Poor Little Bitch Girl (21 page)

“Do I look like a guy who’d give you a substitute?”

“No,” I said, sitting down on a stool, watching him flip a pancake.

“Then relax and enjoy,” he said, transferring the pancake to a plate and handing it to me, following up with a glass bottle of organic maple syrup – the expensive kind. No Aunt Jemima for him.

I poured on the syrup and took a bite. “Delicious!” I exclaimed. “Who taught you to be such a whizz in the kitchen?”

“Remember the bitch fiancée I was telling you about . . .”

“You’re kidding?”

“She was –
is
– a professional chef.”

“Well, at least she left you with something.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Not at all,” he said easily. “I’m a great believer in things happen for a reason, and if I was still with her I wouldn’t be spending the morning with a refreshingly bright and beautiful L.A.-based attorney.”

Hmm . . . that’s the second time he’s called me beautiful. Flattery will definitely get him wherever he wants to go.

“You’re pretty free with the compliments,” I remarked, gulping down my orange juice – which was indeed freshly squeezed.

“Only when they’re deserved,” he said, flipping a second pancake onto my plate.

“Are you trying to make me fat?” I joked. “I’m already enormous by L.A. standards.”

“You have an incredible body,” he said.

Wow! The compliments were coming fast and furious. Enough already.

“Do you mind if we put on the TV?” I said quickly. “I need to see what’s happening with the Maestro case.”

He handed me the clicker. “Go ahead.”

The Today Show
was all over it. Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann were in the middle of one of their group discussions. The theme was Hollywood justice. The question was – how come celebrities always manage to walk? They didn’t mention Ralph by name, but the implication was, it was a big possibility that he could’ve done it.

“Give me your cell phone,” Sam said, leaning over me.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m putting all my information in it so you’ll have no excuse not to stay in touch.”

I couldn’t think of a good reason to object. Besides, I wanted all his various forms of communication – address, cell, home phone, e-mail. I’d just spent the night with the guy, so why not?

Obediently I handed him my phone, and in return he handed me his. Obviously it’s the latest form of intimacy – downloading all your information into someone else’s cell phone.

“So . . .” I ventured, “I’ll be going soon.”

“I have something for you,” he said.

Oh dear me, I hope it’s not payment for our night of lust. How humiliating would that be if he thought I was a hooker masquerading as a lawyer!

Did I mention that I have a very active imagination?

“What is it?” I asked tentatively.

“No arguments,” he said, reaching down and handing me his knit cap and striped scarf.

“Wow!” I managed, graciously accepting his gift.

“At least it’ll keep you warm on your way to the airport.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I said, quite touched that he was concerned about my welfare. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

He grinned, crooked teeth fully on display. “Don’t mention it,” he said, before leaning over again and giving me a warm hug.

I reached up and hugged him back, inhaling his masculine scent and quite loving it.

What a shame he doesn’t live in L.A. This could be the start of something . . .

Or not.

W
aking up lying on an unmade bed in an unfamiliar room, Senator Gregory Stoneman struggled to remember where he was and what exactly had taken place. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. Jesus Christ! Had he been
shot
? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital? What the
hell
was going on?

His head was throbbing as he attempted to sit up and get his bearings.

A scowling but pretty young girl in cut-off jeans and a tight orange tank-top loomed into view, gazed down at him and yelled over her shoulder, “Yo – Benito! The old dude’s awake.”

Benito, the energetic Latino male with the red bandanna cutting a swathe across his forehead, sprang into the room.

“Yo, man,” Benito muttered, wild eyes darting around like a caged rat. “You had some kinda shit-ass fall. We took you in so’s we could help.”

“What are you talking about?” Gregory said, reaching up to examine the side of his head with his hand. His temple felt sore, rough to the touch, and extremely tender. “I didn’t fall,” he said, filled with a sudden flash of anger. “If I recall correctly, somebody took a shot at me.”

“Accident, man,” Benito said, shifting on his colorful sneakers. “Bullet skimmed past – you got nothin’ but a dumb-ass graze.”

“Excuse me?” Gregory said, his fury building.

“Listen, man – nobody want trouble, an’ you don’t want no bad publicity up in yo shit, that’s why we help you.”

“You didn’t
help
me,” Gregory said outraged, sitting up all the way. “It was no doubt
you
who shot me. I’m calling the police.”

“Told ya,” the scowling girl brayed triumphantly. “He gonna turn yo mothafuckin’ ass in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Benito snarled, turning on her. “He ain’t callin’ no fuckhead cops.”

“Why am I here?” Gregory demanded. “Why didn’t you take me straight to the Emergency Room?”

“’Cuz I tole ya – you ain’t got nothin’ but a scratch,” Benito explained. “You one lucky sombitch. Gun went off by accident. But if the cops get a smell, I go back inside, an’ I ain’t goin’ back again ’cause a some dumb-fuck accident. You unnerstan’?”

“No,” Gregory said grimly. “I certainly do not understand.”

Benito bounced around on the balls of his feet. The large gold medallion sitting on his chest began flying across his baggy T-shirt.

“
Accident
, man,” he repeated, taking a reassuring grope of his crotch. “Ya gotta unnerstan’. I did you bad, now you be here, an’ I be puttin’ it t’you like I’m sorry, that kinda shit. An’ anythin’ you want me t’do – anythin’ – then we gonna be even.”

Suddenly Gregory felt everything fall into place. He understood. He got it.

God had heard his pleas for help and handed him the solution to his biggest problem of all.

Benito was standing before him. His savior.

* * *

Most people dreaded going to work on a Monday morning since it signaled the end of the weekend, and five long working days loomed ahead. Carolyn, however, couldn’t wait. To her, Monday morning meant five exciting days working in close proximity to Senator Gregory Stoneman.
Her
Senator Gregory Stoneman, because soon he would be all hers.

She couldn’t help wondering if he’d told Evelyn yet. Had the opportunity arisen? And if not, why not? The time had come for him to quit with the weak excuses. The time had come for him to be strong and stand up to Evelyn once and for all. That’s exactly what he’d promised to do.

She was smiling as she entered the office. She greeted Gregory’s newest male intern, and nodded at his other executive assistant, Muriel – an older woman who took care of arranging his speaking engagements and social events.

“Morning, everyone,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day?”

Muriel, drab in a sludge-brown pantsuit that emphasized her pear-shaped figure – glanced at her as if she was out of her mind. “It’s actually extremely cold,” Muriel said, tight-lipped. “And this afternoon the weather forecast calls for rain and maybe even snow.”

“Ah yes,” Carolyn answered cheerily. “But right now the sun is peeking through the clouds, and later, if we’re lucky, we might see a rainbow.”

“Always the optimist,” Muriel said, making optimist sound like a dirty word.

There was not much love lost between the two women. Muriel had worked for the Senator for ten years, and when Carolyn had come aboard, she’d felt slighted. Muriel had always resented Carolyn, especially when she’d begun to suspect that there was more than a professional relationship between “the new girl” as she always referred to Carolyn, and her boss, the esteemed Senator.

“Senator Stoneman will not be in this morning,” Muriel said, delighted that it was
she
imparting the information and not Carolyn telling her.

“What do you mean he won’t be in?” Carolyn asked, the smile slipping from her face. “How do you know?”

“Mrs Stoneman called me at home.”

“And said what?” Carolyn asked, her mind racing in all directions.

“She told me that he won’t be in until this afternoon.”

“Why did she call
you
?”

“Is there a problem with that?” Muriel snapped, stretching her scrawny neck.

“Uh . . . no,” Carolyn said. “I simply wondered why she didn’t call me.”

“I’ve known the Senator’s wife for many years,” Muriel replied with a superior smirk. “We often speak on the phone.”

“That’s – uh – fine,” Carolyn said, determined not to let the fact that she was ruffled show. “Did she give you a reason why the Senator is coming in late?”

“No,” Muriel said, satisfied that she’d ruined the “new girl’s” day. “I’ve already cancelled all his morning and noon appointments, no need for you to bother.”

Furious that Muriel had taken it upon herself to cancel appointments that she should have been dealing with, Carolyn retreated to her small but pleasant office.

Had Gregory told Evelyn, and that’s why he wasn’t coming in until later? It was a possibility. Evelyn might be hysterical, so it stood to reason that he was busy handling the situation. Perhaps they were already meeting with a divorce lawyer.

Experiencing a shiver of excitement, Carolyn decided that Gregory had finally done it, she was sure. After their talk on Saturday when she’d revealed that she was pregnant, he’d obviously realized that it was time to take action. There could be no more stalling.

Good for Gregory. She couldn’t wait to see him.

* * *

Late Sunday afternoon, Gregory had returned home with a plaster covering his grazed temple and a raging headache. Evelyn was in the living room entertaining several of her women friends to a game of canasta. She’d hardly looked up when Gregory had walked into the house. Later on, she’d noticed the plaster, and with an extreme lack of interest had asked him what had happened.

“Ran into a door at that damn slum you sent me to,” he’d said shortly, and that was that. She hadn’t even bothered to inquire what had transpired between him and Ramirez.

That night he’d hardly slept. His mind was on high alert, wondering if the scenario he’d arranged with Ramirez’s brother Benito would work. It was a crazy insane plan that he’d come up with and he knew it. But had Carolyn given him any choice?

No.

Carolyn was determined to ruin and shatter his life; she’d forced him to fight back. It wasn’t his fault, it was all hers.

Benito. A young Latino man with criminal tendencies. A drug dealer who’d been in and out of juvenile hall and then prison from the age of fourteen. A desperate man, for if Benito was accused of shooting at a Senator, they would surely throw the book at him, lock him away for a long, long time. There was the matter of a kidnapping too. Instead of taking him to a hospital or the Emergency Room, Benito had bundled him into his wreck of a car and transported him to the rundown condemned house he called home.

Yes, that was kidnapping all right – a federal offense.

The truth was that Benito had not been shooting at him at all. As Benito was leaving the community center, a car full of rival gang members had driven by, spotted him and started shooting. Benito had immediately retaliated, hence the stray bullet that had whizzed past Gregory’s head.

Gregory was well aware that had it been a direct hit he would’ve been killed. Just like that. Gone in seconds.

But it wasn’t a direct hit. And as it turned out, it was a fortuitous happening. A happening of which he planned on taking full advantage.