Crazy For You

by

Sandra Edwards

***

Crazy For You

Sandra Edwards

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Sandra Edwards

Discover other titles by Sandra Edwards at
Smashwords.com and www.SandraWrites.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This ebook is licensed
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you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and all
characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any
references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious
manner.

***

A rags to riches tale set against the backdrop of the
80s, movie stars, and rock-n-roll.

***

Prologue

1988

New York City

T
he interview wasn’t going
well. Not from Roxanne’s point of view. She knew Lauren Weber’s
reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all.
This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she’d
ever been talked into this.

If Lauren’s guest had anything to hide, she had a
way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had
plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet
and innocent.

This is all Walt’s fault
. Roxanne’s publicist
had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie.
Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the
most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug
for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.

Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against
her better judgment, she’d agreed to let America’s favorite talk
show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne
Simon.

“What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?”
Lauren’s questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.

She didn’t falter at the mention of the ever-popular
rock band. “Well…” Roxanne said, “I don’t know what I could tell
you that you don’t already know.”

“Isn’t it true that you and your sister Candy knew
them when they were nobody?”

“I’ve never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody.”

“Isn’t Frank Garrett the father of your son?”

The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and
whispers.

Roxanne laughed skeptically. “Whatever gave you that
idea?”

“Well, his name
is
Frankie.”

“Frank is my father’s name,” Roxanne said with all
the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under
her belt.

Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew
she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn’t falling for that.
Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.

“Your latest movie,” Lauren said, changing the
subject, “Bad Company was released last week and it’s doing well at
the box office.” She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for
applause. “And rumor has it that it’ll be nominated for multiple
Academy Awards.”

“Well…I think it’s a little early to be supposing
about the Oscars,” Roxanne declared.

“You’re no stranger to the Oscars,” Lauren said.
“You’ve won awards before. Aren’t you getting used to collecting
them by now?”

“I’ll never get so used to it that I’ll take
something like that for granted,” Roxanne said meekly of the
Oscars. “I’m always grateful for any recognition of my work.”

Roxanne was surprised at how cool she’d managed to
remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone.
Territory known for bringing out Roxanne’s weaknesses.

“What’s next?” Lauren’s voice remained casual.

“A vacation,” Roxanne said, and dropped it at that.
The time had not come for the public to know she’d started working
on her autobiography.

“Devoting some time to your son?”

“Yes.”

“Is he here with you?”

Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she
wouldn’t lie. In the past, her lies had had a way of biting her on
the butt. “Yes, he is.”

“Could we bring him out?”

Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully
protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of the child
had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine, but America
was going to get a look at him now.

If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience
would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to
Frank. On the other hand, if she did let him come out, then Frank
might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter. Refusing
to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.

“If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But Ms.
Weber…please understand—” Her tone issued an unmistakable warning.
“I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”

That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a
sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she
thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The
implication would be more than enough.

Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and
climbed into a chair that had been placed between the talk show
host and her guest.

Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

“Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is
Ms. Weber. She wants to talk to you.”

Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say
something.

“Frankie...” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle
persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there
anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”

Frankie nodded.

Lauren pointed to the right. “Just look into the
camera over there, and say whatever you want.”

Frankie peered at the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt
Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a
trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d
say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?”
She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight
into the eye of the camera.

The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see
that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and
child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s
straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues
resembled Roxanne’s unusual eyes shaded the color of purple
violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble his mother at
all.

A
fter filming the show,
Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking
Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at
Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been
thinking.

Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five
years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have
chosen to never set foot in the state again. But Jerry, her
psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she
didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an
extended stay.

Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber
fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had
seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from
getting a firsthand look at him, she had to try.

Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed her
clothes inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her
ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”

“They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of
regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”

“Well, threaten them then.” She cradled the receiver
in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented
and involving Frank, wreaked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll
never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated
with Simon Productions. Ever again.”

“Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were
kind, and draped in a sympathetic tone, but they missed the mark.
“It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks...?” Nothing could lessen that
blow. “Why so soon?”

“Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one
sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole
thing blow over.”

Blow up was more like it. “Okay,” Roxanne agreed in
a defeated tone. She slammed the phone down, but continued to stare
at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down.
“Bitch.”

A Few Days Later

Florida

Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed down the highway. With
the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head
and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her
face.

Approaching Tampa, she checked the radio to see if
she could pick up Y-95. The station had been a favorite of hers.
After a few twists of the dial, the hard-rocking sounds of J Geils
poured out from the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their
wit about how much
Love Stinks
, she said softly, “Boy, does
it ever.”

Ten minutes later, she passed the
Welcome to
Tampa
sign, stirring a familiar excitement within her.
Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But
now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house
probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid
eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.

After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back
to Florida, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was
going to magically appear from out of nowhere that she bought the
house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out,
even though she’d never set foot in the place.

At the intersection of Busch and Armenia, Roxanne
waited for the traffic light to turn green. No matter how good
coming home felt, it had little effect on her mounting dread. If
Frank saw that show, or heard about it, he’d find her no matter
where she was. She could only hope this would be the last place
he’d look.

Roxanne pulled her car into the semicircle driveway
and parked behind Candy’s black Targa. She climbed out, and neither
the humidity nor the heat dissuaded her as she went to the
passenger side and gathered her sleeping son in her arms.

Heading toward the front door of the two-story
wood-trimmed house, she found it even more appealing than she had
when she’d seen it in the photographs. In person, it looked even
more inviting nestled amid tropical trees and plants.

At the door, she was unable to get to her keys and
leaned on the doorbell.

The door opened promptly. “Hi, Jameson.” She felt a
measure of comfort seeing half the husband-and-wife team that’d
been in her employ since right after Frankie’s birth.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Roxanne.” Jameson’s accent
suggested that he knew how to do things properly. And as far as
Roxanne could see, he did. “Shall I take him?”

“Yes, please.” She passed Frankie off to him. “Have
Rose put him to bed,” she said of Jameson’s wife.

“Ms. Candy is out by the pool.”

“Thanks.” She gave Jameson a smile, then darted
through the house and out into the backyard.

Candy was bikini-clad and laid out on a poolside
lounge chair, soaking up the sun. The tropical heat washed over
Roxanne in a thick wave of sweltering moisture as she dropped into
a nearby chair. She’d almost forgotten how unpleasant Florida’s
humidity could be. Candy didn’t move. Roxanne considered that she
might be sleeping and cleared her throat.

Candy’s eyes opened behind her Sun Clouds. After a
moment, she asked, “How’d the interview go?”

An unpleasant feeling devoured Roxanne. Grudgingly,
she admitted, “Not well.”

“So what happened?”

“All she wanted to talk about was
Garrett-Hollander.” Roxanne tried to show as little emotion as
possible, even to Candy.

Candy tipped up her sunglasses and propped them on
her forehead. “That was the subject?”

In the background, one of Garrett-Hollander’s songs
played on the radio sitting on the ground at Candy’s side. Since
Roxanne’s mysterious departure from Frank’s life five years ago,
he’d written many songs about her. Some indicated his hatred for
her, while others simply begged her to come back. There were also
songs alleging that she’d been a hooker. It was one of those songs
that played on Candy’s radio now.

…
I played the fool

I trusted her

But she let me down

Cause while I was away

Roxanne was out selling herself

All over town…