Drop Dead Beautiful (15 page)

“I thought I told you to get out,” he said harshly.

She didn’t reply.

He walked over to her and prodded her in the stomach with the tip of his foot.

She didn’t move.

He prodded her again.

Goddammit! Slowly realization dawned.

The bitch had gone and died on him.

Chapter 20

“I was thinking we could go out for a quiet dinner, just the two of us,” Venus suggested to Billy when he finally called her back.

“Sounds like a plan. Where d’you wanna go?”

“You choose.”

“No,” he countered, “
you
pick a place. We always end up going where you want anyway.”

“That’s not true,” she said quickly.

“Yes it is.”

“No, Billy, it’s not.”

There was a short silence while they both decided whether they wanted this to turn into a fight or not.

Venus decided not. “How about the Ivy?” she said.

“Paparazzi frenzy,” he groaned, not relishing the thought of being chased down the street by a crazed pack of jackal-like photographers intent on getting the worst photos.

“Spago?”

“Not feeling it tonight.”

“Where, then?”

“Dunno. Surprise me.”

She put down the phone, annoyed. Billy was the man in the relationship; why did
she
have to make all the decisions? Surely
he
was supposed to surprise
her?
Her former husband, the legendary cocksman Cooper Turner, had spent half of their marriage surprising her, until one memorable
day
she’d
surprised him banging her stand-in while he was visiting the set of one of her movies.

Cooper had suffered from that well-known male affliction, the zipper problem. What a disappointment he’d turned out to be.

That was one of the things she liked about Billy: he didn’t have the zipper problem. Oh yes, when they were out and about at various events and he was surrounded by beautiful, sexy women, he looked, but as far as she knew, he never took it any further. Nor did she for that matter, and she had plenty of opportunities. There were always hunky backup dancers around, hot male costars, horny producers and directors—they were all within her radar, but she was never tempted.

Venus was a one-man woman, and right now Billy was her man.

“
What
sounds like a plan?” Kev asked, wandering into the kitchen.

“You listening in on my phone conversations?” Billy responded, shoving his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“If it’s a private deal, you’ll tell me to bug off,” Kev said, helping himself to a cold beer from the fridge.

“Dinner with Venus, that’s the plan.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to stay home tonight and watch the game on that frickin’ giant-screen TV you had delivered yesterday?”

“Yeah, that was the original plan,” Billy said, stifling a yawn. “But now Venus wants to go out to dinner.”

“How come?”

“Waddya mean, how come?” Billy said, frowning. “She’s my girlfriend, for chrissakes. Gotta do what the girlfriend wants.”

“How come?” Kev repeated.

“What’s
up
with you? Stop repeatin’ yourself like a freakin’ parrot.”

“Nothin’s up with me.”

“There’s something on your mind.”

“Maybe.”

“Spit it out, asshole.”

“It’s just that it gets on my tits seein’ it, that’s all,” Kev blurted.

“Seeing
what?”
Billy asked, exasperated.

“Y’know, seein’ you turning into one of those pussy-whipped dudes,” Kev said, taking a swig of beer from the can, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Me?” Billy said, outraged. “Pussy-whipped? You gotta be jerking me off.”

“Venus calls, you cancel everything an’ run. It’s all wrong.”

“So I’m missing the game, big freakin’ deal,” Billy said, walking into the living room.

“’S not the point,” Kev said, following him. “Guys gotta be in charge, otherwise girls trample all over ’em.”

“Since when did
you
become an expert on relationships?” Billy said, flopping down on the couch.

“I know what I see.”

“Screw you, Kev. I
am
in charge.”

“Yeah?” Kev said disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Billy responded, wishing Kev would shut his big mouth.

“Then if you’re in charge, why doncha stay home an’ watch the game? Y’know it’s what you wanna do.”

“No, Kev, it’s what
you
wanna do.”

“Not me,” Kev said, shrugging. “I got a date. But if I
did
want to see the game, I’d cancel her ass so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.”

“You would, huh?”

“ ‘Course.”

“Then do it.”

“Do what?”

“Cancel her. I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Pussy-whipped, my ass,” Billy muttered.

“You really want me to cancel my hot date?” Kev said, not quite sure he believed him.

Billy threw him a long, cool stare. “Do I look like I’m lyin’?”

First Venus tried on a slinky black Dolce & Gabbana dress, then she decided it was way too fancy for a casual dinner with her boyfriend. Jeans were more Billy’s style, tight low-slung jeans worn with high boots and a plain white tee. She put the outfit together and paraded in front of the mirror, immediately realizing it was too casual—more suitable for lunch at the beach. She’d had her assistant book a table at Giorgio’s, and although the Italian restaurant was near the ocean, it wasn’t beach style. Last time she’d been there she’d run into Tom Hanks, Charlie Dollar, and Steven Spielberg, so she had to look her best. That was one of the major setbacks of being a star: everyone was ready to criticize.

How was she looking? they all wanted to know. Old? Fat? Lifted? Botoxed? If she looked good she got accused of all of the above. And if she looked like crap she was accused of letting herself go.

It was a no-win situation. The perils of being a superstar.

She finally decided on black matador pants, suede boots, a red cashmere shell, and a short black Armani jacket. Casual but chic. Sexy but not over the top. Billy would like it.

Her cell rang. Private line. Billy.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she responded.

“Uh … would you be mad if we didn’t go out tonight?”

“What?” she said, shocked that he was obviously about to cancel.

“I’m still kinda beat up from that session with Alex, an’ I just got an early call for tomorrow, so …” He trailed off, waiting for her to say something.

She summoned her pride and put on an okay voice, although inside she was seething. “Fine,” she said, and then
because she couldn’t help herself she added, “Do you want me to come over?”
Oh God! How needy!

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m gonna get an early night, catch up on sleep.”

“Then I guess we’ll talk later?” she said, realizing that begging him to call back was even more needy.

“You got it, babe.”

She put down the phone and let out a primal scream. “Son of a
bitch!”
she yelled. “How dare you treat me like this! How fucking dare you!”

And then a little voice in her head whispered,
He’s treating you like this because you’re allowing him to. Cut your losses and end it while you can
.

But she didn’t want to end it.

She was in love, and how sad was
that?

Chapter 21

The Volvo broke down in the middle of nowhere. The engine spluttered and after a few moments the car shuddered to a halting stop.

Henry was nonplussed—he didn’t know what to do. First he checked the gas gauge. Almost a full tank. Next he got out of the car and inspected the tires. They were all in good shape. Gingerly he popped the hood to take a look. Not that he knew what he was searching for, the mechanics of how a car ran had never interested him.

Damn! This was not the way he’d planned it. After a smooth and uneventful drive he was supposed to arrive in Big Bear, find the girl, and take her to the old family cabin nobody had used since his father died. Nobody except him. Over the last month he’d made two daytime trips there. Best to be prepared, and once they reached the cabin he certainly was. After that it was anyone’s guess what would happen.

This was an exploratory trip to meet her, find out more information about her mother, and decide how best to pay back Lucky Santangelo for depriving him of the career he should’ve had—the career Billy Melina had stolen from him.

Now this unexpected setback.

He reached for his cell to summon the Automobile Club roadside assistance.

His phone flashed a
No Service
message.

Henry kicked the side of his car. He was filled with a burning sense of frustration.

It was fast becoming apparent that he was stranded and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

By three
P.M
. Max was thoroughly fed up. She’d explored the Kmart aisle by aisle, perused countless magazines, bought a couple of CDs, lingered by the makeup shelves, and now she was seriously thinking of getting in her car and driving back to L.A. because what was the point of being stuck in Big Bear with nothing to do and no Internet guy in sight?

How stupid they both were, she and Grant. They had not fixed an exact time and they had not exchanged cell phone numbers, so how were they supposed to communicate?

She tried to recall their last exchange of words.
Meet me in the Kmart parking lot, he’d written. Stay in your car, I’ll find you
.

Like exactly
how
was he supposed to find her when he probably didn’t even remember what car she was driving?

Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!

He’d mentioned that he drove a Jeep, and she’d told him she would be arriving in Big Bear in the afternoon. Maybe he wasn’t expecting her until four or five, and that’s why he hadn’t appeared yet.

She wandered outside and ran straight into Mister Hottie—the dude in the Lakers sweatshirt.

“Whoa!” he said, coming to a stop. “Still lookin’ for Grant?”

“Do you
know
Grant?” she asked suspiciously.

“No. But he’s gotta be some kinda dumb-ass if he’s standing
you
up.”

“Who said he’s standing me up?” she demanded, green eyes flashing.

“Gimme a break. He’s not here, is he? So the dude’s gotta be a loser.”

“No way,” she said, jutting out her chin. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Where’d you hook up with him anyway?”

“We met on the Internet,” she blurted. “We’re supposed
to get together today. It’s my fault—I must’ve messed up on the time.”

“Are you tellin’ me you don’t even
know
this loser?”

“Yes, I know him,” she answered defensively.

“Seems like you don’t.”

“Yes, I
do,”
she said, checking out Mister Hottie for the second time that day. He was annoyingly argumentative, with dazzling blue eyes and an appealing cleft in the middle of his chin. Tall too, and major cute.

Once again she wished he was Grant. But no such luck, he obviously wasn’t.

“So,” he said, squinting at her. “While you’re waiting for loser of the year, wanna go get an ice cream?”

“Ice cream!” she exclaimed. “What are you,
eight?”

He threw back his head and laughed, giving her a chance to admire his very white teeth. “Never too old for ice cream,” he said, “an’ you look like you could swallow something sweet.”

Was he talking dirty to her? She wasn’t sure, boys were always coming out with stuff that sounded vaguely rude.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” she said guardedly, realizing that she hadn’t eaten all day, and coffee was hardly going to do it. She required a big, fat, juicy burger and a double-thick shake.

“I’ll buy you a coffee if you tell me your name,” he said, kicking a stray leaf into the gutter.

“Max,” she said, still sizing him up. “What’s yours?”

“Ace,” he replied, still checking her out.

“That’s an odd name.”

“An’ Max isn’t?” he said, rubbing his chin.

“Max is a perfectly normal name,” she said tartly.

“For a guy.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” she confessed. “I used to be Maria. Changed it to Max when I was nine.”

“How come?”

“Who wants to be reminded of
The Sound of Music
every time they hear their name? Not me. Changed it, and refused to answer if anyone called me anything else.”

“Your parents have anythin’ to say ’bout that?”

“They got the message.”

“So even at nine you had it goin’ on.”

She giggled. “I guess.”

He started to walk. “There’s a Starbucks down the street,” he said. “I’ll buy you that coffee.”

“Cool,” she said, following him because she had nothing better to do. Besides, there was something likable about him, and it wasn’t just that he was hot. He had a quirky attitude and plenty of confidence. In a way he reminded her of herself.

Hmm … maybe she should dump Mr. Internet and stick with this one.

She wondered if he had a girlfriend, if he was out of school, and what he was doing hanging around Kmart all day.

He walked fast on long legs, and she had to hop and skip to keep up. “You like the Lakers?” she asked.

“Somebody gave me the shirt. I’m not into following teams.”

“You’re not?” she said, slightly breathless.

“It’s a fat waste of time unless I’m playing.”

“What
do
you play?”

“Soccer.”

“Are you brilliant?”

“When I want t’be.”

“When’s that?”

“Jeez,” he said, shaking his head. “You sure ask a shitload of questions.”

“Oh, like
you
don’t,” she responded.

“Here’s a question for you,” he said, stopping for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she lied. “How about you?”

“Nineteen.”

“So you’re out of school?”

“You too, right?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, adding another lie while staring at the cleft in his chin, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.