Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  She stares at me a few moments before her lips split into a wide grin. Turning toward Dominic, she hitches her thumb at me. “I like her.”

  “Thank you,” he mouths, and I just smile. Clearing his throat, he motions me to come in. “Mom, this is Ang—” Quickly catching himself, he starts again. “Alexandra Romanov. Alexandra, meet my mother, Brenda McCallum.”

  Brenda stares at me from her bed. I see where Dominic gets his looks. His mother has the same nose, same full lips, and same thick, dark hair. The only difference is her eyes. They’re a deep, ocean blue, not the piercing pale blue that could stop a heart.

  “Alexandra,” she says, looking me up and down. I’ve spent the last three months under the relentless eye of the entire world, yet nothing feels as invasive as Brenda McCallum’s stare. I breathe a sigh of relief when she shifts it to her son. “Alexandra and Dominic. Dominic and Alexandra.”

  What the hell is going on? Has she forgotten who we are already?

  “Love looks good on you both. Don’t let the damn witches mess it up.”

  Now I’m blushing. I feel the heat burning my cheeks. I see Dominic scrub his hand down his face out of the corner of my eye. “Mom, we’re not—”

  She cuts him off, her eyes flashing with fear. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  Dominic doesn’t flinch, taking her hand as if this is all perfectly normal. “Mom, it’s me, Dominic, remember?”

  “That’s what all the imposters say!”

  “Mom, please don’t do this. Not now.”

  I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she flipped on a dime, going from normal to incoherent digs into a dark place I refuse to acknowledge.

  Brenda’s eyes catch mine, our gazes locking moments before she turns back to Dominic and hisses, “If you’re really my son, then seek the cure. Only the real Dominic knows where it’s hidden.”

  “Fine,” he concedes through clenched teeth. Turning his back to her, he watches my reaction as he asks, “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

  “Do I want to know?”

  He groans. “No.”

  “Then yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  As soon as the door closes, Brenda’s gaze is back on me. “He acts just like his father sometimes.”

  “His father?” Dominic has never mentioned his father, and it never felt like the right time to ask.

  Brenda stares at me like I’m an idiot. “The Wizard.”

  “Of course.” Regretting my decision to stay behind, I eye a small water pitcher in the corner and make my way toward it. “Are you thirsty? I’d be happy to pour you some—”

  “You hear them, don’t you?”

  My hand shakes as I lift the pitcher. “Hear what?”

  “The voices.”

  “Okay, no water then.”

  “What about the static? The bright lines that go back and forth and back and forth.” She moves her finger in a “z” formation.

  “Brenda—”

  “And the scratching,” she continues, her voice becoming shrill. “Those sounds.” Clicking her tongue, she claws the air. “The ones just out of reach where you can’t make it stop.”

  She just described everything that’s been invading my head during the day and terrorizing my dreams at night. Sometimes it gets so bad I lose time. An hour here, three hours there. One minute I’m at the studio, the next I’m in my own kitchen. It feels like I’m a rat running a maze with no exit.

  My legs feel like two hollow straws, so I sink onto the edge of Brenda’s bed, tears threatening my eyes. “What’s happening to me?”

  But she doesn’t answer. She just rocks her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving mine as she crawls onto her knees. “You’ve protected her for so long, but she’s getting stronger.” I want to look away, but I can’t. “You know it; you just can’t see it.”

  Every single word feels like a stab to the heart.

  She.

  The girl in the nightmares. The ones where I can’t wake up because I realize I’m already awake. My eyes are wide open, and she’s still there. I try to wish her away, but I can’t. She’s burrowed into my brain, locking me away with my own demons after giving them sharper claws.

  Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

  “Who is she?” I yell. “What are you talking about?”

  Just as Brenda starts to answer, the door opens. “Everything okay in here?”

  Quickly wiping my face, I blow out a rough breath. “Yeah. Everything okay with you?”

  Dominic holds up a soda can in response.

  I raise an eyebrow. “The cure?”

  “Dr. Pepper. Imposter kryptonite.” He shakes his head. “Don’t ask.” Handing the soda can to his mother, he tosses a suspicious look between us again. “Are you sure everything’s okay? I heard shouting.”

  “Just girl talk, son.” Brenda waves a hand while popping the top on the can. “Did you see the witches?”

  “Nope. This soda is curse free.”

  She winks. “Good boy.”

  “I think that’s enough for today. Alexandra has an early day tomorrow, and you need your rest.” Dominic kisses her forehead. “Don’t cause too much trouble around here.”

  We’re almost out the door when she calls out, “Alexandra.” I glance over my shoulder to find her head tilted to one side. “She’s fate.”

  I can’t get Brenda out of my mind. If what Dominic said is true, if he can’t come up with fast cash, she’s going back to the place that drove her here. The streets of Hollywood.

  We get halfway down the hall when I stop him. “I want to pay for your mom to stay here.”

  He stiffens. “No.”

  “Let me do this. I have the money, and besides,” I bite my lip while pointing toward the window, “The witches are out there.”

  Despite his scowl, a hint of a smile breaks free. “Fine. But when I get BTN in the black again, I’m paying you back every cent.”

  “Deal.”

  Dominic scratches the back of his head. “I guess we need to go see Everly and get this straight.” He starts to make his way down another hall when I grab his arm. “Something wrong?”

  But the truth is in the pit of my stomach. It’s lodged in the back of my throat. It’s locked inside my head with the demons and the sharp claws.

  And her.

  “No.” I give him a weak smile. “Let’s go.”

  Because if Brenda McCallum is right…

  Fate’s about to come scratching.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dominic

  I check my phone as another text lights up my screen.

  Pieceofshitfuckercocksuckingasshole.

  I stare at it, not sure whether to be offended or impressed she managed to string that many insults into one message. I’m about to respond when the chime pings again.

  Drive safe.

  Milly’s pissed. Not that I can blame her. For the last two months, I’ve let her shoulder all the responsibility at BTN while I’ve spent all of my time with Angel. But things are slowly creeping toward a new normal.

  Is that even a thing? Because I’m not sure I ever had an old normal.

  Still, Mom is safe and secure in the cushy top floor at Moss Valley, thanks to Angel’s bank account. The only reason I allowed her to do it was because I didn’t and still don’t trust Rosten. His word is about as solid as a cheesecloth.

  I’m not okay with having my woman take care of my responsibilities, but I’m determined to turn BTN around and pay her back with interest. With Milly hiring a few staff members back, and daily operations running with a skeleton crew, it’s past time to get my shit in order.

  Yeah, I know I called her my woman. It was a slip of the tongue. Don’t read anything into it.

  Keys in hand, I’m crossing the main parlor heading toward the elevator when Hilda steps in front of me like a defensive lineman. “Sir…”

  I stumble backward almost crashing into the piano. “Jesus, what the hell?”

  “I�
��m sorry, sir, but Miss Romanov has a visitor.”

  “At ten o’clock in the morning? Miss Romanov is already on set.”

  She wrings her hands. Hilda isn’t a nervous person. The woman is as stealth as they come. “Yes, I know that, sir. What would you like me to tell Miss DeLuca?”

  “I don’t give a damn what…” The words die in my throat. “Did you say DeLuca?”

  “Yes, sir. She said her name was Vi—”

  “Violet DeLuca,” I finish for her, my fingers crushing my cell phone. I have no idea what the hell she’s doing here, but it can’t be good.

  Hilda stares at me with an unreadable expression. “So, you do know her.”

  “Unfortunately.” I have half a mind to send her back to Chula Vista with a boot print on her ass, but she has a stubborn streak that rivals Angel’s. If I turn her away, I wouldn’t put it past her to show up at Silverline. Checking my watch, I groan. Screw it, I’m already late. “Send her up,” I say.

  Pulling up Milly’s last text, I hit reply.

  Something’s come up. I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.

  Her only response is a line of middle finger emojis.

  By the time I pocket my phone and look up, Hilda is gone, and I’m left with my own thoughts, which isn’t a good thing. Things have been stable since taking Angel to Moss Valley last week, but still strained. At least she’s out of bed and verbal.

  But I see what this house is doing to her. What I’m doing to her. I’ll catch her standing in the middle of a room just staring at nothing, and when I call her name, she turns around with this sad smile, and all I can hear is the counting of that damn clock.

  I’m interrupted by the discreet clearing of a throat. Turning around, my eyes go straight to bright purple hair and Sharpie rimmed eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Hilda shifts a cautious gaze between the two of us, waiting until I give a quick nod before straightening her uniform. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, Mr. McCallum.”

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn my attention back to the problem at hand. “Miss DeLuca. Long time no see.” I make my way toward the bar because if I have to deal with this shit this early, I’m doing it with a drink in my hand. “Alexandra isn’t here, I’m afraid,” I say, opening a bottle of whiskey.

  “Alexandra,” she says, drawing out the word. “Right. Well, that’s fine. I’m here to see you.” She wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t it a little early for all that?”

  I glance over my shoulder and lift my glass. “Isn’t it a little late for all this?” She doesn’t answer because she knows I’m right. I may have brought the ball to the park, but she kicked it into play. I’ll be damned if I’ll let her climb up on her moral mountain now.

  “Tell me I didn’t make a mistake, McCallum.”

  “It’s Dominic, and what mistake would that be?”

  Her fists tighten by her side as she crosses the parlor and plants her worn Doc Martens against the toe of my boots. “I gave you Angel’s address so you could help her have a better life. Not help yourself to one as well.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Slamming my glass back down onto the bar, I grab her arm, ignoring the string of curses flying out of her mouth as I drag her up two flights of stairs and into the cinema room.

  “Let me go!”

  Slamming the door, I shove her aside as I snatch the remote control off the couch and press every button I can find until the screen comes to life with, of course, some shitty Katerina Romanov film. With Violet still chirping threats in my ear, I jack the volume up, then toss the remote across the room.

  “Are you insane,” I yell, stalking toward her. “Every wall in this house has ears. Are you trying to get her busted?”

  Understanding dawns across her face, and she crosses her arms in a huff. “Maybe I should. Maybe living dirt poor in Chula Vista is better than”—scowling, she waves a hand around the pretentious room, then toward me—“whatever this is.”

  “What are you trying to say, Miss DeLuca?”

  “I knew your reputation, and I still served my friend to you on a silver platter. But I didn’t think even you would sink as low as to take advantage of a woman with no memory of her past.”

  I stiffen. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Violet.”

  “And I don’t like what I’m seeing on my television, Dominic. I see the way she looks at you. She cares about you—more than she should. Funny,” she says, those heavily lined eyes narrowing to barely-there slits, “I see something very different in your eyes.”

  Impossible. She’s just pissed she didn’t negotiate a finder’s fee, so she’s setting as many traps as she can, hoping I’ll fall into one.

  “And what’s that, Miss DeLuca?”

  “Dollar signs.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Is that right?”

  Violet’s eyes flick toward the movie screen. “Angel is a wealthy woman now. Quite the cash cow for a man such as yourself.”

  “Careful, Miss DeLuca. I’ve made a very lucrative career from destroying people’s lives.”

  She whips back around, eyes blazing. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a fact.” Now that I know her game, my voice is dangerously calm.

  I’ve been accused of money mongering all my life. Most of the time, the accusations were true. This time, well, I’ll let Violet DeLuca think what she wants. Because she means something to Angel, I won’t push back.

  Unless she does. Then the gloves come off.

  “Angel and I are very happy.” I circle her, her eyes following my every move. “And we’re going to stay that way, or you and I are going to have a problem. Do we understand—”

  “Vi!”

  We both turn around as Angel comes barreling through the door, her arms open and a smile on her face I haven’t seen in months. She crashes into Violet, wrapping her in a hug so tight, I’m not sure either of them can breathe.

  Violet squeezes her just as fierce. I watch. I study. And as Violet’s eyes shift my way, I warn. Don’t do it.

  “Rook, I thought you were on set?”

  Angel breaks their embrace and waves her hand. “Noah came down with food poisoning, so I shot a few scenes without him, and the director called it a day.”

  Wonderful. A full day at home. Just Angel and Violet.

  As I count up all the things that could go wrong, Angel squeals and hugs her again. “I can’t believe you’re here! How long are you staying?”

  “Only a couple days, if it’s okay with you.”

  Days? What the fuck?

  Gritting my teeth, I will her to look at me, but the bitch purposely ignores me.

  “Okay?” Angel squeals again, and this overly perky attitude is starting to grate on my nerves. “Stay two days, two weeks, two months.” For the third time, she pulls her into a crushing hug. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  Finally, Violet casts a quick glance my way, a smirk playing on her mouth.

  This whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s a grenade waiting to explode, and that Crayola-haired bitch is going to be the one to pull the pin and blow us all to hell.

  Breaking their embrace again, Angel’s face lights up. “Oh, we should all go to Amalia for dinner.”

  “You two have fun,” I tell her, forcing my way in between them, because, fuck you, Violet, she’s mine. “I have a lot of work piled up.” I start to give her a kiss on the cheek but change my mind and take her lips instead. It’s a demanding, unapologetic kiss, and Angel lets out a nervous laugh when I finally let her go. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  The last thing I hear just before I walk out of the room is Violet’s whispered voice.

  “Count on it.”

  I see it coming as soon as I open the door. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “I’m not in the mood, Milly—back off.” I push past her, ignoring the curious stares of my former employees as I storm into my office and collapse into my chair.

&
nbsp; Of course, she doesn’t listen. The door doesn’t even close before she’s barreling through it like a mini cyclone, crossing her arms over her chest in front of my desk. “Who peed in your Cheerios?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to ward off the headache brewing behind my eyes. “The ghost from dive bars past.”

  Sighing, she plops down in one of the two chairs in front of me. “Dom, why are you still with her? You got the money. Rosten’s off your back. All you’re doing is drawing more attention to yourself. You can get laid anywhere. Why her?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that detective?”

  I still, slowly lifting my gaze over my fingers. “What detective?”

  “The one that keeps coming by here asking about you.” She squishes her face and snaps her fingers. “Remo? Russo?”

  “Rubio,” I say, picking up a pencil and rolling it between my fingers.

  Her eyes light up. “Yeah that’s it. Rubio.”

  “What have you told him?”

  “Nothing. He keeps asking if I’ve ever seen you and Angel together before your little announcement. This last time he asked if you’d ever mentioned Freddy Wiseman.” I flinch at the name, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “My answer to both was no, and I left it at that.”

  “Great,” I groan, slumping back in my chair while flipping the pencil between my fingers.

  There’s a flicker in Milly’s eye. “He also mentioned the name Luciano Ricci.”

  The pencil snaps in half. “What?”

  She jumps at the sound, wrinkles creasing her forehead as she stares at me. “Dom, if you’re in trouble—”

  “I have to go.” I’m out of my chair, across the bullpen, and reaching for the front door before she can catch up and ask more questions.

  Try to avoid a cop, and there’s one on every corner. Try to find one damn detective, and you might as well look for Waldo.

  Rubio has no problem sneaking around my shit like a side-ho, but when I try to find him to confront his ass, he disappears like a fuckboy.