Diva Las Vegas (7 page)

Soon after came husband number one, an Eastern European businessman. And she was off and running. She lived fast and furiously. Although it looked as though her life was glamorous and fabulous, one couldn’t help but think it was all so sad.

Each of her surgeries made her more perfect than the one before, and yet she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t as if she wanted to look like anyone else. She wasn’t having Barbie doll surgeries; she was having procedures that made her just look more, well, Riley. An exaggerated version of herself.

Out by the pool, Riley, clad in a string bikini, was lying on a chaise longue. Her surgically enhanced boobs looked as if they were about to burst, with only the smallest strips covering her nipples.

“Mrs. Peterson, ma’am,” her maid said.

Riley opened her eyes, looked at me from behind rose-colored sunglasses and smiled.

“Alex! I am so happy to see you, girl. How are you?” She stood up and grabbed a robe from the back of the lounge. “Maria, bring Alex a—”

“Iced tea,” I said, quickly.

“Ohhh, good idea! Long Island?” Riley asked.

“I’m working.” I looked at Riley apologetically. “Just regular iced tea, thanks,” I said to Maria.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Riley belted her robe, and then hugged me. Her body was as solid as marble. The skin of her face was as smooth as a baby’s as she pressed her cheek to mine. Her nose was perfect, as were her lips. About the only thing on her that hadn’t been worked on—except for some dye—was her hair, which was long, black, and all hers.

“Pull up a chaise and tell me why you’re here. It’s so wonderful to see you! How’s Sarah?” Riley always got a little wistful when she asked about Sarah. She had everything, but had never had children. She said she didn’t really want them. Maybe that was true. It felt like regret to me, but what did I know?

“She is just so great. Getting so big. She’s in first grade. Loves ballet and she’s surfing now . . .” I was starting to gush, so I stopped myself.

“Well, being a mom certainly agrees with you. You look younger than ever, by the way. I don’t know how you do it without help.” She looked at me closely. “Have you had any help, Alex? Hmmmm?”

“I’m afraid of knives and needles.”

“My two best friends,” she said, and laughed.

“I’m not quite sure where to start,” I said, honestly. “I need to talk to an expert.”

“Regarding what?”

“Plastic surgery.”

“You want the name of my doctor?” she asked, raising her lasered eyebrows.

“No,” I said, “you’re my expert witness.”

“Oh,” she said, understanding. “You want an expert on the other side of the knife. Well, I think you’ve found your girl.”

I often wondered why an intelligent woman felt the need to subject herself to so many surgeries. Riley was smart and she knew it, but she was also insecure. She knew that, too. Weren’t the constant procedures supposed to take care of that? I doubt that they did. The day one of the surgeries improved her self-esteem, I suspect it would be her last.

The maid returned with my iced tea, which I accepted with thanks.

“That’ll be all, Maria.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I sipped my tea and set the glass on the small table next to me.

“What’s going on, Alex?” she asked.

“Shana Stern was killed two days ago,” I said.

“I know. I read about it in the paper.” She hugged herself.

“She invited me to that party. There was something she wanted to tell me. Unfortunately, she never got the chance.”

“That’s very sad. I still don’t know what I can do, though.”

“It’s a long story, but I found these pills with Shana’s name on them.” I took the prescription bottles from my purse and passed them to her.

“I have these in
my
medicine cabinet,” she said.

“For after your surgeries?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Basically, they help with the pain.” She looked at me. “I say
help with
because nothing really works completely.”

She handed them back.

“So you think Shana had plastic surgery? She was a
Playboy
Playmate; that wouldn’t be unusual, would it?”

“I know. I was just wondering,” I said. “What about procedures people don’t hear so much about? I know doctors in Los Angeles and New York, even Mexico, are doing things that mainstream America doesn’t know about.”

“Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that. What have I had done?” She looked at herself as if she were looking at a piece of real estate. “My calves have implants; my butt and chin and cheeks, and breasts, of course. I’ve had lots of lipo. Collagen for my lips; my nose has been done a couple times. But that’s old news. No matter what you do, there always seems to be more you should do, especially as fifty is rearing its very ugly head! The one thing they haven’t come up with is a way to reverse the aging process. And if they ever do, sign me up!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The big five-O was on my radar, too. “What about plastic surgery for men? Are they doing anything new these days?”

I wondered whether maybe Barry had been a patient of this Dr. Reynolds, too. But I didn’t see any reason to mention his name at this point.

“Well, yes, of course! But men are so much more discreet about it. Or embarrassed. You know . . . the standards. Calves, chins, love handles, lipo. They can even create a six-pack by doing a procedure called etching on their stomachs. It’s endless. Why are you interested in men’s surgeries if you’re asking about Shana?” She looked at me with one raised eyebrow.

“I’m just grasping at straws. It’s frustrating knowing that she had something to tell me and was killed before she could. I can’t help thinking she was reaching out to me for help.” I passed one of the bottles back to her. “What about the doctor’s name? Does it ring a bell?”

“Eugene Reynolds,” she said, shaking her head. “No. I’ve used a half dozen doctors in the LA area. That name isn’t familiar.” She handed the bottle back. “I have all my work done here in LA. He could be from Orange County or wherever.”

I put the bottle back in my purse, then took another sip of iced tea.

“Do you think these medications are connected to her murder?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I wanted to check with you to see if you knew the doctor, or if you could confirm what I was thinking about the pills.”

“Well, I’ve used all of them after some of my surgeries,” Riley said.

I checked my watch. It was close to noon, and God forbid I was late for my scenes.

“I won’t bother you any more with this, Riley,” I said, standing up. “Thanks.”

“You’re not bothering me! It’s fun to talk to you about my ‘hobby.’ Are you sure you have to go?” she asked, also standing. “I mean, I have the afternoon free. . . .”

“I have to get back to work, or I’d stay,” I said. “But I can come back sometime and we’ll catch up.”

“Please,” she said, “do that. And bring Sarah!”

I had the feeling she was lonely and wanted some company. I guessed that she didn’t have a man in her life at the moment—which wasn’t surprising, because men didn’t last very long in her life.

Maria appeared at that moment, and Riley said, “Maria, will you show Alex out, please?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Alex,” Riley said.

“Thanks again, Riley.”

As I followed Maria back into the house, I could see Riley take off her robe and recline on the chaise. She looked perfect.

I jumped in the car and checked my cell. There were two voice mails.

“Hey, baby, I got your message. I was in a meeting. Call me back.” Jakes had returned my call.

The second one was from Herbie. “Alex, get your butt back here! We’re moving very fast and could get to you by twelve thirty!”
Click.
Oh, shit! I looked at the clock. Twelve fifteen. My worst nightmare: keeping everyone on set waiting for me.

I threw the cell in my purse and hauled ass down Sunset Boulevard back to Highland, rushing to get to the studio as fast as I could. I pulled into the studio parking lot at exactly twelve thirty. As I ran into my dressing room, someone was knocking on the back door.

“Alex! Are you in there? We’ve been looking for you!” It was Herbie. He didn’t sound at all happy.

I yelled back. “Yeah, Herb, I’m here. Just having some, umm . . . woman problems.” I hated going there, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I threw on my wardrobe, slapped on some lip gloss, took a deep breath and opened the back door.

“Sorry, Herbie. What can I say?”

He just looked at me and said, “Go!”

So I went.

I had managed to get there just in time, thank you very much, and the rest of the taping went along smoothly.

 

Later, back in my dressing room, I returned Jakes’s call.

“Where you been? I’ve been waiting to hear from you!”

I answered after a sigh, “Busy day. And I have lots to tell you. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?” I didn’t want to fill him in on everything over the phone.

“What about Sarah? You think she’s ready to—”

I stopped him. “She’s going to a friend’s for dinner. And my mom has plans. I’ll see you tonight. Anything special you want?”

“Surprise me.”

“You got it.”

I changed my clothes and headed out the door. Once in the elevator I had to lean against the back wall. What a day! Manipulating a makeup artist for info, almost getting busted in Barry’s room and two seconds from being late for work. That was enough excitement to last me a while.

I got back in my car and headed south on the Santa Monica Freeway. I couldn’t help thinking I should get a new car. I was weird about my vehicles. They sort of became family members to me and I had a hard time parting with them. But this was getting silly.

I was driving what I called my kid car, a 1999 Ford Explorer. The car had been in an accident not long ago, but it hadn’t been totaled. The insurance company had footed the bill, and the car had been repaired. Still, it didn’t drive the same or feel the same. And we still didn’t know who had run me off the road, although Jakes suspected it might be my ex, Randy. I didn’t want to believe that the father of my daughter would try to hurt me like that, but . . .

I drove to Venice and stopped at a small grocery store. It was a throwback to those neighborhood stores that were quickly becoming corporations. It made me feel like I was part of a community. I liked that. I called home to check on Sarah.

“Sarah’s already at her play date. And I’m going out with Marjorie for dinner.”

I was happy Mom had made some friends and was actually getting a life of her own. Sarah was doing well in school and had some good friends. I had a great job, not as great as others I’d had, but a job nonetheless, and a relationship I was excited about. Things were looking good.

I smiled to myself as I walked the aisles of the grocery store. I found myself in the frozen food section first. Pistachio ice cream. Sarah’s favorite. I tossed that into the cart. I was still trying to make up my mind about dinner when I suddenly noticed someone standing in front of me. I stopped short.

“Hello, Alex.”

It was Randy.

I had several urges.

The first was to punch him in his still-handsome face.

The second was to run.

The third was just to scream.

I did none of those things.

He picked up the ice-cream carton from the shopping cart. “Pistachio,” he said. “Still my little girl’s favorite?”

“You son of a bitch,” I said, finding my voice.

“Take it easy, Alex.” He put the ice cream back. “I’m just here to talk.”

“How did you find me?”

“I followed you from work.”

“Get away from me, Randy,” I said.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “I just want to talk.”

Randy had a way of convincing himself he was the wounded party. How he could muster that kind of indignation, I never knew. It was false to everyone but him.

“I don’t want you near me.”

“Hey,” he said, “the last time we saw each other,
you
punched
me
in the face.”

“You tried to kill me, you son of a bitch!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the night you chased me on PCH and drove me off the road.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said. “Look, I’ve been tryin’ to get my life together, tryin’ to find a job, stayin’ away from you and Sarah until I was settled. Now I am, and I want to talk about custody.”

“Custody? Are you crazy, Randy? After you tried to kill me?”

“I just told you, I didn’t try to kill you!”

Suddenly, I realized everyone in the store was looking at us. I left the shopping cart where it was and headed for the door.