His gentle touch on her arm momentarily calmed her. “Since Carrie is so interested in that company, why don’t I just let her have it? I’ve got plenty on my plate to prove myself without getting killed for that Henshaw creep.”
“More reason to do it. If you’d like, I’ll help you.” He lifted her chin, his eyes filled with tenderness. “My help isn’t what you really want, is it?”
She shook her head. This was her moment of truth. Only if she overcame her fears, unraveled the mysteries surrounding Henshaw’s company on her own, would she know she was equal to the job, that her success wasn’t handed to her by a guilty father.
Ever so delicately, she took the gun from Steven as if she were picking up a dead rat by its tail, tiptoed into the bedroom and placed the virulent metal object under her pillow. She patted the pillow smooth, glared down and wondered if the lumpy, hard object would give her a headache. She turned to meet Steven’s smiling gaze.
He held out his hand and led her back to the living room, where they sat side by side on the couch, holding hands, deep in thought.
“What did the police say?”
“First, how’s your dad? I didn’t get to see him today. Carrie was there every time I called for clearance.”
“He’s the same.” Steven gazed down to his lap, clearly choked up. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“Don’t say that.” She squeezed his arm. “He’s a tough guy. He’s got to make it.”
“Mom won’t be there now. Want to drive over and see him?”
“Could we?” Her spirits skyrocketed. She forgot the stalker and the danger she was supposedly in.
They took Steven’s Thunderbird and wove through the night traffic, taking Wilshire Boulevard to La Cienega to avoid the freeway crawl.
“Are the police going to send someone out?” he said.
“Not unless something happens first.” She grinned. “Like, I get shot or something. You know how they are–shoot first, ask questions later. They can’t do anything until I’m in mortal danger. So far, they consider this a mere threat.”
“That sucks. Now you know why I want to work in the DA’s office.”
She nodded, leaned over, started to run her fingers up and down his arm, then as quickly as she had started, she stopped and withdrew her hand. Talk about cloying! This obsession of hers must stop, not only for her sake, but for his, too.
“I told the police about the first call. They asked why I hadn’t reported it. I told them we thought it was a crank call. It was only when I told them what was going on at the office that they showed any interest. Not much more, mind you. Of course, I didn’t tell them about the drugs and Rick. That comes later. When I’m ready to turn him in, I’ll hand them their proof on a silver platter.”
“Rick?” Steven swerved, nearly sideswiping the car next to him. “You haven’t seen him in years.”
“I saw him today. He’s still selling drugs to Phillip. The bastard’s keeping his clients drugged, I’m sure, while he steals their money. I hired a detective to follow Rick. I’m going to get him. He shouldn’t be on the streets. I never thought he’d fall into my lap again.”
“For chrissake, why didn’t you tell me?” He palmed the steering wheel. “God, you piss me off sometimes.”
“I was going to tell you.”
He swung a wide left on Third Street, a right on George Burns Road. “You can call me anytime you need me. I’m your brother.”
I’m your brother reverberated through her like a lightning bolt from the blue. Again, those three words filled her with incredulity. “When are you leaving for New York?” she blurted.
Startled by her question, his brows furrowed. “What brought that on?”
“Oh never mind. We’re here.”
He shook his head. “Tough times for both of us.” He pulled into the parking tower.
At Steven’s insistence, Della went in first while he waited in the lounge outside the intensive care unit. She stood at Wes’s side, her heart overflowing with a mixture of love, anger, and fear. The only two men she cared for in her life were leaving her. Wes lying helpless, nearly lifeless, sent shivers of fear coursing through her. Death frightened her. God was an enigma, a force she found herself praying to in time of need, an involuntary act that came naturally to her, as praying probably did to anyone who was afraid or wanted something that was out of their reach. When Steven returned to New York, she and Carrie would be left behind to sort out the family deceptions. Now, that was a revelation to behold.
She ran fingers down Wes’s exposed arm and managed a smile. Concentrating, she sent him everything on her mind since he fell silent several days ago. His eyelids fluttered twice. Had he picked up her thoughts like he used to? She wished that were true, the dream she clung to.
Steven stepped up behind her, took her hand and led her back to the car. “Want to stop and have coffee and dessert somewhere? It’ll help you get your mind off things.”
“No, thanks.” She hardly believed words of refusal had slipped from her lips. Had she crossed a threshold? “I just want to go to bed and lay my pea brain on my gun.” She gazed at his near-perfect hewed profile. “Think it’ll put kinks in my hair?” she joked. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow looks like it’ll be even longer. My audit’s going to take more time than I thought.”
“So, you are going to continue?”
She nodded.
He parked in front of her building. “I’m coming in.”
He didn’t ask, just informed. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Your mother needs you more than I do right now.”
“She doesn’t need me at all. I’ll see you to your apartment.”
Upstairs, out of nowhere, he announced he was spending the night. “I’m worried,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“How about the bedroom upstairs, or my study?”
“The couch is fine. Closer to you and the front door.”
“Oh, Steven.” She poured them each a small snifter of Romy, then led him to the clear, starry night on her private terrace. “Life is full of surprises,” she said, breathing in the fresh sea air. “I just get used to things, then boom, they’re upside down. I don’t mind when I can handle it all,” she said, placing their drinks on the table and pulling out a chair, “but when I’m out of control, like I am now, I hate it. I want to bury my head in the sand and make the world go away.” She sipped her cognac while Steven took the chair next to her.
“We’ll muddle through this together. I won’t leave you until I know you’re safe and your world is back in order. And I wish to hell you’d take this more seriously.”
“I hired a detective today. That’s serious, isn’t it?”
“You’re full of surprises.”
“Not for my stalker, but for Rick. When Rick asked me out to lunch, I hooked up with the same guy who checked Rick out before I married him. Gordon McKinley. He’s supposed to be the best. He’s itching to get something on Rick.”
“Maybe it’s Rick who’s making the calls? If he is, this McKinley might have spotted him if the call came from a phone booth.”
She stared out at the ocean, focusing on the crashing waves below.
Simultaneously they rose, fell into each other’s arms and held on for dear life. “We’re going to make it. Trust me, baby.” He ran his fingers through her hair.
She went to bed, leaving him in the living room to wrestle with the comforter on the narrow couch. She lay awake for a long time, thinking about him out there by himself, remembering a few days ago when he was in her bed, making love to her, falling asleep in each other’s arms.
The chirping phone woke her from a light sleep. She glanced at the clock on her night stand–three a.m. In the living room, she found Steven sitting up with the phone in his lap. On the fourth ring he picked up the receiver, said nothing, then dropped the receiver back in its cradle.
“Who was it?”
“A computerized voice said, ‘You’re
dead, too.’”
“Oh, my God, Steven! This is getting out of hand.”
“I told you to take this seriously. This isn’t a joke. It’s the real deal.”
“The police won’t do anything tonight. I’ll call them in the morning.”
“No, I’ll call them,” he said. “I’ll pull a few strings to get some action.”
For the first time since the calls started, she now believed she was in mortal danger. If she was to do her job effectively, she had to overcome the fear gnawing away at her confidence. Without saying goodnight, she turned from Steven and padded into her bedroom, exhausted enough to fall into a deep sleep. The early morning sun blasted through the slits of the vertical blinds like laser beams across her face, awakening her with a start. She rose, threw on her robe and made her way to the living room. A note lay on the coffee table.
Not again!
His note said she’d have a twenty-four-hour-a-day bodyguard looking out for her. Now, go take Henshaw out of the game, he wrote. He’d drawn a smiling face. You can do it, he went on. Call if you need me. He signed his note with his sprawling “S.” No love, no nothing.
Her brother.
She arrived in her temporary office, anxious to find out where these missing funds were going. Unfortunately, they were well-covered tracks. So far, no one had uncovered anything worth anything. The damned place was too clean.
According to his secretary, Phillip had taken the day off. He left a phone number.
Della stared at a picture on the wall of Kadi, an English girl, Phillip’s biggest, brightest star. She’d been a street singer who enraptured Phillip with her angelic four-octave range one night as he came out of a movie theater in Westwood Village. That was three years ago. Today, she had three songs on Billboard’s Hot 100.
That’s it! Della had found her key to Phillip’s secret money machine. From the Rolodex, she plucked Kadi’s card out and punched the number with a long burgundy-lacquered acrylic nail.
Seven rings later, when she was about to hang up, a sleepy voice said, “‘Ello?” Kadi’s cute cockney accent tickled Della.
“Hi, Kadi. This is Della Garland. Remember me?”
“Yeah, Della, I do. We met at one of Wes’s parties. How could I forget you? What you want, darlin’?”
“Would you mind coming into the office today? I’m doing an audit here at Henshaw’s. I’d like to go over your money and investments with you.”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can get myself together.”
That wouldn’t be long, since Kadi reveled in disheveled.
Della rang her staff and asked them to pull together everything on Kadi. She’d match what Phillip had been doing with what Kadi thought he was doing. If she was correct, Kadi didn’t know anything about most of her earnings and investments. They’d go through everything they could get their hands on, piece by piece, CD by CD, concert by concert. She didn’t care if it took her the next six months to find the discrepancies.
When Kadi arrived dressed in torn jeans, a sleeveless blouse tied at the midriff that showed off a twenty-two-inch waistline, and her tousled curly brown mane flying in every direction, Della was ready for her.
She got up, circled the desk and gave the girl a hug. Kadi reciprocated with an “mmm,” as if she needed the affection as badly as Della did. That hug and coming up with the idea of calling Kadi gave her the adrenaline rush she needed to move ahead. Moments like these were her saving grace.
“What do you know about your money?” She went right to the point, no dodging bullets. Kadi stiffened.
“Nothing, I’m ashamed to say. Enlighten me. Phillip handles it all. He pays my bills, audits the record sales, concerts, and gives me an allowance. He tells me I’ll be a rich woman by the time I’m ready to ditch this gig.”
“Would you like to go through everything with me?”
“Phillip has never volunteered to show me anything. When I ask him about my money, he always assures me I’m doing great. I trust him. He told me I own property in Palm Springs, Beverly Hills, Bel Air. He’s into property, you know. Says it’s like diamonds, never loses its value. Only grows. Of course, I have my nest up in Laurel Canyon, where I live.”
For two hours, Della went over every bit of paperwork she and her staff had come up with that had anything to do with Kadi. There wasn’t a piece of property in Kadi’s name except her Laurel Canyon house. Her bank accounts fluctuated, money being paid out erratically to her and her band. So far, Della’s team had found nothing indicating Kadi was rich.
Enraged, Kadi rose, slipped into her sandals. “Now what? I can’t believe this tripe.”
“I’ll meet with Phillip tomorrow. As soon as I have anything, I’ll call and we’ll have a meeting.” To calm her, Della patted her shoulder, spoke in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Phillip has his way of doing things. We’ll clear everything up.”
“I’m number one right now, me and my group. We make millions. Our concerts are sold out. We play stadiums.” She grabbed Della’s hands. “Please, help me. I’ve had too many friends who’ve been skinned by their managers. I never thought Phillip was one of those.” Tears welled in Kadi’s eyes.
Della’s heart went out to her. She’d heard those horror stories about rock stars, too. Phillip better have a damn good explanation for all this, or he was in deep shit. No company under the Gates umbrella swindled their clients.
She outlined her findings in a memo to Phillip, requesting he present her with a full explanation and accounting of all financial involvement with clients directly under contract to him. Other associates managed artists, too, but from what her staff had found, the figures on those folks jived. This meant Phillip needed auditing. She told him in her note that he had twenty-four hours to meet with her and explain his actions in detail. She signed the memo, sealed the envelope, then took it to his secretary.
“Please see that Phillip gets this the moment he returns. Call me and tell me when it’s been given to him.” Della headed for the door, stopped and turned back. “My staff will continue their work here. I’m finished until I hear from Phillip.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she left, reminding herself she was doing the right thing and that she was capable of doing this job herself. And why not? She did have a bodyguard, and a gun under her pillow.
What else did a girl need?
24
Carrie sat at her vanity table, her reflection aglow from soft pink light bulbs she used to give herself a more youthful appearance. Even with the help of a personal trainer, a nutritionist, and the top hairdresser in Beverly Hills, her youth was fading. She needed plastic surgery, but that would come later. A smile didn’t help lift anything anymore, but then, she didn’t have much to smile about these days.
The thought of losing Wes tore at her insides. She had kicked him out after he confessed his indiscretion just to shake him up. But when it got right down to it, no matter what he did, she would never divorce him. Wes had made her life a comfort zone, where all she had to do was wake up each morning and choose what she wanted to do, whatever made her the happiest. The immediate turmoil in her life went far beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
A pall of gloom hung over her home since Wes’s heart attack.
Della was responsible for much of the stress in both Carrie’s and Wes’s lives. Had he told her the truth from the beginning, she’d have forgiven him, taken the girl in and given her a decent life. At least, that’s what she thought she might have done.
Looking back, she realized how self-destructive her jealousy had been. It was a personality flaw she’d lived with all of her life; marrying an older man hadn’t been the panacea to all her problems. Wes on his deathbed, the possibility of Della really being her stepdaughter, and Steven going back to New York, leaving her alone, was too much for her to bear.
Her myopic days were limited to rising from fitful nights, and spending the majority of her time at Wes’s bedside at the hospital.
The doctors weren’t giving her much hope for his recovery. He had suffered a massive stroke shortly after his heart attack. Now more than ever, she wished she had taken the time to learn the business. She might have liked becoming an executive after Wes’s death. She’d read stories of women who became famous for taking over their husbands’s businesses and running them with the similarly strong hand. My, how she’d love to be thought of in that way. But sitting behind a desk all day, listening to self-centered, ambitious executives’s trivia would leave her catatonic.
“Wes, damn you, get up from that bed and fulfill your promise to me!” He had promised her he’d live to be one hundred and twenty-five. She believed him.
The chirping phone jarred her. Now what? Stalling, she blotted powder on her nose, got up, and in a protective manner wrapped her peignoir around herself, then ambled to the bedside only to stare at the jangling phone on the night stand. Had Wes died? Her stomach churned. She picked up the receiver reluctantly.
“Carrie, Phillip here. I have to see you.” His urgency startled her.
“What’s the matter, Phillip?” Simultaneously, she felt irritation and relief. Her own troubles were far too great to be concerned about Phillip’s minutiae. “I was on my way to the hospital.”
“Della’s been your target, now I’m Della’s target.”
“What do you mean?” He’d piqued her curiosity.
“She and her little army of bloodhounds have been in here, doing one of those goddamned surprise audits your dear husband’s so fond of. But she’s stepped over the line.”
“How?” She agreed with Wes’s surprise audits. He believed the element of surprise preserved a company’s integrity. Phillip, for the most part, had been left to his own devices. Wes wasn’t into show business, didn’t particularly care what any of them did. He paid little attention to Phillip, except when he wanted entertainment for one of their parties. Of course, because he was indisposed, that little twit Della had charged in there, throwing her weight around. “What exactly is she doing to upset you so, Phillip?”
“She left me a letter this morning giving me twenty-four hours to come up with a full accounting of how we’ve handled the financial affairs of every artist under contract to me. She’s threatening me. That’s not nice. If you expect me to be on your team, you’d better get her off my back.”
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