We looked at each other and then the view below. We were high up, alright. Probably the thirtieth floor. The only skyscrapers in LA were Downtown. And because of earthquakes, they were scarce. I recognized some of the buildings below. “Well, at least we know where we are,” I said.
“Fat lot of good, though. We have no way of telling anyone. At least we can turn off that fluorescent light. I still feel like shit. Can’t think straight. What now?” He looked up at the ceiling. “You think we can smash through and find air-con ducts—some way to get fuck out of here?”
“We need a ladder. Maybe you’re strong enough to smash through. Me? I can hardly stand.”
“We can try later. I feel like all my energy has been sucked out,” Leo said. “We need to rest up. Get strong again.”
I shrugged. “Nothing to eat. No TV. No books. No way of communicating to anyone, unless we scream till we’re blue in the face, but it looks like this room is very well soundproofed. We can take a shower, sleep, and tell each other stories, and hope that my brother appears, so I can find out what the fuck he wants from me and put an end to this.”
“Meanwhile we can—” Leo’s look was lascivious, his eyes half-mast. Sex. That’s what Leo encapsulated: sex. He was no-holds-barred Sex on legs. Even in this sorry state.
“Nice try, Leo.”
“You’re beautiful, Star. You’re naked, except for those skimpy little black panties, stockings, and bra. You think I haven’t noticed your delicious body in that sexy getup?”
My lips tilted into a wonky half-smile.
“You’re beautiful, Star,” he said again. His gaze was intense. I’d say he was undressing me with his eyes but as I was already practically undressed . . .
I thought of Jake, How he’d told me he loved me then swallowed back his words. My eyes flicked down to Leo’s chiseled abs and defined chest. He was beautiful too. A raw, dirty beauty—the kind you wouldn’t bring home to mother but you fantasized about late at night. The kind you’d secretly like to have ravage every single inch of your body. But not me. I was looking for a real relationship. The fairy tale. And until that came along, I wouldn’t be giving myself to anybody, least of all a rugged, tattoo-clad Russian, who habitually fucked a whole lot of women, drank copious amounts of vodka, probably gambled, and probably got into fights. Russian/Ukrainian, whatever he was.
“I’d really like to make love to you, Star. Fuck you, too. But make love to you—savor your body, taste you, make you come hundred different ways.” He cupped his groin—he was hard. Typical. There he was, wiped out by the drug, yet he could still get an erection.
His brashness made me want to laugh but the situation we were in was no laughing matter. “Not now, Leo. Please. We need to figure a way out of here.”
“If we’re going to die, or get chopped up or whatever, least we can do is go out with passion in veins.”
He certainly had a way with words and I couldn’t help smiling. “Wish we had something to eat,” I said, changing the subject.
“I can eat your pussy. We can both offer each other plenty nourishment.”
I smirked and pushed at his rock-hard chest. “No, Leo.”
“Just taste, I’m hungry too.”
Boy, was he persistent. I made my way to the door and banged my fists on it with all my might, yelling as loudly as my lungs would muster: “Help! Somebody help us!” But my sounds were muffled—the room swallowing my screams. It seemed hopeless.
Completely and utterly hopeless.
IT WAS six a.m. when the phone rang. Thirty-six hours had passed since they’d been missing. I jolted up from the sofa, knowing that the news would be either really good, or disastrous. “Hello?” Finally I’d fallen asleep, all of five minutes ago.
“Sorry to wake you, Jake. Alexandre Chevalier here.” The accent was French, the voice deep. For a moment I couldn’t fathom who it was. Then I remembered: the man who gave Mark Zuckerberg and Twitter a run for their money—no, a sprint for their money—Alexandre Chevalier, CEO of HookedUp, the biggest social media company in history, which had then bought up half of Hollywood. Pearl’s young husband. Sinfully powerful and wealthy for a man his age. Any age. A force. People had told me he was a ruthless businessman, but when I met him one time, he was charming.
He went on, “We’ve been interviewing Star’s friends and staff to get some kind of lead,” he told me. “Looks promising. Her cell was clean though—stripped of messages, calls—whoever took her knew what they were doing.”
I replied groggily, “What have you found out?”
“The cell may have been wiped clean, but we can still extract data,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you to sit tight another day or so. Don’t wrap up filming yet. Give us a few days more. We’ll get there. My niece is on it.”
This conversation was getting more surreal by the second. Who was this guy? “Your niece?”
“Elodie. Between you and me she’s good at this sort of stuff: hacking, getting into people’s computers and so on. The private investigators you hired seem a little bit slow on the uptake, so we needed to act. Anyway, Jake. Stay put, we’ll cover all costs; obviously everyone will be kept on full pay. Let the cast and crew know they can go sightseeing—see the Presidents’ heads or whatever. I’ll keep you posted.” He hung up.
It was a great feeling to know that other people cared too, but if the Chevaliers thought I was going to simply sit around and twiddle my thumbs until they found Star, they had another thing coming. I had to find her—get on the case myself. The image of Star’s face was imprinted in my mind: her wide smile, her shining, hypnotic blue eyes, her long blond hair that cascaded around me when she kissed me in places that now made me shudder. Her full, sexy lips. Her innocence and her arrogance, her vulnerability and her cockiness. Her quirky intelligence. I took a deep breath and begged silently to whoever was listening to bring her back to me.
All in one piece.
And then I thought of something: my dog.
Star and Fierce had gotten close. Her clothing was still at my house. He had an amazing sense of smell—after all, Rhodesian Ridgebacks were originally hunting dogs. I decided to go to Star’s house where the Lexus had been dumped in favor of her Porsche.
Perhaps Fierce could pick up her scent.
LEO AND I spent hours trying to gain access to the room’s false ceiling. He could lift me, but with no tools to help us I could do no more than thump with my fists. And with no ladder or chairs in the room, he couldn’t get high enough to exert enough force either.
“What would James Bond do now?” Leo asked.
“He’d have some sort of laser watch that could cut walls in two or some other newfangled gadget.”
I padded in my stocking feet—neither of us had shoes—over to the only place we could sit comfortably, and I slumped down on the mattress, exhausted by our efforts. We hadn’t eaten for more than what seemed like forty-eight hours and our stomachs were rumbling. We’d taken showers and there was nothing more for us to do than rest up. I lay back, my head propped under my hands. Leo also came to lie on the bed. We didn’t exactly have any furniture around here so this bed was it.
“You were in prison?” I asked.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“What you said about the light blinding you after you got out of your cell. What were you in for?”
“Robbery. Breaking into safe. Also manslaughter.”
I swallowed. Nice, I was hanging out with a murderer. “Who did you kill?”
“My sister’s rapist.”
“No shit. Jeez. Was she okay?” I heard my words: more concerned with his sister—not caring that he’d actually killed a man. Strangely, I admired him for it.
“No woman is okay after rape. That’s what people don’t get. Rape isn’t something that happens in a moment. Rape is for life. Rape never leaves your soul, your memory. She can never be the person she was before.”
Leo was the first person I’d met who’d killed somebody. Some
body who wasn’t in the armed forces, anyway. “How did you kill him?”
“Just bare hands. My temper took over, you know?”
“But you didn’t serve so long for manslaughter. I mean, you’re only twenty-six.”
“My uncle arranged for my escape. Why I moved to London.”
“I see.” I lay there and closed my eyes, trying to imagine everything. If Leo had managed to escape from prison, maybe he could think of a way out now. “How did you get out?”
“My uncle bribed guard. Long story. Not pretty. What about you, Star? You have story about past?”
“I’m just trailer park trash who made good,” I said, feeling this to be almost true, although it was so far back in my life history that it didn’t seem real.
“Trash? Never. You were born princess.”
I sat up and opened my eyes. Leo was gazing at me with genuine admiration. I felt my chest tighten. “Nice tats,” I told him, not knowing what else to say.
He laughed. “Don’t be sarcastic.”
“Actually, they’re kind of cool, in a weird sort of way. What do they mean?”
“Hierarchy, disgrace, achievement. Take your pick. In Ukraine tattoos tell story about convict or criminal: date and place of birth, crimes committed, camps or prisons where time is served, even psychological profile.”
I moved closer to him. “What does this cat mean?” I asked, running my finger along the curve of his bicep and around his arm, following the pussycat’s black, smudgy tail.
“It means I’m thief.”
“Is that an achievement or a disgrace?”
“You remember Robin Hood? It was that kind of robbery. So both, I guess.”
“Why are your tats so . . . ”
“Fucked up?” I nodded in agreement. “Tattooing is illegal in jail,” Leo explained, “so prisoners make tattoos by melting down boot heels and mixing solution with blood. The guy who did it used a sharpened guitar string attached to motor from old tape recorder. That’s why mine look like this. The way you get treated by other prisoners depends on tats you have. Sometimes guys hold you down and force them on you.”
“Like what’s considered bad?”
“Rat means prisoner who steals from other convicts. Heart inside white triangle—that’s sign of child rapist. Not cool, obviously. Those guys get raped by other prisoners all the time.”
“Did you get raped?”
“No. I had ways of protecting myself.”
“Lucky.”
He nodded. “Prison breeds violence. Nobody finds redemption there.” He hung his head. His words filled the silence of the room. I was now experiencing what he had gone through. Sort of. We were locked up. Unable to escape. But unlike a real prison, we didn’t even know why we were here.
I delicately traced my thumb around an image of a lion, and a torn pirate flag, edged with swords, that started on his chest and ended at the last ridged abdomen of his stomach. “And this one?”
“That means I have no-conformist philosophy. Think outside box.”
I understood that. A man who had come from a rough, terrifying world, and he’d had the balls and imagination to start afresh in film school—that made him unusual. Jake had been born into movies—it was easy for him. But Leo had had to fight for his dreams.
“You told me you have a sister. Any other siblings?” And I added, with no pause for breath, hungry for information, “What about your parents?”
“Parents are dead. Mom was not good communist. She ‘died’ in car accident just after I was born. Dad had muscular dystrophy. No joke in my country when you can’t pay medical bills. My sister—she’s all I have.”
“I’m so sorry.” The weight of his words stung me to the core. I wished I had been able to speak of my brother with such love, such compassion. “Where is she now?”
“In London. She works as au pair to children. She’s smart, my sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“Larissa.”
“No kidding? My shrink’s called Narissa with an N!”
“You have shrink? Why?”
“It’s no big deal. All Americans have shrinks if they can afford it. Well, therapists anyway. Someone gets paid to hear your bullshit sob stories. That way, you don’t bore your friends.”
Leo laughed. “You could never be boring, Star. Star, is that your real name?”
“No. Diane is my real name. But my agent came up with Star when I was, like, seven, and it stuck. I don’t know who Diane is anymore.”
“You can’t run away from your past though.”
“You’re right. In my heart and soul I’m still a little girl who grew up in a trailer park. Once you’ve been poor, no matter how much money you make, the feeling never leaves you.”
“Yeah, I had enough watery soup to last lifetime. Enough mugs of tea.”
“But you still like your Russian vodka.”
He laughed again. “You take the boy out of vodka but not vodka out of boy.”
“So going to film school and working on movies was a big change, huh? Being creative?” I tried to sound upbeat. Hearing his story about his dead parents, his jail time, what his sister went through, and the situation we were in now, made me want to burst into tears—I identified with him so much. But tears weren’t going to get us anywhere.
People always think that in times of trouble you should act in a certain way. Most folk would have expected me to weep. But when there is no certainty—about anything—your mind protects you. When hit with real adversity—something you have no control over—you have to stay calm. That’s what I was trying to do: stay calm.
“Film has saved my soul. Saved my life,” Leo said quietly.
I thought of Jake. Of how I should be on set right now and it was killing me. How he probably thought I’d let him down. With Leo gone too, I wondered if everyone was suspecting we’d run off together somewhere. I felt a lump in my throat. “So if Jake has done so much for you, giving you such a big chance in the major league, why have you been coming on to me?” I said out of the blue. The words came before I’d had time to think about what I was saying.
Leo shot me a hard look. “Because Jake has girlfriend. Not fair to have cake and eat it too.”
His words were like a knife. What Leo said was so true. Jake had a girlfriend and if I’d meant anything to him—anything at all, he’d have made sure that Leo kept away from me.
Leo pushed back a lock of hair from my face and traced his thumb along my jawline. “And more to point, I feel bond between us. I saw you in prison uniform and it did something to me. How you acted, Star. It was like you were me. Like what I went through. You knew. You know. How? It wasn’t acting, it was real.”
A chill shot up my spine and goose bumps spread over my arms and legs. What could I say? That it was real to me? That when I act, I feel everything from my head to the tips of my toes? I am my character. I transform and feel every breath my character feels, every emotion. Being an actor is no picnic. You live like a schizophrenic—you are multiple personalities and it can be painful and confusing.
“Isn’t just your beauty, Star. It’s deeper. I’m attracted to your soul, your heart, to what’s inside of you.”
I thought again of how I should be filming, not here in this horrendous predicament. “I’m cold,” I said, and I was.
“Come here, baby, let me warm you up.”
We lay together, and I nuzzled my nose on Leo’s warm chest. He was warm all over—another reason I needed him. He wrapped his arms around my shoulder and covered me with the sheet, while he stroked my hair. The sound of his breathing sent me into a deep sleep.
Travis is holding me down, his hands on my wrists as I’m kicking and screaming at him to let me go.
“Brad, come on, I told you, she’s yours, you can fuck my sister—be my guest.”
“Let me go, you asshole!” I screech, as close to his ear as I can. I try to kick up my knees into his back, but he slips to one side and I miss.
Brad stands there and chuckles nervously, his hands pushed into the pockets of his long, flowery-print swim shorts. He’s smoking a joint. “But she’s a virgin, dude, and she doesn’t want it.”
My leg flies up again. “Let me fucking go, you douchebag!”
“Anyone else? She’s for the taking, dudes. My sister needs to lose her virginity, first come, first served.”
“I’ll do it, Trav, she’s hot.” It’s his half-wit sidekick, Caleb. His tongue is practically hanging out, his big Dumbo ears flapping with excitement, the zits on his forehead glistening like tomatoes on fresh pizza.
I hiss at him, “You come near me, asshole, and I swear I’ll pour acid all over your new car.”
“Whoa, calm down, vixen bitch!”
“I mean it, guys. Anyone touches me and you’re dead meat.”
“Little Miss Prissy Cock-Tease!” my brother shouts in my face. “You deserve to be raped because you prick-tease guys and lead them on.”
“Let me go, Travis, or I swear I’ll run away from home and there’ll be no money for any of you! Get it? No money! You’ll all have to get food stamps because Star Bank Incorporated will be closed!”
He shrieks with laughter. “I don’t think so, bitch! Dad’s got control until you’re eighteen so suck on that, you whore!”
“What’s going on in here?” It was Dad, standing in the doorway, his voice trembling. “You let go of Diane, right now, young man. And you? Billy, isn’t it?”
“Brad, sir.”
“You leave this house with your . . . your drugs, immediately. You too, Caleb. And you also, Robby. No more horsing around.”
I look up at my father with gratitude, but he says, “And you, Diane. We’re a family. We all work so hard to keep you where you are. We are all responsible for your success. We are a team. I don’t ever want to hear threats like that again. We are a loving family and we look out for each other. Now I want you two siblings to apologize to each other.”
Falling Star (Beautiful Chaos #2) Page 7