"Absolutely.” she whispered. Their lips met, and he kissed her passionately with the cool ocean breeze swirling around them. Beverly felt lightheaded, her pulse racing.
"Is that okay” he asked her, running his luscious lips across her neck.
"It's wonderful,” she gasped, reaching to touch his tight black curls, her hands trembling. He pulled her face toward his and kissed her again, their mouths open—e tasted sweet, fresh, and manly. She knew she could not resist this exotic sexy man, at this point she was not even going to try.
* * * *
Donnie hoofed back and forth tempestuously in the tiny graffiti covered jail cell. Two gruff-looking, tattooed Mexican men eyed him as he paced the floor.
"Hey, Gringo! Relax, you're making me nervous,” the larger of the two hissed at Donnie, who grabbed the steel bars of the cell and violently shook them, causing an ear-splitting racket.
"Hey, let me outta here. I ain't done nothin'.” Donnie called out to a young officer, who sat at his desk, reading. He glanced up at Donnie for a second, then calmly went back to his magazine.
"Gringo, shut up.” snapped the other Mexican man. Both looked at each other and laughed, exposing gold-capped teeth.
Donnie slumped on a hard metal bench and buried his face in his hands. The larger Mexican man got up and sat down on the bench next to Donnie.
"Amigo, you make much noise. You are starting to bother me.” he sneered, his friend hooting with laughter. Donnie stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. The heavy man gave him a shove with his shoulder.
"Amigo, I'm talking to you."
"Look, I don't like Italians, all right?” Donnie snarled, scooting away from the imposing man.
"Por favor, Amigo. I'm Mexican, and I don't like Gringo's.” He edged closer to Donnie, causing him to topple off the bench and onto the cold cement floor. The Mexican men dissolved into a fit of uncontrolled belly laughs. He bent down and got right in Donnie's face. “And I don't like you.” He put his thick boot on Donnie's back, not letting him up.
Just then a stern-looking officer unlocked the cell and slid open the steel door. “You.” He pointed at Donnie. “Come on."
Donnie quickly got up and followed the officer down a narrow hallway to a small office area with a desk and a coffee machine. The officer motioned for Donnie to sit in a chair under a pay phone. “What's your name?” the officer asked him curtly. Donnie sat silent, arms folded in front of him.
"I asked you, what's your name.” The officer repeated himself slowly.
"Ziggy Zing Zing.” Donnie snapped.
"Sir, I am going to ask you one more time. What is your name?” the officer's patience was wearing thin.
"Poofy Loop Loop.” Donnie answered, laughing. The officer exhaled sharply and shook his head.
"Do you have any identification on you?” the exasperated officer inquired.
"Nope."
"You may make one local phone call.” The officer sat at the desk and handed Donnie a phone book. Donnie sluggishly flipped through it.
"Ummm, ‘scuse me, sir?” Donnie mumbled.
"Yes.” the officer snapped.
"I'm from out of town, and I'm staying at a hotel. I don't know the name of it."
"You don't remember the name of the hotel where you are staying?” the officer asked abruptly. Donnie shook his head and picked a piece of fluff from his nostril. The officer rolled his eyes. “Okay, can you describe it to me then?” he asked.
"Uh, it's got all kinds of fancy flowers, and it looks like a little pink house. It's right on the water, and it's got one of those driveways that goes around.” Donnie stammered.
The officer cocked his head. “The Hotel Del Moor?"
"Yup, that's the one. I need that number."
The officer took the phone book, looked up the number and then dialed. He handed the phone to Donnie.
"Do you remember the name of the person you are calling?” the officer snapped sarcastically.
"Oh, yes. My wife, Shelly.” Donnie stated, oblivious to the snide remark. He put the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing sounds, waiting for an answer.
"Thank you for calling the Hotel Del Moor, Lisa speaking.” a cheery female voice answered.
"Is Shelly there?” Donnie asked.
"Pardon?"
"Let me speak to Shelly McCoy.” Donnie barked.
"Is she a guest?"
"Yeah."
"And what room is she staying in, sir?” the girl asked.
"She's staying in my room.” Donnie said impatiently. The officer shook his head, and got up to get himself some coffee.
"Is there a room number?” she asked, trying to remain professional.
"Just connect me to the McCoy room, girlie.” he snapped, embarrassed that he had forgotten the room number too.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I need a room number before I can connect you to any of our guests rooms. It's our hotel policy,” the girl said politely.
"Look, I'm stayin’ at your hotel. I need to speak to my wife. Now get off your ass and connect me to my room!” Donnie said, raising his voice. Another officer came into the room to see what was going on. Donnie saw the two men in the corner, sipping coffee and pointing at him.
"Sir, if you are indeed a guest at our hotel, then you would know your room number."
"Why can't you just connect me? This sounds like a load of bull.” Donnie was about to explode.
"Sir, we have quite a few celebrities staying here, and we need a room number to protect the privacy of our guests. You are welcome to leave a message. Sir? Are you there? Sir?"
Donnie furiously hung up on her. Smug little phone bitch. She could have easily rang up his room, she just didn't want to. She was probably having her coffee break, lazy slut. Sure, Donnie thought, have Shelly call me here, in jail? This was just great. The two officers were eyeing him, shaking their heads in disbelief.
"This guy is an idiot,” the first officer mumbled to the second officer.
"Can he even read the phone book?” the second officer asked, stifling a laugh.
"I don't think so. He is right out of the ‘Beverly Hillbillies'.” the first officer smirked.
"Is there a problem?” the second officer asked, marching over to where Donnie was sitting.
"No, problem. I just can't get through to my wife.” Donnie shrug his shoulders.
"Why?” the officer raised an eyebrow. He was sick of dealing with these stupid drunk assholes.
"I can't remember my room number."
"What?"
"He didn't remember the hotel either. This guy is a couple of slices short of a loaf.” the first officer chimed in.
"I am not! That slut on the phone wouldn't help me. You Californi people are all nothing but a bunch of nigger lovin’ faggots!” Donnie leapt up and shouted, stamping his feet like a child having a temper tantrum. The two officers grabbed each one of Donnie's upper arms, dragging him out of the room. It was that dumb phone girls fault, she could have helped him, and she didn't.
"Okay, back into the slammer you go.” the officer said, wearily.
They led Donnie back down the hall to the holding cell. The first two Mexicans were joined by another, making it three menacing roughnecks. They harshly threw Donnie in and slammed the door with a clang behind him. He fell to the floor. Three Mexicans guffawed at him.
"Hey, look who it is. It's Gringo,” the heavyset man said menacingly. He got up and gave Donnie a little kick in the leg. “Welcome back."
* * * *
Angela sat alone outside by the pool with her feet in, splashing the cool clear water. She had no bathing suit, so she could not go swimming. Beverly had run off with that hippie musician guy with the nose ring and the Afro, and Joe was nowhere to be found. Some weekend this was turning out to be. Her thoughts drifted back to Joe, and the morning they had spent together. Hot sex in the steaming shower, his masculine hands all over her body, his lips gently caressing the tips of her nipples. She smiled to herself t
hinking about him. Why was she obsessing over a man? She was in a relationship. Besides, Joe had run off with his father and his uncle. Maybe she shouldn't have had sex with him.
Young, rich, gorgeous guys from Beverly Hills get laid all the time, and she was probably just another notch in his bedpost. What would happen if Beverly found out? Let's hope she doesn't. Their relationship was strained anyway, and this just might be the straw that breaks the camel's back.
She looked up to see a young couple, probably thirty-something, arrive with their three adorable little girls. They set their towels on a folding beach chair, and dove in the pool, laughing and playing together. The mother picked up the oldest child and tossed her up in the air, while the father adjusted the inner tube of the youngest daughter.
Angela watched in awe, knowing that having a husband and children would not be an option if she continued with the lifestyle she had chosen. She was attracted to men, she always had been. She was simply sick of their bullshit. With women it was so much easier, no games, no tricks to get you into the sack on a first date. Women were more straightforward; where with men you never knew where you stood.
Angela fell in love with Beverly because she was beautiful, smart, and sweet. Besides, she had just come out of a horrible relationship with a married older man. Beverly never knew about this, and Angela didn't dare tell her. Of course, Angela didn't know he was married, he left that little detail out.
Rob Spencer was a friend of her father's, and they met when she was visiting him at his office one afternoon. She was all of eighteen at the time, he was forty. He was handsome, suave, and classy, showering her with gifts and compliments. He took her virginity in the backseat of his BMW one Sunday afternoon, and then had to hurry to get to an ‘appointment.’ She decided to follow him home one day, and sat in shock as he was greeted at the door by his wife and two-year-old baby boy.
Angela angrily stormed up to his front door, and he introduced her as an ‘intern.’ “Think Monica Lewinsky.” Angela snapped to his astounded wife, and turned on her heel and left, never to see Rob again.
She had sex with men since, but she wasn't too crazy about it. So she started having sex with women and found it more comfortable. Women were soft and gentle, their curves and breasts were so beautiful. She still liked men, but Rob was a tough pain to let go of, and she had carried that baggage around with her for years. So she found the stable love relationship she was so desperately seeking with a woman, whom she was going to have to forsake in order to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. There was no way she was not going to New York, that was just out of the question. And then she met Joe, and he threw her for a loop. Was she in love with him? Could you fall in love in a day? All she knew was that she had never experienced such pleasure as she had with him that morning. He was all she could think about.
She watched the family swimming and splashing around in the shallow end of the pool and sniffed the clean scent of the salty ocean breeze.
"Angela.” a voice came from somewhere behind her. She looked up to see Joe standing there. His beautiful sapphire eyes were red, like he had been crying, and he looked troubled.
"Joe, what's going on?” She stood up and he took her face in his hands, his golden hair glistening in the bright California sunshine. He had an anguished expression on his face.
"Let's go make love.” he looked deeply into her eyes, causing her heart rate to hasten.
"Joe?"
"Please Angela. I need to make love to you.” He was trembling, and he collapsed into her. She held him.
"Joe, what's wrong?” she asked him, her arms tightly around his muscular, tight body.
"Angela, I need to be close to you, please?” He was almost in tears, his strong body shaking.
"Okay, Joe.” She gently took him by the hand and led him down the pathway to his bungalow.
CHAPTER 10
Stephen was in shock—Joyce hysterical. John had just broken the news of his illness to his family. He had not, however, told Allison and Patrick yet. Joe had sat in stoned silence, and then bolted out the door. John thought about chasing his son, but then decided to let him deal with this in his own way. Poor Stephen, what a time it was to bring this on his brother. John knew all about the Donnie McCoy situation, and was powerless to do anything to help him because of his condition.
Stephen sat on the foot of the bed, comforting the sobbing Joyce. John reached in his travel bag and took out a small bottle of Valium. He opened it and handed one to his wife with some water. She quickly gulped it down, then hung her head in her hands.
"John, if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to let me know.” Stephen volunteered.
"No, I just wanted to be around family at this time in my life. I wanted to reconnect with you and Allison before...” His voice trailed off, and his eyes began to well up. He sat on the bed next to Joyce, and the two of them clung to each other. Stephen picked up the phone and dialed, dreading what he was about to do. After the third ring, Allison picked up.
"Allison, it's Stephen.” he spoke slowly.
"Stevie-baby. What's going on, sweetie?” she cooed into the phone at her brother.
"Can you come to John's room right now? We have to tell you something,” he said.
"Is anything wrong?” she inquired.
"Just come to John's room."
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Something is wrong, isn't there? Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” she shouted. Stephen could hear Patrick trying to calm her in the background. “We'll be right there.” and she abruptly hung up.
The last thing they needed right now was Miss Drama Queen, but Allison had a right to know. Within seconds, there was frantic pounding at the door. Stephen got up to answer it. Allison rushed into the room, with Patrick following. “Dear, God, what's going on? John, what's going on?” Allison screeched. John nodded at Stephen to take over the duty of breaking the news to them. John and Joyce cradled each other and wept.
"Allison, John is sick.” Stephen spoke softly.
"What?” she turned white and grabbed Patrick's hand.
"John has cancer. It's terminal,” he told her.
"Oh my God! Where is Little Joe? We have to tell Joe.” Allison shrieked.
"He knows, Allison.” John spoke up, wiping tears away from his cheek.
"How long have you had it? How long have you known?” Allison sat down on the bed next to them. Patrick sat down in a plush chair, and remained mute. Stephen stood up and got a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator. He poured everybody a glass.
"Allison, please...” Stephen said gently.
"Allison, I wanted you all here to tell you, I have less than a year.” John whispered. Joyce sobbed.
Allison sat still, silent tears running down her face. “Oh, John.” She tightly hugged her big brother, and dissolved completely.
"This is the time to be strong, be a family.” Stephen told them all. Patrick nodded, keeping out of this and letting his wife and her brother get through it.
John untangled himself from his sister's grasp and looked at her seriously. “Now, Allison. There is a money issue. I want to leave you, Patrick, Paul, and Beverly with something. I want to divide it up between you all evenly.” John said.
"That's all right, John. You don't have to.” Patrick spoke out suddenly.
"What? Jesus, Patrick, let my brother decide what to do.” Allison spoke sharply at her husband.
"I just think Stephen should get most of it, that's all.” Patrick said.
"Why?” Stephen asked.
"Well, because you are...” Patrick caught himself and stopped in mid-sentence.
"A broke loser?” Stephen asked critically.
"Look, guys...” John interrupted.
"No, it's just that I have a good job and...” Patrick told him gingerly.
"I have a job, too.” Stephen exclaimed.
"Please, don't argue. I think Patrick...” Allison jumped in.
"What? I am not capable of taking care o
f my kids? I need a handout from my dying brother?” Stephen was stressed and his patience was wearing thin.
"Isn't that why you came here, Stephen? To get a handout?” Allison shouted.
"Fuck you all!” he exploded.
"Stephen, nobody said...” Patrick said lightly, motioning with his hands.
"Oh, for God's sake, will you all just shut up!” Joyce shouted out and stormed into the bathroom, her sobs clearly audible through the heavy wooden door.
"That's great, Stephen.” Allison snapped.
"What the hell did I say? It was your husband...” Stephen said.
"No, I just said that...” Patrick interrupted
The whole room exploded into a shouting match with accusations, pointing, and tears. John just sat still, wringing his hands. This family reunion was not going how he had planned.
* * * *
The four of them strode down Hollywood Boulevard and stopped when they got to the corner of Hollywood and Highland. Lilly was not sure what was going to happen next. She just went along, terrified of being carved to pieces. There were many people around, so she could scream if anything were to happen. Diamond was cautiously inspecting the scene, looking up and down the streets. A man in a clown suit was passing out flyers to the Hollywood Wax Museum, and a foul-smelling, barefoot homeless man spat on the dirty sidewalk as he ambled by.
"Okay, ladies. There don't seem to be any cops around here. Let's do it!” he told the girls. D.J. and Jordan seemed to know the drill, smiling and blowing kisses at men driving by.
"Hey, baby, wanna party?” Jordan hiked up her dress to reveal her plump, tattooed leg. Cars slowed down to get a better look. Lilly knew she would either have to make a break for it, or do the deed, too. She felt sick to her stomach, and very, very afraid.
"Hey, baby, you lookin’ for a date?” D.J. purred seductively to a young man in a black Mercedes. He pulled over to the curb and rolled down his window as D.J. peered inside. After about a minute, she opened the door and hopped in. They sped off down the street.
Jordan checked her makeup in a tiny mirror, pulled out a lipstick from her purse, and applied a ton of the gaudy hot pink stuff. She licked her lips, ran a finger across her teeth and smiled seductively at two teenage boys on roller blades. The street was crowded, but nobody seemed to give them a second look. Three more busty blondes in tight dresses passed by them, smiling sexily at the cars going by. Lilly just stared down at the stars on the sidewalk.
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