Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  Lenny wasn’t going to let them get away with it. He needed something fast; his mother hadn’t given him a dime in weeks, and Tom was making noises about Lenny chipping in for food. Melanie was Lenny’s last chance.

  Plus this meant he had something to hold over her. She’d have to toss him a few bucks. Hook up with him too.

  Melanie would need to keep the Jason story alive, and so she'd want to be seen where Jason was staying. Which meant the Hilton.

  Lenny parked in the Hilton staff lot, pretty inconspicuous amongst the other older model cars, but where he’d still have a good view of the guest lot. Not much going on, so quiet that even with his windows half open Lenny couldn’t help from dozing off until a rapid tapping made him jump. A robotic-looking police officer was peering into the car.

  “You have a bed to sleep in?”

  Lenny was instantly wide awake. That Melanie was blaming Jason for the break-in hadn’t stopped Lenny from being spooked every time he saw a cop. “Sorry, officer, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, they must be running late. I’ve been working nights and I’m just exhausted. They should be coming any minute now.”

  You can’t stay here. You don’t have a staff parking sticker.”

  “Couldn’t you give me a few more minutes? I’m not in anybody’s way.”

  “What’s your business here?”

  Lenny lied. “My ma is sick, I have this night job, but I need something else during the day, you know, to help with her medical bills. This guy I met washes dishes at this hotel, he said he could introduce me to the kitchen manager. I’m just looking for some honest work.”

  “I don’t recognize you, you from Marburg?”

  “We just moved here a few months ago, we’re over on Hamilton Street.”

  The cop hesitated, Lenny thinking he was going to ask for ID, but instead the cop said, “I’m back this way in twenty minutes. If you’re sleeping in your car or not gone by then I’m going to write you up. Understand?”

  “Yes sir, thank you, sir.”

  The cop walked off through the guest lot, Lenny watching him in the rear view. Still no Melanie. When he saw the cop come back Lenny started his car and cruised the block a few times until he saw a police car pull out of the Hilton. Just as Lenny turned into the lot again he spotted Melanie getting out of her Toyota. She was wearing a peach colored tank top with dark blue skinny jeans, striding confidently along in strappy heeled sandals, Lenny thinking she looked hot, as always, the chic top softening the look of the skin tight pants. Her arms needed a little more toning. Lenny would get her to work on that, it was the kind of advice she needed from him.

  Before Melanie had a chance to reach the back entrance of the hotel he cut her off with the Caddy and popped out, discreetly pulling at his shirt to hide the wrinkles.

  “You’re like a virus,” said Melanie.

  “Hello yourself,” said Lenny, not even upset she was her usual bitchy self. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Get in line. Or better yet, don’t.”

  Melanie had still given no indication she was willing to admit anything at all about the night he had been with her. Could she be playing him? Lenny glanced around, looking for witnesses. Was she working with the police, setting him up? Where was that cop? “I saw the show,” he said carefully.

  “You and a million other people.” Melanie skirted around the Caddy.

  “I got to say, you are good,” said Lenny, truthfully. “Jumping into the public eye by implying Jason Ayers practically assaulted you. Too bad it’s all a lie. We both know you couldn’t have been with Jason that night.”

  That stopped her. Melanie squinted at him. “You don’t know shit.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “As usual, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.”

  “Do you want me to spell it out?” Lenny was sweating, this was it.

  “I don’t want anything from you. Except to be left alone. Remember the last time you were here? My friend the bartender? Keep bothering me and I’ll have him take care of you.”

  So she was going to keep playing that game. Lenny tried a different approach. “You owe me.” Lenny saw Melanie about to object and kept going. “Not the photo idea, I’m over that. But you got to admit, you’d have never made it to The Other Woman if I hadn’t put the publicity idea in your head.”

  “You want to go around claiming credit for my success, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t bother me.”

  “Believe what you want. Just remember I helped get you there, and I can pull you down just as fast. I’ll tell them you weren’t with Jason.”

  Melanie barked out a dismissive laugh. “Who’s going to believe a nobody who hangs out behind a dumpster in a hotel parking lot?”

  “I wasn’t hanging out here, I was waiting for you.”

  “I could walk into that staff entrance right now and come out with three guys who’ll swear you were. You know why? Just because I asked them to. That’s the difference between me and you. People will do what I want, and people will cross the street if they see you coming. No, that’s not it. They’ll drive their car up on the sidewalk to run you over if they see you.” Melanie was halfway to the back entrance.

  Lenny had plenty of experience with harsh words from women, but Melanie was wearing him down. If only she wasn’t so hot, and such a perfect meal ticket. One or the other he’d be able to maybe walk away from, but the combination was irresistible.

  “I can prove you weren’t with Jason.”

  Melanie stopped, her hand on the door. She half turned to him, the small motion lifting Lenny’s spirits, like he’d scored a point. More than one.

  “What do you want, Lenny?” she said, a surprising weariness in her voice, like she’d grown tired of playing a part.

  Lenny gave her his best smile. “Let’s be a team. Me and you. I can help you. And I’m not embarrassed to admit you can help me. You’re smart, you know how this game works. We can do better together than fighting with each other.”

  “I’m not fighting you, I’m ignoring you. You got nothing I want.”

  “I told you, I have proof you weren’t with Jason.”

  “So you’re a blackmailer now?”

  Lenny’s heart leapt, she’d practically admitted she wasn’t with Jason. “Such a harsh term, Melanie. For your future partner. We might have more in common than you think.”

  “What planet are you from? I’m moving up, you think I’m going to carry your weight too? Go find someone else to run your con on.”

  “You aren’t as far ahead of me as you think. And you’ll be the next Tonya Harding if I tell the world what I know. I got a friend at Channel Ten. How are you going to feel if you’re lying in bed tonight, watching your fancy tv, and you’re the lead story on the news, charged with making up that story about Jason?”

  “Get out of my life, asshole.” Melanie went through the glass door.

  “Think about it!” Lenny called after her. “Me and you!”

  Melanie flipped him the bird and kept walking.

  Melanie walked through the lobby of the Hilton, glancing briefly at the bar. She needed a drink after seeing Lenny, a drink and a shower. But she was at the hotel only so people would remember seeing her around, they’d spread the word for sure. If she was really with Jason she’d have a key to his room, she wouldn’t be hanging around the bar, although she could say she was just having a drink before he got back. Unless Jason was in his room, then she’d be screwed.

  Too many moving pieces . . .

  After making sure the front desk staff had noticed her Melanie waited until no one was by the elevator and got on alone. She didn’t have access to the Executive Floor, so she hit a few random buttons. She got off at two, switched elevators, and rode down to the gym and pool level.

  No one was in the hall, good. She took the stairs and walked out the side entrance. As far as everyone in the lobby who had seen her was concerned, she was up in Jason’s room.


  Melanie snuck a peek around the corner of the building. Lenny’s ugly Cadillac was gone. She hurried to her car and drove out of the Hilton lot, heading for home.

  Lenny had bothered her more than she had let on. Certainly there was no way he could have any proof that she wasn’t with Jason that night; the only person who could claim that was Taz, and being supposedly happily married, he’d never say a word. Melanie couldn’t imagine Taz and Lenny hanging out, swapping stories about women they’d slept with, but she’d have to find out if Taz had let something slip along the way, maybe Lenny had heard a rumor . . .

  But Lenny had sounded so damned sure of himself, like he had something on her. Had he seen her go into the hotel to meet Taz? She and Taz hadn’t even hooked up in Marburg, how would Lenny even know where they’d been?

  Unless he’d been following her, she didn’t put it past him.

  Melanie parked in the litter strewn lot behind her apartment building. She had to get out of here, away from the run down building, the musky smell of the fumes from the Indian restaurant, her ancient car. She was so close to escaping everything she despised. It was bad enough not making it big, but being forced to live barely above a street person was degrading, she deserved better.

  Things were coming together, she just needed a little more time. Always a realist, she knew her path to becoming a star was a little tenuous, wasn’t everything? She’d set it all in motion, this was probably the best chance she’d ever get in her life. That jerk Lenny was right about one thing: if her story about Jason came undone, she’d be a laughingstock. Yet she couldn’t imagine how Lenny could really have proof about her not being with Jason.

  Still, Lenny threatened to blow her entire carefully crafted story wide open. She had to find out what he knew and figure out a way to shut him up. Not in the way he hoped, even she wasn’t that desperate. She wouldn’t be his partner or his meal ticket, and certainly not his girlfriend.

  Inside her apartment Melanie poured some wine, plopped on the couch, and flicked on the television, looking for a mindless show to calm her down. Television . . .

  What had Lenny said? Something about watching her fancy television. How did Lenny know she had a new tv?

  He couldn’t have. He’d said sitting in bed, watching television. Melanie’s bedroom wasn’t big enough for a tv, not like Gigi’s . . .

  Melanie sat up so quickly she spilled the wine all over her silk blouse. Like one of those pictures you squinted at and it turned into something else, she finally understood what Lenny had been babbling about. All those cryptic comments to her about knowing who she really was, about what they’d shared. Gigi’s break-in, some guy who’d touched her, some perverted stalker who seemed to know her, who said that the next time they saw each other they’d do it for real . . .

  Lenny smugly sure Melanie couldn’t have been with Jason that night, because Lenny believed he had been with Melanie, in her apartment. An apartment with a television in the bedroom.

  Gigi’s bedroom.

  Gigi hadn’t imagined anything, it hadn’t been a bad dream, it hadn’t been a druggie looking to rob the place, it had been Lenny, he’d broken in, thinking he was at Melanie’s apartment.

  Lenny had laid his hands on her sister.

  The wine had seeped through her blouse, clammy on her skin, a blood red stain. Melanie literally saw red. Not wine, but Lenny’s blood.

  Lenny asshole sleazebag, she was going to fucking kill him.

  CHAPTER 19

  Melanie had been in the Hilton parking lot so many times she might as well have lived there. Where the fuck was Lenny? He’d been cropping up like an ugly pimple until she needed to find him. He’d been here yesterday looking for her, she was certain he’d be back at some point, but so far, nothing.

  She exited the lot and headed out of town on one of the back roads, she needed to think. Not that she hadn’t been all night. She was ninety nine percent convinced that Lenny had been the freak who had assaulted Gigi. It all made sense, his comments, his attitude. The asshole must have followed her to Gigi’s at some point, thinking it was where she lived.

  Melanie wouldn’t have thought Lenny would have the balls for a break-in, let alone trying to climb in Gigi’s bed. Her bed.

  She’d get him for that.

  If she’d been in Gigi’s apartment that night, she would have beaten the shit out of him. Gigi simply didn’t deserve this, and Melanie was going to make it right, just like she always had, protecting her sister. If Melanie hadn’t been staying at Gigi’s, none of this would have happened. Not that it was her fault either.

  Still, Melanie had to be sure. She needed to get Lenny alone, pry the truth out of him about Gigi. Even if he had nothing to do with the break-in, Melanie still needed to find out what proof Lenny thought he had about her not being with Jason that night. If Lenny had date stamped photos of her and Taz she’d be screwed. Melanie wouldn’t put it past Lenny to have hung out at a hotel all night, waiting for Melanie to come out to get a walk of shame shot in the morning. If that went public, no one would believe her story about Jason, a story she really needed to ride until the roles started coming in. Publicity was so fleeting, if she got caught in her lie she’d flame out before she even had a chance to blaze.

  The old saying was that bad publicity was better than no publicity, but in her case it would be the kiss of death. Melanie shuddered at the possible headline: Ashley Hanna consoles heartthrob Jason Ayers after desperate actress fabricates despicable assault story.

  Or worse: Publicity seeking photographer colludes with actress to blackmail America’s sweethearts Jason Ayers and Ashley Hanna.

  Melanie wasn’t going to let that happen.

  As it was, she hadn’t charged Jason with anything, not really, she’d just tossed out the idea, and it had taken wing, the insinuation more powerful than her yelling rape. At every opportunity she’d said nice things about Jason, each utterance leaving just a hint of doubt, but most important, making it clear that Melanie was somebody, she had that special sauce that drove men wild, that women wanted to emulate. Her ticket to stardom.

  All of her plans in jeopardy if she couldn’t find Lenny.

  Driving on the quiet road with her knees, she flicked through her phone. Lenny called himself a photographer, he must be online. What was his last name? A horn behind her blared, Melanie ignored it. Something with a G . . .

  The horn blared again, Melanie sliding over, letting the asshole past, giving the car the finger, not even looking at the driver, still intent on her phone. She started to type Marburg photographers, misspelling as gravel crunched under her wheels. Frigging Lenny, he wasn’t even here and he was driving her off the road.

  Melanie pulled the Toyota to the shoulder, got the search ready, but at the last second changed her mind. She didn’t know a thing about internet records, but who knew what could be found from her search history. She didn’t want a record of any connection to Lenny.

  She spun the car around and headed back to Marburg. After one quick run past the Hilton—no Lenny—she continued cross town to the library. It only took a quick tuck of her hair under a Red Sox cap, sunglasses, and a slouch in her step to transform her into just another local.

  She’d been in the library once, acting out a reading for some little kids, an embarrassing gig she’d taken years ago when she thought that was what actresses did to learn their craft. Nothing inside had changed, the same unnatural green hues, the same magazine racks. A few elderly types sat at the public computers. No one even looked up.

  Melanie googled Lenny photographer Marburg. He popped up, surprisingly, on the first page, maybe he was more well known than Melanie had given him credit for. Lenny Gruse . . .

  Lenny had a website, Melanie clicking through his portfolio. He wasn’t half bad. Not as good as Taz, but Lenny’s shots felt more real, less posed. Probably because he’d been waiting behind a dumpster to ambush the subjects . . .

  She made sure there were no shots of her. There weren’t,
in fact, nothing that she recognized from Marburg at all, no local actresses or backgrounds.

  No address listed, Lenny obviously didn’t have a studio. Melanie copied the contact phone number onto a yellow sticky sitting by the computer, cleaned out the browser search history, and left.

  Back in her car, she rolled down the windows and lit a smoke. What now?

  Get Lenny alone. If she was going to pry information out of him, she’d need some privacy. No way she could do that in the bar at the Hilton, too many ears, and who knew what Lenny might say or do.

  Melanie didn’t want him at her apartment either. Nothing that would tie them together, just in case he did try to pull some stunt, like bring the press along to get his own publicity, claiming he was her muse, or—shudder—her lover.

  Lenny probably didn’t know where she really lived. She could call him, ask him to meet her at her place, then see where he showed up. If he went to Gigi’s that would be one more piece of evidence that he’d been the one who’d broken in. But not conclusive, and what would she do? Beat him up in front of Gigi’s neighbors? Call the cops?

  Hello officer? It didn’t happen at my place across town like I claimed, and it wasn’t Jason Ayers as I implied, it was this greaseball Lenny Gruse, and it was my sister he got in bed with, not me.

  They’d lock Melanie up along with Lenny.

  No, she’d have to deal with this on her own. As always.

  Lenny wanted a meal ticket, but more than that, he wanted Melanie, that was pretty clear. He wasn’t the first guy who she’d tied up in knots, she recognized all the symptoms. Most of them she’d ignored, unless she needed something. Lenny had nothing she needed, or so she had thought.