Friends and Lovers Trilogy 03 - Seduced (27 page)

When Lulu asked about Jean-Pierre’s screenwriter friend, Rudy cringed. But Jean-Pierre simply answered, “Sadly, he recently passed on,” and moved the conversation forward.

Rudy reached over and squeezed his hand, then announced to all that they’d be in town shortly.

After an awkward silence, Afia asked, “Did Sofia ever take you on the set of “Spy Girl”?”

“Ah,
oui
. Most interesting. I particularly enjoyed the filming of action sequences. Sofia is most skilled in martial arts. Sometimes I think she gleans more satisfaction from the stunts than the acting.”

“That’s because the scripts aren’t so great,” Lulu said. “But that’s okay. They’re bringing on a new head writer. The second season should prove more challenging.”

“That’s if she decides to do the second season.”

Lulu leaned forward, frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jean-Pierre craned his head around. “She did not tell you? She has not yet signed her contract. They want her to sign for three years. I think she is hoping to move on to film much sooner. She is … ” he shrugged. “Restless.”

Lulu snorted. “Maybe that’s why she’s messing around with Colin’s brother. For the thrill. Jeez, they don’t even
like
each other.”

Jean-Pierre crinkled his brow. “Sofia is seeing Agent Bogart?”

Afia leaned forward too. “You didn’t know?”

“She said nothing of this to me.”

Lulu patted his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. No one tells us anything either.”

Guilt tickled Rudy’s conscience, causing him to blurt like an overenthusiastic tour guide. “Here we are, gang! Rainbow Ridge!”

“Swap your Stetson for one of those ball caps we bought back in New York.” Frank parallel parked the rental car in front of a two-story brick building with a porch boasting colorful flags and pots of flowers—General Pat’s General Store. He rolled down his window and breathed in the smells of brewed coffee and baked goods.

His stomach rumbled.

He was hungry and bone tired, but he’d pushed hard and they’d made it from Pittsburg to Rainbow Ridge in well under Jesse’s projected fifteen hours. Thing was, between the booze, pills, and lack of sleep, he was in no shape to proceed until he got some shut eye. They’d taken a wrong turn a few miles back and had stumbled upon an abandoned cabin. The perfect hideaway. But before they settled in, they needed supplies and directions to Hollyberry Inn.

He tossed his Stetson in the back seat, smoothed his hand over his thinning hair. His head and nose hurt like a mother. He glanced over to ask his brother if he had any aspirin and noticed he’d yet to switch hats. “Listen, Jess. I know how you feel about your Stet, but we’re in the northeast now and we need to blend.” He motioned to the men and women crowding the cobblestone sidewalks. “You see anyone wearing a cowboy hat?”

“What I see are a bunch of liberal pansies.”

They were all kind of prissy looking. And their politics, he knew from watching the news, differed greatly from his. “I won’t argue with you there, but I will ask you to mind my direction. If we do this right, we can be on our way to Mexico in two days, tops.”

“Ah, hell.” The younger man swiped off his Stetson, and Frank felt a pang of envy. Unlike him, his brother had a full head of thick wavy hair. “But goddammit, Frank, we’re flying.”

Stiff from the long ride, he wasn’t about to argue. Besides, once they exacted revenge on Sofia Marino, a good portion of his anxiety would be alleviated. With no witness, no evidence, and a cool quarter mil in their pockets in addition to their nest-egg, he and Jesse would be on Easy Street.

They tugged on their Yankee ball caps at the same time, and grimaced. Frank felt like a traitor, being a Texas Ranger fan and all, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Jesse leaned forward and squinted through the front window at a couple walking toward them. Two men dressed in black jeans and bright colored shirts. Trendy haircuts and those rectangular, European-type sunglasses you see in glossy menswear magazines. “Holy shit, are they holding hands?”

“Heard there were a lot of queers in Vermont.” Frank glanced back at the general store. “We need to go in there, buy some food, while discreetly inquiring about that Hollyberry Inn.”

“The address is in the journal.”

“I know. But that doesn’t help me much when I don’t know the area.” He pocketed the car keys and reached for the door. “Don’t touch anything around here without your gloves, not that you would.”

“Nice that you care, Frank, but AIDS is transmitted through sexual contact with an infected person, transfusions of blood, or by sharing syringes, not by everyday contact.”

He rolled his eyes. “Figures you’d know particulars, seeing that disease attacks the immune system, making a body open-season for
germs
, but I was talking about fingerprints. I don’t want to leave behind any evidence that we were ever here. No loose threads.”

Jesse worked a glove onto his left hand and then wiggled the fingers of his right. “Can’t wear a glove on this hand because of the cast. I’ll be mindful, don’t worry.”

Frank frowned at his brother’s smartass expression. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

“The fact that you knew AIDS attacks the immune system,” he said, using a bandanna to open the car door. “I’m impressed.”

Frank shoved open his own door. “How could I not know? I’m related to a walking, talking encyclopedia on germs.”

Leaving the car, they paused on the sidewalk and took in the sights of Rainbow Ridge.

“Looks like that town on the Andy Griffith Show,” Jesse said.

Frank nodded. “Mayberry.” Old-fashioned and sugary sweet. “Gives me the creeps.” He slid on a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses. Couldn’t do much about his swollen, discolored nose, but he could hide his blackened eyes. “Anyone asks,” he said to his brother as they scaled the steps of General Pat’s General Store, “we were in a car accident.”

“Check.”

They were in and out in less than ten minutes with a bag of groceries, a box of supplies, and directions to Hollyberry Inn which, according to the short-haired, soft-voiced, unisex-dressed proprietor of the store, wasn’t yet open for business.

Jesse elbowed him as they descended the porch steps. “So, was Pat a man or a woman?

Frank grunted. “Damned if I know.” He tossed their booty in the back seat, then opened the driver’s door.

“Hold up, Frank. Isn’t that … shit, yeah. Over there, the open air café, sitting at the table far left. It’s the fruitcake we saw on that photo strip with Sofia. What’s his name?”

“Jean-Pierre.” Frank peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “You’re right. Damn. That other guy, the one that looks like a young Sylvester Stallone, that’s Rudy. The pretty dark-haired lady with the black sunglasses, that’s Afia.”

“How do you know?”

“Sofia described her friends in the journal. The descriptions are pretty detailed. The peppy woman, the animated one with the blond curls, that’s Lulu.”

Jesse nodded. “Sofia’s sister.”

Frank’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Looks like our luck’s on the upswing.”

Paradise Valley, Arizona

Bernard Cavendish.

The moment Joe had said the name, Sofia flashed on the movie producer’s face, his voice. She remembered the house, the address. She recalled in vivid detail every moment right up until the womanizing bastard left her sitting in the screening room, and then she drew a blank. She’d spent the short flight from LA to Phoenix repeating her recollection to Joe over and over, hoping to break through. But every time she tried to think beyond that screening room, her mind shut down.

By the time they’d landed at Sky Harbor International and located Joe’s jeep in the long-term parking garage, Sofia had fallen into thoughtful silence. She didn’t want to go back to the house, but she knew it was the only way to jar her memory. She needed to confront and deal with whatever had happened in order to move on.

And she very much wanted to move on.

This thing with Joe … what the hell
was
this thing with Joe? He hadn’t verbally declared love by way of those three specials words, but he had shown her love, and lust, in a manner that had rooted in her soul and twined throughout her body like a glorious vine. Something new and beyond description. It occurred that if he had tossed those words out, maybe she wouldn’t be taking him so seriously. She’d heard a hundred lines, including “I love you,” from various men at various stages of a relationship. More than once she’d been fooled into believing there was potential for a lifetime union. For all her liberal attitudes, she was old-fashioned when it came to wanting to settle down with one man.

Hence, her avid search for the
right
man.

Unfortunately, her determination to succeed in the entertainment world always steered her toward men in the business. Powerful men who stroked her ego and spoke her language, but who never tapped in beyond the superficial. She’d never truly connected with any of her exes.

She connected with Joe.

He challenged and intrigued her and, amazingly, he took her temperamental personality in stride.

He’d mentioned forever and she’d vibrated with warring emotions. Her cynical self jumped on the notion that he’d only said that because there was a slim chance he’d gotten her pregnant. She didn’t know Joe well, but she knew he was a gentleman. His antiquated sensibilities would dictate that he marry the mother of his child. Then again, though conservative, a rebel dwelled within. Maybe marriage wasn’t his agenda, but simply living together. The latter, whether she was pregnant or not, wasn’t good enough. She wanted more.

She realized suddenly that she’d spent her entire life wanting more. Even her success on “Spy Girl” hadn’t sated a hunger that gnawed at her night and day. She felt like she was destined for something bigger. Something more important. That’s why she’d jumped at Cavendish’s weekend invitation. “
I can give you the recognition you deserve
.” He’d tempted her with legitimacy.

But, as they neared the mansion that represented prestige and wealth, the vacation home of a man who’d dazzled audiences and critics worldwide with several blockbuster films, she faced the frightening possibility that, no matter her level of artistic success, it might never bring her complete joy and contentment. If this were true, then what the hell was she supposed to be doing with her life?

Her cell phone chimed … and chimed.

Joe shifted gears as he drove the jeep up the steep private driveway. “Babe. Your cell’s ringing.”

“I hear it.” She reached into the handbag she’d snagged from her apartment last night and thumbed off the phone’s power. Recharging her cell had been a mixed blessing. It had allowed her the freedom to leave Lulu a short message on her cell phone, assuring her that she was fine, not to worry. And to retrieve several messages, most of which she chose not to return. Unfortunately, her publicist and agent refused to be ignored.

“Might be important.”

She fixated on the decorative wrought iron gates up ahead. “Discovering the truth about that night is important. Friends and family are important. Aside from Viv, the people I care about most are with your brother. If they truly need me, he’ll call you.”

He peered at her over the rim of his Ray Bans.

Her heart stuttered at the concern in his eyes. “It’s like I’m preparing to go on,” she said, trying to make him understand. “I need to focus. No distractions.”

“Just remember this isn’t a one-woman show. I’ll be with you all the way.” He reached over and brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, then shifted the jeep into park. “Security fencing. Wait here.”

She readjusted the dark glasses she’d donned as part of her disguise and watched as Joe, who’d changed into an ebony suit and fresh white oxford, walked toward a fieldstone post. Today, instead of polar opposites, they looked like a team. Dipping into the suitcase she’d packed from home, she’d dressed in a tailored black suit and a white Dolce and Gabanna cotton crewneck T-shirt. Her hair was now jet black, compliments of a semi-permanent dye, and slicked back into sleek, low ponytail.

Sharp and sophisticated, they looked like a pair of high-end real estate agents … or trendy feds.