Lovers and Liars (53 page)

The saleslady sent her downstairs to a makeup artist at Chanel. Worried about the time, Mary nevertheless had her makeup done from scratch—soft shades of pink for her cheeks and lips, subtly done eyes in a soft blue that she had never known she could wear. It was dynamite with her big brown eyes, making them look bigger and browner. When she went home she showered carefully, so as not to ruin her face, then blow-dried her hair upside down to give it volume. She slipped on the dress, added several dabs of her new perfume, and waited for the car Abe was sending to pick her up.

He was taking her to dinner. He had told her to get dressed up, and when Mary had said she didn’t have anything to wear, he had given her a thousand dollars. Mary had tried to protest. But she was secretly thrilled.

“I want to show you off.” Abe had grinned, pulling her close and fondling her.

The fondling quickly led to another round of mindless, orgasmic sex. “I can’t seem to keep it down around you,” he said later, chuckling.

“I don’t mind,” Mary had said truthfully.

She didn’t mind the money, either, or the silver stretch limo that arrived shortly after she was ready.

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if they ran into her mother?

   The small pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of the closed gates of a Bel Air residence. On the side of each door was written
LOS ANGELES MUNICIPAL WATER DISTRICT
. A serviceman got out of the truck and rang the intercom.

“Yes?”

“L.A. Municipal Water.”

The gates opened. Peter Lansing got back into the truck and drove through.

Bart Shelley was a Hollywood director. He had been around for years. He was still around. He no longer did feature films; he did miniseries for TV. He was well respected in the industry, despite his bisexuality. His reputation for wild parties and orgies was known by all the insiders.

Nine years ago, just before Jack had given up drugs and alcohol, according to Melody, he had been a paid escort invited to one of these parties. The services he performed on several women guests at one and the same time were videotaped. At the time Jack had not been aware of the camera. He had told Melody he was pretty much out of it, the whole thing a blurry haze. It was only when Shelley had invited him back and run the video for him and tried to grab his crotch that Jack realized he’d been filmed, Shelley, being a great director, had gotten some very good shots. Close-ups. Worse. There was another man there who had also been screwing the two women. The man had tried to screw him. That had been easily circumvented. But the way Shelley had put together the film, it looked as if the climax of the orgy was a homosexual coupling.

Jack, of course, had rejected Shelley’s overtures. In fact, he had run—literally—from the house at the end of the film.

Lansing knew that the screening room was on the third floor, last door on the right. He knew that all the films were stored there. He stopped the truck in front of a large brick home with huge white pillars in the Greek Revival style,
which looked as if it had been transplanted from the antebellum south, along with the magnolia trees gracing the entry and the carefully designed gardens.

“Yes?” The man at the front door was clearly a servant.

“There’s no cause for alarm,” Peter said slowly. “But there might be some leakage of sodium chloride into the drinking supply of the houses in this area. I need to run some tests on the tap water at various locations in the house.”

“Leakage of sodium chloride?”

“Again, there’s no need for alarm. However, we are advising that you drink bottled water for the next few days, if you don’t already—until we reach a definite conclusion.”

“Come right in,” the servant said worriedly.

    Melody was humming.

Peter Lansing had told her not to worry. He would get the video one way or another. And that was a promise.

She smiled.

Just you wait, Jack.

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“A
re you going to do it?” Lydia asked.

He looked into her wide brown eyes, full of faith, and he nodded grimly.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, hugging him. And then she ran out the door, leaving Rick alone with his brother, who had disappeared into his room.

It was Friday afternoon, and this was not how Rick wanted to spend it. But he had felt so guilty ever since he had overheard Jack accusing Leah of stealing the cuff links and tie clip. (Did he notice a crystal ashtray gone as well?)
He had finally blurted out the whole thing to Lydia. She was aghast but not accusing.

“You have to tell him,” she said firmly. “Come clean.”

He was relieved to have gotten the terrible burden off his chest and relieved that she wasn’t too disgusted to love him anymore. “Aren’t you … don’t you wonder how I could have done it?”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you want to tell me?”

He nodded. They were walking in the park after school, oblivious of everyone else. “I didn’t like Jack. Maybe I hated him. He has everything. He’s rich. I starved my whole life. It seemed like no big deal, to take a couple of things so I would have money to party.”

“I understand,” she said softly. They were holding hands.

“But now I sort of like him.” Rick felt embarrassed, so he stole only a glance at her. “And he is my brother.”

“And he does love and trust you,” Lydia pointed out. That, of course, clinched it.

“Jack?” He stood in Jack’s open doorway, very tense and anxious.

Jack looked up, throwing a shirt on the floor. “Can’t ever find a fucking thing,” he growled. “I’m gonna fire the fucking maid. Maybe if she spoke fucking English, it would help.”

Rick wondered why he had been walking around like a wounded grizzly bear for two days now, when for the week before that he had been nothing but quick smiles. “Can we talk?”

Jack sighed, softening. “Yeah, sure, kid. Come on in.” He looked at him quizzically. “You look like you think I’m going to bite your head off.”

“Maybe you will,” Rick said on a deep breath. Then he blurted out, “I took the cuff links and tie clip. I’m sorry!”

“I don’t understand.”

Rick had never felt so low. “I hocked them. For extra money.”

A muscle on the side of Jack’s face twitched. “I see.”

“I’m sorry,” Rick said again.

Jack came forward, looking hurt and wounded. “Why? I trusted you. I gave you just about everything—I would have given you more, but I thought it wouldn’t be healthy. Why did you do it?”

Rick faltered. “I needed money. To party. I hated it here at first. It seemed like you had so much. I didn’t think you’d even notice or care. I’ll pay you back. I’ll get a job after school and pay you back.”

Jack stared, then smiled faintly. “You don’t have to pay me back. You told me the truth, and that’s payment enough.”

They looked at each other, and Rick flushed under his brother’s intense gaze. Then Jack said in his familiar big-brother tone, “So what do you mean by
party
?”

Rick went redder. “Uhhh …”

“What? Booze? Drugs? What?”

Rick knew there was no escape now. “Just some brews and pot.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Diamond-studded cuffs and a tie clip would buy a lot of brews and pot.”

“A little coke,” Rick said miserably. After all, everyone in Hollywood did coke—except his brother, of course.

“A little coke,” Jack said, folding his arms. “You snort, shoot—or what?”

“Just snorting,” Rick said quickly. “And a little freebasing—everybody does it.”

Jack stared thoughtfully. “Go get your coat,” he said.

“But—”

“Get your coat,” Jack said.

Rick went and did as he was told, very aware of the fact that Jack had shut his bedroom door after he’d left, and gotten on the phone. He was perspiring, realizing he had gotten off lightly so far. But now what?

They jumped into Jack’s Ferrari and headed downtown. Jack never said a word. Rick was afraid to ask where they were going. When they stopped in front of a city hospital, he felt fear. “What are we doing?” He didn’t realize he was whispering.

“Come on,” Jack said, getting out. “As the old adage goes—a picture is better than a thousand words.”

Miserably and apprehensively, Rick followed. All he could think of was that everything had backfired. This hospital had one of those drug programs that were so popular, and Jack was going to make him attend—and maybe stay—and he hadn’t even gotten to say good-bye to Lydia. Jack didn’t even pause to ask directions but went right up to the second floor to a doctor’s office, where they sat waiting in silence for almost a half hour. Then the doctor walked in—a well-groomed, attractive woman who did not look like a doctor, except maybe like one on
St Elsewhere
.

“Sorry, Jack,” she said, pushing strands of ash-blond hair out of her face and peering through large preppie glasses. “An emergency.” She looked at Rick. “You must be Rick. Hi. I’m Dr. Edwards.”

They shook hands.

Jack clapped a hand on Rick’s back, and they followed Dr. Edwards into the elevator and through a maze of corridors and swinging doors, into what looked like a recovery room. Several guerneys were lined up, one suspiciously lumpy and draped with a white sheet. Edwards walked over to the lump and pulled back the sheet. Rick had no choice but to follow, because Jack was pushing him forward.

The lump was a young man, maybe five years older than Rick.

“Is he …” Rick felt fresh sweat break out on his entire body.

“Yes,” Doctor Edwards said. “He died a few hours ago. We’re waiting for the morgue boys to pick him up.” She looked at Rick. “He died from a seizure. Do you know what that is?”

Rick shook his head.

“The electrical activity of his brain stopped. Just like that. Of course, he had been doing coke—just snorting it, mind you—not even that much, according to his girlfriend. A few lines. But sometimes it’s fatal.”

Rick knew he was going to be sick.

“What a waste,” Dr. Edwards said, flipping the sheet
back up to cover the corpse completely. She looked at Jack, and they exchanged a silent communication—which Rick didn’t see in his struggle not to throw up.

Dr. Edwards came to the rescue with a pan just as Rick could contain himself no longer.

While Rick heaved, Jack met her eyes again and mouthed a silent thanks. Louise had not been thrilled to participate in his scheme, but she had succumbed. Whether to his persuasive charm or to her own love of life, he didn’t know—although he suspected the latter.

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