Sweet Revenge (12 page)

“That’s foolish. You’re young, you’re beautiful. This divorce is a beginning for you, not an ending.”

“He took something from me, Celeste. I can’t seem to get it back.” She covered her face with her hands. “It doesn’t matter. Only Addy matters now.”

“Addy’s fine.”

“She needs things, she deserves things.” Phoebe fumbled for a tissue. “I need to know she’s well taken care of.”

“She will be.”

Phoebe wiped her eyes and drew a deep breath. “There’s not going to be a settlement.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s not going to make any financial arrangements for Addy. Nothing. No trust fund, no child support, nothing. All she has is a worthless title that even he can’t strip her of. He’s keeping it all, what I had when we married, what he gave me. Even The Sun and the Moon, the necklace he bought me with.”

“He can’t. Phoebe, you have a good lawyer. It might take some time and effort, but Abdu has a responsibility to you and to Adrianne.”

“No, his terms were very clear. If I try to fight him on this, he’ll take Adrianne.” The whiskey had thickened her tongue. She drank more to loosen it. “He can do it, Celeste, believe me. He doesn’t want her, and God knows what he would put her through if he got her, but he would take her away from me. Nothing’s worth that, not The Sun and the Moon, not anything.”

For the second time Celeste took Phoebe’s glass and set it aside. “All right, I agree with you that Addy’s welfare comes first. What are you going to do?”

“I’ve already done it.” She was up, pacing, her long
white robe billowing. “I got drunk, then I got sick, then I called Larry Curtis.”

“Your agent?”

“That’s right.” She swung around. Her face was alive again, still pale, but gorgeous. “He’s flying right out.”

Gorgeous, Celeste thought—the way a fire was when it burned too brightly. “Darling, are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve got to be ready.”

“Okay.” Celeste held up a hand. “But Larry Curtis? There’s talk about him, not very nice talk.”

“There’s always talk in Hollywood.”

“I know, but … listen, he’s a good-looking bastard and very slick, but I remember you were toying with dropping him before you retired.”

“That’s behind me.” Phoebe picked up her glass again. She felt on top of the world. And sick to the bone. “Larry was good for me once; he’s going to be good for me again. I’m making a comeback, Celeste. I’m going to be somebody again.”

Adrianne couldn’t say why her first glimpse of Larry Curtis made her uneasy any more than she could say why he reminded her of her father. There was certainly no physical resemblance. Curtis was stocky and a fraction shorter than Phoebe’s five ten. He had a mass of curling blond hair that reached his collar and framed a smooth, boxy, tanned face. And he had smiled constantly, showing big white teeth, uniformly straight.

Adrianne had liked his costume. She still thought of Western clothing as costumes. He’d worn a lavender shirt with big sleeves, the collar opened low to show off a thick gold chain. His pants with a tiny checked pattern flared at the ankle and were cinched at the waist with a wide black belt.

Her mother had been glad to see him, embracing him openly when he walked in. Adrianne squirmed and looked away when Larry casually patted Phoebe’s bottom.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

“Oh, Larry, I’m so glad to see you.” She laughed and kept her tone light, but he was sharp enough to recognize the desperation beneath. And to play on it.

“Good to see you too, baby. Let’s have a look.” He held
her at arm’s length, scanning her up and down in a way that made Adrianne’s cheeks warm. “Looking pretty good. Lost a little weight, but thins in fashion now.” He thought it was too bad about the lines around her eyes and mouth, but figured a tuck here and there and some soft focus would take care of them.

Phoebe Spring had been a gold mine when she’d left Hollywood. With a little effort and a lot of savvy she would be one again.

“So, Celeste.” With his arm still around Phoebe’s shoulders, he swung around. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” Celeste reminded herself that Phoebe wanted him, perhaps needed him. He did have a reputation for making the right moves. And gossip, particularly the sleazy kind, was often just gossip. “How was your flight?”

“Smooth as silk.” He grinned, moving his fingers up and down Phoebe’s arm. “But I could use a drink.”

“I’ll get it.” Phoebe jumped to serve in a way that made Celeste wince. “It’s bourbon, right, Larry?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.” He made himself at home on Celeste’s long white sofa. “Now, who’s this pretty little thing?” He flashed a smile at Adrianne as she sat stiffly in a chair by the window.

“That’s my daughter.” Phoebe offered the glass, then sat beside him. “Adrianne, come meet Mr. Curtis. He’s a very dear, old friend of mine.”

Reluctant, and unconsciously regal, Adrianne rose and crossed to him. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Curtis.”

He laughed and took her hand before she could avoid it. “None of that Mr. Curtis stuff, honeybunch. We’re practically family. I’m just Uncle Larry.”

Adrianne’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like his touch. It wasn’t like the shoe person, but hot and grasping. “You are the brother of my mother?”

Larry sat back and roared as if she’d executed a clever trick. “She’s a pistol.”

“Addy’s very literal minded,” Phoebe explained, sending Adrianne a nervous smile.

“We’re going to get along fine.” He sipped, sizing Adrianne up over the rim of the glass as he might a new car or an
expensive suit. Potential, he decided. A few more years, a few curves, and it might be a very interesting arrangement.

“Adrianne and I thought we’d finish up our Christmas shopping.” Celeste held out a hand. Adrianne clasped it gratefully. “Well leave you two alone to talk business.”

“Thank you, Celeste. Have a good time, baby.”

“Bundle up, honeybunch.” Larry winked at Adrianne. “It’s cold out there.” He waited until the door shut behind them, then leaned back against the cushions. “Like I said, sweetheart, it’s good to have you back, but you’re on the wrong coast.”

“I needed some time.” Phoebe twisted her fingers together. “Celeste has been wonderful to us. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“That’s what friends are for.” He patted her thigh, satisfied that she didn’t object when his hand lingered. Generally, he preferred the less voluptuous type, but there was nothing like sex to put a man in the driver’s seat. “So tell me, baby, how long are you staying?”

“I’m here for good.” The moment he finished his last swallow of bourbon, Phoebe was up to refill his glass. This time she poured a glass for herself. Larry only lifted a brow. The Phoebe he remembered had never sipped at anything harder than wine.

“What about the sheikh?”

“I’ve filed for divorce.” She wet her lips, glancing around as though someone might strike her down for the statement. “I can’t live with him anymore.” She drank, afraid she wouldn’t be able to live without him either. “He changed, Larry. I can’t begin to tell you how much. If he comes after me—”

“You’re in the U. S. of A. now, sweetheart.” He drew her close, once more skimming his glance down her body. She was well into her thirties, he calculated. Older than his usual choice. But she was vulnerable. He preferred his women, and his clients, vulnerable. “Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

“Yes.” She held on, ready to weep with relief. She knew her looks had begun to fade. It didn’t matter, she told herself as Larry stroked her back. He was going to take care of her.
“I want a part, Larry. Anything to start. I have Adrianne to think of. She needs things, deserves things.”

“Leave it all to me. We’ll start off with an interview before you go to the West Coast. ‘The queen’ is back, that kind of thing.” He gave her breast a quick, casual squeeze before reaching for his drink. “Make sure they get a picture of you with the little princess. Kids make great copy. I’ll start paving the way, do some talking, some dealing. Trust me. We’ll have them in the palm of our hand inside of six weeks.”

“I hope so.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “I’ve been away for so long, so much has changed.”

“Pack your bags and head out by the end of the week. I’ll take it from there.” Her name alone would make the deals, he decided. If she bombed, he’d still make a bundle. Then, there was the kid. He had a feeling the kid was going to come in handy.

“I don’t have a lot of money.” She set her jaw, determined to brazen out the shame. “I’ve sold some jewelry, and it’s enough to keep us for a while, but I need most of it to pay for a good school for Adrianne. I know how expensive it is to live in L.A.”

Yeah, the kid was going to come in handy. As long as she was in the picture, Phoebe would be willing to do anything. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?” He drew down the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Larry—”

“Come on, sweetheart. Show me you trust me. I’ll get you a part, a house, a nice school for the kid. The best. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I want Addy to have the best.”

“And you too. I’ll put you right back in the spotlight. As long as you cooperate.”

What difference did it make, she asked herself as he stripped her. Abdu had taken her body whenever he had liked and given nothing back, not to her, not to Adrianne. With Larry there was a promise of protection, and maybe a little affection.

“You’ve still got great tits, honey.”

Phoebe closed her eyes and let him do what he wanted.

Philip Chamberlain listened to the swish and thud of tennis balls and sipped his long gin and tonic. He looked especially good in tennis whites since he’d developed a smooth tan in the three weeks he’d been in California. Crossing his ankles, he looked onto the courts through mirrored sunglasses.

Making friends with Eddie Treewalter, III, hadn’t been all that pleasant for Philip, but it had paid off with invitations to Eddie’s country club. Philip had come to Beverly Hills on business, but it never hurt to enjoy a little sun. Because he had let Eddie trounce him in the last two games of their match, the young American was in a very expansive mood.

“Sure you won’t have lunch, old man?”

To Philip’s credit, he didn’t wince at the “old man,” which clearly Eddie believed to be the height of camaraderie among the English.

“Wish I could. But I’m going to have to run in a moment if I’m to make my appointment.”

“Hell of a day to think of business.” Eddie pushed up his amber-tinted sunglasses, a thick gold watch glinting on his wrist. Teeth that had given up their braces only two years before flashed as he smiled. He had a nickel bag of prime Colombian pot in his monogrammed leather tennis bag.

As the son of one of the most successful plastic surgeons in California, he hadn’t had to work a day in his life. Treewalter, II, nipped and tucked the stars while his son yawned his way through college, dealt drugs as a hobby, and scored at the country club.

“You’ll be at the party tonight at Stoneway’s?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Eddie downed his vodka on the rocks and signaled for another. “The man makes lousy pictures but knows how to throw a party. There’ll be enough snow and grass for an army.” He grinned. “I forgot. You don’t indulge, do you?”

“I prefer to indulge in other things.”

“Suit yourself, but Stoneway serves coke on silver platters. Very chic.” His glance passed over a thin blonde in tight tennis shorts. “You could always indulge in that. Give little Marci some nose candy and she’ll fuck anything.”

“She’s a teenager.” Philip used the gin to wash the taste of disgust at Eddie’s youthful arrogance and stupidity out of his mouth.

“No one in this town’s a teenager. And speaking of easy lays.” He nodded toward a lush redhead in a sundress. “Old reliable Phoebe.” He snickered. “The name’s not Spring for nothing. I think even my old man’s bounced on her. A little shopworn, but great tits.”

Perhaps, Philip thought, exploiting Eddie’s companionship wasn’t worth the price. “I’d better be off.”

“Sure. Hey, she’s got her daughter with her.” Eddie ran his tongue over his lips. “Now, there’s a kid who’s going to be a prime piece of ass, old man. Pure and sweet. She’ll be ready for plowing soon. Mama won’t let her come to the party tonight, but she can’t keep her locked up forever.”

Concealing annoyance, Philip glanced over. And felt the punch. He caught only a glimpse of the young, fine-boned face. But there was a mass of straight, glorious black hair. And legs. Despite himself, Philip stared at them. Truly gorgeous legs. He snorted in self-disgust. The girl was so young, she made Marci look middle-aged. He stood abruptly and turned his back.

“A bit young for my taste … old man. See you tonight.”

Bastard, Philip thought of Eddie as he moved away from the tables. In a day or two he wouldn’t have to be his “pal” any longer and could go home. Back to London. It would be cool and green in London, and he could wash the smog of Los Angeles out of his eyes. He’d have to pick up some souvenirs for his mother. He knew Mary would adore a map of the stars’ homes.

Let her have her romance with Hollywood. There was
no need to tell her that under the glitter was an ugly layer of scum. Drugs, sex, and betrayal. Not all of it, certainly, but enough to make him glad his mother had never pursued her dream of being an actress. Still, he should bring her here one day. Take her to lunch at Grauman’s Chinese Theater, let her slip her feet into Marilyn Monroe’s, footprints. He’d get a bang out of the town if his mother were along to be awed and excited.

A tennis ball rolled in front of him and he bent down to retrieve it. The girl with great legs had put on huge concealing sunglasses. She smiled beneath them and he felt the same punch as he tossed the ball back to her.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Dipping his hands in his pockets, Philip relegated Phoebe Spring’s very young daughter to the back of his mind. He had a job to do.

Twenty minutes later he was cruising into Bel Air in a white paneled van. The legend on the side boasted
KARPETS KLEANED
. Eddie’s mother was going to be very unhappy when she discovered her jewelry was going to be cleaned as well. For free.