Hollywood Sinners (26 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY

E
lisabeth knocked on the door to her father’s office. Silence.

She pushed it open. A musky smell enveloped her, like smoke and sweat. Papers were scattered on his desk, half-full cups of coffee and a smouldering cigar bent in half in one of his crystal ashtrays. Battle scenes adorned the walls. She remembered being frightened of them when she was a girl.

Deciding to wait, Elisabeth took a seat at his desk. She leaned back in the chair, put her feet on the desk and crossed her arms behind her head. So this was what it felt like to be a man. This is what it felt like to be Frank Bernstein.

She poured herself a drink. The seconds dripped by on his shagreen desk clock.

Her confidence began to falter. After another sleepless night she’d decided this was her and Bellini’s only way out. Bernstein would be mad, he’d be crazy, but he’d stand by her. Once the blackmailers knew the big man was involved they’d run a mile and never dare set foot in this town again. It was a risk she was willing to take—she knew her father was so dead set on the wedding that he’d protect her reputation at all costs. She’d made a mistake. So what? People made them every day. No doubt he’d made a few.

But now she wasn’t so sure. She’d always made such a point of her independence—what would it look like if she came running to him soon as times got tough?

On Bernstein’s desk was a photograph of the family outside the Mirage. It showed Elisabeth, a slightly sulky twelve-year-old holding her father’s hand, whose other arm was cradling a baby Jessica. She squinted and leaned closer. In the background, something she’d never noticed before, was a recognisable figure looking on, half-obscured behind the dazzling waterfalls. Alberto Bellini.

She opened her father’s desk drawer for something to do. The smell of leather assaulted her, a catalogue of files and account books. Bored, she closed it.

The drawer below didn’t yield much else. A stack of old papers impaled on a silver pin, some sleek pens with their lids off, the nibs dry. She tried the last one.

Inside was a locked box. Elisabeth frowned, reached for it, extracting it with care. She shook it, thought she could hear papers but it was too hushed to be sure. Replacing it, she noticed a stack of leather-bound diaries wedged alongside. Each one was fastened with a padlock.

Just as she was about to close the drawer, she noticed something. A crisp white envelope was sticking out the top of one of the diaries. Curious, she took its edge and pulled.

On the front was her own name, staring back at her in ornate script.

Elisabeth

She frowned.

Abruptly the door opened. Hastily Elisabeth slammed the drawer shut and stuffed the envelope into her back pocket. She stood up.

Bernstein charged into the room, clearly in a bad mood.

‘What is it, Elisabeth?’ he demanded, slamming a hefty dossier down on the desk. ‘I’m up to my neck in crap today, this better be good.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘I thought you could do with a break, that’s all.’

Bernstein’s brow furrowed. In all her life he could count on one hand the number of times Elisabeth had asked to spend time with him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Like I said, nothing.’ She smiled brightly.

His eyes shot to the desk. ‘You been snooping around?’ His voice was fierce.

‘No.’

He looked at her closely, before appearing satisfied. ‘Good. Now get outta here.’

Elisabeth didn’t need to be told twice. Hurrying out into the Parthenon lobby, she kept walking till she was out on the Strip, sensing she’d somehow had a lucky escape.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Los Angeles

‘I
’m telling you, my wife is missing. Gone. Vanished.’

‘Just calm down,’ said Marty, poised for flight on Cole’s studded leather couch, ‘we’re not gonna solve anything by getting upset.’

‘Upset? You call this upset? Marty, you’ve never even seen me upset.’ He kicked the end of the sofa. Marty jumped. ‘Give me another couple of hours and
then
tell me I’m upset.’

‘There’s bound to be a simple explanation. Who knows? She’s probably…’ He shrugged, before finishing feebly, ‘Shopping?’

Cole stalked over to the French windows, his back shaking with rage. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Marty—you’re the one with the stipulations. I’m to know
exactly
where she is at all times; it was part of the deal. Nobody, not my drivers, my security, my house staff,
nobody
knows where the fuck she is.’

Cole paced the floor, his eyes blazing. He wiped his palms over his face. The room was spinning—he had never felt so desperate, so out of control.

Louisa entered and did a nervous sort of bow. ‘Rita Clay is here for you, Mr Steel.’

Cole didn’t turn around, just nodded and impatiently waved her in.

‘Hello, Cole. Marty.’ Rita was sharp in a tailored grey suit, striking against her dark skin and blonde hair. She shook Marty’s fat, sweating hand but still Cole didn’t turn around. Settling on a plaid chaise longue, she crossed her legs. ‘Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?’

‘Have you tried calling her?’ said Cole tightly.

‘I have. We had a phone appointment scheduled for this morning.’

‘Well, call her again, then.’

‘I’ve tried a number of times, she isn’t picking up.’

‘She isn’t picking up, or she’s switched off?’

Rita paused. ‘She’s switched off.’

‘
Fuck!
’ Cole put his head in his hands. His voice was quiet. ‘Just find her, Marty—for God’s sake,
find her
!’

Marty looked uncomfortably at Rita, who looked more than uncomfortably at Cole, who was standing with his hands flat against the window, his head bowed.

Rita had known Cole was a weird one, but this was extreme. So Lana was missing—she was stir-crazy, she probably needed a break. It wasn’t ideal, in fact it was a pain in the ass, but if Lana needed head space then so be it. She’d talk to her when she got back.

‘Let’s not make assumptions.’ She checked her cell again. ‘Lana’s only been out since this morning. She’ll call either one of us in the hour and we’ll all realise it’s been a misunderstanding.’

Cole whipped round. ‘A misunderstanding?’ he spat. ‘If only! Christ knows, I’ve tried my damnedest to misunderstand, but I’m telling you now, it’s pretty hard to
misunderstand
something that’s staring me right in the goddamn face!’

Marty and Rita exchanged confused looks.

‘Lana’s pregnant, you hear me?’ He laughed manically. ‘
Pregnant.
’ He shuddered. ‘With another man’s baby.’

The room was shocked into silence. Rita gasped. Marty sat with his mouth hanging open.

Rita spoke first.
‘What?’

‘Don’t make me repeat it,’ said Cole in a clipped voice.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Marty unhelpfully.

‘Guess what, Marty,’ said Cole, jabbing a finger in his agent’s face, ‘
neither do I
.’

Rita took control. ‘OK, Cole, let’s slow down a minute here. Are you absolutely sure about this?’

‘A hundred per cent. I found the test.’

‘How?’

‘In her bathroom.’

‘That’s a breach of contract.’

‘To hell with that, I was concerned for her safety.’

Rita took out her phone. What on earth had Lana been thinking? They were in deep shit now, real deep shit. As soon as she was done here they were getting the best lawyer in town.

‘What if the test belongs to someone else?’ said Marty.

Cole and Rita looked at him blankly.

‘Gee, I don’t know,’ said Cole, crossing his arms in mock-contemplation. ‘Lana’s acting kind of funny, then I see the test in Lana’s bathroom, then Lana disappears out my life the same fucking morning. I’m putting two and two together here, Marty, I don’t know, seems kinda logical to me.’

Marty opened his mouth to speak.

Cole punched the air.
‘
Bull
shit!’

Rita stood up. ‘We’ll keep this under close wraps,’ she said. ‘It’s best for everybody concerned.’ She looked at Cole. ‘Especially you. We’re yet to find out the circumstances so let’s not reach any rash conclusions before we know the facts.’

‘And what do I do?’ Cole slumped into a chair, exhausted.

‘You wait.’

‘Just find her,’ he said stonily. ‘Find her and bring her back to me.’ He pointed to the floor beneath his feet.

Rita nodded. ‘Anyone’s gonna get through to her, it’s me. If you’ve been calling, stop. No pressure,
nada
. Let me deal with it.’ She left the room to try Lana’s cell again.

As soon as she was gone Marty slid over to Cole, quick as a snake.

‘What’s going on?’ he said hoarsely. He was perspiring with the excitement of it all.

Cole looked up wearily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean…’ He looked about him. ‘Isn’t this what we wanted?’

Cole leaned forward, careful to keep his voice down. ‘You’re an intelligent man, Marty, a very intelligent man. Why you’re behaving like the world’s biggest fuck-head is beyond me.’ He turned on him. ‘It’s another man’s baby. Do you understand what that means? My wife is carrying the bastard of some asshole off the street. And that asshole’s got a death wish: whoever goes behind
my
back with
my
wife has got to have a spare pair of balls.’

Marty sat back. ‘When you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk.’

‘I
am
calm.’

Marty turned his head to check Rita was out of ear-shot. ‘Then think about it a second, would you?’

Cole glowered.

‘You’ve still got the contract, right?’ said Marty. ‘You’ve still got her and you’ve still got everything she has. Infidelity’s a hell of a bargaining tool, my friend. If you want it, Cole, this baby’s yours.’

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Las Vegas

I
t was scorching hot in Vegas. On the Boulevard Lana decided to quit the cab and walk, past the crowds swarming at the spectacular Bellagio fountains, the tourists gathered by the sparkling waterfalls of the Mirage, their attentions absorbed. Lana felt like part of it, sewn in, invisible. There were enough distractions here to make a person disappear.

Feeling suddenly hungry, she ducked into a burger joint close to the Venetian. It had been years since she’d got fast food, just queued up with everyone else to put in her order for a double cheese and fries, unwrapping the sticky, sweaty paper and sinking her teeth into the cheap, oily meat. It tasted delicious and awful at the same time, a far cry from the high-end, low-carb, small-portioned food she was used to.

She kept on her glasses and cap, her chestnut hair secured beneath. An overweight couple wearing Hawaiian shirts kept looking over, the woman nudging her partner who was more interested in finishing his meal, one time so hard that his strawberry shake spilled all over the counter. Just as the woman seemed to have summoned the courage to approach, Lana screwed up her wrappers and made her way out, tossing them in the trash on the way past.

Back on the street she caught sight of the Orient’s central pagoda, a gold-tipped peak piercing the deep blue sky. There was no time for nerves—she knew what she had to do. By now Cole would know she was gone. When she imagined his fury she wanted to run and run and never dare to stop.

Entering the giant hotel amid a mass of tourists, she went straight for the foyer washrooms, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder. She kept her head down, trying to forget the last time she’d been there.

Inside one of the cubicles she stepped out of her pantsuit and brushed her hair loose. Drawing a compact mirror from her purse, she applied a curl of mascara and some vanilla lip balm. She had to go for it and it had to be now. If she waited, the momentum would break and she’d never see it through.

At Reception she asked for Mr St Louis, but explained she didn’t have an appointment. The concierge was scribbling something on a piece of paper. As the corners of his mouth lifted in a sympathetic smile, she knew he was preparing to fend her off. He was used to women asking for the boss.

When he looked up and saw who she was, the smile dropped. He cleared his throat.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, picking up the phone. ‘Should I give a reason for your visit?’

‘No,’ she said, with as confident a smile as she could muster. ‘To be honest, it’s a bit of a surprise.’

* * *

‘Logistics,’ explained Robert. ‘Two of our guests are staying here—Lana Falcon and Cole Steel. We need a limousine out back; the drive round will give them the best approach to the carpet. It’s to be timed to the second.’

Robert and Alberto were walking the Orient. He had deliberately kept the Desert Jewel clear of the premiere—the Parthenon would house their A-list guests while the screening and after-party took place here—so he had requested his friend’s assistance in managing the floor.

They passed a dealer and Robert nodded an acknowledgement. ‘We’re closing the Strip,’ he went on, ‘so there shouldn’t be any trouble.’

Alberto stopped outside the auditorium. ‘Can you do that?’

‘We just did. I don’t want Sam Lucas getting stuck behind a goddamn busload of weekend gamers, do I?’

Alberto glanced behind him. ‘And Elisabeth’s performance?’

Robert put his hands in his pockets. ‘After the show. Free liquor’s what a lot of them are here for anyway.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll get a happy audience.’

‘She sounds wonderful, you know.’

Robert eyed his colleague. ‘I know.’

‘I have heard her in rehearsal,’ he said softly. ‘She sings like an angel. Tell me, St Louis, have you?’

Robert tensed. In fact, he hadn’t been around for any of Elisabeth’s preparations—he’d been too busy with his own. Still, he didn’t like the old man’s attitude.

‘What are you implying, exactly, Bellini?’

Alberto leaned back, folding his arms. ‘Exactly nothing.’

‘I resent your tone.’ Robert kept his voice low. ‘Don’t use it with me again.’

Alberto matched his gaze. Moments passed.

Finally Robert clapped the older man on the shoulder as he might the flank of a horse, their professional relationship resumed. ‘Let’s walk.’

The men made their way through to the casino. An orchestra of gaming instruments hit them with wild, discordant song: slots switching and flashing; the patter of chips as they spat into trays and were tossed into buckets; the brittle roll of the roulette wheel; and the shouts of the players. And above all that smell, sweet and sharp, the aroma of changing luck.

‘Tell that jackass he’s had enough to drink,’ Robert instructed his casino manager. He nodded to a man with thick ginger hair and small crab-eyes who kept slipping off his table stool. ‘It’s not a free bar in here. If he’s not happy, get security to take him out.’

His manager followed orders. There were 130,000 square feet of Orient casino—his guys had to survey the tables like hawks.

Alberto walked quickly to keep up. ‘Elisabeth did tell me she was having trouble getting you alone. You spend too much time in the casinos, St Louis.’

‘I’ll spend time where I like.’

‘She wanted to talk to you. She said—’

Robert turned on him, his patience expired. ‘I’ll say this once, Bellini: my relationship with Elisabeth has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it. Christ! If it’s not Bernstein, it’s you.’ It bothered him to think that Elisabeth had been discussing their private lives with one of his employees. He knew they’d spent a lot of time together during Elisabeth’s residency but this was too much—now Bellini was acting like a concerned father.

At the craps deck Robert’s assistant fell into step beside him. ‘Sir, you’ve got a visitor.’

He waved the young man away. ‘I haven’t anything scheduled, they’ll have to wait.’

His assistant leaned in. ‘It’s Lana Falcon, boss.’

Robert stopped. He kept his face perfectly still. ‘Fine. I’ll be out.’