Cammie gazed up at Tyler, who still held her in the grip of his two hands. “You believe him?” she asked.
“My mother was different,” Tyler told his father in a cold voice.
Sam’s lips tightened. “Well, yes, she was. Nanette was a special case.”
“My mother’s different, too!” Cammie cried out.
Sam kept his eyes on Tyler. “You know the truth, Son. You heard us.”
“Heard what?” Cammie asked.
Tyler didn’t want to say anything. He hesitated, his jaw working.
“Heard what?” Cammie demanded, silently willing Tyler to refute his father’s claim, begging him with all the power of her soul and spirit for him to pick her side.
“Tell her, Son.”
“I heard them fighting, that’s all,” Ty clipped out, his jaw rock hard.
“And…?” Sam pressed. “What were we fighting about?”
Cammie kept her eyes trained on Tyler’s gray ones, as if by merely staring at him she could keep him from saying something terrible, something truthful, something she didn’t want to hear.
He swallowed. “Money.”
“Money?” Cammie repeated blankly. “What are you saying? You think my mother wants this divorce? You think she wants money?”
Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know. They were fighting, that’s all. If they want out, let them.”
“You’re condoning this?”
“It’s their lives, isn’t it?” Tyler pointed out, struggling to make her see another view.
It was as if he’d poisoned her thoughts, tainted her love and belief. She gazed at him with all the revulsion of suddenly coming upon a snake gorging itself on a live, helpless creature. “You’re just like him!” she blurted, then raced from the house, running full tilt until her lungs nearly burst and her throat ached, raw and painful. Then she threw herself on the grass of a tiny parklike area sandwiched between the several beautiful homes at the end of their street. Her fists clenched around grass blades. Her jaw ached from the effort of squeezing it tight. Her eyes burned hot.
Tyler found her. “Cammie, get up,” he murmured with a certain amount of sympathy.
“Drop dead.”
“You’re making too much of this.”
“Am I?” She lifted tear-drenched eyes to his.
He looked almost as unhappy as she felt. He said with perfectly horrible reason, “If they want a divorce, it’s not up to us.”
“But my mother doesn’t want a divorce!”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Cammie, it looks like she married Dad for the money and prestige. When she was raising you alone, she was having trouble making ends meet. And she wanted to be somebody special instead of a model who was at the end of her career.”
“Is that what he told you? Or, did you come up with it all on your own?” Cammie demanded bitterly.
“It’s the way it is.”
“My mother loves your father.”
“Maybe. But your mother loves a certain lifestyle, too. The kind that money can buy.”
“The kind that your father’s money can buy?”
He didn’t answer, and she hated him for his reasoning. It was so like Sam! Jumping up, she glared at him, her hands clenched at her sides. Throwing herself against his hard chest, she pounded her fists on his arms and shoulders and back, any piece of flesh within the arc of her swing. Cammie carried on in silent fury, and for a while Tyler simply let her. Eventually, he clasped her wrists and held her at bay. She could see the empathy in his eyes, and it hurt right down to her soul.
“I’m sorry you were ever my stepbrother! You’re just as shallow and self-centered as he is! Let go of me!”
“I’m sorry, too,” he muttered, though he meant it in a far different way.
Cammie’s chest heaved. He released his grip on her and they stared each other down. She knew she was at a crossroads that could change her life, but she reacted on pure emotion, running away from him as if he were the devil himself.
Cammie could not bring herself to tell her mother of the events of that afternoon. She knew Sam’s description of her character was a lie. In the end, it scarcely mattered, for their marriage broke up soon after; Claire discovered the signs of her husband’s continued indiscretions on her own.
Tyler and Cammie’s familial relationship ended that terrible day. Though they spoke to each other, it was only out of politeness. He continued on his path to fame and fortune and Cammie went off to college, and apart from that last memorable night in Ty’s arms years later, Cammie had stayed away from the Stovall clan as a whole. The only person among them whom she would even consider contacting now was Tyler’s real mother, Nanette. The antithesis of Claire, Nanette was boisterous and strong and had told Sam Stovall where he could stick it—or so the story went.
Samuel and Tyler had suffered a falling out as well. Was it over Tyler’s skyrocketing career, the destruction of Sam’s marriage to Claire, or something else? Cammie had no way of knowing, and though rumors abounded, no one seemed to really know. Like Ty’s subsequent disappearance, it remained a mystery.
Climbing to her feet, she headed back inside the apartment, cheered by its tiny spaces filled with natural wicker furniture, bright watercolors and a healthy collection of books. It was a haven. All hers. And though she was currently unemployed, she could afford the rent for a while with her bit of savings even if she went without work for several months. Setting her empty wineglass on the counter, she returned to the balcony for a few more moments of reflection before she decided if she were really going to the Connellys with her unscrupulous ex-husband.
Below, in the parking lot, Susannah’s newly minted green VW bug screeched to a halt beside the cream-colored sedan. Was that man still sitting inside it? Cammie wondered idly as Susannah, curly hair bouncing wildly against her shoulders, dashed for the outdoor stairs.
“Yoo hoo!” Susannah called as soon as she hit the upper landing. She banged loudly on the door.
“Coming!”
Cammie hurried to unlock the door and hug her friend as Susannah burst into the apartment. “I’m sitting out on the deck,” Cammie said, inclining her head in the direction from which she’d just come.
“Here’s the bubbly.” Susannah waved a bottle of Dom Perignon in front of Cammie’s nose, and Cammie didn’t have the heart to tell her she was in no mood for champagne and fun.
“My God, Cammie. You’re blessed, my dear. Blessed!”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Rock Bottom is every actor’s dream. Your role’s small, but really good. Everyone’s been talking about it, and now it’s yours!”
“It’s not like you to get so excited about a project that hasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding,” Cammie said to her.
“Pessimism, pessimism. But you know your ex…” She waved a hand in the air. “He’s a louse and a whole lot of things we don’t have to go into, but he’s dropped the world in your lap. You’ve got to thank him for that!”
“Susannah!”
She held up her hands, warding off any further protests. “I know what you’re going to say, but, kiddo, this’ll set you up for life! You can find Tyler Stovall, if anybody can.”
“Oh, sure.”
“You can!”
“Finding Ty is the only reason they want me at all.”
“So what? It’s an open door. Walk through it. Wait a minute, I’ve got to uncork this bottle.” She began untwisting the wire top with urgent fingers.
Cammie stared at her friend. Susannah always looked out for her best interests and her advice was generally sound. She knew the ins and outs of Hollywood better than anyone, and Cammie was lucky to have her as an agent and friend. But Susannah was over the top on this one.
“You know the person to contact is the man himself, Tyler’s daddy-o.”
“Samuel!” Very simply and very loudly, Cammie said, “No.”
“No?�
�� Susannah stopped in midtwist.
“I’m not going to talk to Samuel Stovall. Nothing on earth could make me try.”
“Even if it led you to Tyler?”
“Susannah, I’m not interested. I can’t be. I have to face facts: I’m not co-starring in Rock Bottom. It’s not in the cards.”
“Have you read the script yet?” Susannah lifted her brows. Cammie had purposely put off reading the screenplay from start to finish, afraid somehow that would make her decide the wrong way.
“Most of it,” she admitted, her voice quavering with the doubts she so desperately wished weren’t there.
“Then, Cammie…”
Fervently, shaking her head, Cammie declared, “Oh, pour the champagne, for pete’s sake. I’ll celebrate with you, but I can’t talk about this anymore. It makes me crazy!”
Susannah scrounged in Cammie’s cupboards until she found some more wine goblets. Champagne flutes weren’t part of Cammie’s glassware repertoire. Pouring them each a glass, Susannah held hers up in a toast, daring Cammie silently to do the same.
“You’re going to the party,” Susannah said. “You know you are.”
Cammie rolled her eyes. Susannah had her number. Nodding, she said, “Paul left a message on my answering machine. I just don’t want to call him back.”
As if on cue, the phone started ringing. Since Susannah was nearest to it, Cammie indicated that she should do the honors. After a brief “hello,” and with her gaze firmly fixed on Cammie, Susannah said brightly, “Oh, yes, Paul, she’ll be ready. She’s just dying to go, you know her. Can’t wait. She even bought herself a new gown.”
“Susannah!” Cammie hissed, to which her friend just waved her aside.
“Seven P.M. She’ll be red hot and rollin’.” Hanging up, Susannah fought back a Cheshire cat smile.
“You are no friend,” Cammie declared.
Laughing, Susannah clinked her goblet against Cammie’s. “The best one you’re ever gonna have, hon! And you know it! Now, find something to wear in that closet of yours that looks new and expensive. We’ll finish the champagne, then I’ve got to get going and change, too. This is going to be fun, Cammie. Fun!”
“Fun,” Cammie repeated with a grimace, sensing she was about to make one of the worst mistakes of her life.
CHAPTER THREE
Cammie’s hands clasped together tightly in her lap as Paul drove his purring Mercedes along the curve of the Connellys’ circular driveway. Ground lights diffused illumination beneath their mushroomlike caps and spilled in roundish beams on the manicured grounds. A palm tree was up-lit, its fronds lifted by a breeze to gently fan the air. The house itself was white stucco with arched, wrought-iron pane windows set into thick walls. Red tiles spilled over a massive roof. Cammie couldn’t even guess at the home’s square footage—approaching ten thousand at least.
If you’ve got it, flaunt it, she thought with a hard swallow. Success wasn’t something to be shy about, apparently; the Connellys sure didn’t hide their light under a barrel.
Paul whistled as he brought his car to a halt and a uniformed valet stepped forward to usher them toward the front steps. “Is this great, or what?” he asked with a grin.
“Intimidating, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport. You’re impressed, just like I am.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed.” Being impressed and being intimidated were two separate things, though Paul obviously wasn’t interested in the distinction.
As she stepped from the Mercedes and drew her thin floral wrap around her arms, she asked herself, Why am I here? Am I crazy? How did I let Paul and Susannah talk me into this?
“Man, what a spread.” Paul couldn’t get over it. Smoothing his bow tie, he crooked his arm for Cammie to take hold. Between his browbeating and Susannah’s pleading, she’d reluctantly allowed herself to attend the Connellys’ social gathering. A part of her—the part that had known better from the start—trembled with apprehension. Why hadn’t she listened to her own vow to stay out of this whole deal? When had she buckled?
The answer was Rock Bottom itself. It was the best screenplay she’d read in a long, long time. The story wasn’t just good; it was fantastic. Emotion leapt off the page from both the male and female leads.
Opportunity of a lifetime…a script to die for…something that comes along once in a blue moon, if you’re lucky…a role other actresses would sell their soul over…
Susannah had not listened to her protests. “You have to do this. You have to try!” she’d insisted. “This is so good it positively hurts!”
“Susannah, you don’t understand,” Cammie had responded with a hard shake of her head.
Susannah threw her arms wide. “Then, make me. Explain to me, so that I do understand. Make it crystal clear why you would cut your own throat, so to speak. I mean, Cammie, nobody gets this kind of chance. Nobody!”
“Somebody does.”
“Okay, sure. People with clout. The famous and the rich. And you know who else? The lucky. That’s where you fit in. You’re so lucky!”
Cammie could only stare at her. With her medical problems, she felt far from lucky. But Susannah knew nothing about her visit with Dr. Crawley; Cammie hadn’t had a chance to tell her yet. Later, when Susannah was over her ecstasy concerning this screenplay opportunity, Cammie could confide the truth. For now, though, everything else had fled Susannah’s normally sensible brain.
“You can find Tyler. I know you can.”
“I will not contact Samuel Stovall!”
“Okay, okay. There’s bound to be another way. What about Tyler’s mother? You’ve always said you like her.”
“I haven’t talked to Nanette in years.”
“Well…?” Susannah lifted a hand in question, challenging Cammie to take the obvious route.
“I don’t want to find Ty!” Cammie burst out.
“Well, why not?” she demanded.
“I just don’t, okay? And why does everybody have this confidence in me when he’s been missing nearly a decade! I’m no investigator. I don’t get it.”
“You have connections. Sam Stovall was your stepfather whether you like it or not.”
Cammie pursed her lips and shook her head with finality.
Susannah, who understood only part of Cammie’s aversion to the man, stated doggedly, “You could contact any member of Tyler’s family by virtue of the fact you were once his stepsister.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe it’s time it was. I’m just saying, it’s possible.”
“Samuel Stovall hurt my mother, and me, and even Ty. He wasn’t fair. I told you before: I caught him in bed with another woman when he was still married to my mom.”
Susannah winced. “I know, I know. Just a sec…” She refilled their glasses.
“This is no celebration,” Cammie warned her as Susannah pressed the goblet in her hand.
“Come on,” Susannah urged, dragging Cammie by the hand back to the balcony and plopping her in a chair. Yanking her own chair close, perched on its edge, Susannah gazed straight into Cammie’s blue-green eyes. Girltalk was coming. Cammie could feel it. “Tell me why it’s so impossible for you to do this one itsy-bitsy little chore. So, Samuel’s a jerk. You like Tyler, don’t you? Wouldn’t you just love to see him again? Find out what he’s been doing? Picture it, my dear! You showing up on Tyler Stovall’s doorstep. It’s too perfect.”
Cammie had revealed some of her darkest memories to Susannah over the years, though she’d kept the secret of her one-night tryst with Tyler to herself. That was for her alone to know. She couldn’t trust a single soul with that hurtful little tale.
“I can’t face Samuel Stovall. And even if I could, what would I say? ‘Hey, I know we’ve never really liked each other that much, but do you know where Ty is? Finding him would really help me get a part in a movie. Oh, and, by the way, it would be great for Ty, too, so you see, I’m not being selfish or anything.�
�� I couldn’t say that to Nanette, either.”
“Kiddo, I see your point. I really do. But there are other ways to put it.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. You could express concern for Ty. You’ve been thinking about him. A lot’s changed.”
Cammie snorted. “And then when it comes out I’ve been chosen to co-star with Tyler in a new film? What do you think either of Ty’s parents would think about that? And then of course there’s Ty himself!”
“Well, Sam Stovall would understand that motivation better than anyone. He’s the master of self-promotion and manipulation, especially when it benefits him.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“Another glass?” Susannah asked, holding up her empty goblet. Cammie put her hand over the top of her glass, feeling the effects already and certain she needed to keep her wits about her. “Ty could be just waiting for someone to reach out to him and bring him back,” Susannah observed, her voice trailing after her as she went to refill her glass.
“You don’t know Tyler Stovall,” Cammie pointed out dryly.
“Well, tell me about him, then,” she called.
Cammie waited for Susannah to return, her own memories tumbling over one another, long-ago feelings flooding through her veins. For years she’d tried to convince herself that what she’d felt for Ty was puppy love and adoration, but she wondered if she’d been wrong. Whatever she’d experienced, its power remained true and strong. She couldn’t even talk about the man without feeling something. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed.
But when Susannah reseated herself, Cammie hesitated, not entirely sure she wanted to tread this particular path. There were stones and potholes and dangerous curves ahead. Carefully, she said, “Tyler’s a lot like Sam, but not totally. He’s certainly not as selfish. Maybe he’s more like Nanette that way.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Nanette had—has—depth,” Cammie said, smiling faintly. Though she hadn’t seen Tyler’s mother in years, it couldn’t fade her memory of the vibrant woman. Nanette might not be a current part of the Hollywood scene, but she’d been a screenwriter in her younger days—until marriage to Samuel stifled her creative urges. “People don’t remember her too much, at least not as much as they remember Sam’s other exes. Even my mother’s more noteworthy as a Hollywood anecdote than Nanette is,” Cammie admitted ironically.
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