Lovers and Liars (24 page)

The bell rang. Five minutes until class started. Rick went into the men’s room and lit a Kool. A jock was standing over a urinal, shaking his thing, while two preppies combed their hair in front of a dirty mirror and dirty sinks. Rick leaned against a corner, inhaling. The jock zipped up and left. A long-hair with gangly legs strolled in, pulled out a joint, and proceeded to puff. He was oblivious to all of them. Already stoned.

Rick knew the two preppies. The blonde was Ben Froth, a senior, one of the most popular guys in school with the freshmen women. His buddy was Dale something. Froth was the son of Big Money—everyone knew his father was loaded—and it showed in his Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren clothes. Dale was well off too. He was also popular. Not that Rick gave a shit. It was pretty funny the way the freshmen girls swooned and screamed and batted their eyes
and gossiped about the two of them. They thought they were real hot.

“It’s the punk,” Froth said, looking at Rick in the mirror. “Hey, punk, don’t you ever change your clothes?”

Rick gave him a cool look. Froth was on his case every time their paths crossed, which was once a day at least.

“Why should I?”

Froth held his nose and made a face. Dale guffawed. “Maybe we should buy him some clothes,” he sneered.

“His big brother can afford to outfit him,” Froth said, turning. “Ain’t that right?”

Rick stared evenly and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Maybe we should clean him off,” Froth said, grinning.

Rick stepped close. He dropped the butt on Froth’s white tenny.

“You little shit,” Froth yelled, but Rick laughed and was out the door.

He ducked into his history class just as the second bell was ringing. Froth and Dale were the ones he’d been fighting the other day. Them and two other buddies. Four against one. Nice odds. How come he was the only one to get in trouble? This school sucked.

The class was boring and interminable. Rick didn’t pay attention. He stared out the window until he became aware that the prettiest girl in the class—and maybe in the school—was looking at him and giggling, obviously talking about him to her friend, who was also pretty and also giggling. Rick flushed. They were making fun of him, most likely. The first girl’s name was Patty. She was a blonde and fully developed. He’d seen her in shorts and a tank top once and hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She went out with Froth, of course. She was a freshman.

Patty made him think about sex.

He’d lost his virginity to a friend of his mother’s when he was thirteen. Discovering sex had added a whole new dimension to his life. He liked it—a lot. Since he’d come to California he hadn’t got laid once, which meant he had to jerk off in the bathroom—too frequently. In Houston he screwed whatever he could, mostly hookers, sometimes
pretty Mexican girls who were willing and didn’t want money and who hung out on the same streets he did.

Class was finally over and he got up, trying to be discreet as he watched Patty’s ass ahead of him. He had turned the corner on his way to a study hall when he was suddenly grabbed and slammed against the wall. He looked into Froth’s face first, then at Dale and another guy.

“You little asshole,” Froth sneered. “You just won’t quit, will you?”

Rick was aware that Patty and her friend had backtracked, eyes wide, to watch the entertainment. A few other kids had gathered. Twisting wildly, Rick struggled to get free. Dale and the third guy grabbed him, holding him immobile.

“Don’t you ever fuck with me,” Froth hissed, punching him hard in the abdomen.

Rick doubled over, gasping from pain, tears blinding him, only to be yanked upright and punched again in the same spot. He bit through his lip so as not to cry out, and then he was released and fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. He was aware of quiet, tense whispering, and through it all he heard Patty say, “What did he do?”

“Come on,” Froth said harshly.

Rick looked up to see Patty putting her arm around Froth’s waist as they walked away. Shit. He was panting painfully.

“Are you all right?” He heard a voice that was extremely husky, almost hoarse.

Rick managed to sink onto his hip, sitting awkwardly, and looked up into very brown eyes and a dusky face.

“Are you all right?” the girl said again, touching his shoulder. “I’ll get the nurse,” she said, suddenly standing.

“No!” Rick put up his hand. He didn’t recognize her and wondered what the hell she cared.

She sank back to her knees. “Froth is such a jerk,” she said.

Rick leaned back against the wall, releasing his belly. She had short black hair, just a bit longer than his, and she was a bit chubby, maybe, depending on one’s view—he
wasn’t sure. She wore a baggy red sweatshirt and loose jeans and beat-up Keds. “Who are you?”

“Lydia. What jerks! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What do you care?”

“I happen to care about people and injustice,” she said with a touch of passion. “Someone should kick Froth in the balls!”

Rick smiled then. Their eyes met, and he saw a startled look appear in hers; then she was smiling too. “You look just like him when you smile.”

His smile faded. He knew exactly who she was talking about. He stood up, and feeling rude but not knowing what else to do, he walked away.

40

“W
hat am I going to do?” Mary wailed.

“Slow down,” Beth said, hugging her. “Vince is having an affair with Belinda Glassman, and he wants a divorce?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mary couldn’t cry anymore. Her eyes were red and swollen. She had been eating and doing coke and drinking nonstop since yesterday, it seemed. She knew she had better cool it, or she’d gain fifty pounds.

And Vince had come home way after midnight last night, slinking in.

She had ignored him, and he had slunk into the bedroom. Where had he been all that time? She knew. With
her
.

“Is that what he said? Mary?”

She focused with great difficulty. Then she moaned and put her head in her hands. “No, no. I mean, he didn’t say anything about a divorce. But he loves her, he told me. He’s going to leave me, I know it.” She started crying again; the tears were inexhaustible.

“Why do you care? You have me.” Beth was affronted.

“I love Vince,” Mary snapped, outraged. “I don’t want you—I want Vince!”

Beth stood rigid. “You just can’t accept the fact that you’re gay, Mary. You haven’t come to terms with it. I understand. Once you learn to accept it, you’ll realize you don’t love Vince, just what he stands for.”

“That’s not true! I think I might kill fucking Belinda Glassman!”

Beth wrapped an arm around her and walked her to the couch. “I can give you everything Vince can’t.”

“Not children,” Mary said, hysterical.

“You don’t even want children,” Beth said tolerantly.

“Of course I do! Every woman wants children.”

“Well, that’s certainly news to me.”

“I really hate her,” Mary snarled. “The bitch!”

“You’re just feeling rejected. It’s for the better, Mary.”

“Oh, you’d say that. You want me all to yourself.”

“I won’t deny it,” Beth said. “I don’t want to share you with anyone, not Vince, not another man, and not another woman.”

“At least you love me,” Mary moaned.

“Why don’t you move in with me?” Beth said, her tone giving away her eagerness.

Mary frowned and moaned again. “I can’t believe this. God! How long have they been fooling around, Beth? Oh, damn her!”

“It’s just as much Vince’s fault.”

“Bastard!” Mary spat out.

“Are you going to move in with me?” Beth searched her face.

“Not unless I have to,” Mary said. “This can’t last. She’s just playing with him. It can’t last!”

Beth frowned and walked to the window. “Belinda Glassman. It’s hard to believe. Why would she fool around with a carpenter?”

“Vince is gorgeous,” Mary said tersely.

Beth looked at her. “Honey, isn’t Belinda Glassman the daughter of that millionaire, Abe Glassman? If she is, believe
me, there’s no way you can compete with her. If she wants Vince, her daddy will buy him for her.” Beth smiled wryly. “Not that she seems to need to buy him.”

Mary was suddenly riveted. She ignored what Beth said as she was struck with the beginnings of an idea. Last night on the news there had been an item on Glassman Enterprises, and the newscaster had mentioned that Abe Glassman was in L.A. There had even been a shot of him exiting a long silver stretch on Wilshire Boulevard.

Abe Glassman was in town.

Mary wondered just how hard it would be to get through to Belinda’s father.

41

S
he wanted to kick herself. Hard.

Why hadn’t she apologized immediately for standing him up? Why had she played it so cool? Damn! He was angry; it had been obvious. Angry—and still dripping sex appeal.

Belinda jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She was standing in the shadows of a truck and pulley deep in the canyon. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, but the crew was already running cables for exterior lighting and setting up props. It was freezing out this early, and her jacket wasn’t providing any warmth. She stamped her feet and shivered.

Don’t even think about that man as a man, she told herself. Think about saving your ass when he finds out you’re the writer—and that you know who he is.

Double damn.

She cast a glance at his trailer.

The first takes were scheduled for nine
A.M
. She had
been instructed to appear on the set at seven. She wondered if Ford was even in his trailer. He was probably back at the hotel, all nice and cozy with the busty redhead. Not that she cared. Not that it was her business. The moment she saw him and had the chance, she was going to start kissing his ass.

Her heart sank when she saw the director, Don Mascione, in a sheepskin jacket, trudging across the desert, head bowed to the frigid breeze, toward Ford’s RV. He saw her and lifted a gloved hand. Belinda watched him knock, thinking, So he is here. She ducked her head when the door to the trailer swung open. But a peek confirmed what she’d thought she’d glimpsed—the redhead. Mascione disappeared inside.