Hollywood Sinners (6 page)

‘Lana Falcon,’ she slurred, adjusting her hair as it attempted escape from a tightly wound chignon. ‘America’s
sweetheart
.’

Lana forced herself to engage with the present. ‘Kate, I think—’

‘Don’t tell me what
you
think. Why would I want to know that? Get back to your fucking husband.’ Then she leaned in close so Lana could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘But not to
fucking
your husband, isn’t that right?’ She laughed cruelly. ‘I know the score, and don’t you forget it. I’ve been there before you. Things aren’t quite as perfect as they seem, now, are they?’

Lana didn’t know what to say.

‘Tell me something, darling,’ Kate called out after her. ‘I’m dying to know. Can he get it up for
you
?’

Lowering her gaze, she tried to skim past her host before she could embarrass herself further. She didn’t care about Cole but nothing could chase the memories of Robbie away…

CHAPTER TEN

Belleville, Ohio, 1992

I
n the back of the station wagon, Laura Fallon sat quietly with her small hands held together in her lap. She looked out the window at the driving rain and tried not to be sad. Next week was her ninth birthday and she knew she should feel like a special little girl, just like Arlene, her foster-mom, had told her. But instead she felt frightened.

‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked. The woman driving was wearing a brown skirt and jacket and had greasy hair. Earlier, when she had collected Laura from her foster-family, she had ticked off lots of boxes on a piece of paper. Arlene had been trying not to cry, which didn’t make sense because Arlene had told her there was nothing to be sad about.

When they stopped at a red light the woman turned round and smiled. Laura saw that a tooth at the back of her grin was missing, a grotesque detail she hadn’t noticed before.

‘You’ve been waitin’ long enough, huh, cupcake. We’re finally takin’ you home.’

Home. That was the word Arlene had used as well. But she had already known two homes and now both of them had been taken away—what would make this one any different?

The first had been with her parents, before the accident. She squeezed her eyes tight shut when she thought of it. The policemen with their kind eyes and their smart uniforms, who had come to get her out of bed in the middle of the night and had sat her down and held her hand. One—he had a shiny head and a thick brown moustache that drooped at the edges—had told her in a quiet, gentle voice that her mommy and daddy had died. A truck had gone into their car as it waited to turn on to the freeway. He’d looked so sad.

Grown-ups didn’t get sad; they sorted things out, which was just what her big brother Lester would do. Lester was fifteen and brave and strong, the tallest boy in his class. He always promised that he would look after her, his best little sister. She idolised him.

But some time that night, in the darkest hours, the Lester she knew and loved had disappeared. For months he cried like he was filling up an ocean, and at night when Laura slept fitfully she dreamed she was swimming in its black waters, reaching for him, trying to keep hold of his hand. When she woke up she was bathed in sweat.

For the first few months with their foster-family, Lester stayed in his bedroom. Sometimes he didn’t come out for days and days, and when he did it was only after dark. He’d disappear until the next morning, when he’d slip into the house unnoticed and lock himself away.

One day Laura woke up and he was gone, just like that. Arlene explained that he was so sad it had made him sick, and he’d been taken to a special hospital to get better. She could still go see him any time she liked. But Laura didn’t want to see him. He scared her. He was a different Lester now, not the happy boy she used to know.

‘Please take me home,’ she said now. ‘I want to go back to Arlene.’

‘Sorry, kid,’ said the woman. She was chewing gum loudly—Arlene would have told her off for that. ‘Blame the system, not me.’

They had told her he was well again. And he was eighteen now, could look after her. They should be together, a family—brother and sister reunited, that was how it was meant to be.

He was living in a trailer park outside a town called Belleville. It was somewhere with a school where Laura would make new friends and finally be able to settle. That was why they shuffled their pieces of paper, why they smiled at Arlene and shook her hand and said that everything had worked out for the best. That was what they said, but Laura knew it wouldn’t be like that. She hadn’t seen her brother in two years. As far as she was concerned, Lester Fallon was a stranger.

The car turned off the freeway and the woman driver wound down the window, holding the steering-wheel steady with her knee while she lit a cigarette. When she flicked the ash some of it blew into the back seat.

‘Almost there, honey,’ she said, scanning Laura in the rear-view mirror. Poor freakin’ kid. Those huge green eyes were enough to break your heart.

Soon after they came to a cluster of houses. Some were tall, with shuttered windows and pretty white fences, the kind Laura dreamed about living in. Two boys, a little older than she was, played out front with their bikes. One of them had messy brown hair and as he looked up, he caught her eye. He had very dark eyes. She smiled at him.

Laura knew her brother lived in a trailer but so long as it was near this town she thought she might not mind too much. But the car kept going and soon they were winding through a series of rundown, shabby-looking buildings with boarded-up windows. Beyond that a grassy space opened up, but the grass was yellowish instead of green, with bald patches here and there like scars.

She squinted, looking ahead through the windshield, and recognised her brother straight away. He was standing outside one of the trailers and was wearing a grey shirt. He hadn’t changed, she could tell, even though he was dressed better and had a tidy haircut. It was still the same Lester, the one who had run out on her.

He was waving now, and as the station wagon pulled up he said in a childish voice, like she was simple, ‘Hi, Laura! Hey, little sis!’

Laura was wary. The woman came round and let her out the car, smiling as she brandished her papers and clipboard. Lester tried for a hug and she felt the hard lines of his ribs as he folded over her, but she stayed closed. She didn’t say anything.

‘It’s the shock, is all,’ said the woman, sympathetic and efficient at the same time. ‘Let’s go inside.’

The trailer was small, the kitchen just a plastic counter with a square refrigerator tucked underneath and two chairs with broken backs. Laura’s bedroom was tiny, a single mattress and feeble-looking closet, next to which hung a cracked oval mirror. The door didn’t close properly.

At the rear was a bathroom, but while the woman and Lester went to inspect it, Laura stayed where she was. She didn’t like it. The flowers were fake and when she lifted a framed photograph of her mom and dad from the side, she saw the board wasn’t on properly, like he’d done it in a hurry. He had drawn the curtains back with a rubber band.

When the woman returned she was furiously ticking her boxes again.

‘Perfect,’ she said, glad to have tied up this particular loose end. The kid would soon get used to it and realise this was as much of a happy ending as anyone could hope for. A family, such as it was, together again.

The woman went to leave, but even though Laura didn’t particularly like her, she didn’t want her to go. She didn’t want to be left alone with Lester. The darkness was still there. She could see it in his eyes and she didn’t even have to look that hard.

The door slammed and they were alone.

Lester watched her. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me now, kid.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Las Vegas

E
lisabeth Sabell watched as a dripping piece of steak disappeared into her father’s mouth. She heard him chew on it noisily. They were dining in a private booth at the Desert Jewel’s Oasis restaurant, a dreamscape of golden sands and lush palms.

‘She causin’ you trouble yet, Bellini?’ Bernstein chased the meat down with a hunk of bread. He signalled the waiter for another bottle of champagne.

‘Of course not,’ said Alberto Bellini smoothly, not taking his eyes from Elisabeth’s face.

‘She’s wasted playin’ goddamn beauty pageants.’ Bernstein gave Robert a look. ‘Soon as she’s married there’ll be more important things to think about.’

Elisabeth picked at her walnut salad. ‘I’m not having this conversation again.’

‘No need, puss,’ Bernstein said through a mouthful, ‘me and St Louis got plans—’

‘We have?’ Robert caught his fiancée’s eye across the table and briefly shook his head, dispelling her fears. ‘News to me, Bernstein.’

His authority brought out the wild side in her. Elisabeth extended a long, honey-coloured leg, found her lover and grazed a toe up towards his groin. In seconds he was hard.

‘All’s I’m sayin’ is you two got opportunities,’ said Bernstein, oblivious. He lowered his voice. ‘Chicago needs someone they can trust, not some all-singin’, all-dancin’ fairy fuckin’ cabaret act.’ Next to him his girlfriend, a voluptuous twenty-something showgirl named Christie Carmen, shot him a dirty look.

‘Charming,’ she hissed, adjusting her generously proportioned bust.

Elisabeth began trailing over Robert’s erection, slowly, teasing, in the way she knew he liked it. Miraculously his face was giving nothing away.

‘Why’d
she
have to get all the fucking attention?’ Jessica Bernstein pouted, a nasal whine creeping into her voice. She turned to her father with an accusing expression.

‘Be quiet, Jessica,’ said Elisabeth, wishing her younger sister could grow up a bit. Half-sister, she kept reminding herself. They couldn’t be less alike if they tried: where Elisabeth was sensible, stable and set on her own destiny, Jessica was impulsive, hedonistic and spoiled.

‘Fuck you,’ Jessica retorted.

‘Now, now,’ Bernstein interjected, giving the table a mock-exasperated look. His younger daughter, only twenty, was a firecracker, just like her mother had been. Sleeping with renowned casino hustler Trixie duChamp had been one of his bigger mistakes. The year Jessica had turned eleven Trixie had rolled up dead of a drugs overdose. They’d found her naked in bed at the Parthenon with a silk scarf tied round her neck and a pair of dice up her ass.

‘Why’n’t you tell everyone about my little gift to the both of you?’ Bernstein said, steering the conversation back to Robert and Elisabeth. He drained his glass of Rémy and immediately poured another. ‘Call it a wedding present.’

Elisabeth frowned. ‘What gift?’ She applied a little more pressure to Robert, surprised that he felt different to normal…thinner. Alberto Bellini, seated next to her fiancé, raised a beautifully shaped eyebrow and made a gruff sound in his throat, adjusting himself. Mortified, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

‘Your father’s bringing Sam Lucas’s premiere to the Orient,’ Robert explained, carefully taking a drink. He put the glass down slowly and cleared his throat. ‘Next summer.’

‘He is?’ Elisabeth gritted her teeth. In her book gifts were given freely.

Jessica was examining her nails. ‘I know it, the one with Lana Falcon.’

Elisabeth noticed Robert tense. She threw him a questioning expression. He met her eye briefly then looked away.

‘It’s going to be magnificent,’ said Robert automatically. Still he didn’t look at her.

‘Damn right,’ said Bernstein. ‘An’ you two are gonna be headin’ up the whole thing.’

Elisabeth spluttered. ‘What about you? I’m sure
you’ll
be involved. Isn’t that what daddies are for?’

‘We all will,’ he said, loosening the neck on his shirt.

‘Ha!’ Jessica barked. ‘Don’t make me laugh. You wouldn’t want
me
getting in the way and messing things up.’ She hiccupped. ‘Because that’s all I’m good for, isn’t it?’

‘Now, now, Jessica,’ said Bernstein.

‘It’s true!’ she moaned. ‘It’s always Elisabeth this, Elisabeth that, the story of my fucking life. What’s so special about
her
?’

Jessica pouted and pushed back her brown hair. She was pretty in a pretend kind of way, but her nose was a fraction too long, her skin two shades too orange and, she was convinced, her hair too thin. Her stylist called it ‘fine’ but Jessica was appalled by the idea she could be bald by thirty. She didn’t have the natural beauty Elisabeth possessed and she knew it—nor did she have the attentions of their father. Jealousy defined her behaviour.

‘Fuck all of you,’ she said, taking a slug of her drink. ‘You’re all assholes.’

‘Could you pass the bread rolls, please?’ asked Alberto. The basket was right beside Jessica but she made no attempt to pick it up. Robert leaned across and obliged.

‘Honey, I gotta go to the little girls’ room,’ Christie Carmen whined, bobbing up and down in her seat. They would have forgotten she was there if it weren’t for her trussed-up breasts spilling into the soup starter.

‘Go on, then, baby,’ grumbled Bernstein. Then he imagined the blow job he’d be receiving later and instantly felt better. After two marriages, young and dumb was order of the day. Christie Carmen was a hot broad with big tits and a nice tight pussy—it was everything he required from his women these days.

‘Get that ass back here quick.’ Bernstein winked as he patted his girlfriend’s retreating behind. She tottered off in a silver mini-skirt and four-inch heels, drunkenly weaving into an oncoming dessert trolley. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d come back without her knickers.

How depressing
, Elisabeth thought, observing her father’s latest accessory totter off in her imitation Jimmy Choos. She glanced at Robert, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He was folding his napkin into exact squares. His dark eyes were unsettled.

She could sense Alberto Bellini watching her from across the table, the tip of his tongue just visible between his lips.

* * *

The photograph was face down, its edges mottled and stiffened by time.

Alberto drew it from the oak chest of drawers, clasping it to his chest. He closed his eyes, his breath escaping in a hoarse, thin stream, like air seeping from a punctured tyre. It reminded him that he was old.

Supper tonight had exhausted him. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it—loving Elisabeth entirely and yet knowing she belonged to another man.

He scanned the picture one more time, before slipping it back and closing the cabinet. The sound reverberated through the rooms of his expansive Italian-castle-themed mansion.

Linda Sabell.

She was gone. She had never been his in the first place. He had to forget her.

Yet how could he, when every time he clapped eyes on Elisabeth it was like walking straight back into the past? Frank Bernstein would murder him if he ever found out. Or get someone else to do it for him. Though Bernstein never admitted as much, it was clear to all of them that precious Elisabeth was his favourite daughter. If only he, Alberto, could have shared a child with Linda.

Alberto grimaced. He poured himself a brandy and chucked it back. He was getting tired of this game, he wanted out. Too many years he’d spent drinking and gambling, chasing women in an attempt to forget the only one he had ever loved…

Linda.

She was dead, and yet he saw her every day, every time he watched the show at the Desert Jewel, every time he caught her mirror image laughing with Robert St Louis.

Linda had loved him, he knew that much, and he had made her happy where Frank Bernstein could not. Elisabeth was the gift she had left behind.

Alberto had wanted Linda’s daughter for years, way before Robert St Louis had come on the scene. Only now, with her wedding fast approaching, the time had come to take action.

Elisabeth belonged to him.

As far as he was concerned, resistance was futile.