Poor Little Bitch Girl (52 page)

There was a terse message from Felix, obviously sent by his assistant because no one over the age of fifty has any clue how to text –
I am very disappointed in you, Denver. Work should always come first.

Screw you, Mister Shark Teeth. As far as I’m concerned, personal emergencies will always take first place.

I contemplated sending him that message. Then I thought,
Why bother?
I’d definitely decided it was time to move on.

Bobby’s phone vibrated and he hurriedly answered the call. After talking for a few moments, he clicked his fingers for the check.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Instead of sitting around waiting, I have a plan.”

C
arolyn soon discovered that if you had the look of a homeless person, you were regarded as invisible. The few people on the street, scurrying about their business, went out of their way to avoid her. They either crossed the street or hurried on by, pretending she didn’t exist.

She knew she must be a frightening sight. She was filthy, with matted hair, her clothes coated with mud, no shoes. She presented a pathetic figure, limping barefoot along the street.

A couple of drunks, sitting against a graffiti-decorated wall, shouted lewd insults at her as she passed by. A gaggle of kids heading for school jeered and laughed in her face. One of the boys picked up a large stone and threw it, hitting her on the forehead, drawing blood.

She quickly ducked into another doorway and took refuge.

When was somebody –
anybody
– going to help her?

* * *

“Good morning,” Gregory said, entering the community center. He was disgusted at what he was being forced to deal with. Most of all he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to hear what Ramirez had to say. He already knew that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it.

Ramirez was sitting at an old wooden table scribbling notes with a pencil in a dime-store notebook. He glanced up. “You’re early, Senator,” he remarked.

“Got a lot to do today,” Gregory answered, thinking,
Let’s get right to it, you blackmailing son of a bitch.

“Pull up a chair,” Ramirez said. “Sorry the coffee machine is broken. Nothin’ to offer you. That’s the way it goes around here.”

“Perfectly all right,” Gregory said. He sat down and stared at Ramirez. “What exactly can I do for you?” he asked.

“It’s about my brother,” Ramirez began, putting down his pencil.

Yes
, Gregory thought,
I’m sure it is.
Then he waited for Ramirez to tell him that unfortunately Benito had gone too far with Carolyn, and now that she was dead, he’d better be prepared to pay up, because it was all due to his devious plan.

“He’s in big trouble,” Ramirez continued, his long pockmarked face quite somber.

“And how exactly can I help?” Gregory asked, playing along.

“My brother is a target,” Ramirez said. “He refuses to listen to me. But you – a Senator . . . I was thinking if you offered him a job. Maybe you need a gardener, a pool man, someone to do odd jobs. If he could live on the premises, get off the street . . .”

Gregory kept his face expressionless. This was insane. Did Ramirez honestly think he would hire his brother for no good reason? Why would he do that?

“It would only be for a few weeks, a temporary situation, while I take care of the threat.”

“What threat?” Gregory asked hoarsely.

“It’s the usual story,” Ramirez said. “You’d probably call it gang warfare. My brother – Benito – has a girlfriend who had a baby with a member of a rival gang. This
cholo
wishes Benito dead. It’s as simple as that. And if I don’t intervene . . .” Ramirez trailed off.

Benito. Dead. Would that be such a terrible thing? Especially as he’d harmed or maybe even killed Carolyn.

Gregory shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ramirez. I can’t help you with this.”

Ramirez’s eyes were like two steely slits. “Can’t?” he questioned. “Or won’t?”

Gregory felt hostility in the air. He stood up. Now that he was not about to be blackmailed, he needed to get away from this depressing place and forget all about Ramirez and his goddamn brother.

“Can’t, Ramirez,” he said in a tone that invited no response.

Ramirez also stood. “I see,” he said. “But Senator, I must tell you this – if it was a member of
your
family in peril – perhaps one of your lovely children – I would do everything in my power to help you.”

Was there a threat in Ramirez’s words? Was he threatening Gregory’s children?

Goddamn it. Why had Evelyn introduced him to this man? These people were toxic. Evelyn should have known better.

* * *

After a while Carolyn emerged from the doorway where she’d taken shelter. The streets were filling up, people hurrying to work, all of them avoiding her as if she had a communicable disease.

All she needed was enough change to make a phone call, but her pleas for help went unanswered.

* * *

“I’m sorry I cannot assist you,” Gregory said, walking firmly toward the door. He had an urge to get away from Ramirez and this place as fast as possible, especially as the threat of blackmail was no longer looming over him.

Ramirez followed him to the door. “You are a disappointment to me, Senator,” he said. “I thought, like me, you were prepared to help get these kids off the street.”

“Your brother’s not a kid,” Gregory snapped.

Ramirez blinked several times. “And how would you know that?”

Gregory shrugged. “I simply assumed,” he said, opening the door and walking outside.

It had started to rain again and Gregory was annoyed that he’d left his umbrella in the car. He had on his new grey suit, and raindrops would ruin it.

As he started to leave, an unmarked police car pulled up outside, and a plainclothes detective emerged.

Gregory immediately recognized the man as the same detective who’d been at his office asking questions about Carolyn.

What was this all about?

Once more he was filled with dread.

B
obby was a take-charge kind of guy, and since I’m a take-charge kind of girl it could’ve developed into a battle of who’s going to make the decisions. But I was in a weakened state, so whatever Bobby suggested I went along with.

Apparently he’d obtained information about the area where the calls from Carolyn’s cell were coming from. His decision was that we drive around the streets in that part of town, simply to check things out.

Normally I would’ve said,
“What’s the point?”
But since it was a better plan than sitting in a hotel room waiting for news, I went along with it.

Our driver, a friendly guy from Sierra Leone, informed us we were venturing into foreign territory. “You don’t want to leave the car,” he said, puzzled as to why we would consider going there in the first place.

“Not planning to,” Bobby assured him.

But when we were in the thick of the dilapidated and supposedly dangerous neighborhoods, I kept on spotting vacant lots full of overgrown brush and abandoned buildings surrounded by broken fences, and I thought,
Oh my God – what if Carolyn’s dead body is lying out there somewhere? We have to do something.

“Shouldn’t we get out of the car and search?” I said to Bobby.

He looked at me as if I was certifiable. “Search where?” he asked, as we drove by a graffiti-covered wall, a bunch of derelicts huddled against it, hiding from the rain under a makeshift awning of old cardboard boxes.

“I . . . I don’t know. Anywhere, somewhere. There’s all those empty lots. Why aren’t the police here with tracker dogs? Shouldn’t there be search-parties out looking for her?”

“They can’t start searching with nothing to go on,” Bobby said gently.

“Then
we
should do it!” I burst out.

“Hey,” Bobby said, “I know you want to do everything possible, but this is a big city. She could be anywhere.”

I slumped back against the leather seat. “I know,” I said softly. “But doing nothing makes me feel so helpless.”

“You want to go back to the hotel?” Bobby asked, reaching for my hand and squeezing.

I’m not psychic or anything like that, but something told me we should keep looking.

“No,” I said. “Let’s drive around some more.”

S
everal people gave eulogies at Gemma’s funeral. Her longtime agent. A studio head. Her most recent co-star. A celebrated director she’d worked with many times. Her best friend – an older woman who could barely contain her tears. And finally Ralph Maestro himself.

Ralph cut an imposing figure standing at the podium – larger than life in every respect, cleverly concealing his anger regarding the fact that his daughter had dared to put in an appearance with her low-rent boyfriend. The two of them had balls of steel. He was outraged that they’d had the nerve to turn up.

Commonsense prevailed. The press were out in force, so he’d said nothing to Annabelle. At Pip’s urging he had not ignored her. He’d greeted her with a distant kiss on each cheek – Hollywood-style – and walked away to mingle with other mourners.

Ralph spoke about his beautiful wife with great sincerity. His eulogy was touching and gentle. The audience of friends sitting in the neo-Classical Hall of Liberty at Forest Lawn Memorial Park were filled with compassion for this bereaved movie star, destined to be a lonely man.

But of course, this being Hollywood, everyone knew that Ralph Maestro would not be lonely for long. Women were already surmising about who would have first shot at Ralph Maestro. He was a major get.

* * *

“This is an excellent start,” Fanny Bernstein whispered in Frankie’s ear. “Annabelle’s a natural. Did you
see
how our little dollface handled the press?”

Frankie nodded, none too pleased. Yes, he’d seen all right. Who would’ve guessed that Annabelle possessed acting talent? She’d done a fine job of portraying the inconsolable daughter. She’d expertly deflected any questions about the piece in
Truth & Fact
. And the assembled media had fallen in love with her.