The Scoop (24 page)

A
bby felt as though her entire world was falling apart. She was out of a job, her boss was MIA, she knew she had little hope of finding a position at either of the other two tabloids in LA, and that lying sack of crap, Christopher Clay, was letting her down, too.

Christopher Clay had a hot date with another Hollywood bimbo! Just what a girl needed to hear from her mother. And to think she’d toyed with the idea of actually apologizing to him. She absolutely refused to think about how much time she’d spent remembering how he’d kissed her fingers. She was just another notch on his whatever!

Abby stomped her way to the kitchen, where she yanked out a bottle of Clorox from under the sink and poured it over her hands. Godmother Ida had nothing on her.
From here on out, it’s war.
She hoped the rat fink would call her so she could hang up on him. She wondered how long it would take him to figure out she was wise to his tricks.

She felt like crying.

Then she started to worry about what would happen if she suddenly found herself in Chris and her mother’s company. She wondered if she would have the guts to tell the sweet-talking-oh-I-really-like-you-more-than-you-know player to take a hike.

Chester was the only man in her life, and as far as she was concerned, it was going to remain that way. Chris could kiss any hope of seeing her again right out the window.

She went to the kitchen, where she took a bottle of water from the fridge. Maybe she’d have her mother invite her to the hotel for Jell-O shots. Maybe what she needed was to get snockered. She didn’t do too well with liquor, so she tossed that idea down the drain.

Her life had been just great, humming along like a well-oiled wheel until Rag told her he was selling the paper. From that moment on, her life had taken a turn downhill, and there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. Options one, two, and three were dismal at best.

Abby wished she could stop thinking about the paper. Rag skipped out, maybe had one of his hoods start the fire so he could collect the insurance. Where was the sense to that? How could Rag collect insurance on something he no longer owned?

Abby shook her head to clear her thoughts. None of it made sense, and at that precise moment she was too tired to try and put the pieces of a very strange puzzle together.

Abby opened the door and called to the shepherd, who came on the run. She fondled the big dog’s ears, and, before she knew it, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair. She sniveled as she filled Chester’s water bowl. “It’s just you and me, big guy. We are going to spend a lovely afternoon together weeding the garden.”

“Woof!”

For the next two hours, Abby pruned, pulled, and dug through the overgrowth in her backyard, or her courtyard, as she liked to call it. With each vicious yank of a weed, she cussed out Chris Clay.

Two hours later, when she took a second break, she looked around at her work and was surprised to see how much she’d accomplished. The garden was starting to look like a real garden. She thought it looked casual and free-flowing, which was her goal. She swept the brick patio, bagged up the discarded vines, then turned on the sprinkler, hoping to revive the grass without a major replanting. She crossed her fingers that the fertilizer she’d added earlier would kick in and produce a velvet green lawn. She was realist enough to know it might not happen.

“Inside, Chester. You and I have a hot date with a bag of microwave popcorn and whatever Lifetime movie is playing tonight. Maybe it’ll be one of those thrillers where the woman hires a hit man to shoot her boyfriend. What do you think, Chester?”

“Woof! Woof!”

Abby leaned down and wrapped her arms around Chester’s neck. He returned the hug by placing both paws on her shoulders.

“You are the man of my dreams, Chester. The love of my life,” Abby said in a choked voice.

M
icky had spent the last three hours telling Special Agent Gaynor everything that had gone down, in the hopes of cutting a deal. With nothing to fall back on, he’d turned into a snitch. He hated being a snitch. So what if he’d tossed a match where he shouldn’t have tossed it? No one got hurt, the place hadn’t gone up in flames. Hells bells, the fire department showed up before anything serious happened. Someone had seen him leave, seen him race away from the scene, and the SOB had written down his license number and called the police. Just his stupid dumb luck.

So he was being interrogated by the fucking FBI all because he’d done a pal, a former pal, a favor by setting him up with a new identity. He conveniently ignored the fact that providing false identities was a federal offense of its own. He had a really bad feeling that he wasn’t going to cut any deals.

“And this is it? You have no clue to this Rag’s whereabouts?”

“Look, for the hundredth time, no. If I knew where he was, I would’ve personally gone after him and kicked his ass. I was looking for him myself.” Micky told them about the locker at LAX where he’d left the phony documents and how he’d gone back to collect his fifty grand only to find out he’d been ripped off.

“I’m telling you the truth. What? You want me to make up some lies? I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I’ve sent a detective to view surveillance videos. When we’re satisfied you’re telling the truth, we’ll talk again.”

Micky wanted to punch the feeb out, but his hands were handcuffed, and he’d just rack up more charges against himself. He wasn’t
that
dumb.

“How long does this shit take? Do we have a deal or not?”

“We’ll let you know.” Micky felt like crying.

Micky doubled his fists, squeezing them until his knuckles turned white. “I’m gonna sue this place. When I get through with them, they will be sorry they ever laid eyes on me. I got connections!” he blustered.

“Why don’t you tell me about these connections while we’re waiting on those tapes.”

Fuck.
“I’m just pissed, okay? I’ve been cooperative. You said you’d cut me a deal if I opened up. I opened up. That was bullshit about me having connections. If I had connections, I’d be out of here by now, and you’d be sucking your thumb, Mr. Agent.”

“You haven’t been in front of a judge yet. You’ve been in jail before, Mr. Constantine. Don’t think we haven’t checked your record. You should be quite familiar with the system and feel right at home inside a jail cell.”

“Whatever.”

“Good answer. Speaks of intelligence.”

“I ain’t saying another word until I talk to a lawyer.”

Special Agent Gaynor got up when he heard a tap on the glass. “I’ll be right back, buddy. Don’t you go anywhere.” Gaynor laughed.

When the agent left the room, Micky shouted every dirty word he knew. When he ran out of the tried and true, he made up cusswords, knowing other agents could hear him behind the two-way mirror.

Special Agent Gaynor returned to the interrogation room with a stack of tapes. “You are a lucky man, Mr. Constantine. Seems for once you told the truth. We observed you placing the documents inside the locker and Mr. Godfrey removing them. Now, other than your bout with the arson investigators, I’m done with you.”

“What’s that mean? You said we’d cut a deal?”

“I lied,” Agent Gaynor said.

Grand Cayman had been hit hard by Hurricane Deborah. Power in some areas had been restored, the airport had reopened, but departing flights were minimal. Miami and Fort Lauderdale were the only destinations.

Richard Allen Goodwin had received a message via a brown-skinned boy of no more than twelve on a rickety old bike. Apparently the phone lines were being restored. Goodwin read the message for the tenth time.

“It is urgent that you come to the Bank of Bermuda at once. We need to discuss an unauthorized transaction on your account.”

Rag paced back and forth, debating whether or not to go. Was it a trick of some sort? He supposed it was possible though he thought it unlikely that someone had tried to access his account. It could be that someone was just another con trying to rip him off. His nerves started to twitch. He must have screwed up somewhere along the way.

If the feds were on his trail, and his gut instinct was telling him they were, it was just a matter of time before the FBI made a trip to the Cayman Islands on account of him. Maybe they were already at the bank, just waiting for him to make an appearance.

He still had most of the fifty grand, the money he’d taken from
The Informer’
s payroll account. Nope, folks, you won’t be getting paid this week. He wished he was back in his ratty office writing out checks.

So, what to do? Stay, and risk going to jail? Or take what money he had and start over someplace else?

He opted for the latter. Quickly, before the kid from the bank returned with another message or most likely the feds, he crammed what he could into one monogrammed bag.

He waited until he was outside the hotel to hail a cab. It wasn’t the first time he’d skipped out on a hotel bill. He smirked when he remembered the bogus credit card Micky had gotten for him. He was sorry now he hadn’t ordered lobster and champagne from room service.

“Over here!” Rag waved his arm high in the air. A beat-up yellow taxi that looked like it had seen the last of its better days a long time ago stopped right in the middle of the road. “I need to get to the airport. Family emergency.”

“Right away, sir.”

The driver wasted no time racing to the airport. Rag wondered if he would survive the ride.
Damn, don’t these people know how to drive?

At the airport, he jumped out, tossed the driver a twenty, then raced inside, hoping against hope he could board a flight to Miami. From there he’d see about going to the Dominican Republic. He vaguely remembered hearing it was cheap to live there.

Rag smiled at the girl behind the counter. “I’ve a family emergency. I need to get to Miami as soon as possible.”

“I believe we have three seats on the next flight. It’s scheduled to leave in forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll take one.”

Rag gladly paid the eight hundred dollars in cash for a one-way ticket to Miami. Talk about price gouging.

Lady Luck was courting him again. He heard over the loudspeaker that the two remaining flights had sold out, then the announcement that his flight was leaving early. The passengers were already filing outside to board the twin-engine plane. Rag saw that it only held twelve passengers. Yes. Lady Luck befriended him again. The flight lasted a whole thirty minutes. No drinks were offered, no pretzels or peanuts, but who cared?

When he arrived at Miami International, he promptly booked a flight to the Dominican Republic. Nine hours later, Richard Allen Goodwin was sitting in a bar, drinking shots of tequila and celebrating his freedom.

T
oots, Sophie, Mavis, and Ida waited in the Polo Lounge for Abby and Chris to arrive. Toots wanted to share her wonderful exciting news with those she loved the most.

“Abby is always on time. I wonder what’s keeping her,” Mavis said. “I can’t wait to tell her I’ve lost another four pounds. I know it’s not a lot, but it’s a start. Being here with you girls was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

“We’re all very proud of you,” Toots said, aware that, with Mavis, praise went a long way and kept her motivated. Toots didn’t have a doubt in her mind that her old friend would prevail, but it would take time.

“I think I’ve put on a pound or two myself with all those Froot Loops and sugar-laced coffee I’ve been guzzling. I am not going to give up cigarettes, before you say it, Mavis. I delight in puffing as many as I can.” Sophie pulled one out of her pack to make her point, but remembered smoking wasn’t allowed in restaurants in California.

“I actually went for that manicure today. I do believe those pills are helping me. I only took two showers today. My hands feel so good. I know it’s not where I should be, but I’m not obsessing over germs as much as I was. Dr. Sameer says I’m recuperating faster than most of his patients. Actually, I think he has a bit of a crush on me. He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” Ida asked, a sparkle in her eye.

Toots looked at Sophie.

Sophie looked at Toots.

“Dammit to hell, didn’t I tell you! I knew it! I damn well knew it! It’s a man! See? I told you so. You cannot survive without a man, Ida. That’s what your problem is, the fear of being alone, and you just say it’s germs and blame it on old Thomas. What a phony you are.”

“That’s enough, Sophie. But, Ida, I agree with Sophie,” Toots said, glancing at her watch again. “I bet Abby got caught in traffic. That’s the one thing I don’t like about this town. Before Abby arrives, I just want you all to know that
The Informer
will be up and running in six weeks, possibly sooner if the renovations are done. Right now everyone is working out of Abby’s garage. Abby learned through the grapevine that the new owners plan to remain silent and anonymous. It doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s just excited that she has her job back and has free rein. The new EIC seems to like her. She’s excited about going back to work. Oh, look, there she is. Now remember, not a word.”

Abby saw her mother and the three Gs. She waved as she made her way to the table that was by then known as “their” table since Toots had tipped the waiter so generously at lunch the day before. He’d whispered in Toots’s ear that theirs were the best seats to observe the comings and goings of the stars, hence the outrageous tip.

“Mom, you are positively glowing. You only glow when you have a man in your life. Did you meet someone? Tell me you’re not thinking of getting married again?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Abby, give your old mom some credit. I’m just happy to be with my friends and my daughter. I will not get married again! Now, that doesn’t mean I won’t consider dating anyone, but marriage is out of the question.”

“Good. It’s about time you started enjoying your golden years. All of you.”

Sophie chimed in. “Abby, you make us sound like we’re ready for the old folks’ home. I, for one, am going to live life to the fullest from this moment forward. I think we should take a vacation.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now, vacationing?” Mavis asked.

“Yes, we are. I have spa days lined up for us tomorrow. The full deal. Facials, massages, manicures, pedicures. Remember I promised to get us all a makeover when we got here? I’ve arranged for that as well. I’ve hired Cher’s makeup artist, too. You know Cher is sixty-three. So if anyone wants to back out now, forget it. Are you up to this, Ida?” Toots asked. That she and the others were stunned at their friend’s sudden, hasty recovery was an understatement.

“Yes, I am.”

“What about the waxing we talked about?” Mavis asked.

Abby looked at her mother and shook her head. “Don’t tell me you’re doing that, too.”

“No, I won’t tell you that, although Ida has had her you-know-what waxed. More than once, I might add.”

“And you know this, how?” Abby asked her mother.

“Ida, tell her it’s the truth,” Toots insisted.

“It’s true, Abby. I was always open to new experiences. I still am, I just…what I had was a…little setback.”

Sophie piped up at any opportunity to aggravate Ida. “As long as there’s a man involved. Right? I bet you five dollars we aren’t going to have to drag you to the wax room or whatever the hell they call it.”

“Kiss my bald ass, Sophie,” Ida snapped back, a wicked smile on her face.

They all laughed but kept their gazes on the entrance. Abby watched the old dears, suspicious that there was more to this luncheon than she had first thought.

Their waiter, Manolo, approached their table with a bottle of champagne. “Ma’am?”

Toots hated to start the celebration early, but decided that it really didn’t matter. A celebration was a celebration. “Yes, Manolo, please pop the cork.”

“Mom, why are we drinking champagne at lunch? Working people, of which I am one, do not drink champagne for lunch. Visitors drink champagne, then take a nap.”

“Abby, can’t we have champagne just for no reason? Why do people think they have to have a reason for everything they do? It’s beyond silly. It’s like saving the good dishes and silver for when the Queen might visit you. You need to relax, dear.”

“Okay, Mom, I’ll relax.” Abby was more convinced than ever that her mother was up to something, and the three Gs knew all about whatever it was.

Manolo filled crystal champagne flutes with the pink bubbly.

“Even the champagne is pink,” Mavis exclaimed. “I can only have a sip. Alcohol isn’t on my diet.”

“Don’t worry, Mavis, I’ll drink yours,” Sophie said.

“Oh, look, here he is!”

Abby looked where her mother was looking. Chris Clay in the flesh. Abby raked her gaze across his face, then up and down that hard, sexy body.

Chris leaned over and kissed Toots’s cheek. Then one by one he gave the godmothers a kiss. When he came to Abby, he hesitated for a second, before kissing her on her lips. For more than three seconds. In front of her mother. In front of her godmothers.

“I missed you, Abby.”

“Missed me? I don’t think so. This is Hollywood. I heard you’re dating Hollywood’s next big star?”

“Who told you that?” Chris asked.

“I did,” Toots offered. “Now, will you two stop quibbling? I invited you both here for a special celebration. Chris, you don’t have a glass of champagne.” Toots glanced around in search of Manolo. The waiter saw her and quickly made his way to the table, where he poured Chris a glass of bubbly.

“I would like to propose a toast,” Toots said, a twinkle in her eye.

“To new beginnings!”

They raised their crystal goblets high in the air, chorusing, “To new beginnings!”

“Mom, I know there’s more, I know that look on your face.”

“Abby, if you weren’t twenty-eight years old, I’d tell you to go to your room.”

Manolo made another appearance at their table, this time with luncheon menus.

For the next ten minutes, they perused the selections. When the waiter returned to take their orders, there was an air of suppressed excitement around the table.

Each had reached the tip of a personal milestone, and it could only be better from there on.

“I don’t want another hamburger. I’m not sure what I want,” Abby said as she scanned the menu.

“Let me order for you, Abby,” Chris said.

“I think that’s a grand idea. She takes forever to decide sometimes,” Toots observed.

Manolo returned to the table to take their orders.

Chris spoke up before anyone else had a chance. “This lovely little lady would like a steak, the filet, cooked rare. A loaded baked potato. And whatever vegetable you have. Make sure it’s not overcooked; on the crisp side, you know, how it snaps when you bite into it.”

Toots and the three Gs stared at Chris like he’d just fallen from the sky and landed at their table.

“How do you know what Abby likes to order?” Toots asked Chris. “Abby never…except…never mind. I think you two have a secret. Am I right?” Toots looked at her daughter, saw her blush, then looked at Chris and saw him grinning ear to ear. “Well, I can see something is going on. And I think it’s wonderful. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

“Mom! Please, not now. Remember we’re here to celebrate something, or did you forget?”

“No, Abby, I did not forget. I might be old, but I’m far from senile.”

“Stop keeping us in suspense.”

“Toots, dear, I agree with my goddaughter. You delight in keeping us on our toes,” Mavis said.

“Spit it out, Toots, or I’ll kick your tail right here in the middle of the Polo Lounge.” Sophie was laughing, her warm brown eyes glowing like amber whiskey.

“Ida, is there anything you would like to add?” Toots demanded.
Why does everyone have to rush everything?

“No, I just wish you’d get on with it before our food arrives.”

“Oh, all right, I won’t keep any of you in suspense any longer. This morning I received a call telling me my offer had been accepted.” Toots paused, savoring the moment, watching the faces of those she loved most. At their blank looks, she said, “As I was saying, I received a phone call telling me an offer I placed on a lovely home has been accepted.”

Had it not been for the bits of conversation from the other diners, the tinkling of silver against china, and the swish of the soft breeze wafting across the patio, Toots would have sworn you could hear a pin drop.

“I am now the official new owner of the home of the late Aaron Spelling.”

Mavis, Ida, and Sophie laughed until their sides hurt.

Chris and Abby walked around the table to give Toots a hug.

“Mom, you’re nuts, you know that, right? You are also the best mother in the whole world. I am so glad you’re my mother. Sophie, Mavis, and Ida, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect trio of godmothers. Now I can’t wait to have a sleepover. Just think, we’re all going to hang out. And, Mom, as soon as that mysterious new owner of
The Informer
has it up and running, I’ll make sure you get the first issue hot off the press!”

Toots smiled until she saw the wicked gleam in her daughter’s eye. She knew that look. “What?”

Abby grinned. “You know how I live for a real scoop, right? Well, ladies, and gentleman, I am working on the biggest scoop to hit this town in a long time! It’s going to be the first issue! Don’t even think about asking me what it is, because then it wouldn’t be
The Scoop
of the year. You are just going to have to wait like everyone else.”

Abby turned to Chris Clay, her eyes narrowed to slits, and said, “Do not ever order a meal for me again. I am more than capable of ordering for myself.” She turned to the women and worked up a smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, I have a ton of work to do. I’ll see you all later.” She waved airily as she left the outdoor patio. All eyes were on her retreating back, but Abby didn’t look back.

“What was that all about?” Toots asked fearfully.

“I think she knows,” Sophie said, “and she’s going to expose you, Toots.”

“I saw tears in her eyes. At least I think they were tears,” Mavis said.

“No!” Ida said in a know-it-all voice. “That was all directed at you, young man,” she said, pointing to Chris. “You’re the one she’s taking on for her scoop.”

Chris looked around the table at the women who were now looking at him like he was some alien from another planet. Even Toots, who only looked at him with love and affection. He didn’t know if he should cry or get up and run out to his car. He opted for the car, apologizing as he bolted from his chair.

“I need a cigarette,” Sophie said. “Come on, Toots, let’s go out to the parking lot.”

Puffing furiously a moment later, the women stared at each other.

“Do you think she knows, Sophie? Is Ida right? Chris…no, it has to be us. Oh, God, what are we going to do?”

Sophie blew a glorious smoke ring and watched as it settled over Toots’s head.

“She suspects, Toots. Ida could be right. I also think there is something going on between Abby and Chris. By the way, did you know a prayer rug was delivered to Ida’s bungalow this morning? My maid told me. I say we just continue with our plans. Let’s go back and finish that champagne. We have the rest of the afternoon to plot our next move. I have some great ideas.”

“You know what, Sophie, I have a few ideas myself. I think, between the two of us, we can guarantee my daughter a few months’ worth of scoops. There might even be an exclusive along the way.”

Sophie held up her hand, and Toots smacked it. “Hey, Toots, do you realize between the four of us we have two hundred and sixty years of life experience?”

“And that means what?”

“We draw on all those years of experience. You said you wanted to make Abby a force in the tabloid industry. What, you want me to draw you a map?”

Toots laughed, the sound tinkling across the parking lot. “I like the way you think, Sophie. I think you’re almost as devious as I am.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, Toots.”

“One more thing, I’m not ready to quit smoking.”

“Me, either.”

“I think it’s time to finish off that champagne.”