Authors: Rosemary Stevens
B004183M70 EBOK (26 page)
I giggled along with her, then whispered,
"You're right on both counts, and I'm glad. I hated Suzie for dating
Bradley. I'm glad she's dead."
Lola drank her highball. "You hated
Suzie that much?"
I looked at her askance. "Are you
kidding?" I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I would have
strangled Suzie myself if Bradley hadn't done it for me.
I sat back and waited. Lola's words were
beginning to slur. I'd lost count of how much alcohol was in her system.
She tried to light a cigarette with
unsteady hands. I immediately lit it for her. She took a drag, then absently
let the cigarette burn in the handrest's metal tray. "Damn, I wish Bradley
weren't the one arrested for the murder. He's too choice to languish in jail
the rest of his life."
"So you don't think he was the one who
actually killed her?" I asked, hoping my face reflected an admiration of
Lola's intelligence.
She finished her drink, carefully put the
glass on her tray, then licked her lips. She gazed at me, her head resting on
the back of her seat. "I wanted Suzie dead, too, Bebe. Many nights I'd lie
in bed thinking of how to kill her and get away with it. I didn't have a gun. I
didn't want to shoot her anyway. Soooooo impersonal. Knives are messy, and I
might have cut my hand."
"I agree," I whispered, daring at
last to hope for that drunken confession.
Lola closed her eyes. "I dreamed of
strangling the bitch, while telling her how much I hated her. It was important
that Suzie knew I much I hated her, how she was a nobody from Omaha. I was the
star model, not her. Never her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and
squeeze all my hatred into her and slowly watch the life go out of her. I
needed Suzie to know who had finally triumphed. Oh, the pleasure . . ."
Chilled to the bone, I whispered, "You
can tell me if you took that pleasure, Lola. We're friends. I'll keep the
secret."
My heart raced in my chest, waiting for her answer.
"Lola?" I whispered. "Tell me what Suzie's
last words were."
Lola's head fell onto her shoulder.
Passed-out drunk, she slipped her hand out of mine along with
my hopes for a confession that would clear Bradley's name.
"And I told Lola all those lies! How will I ever get
through confession?" I asked, and dropped my head in my hands.
It was a little after nine in the morning,
and I had just finished bringing Darlene up-to-date about what had happened on
the flight the previous evening.
"Cheer up, Bebe; you'll explain your
actions by saying they were for a good cause, namely your hunky boss's
life," Darlene reassured me. "We're here, and we can try again to get
Lola to confess."
"I hope so."
Darlene gazed out at the ocean. "Can
you believe the color of the water? It's the same color as that turquoise dress
you're wearing."
"I've never seen anything like
it," I admitted. "Daddy and Mama always took me to Virginia Beach
when I was growing up, and I thought water couldn't get any bluer. I was
wrong."
Darlene and I sat at an aluminum table in
the casual, covered outdoor restaurant of our hotel, aptly named White Sands
since it sat right on the beach. Crisscrossed wooden poles formed the
structure, which was open to the little brown lizards that scurried about. Palm
trees swayed among the lush foliage, and butterflies flew around the wild purple
bougainvillea. Bradley could not have picked a better setting for the Durden
swimwear shoot.
Once we'd landed on the island, the five in
our party had been driven in a safari taxi on a dirt road populated by
donkeys and cows. All the stopping and starting because of the slow-moving
animals, coupled with the disastrous day, had made me go straight to my room
and to bed.
"Are you and Cole sharing a
room?" I asked, rubbing my bare feet together under the table. Waiters
swept the wooden floor, but the sand found its way back.
Cole sat in a white wooden beach chair at
the water's edge. He'd traded his Stetson for a big straw hat, probably
purchased from a street vendor. He was shirtless—I didn't want to look—and wore
a pair of tan-and-white swimming trunks that came to his skinny knees.
"Unfortunately, we are," Darlene
said, glancing down at her engagement ring with narrowed eyes. "We've been
fighting ever since we got here. Last night I stomped off to the bar
alone—remind me to tell you about that in a minute—and then this morning, Cole
was mad as a hornet when I put on this bathing suit. He said it was something a
prostitute would wear."
"That was mean of Cole! How dare he
refer to you that way?"
I looked at her red one-piece suit. True,
the sides were completely cut out, and there was a slit down the front with
three orange ties for modesty, but it was no racy bikini. Though somehow, on
Darlene, the suit emphasized her tiny waist and generous bosom. She just
couldn't help but look sexy.
Darlene drank some coffee, then set the cup
down in the saucer. She smiled. "The suit is called 'the She-Devil.'"
We burst into laughter.
Then she grew serious. "I've been
doing some thinking, Bebe."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, ever since that talk you and I
had. And I've come to the conclusion that Cole and I would never be happy
together. I love Stu, and he loves me. All that stuff about Peggy ... I should never have believed her.
Stu's a reformed stew-bum. I'm gonna do my best to trust him. When we get back
to New York, I'll make it up to him. No more father figures for me."
I grabbed her right hand and squeezed it.
"I am so happy, Darlene! When are you going to tell Cole? Can I
watch?"
She giggled. "You are bad, Bebe. When
the moment is right, I'll tell him. Privately. No sense arguing with him on
this perfect day."
Grinning, I popped a delicious slice of
mango in my mouth.
Darlene stuck her fork into a cube of fresh
pineapple. "I'll give him the ring back—that's only fair— but I'm keeping
the diamond necklace."
"You'd better. I might want to borrow
it one day," I said. "What was it you wanted me to remind you of,
something you wanted to tell me?"
Darlene finished her pineapple and nodded.
"Thought you might like to know that Lola got a second wind last
night."
"What? Don't tell me—"
"Yes, ma'am, your star model was in
the bar drinking again when I went in for my nightcap. She was all over a cute
local guy, and his hands were everywhere on her. Lola didn't push him
away."
"Oh, dear God," I said. "I'd
better check—"
"Good morning, my lovely Bebe,"
Pierre said, arriving at our table. He bent and kissed my cheek, while I shot
a look at Darlene that begged her not to laugh.
Pierre had on the beach version of his city
attire: black short-sleeved shirt, black shorts, black socks and shoes. The
beret was gone, though, replaced by a straw hat like Cole's.
"Hello, Pierre. You know
Darlene."
"Ah, yes, our hostess on the
plane," he said, and raised Darlene's hand to his lips for a brief kiss.
She smiled, and Pierre took a seat next to
me. A waiter came and took his detailed order; then Pierre said, "Bebe,
the weather couldn't be better for our shoot. You are my good luck charm. I'd like to start in an
hour or so, as soon as I've breakfasted, and Lola is in makeup. Where is Gloria?"
Thinking this would be a good excuse to find Lola, I said,
"Why don't I round everyone up while you sit here and relax?"
Pierre smiled. "You mean more and more to me every day.
What would I do without you, my chirie?"
Darlene slid me a glance.
I felt uncomfortable and, if I were honest with myself, a
tiny bit flattered by Pierre's growing feelings for me. Uncomfortable because I
couldn't return his interest. Flattered since Pierre, Louis, and the young
actor at the gala all helped my confidence that I was attractive to the
opposite sex. Then there was Bradley. . . .
Gloria, wearing a loose cotton floral shift, plunked down her
makeup bag with a thud. "Yeah, Bebe, what would we do without you?"
she asked, and snorted a laugh.
Puzzled, I stood up. "Good morning, Gloria. If everyone
will excuse me, I'll go find Lola."
"I'll go with you," she said. "I need to get
her in makeup."
"Um, let me go up first, Gloria; then I'll come back and
find you."
"Whatever floats your boat," she said, and sat
down.
Dashing to the front desk, I finally convinced the native
clerk to give me Lola's room number. Twenty- seven, just three doors down from
me.
I ran up the wooden steps and knocked on her door.
No answer.
I knocked harder, urgently.
"One minute!" called a male voice.
Had the desk clerk given me the wrong room number?
The door opened, revealing a deeply tanned young man with
blond hair. Nice-looking, but tousled and shirtless, he wore a pair of white
Levi's. "Hey, you woke me."
An American living off of sand dollars, I thought. Trying to
avoid gazing at his naked chest, I stammered, "Is, um, Lola—"
"That her name?" He shook his head as if to clear
it. "Wild woman. I gotta split."
He brushed past me, making tracks.
I pushed the door open.
Lola, naked, lay sprawled across the double bed on her
stomach, snoring. I inched over and picked up a white sheet from the floor.
Covering her to the neck, I bent down and touched her shoulder. "Lola,
it's me, Bebe. Time to wake up."
Her thick blond hair lay across her face. I gently pushed it
aside. "Lola, please wake up."
Her eyes opened a crack. Her eyelids were as swollen as a
wet sponge, and she still had on last night's makeup, her black eyeliner
smeared onto her bloated cheek.
Slowly she came awake, groaning. "I'm gonna be
sick," she whispered, then scooted across the bed and into the bathroom.
I pressed my fingers to my temples as the sounds of last
night's overindulgence met my ears. I went to the window and opened it, letting
some fresh air into the foul-smelling room.
When all was quiet in the bathroom, I stood with my back
against the wall next to the bathroom. Lola hadn't closed the door, and I
didn't want to see inside.
"Lola, Pierre wants to start the shoot in about an hour.
Why don't you take a hot shower while I go get you some coffee and the bikini
you're supposed to wear?"
She mumbled something I couldn't understand.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Aspirin," she moaned.
"Okay, I'll be back in fifteen minutes with coffee and
aspirin. You'll get your shower while I'm gone?"
"Uh-huh."
Unlocking my door, I sat on the edge of my bed and allowed
myself a good five minutes of self-pity.
Lola had been drinking on the plane despite my advice not
to. But I had no idea she'd continue once we landed and get completely wasted.
Her face! All bloated, eyes swollen and red. Maybe the shower, the coffee, and
the aspirin would take care of it, I told myself. She would be a fool to ruin
this opportunity. And I'd let Bradley down after he put his trust in me. I
steeled my resolve. This photo shoot would be successful, no matter what.
I applied suntan lotion to my arms and
legs, touched up my lip gloss, and got the Durden black bikinis out of my
suitcase. There were two of them in different sizes. I'd have Lola put the
larger one on first. Out of my first-aid travel case, I retrieved two aspirin.
Leaving my room, I secured a cup of coffee
and headed back to Lola's room. I'd left the door unlocked and walked right in.
"Lola," I said, putting the coffee
down on a small table, "are you feeling better?"
No answer.
I opened the bathroom door. She lay on the
bathroom floor, snoring.
That was when I got mad.
Over the next forty-five minutes, I woke
Lola, got her to drink some coffee and take her aspirin, then made her shower.
I was nice about everything, but inside I seethed. By the time her hair was dry
and she'd squeezed into the bikini, I wanted to scream.
"You're fussing over me, Bebe,"
she said, then stumbled as we walked out the door.
With horror I saw long red scratches down
her back. Pancake makeup, I thought, that should cover it. "I'm counting
on you, Lola, and we're late. Pierre is going to be furious."
"Screw him. I'm tired of his
moods," she grumbled. "Hey, I didn't say anything about Pierre last
night that I shouldn't have, did I? He's still gotta do this shoot with
me."
"Pierre? No, you didn't," I said.
With every step I grew more anxious. Gloria would have to be a miracle
worker with Lola's makeup, and Pierre a genius with the
camera.
