Hollywood Kids (11 page)

'Yes, you can,' Kennedy replied. 'I suggest you find out where he is and ask him.'

Elspeth gave a put-upon sigh and made a couple of phone calls. 'Apparently his assistant thought the interview was Monday,' she said brusquely. 'He's in Palm Springs.'

'Oh, great,' Kennedy said, waiting for an apology.

The woman didn't say a word. Picking up her copy of a Chanel purse she hurried to the door.

Kennedy got up and followed her. 'That's it, then? No Bobby Rush today?'

'I told you,' Elspeth said, irritated at having to repeat herself. 'He's in Palm Springs. Be here on Monday at ten.' Clutching her fake Chanel she walked out without waiting for a reply.

Unbelievably rude, Kennedy thought. There was nothing worse than a publicist who thought they were as important as the star they looked after. Bobby Rush must be stupid to employ such a person.

The day loomed ahead of her with nothing planned, and that really annoyed her, because she prided herself on being totally organized at all times. Phil used to call her queen of the lists - everything written down in an orderly fashion. He might have laughed at her organizational skills, but they'd sure accomplished a lot in their years together covering the world. They'd earned respect and kudos from the journalistic community
and
had a wonderful time. Now she was doing interviews with two-bit actors who couldn't even be bothered to turn up.

Damn Mason, he'd dangled the bait and she'd jumped. What the hell had happened to all her journalistic integrity?

Furious with herself, she left the office determined to talk to Mason and see if she could get Bobby Rush's cover dumped.

She marched down the corridor, buzzed the elevator and waited impatiently. Somebody had it stalled on the ground floor because nothing happened. After a few moments she banged on the doors sending an impatient message from the second floor. Of course she could have walked down the stairs but why should she? The way things were going she'd probably trip and break her neck.

Just as she was about to hammer again, the elevator arrived, the doors opened and a man in running shorts, a cut-off T-shirt and a baseball cap stepped out. 'Sorry,' he said pleasantly. 'Did I keep you waiting?'

'Yes,' she replied, taking her bad mood out on him.

'You know what it's like,' he said, smiling disarmingly. 'Some guy grabbed me downstairs and I couldn't close the doors and I couldn't get out.'

'You should've gotten out,' she said frostily.

As she spoke the door of the elevator closed again and the elevator took off.

'Damn!' she exclaimed.

'Sorry,' he said apologetically. 'Are you running late?'

'It's not my day,' she replied, with a rueful shake of her head. 'I had an appointment with Bobby Rush and he failed to show.'

'You're here for the interview?'

That's right.'

'Then come on in, we can do it now.'

'Mr
Rush
is in Palm Springs,' she said sarcastically. 'Mr
Rush
is too busy to do an interview today.'

'Hey,' he said, grinning. 'Mr Rush is standing right here, and I am in desperate need of an assistant, so let's go.'

She raised an eyebrow. '
'You're
Bobby Rush?'

His grin widened. 'Guilty.'

'I didn't recognize you,' she said, stating the obvious.

It was quite apparent that he likewise had no idea who she was or the real reason she was there.

He was already on his way to his office. Turning around he beckoned her. 'Come on,' he said, with an encouraging wink, 'you can make coffee while I shower.'

Oh, great, the little woman makes coffee, and the big man takes a shower. What a chauvinist! Was he going to come on to her, too? Sexual harassment would be a bonus.

Her adrenalin began to pump. This story had possibilities.

'I gave everybody the day off,' he explained, as she followed him into his office. 'Monday we start pre-production on my movie, they won't get another free day until we finish.'

'What movie is that?' she asked.

'
Thriller Eyes
,' he said. 'If you get the job you can read the script.'

Lucky me, she thought, as they moved through the outer office into his private domain.

Gesturing to a small bar he said, 'Coffee's in the fridge, coffee machine's over there. I take it black, no sugar.' He opened a side door and she caught a glimpse of his bathroom as he walked in. Hmm... what could be better than interviewing Bobby Rush when he thought
he
was interviewing
her
.

She looked around his office - it was light and airy, furnished in minimalist style. There were movie posters on the walls, a stack of scripts on his desk, and nothing much else of interest.

Opening the small fridge, she took out a packet of ground coffee and shook the right amount into the machine.

Over the sound of the shower she heard a knock from the outer office. She went into the other room and opened the door.

An earnest young woman wearing owl-shaped glasses stood there. 'Hi,' the young woman said, 'I'm Jenny Scott. I'm here for the interview with Mr Rush.'

'Oh, Jenny,' Kennedy said, feeling guilty - but a story was a story and she was on a roll. 'Mr Rush isn't available today. Can you be here Monday at ten?'

Well, yes...' Jenny said unsurely. 'But I was told it was kind of urgent.'

'Not that urgent,' Kennedy said crisply. 'Come back on Monday, he'll be happy to see you then.'

The young woman left and she went back to the coffee machine, poured two mugs of black coffee with no sugar and sat down on the other side of his modern glass and chrome desk.

Bobby emerged a few minutes later clad in faded jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt and a big grin. His dirty blond hair was wet and curly. 'Jeez, that feels better,' he said. 'The only problem is I'm starving. How about walking over to the commissary?'

'Sure,' she said, deciding he was much better looking in person than on the big screen. He had these penetrating clear blue eyes and a certain energy about him. Sexually attractive definitely.

Who cared? Maybe her readers would.

'OK, let's go,' he said, already out the door.

She trailed him from the building, checking him out from behind. He had a confident walk and a tight butt.

Hmm... very nice...

Once outside, he covered his blue eyes with dark shades. She did the same.

'So,' he said, as they strolled over to the commissary. 'I was expecting someone younger. This job is for a gofer, a kid who's prepared to do a lot of running around for me. You look like you passed that stage in your career.'

'It's something to do,' she replied.

He lifted his glasses and pinned her with his intense eyes. 'Something to do for fun, huh?'

That's right,' she said, refusing to be sucked in by his movie-star charm.

'I'm very demanding,' he said, watching her closely.

'I'm sure you are.'

What I'm trying to say is, it may be fun for you, but I expect the person I hire to be there at all times of the day and night.'

'Day
and
night?' she asked quizzically.

'You get to go home to sleep.'

'How reassuring.'

'What was your last job?' he asked.

'I worked for a magazine in New York.'

'Hey,' he began to laugh, 'you're not going to hand me your unfinished screenplay, are you?'

'No, Mr Rush, I can assure you I'm not.'

'Call me Bobby.'

They entered the commissary. Bobby waved to several people as they made their way to his usual table.

As soon as they sat down a middle-aged waitress was all over him. 'Hello, Bobby. Are we baconing and egging it today, or is it the fruit thing?'

'The fruit thing, sweetheart,' he said, patting his washboard stomach. 'Gotta watch those rolls of fat.'

The waitress giggled. 'Not to worry, Bobby. If
you
don't watch 'em, every other woman in America will.'

'Hey, who cares about other women when you're around, Mavis,' he said, giving her a friendly pat on the ass.

More giggles from the waitress who was old enough to know better.

He picked up a menu. 'What'll you have?' he asked Kennedy.

'An orange juice will do nicely,' she replied.

'No muffins? No bacon and eggs?'

'Tell me, uh... Bobby, do you always buy breakfast for the people you interview?'

Now he was definitely coming on to her. 'Only when they're as beautiful as you,' he said, fixing her once again with the baby blues. 'What did you say your name was?'

Halfway down the freeway it occurred to Michael that he hadn't been thorough enough in searching through Rita's dirty laundry. All he'd done was tip it on the floor, taken a cursory poke through it, and then stuffed it back in the bag. But Rita was devious and he knew it. Something told him to turn the car around and take another look.

Driving off at the next ramp he headed back to her place.

When he arrived, Lily was leaning from her window.

'You remember anything yet, Lily?' he called up to her.

'Still thinking, Mister Cop,' she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes.

'Don't forget, if you come up with anything at all you've got my number.'

He entered Rita's apartment, went straight to the laundry bag, once again tipped everything on to the floor, and started a more methodical search. She sure was into lingerie - there were lacy bras, skimpy teddies, and a variety of other delicate little items. It brought back all the memories. When the sex was good it was very good.

Picking up a pair of black pantihose he noticed something stuffed in the foot. Investigating further, he discovered three Polaroids and a slip of paper with a name and a number written on it.

He checked out the Polaroids first. They were standard Rita, she'd always gotten off on having fun with a camera. In the first photo she wore nothing but a smile, a black lace garterbelt and roll-up stockings. The second one showed her minus the garter-belt, smile firmly in place. And the third was of a greasy-looking man with an enormous hard-on pointed straight at the camera.

Michael quickly read the scrawl on the piece of paper, recognizing Rita's bad handwriting. Heron Jones, she'd written. Club Erotica.

Pocketing the information, he threw the clothes back into the laundry bag, dumped it on the bathroom floor and hurried from the apartment.

Bobby Rush felt good, breakfast with a beautiful woman did it for him every time. He'd enjoyed meeting Kennedy Chase, even though she wasn't right for the job, she sure was something.

He'd walked her to her car from the commissary. '
'You're
the one should have been doing the talking, not me,' he'd said with a rueful smile.

'Really?'

'That's usually the way it goes. I was supposed to be interviewing
you
, and you ended up asking all the questions.'

'That's because I like to know what I'm getting into.'

Well, you sure found out. I think I told you my life story.'

'It was interesting.'

'Uh, Kennedy, I'll be honest with you. You're way too qualified for this job.'

'You have no idea what my qualifications are.'

'No, but I bet they're first rate.'

She'd laughed. Great laugh, very throaty. 'That sounds like one of those breakup lines where the guy says "You're too good for me, so I have to go find someone new." '

He'd laughed too. 'I have to admit I've used that one a couple of times.'

'So you're into using lines?'

'Isn't everyone?'

'I'm not.'

That makes you very unusual.'

He'd watched her drive off. Classy lady. He'd give it a day, send her flowers, maybe take her on a date, get laid.

Ha! He was starting to think like his father. God forbid!

Get laid, huh? It had been quite some time. Getting laid was not what it used to be. AIDS was out there now and casual sex was a thing of the past.

He was well aware that just because he was a movie star he could have almost anyone he wanted. But today that didn't mean shit.

He was on edge. Tonight was the big night - dinner with Jerry. Darla had insisted the reunion take place at the family mansion with both his brothers and their wives present. Great, and he didn't have a date. Maybe it was just as well - this way Jerry couldn't put a move on whomever he was with.

He was apprehensive about seeing his father after all these years, although deep down he was hopeful that Jerry might have changed, that maybe he'd tell him he was proud of him and all his achievements. Wouldn't it be something to hear that from his old man?

Dream on. Jerry is a selfish sonofabitch, he's always been a selfish sonofabitch. Why would he change?

'Are we going to Cheryl's party?' Shep asked, pottering around his tiny neat kitchen.

'Why?' Jordanna replied, biting into an apple as she sat at the counter flicking through the pages of
L.A. Weekly
.

'It might be amusing.'

She put down the newspaper. 'Amusing to mix with a room full of hookers? I don't think so.'

'Come on, Jordy, you used to be adventurous.'

'You go if you want, but the thought of going to a party at Cheryl's while she pursues her new career as
the
Hollywood madam is not my idea of a fun night out.'

'OK, OK,' Shep said. 'Let's meet later at Homebase.'

'You got it,' Jordanna replied. She'd spent a restless day thinking about Cheryl's revelations and wondering if she should tell Jordan. After all, if Kim used to be a working girl, surely her father was entitled to know?

Maybe I'll tell him.

Maybe not. You want him to be even more pissed at you?

I don't care.

Oh, yes, you do.

She called an actor friend of hers who was fun to be with and always had a great supply of pot. Wanna cruise the clubs tonight?' she asked hopefully.

'I've got a new girlfriend,' he said.

'Bring her along - I don't care.'

'Sure,
you
don't care, but
she
probably will.'