“Why can’t I take the company jet?” Vandy asked.
“Because as soon as a flight-plan is submitted for the company jet, some asshole airline employee will call TMZ and tip them off for $50 and then the world will know where you are going. I’ve chartered a beautiful private jet. Tons of celebrities use it. Their very discreet.”
Vandy nodded, “Makes sense.”
“I’ve made all the arrangements,” she continued. “The private jet will get you to Missoula, and then Amtrak takes you to West Glacier. I have a 4-Wheel Jeep rented, fully equipped to navigate the snow if you want to ski or hike in the mountains. It will be waiting for you. It’s all top secret. No reporters, no media of any kind—and no paparazzi. No one will know where you are for two solid weeks.”
Vandy shrugged and let out a breath, “And no pervert orderlies and no meddling front desk facility staff to tip off the paparazzi,” she added.
“That’s right,” she said. “No doctors; no group therapy sessions. What do you think?”
“We need to tell Uncle Randall,” Vandy said.
“Even that old bastard can live without you for two weeks,” Pam insisted. “He got you into this mess. He can deal with the crap for a few days.”
“He needs to know,” Vandy insisted.
“I really think the fewer people…”
“He needs to know,” Vandy insisted.
Pam rolled her eyes and shrugged, “Okay, okay. I’ll call him.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“What about the weather?” Vandy said. “It’s winter now.”
“The weather is always a crapshoot, but it’s clear now,” Pam said. “I’ve already bought all the winter wear you could possibly need and had it shipped to the cabin. It’s waiting for you; coats; hats; gloves; boots; everything, including ski equipment should you so desire. What are you worried about? Driving? You grew up in upstate New York for cryin’ out loud. You know how to drive in the snow.”
“True. What about food?” Vandy said.
“I have made arrangements to have pre-made meals there, all ready to go—heat and serve. The company that makes them does a wonderful job. I almost live on them. Plus, the place will be flowing in chocolate.”
“Okay, please,” she pleaded. “This is a lot to take in. Let me think about it tonight.”
“I’ll text you pictures of the cabin,” she said. “Everything is on standby for tomorrow, but we can put it off for a day or two if you want to think about it. But you heard Dr. Charles, the sooner the better.”
Chapter 4
Vandy was released from the hospital. No one other than Pam, Dr. Charles and the Hospital Administrator knew she was being released, so word did not leak to the press. The Hospital Administrator allowed her to exit through a side door and into a waiting limo to avoid Paparazzi.
The limo pulled up to the gate of her Beverly Hills home on North Woodland Drive.
No paparazzi or reporters—a good sign.
She looked at her beautiful estate and wondered how long she would be able to keep it if the investigation went badly. Her attorney believed that her situation was not so bad that she faced jail time, but it was bad enough that she could lose her job and face exorbitant fines to go along with a ruined reputation. If the stock continued to tank she could lose much of her net worth as well. She knew she was close to being ousted by the board of directors. Her assets had already been frozen.
She didn’t need this lifestyle. Hell, she never even wanted it. Her home was a 12,000-square foot, 7-bed, 9-bath elegant residence. It had a European rock garden, Olympic-sized pool, a tennis court, a fully equipped workout gym, and every amenity imaginable. She used almost none of the amenities. She especially didn’t enjoy the $35 million price tag when she bought it and hated the monthly budget for its upkeep. It was an embarrassment of riches.
She had grown up modestly in a middle-class family in upstate New York, on a farm. She fed chickens and horses and milked cows. She fished, skied and hiked; she played sports. She was a tomboy until she was 15 when her curves blossomed and her natural beauty began to gain the attention of all the boys. She resisted becoming a princess for another year, but it seemed that everyone was pushing her in that direction.
The encouragement, adoration and attention finally got to her, as it would most any teen-aged girl. When she finally acquiesced, all the benefits began to flow in; prom queen; homecoming queen; beauty contests. It was at a beauty pageant in Albany, an event she won, that a modelling agent first took notice of her. From there, her career took off.
Her husband insisted on buying the place and its status was now certainly up in the air. Between her divorce and the FTC investigation, she knew one way or another, things would change, and not in a good way. Good riddance, as far as she was concerned.
When she arrived home, she sighed. Her husband’s Alfa Romeo 4C was parked in front of the door. She sighed. She had already been put through the ringer. Now, she was going to face him. He had moved out three weeks earlier.
Cameron Boyd was sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette when Vandy walked in the door.
“I told you, you can’t smoke in the house,” she scoffed.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“If you don’t put it out, I’ll snap a picture of you puffing away and tweet it,” she replied. He kept his smoking habit hidden from the public, a small part of his very tightly controlled image.
“Okay, whatever,” he scoffed, tamping the cigarette out. Cameron was highly protective of his reputation—that of an all-American man, good-looking, athletic, charming, charitable, great husband and father, teetotaler. Some of that was even true. She had always been jealous of the relationship between Cameron and Lindsay. He was shit for a husband, but she had to admit, he had been a good father and she had been more of an absentee mother.
“How did you even get in here?” she asked. “I changed the locks.”
“You had the locks changed? That was fast,” he said with a hurt expression on his face.
“Don’t tear up, Cam, you’ll ruin your mascara,” she snipped.
“Consuelo let me in,” he said, ignoring the slight. “I thought you were going to fire her.”
“Well, she let you in, so I just might,” I replied.
Consuelo was the housekeeper. She had been with Vandy for less than two years.
“I can’t believe you had the balls to show your face here, tonight of all nights,” Vandy said. “Do you have any idea what you put me through today. I was in the fucking hospital?”
Boyd stood. As Vandy’s Uncle Randall often said, Cameron Boyd, “had the world by the tail.” Though all of the things he valued about his reputation would not survive scrutiny, he was strikingly handsome. His hair was sandy brown and perfectly coiffed. He was built slender and took great pride in his 32-inch waist. His 155 pounds was evenly distributed over his 5-foot-9 frame. His movie career had recently begun to blossom, after years of struggling with bit parts on shows like Grey’s Anatomy, NCIS, CSI and Criminal Minds.
Boyd had met Vandy 14-years earlier, at an Oscar ceremony after-party when he was a just breaking into show business as a reasonably-talented Broadway actor. Vandy was at the height of her modeling career and just launching her own fashion line. They were married 4-months later; she was already pregnant at the time. When Cameron decided he wanted to break into the movies, Vandy and he moved to Hollywood and she moved her young company’s corporate offices there. By Hollywood standards their marriage had lasted an eternity. Last year, however, Cameron’s career began to take off, and with his meteoric rise, his interest in their marriage began to wane.
“I’m sorry,” Cameron said. “I had no idea this was going to make its way to Marina Mayes, and even so, I figured it was Entertainment Tonight, for crying out loud. Who knew they’d turn into FoxNews.”
“Marina Mayes has aspirations,” Vandy espoused, “probably for F
oxNews.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Well, you could have called me,” Vandy said.
“I tried,” he replied. “The call went to voicemail like always. I did call your Pitbull, though. She knew it was coming. How is Pam by the way? Sharpening her claws again, I assume?”
“Leave Pam out of this,” she replied. “Who do you think you are, suing for total custody of Lindsay?”
He stood. His piecing blue eyes flared in anger, “Let’s face it, Vandy. You’re in a free fall. Lindsay is already getting ostracized by her friends in school. The British press can be so cruel and they are making a laughing stock of the FTC investigation. She wants to live with me, Vandy. She needs to put as much distance between herself and your public issues as possible.”
“You mean you need to put as must distance between Lindsay and I as possible,” Vandy fired back.
“You got yourself into this mess, not me,” Cameron scowled. “I’ve been telling you for years that having Randall as your CFO was a bad idea. That guy’s brain went to mush when he was in Afghanistan. He’s incompetent.”
“He served his country,” Vandy barked. “He was awarded a Medal of Honor. What have you done? Oh yeah, I forgot, you once played a Captain on NCIS. Even your character was a slime ball. Uncle Randall got his Masters in Finance from Stanford after that. Didn’t you drop out of community college?”
“That was a low blow,” he said.
“Oh, right, and speaking of low blows, I see you’ve wasted no time finding a few skanks to spend your time with since you moved out.”
He pointed his finger at Vandy, “You’ve been reading too many of those trashy magazines at the supermarket check-out. There is no evidence of any of that.”
“No evidence? Really? Did the paparazzi photoshop you holding hands at dinner with one of my models?” Vandy spouted. “Or how about you and your last costar in the ocean on a nude beach in Greece? Her tits were a little saggy by the way, especially for a 25-year old.”
“We talked about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair nervously. “I was on location. I was drunk and…”
“Relax Valentino,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to put Lindsay through any more than she’s going through right now. I actually don’t give a shit where your stick your schlong, as long as it isn’t near me. Do what you want, but spare me the self-righteous indignation. To hear you wax eloquently from your high horse about embarrassing Lindsay when there are photos of your tally whacker flopping in the breeze on the front cover of… whatever… never mind.”
Cameron sighed, “Vandy, we need to talk.”
“I assumed there was a reason you are here,” she said.
“I don’t know how to begin, so I’ll just say it. My attorney thinks you are in deep trouble. He thinks there are things we can do legally, now, to protect as many of our assets as possible.”
“Our assets?” she scowled. “I think you mean my assets.”
“Most of which were acquired during the course of our marriage…”
“Mostly acquired by me. Do these ‘things’ you speak of include me transferring ownership of assets from me to you?”
He sighed, looking down. He drew a deep breath and glanced upward, nodding.
“Yes.”
“You’re already going to get half of everything, very little of which you earned. And now you want to take Lindsay from me so you can get half of the other half?
“Vandy, this investigation…”
Vandy laughed sardonically, “Unbelievable.”
“Vandy…”
“My attorney said you might come slithering up the door with this ‘idea,’” she replied. “It’s not happening, Cam. Even if it were legal, it would be called into question and contested if things go south. And for me, it would create an appearance of guilt on my part. I’m not doing that.”
“Vandy,” he pleaded. “We have to look past appearances.”
She laughed incredulously, “Look past appearances? Do you hear yourself? You are such a fucking hypocrite.”
“So, the answer is no?” he snarled.
“It’s no,” she affirmed, emphatically.
“This is not over!” he barked. “I’m not going to let you ruin my life.”
“So, it comes out,” she barked back. “Your life. I knew it. It’s all about you.”
“Blow me!” he boomed.
“I don’t like standing in lines,” she snapped.
He stood and walked away in a huff. Vandy heard the door slam and the sound of the Alfa Romeo’s engine roaring to life. She heard the tires screech as he pulled away.
She looked at her watch; it was 10:15 p.m. She decided to wait until 11:00 p.m. when it would be 7:00 a.m. in London. That would be an hour before Lindsay’s first class. She could reach her by phone then.
She switched on her computer and checked her email. There were hundreds of notifications from a web service she subscribed to that alerted her when there was a conversation started about her. She clicked on the link, and braced herself for the worst. She didn’t have to wait long.
She clicked on a thread marked, More trouble for Vandy:
Moonpie34: Has anyone heard whether Vandy was released from the hospital? (read 71,749 times)
Hollygal: Yes, I heard on ET that she was released and is home. I think she really got fucked over. (read 70,921 times)
StudMuffin69: Yeah, I’d like to fuck her over and over (read 70,260 times)
Moonpie34: This conversation went downhill fast. (read 69,741 times)
StudMuffin69: And you wouldn’t? She has a smokin’ hot body. (read 70,633 times)
Hounddoggie11: I don’t give a shit what she did. She’s the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. If there is a more beautiful set of eyes on the planet I’d like to see them. (read 74,900 times)
Hollygal: I’m sure it’s her eyes you want to look into. I felt really bad for her. Marina Mayes really ambushed her. (read 53,442 times)
Moonpie34: How can anyone feel sorry for her? She’s one of the most beautiful women in the world and makes more money than god. She got greedy. She screwed up. She needs to pay the price. (read 70,179 times)
Hollygal: She’s a person, asshole. She has feelings. Her husband is a cheater. I feel most bad for her daughter. She is liable to be ruined financially (read 50,902 times)
StudMuffin69: Worse comes to worse, she can give out handjobs at $1,000 a wank and the lines would look like Splash Mountain in Disneyland (read 71,219 times)
Hollygal: You’re disgusting. (read 38,104 times)
There were 34 web-pages of banter on that thread alone. Vandy clicked out of the site, noticing that her headache had returned. She had no doubt her blood pressure was creeping higher and higher with each message she read.
She surfed CNN, Yahoo, MCNBC, Fox and several other websites. Jimmy Fallon, Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel were having a field day with her. The story of her interview with Marina Mayes and subsequent hospitalization was front and center everywhere she looked. There was sympathy for her being in the hospital, but most of the news surrounded her divorce and the pending FTC investigation. She was not getting much in the way of favorable press, that’s for sure.
When bad news about her or PACNY would make the headlines, her Uncle Randall would tell her to hunker down and remain quiet. “Today’s bad news simply lines the birdcages tomorrow,” he would say, “and a parrot named Pikachu will shit all over it.”
Those were the days when newspapers and magazines were king, of course, but the message was the same. Somehow, she didn’t think this would go away so soon.
She next searched the internet for information about the state of Montana, specifically West Glacier, Montana. The pictures of the area were stunning. The seclusion reminded her of upstate New York only far more beautiful. The community looked quiet and totally isolated. The mountains, the lakes and the forests provided a perfect setting for a relaxing getaway.
S
he then opened the images of the cabin that Pam had sent her. It looked more like a luxury lodge than a private home.
Realizing it was now 11:04 p.m., she called Lindsay. The call to her cell went straight to voicemail. Maybe she had early class, Vandy thought; or she was perhaps in the shower.
Seconds later she received a text. It was from Lindsay. It said, “I’m glad you’re out of the hospital. I want to live with Dad. I never want to talk to you again.”
Vandy broke down in tears, for the first time since all the madness had begun. She tried calling Lindsay again—voicemail.
It took more than ten minutes for Vandy to quit crying. The thought of her daughter rejecting her was more than she could handle. Finally, she texted Pam, “I’d like to go to Montana. When do I leave?”
Two minutes later, Pam replied via text, “I made your travel arrangements already.”
“There’s only one condition,” Vandy texted back. “No Pete. No Mike. No other security guards.”
Vandy hit the send button. Two minutes later her phone rang.
“No security? Are you crazy?” Pam barked.
“No security,” Vandy said. “If I’m going to do this, I’m gonna do this my way. I find Pete and Mike to be a little creepy anyway.”
“You have to have security,” she said.
“Not if no one knows where I am,” she protested. “I’m a grown woman. It’s my decision.”
“Vandy, I can’t let you do that…”
“It’s not your choice,” she insisted. “No one, and I mean no one knows that I’ll be gone or where I’ll be gone, correct?”
“There’s you, me, Cameron and that idiot uncle of yours who, by the way, is the cause of all this,” she said. “The pilots on the private plane will figure out who you are, but they transport celebrities all the time. My ex-husband knows—it’s his cabin. Pete and Mike knew, but they are under non-disclosure agreements. I’m sure you might get recognized at the airport or train station…”
“None of that concerns me. Do you have a cover story when reporters ask where I’m at?”
Brotherhood Protectors: STEELE RANGER (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 3