by J. P. Bowie
She must disassociate herself from the wicked and the licentious—or Heaven knows what may befall her. I am only doing this because I choose to believe that Miss Winters is still worth saving—she is, unfortunately, being misguided by those around her.
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Imagine giving thousands of dollars to those who whine about being abused by their own parents—as if such a thing could possibly happen! Liars, nothing but liars, all of them. Just like my children….
Olivia slouched into the make-up department, still hung over from the night before. Ernie, the man who had been responsible for making her look her best for the five years of the Olivia Winters Show, looked at her aghast.
“Oh my word,” he twittered, his hands raised in mock horror. “What have we been doing to ourselves?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Olivia growled, throwing herself into the make-up chair.
“Charming, as always,” Ernie sighed, unfazed by Olivia’s vile mood. Over the years he’d become immune to her mood swings. He was well paid for his endeavors and accepted Olivia’s tantrums as just part of the job. Besides, she could be quite generous at times, slipping him a bonus check every now and then.
“I have a hangover,” Olivia muttered.
“No kidding. I thought you’d run face first into a bus.”
“Cut that out. I’m in no mood for your bitchy comments.”
“So I see, dearie. Well, was it worth it?”
“No, it was not. I was with a bunch of losers—and the worst part of it is, I may have to apologize to one, if not several, of them. I just wish I could remember all that happened.”
“Oh oh, that bad huh?”
“I had to stay over, Ernie. They put me to bed…”
“That was nice of them.”
“If you say so. I’d rather they’d called a cab.”
“Where was this?”
“In Laguna—at that artist’s house. You know, the guy who was on the show about a month ago, Peter Brandon.”
“Oooh yes, I remember him—what a doll—and that dishy guy of his, the PI. What I’d like to do with him. Yum!”
“Aren’t you a bit old for that kind of thinking?”
“Old? Honey, there might be snow on the roof, but there’s still a fire in the basement.”
“You’re disgusting, Ernie.”
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“I’m disgusting?” Ernie’s hands went to his hips. “Listen sister, I’m not the one who got drunk and disorderly.”
“I should fire you, you…you… queen.”
Ernie burst out laughing. “Is that the best you can do this morning? My, my, we are not feeling up to par, are we?”
“Oh, shut up and get on with my face, willya? I’m late as it is. Brenda will be in here yelling at me any minute.”
“Like you care…Okay doll, let’s start the repairs.” He tutted like an old woman as he studied her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, look at those dark cir-cles under those eyes. Just as well I can work miracles.”
Olivia ground her teeth but said nothing, knowing he was right. Ernie could work miracles, and had done so many times before when she’d come in after a hectic weekend of sex and booze. Only this time, she’d had to do without the sex. Too bad, she mused now. That bartender looked like he could have gone the stretch…nice muscles, and she particularly like that dirty-blond look.
Christ…what was she going to do about Peter? She would have to apologize before he came up for the next portrait sitting. Maybe she shouldn’t have just snuck out of the house like she did, without even leaving a note. She had just been too mortified when she had awakened, and the full realization of what had happened the night before had dawned on her.
I called him a faggot. Jesus, what was I thinking?
That was the problem, she hadn’t been thinking, all boozed up like that.
Had they spiked her drinks? No, it was most likely those two Johnny Walkers she’s slammed down before she headed down there. An then all that champagne on top of that—no wonder she’d been blitzed. Maybe she should see about this drinking problem—or was it really a problem? She liked to drink and none of those at the party had been abstaining—but she’d been the only drunk. Oh God, she could still see Jeff ’s face; so mad at her. He looked like he might have decked her one. Of course, he wouldn’t—too much the gentleman—and Peter, looking so hurt. Well, she’d blown it with them, for sure. She could only hope they’d go through with the second show after all the money the production company had spent of the location shoots and all. She’d have to explain all this to them if Peter and Jeff bowed out.
I can’t let that happen, she almost said aloud.
“Relax doll,” Ernie murmured, gently massaging one of his miracle potions into her skin.
“Feels good Ernie,” she sighed. “Do you ever wish you could go back a day or so and change some stuff?”
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Ernie laughed. “Do I? I’d like to go back several years and change some stuff…Oh oh,” he muttered. “Here comes trouble.”
“Hi Brenda,” Olivia said with resignation, knowing what was to come.
“Hi yourself,” Brenda replied, her voice terse. “You’re an hour late—what gives?”
“Never mind that…” Olivia gave a dismissive wave. “Just fill me in on what I’m doing this morning.”
Later, as the women sat in Olivia’s dressing room, Brenda handed her a sheet of paper. “Read this.”
Olivia scanned the first few lines, her mouth turning down as she read. “So it’s another anonymous letter complaining about ‘all the perverts and sodomites’ I’ve had on the show recently. What’s the big deal?”
“This one, and several others like it are from the same person. That’s a copy.
I’ve turned the originals over to the police.”
“Oh, like they’ll do anything,” Olivia said, laughing. “Brenda, there are so many kooks out there capable of writing that shit—and who gives a damn? As long as the ratings are there—not me, nor the sponsors.”
“But this one sounds crazy, Olivia. ‘The wrath of God will descend upon you unless you renounce your affiliation with the wicked’—that kind of stuff.
Could be the religious right—they’ve put other shows out of business before.”
“Let ’em try,” Olivia said, stifling a yawn. “Maybe I should get one of those crazies on the show. I could tie ’em up in knots. I know my Bible—I was brought up on that crap.”
“Olivia…” Brenda wasn’t smiling. “Maybe it’s time to stop having so many controversial people on the show.”
“Peter Brandon is hardly controversial, Brenda.” Olivia looked at her manager with faint amusement. “He’s a fag—there are millions of them out there, or haven’t you noticed? Seems, sometimes, like every decent looking guy is gay,” she groused. “The thing is—he’s news. He and his buddy Jeff—the ‘Gay Hardy Boys’. The public loves them. They’re like Queer Eye for the Bad Guy. So what if there’s a few nutcases threatening to boycott the show…”
“This one isn’t threatening to boycott the show, Olivia.” Brenda took the letter from her. “This one is threatening your life. That’s why I turned all the letters over to the police.”
“Brenda, Brenda,” Olivia chuckled. “I can’t be concerned about some screwball threats. Dozens of celebrities have had their lives threatened at some time J.P. Bowie
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or another. Off-the-hook fans running amok, believing they’re the soul mates Brad Pitt or Angelina is lookin’ for. The world is full of ’em.”
“That’s true, but this is the first time anyone has ever said they would harm you. Frankly, I’m worried.”
“Well, let’s hire a bodyguard.” Olivia gave her manager a sharp look as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “As a matter of fact, I may have the perfect guy.”
“Who?”
“Oh, someone
I met last night.”
“You met a bodyguard?”
“No, a bartender—but he’s built like a bodyguard should be.”
“Olivia, we need a professional…”
“Let me take care of this, Brenda,” she said with a sly smile. “Yeah, this could be good…”
Peter looked up from the Sunday newspaper as Jeff padded into the kitchen, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.
“What are you trying to do?” he exclaimed, grinning. “Trying to inflame me again this early in the morning?”
“When do I have to try?” Jeff teased him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.
“So our little drunken bird flew the coop?”
“I’m not surprised,” Peter said, watching Jeff pour himself a cup of coffee.
“If I’d made an ass of myself like that, I’d have snuck off too.”
“Not that you ever would,” Jeff remarked. “You think she’ll call?”
“She more or less has to if she wants her portrait finished—or us back on the show. She’s got to be mad at herself for allowing herself to lose it like that, last night.”
“If she remembers half of it,” Jeff chuckled. He sat down at the table and took a sip of his coffee. “You know, I’ve never cared that much for the woman and last night, well it just sort of confirmed my opinion of her, yet…I can’t help feeling sorry for her in some strange way. All that fame, all those people running at her beck and call. What does it bring her really, when she’s obviously so unhappy within herself? That mean streak she displays at the drop of a hat—seems to me she is one sad and lonely woman.”
Peter was about to agree, when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” he said, getting up from the table. “Hi, this is Peter.”
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“Peter, it’s Olivia…”
“Oh…Hi, Olivia.”
Jeff ’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and he sat back in his chair to listen to Peter’s half of the conversation.
“Peter,” Olivia’s voice was husky with emotion. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened last night. Will you ever forgive me? I don’t know what came over me. If I offended you, believe me, I am abjectly sorry.”
“Oh, that’s all right Olivia,” Peter said, rolling his eyes at Jeff. “I guess you’d just had one too many. That happens…”
“I’m so glad you see it that way,” Olivia sighed. “I did have too much to drink on an empty stomach. Silly of me; I should know better at my age.” Her laugh was brittle and nervous. “You’re not mad at me then?”
“No…”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she gushed. “And please give Eve my apologies too, won’t you?”
“I will.”
“So I can expect you on Tuesday for the sitting?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. I so look forward to our time together, you know.” A pause.
“By the way, the guy who was your bartender…”
“Luke?”
“Right. Do you have his phone number handy? A friend of mine can use him next Saturday.”
“Sure, I’ll get it for you. Hang on.” Peter picked up the number Luke had left him the night before and recited it to Olivia.
“Thanks Peter,” she said. “Please say hello to Jeff and tell him I am so sorry—and tell him I will make all that up to him soon. I still want to take you guys out to dinner.”
“Okay, Olivia. I’ll see you on Tuesday. Bye.”
Jeff looked at him over the top of his coffee cup. “Well?”
“Oh, she apologized, of course. Sounded as sincere as we’d expect, which is not at all.” Peter shrugged and poured himself another cup of coffee. “She’s anxious to have the portrait finished, I guess. Then she asked for Luke’s number.”
“Yeah…What’s that about, d’you suppose?”
“She said someone she knows needs a bartender on Saturday.”
“There must be hundreds of able bartenders in LA,” Jeff said. “Methinks Miss Olivia has something else in mind for young Luke.”
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“Mmm, I did see some looks going on between them last night.” Peter shook his head. “Boy, Olivia could make mincemeat out of him in no time.
He’s hardly in her league.”
“Whatever league that is,” Jeff laughed. “He’s probably used to drunks hitting on him.”
“She said she’s going to make it all up to you. She wants to take you out for your birthday.”
“I’d rather she didn’t,” Jeff said firmly. “Once this darned show is over with, I don’t think I’ll care if I never see her again. She’s way too much hard work.”
“Yeah, well like you, I’ll be glad when this is all over. By the way,” Peter glanced around. “Have you seen my camera? I was looking for it earlier and couldn’t find it.”
“Did you check outside?”
“Uh huh. It’s not out there. Last time I remember seeing it was when Luke took that group photo.”
“Well, if we don’t find it, you can call him and ask him if he remembers where he put it.”
“Right. Maybe Mom picked it up when she was clearing up out there last night. I’ll ask her later.”
“Well, that’s done,” Olivia muttered to herself, putting the phone down. She looked at the phone number she had scrawled on her desk pad. Brenda would be back in a few minutes with the itinerary for the day—she’d just have time to make a quick call. Quickly, she punched in the numbers and listened to the first three rings, tapping her fingers impatiently on her dressing table.
“Hello?” Luke’s muffled voice sounded as if he were underneath a pile of blankets.
“Sorry doll, did I wake you?”
“Who’s this?”
“Olivia Winters.”
“Right.” Luke sounded disgusted. “Who the hell is this?”
Olivia laughed gaily. “It’s me cowboy, from last night. Remember? You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”
There was a moment’s silence on the other end…then he asked; “Is this a joke?”
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“No joke, big boy. Listen, I have a job for you. Let me fill you in, then we can arrange a meeting.”
“Okay.” Luke sounded much more awake now. “What kind of job?”
“I need a bodyguard.” Olivia gave a throaty laugh. “From what I remember, I think you’d fit the bill just nicely. You up for it?”
Luke gave what he hoped was a sexy chuckle. “Oh, I’m up for it all right.”
“That’s what I thought. Listen I’m at the studio…”
“On a Sunday?”
“Yes, on a Sunday. I have a tight schedule this week, so we had to take care of some pre-shoots today. I should be through around five. Here’s my address—got a pen handy?”
“Sure, wait a second…Okay, shoot.”
Olivia gave him her Beverly Hills address and directions. “Be there around six. We can…talk, get better acquainted and I can fill you in with the details then. OK?”
“I’m your man,” Luke said, almost unable to contain his excitement.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Olivia purred. “See you later.”
“Yes!” Luke bounded from his bed with a cry of triumph. This day had suddenly become much more meaningful. He was going to be Olivia Winters’
bodyguard!
Wow, he thought, as he made his way to the bathroom, this had to mean he’d be living in Beverly Hills, going to all the glittering functions she would attend. He’d be there with her, just a few feet away from all the celebrities and moneymakers in Hollywood. He’d get to meet beautiful women—lots and lots of them. He grinned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, giving himself a critical inspection.
“You look good kid,” he said aloud, admiring what he saw. He flexed his arms, watching with satisfaction the muscles that rippled beneath his smooth, tanned skin. A couple of hours in the gy
m and some sun time before he went up to LA for his interview, would make him look pretty spectacular. He ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair, spiking it up a little. “Yep, you’ll do just fine.”
He sauntered back into his bedroom and hunted around for his gym bag, pausing for a moment as his eyes fell on the camera he’d purloined the night before. Picking it up, he looked at it with a self-satisfied grin. This baby contained quite a few photographs he had taken, unseen by anyone, during Olivia’s drunken exhibition. Everyone had been so concerned with her actions J.P. Bowie
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that no one had noticed him picking up Peter’s camera and snapping a few
‘souvenirs’ for himself.
Well, maybe now he wouldn’t have to use them for the original purpose he had stolen the camera. If all worked out well, he’d forget the notion of selling them to the tabloid willing to pay the highest price for pictures of the famous Miss Winters, sprawled out dead drunk on the ground, and subsequently being carried upstairs to sleep it off. He’d keep them though, as a kind of insurance against bad times. Still, if he played his cards right here, he just might be in the juice for a long time.
Whistling happily, he slipped on a pair of shorts and a tank top, picked up his gym bag and headed for the door. Today was going to be very interesting.
c h a p t e r 4
s
Winfred Owen frowned as she looked down from her balcony and saw the man walking through the communal gardens below her. This was the second; no third time she’d seen him in the last week or so. Winifred knew he didn’t live in the building—he looked like a vagrant or something in that ugly coat—and on such a beautiful day. How had he gotten in? How had he managed to circum-vent the security gates that led to the peaceful arbor she loved to sit in? There was no way she was going down there while this interloper was around.
Grabbing her phone, she punched in the number for security. “Security?
That guy’s here again. You need to be more on the ball. Please get him out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the gruff reply. “We’re on it.”
“Hurry, please.” She put the phone down then walking back out onto her balcony, she peered down into the lush grounds below. “No sign of him,” she muttered. “Thank goodness…” Her gaze was distracted as she glimpsed a long black limousine pulling around to the front of the building.