Hollywood Kids (33 page)

'Thank you,' Marjory said tightly.

Jordanna turned at the end of the corridor. 'Hey, I hope you
are
getting laid - it's about time.'

Before Marjory could reply she was out of sight.

Marjory returned to the screening room.

Michael feigned a yawn. 'I'm beat. We should call it a night.'

'Oh,' Marjory said, disappointed. 'I thought we could watch
Godfather Two
.'

'Tempting offer, but I gotta get some sleep. And so should you.'

'I suppose so,' she said, reluctantly.

'Don't worry, I'll be right next door if you need anything.'

'Yes... Michael.'

Gotta keep this on a very impersonal level, he thought to himself. This girl could go way over the edge - and he did not want to be the dumb schmuck at the receiving end of her obsession.

Since leaving prison he'd killed four women. Five if he counted The Girl who'd started it all. She was totally responsible for the deaths of these four women. It was her fault. He refused to take the blame.

Although he had to admit there was something extraordinarily pleasurable about doing away with these women.

He thought about their necks a lot, their soft white necks. Squeezing the life out of them was a very civilized way to kill.

There were two more women on his list. Two more females who had to be punished. Cheryl Landers and Jordanna Levitt. He'd purposely left them for last because they might not be as easy as the other four. They lived different lives.

When he was working on
The Contract
Cheryl and Jordanna had been regarded as nothing more than a joke. Two teenage girls with rich fathers and no experience. Yet they'd managed to stand up with the others and accuse him. They'd managed to say that they'd seen him kill The Girl
.

Fortunate for him his uncle had connections. The best lawyers were hired to defend him and he'd gotten away with manslaughter. If it had been up to those six women who'd testified against him, he would have been jailed for life - he might even have drawn the death penalty.

Tracking each of the women had been easy. He still had in his possession the original crew and cast list from
The Contract.
Margarita Lynda and Stephanie Wolff had both lived at the same addresses. Gerda Hemsley had been a little more difficult to find, but he'd tracked her. The Post Office had supplied him with Pamela March's new address.

He had home addresses for Jordanna Levitt and Cheryl Landers, and over the next few days he planned on making sure they were both still in residence.

The only problem was he could not decide which one to deal with first. He remembered Cheryl as a sour-faced girl, always complaining. And Jordanna was the restless one - marching around the set as though she owned the world.

He hated them both. He hated them so much more than the other four women, because Jordanna and Cheryl came from the kind of privilege he would have liked to have had. And for that they would be punished.

Today he would begin the tracking. Watching a victim days before the event was almost as exciting as the moment of finality.

He had plans for both Cheryl and Jordanna. Strangling them was too easy, they deserved to suffer as he had suffered.

Yes, he had big plans.

He spread the cast and crew sheet on the table studying it carefully. Cheryl Landers lived in Bel Air. Jordanna Levitt's home was in Beverly Hills.

Bel Air or Beverly Hills - where to start'?

He realized this was not going to be so simple. Those big fancy mansions had security systems and guards. He was not naive about the fact that people who lived in large expensive houses took more precautions.

But nobody could outsmart him. He'd done his time in prison. He'd endured countless acts of vile degradation and hadn't complained - the humiliations he'd put up with had made him strong. Stronger than most.

He tossed a coin to see where he would start.

Bel Air or Beverly Hills. Which would it be?

Michael escaped from the Sanderson estate on Sunday morning by saying he had work to do - which was no lie.

When she saw he was leaving, Marjory acted distressed. 'But what if I receive another call?' she asked plaintively.

'Soon as I get hold of the tape equipment I'll be back,' he promised. 'On the way out I'll stop an' speak to the guards, tell 'em what's going on.'

'No,' she said vehemently. 'Daddy doesn't want anyone to know. If this got into the press it could be very harmful.'

'How's that?'

'Daddy shuns publicity, especially about me. He's always been nervous about kidnapping.'

'The guards
should
be alerted, Marjory.'

They're always alert.'

Then you have nothing to worry about,' he said, silently reminding himself to ask Quincy if he'd met the father, because in his opinion it was crazy if the guards weren't appraised of the situation.

Back at Quincy's house there were several messages. He punched on the machine and listened while he fixed himself a cup of coffee.

The first message was from the bodyguard of the young TV star. Trouble,' the bodyguard said. 'She punched out another girl in front of Club Sirocco a few nights ago. I got her out of there in time, but somebody should pay a visit to the bouncer 'cause I've heard he's tryin' to sell his story.'

The second message was from Quincy's mother, inquiring after her grandchildren.

The third was a long complaint from Amber's girlfriend, Shelia. Michael listened to her message with amusement. 'Hi, this is Shelia. Just thought I'd touch base. I dated that friend of yours... Michael. Haven't heard from him since. Men are such bastards, they take you out, lure you into bed and that's the last you hear. Anyway, I wouldn't mind going out with him again -he
was
cute. Give me a call.'

The final message was from Quincy sounding extremely pissed. '
This
you ain't gonna believe. Me and a tree got very intimate - it's called a broken arm. I won't be back tomorrow. Where are you anyway? Hell of a house-sitter you turned out to be.'

Michael called him back immediately.

'I'm a one-man business, Mike, what am I gonna do?' Quincy complained.

'You're not a one-man business any more,' Michael reminded him. 'I'm your new partner.'

'Can you handle things until I get back?'

'Yeah, I'm kind of getting used to it. I spent the night at Marjory Sanderson's. You forgot to tell me we babysat, too. Oh, an' there's a message from the guy who looks after your bad girl TV star.'

'Trouble?'

'Nothing I can't take care of.'

'And you'll go see Mac Brooks tomorrow?'

'You got it.'

We're drivin' back on Tuesday. Check my red appointment book on the desk an' you'll find everybody's numbers listed - connections at the studios, all my clients.'

'Relax, OK? And the next time you go skiing be more careful.'

'Careful?
Shit
! You think I did this on purpose?'

'Yeah, that's what I think.'

'Asshole.'

'Putz.'

Bobby Rush knew he'd made a mistake. After shooting late on Sunday he'd taken his soon-to-be co-star, Barbara Barr, back to his house and back to his bed, where they'd indulged in two hours of very physical sex.

Now it was 6 a.m. Monday morning and he was regretting every minute of it. She didn't start work on the movie for another two weeks and he'd already compromised himself. Not that she wasn't pretty and talented with a sexy body. But getting involved with his co-star was a negative, it always led to big trouble, and he'd promised himself he would never do it again. Barbara was also overly demanding. He couldn't quite place what it was, but there was something about her that set off warning bells in his head.

He had another problem. Should he wake her and send her home? Or should he go to the studio leaving her alone in his house? There were papers and personal things all over the place and he hardly knew her, it wasn't a comfortable situation.

He made the decision to wake her.

What time is it?' she sighed, stretching languorously.

'Late,' he lied. 'Time to get up.'

She rolled across the bed. 'You were hot last night, Bobby. A real hot fuck.'

Reviews were always interesting. 'I was?' he asked, not averse to hearing raves.

She sat up and the sheet slipped, revealing her ample breasts with extended nipples. 'I wouldn't say it if you weren't,' she murmured, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. 'I have never enjoyed giving head to anyone like I do to you. Your cock really turns me on.'

His sudden hard-on suggested that rushing to the studio didn't seem quite so important. He began touching her nipples with the tips of his fingers.

'Don't do that to me unless you mean it,' she moaned. 'I can't get through the day filled with the thought of your cock. I need it, and I need it now.' Her hands began feverishly unzipping his pants.

He forgot about it not being a good idea and fell on top of her.

She spread her legs. He began pounding into her fast and rough, the way she seemed to like it.

It was raw sex, very basic.

'You're the best fuck I ever had!' she exclaimed after a noisy climax.

Not exactly the perfect way to be described - flattering on one hand, but not so flattering on the other. What did she think he was? A screwing machine with no feelings?

Now that it was over he started regretting it again. Sneaking a quick peek at his watch he decided he just had time for another shower, then he had to get out of there if he didn't want to be late for his call.

She trailed him into the shower, naked and sweaty.

'Enough!' he said sternly, when she joined him under the running water and went for his cock again.

'It's never enough for me,' she said, getting on her knees while the water cascaded over her head.

Backing out of the glass door he reached for a towel.

'What's
your
fucking problem,' she yelled after him.

You're my fucking problem.
he wanted to answer.

When she emerged from the shower it took her forever to dress.

'I'll drop you home,' he said, when she was finally ready.

'Goody,' she replied cheerfully. 'That'll give me time to change and eat breakfast before I meet you for lunch.'

Who invited her to lunch? Certainly not him.

Today's a bitch,' he said quickly. 'I won't have time for lunch.'

'Then I'll sit and watch.'

'Uh... I'm not crazy about people on the set when I'm shooting an important scene. It blows my concentration.'

She regarded him coolly. 'Do I feel rejection in the air?'

Jesus, why did he get himself into dumb situations? 'Are you nuts?' he said calmly.

'I hate rejection. It pisses me off.'

Something told him this one was a clinger. The sooner he cooled it the better.

He drove straight to her apartment and pulled up outside.

'How about I cook you dinner and have it waiting when you come home?' she suggested brightly - a woman of many moods. 'Do you want to give me your key?'

No, I do not want to give you my key.

'I have a business dinner tonight,' he said, trying to sound suitably disappointed.

She threw him a penetrating stare. 'I'm beginning to think you regret what we did last night and this morning.'

His reply was smooth as silk. 'How could I possibly regret being with you?'

Even as he said it, his words rang horribly false. Maybe that's what Kennedy Chase had nailed him on. Maybe he
was
nothing more than a charming jerk with an excellent line in bullshit.

Oh, great, nothing like putting oneself down to start the day.

'When
will
I see you?' she persisted.

'I'll call you later,' he promised.

'You'd better,' she said, half joking, half not. 'Or I'll have to punish you in a really bad way.'

At last she got out of his car. He watched her enter her building. When was he going to learn? No actresses.

They were shooting in the Ambassador Hotel. He drove there fast, Sade on his stereo to soothe him on his way.

When he arrived, Mac was standing by the catering truck getting breakfast. 'Morning,' he said. 'How was your night?'

'What night?' Mac said sourly. 'We didn't finish until one.'

Bobby yawned. 'Yeah, you're right, it was a tough one. But I think we got some good stuff, don't you? Can't wait to see dailies.'

'Are you eating?'

'No, gotta go straight to make-up - see you on the set.'

He sat in the make-up trailer staring at his reflection. It was a well-known fact that Jerry Rush had nailed every one of his leading ladies. Was he turning into his father? He did not want to be known as Bobby Rush - movie star and major cocksman.

On the other hand, what was he supposed to do? There was nothing wrong with having a fast one-nighter if he felt like it.

She's an actress, his inner voice warned.

Yeah, well, I'm an tutor - so what?

Jordanna tracked him to the make-up trailer and handed him a cup of coffee. 'You look like you had a long hard night,' she said amiably. 'You've got bags under your eyes I could pack clothes in.'

He glared at her. 'When I want your personal critique I'll ask you.'

'Yes,
sir
, Mr Rush.'

'Where's my script?' he asked irritably.

'In your trailer.'

'Can you get it?'

'But, of course... sir.'

Jordanna had a smart mouth. She'd be a good assistant if he could only survive her attitude.

'Do me a favour,' he called after her. 'Bring my portable phone, too.'

She hurried to his trailer and picked up the script and the phone. On her way back she bumped into Mac. 'You feeling OK?' she asked, stopping for a moment.

Did she know something? Jordanna had always been extremely intuitive. 'Why? Don't I look well?' he said warily.