American Star

by Jackie Collins

  him, the sheer thrill of being in his arms. She turned to go

  upstairs.

  "We're very disappointed in you, Lauren." This from her mother.

  Oh, go bake a cake! You have no idea who I am anymore.

  Her room was a mess, just the way she'd left it-her bed unmade, the

  sheets rumpled from Nick's overnight stay. She bent to sniff them,

  maybe catch his odor. Oh, God! She had to see him again soon, she

  missed him already.

  Her rock heroes-John Lennon and Emerson Burn-gazed down at her from

  above her bed. Once her idols, it now seemed silly to worship from

  afar. She unpinned the posters, rolled them up and put them in her

  closet. Then she stared at herself in the mirror, deciding that she

  looked exactly the same-no real change, except maybe the expression in

  her eyes. There was something new there-something intangible.

  After making love she and Nick had slept in each other's arms all night

  as close as two people could be. And in the morning they'd made love

  again, and this time she'd enjoyed it even more. She'd cried out for

  him to enter her, and then she'd cried out from sheer pleasure as her

  body jerked in response to his loving and she'd experienced a feeling

  so sensational, so amazing that she'd wanted to burst into happy

  tears.

  "What was that?" she'd gasped.

  "What?"

  "That feeling I just had."

  "You came," he'd told her.

  "Came where?"

  And he'd explained that making love wasn't only for the man's

  satisfaction.

  "How do you know so much?" she'd asked, feeling a strong twinge of

  jealousy.

  "Cause I got taught by a whole bunch of older women. Now I can teach

  you."

  She'd reached for him. "How about teaching me more.

  They didn't leave the motel until eleven in the morning. He drove

  slowly along the treacherous icy roads, while she snuggled next to

  him.

  By the time they reached Bosewell it was almost two-thirty.

  "I'll get out at the gas station," he'd said. "Unless you'd like me to

  come in an' face your parents with you. I don't mind."

  "I do. It's better I handle them alone."

  He'd pulled the car up across the street and jumped out. "I'll call

  you later."

  She'd laughed and slid behind the wheel.

  He'd come around and kissed her through the open window.

  "I . . . uh She had a right to be demanding. "What? Say it."

  He'd attempted to make light of it. "I love ya.

  "You too."

  And she'd watched him run across the street-her hero in a bloodstained

  tux with a battered nose.

  Now she was back to reality.

  As soon as she reached the safety of her room she picked up the phone

  to call Meg and find out what had been going on in her absence. Before

  she'd finished dialing her father appeared at the door.

  "No phone privileges," he said, his face long and dour.

  "But, Daddy-" she started to object.

  "I said you will not use the phone," he repeated sternly, entering her

  room, pulling the phone from its jack and carrying it off under his

  arm.

  They were angrier than she'd thought, probably because she'd broken up

  with Stock. It wasn't that they resented Nick, she rationalized; they

  didn't even know him. Maybe after a few weeks she could introduce him

  into their lives and they'd soon realize what a terrific guy he was.

  The real truth was there was no way they could stop her from seeing

  him. School resumed shortly and then she'd be with him every day

  whether her parents liked it or not.

  Right now it was quite obvious they weren't going to let her out of the

  house. No car. No phone. No contact with friends. She was a

  prisoner. A prisoner with her thoughts.

  Ah . . . but her thoughts were going to keep her very happy until she

  saw Nick again. Very happy indeed.

  "You dumped on us," Harlan said accusingly, sitting on the steps

  outside the trailer, zinging pebbles at an empty can.

  "Hey, that's not true. I couldn't make it. I had an accident. Take a

  look at my face," Nick said.

  "You promised us a movie," Harlan said glumly.

  "I wasn't here," he explained, edging past him into the trailer. "I

  told you why."

  Luke lay listlessly on top of the mattress he shared with Harlan.

  "What's the matter with him?" Nick asked.

  "I dunno." Harlan followed him in, shrugging. "He got sick."

  "What's your ma say?"

  "She ain't here."

  He went over to Luke and placed his hand on his forehead. The kid was

  burning up.

  "When did he get like this?"

  "Dunno," Harlan said, sighing.

  Nick stripped off his clothes, realizing there was no way he could ever

  return the tuxedo. It was good that when Joey had checked out the

  clothes from the rental place he'd given a phony address.

  "Where's Cyndra?" he asked, pulling on his jeans.

  "Out with Joey." Harlan leaned against the door looking miserable.

  "Tell you what," Nick said cheerfully. "Soon as Luke's better we'll go

  to that movle.

  "You said that before."

  "Yeah, but this time I ain't gonna be stuck in Ripley with a broken

  nose.

  "You look funny," Harlan said, staring at him, his head to one side.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know."

  He wondered what Lauren was doing. After she dropped him at the gas

  station he'd worked for a couple of hours, but it was so quiet he'd

  finally made the trek home, picking up his bike from outside Dawn's

  without ringing her doorbell. Joey hadn't been at work, so he had no

  idea what the buzz around town was. He'd been planning on going back

  to the drugstore to see Louise and Dave, but now he didn't feel he

  should leave Luke.

  "Anybody got a thermometer around here?" he asked.

  Harlan gazed at him solemnly. "What that?"

  "Forget it," he said. "Hang on, I'll ask Primo."

  His father was in his usual position-stretched out like a sleeping

  rhino, snoring heavily. The television was blaring, and there were

  three cans of beer stacked in a row on the floor next to the bed. He

  wore a torn undershirt and dirty underpants. A half-eaten bag of

  potato chips spilled out on his chest.

  Roughly Nick shook him until he came to, bleary-eyed and pucefaced.

  "Whassamatter? Wass going' on?" he griped, burping loudly as he

  hoisted himself into a sitting position. His rheumy eyes focused on

  his son. "Wadda you wan'?"

  "It's Luke," Nick said, trying to get through to him. "He's burnin'

  hot an' just lyin' there."

  "Ain't my problem." Primo yawned, automatically reaching for a beer.

  "It could be if anythin' happens to him," Nick said, hating his father

  even more, if that was possible.

  "Whyn't ya tell Aretha." Primo's attention was now taken by a

  bikini-clad blonde with jiggling tits cavorting across the television

  screen.

  "She's at work," he said shortly.

  "Quit botherin' me. Throw a bucket a water over him-that'll cool him

  down till she gets back." Primo reached into his underpants to scratch

  hi
s crotch. "An' don't tell her bout Luke till she done fixin' my

  supper.

  For a moment Nick stood there trying to figure out what to do.

  Then he spotted the keys to the van on the table and swiped them on his

  way out. Fuck Primo. Fuck the fat pig.

  By the time he got back to the other trailer Luke was breathing

  funnily.

  He made a fast decision. "We're takin' him into town," he told

  Harlan.

  "Wrap him in a couple of blankets an' let's get movin'."

  "Sit down, Aretha Mae," Benjamin Browning said.

  Aretha Mae hovered in the doorway of his study, her expression wary and

  suspicious. "Why?"

  Benjamin picked up a silver pen from his desktop and twirled it between

  his thick fingers. He did not relish the job Daphne had landed him

  with, the sooner it was done the better. "Because I say so," he said

  irritably. "Come in. Close the door behind you and sit down,

  goddamnit."

  She did as he requested, albeit reluctantly. Once she was seated he

  swiveled his leather chair at an angle so that he didn't have to look

  her in the eye.

  "Yes?" Her voice betrayed her impatience.

  "I am terminating your employment," he said coldly.

  She was startled. "What you sayin'?"

  "I'm firing you. Your services are no longer required."

  A nerve twitched beneath her left eye. "Oh, they ain't, huh?"

  "Mrs. Browning and I have decided you deserve six weeks severance pay

  on account of your years of service with us." He passed a signed check

  across the desk. "Mrs. Browning has requested that you do not return

  to work after today. Is that clear?"

  "Clear . . ." she muttered.

  He thought she was accepting her termination without argument.

  Thank God for that.

  "Well . . ." he said, willing her to go quietly. "That's all."

  "That's all," she repeated his words, not moving.

  "You may go," he said, dismissing her with a cursory wave.

  Aretha Mae stood up, placed both hands on his desk and glared at him.

  "I ain't going' nowhere, you son of a bitch," she said, forcing him to

  make eye contact.

  He'd known she would try to cause trouble. It was too much to expect

  that she would go quietly. Once . . . many years ago when she'd first

  come to work for them, she'd been lovely. Young and vibrant with long

  legs, big breasts and a sassy smile-just like Cyndra -a juicy little

  piece, hot and sexy. Now, seventeen years later, she was a dried-up,

  bitter old woman. Skinny and wild-eyed with sunken cheeks and dyed red

  hair. Even Daphne had aged better than her, and Daphne was ten years

  older. Not that he fucked his wife anymore, but once a year on their

  anniversary he made her get down on her knees and give him a suck. He

  knew how much she hated it, and it gave him immense pleasure to watch

  his penis vanish into that scarlet slash of a mouth. Daphne didn't

  dare refuse him. Daphne would never give up the grand title of Mrs.

  Browning.

  "I'm firing you," he repeated. "Don't you understand English? You

  have to go."

  "No such thing as Aretha Mae havin' t'do nothin'," she snapped, sitting

  back down. "No such thing, an' you know it."

  He threw his silver pen down on the desk, full of exasperation. "I'll

  double your severance pay if that's what you're after. Three months'

  wages and out of here today."

  "Ain't going'," she said stubbornly.

  Now he was getting really angry. "Why not?"

  "Cause three months down the line I ain't got no job, no money, no

  nothin'."

  "You can find another job."

  "In Bosewell? No shit? What other family got themselves a full-time

  maid?"

  "There's always work in the paper factory or the canning plant."

  She jumped up again. "No!" she said forcefully. "I work here-an'

  this is where I stay."

  He was silent for a moment before saying, "What do you want?"

  "Same money I'se getting' now for the rest of my natural life. An'

  five thousand dollars in the bank for my Cyndra. Oh, yeah, an' a

  lawyer's letter t'say I gets it regular."

  "That's blackmail."

  "Your word-ain't" "And if I refuse?"

  "Then the whole town gets t'know who Cyndra's daddy is, an' the filthy

  things you done t'her."

  "What are you saying?"

  "You know what I'se sayin'. Cyndra's your child."

  Benjamin paled. "It's . . . it's not possible."

  "That it is."

  "How?"

  "Remember when I first came t'work here?"

  His throat constricted. "Yes."

  "You was chasin' me day an' night-soon as your wife left the house you

  was after me-an' I was sleepin' in that room down in the basement.

  Well, one night you came there, held your hand over my mouth, an'

  shoved your thing inside me even though I didn't want it."

  "You wanted it," he said angrily. "After the first time you were

  begging for it."

  "You got me pregnant an' I didn't know what t'do. So I ended up

  marryin' the first man who'd have me-an' we moved t' the trailer

  park.

  Thing is, when I told him I was pregnant he ran out on mean' all these

  years I been alone. But I kept on workin' for you-an' you kept on

  pokin' me till I wasn't young nuff for you no more."

  "My wife and I supported you, and this is how you pay us backby

  lying?"

  She gave a hollow laugh. "Supported me-shee-it! I worked my black ass

  off for you an' your family, an' don' you forget it. Washin' your

  dirty underdrawers, cleanin' the shit in your johns, wipin' up all the

  mess.

  "And now you're going to blackmail me with this far-fetched story?"

  "I'm gonna get what's right for me an' that child of yours."

  "She's not my child," he said vehemently.

  "Want me t'tell the town bout how you was screwin' me all those

  years?

  Want me to tell them how you raped your own daughter?"

  "You wouldn't do that."

  "Honey," she said bitterly. "I ain't got nuttin' t'lose. How bout

  you?" Nick drove the van to the drugstore, parked in back and entered

  through the kitchen, grabbing Louise as she passed by carrying an order

  of ham and eggs.

  She stopped and let out a whistle. "Lookit you! Your damn face is one

  big mess.

  "I need a doctor," he said urgently.

  "Seems like you shoulda thought of that before."

  "Not for me. Luke's sick-my kid brother. I got him in the van.

  Who can I take him to?"

  "Gee . . ." She hesitated. "Doc Marshall's away, an' Doc Sheppard

  don't like bein' bothered at home."

  "Where does he live?"

  She placed her order on the counter and gave him her full attention.

  "What's wrong with the kid?"

  "I dunno. He's hot, can't breathe good."

  "Maybe I should take a look before you go waking up Doc Sheppard-he's

  an ornery old bastard." She untied her apron. "Hey, Dave," she

  yelled, "I'm takin' a break, have Cheryl fill in."

  Out in the van Luke was shivering uncontrollably. Harlan sat beside

  him looking miserable.

  "Thought you said he was hot," Louise said accusingly, p
lacing a hand

  on the child's forehead. "Oh, , yeah-he's hot, all right."

  "What do you think it is?" Nick asked.

  "Dunno. But it ain't good." She climbed into the van. "Let's go.

  We'll wake up old Doc Sheppard. Hang a left, then take the second

  street on the right. An', Nick-put your foot down."

  The bus ride took longer than ever. Aretha Mae sat by the window

  gazing out. usually she let her mind go blank-ridding herself of the

  cares of the day. But today she was filled with pent-up

  emotionsfeelings she hadn't allowed to surface for seventeen years.