds are good the blogs are spewing forth all sorts of tripe about how the wild Devi is back, and this time she’s got two men in tow.
Great. Somehow I don’t think that kind of publicity is going to make my PR team happy. Or Tobias.
Honestly, it doesn’t do much for my endorphin levels either.
“It’s a long story. Movie-related. Very boring. I promise I’ll tell you all about it, but I’ve got to go—”
“Wait!”
“Lindy, I really—”
“I just want to know. Are you and Blake back together? Just throw me that little tidbit and I’ll leave you alone.”
I laugh, then I hum a little, my heart lifting a bit since she just zeroed in on the one bright spot in all the horror.
“I knew it,” she shrieks. “Thank heaven!”
“Lindy,” I say, but I’m mostly laughing.
“All right, I want all the details,” she says. “But later. I know you must have an early call.” She pauses for a second. “Actually, why aren’t you on the set? Isn’t today the big scene?”
Obviously, she hasn’t heard about Mac. And I’m not going to tell her. Not now.