Vegas Sunrise (44 page)

She thought about her future. Maybe she'd learn to cook. Maybe a lot of things. Ruby had said something about a new series of commercials with a family for The Chicken Palaces. She'd play the mother and actors would play the children and husband. According to Ruby it was Audrey Bernstein who came up with the idea of using two little girls named Corinne and Jessica who would become household names once the commercials aired. It would probably work, too. Everyone loved a family.

What was she waiting for? Why was she sitting here staring at this seedy building? If she drove all night, she could make L.A. by morning. “I'll never have to see Jeff Lassiter again,” she muttered. She thought about the formula Jeff had given her that was safely hidden in the bottom of her makeup case. Anytime she wanted, she could head for Atlantic City and do what she'd done in Vegas for Lassiter. If she wanted to. “I hope you croak, you bastard!”

Celia switched on the headlights and turned the key in the ignition. The engine snarled to life in the quiet night. She was about to pull away from the curb when a Jeep Cherokee pulled in front of her, the headlights blinding her.

“Celia, wait!”

Birch! Celia slammed the car in reverse, the headlights trapping her in their bright glare. She was about to shift into first gear when Birch reached the door.

“Celia, wait!”

“For what?”

“I want to talk to you. What's a few minutes out of your life?”

“I'm in a hurry, Birch. I thought we said everything that needed to be said on the mountain.”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, Los Angeles. I plan to drive all night. What can you possibly want from me? I have nothing to give you.”

“Just tell me the truth, are you pregnant?”

“I don't have to tell you anything. Please, get out of my way.”

“If you are pregnant . . .”

“Yes,” Celia drawled.

“You hate kids. You said that yourself. What I'm trying to say here is, if you are pregnant, don't do anything foolish. I'll take the child.”

The sound Celia made deep in her throat was somewhere between a sob and a howl of misery. “I'm not good enough for you, but my child is? If I'm pregnant, that is. If we're talking hypothetically here, how do you know I won't turn out to be the world's best mother? I could turn out to be a better mother than your own. I will never, ever forgive you for what you just said. Was it your intention to offer me money for the child, assuming I'm pregnant? Don't bother to answer that question. I can see it in your eyes. Get the hell away from me.”

“Let's not end it like this, Celia.”

“You're the one who slapped me around, Birch. You're the one who was unfaithful, and you don't want to end it like this. Go to hell.”

“You aren't blameless here.”

“That's true. I'm not. That's why I'm leaving. I'm sorry for my part in all of this. I got by before I met you, and I can get by again.”

“Yeah, thanks to my family. Ruby is paying you five times what the job is worth. You took the casino for some heavy money. Thornton money.”

“That's the way the old cookie crumbles. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I'm beginning to hate the Thornton name. I'm giving it up. Your half brother petitioned the courts to have his name changed from Lassiter to Thornton. Too bad I couldn't just give him my name. He could have saved some legal fees. I'll give you thirty days to file for the divorce. If you don't, I will. I don't want anything from you or your family, so that should make it quick and easy.”

“Are you pregnant, Celia?”

“None of your damn business. You gave up the right to know anything about me when you went to bed with Libby Maxwell. Look, Birch, this was all wrong. I'm willing to take the blame for everything. The only way I can make it right is to walk away, which is what I'm trying to do right now. When something's over it's over. We can't get it back because we didn't have anything to begin with. You're going to get on with your life, and I'm going to get on with mine. I doubt if we'll ever see each other again. I wish you the best. I mean that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long drive ahead of me.”

“You are, aren't you?”

“If you don't move, Birch, I'll smash that Jeep. We're just two people who used to know each other.”

Birch stepped aside, a stunned look on his face. He watched Celia's car until its taillights were barely pinpoints of red light in the dark night.

“It's not the end of the world, Birch.”

“Sage! Where the hell did you come from?”

“I followed you down the mountain. It is what it is. You have to accept it.”

“Did you hear the whole thing?”

“Half the neighborhood heard it. She didn't admit to being pregnant. You have to accept what she said and get on with it, and you have to take responsibility for your actions, Birch. Come on, let's go to Babylon, and I'll buy you a beer.”

“Am I like Dad, Sage?”

“Yeah, in some respects, but then so am I. At this point in time, Birch, that's not a bad thing. It was all a long time ago. I believe I learned from Dad's mistakes. I hope you did, too. We're not perfect people, and we don't live in a perfect world. That means mistakes are okay as long as you learn from them and don't repeat them.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you want to do, Birch?”

“The truth?”

“Yeah, that's a good place to start.”

“I want to put on my running shoes and run till I can't run anymore. I want to pretend my name is Joe Smith and that I live in Perth Amboy, New Jersey.”

“Nah, that's the easy way out. Guess what, Birch. Joe Smith of Perth Amboy, New Jersey, would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

“What if she is pregnant, Sage?”

“That's why they have lawyers. Celia could turn out to be the best mother in the world. If she's pregnant, and we aren't sure that's the case. I told you, don't believe anything that jerk Lassiter says.”

“Celia told me he's petitioned the court to take the Thornton name. She, on the other hand, is giving it up.”

“So? Do you want to fight that, too?”

“I was making conversation.”

“Then let's make conversation someplace else. This isn't the best part of town, you know. How could you let your wife live here?”

“That and a hundred other things are the reason I want to be Joe Smith from Perth Amboy, New Jersey.”

“It isn't gonna happen. Let's go get that beer.”

“Celia's a survivor.”

“That's good to know, Birch. If that's true, you can stop worrying about her.”

“She was pretty decent there at the end, all things considered.”

“Everyone has good and bad in them. Even Dad,” Sage said pointedly. “I'll follow you, and we'll park at Babylon. By the way, when are you leaving for Atlantic City?”

“Tomorrow on an early flight. Sunny's staying on another week. Life's going to be kind of dull with us gone, huh?”

“I can take dull for a little while. Mom's got Billie under control. It's going to be a struggle for a while, but it will work out in the end. Billie doesn't want to live with an addiction. Ruby and Sunny are getting married over Christmas, on the mountain. Iris is having twins, Chue and his wife are finally going to China for a visit. Mom's happy. Marcus is well. Our world is good, Birch. In fact, I don't think it gets much better than this.”

“I'm happy for everyone. Don't start worrying about me, Sage. Sometimes you're like a mother hen. Just why the hell did you follow me down the mountain?”

“I followed you because I was worried. Plus, Iris pushed me out the door. I just want to help. I want you to know you can count on me no matter what happens.”

“I do know that, Sage. I'm damn glad you're my brother. As long as I know you're in my corner it's okay.”

“Can we go get that beer now? All this jawing is making my mouth dry.”

Birch wrapped his arms around his brother. “Thanks for . . . you know, everything.”

On the fourth floor of the ugly, decayed building, Jeff Lassiter stared through the grimy curtains. “Now isn't that just too cozy for words?” Too bad he couldn't hear all the cutesy words that went with the hugs and kisses.

Ten minutes later Jeff was adjusting his Ralph Lauren tie in the dingy bathroom mirror. His suit was custom-tailored, his shirt pristine white. He gave his hair a quick touch with the brush, knowing he could have posed as a Madison Avenue executive.

At the door he debated whether he should lock it or not. Why bother, Celia wasn't coming back. He walked out, leaving the door ajar. Tomorrow he'd think about where he was going to live. His attaché case full of cash secure in his hand, Jeff climbed behind the wheel of his car. His first and only stop for the evening would be the secret, private location where his Holy Grail warriors toiled night and day.

The team, because that's how Jeff thought of them, looked up at his entrance. They looked weary, red-eyed, and out of sorts. “Payday and dinnertime,” Jeff said cheerfully as he plopped down Styrofoam dinner cartons. “T-Bones, loaded baked potatoes, garden salad, carrots, and peas. Rolls, apple pie, and coffee. Your pay,” he said placing sealed envelopes, each with a name on the front of the envelope, on the long folding table that doubled as a desk and catchall. “Dig in, guys.”

Jeff distanced himself from his employees to sit on a wooden crate across the room. From time to time he looked up to see how the crew was progressing. The moment he saw the men and women toss the throw away dinnerware into a barrel that served as a trash container, he walked over. In his hand was a thick envelope full of cash. There was no name on the front. “So, who gets the prize?” When there was no response to his question, Jeff repeated his question, a definite edge in his voice.

A frizzy-haired young woman with owlish glasses spoke, the same edge in her voice. “No one in particular. We took a vote and will split the . . . prize.”

“What that says to me is none of you are smart enough to do this project on your own. You've been depending on one another since we started. Teamwork is commendable. Split it. It makes me no never mind. Are we ready to wrap this up?”

The same frizzy-haired woman spoke. “We want more money.”

“I bet you do. So do I. Guess what, you aren't getting it. We had a deal. Now, let's see the prototype.” When no one moved to do his bidding, Jeff said, “How much more?”

“Fifty thousand each.”

Jeff shrugged. “Okay. Where's the prototype?”

“Where's the money?”

Jeff opened his attaché case. He'd known it would come down to this and was prepared. The envelopes were sealed, his workers' names scrawled on the front. He pushed them across the table and watched through narrowed eyes as they were opened, the currency counted.

A loose-jointed individual with two Ph.Ds., one in engineering and one in mathematics, bent over to lift a heavy carton onto the folding table. Thick binders and loose-leaf notebooks were placed next to the carton. “The specifications,” he said. Lassiter nodded.

“We're leaving. You got what you paid for.”

“You were well compensated,” Lassiter said.

“Yes.”

“You're dismissed. Let's have a test run here.”

“You read the instructions on page one and you pull the lever,” someone called over their shoulder.

“This thing weighs a ton. How about carrying it out to my car.”

“That's not our job,” the Ph.D. said.

“Asshole,” Jeff said under his breath.

Jeff thought he heard the frizzy-haired woman say, “It takes one to know one.”

Oh, well, one way or another, he'd get the prototype to his car. His next stop, Atlantic City, where he would peddle his Holy Grail to the highest bidder. On the other hand, Monte Carlo had a nice ring to it. He swayed dizzily when he thought of the millions of dollars that were within his grasp. He sat down on one of the stools to leaf through the specifications. The basic allure was the intermittent reward system that would allow a person to win enough to stay hooked—but not on a predictable schedule. That was good, he'd asked for this. Jeff flipped the page, mumbling as he did so. This prototype had the ability to become harder as the player's skill increased, making it even more addictive. Designed to keep people fascinated—to keep them playing.

Jeff continued to peruse the specs, grinning as he did so. What he had in front of him was worth every cent he'd paid out. Time to pack up his future and head on out. He wouldn't be sorry to shake the dust from this town off his shoes.

Jeff whistled. He had it all now, the ultimate gambling machine, the Thornton name, a fortune in cold hard cash—and one small niggling worry. It had been too easy to walk away with all that cold hard cash. Somewhere along the way, one or two of the owners should have kicked up a fuss. It was all just a little too easy. He started to sweat.