American Star

by Jackie Collins

  She hesitated for a moment. "What are you doing for lunch today?"

  Dawn was surprised. "Who? Me?"

  "I don't see anybody else standing here."

  "What I normally do. Hang out. Why? You wanna eat with me?"

  "I'd like it if we could talk some more," Lauren said.

  Dawn seemed pleased. "So would I."

  After dropping Lauren off, Phil drove straight to his office. Before

  going upstairs he stopped in at the hardware store and picked up the

  new kitchen scissors Jane had ordered.

  Kitchen scissors, he thought grimly. She's probably going to stab me

  to death.

  He collected them in the morning because he knew by the time he was

  ready to go home the last thing he'd be thinking about was running an

  errand for his wife.

  Upstairs he unlocked his office door and entered. Eloise, his

  secretary, had not yet arrived. The place smelled stuffy and humid.

  He threw open the windows and settled behind his desk, thinking that

  perhaps he should have allowed Lauren to talk to him in the car. It

  wasn't right, this distance between them. If things were different at

  home maybe it would be easier for him to communicate with his daughter,

  but there was so much tension between him and Jane that he didn't seem

  to have the time to deal with anything else.

  He considered calling Benjamin Browning. They'd been almost ready to

  conclude a business deal when Lauren had broken her engagement; after

  that, he'd been unable to reach him.

  The hell with it! Picking up the phone he dialed Benjamin's office

  before he changed his mind.

  A secretary answered, cool and efficient. "Who may I say is

  calling?"

  "Phil Roberts.

  "Just one moment, Mr. Roberts, I'll see if he's available." A count

  of ten. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, Mr. Browning is tied up in a

  meeting.

  May I take a message?"

  "Yes, I've called several times. I need to speak to him as soon as

  possible. Can he return my call."

  "I'll see Mr. Browning receives the message. I'm sure he'll get back

  to you.

  Yes, I'm sure he will, Phil thought sourly.

  Harlan told Aretha Mae he had a sore throat.

  "Is it bad?" she asked.

  "It feels real bad," Harlan lied.

  "Where's your sister?" Her see-all eyes searched the empty trailer.

  "She ain't back yet," Harlan said.

  Aretha Mae fixed him with a steely stare, daring him to tell a fib.

  "Is she comin' back?"

  He refused to meet her stare. "I dunno."

  Aretha Mae screwed up her face, knowing perfectly well Cyndra wasn't

  coming back. She'd known it on Friday when the girl had come to her

  with some story about going away for the weekend.

  She started to poke around the trailer-all of Cyndra's favorite things

  were gone, and Nick's too. So he'd run off as well. She wondered if

  she should tell Primo. No. She'd wait and see if he noticed his only

  son was missing-it would probably take him weeks-that's how much he

  cared.

  In a way she didn't mind now that she knew Nick was with Cyndra.

  At least he'd keep a watchful eye on her, and maybe the two of them

  together could forge a better life for themselves.

  "It's okay," she told Harlan. "You can stay home."

  He was delighted, he hadn't thought he'd get away with it. Harlan

  never told anybody about how bad school was, the names they called

  him-"nigger" and "dirt poor" and "stinking bastard." He'd gotten used

  to it-he'd even gotten used to defending himself when they beat him

  up.

  As soon as Aretha Mae left for work he sneaked into her trailer to see

  if he could scrounge some food. Primo was in his usual position, fast

  asleep with the television blaring. Harlan noticed his mouth was wide

  open and he couldn't help wondering if anything ever crawled in.

  Stifling a chuckle he crept over to the refrigerator and peered

  inside.

  He spotted a chicken leg and without considering the consequences

  grabbed it and hurriedly slipped out of the trailer before he was

  discovered.

  Primo heard the door bang shut and woke up. He sat up, scratching his

  stomach. Even though it was early it was goddamn hot-he could feel the

  sticky sweat trickling down his body.

  He got up, went to the door and stepped outside. A skinny mutt growled

  at him. He picked up a beer can and hurled it at the mangy animal.

  Lately Primo found himself getting resfless. He'd never liked staying

  in one place for long. Aretha Mae might be a good woman, but he was

  bored. After a while, being with one woman always bored him.

  Maybe the time had come to move on-after all, there was a whole country

  out there, and plenty of other women who'd be only too happy to take

  him in. He was still a fine-looking man. Yeah, finelooking and a

  stud. What more could any woman ask?

  Continuing to scratch his belly he headed for the outhouse and relieved

  himselœ When he emerged he caught Harlan sitting on the steps of his

  trailer chewing on a chicken leg. "Whaddaya starin' at, boy?"

  Harlan lowered his eyes. "Nothin'."

  "Don't give me that nothin' crap. How come ya ain't in school?"

  Harlan didn't look up. "I ain't feelin' good," he muttered.

  Aretha Mae and her chickens hit kids-they were always getting sick.

  Except Cyndra. His daughter. Now, she was a real nice-looking girl.

  If she wasn't his own flesh and blood he would certainly consider

  bedding her down. She needed an experienced older man who could teach

  her a thing or two.

  "Wanna take a ride?" he asked Harlan.

  The boy's eyes widened. Primo had never spoken to him before, let

  alone offered him a ride. "Where to?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Into town, unless you got a better idea."

  "Nope."

  "Okay. Hop in."

  Primo wondered why he was being so generous allowing the kid to tag

  along.

  Because there was nothing to do in Bosewell, that's why. It was a

  one-horse hicksville town. No decent bar, no dancing girls, no

  nothing.

  A new thought began nagging inside his head. If he decided to leave

  Bosewell, would he have to take Nick with him?

  Nah, why should he? The boy was old enough and ugly enough to manage

  on his own. Besides, Aretha Mae seemed to have taken a shine to

  him-let her have the responsibility for a while.

  Not that he was taking off today. Right now he was riding into town

  only to stock up on beer and pretzels. He'd leave the following

  weekend-right after Aretha Mae came home with her paycheck. There was

  nothing to stop him from borrowing it.

  He'd leave in the middle of the night, that way he'd be a couple of

  hundred miles away before they realized he was gone.

  Primo Angelo deserved a life too, and the sweet thing was, if there was

  nothing out there for him he could always come back. Aretha Mae would

  always be waiting.

  Eloise Hanson arrived at Phil Roberts' office at twelve noon exactly.

  She worked for him three afternoons a week, typing and filing. Not

  that there was much to file lately-business was
grim.

  Eloise was a small plump woman in her mid-thirties, with pink cheeks, a

  scrubbed complexion and gentle brown eyes. Widowed a year

  previously-her husband was killed in a freak accident at the canning

  plant-she'd needed extra money to support herself and her elderly

  mother.

  At first the relationship between hetself and Phil Roberts had been

  strictly businesslike, but as the months passed they'd formed a &lose

  bond that eventually turned into a love affair.

  Both of them felt guilty.

  Both of them hated the duplicity involved.

  Both of them could not keep their hands off each other.

  As soon as Eloise walked into the office, fanning herself and murmuring

  about the heat, Phil realized that work was over for the day.

  He took her hand and led her into his private office. "No work today,"

  he said, squeezing her moist palm.

  She blushed a little, knowing full well what he had in mind. "But

  there's letters to get out."

  "Too bad."

  She accepted his desire without question and slowly began unbuttoning

  her blouse.

  Phil went to the outer door and locked it, then pulled the shade down

  and hung the CLOSED sign.

  He knew Jane suspected the affair was still going on, even though he'd

  assured her it was absolutely over. But he couldn't stop. Eloise was

  such a caring woman, so giving and kind. Most of all she was a tiger

  in bed-a woman without inhibitions. She made Phil feel like a real man

  in her arms.

  Not that sex with his wife hadn't always been good; over the years

  they'd enjoyed a satisfactory relationshisatisfactory bordering on

  dull. Eloise was different-she brought out a passion in him he'd

  thought was extinguished. Eloise allowed him to relive the excitement

  of his youth. After all, he was not even fifty, surely he was allowed

  this final fling?

  Recently Jane had given him an ultimatum. "Fire her," she'd said, her

  tone allowing no argument.

  "Why should I?" he'd replied, struggling to maintain control of his

  marriage. "She's an excellent secretary. And you know there's nothing

  between us anymore.

  "I couldn't care less," Jane had replied. "I do not want that bitch

  anywhere near you.

  Jane never swore. To hear her say "bitch" was quite shocking.

  Phil knew that firing Eloise was inevitable, but he kept on delaying

  the moment. Eloise was his escape, and without her-what exactly did he

  have?

  Lauren and Dawn sat on the grass together sharing a tuna fish

  sandwich.

  "I know you went out with Nick," Lauren said, not anxious for the

  details, but unable to stop herself from finding out how serious it had

  been.

  "It was before he started seeing you," Dawn explained. "As soon as you

  came into the picture it was over." She shrugged. "Look, I

  understand. I've met plenty of boys like Nick. I'm like a stopgap,

  you know? I'm there when they need me and then they move on. He loves

  you-he never loved me.

  "Can I tell you something?" Lauren said hesitantly.

  "Go ahead," Dawn replied, biting into the sandwich.

  "It's . . . it's embarrassing."

  "Ha!" said Dawn. "Trust me. I've heard it all. Nothin' embarrasses

  me.

  Lauren sighed-a long weary sigh. "It's just that my parents are very

  strict, and I haven't been allowed to see Nick in nearly two months

  and. . . I don't know what to do."

  "What is it?" Dawn asked. "You can tell me.

  The words were difficult to say, but Lauren managed to get them out.

  "I . . . I think I'm pregnant."

  Until she actually said it out loud she hadn't been prepared to believe

  it. Now that she'd voiced her suspicions she felt a great wave of

  relief.

  "Damnit!" Dawn said. "How late are you?"

  Lauren studied the grass. "Almost six weeks," she mumbled. "I don't

  dare tell my parents. I . I have to see Nick. I have to tell him."

  "Sounds like a good idea to me."

  "How can I?"

  "How can't you is more like it. If I were you I'd head straight over

  to the gas station and tell him. You shouldn't have to handle this

  alone."

  "What if they find out?"

  "You can't be any worse off than you are now, can you?"

  Dawn had a point. "I'll do it," she decided.

  "Maybe the two of you can run off and get married," Dawn said, getting

  carried away. "Very romantic."

  "That'll really thrill my parents."

  "Stop worrying about them. Talk it over with Nick. The way I see it,

  you've got two choices-marry him and have the baby, or get an

  abortion."

  The word "abortion" petrified her. If there was a baby growing inside

  her she would never consider doing it any harm.

  "Has this ever happened to you?" she asked.

  "To tell you the truth, no. But I always take precautions. Didn't

  Nick wear a rubber?"

  Lauren couldn't believe she was discussing anything as intimate as this

  with Dawn. "No. . . he told me he. . . uh. . . pulled out."

  "Oh, Jesus!" Dawn looked disgusted. "Never let em tell you that, it's

  the oldest line in the world. That and Let me just lay down next to

  you, I swear I won't put it in."" She stood up and held out her hand.

  "Come on, get up, we gotta make plans. If you skip out of school now

  an' make it over to the gas station you can hear what he's got to say

  an' decide what you'll do. If you're lucky you'll be back before your

  mother gets here."

  "You're right," Lauren said, drawing a deep breath. "It's the only

  answer, isn't it?"

  "Sure-it's just as much his responsibility as yours. He's the asshole

  supposed to take precautions. An' don't worry, whatever you decide

  -I'm your friend, an' I'll help you if I can."

  Lauren nodded gratefully, and felt sorry for all the bitchy things she

  and Meg had said about Dawn in the past. "Thanks," she said, squeezing

  her hand. "You've been great. I owe you one." arly Monday morning

  they made it into Chicago. Dirty, tired and hungry but totally

  elated.

  "This is my kinda town, Chicago is," Joey sang happily.

  "Enough with the singin'. Where we going'?" Nick asked.

  "Yeah, where?" Cyndra joined in. "I'm beat."

  "Hey," Joey said, "I got it all under control."

  "I wish you'd get my stomach under control," Cyndra complained.

  "Traveling on that stinkin' freight train all night has made me

  starvin.

  "Okay, okay, I get the message. Let's go in here."

  They entered a dingy-looking cafe'. Cyndra pulled a face while Joey

  ordered bacon and eggs, coffee and orange juice.

  "Can we afford it?" she whispered. "Maybe we shouldn't be blowing our

  money like this."

  "It's okay," Nick said. "We deserve a decent breakfast."

  "This is the plan," Joey said, taking charge. "After we eat I'll make

  a few calls. Don't worry, we'll be sleeping in beds tonight."

  "I hope so," Cyndra said wearily." Cause I can't take another night

  sleeping rough." She went off to the restroom to wash up.

  A rag-clad old tramp approached their table. "
Gotta dime?" he "Buzz

  off!" Joey said sharply.

  Nick reached in his pocket and fumbled for loose change, handing the

  old man a quarter.

  "What in hell're you doing? We might need that," Joey said

  indignantly.

  "It's like a superstition," Nick replied. "Never turn a beggar

  down."

  "Oh. Some superstition. They'll be following you like the freakin'

  Pied Piper!"

  Cyndra returned from the ladies' room, having brushed her long dark

  hair and washed her face. "I feel better now," she said, ravenously

  attacking the runny eggs and greasy bacon.

  "This'll have to last us until dinner," Joey warned, grabbing a piece

  of toast and mopping up his eggs. "Think I'll go make those calls

  "Friends," he said sourly. "You now.