Poor Little Bitch Girl (35 page)

T
o say I was furious would be putting it mildly. More humiliated, mortified and degraded. How could I have allowed myself to be caught in such a shocking trap?

I am no prude, but a threesome, without my knowledge?
No! No! No!
Another woman sneaked into the bedroom by Mario – my knight in very tarnished armor?
I think not.

What a douche! What an asshole! How could I have ever liked him? Me, who has always considered myself to be an excellent judge of character.

And guess who the third wheel was?

Yes, you guessed right – Hollywood Blonde herself,
sans
True Religion jeans and lacy top. Lots of blonde hair on her head, and nothing down below. Men like them fully shaved in Hollywood – that way, they can pretend they’re screwing a twelve year old!

Once I realized the situation, I was out of there in a flash. Racing from the bedroom I grabbed my clothes off the living-room floor, and dashed out the front door, a naked Mario in full pursuit, yelling, “Come back! What’s up, baby? I thought you’d be into some harmless fun.”

Harmless fun! Was he kidding me?

Harmless fun with Hollywood Blonde or any other female for that matter was simply not my scene.

I made it to my car and drove off with a still-naked Mario running alongside hammering on the passenger window. Once home I stood under the shower for a good ten minutes trying to wash all memories of Mario’s trickery away.

Now it’s Wednesday morning and I am still pissed. I felt like I’d been made a fool of – and I also felt violated and super-dumb for allowing it to happen. The clue should’ve been Mario coming back to bed without telling me who was at the door. And silly me – for some reason I didn’t press him to find out. God! How stupid could I get?

After taking another long shower I threw on a comfortable tracksuit, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and
sans
make-up, ran an eager-for-activity Amy Winehouse around the block a couple of times.

Amy’s tail began wagging as soon as we headed back to my apartment.

I quickly discovered there was a reason: my loving ex, Josh, was lurking outside. Exactly who I
didn’t
need to see, especially as I was not dressed for an old boyfriend confrontation.

Josh was balancing two Starbucks containers of coffee, and a bag of bagels, and he obviously had every intention of coming in.

Amy Winehouse leaped on him, full of doggie excitement. I threw him a stony look.

“Hi,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” I responded curtly, deciding that I didn’t even care that he was seeing me in my make-up-less state.

He handed me a coffee. “Peace-offering,” he said, going for the friendly approach. “I was out of line taking Amy, and I wanted to apologize.”

Josh always had perfect timing.
Not
.

“Can I come in?” he asked, bending down to pet Amy.

“Actually,” I began, making a show of consulting my watch, “I need to get ready. I’m running late.”

“Five minutes,” he implored. “That’s all I ask.”

I weakened. Not that I wanted Josh to come in, but I have this stupid thing about hurting people’s feelings, and he
had
brought me coffee. Besides, I could quite fancy a toasted bagel before facing the rest of the day.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Five minutes only.”

“She’s a hard woman,” Josh said, going for his jokey voice which did not impress me.

We headed into my apartment – once
our
apartment.

I indicated the paper bag. “Bagels?” I questioned.

“From your favorite place,” he said, quite pleased with himself. “Shall I do the toasting honors?”

“Go ahead,” I said, suddenly feeling tired and weary. I had no clue why Josh was visiting, and frankly I didn’t care.

Josh went behind the counter that divided my living room from the kitchen area, and popped two bagels into the toaster.

“You bought a house,” I stated blankly, sitting down at the counter.

“What did you think of it?” he asked cheerfully, as if we were the best of friends.

“Very nice. Lucky you,” I said, unable to keep the venom out of my tone, because what I really wanted to say was –
You bought a house without me, and that’s not fair.

“It’s a sound investment,” Josh remarked. “Especially in this economy.”

“Why? Are you getting married?” I asked in full bitchy mode.

“No way,” he said vehemently. “Tori and I, we’re merely temporary.”

Tori. Of course!

“Does
she
know that?” I asked, mildly curious to find out if he was stringing her along.

Josh decided to ignore my question. Typical Josh. He extracted the bagels from the toaster, slightly burned, exactly the way he knew I liked them. After spreading butter on mine, he put it on a plate and handed it to me.

This was just like old times. If it was Sunday we’d be reaching for the
New York Times
by now and settling in for a long leisurely read.

But it’s not Sunday, it’s Wednesday, and I have a ton of stuff to get done. Besides, Josh and I are no longer together, so what the hell is he doing in my apartment?

“You look great,” he said, scratching his chin while he eyed me up and down. “Have you lost weight?”

Was he saying that last time he saw me I was
fat
?
Sonofabitch!

“No,” I answered shortly, thinking that he’d definitely put on a few pounds. “Still the same old me.”

“The same old
beautiful
you,” he said, with a strong emphasis on the beautiful.

Man, what was it with the compliments lately? Getting laid definitely sends out mad signals.

I munched my bagel, sipped my coffee, then said, “Thanks for coming by, Josh, but I really do have to get going.”

“Yes, sure,” he said obligingly, before adding a slightly tentative – “We should do this again, right?”

Wrong!
But I nodded anyway.

Later, at the office, I wished I’d told him to screw off. He had a lot of nerve, dropping by my apartment without an invitation. Who exactly did he think he was?

Megan knocked on my office door and entered bearing a huge vase of red roses.

“Somebody likes you,” she sing-songed, placing the roses on my desk. “And Mr Saunders has requested your presence, pronto.”

I grabbed the note attached to the roses.

Yeah, right.

Then I checked my cell for the fifth time to see if Carolyn had replied to my text. She hadn’t. Nor was she answering her phone, and when I’d tried her office earlier they’d informed me that she had not come in. I wondered if she knew about George and Gemma. She’d always been close to her father – maybe he’d confided in her.

Hmm, I had to give Mister Shark Teeth the name of the man in the photo with Gemma. No more holding back, it was full-disclosure time.

* * *

Felix was sitting behind his massive desk, a grim expression on his pointy face, lizard-clad feet up on his desk. Today the lizard shoes were dyed a bright shocking pink, so wrong for the workplace.

Before I could say a word he tossed a tabloid magazine across his desk and said, “Have you seen this?”

I picked up the copy of
Truth & Fact
and took a look. The headline was enough to horrify me.

And next to the headline was a photo of Annabelle wearing a slinky evening dress and a seductive expression.

My mouth must have dropped open, because Mister Shark Teeth said, “I presume you did not know about this?”

He presumed right. I was in total shock.

“Uh . . . no,” I managed.

“Weren’t you with them in New York?” he asked accusingly, like in the short time I’d spent with them I should have found out everything. I mean, I’m smart, but not
that
smart.

“Yes, in time to pick them up and take them to the airport,” I explained. “I hardly spent a week or two hanging out with them, so how on earth would I know about their so-called business?”

“A good lawyer knows everything,” Felix said, shooting me a critical look.

A good lawyer should not wear shocking-pink lizard shoes. It’s totally wrong. Besides, the color hurts my eyes.

“Sorry that my private detective skills are not quite up to par,” I said snippily. “However, I do have the name of the man in the Malibu photos with Gemma Maestro.”

This perked Mister Shark Teeth’s interest. “You do?” he said, tapping his gleaming front teeth with a long thin index finger.

“His name is George Henderson,” I continued. “He’s a plastic surgeon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” I answered confidently. “Actually he’s the father of a friend of mine, Carolyn Henderson. Carolyn, me and Annabelle all went to the same high school together.”

“Seems you know everyone,” Felix said, his tone caustic.

“Well, I’ve lived here since I’m eleven.”

“Anyway,” Felix said, removing his feet from the desk, “Ralph is expecting us. He’ll want damage control on this tabloid nonsense. And let’s see exactly how much he knows about George Henderson.”

“Are you thinking that I should come with you?” I asked, willing him to say no.

Naturally he didn’t. My damn luck.

So, Maestro mansion, here I come – again!

All I needed was Mario hanging around outside and once again my day would be perfect.

A
fter enduring a long and restless night listening to the pouring rain outside, and feeling desperate about the situation she was caught in, Carolyn wasn’t sure whether she’d actually slept or not. Her stomach ached badly, and she was beginning to be concerned for the welfare of her baby.

Light was peeking through the torn covering on the window, so she assumed it must be morning.

She started thinking about the girl who’d brought her the bread and water the night before. The girl wasn’t doing this alone; there was a man involved, a man who didn’t want her to see his face. After the girl had blindfolded her, the man had taken her to the bathroom and stood there while she’d urinated. Another humiliation.

Who were these people? And even more important – what did they want with her?

Awash with waves of deep despair, Carolyn attempted to think more clearly and work out a timeline. She’d knew she’d been taken early afternoon on Tuesday, and after that she’d been driven around stuffed in the trunk of a car for endless hours. A couple of times she must have passed out, for when she awoke she was lying on this filthy bed, with her right wrist tied to the bedframe with strong electrical cord.

Now it had to be Wednesday, so people should be missing her. Kerri would know something was wrong when she’d failed to pick up Nellie’s meds and then not met her for breakfast. Muriel would surely be suspicious when she didn’t come into the office. And as for Gregory . . .

She wondered what he was doing, thinking.

When he’d turned up to meet her at the deserted gas station and she wasn’t there, what was his reaction?

It all depended on whether her car was still there. If they’d abandoned her car, and she wasn’t in it, then he had to know that something was horribly wrong, and surely he would have immediately called the police?

Or would he?

* * *

Benito spent Tuesday night sleeping in his chair in front of the TV, while Rosa curled up on a beaten-up old couch. She’d tried to go home, but Benito was having none of it. “Yo! You’re stayin’ here,” he’d yelled at her in a threatening fashion. “An’ don’ go givin’ me no shit.”