aherospromise_211-3e3.htm

by A Hero's Promise (lit)

  "So how do you like being a star? So far, I mean?" she asked, stirring saccharin into her iced tea.

  Robin shrugged and gave her a silly smile. "Not what I expected. I thought it would be easier."

  "Ha! That’s a good one. We only make it look easy. So tell me about your hometown. You said you were living in British Columbia?"

  "For awhile. I was living in Vancouver with a friend. But I’m really from Ohio."

  Vancouver. It struck a negative chord in her mind. Wesley Elliot had lived in Vancouver just before his reign of terror on her life. But her ex-husband was now serving time and no longer a threat.

  "And right now you live in…"

  "West Hollywood."

  "That’s convenient. You have family here?"

  "No… is this twenty questions, or what?"

  "Just trying to get to know you. I guess I was curious to know if there are any women in your life. Do you live alone?"

  Robin chuckled. "No. No women, but I do have a roommate. A close friend."

  "Well that’s good. This can be a lonely town."

  "We do a lot of things together."

  Jessica nodded. "Probably better not to be going with someone right now. Making a movie is hard work, your social life would have to take a backseat, if there was a backseat."

  "I didn’t say I wasn’t in a committed relationship."

  "Oh." Jessica tried not to look confused, instead focusing on the tines of her fork as she jabbed at her salad.

  "Well, I think you’ll like John Lauder. He’s finishing up another film, coincidentally up in Vancouver. He’ll be on the set in a day or two. He really liked your screen test."

  "That’s cool," Robin said. "That Josie chick is a little weird."

  "Josie? She’s a fine actress. You look good together."

  "I don’t feel any chemistry."

  "Sometimes you don’t. A good acting team can pull it off, though. Sometimes it helps to envision someone you do have chemistry with."

  Robin didn’t respond. His eyes were focused on a young man just entering the commissary. "You know that guy?" he asked suddenly.

  Jessica followed Robin’s gaze, then shook her head. "I’ve seen him around, but his name escapes me, if I even knew it. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason. He sure is buff." He shook his head, then mumbled something about chemistry.

  Jessica looked again, and then back to her lunch companion. Something, some unformed thought was niggling at her. She hoped she was wrong.

  ~ * ~

  Robin was dead-on about having no chemistry with the leading lady in Mr. Romance. The actress was more than accommodating, good-naturedly trying to play upon the young actor’s sensitivities. Jessica, however, was growing more nervous by the hour.

  "I have a good coach in mind," she told him after a particularly trying afternoon. "I’ll ask him to see you this weekend, if that’s okay with you."

  "No, it’s not okay. I need my weekends, Jessica. I do have another life, you know."

  "No, I didn’t know. When you work in this business, this business is your whole life. Where did you hear otherwise?" Her annoyance was hard to keep a lid on. "His name is Russell Powers and he’ll be at your house Saturday morning."

  "Forget it. And forget the whole damned movie. I’m sick of being told how to do what I do. This script is crap, this role is for shit, and I’m outta here."

  He stormed away, lifting a dressy black leather jacket from the back of his chair, leaving Jessica to stare after him in complete shock.

  "You can’t!" she screamed, stomping her foot. "You have a contract!"

  "Screw the contract," he called over his shoulder just before the stage door slammed.

  Jessica was unable to move for several moments while she considered the repercussions of what had just transpired.

  What the hell do I do now?

  She sat in her car for twenty-five minutes. There was more on the line than just Robin’s breach of contract. John Lauder would be livid. Access and the other investors would cry foul. But worst of all, Dane and Roxanne would have the last laugh.

  She couldn’t cry. She could barely think. Eventually shaking herself loose, she flipped open her cell phone and called Roxanne.

  "Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes."

  "Jess, we have to talk about this arrangement."

  "Don’t worry. I won’t be bringing him back."

  Once home, Jessica started a bath for Devon and laid out his pajamas, then poured herself a glass of wine. Pawing through the freezer, she rejoiced at finding a frozen lasagna and promptly pushed it into the oven. While it cooked, she went to her room to change.

  She stripped down to her underwear and succumbed to the desire to lie back on her bed for a few moments, trying to coax a little relaxation. Closing her eyes, she forced the picture of Robin’s dramatic exit from her mind, replacing it with thoughts of spending more quality time with her son.

  Forget Robin. Forget Lauder. Forget Roxanne, and for that matter, forget the whole damned world.

  "If only I could," she moaned. Roxanne had been short with her at the door. And in retrospect, it was more than just distancing herself from Jessica; Roxanne had looked pale, and possibly, despondent.

  The ringing of her phone on the nightstand jolted her upright.

  "Mrs. MacKendall, this is Irma Carvey. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’m afraid I have some rather bad news."

  ~ * ~

  Surely the digital counter on the treadmill was malfunctioning. He must have logged at least three miles by now, yet the red numbers said differently. Dane grabbed a towel and mopped his forehead, but continued running.

  He was down twenty-eight pounds and two inches off his waist. His stomach muscles weren’t exactly rock-hard, but he now had a respectable profile, and he fought to go the last two pounds.

  Dane glanced at the large wall clock. He was picking up Alex from the airport in two hours and needed to shower. Slapping the "cool down" button, he slowed his pace for a minute or two before finally stepping off the treadmill. Again he wiped his face.

  In the bathroom he reached inside the shower stall and flipped on the hot water. He was pleased with his progress. Not only did he look and feel better, his breathing wasn’t nearly as labored. Back in the bedroom, he stripped off his t-shirt and sat down to untie his shoes. He was just about to return to the bathroom when the phone rang.

  "Mr. Dane Pierce?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "Sgt. Denehy, L.A.P.D. Got a minute, Mr. Pierce?"

  "I might have. What’s it about?"

  "It’s about Mac MacKendall."

  Dane asked the investigator to hold on while he shut off the shower. Now his respiration did elevate.

  "As you know, there’s evidence that the plane was hit by high-powered rifle ammunition from the ground in Minneapolis. We’re following any and all leads."

  "As you should. Has anybody bothered to check on the whereabouts of Wesley Elliot?"

  "Our first call. He’s still under lock up." The detective paused. "One of the things that’s on my list here, a phone call he made from his hotel room the night before he left Minnesota. Phone company records indicate that the call was to your home in Jackson, Wyoming. Do you recall talking to Mac that night?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you share with me the nature of that conversation?"

  "Absolutely not." Dane stood up.

  "Is there some reason why not?"

  Dane grinned to himself, shaking his head. "Well I guess there is, isn’t there? I don’t feel it’s necessary to tell you about our personal conversation. We were friends, and business partners. We talked about a lot of things. And frankly, Detective Denehy, it’s none of your business. You have no jurisdiction on this case."

  "Ah, but Minneapolis PD has asked for my help. I was the lead detective the last time you were… involved with the MacKendalls. The investigators are very interested in what light I can shed on Mac’s murder
. So, perhaps you could verify for me, then, a report we got that you argued on the phone that night. That MacKendall raised his voice to you in anger."

  Dane drew in, and then exhaled, a deep breath, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

  "Is there some particular reason for this line of questioning? It’s beginning to sound like I should have my attorney present."

  "Maybe you should."

  ~ * ~

  Alex had grown a foot while away at school. Maybe not a foot, but he was definitely in a different time zone. Since his eleventh birthday in October, he had grown steadily taller, his hair now brushing his father’s chin when they embraced at the airport gate.

  In the car on the way back, Alex seemed happy and enthusiastic about being in Los Angeles.

  "When will be we going to the ranch?" he asked, his fingers twirling the radio dial on the Mustang’s dashboard.

  "Not sure. Why?"

  "Just wondered. How’s Donatello?"

  "Greg’s taking good care of him. You ready to ride?"

  "You bet."

  "When do you have to be back at school? A week?"

  "I’m not going back."

  Dane kept his eyes level, on the road ahead. He had expected as much. He’d never liked school much either. "We’ll talk about that."

  Back in Malibu, Alex tossed his bag into the bedroom Peter had recently vacated, then trotted back downstairs to join his father in the kitchen.

  "So you think you’ll like school in Jackson better?" Dane asked, dishing out helpings of cottage cheese on to two plates.

  "Doncha got any chips?"

  "Nope. You want whole wheat or rye?"

  "Neither. I’ll just have some macaroni and cheese."

  "Not here, you won’t. Sandwiches, milk, cottage cheese. Apple or canned pineapple?"

  This time Alex only stared as if aliens had abducted his real father.

  They ate together at the kitchen table.

  "So what’s so bad at Ridgecrest?"

  "Aw, the kids there are snobs. All they do is talk about people, all the time."

  "Like what people?"

  "You know, like kids’ dads and stuff."

  Dane nodded solemnly. "What kinds of things do they say about kids’ dads and stuff?"

  "Like, you know, stuff about who they date and stuff."

  Now Dane stifled a grin. "So, like, who are we dating now?"

  Alex kept his eyes down, pausing to take a sip of milk. Finally, glancing up at Dane, he replied with obvious uncertainty.

  "A stripper."

  "A stripper," Dane repeated, putting his sandwich down. "And would this be your father who is dating the aforementioned stripper?"

  Alex nodded.

  "I see." Dane took a long draught of milk. "Seen your mom lately?"

  "She was there on Parents’ Day."

  "Parents’ Day? When was that?"

  "Couple of months ago. You were at the ranch." Alex poked at the mound of cottage cheese with his fork. "She’s split up from Fred."

  "That so."

  "An’ Zoe doesn’t want to live with Mom, so she asked Mom if she could live with Fred. Of course Mom said no, ‘cuz she dumped Fred already."

  "What? What about Mimi?"

  "Mimi likes Mom. Oh, and Mom wants you to drop me off at her house for a few days before we go to the ranch."

  "She does." Dane had lost his appetite. He folded up the remains of his lunch in a paper towel and tossed it into the trash. This was turning out to be one gem of a day.

  Eleven

  Hide and Seek

  Jessica knelt on the bathroom floor beside the tub and poured a small amount of shampoo into her palm. Humming the theme song from her son’s favorite morning cartoon program, she worked the strawberry scented gel into lather and ran it through Devon’s wet locks.

  "Did you have fun at Aunt Roxie’s today?"

  "Yeah," Devon replied, holding an empty baby bottle under the water and watching the bubbles escape as it filled.

  "How would you like to go on a little vacation?"

  "Okay," he said softly, now dumping the water out onto his knee.

  "I have a friend who is going to let us stay at his house on a beach."

  "Like Uncle Dane’s house?"

  "Even better than Uncle Dane’s. Wait ‘til you see it."

  Long after tucking Devon into bed, Jessica sat at the kitchen table, making notes to herself on a yellow pad. After reading them over, she laughed a little, for no one but she could possibly understand the rhyme and reason to her thoughts.

  A mixture of "to do" items, people to call, ideas she didn’t want to forget. On the reverse side was a list of things of which she would let go; at the top, the first line read Mr. Romance.

  Flipping back to the important side, she leaned her forehead onto one hand and thought about the dear little baby in Minnesota, the one diagnosed with a heart defect. The emergency surgery to repair a tiny hole in Chet’s heart was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and there was no way she could get there in time. She had her own son to think about.

  Irma Carvey had seemed almost gleeful to impart the heartbreaking news. For the life of her, Jessica could not fathom why the woman disliked her so much.

  "There’s nothing you can do," she had said, sounding much like the evil Miss Gulch on her horrid bicycle. But Jessica felt nothing like Dorothy, and right now she would have given anything to have even a scarecrow for a friend.

  Her old friend, Brian, at least, had been very nice on the phone, giving her directions and offering to stock the vacation house with food and linens for her stay. They had not seen each other since college, although his sister Amy had come for a visit just two years ago.

  Jessica went to her bedroom and then into the generous walk-in closet she had shared with Mac. In the corner were three pieces of matched luggage, left out from their last, brief vacation to San Francisco. She dragged the largest one out and hoisted it onto the bed with a groan.

  Grimly she forced herself to look upon the suitcase as an inanimate object, a utility item she might never have seen before. She could not allow herself to remember that his shirts had lain inside, his jacket and trousers had been folded and carefully packed within its satiny walls.

  Steeling herself, Jessica returned to the closet and retrieved the smaller cases. She cast aside the smallest one.

  There was, of course, a piece missing; the middle-sized rolling case that had gone to Minnesota with Mac.

  Quickly she began selecting clothing for her own trip, digging through dresser drawers and rattling garments off their hangers. She’d grab the toiletries in the morning, and pack Devon’s bag then also.

  Around 1 a.m., she fell into bed, exhausted. She had a long drive tomorrow, and she had to get some rest.

  ~ * ~

  Dane decided that dry popcorn was not all that bad, if you dumped enough salt on it. Sprawled on the couch, he glanced over just in time to watch Alexander’s eyelids close. He wondered how much his son now weighed; tall and slender, he was a picture of Dane’s own childhood years.

  He turned the television volume down a notch and sprinted up the stairs to survey Alex’s temporary bedroom. Tiny plastic building blocks littered the carpeting. A balsa wood glider sat on the dresser. His duffel bag was stashed in the corner.

  Dane turned down the bed and dimmed the ceiling light. Brushing aside the tiny interlocking blocks, he made a path through the room and then returned downstairs to carry his son to bed. He was just returning to the living room when his phone rang.

  "You wanted to talk to me? It must be important for you to leave a message." Trina’s matter-of-fact demeanor was particularly annoying tonight, especially in light of what he’d just learned.

  "What’re you up to?"

  "Not much. Just got home. Why?"

  "Thought you might want to come over. I could use some entertainment."

  "What kind of entertainment are you looking for?"

  "Oh, I don’t know.
Maybe a little striptease?"

  Trina paused a moment, then responded, her voice taking on a wary tone. "Who told you about that?"

  "Now that’s the interesting part. My son heard about it at school. When were you planning to mention it to me?"

  "Well, in your own words, lover boy, it’s none of your business." Trina uttered a sigh. "Was there anything else? I’ve been on my feet all night and I’m whupped."

  "I’ll bet you are. No, nothing else. Nothing at all."

  Dane grinned as he hung up the phone. The last to know. Damn! He’d been so busy following Jessica’s every move, he’d neglected to have Trina checked out.

  Later, Dane lay in his bed, his room in total darkness. Yet his eyes remained open. His plans were ever changing. He would not make Alex go back to Ridgecrest; that much was clear. Perhaps Peter would be able to… no. He didn’t want to pawn his son off again. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep Alex out of school for a couple of months while they sorted things out.

  He probably wouldn’t be seeing Trina again. She represented just one more complication he did not need. No, he had far greater problems to deal with.

  Denehy’s implication needled him. That someone thought he could have anything, no matter how remote, to do with Mac’s death chilled him to the marrow. He didn’t want to think about all the reasons Denehy could dredge up, all the possible implications that could arise.

  Lying on his back, Dane felt a weight pressing down on his chest. Indeed, he felt the need to force a deep breath. Really, he decided, it didn’t matter a lot what Denehy thought. But the fear that was eating at him, churning in his gut and threatening to reacquaint him with ulcer medication, was that Denehy just might call Jessica.

  He had to get to her first.

  ~ * ~

  "Come on, Roxanne. You must know where she is."

  "I already told you. She didn’t tell me where she was going. She didn’t tell Tom, or anybody else for that matter. So cool your heels, Tarzan."

  Dane bit his lip to keep from giving it to Roxanne. He hung up, once again fighting the urge to chuck the telephone, this time into the ocean.

  He had to find Jessica.

  In the garage, he started the ‘66 Mustang Convertible and headed out of Malibu, pushing the needle with one eye trained on the rear-view mirror.