Genuine Lies (13 page)

Dictatorial, perhaps, but still considerate. And it had been tempting, very tempting, to chose one of the shimmery, glittery gowns. At one point, Julia had spread them out over her bed, thousands of dollars worth of silk and spangles. She’d even weakened enough to try one on, a strapless slither of
coral-colored silk. It was only marginally too big in the bust and hips so that she imagined it slicked down Eve’s body like rainwater.

In that moment when she stood studying herself in the star’s gown, her own skin somehow softer, creamier against the vivid material, she felt enchanted, touched by magic.

If her life had not taken that single turn, would she have made her home in Beverly Hills? Would she have had a closet full of exquisite clothes? Would her face, her name, have drawn gasps from millions of fans as her image flickered across a movie screen?

Maybe, maybe not, she’d thought, and had indulged herself in a few twists and turns in front of the mirror. But her life had taken that other direction, and had given her something much more important, much more lasting than fame.

In the end her practicality had won out. She’d decided it was better to refuse the gowns than to go through the evening pretending she was something she wasn’t.

She wore the only evening gown she had brought with her, a simple column of midnight blue with a snug bolero jacket studded with bugle beads. In the two years since she’d bought it, on sale at Saks, she had worn it only once. As she fastened on rhinestone drop earrings, she listened to her son’s giggles float up the stairs. He and CeeCee, already fast friends, were deeply involved in a game of Crazy Eights.

Julia took a last inventory of her purse, slipped into pretty and miserably uncomfortable evening shoes, then started down the stairs.

“Hey, Mom.” Brandon watched her come down. She looked so nice, so different. It always made him feel proud, and a little funny in the stomach, to realize how beautiful his mother was. “You look really good.”

“You look terrific,” CeeCee corrected the boy. She shifted from her stomach, where she and Brandon were sprawled on the rug, to her knees. “That’s not one of Miss B.’s.”

“No.” Self-conscious, Julia smoothed her skirt. “I didn’t feel right. I’d hoped this would do.”

“It does,” CeeCee told her with a nod. “Classic elegance. And with your hair swept up like that, you add sex appeal. What more could you ask for?”

Invisibility, Julia thought, but only smiled. “I shouldn’t be late. I’m hoping to slip away right after dinner.”

“Why? This is a totally big event.” CeeCee sat back on her heels.
“Everybody’s
going to be there. And it’s for a good cause and all too. You know, the Actors’ Fund. You should just enjoy yourself. I’ll crash in the spare room if I get tired.”

“Can we make popcorn?” Brandon wanted to know.

“Okay. Make sure you—” At the knock, she glanced over to see Paul standing at the door.

“Put plenty of butter on it,” he finished, and winked at Brandon as he stepped inside.

CeeCee immediately fluffed her hair. “Hi, Mr. Win-.”

“Hi, CeeCee, how’s it going?”

“Fine, thanks.” Her twenty-year-old heart went into overdrive. He wore a tux with the casual grace that transmitted instantly into sex. CeeCee wondered if there was a woman alive who wouldn’t fantasize about loosening that tidy black tie.

“Eve said you’d be prompt,” Paul said to Julia. She looked flustered. He’d already decided that was the way he liked her best.

“I hadn’t realized you’d be going. I’d thought I’d be riding with Eve.”

“She went with Drake. They had some business.” He gave her a slow smile. “It’s just you and me, Jules.”

“I see.” The simple phrase had her tensing all over. “Brandon, bed at nine.” She crouched to kiss his cheek. “Remember, CeeCee’s word is law.”

He grinned, thinking that gave him an opening to talk CeeCee into a nine-thirty bedtime. “You can stay out as long as you want. We don’t mind.”

“Thank you very much.” She straightened. “Don’t let him lull you into complacency, CeeCee. He’s tricky.”

“I’ve got his number. Have fun.” She gave a little sigh as they walked out the door.

Things were not working out according to plan, Julia thought as she crossed to the narrow, graveled drive where Paul’s Studebaker was parked. First thing this morning she’d decided to spend a quiet evening working. Then she adjusted to the idea of going out, but actually to do a couple of hours of on-the-spot research, while keeping herself unobtrusively in some corner. Now she had an escort who would probably feel obliged to entertain her.

“I’m sorry Eve imposed on you this way,” she began as he opened the car door for her.

“What way?”

“You might have had other plans for the evening.”

He leaned on the open door, enjoying the way she slid into the car—one slim knee hooking out through the slit in the dress, shapely calves lifting, an unadored hand tucking the hem of the skirt inside. Very smooth.

“Actually, I had planned to drink too much coffee, smoke too many cigarettes, and wrestle with chapter eighteen. But …”

She glanced up, her eyes very serious in the lowering light. “I hate having my work time interrupted. You must feel the same way.”

“Yes, I do.” Though, oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling that way tonight. “Then again, at times like this I have to remind myself it isn’t brain surgery. The patient will rest comfortably until tomorrow.” After closing the door, he rounded the hood to settle into the driver’s seat. “And Eve asks me for very little.”

Julia let out a quick breath as the engine sprang to life. As Eve’s dress had, this car made her feel like someone else. This time a pampered, mink-wrapped debutante rushing down white marble steps to dash off with her favorite beau for a fast ride. That’ll be the day, Julia thought, then said, “I appreciate this. But it wasn’t really necessary. I don’t need an escort.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.” He steered the car down the drive that veered off from the main house. “You strike me as
the kind of woman who goes very competently single file. Has anyone told you it’s intimidating?”

“No.” She ordered herself to relax. “Do people find your competence intimidating?”

“Probably.” Idly, he switched the radio on low, more for the mood than the music. She was wearing that same scent— old-fashioned romance. The air whipping through the windows offered it to him like a gift. “But then, I enjoy keeping people off balance.” He shifted his head just long enough to flick her a glance. “Don’t you?”

“I haven’t thought about it.” Imagining herself having that kind of power made her smile. A good six months out of every twelve she spent virtually alone with Brandon, divorced from people. “This affair tonight,” she continued. “Do you go to many of them?”

“A few each year—usually at Eve’s instigation.”

“Not because you enjoy them?”

“Oh, they’re entertaining enough.”

“But you’d go because she asked in any case?”

Paul paused briefly, waiting for the gates of the estate to open. “Yes, I’d go for her.”

Julia shifted to study his profile, seeing his father, seeing the little boy Eve had described. Seeing someone altogether different. “This morning Eve told me about the first time you met.”

He grinned as he drove down the quiet, palm-lined street. “At the beach house in Malibu, over p.b. and j.’s.”

“Will you share your first impressions of her?”

His grin faded as he drew a cigar out of his pocket. “Still on the clock?”

“Always. You should understand.”

He punched in the lighter, then shrugged. He did understand. “All right, then. I knew a woman had spent the night. There were a few telltale items of clothing strewn around the living room.” He caught her look, arched a brow. “Shocked, Jules?”

“No.”

“Just disapproving.”

“I’m simply imagining Brandon under the same circumstances. I wouldn’t want him to think that I …” “Had sex?”

The amusement made her stiffen. “That I was indiscriminate or careless.”

“My father was—is—both. By the time I was Brandon’s age, I was quite used to it. No lasting scars.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. “And when you met Eve?”

“I was prepared to dismiss her out of hand. I was quite the little cynic.” Comfortable, he blew out smoke. “I recognized her when she walked into the kitchen, but I was surprised. Most of the women my father bedded looked, well, let’s say worse for wear the morning after. Eve was beautiful. Of course that was just a physical thing, but it impressed me. And there was a sadness in her eyes.” He caught himself and grimaced. “She won’t like that. More important to me at that stage of my life was the fact that she didn’t find it necessary to coo all over me as so many of them did.”

Understanding perfectly, she laughed. “Brandon hates it when people pat his head and tell him what a cute little boy he is.”

“It’s revolting.”

He said it with such feeling, she laughed again. “And you said no scars.”

“I considered it more of a curse—until I hit puberty. In any case, Eve and I had a conversation. She was interested. No one can spot false interest quicker than a child, and there was nothing false about Eve. We walked on the beach, and I was able to talk to her in a way I’d never been able to talk to anyone before. The things I liked, didn’t like. What I wanted, didn’t want. She was amazingly good to me from that first day on, and I developed a monumental crush on her.”

“Do you—”

“Hold it. We’re nearly there and you’ve been asking all the questions.” He took a lazy last drag, then tapped out his cigar. “Why celebrity bios?”

With an effort, she changed gears. “Because I don’t have enough imagination for fiction.”

Paul stopped at a light, drumming his fingers on the wheel in time with the music. “That answer was much too smooth to be true. Try again.”

“All right. I admire people who not only tolerate but court the spotlight. Since I’ve always functioned better on the sidelines, I’m interested in the kind of people who thrive on center stage.”

“Still smooth, Julia, and only partially true.” He let the car drift forward as the light changed. “If it were really true, how do you explain the fact that you once considered a career in acting?”

“How do you know that?” Her voice was sharper than intended and pleased him. It was about time he pierced that slick outer layer.

“I made it my business to know that, and a great deal more.” He shot her a look. “I do my research.”

“You mean you checked up on me?” Her hands curled into fists in her lap as she struggled with temper. “My background is none of your business. My agreement is with Eve, only Eve, and I resent you poking into my private life.”

“You can resent anything you want. And you can also be grateful. If I’d found anything that didn’t jive, you’d be out on your sweet ass.”

That snapped it. Her head whirled around. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.” After pulling up at the Beverly Wilshire, he turned to face her. “Remember, on the drive back, I get to ask the questions.” He laid a hand on her arm before she could wrench the door open. “You tear out of here and slam the door, people are going to ask questions.” He watched as she strained, fighting for control, and won. “I knew you could do it. By God, you’re good.”

She took a deep breath, and when her face was composed again, turned to him and spoke calmly. “Fuck you, Winthrop.”

His left brow shot up, but he let out a quick laugh. “Whenever you like.” He climbed out and handed his keys to the valet. Julia was already on the curb. Paul took her stiff arm and led her inside. “Eve wants you to mingle,” he said quietly
as they filed through a press of reporters with mini-cams. “They’re will be a lot of people here tonight who’ll want to get a look at you, maybe dig out a couple of hints as to what Eve’s telling you.”

“I know my job,” Julia said between her teeth.

“Oh, Jules, I’m sure you do.” The comfortable drawl made her blood simmer. “But there are people who enjoy chewing up proper young women and spitting them out.”

“It’s been tried.” She wanted to shake off his arm, but thought it would look undignified, particularly when she saw two reporters making a beeline for them.

“I know,” Paul murmured, and deliberately took her other arm to turn her to face him. “I’m not going to apologize for prying, Julia, but you should know that what I found was admirable, and more than a little fascinating.”

The contact was too intimate, almost an embrace, and she wanted to be free. “I don’t want your admiration, or your fascination.”

“Regardless, you have both.” Then he turned a very charming smile toward the camera.

“Mr. Winthrop, is it true that Mel Gibson’s been signed to play the lead in the screen version of
Chain Lightning?”

“You’d do better to ask the producers—or Mr. Gibson.” Paul urged Julia along while the reporters circled.

“Is your engagement to Sally Bowers off?”

“Don’t you think that’s an indelicate question when I’m escorting a beautiful woman?” As more reporters crowded in, Paul’s smile remained friendly, though he felt Julia begin to tremble. “That engagement was a product of the press. Sally and I aren’t even the proverbial good friends. More like passing acquaintances.”

“Can we have your name?”

Someone stuck a mike under Julia’s nose. She tensed, then struggled to relax. “Summers,” she said calmly. “Julia Summers.”

“The writer who’s doing Eve Benedict’s biography?” Before she could answer, other questions were hurled and kicked in her direction.

“Buy the book,” she suggested, relieved when they moved into the ballroom.

Paul leaned down to speak quietly in her ear. “Are you all right?”

“Of course.”

“You’re shaking.”

She cursed herself for it, then stepped aside, out from under his protective arm. “I don’t like being crowded.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t come with Eve. You’d have been hemmed in by more than half a dozen of them.” After signaling to a passing waiter, he took two glasses of champagne from the tray.

“Shouldn’t we find our table?”

“My dear Jules, no one sits yet.” He touched his glass to hers before sipping. “That’s no way to be seen.” Ignoring her shrug of protest, he slipped an arm around her waist.