Chapter 11
T
housands of people were clustered behind portable barricades along Hollywood Boulevard as the limo came to a stop in front of the famous Grauman's Chinese Theatre for the premiere of
As Time Goes By.
As per Chris's instructions, the limousine driver, dressed to the nines in black, gold brocade, and shiny black shoes, opened the door. Chris stepped out of the sleek limo and offered his hand to Abby. As soon as they turned away from the limo, there were hundreds of bright flashes from the paparazzi snapping their photograph. Chris smiled and took Abby by the hand, as though this were an everyday event. She'd been to a few premieres in her days in LA, but never as a guest. She'd always been one of the outsiders, shouting out at any star whose attention she had a chance of getting. This time it was different. She was being watched like a specimen on a slide.
She leaned close to Chris and whispered in his ear, “I really do not like this.”
He smiled, waved at someone, then leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “Honey, you're the one that's in love with Hollywood. This is it in its truest form.”
“I still hate it,” Abby mumbled between clenched teeth, managing to keep smiling as the flashes of dozens of cameras continued to dazzle the eyes.
Chris led her down the red carpet, his hand cupping her elbow, guiding her through the maze of television personalities with microphones in their hands. Gayle King was there on behalf of her new show, now being aired on OWN, the Oprah Winfrey Network, run by the media giant herself.
Entertainment Tonight
's Nancy O'Dell was making her way over to Sandra Bullock, and Giuliana Rancic from
E!
was trying to corner George Clooney.
“Wonder where Joan Rivers is tonight?” Chris asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Maybe she decided to go trick-or-treating instead,” Abby shot back, deliberately reminding Chris of his earlier remark.
“It's not time for Halloween, just in case you didn't know,” Chris said, then added, “Though after tonight, I might just have a change of heart.”
Chris continued to guide her through the crowds of stars, producers, and well-known directors. When they reached the end of the red carpet, where the line to enter had slowed to a virtual crawl, someone in the crowd shouted, “You better watch out, Abby Simpson!”
At the sound of her name, Abby whirled around, searching for a face to put to the voice. She felt as though she'd heard the voice before, like maybe whoever it was had tried to disguise it.
“Abby, stay calm. It's probably just some jerk out there wanting to yank your chain.” Chris placed a protective arm around her waist.
Abby scanned the crowds. “I've heard that voice before, Chris. I know I have.”
The line moved forward a few more feet.
“It's probably some nutcase who reads
The Informer
and wants his five minutes of fame. And he'll get it if you don't keep quiet.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the voice from the crowd yelled, “You're a bitch, Abby Simpson.”
Anger made her flush. She peered into the throngs of people behind the barricades, hoping to see a face, someone she might recognize. Abby knew she'd made enemies. In her line of work, it was a given. Whoever it was, for him to go as far as following her and making a public spectacle of himself, this had to be more than an angry reader or a former coworker.
“Let's get inside and enjoy the evening. We've both been looking forward to tonight. Don't let this asshole ruin it for us,” Chris said. He kept his hand on her waist the entire time, leading her closer to the theater's entrance. Abby could get used to this.
She took a deep breath and scanned the crowd one more time. No one caught her eye. As she was about to brush the entire incident aside, she saw a man dressed in an out-of-style tuxedo, shoving and pushing his way through the crowd. Several people in the crowd were shouting profanities at him as he bumped through the herd of looky-loos.
Her heart slammed into her chest. “Wait!” she called out. She tried to jerk away from Chris, but he wrapped both arms around her, preventing her from moving away from him.
“Shhh, you don't want to make a scene. Let the wannabes do that,” he whispered in her ear.
Abby turned around, her eyes level with his chest. Knowing that Chris was right, she looked up into his eyes as though they were the only two in existence. “Do you know who that was running through the crowd?” she asked, a smile on her face all the while blood rushed to her head. Her hands were shaking so badly that if she let go of Chris, she was sure that they would rival the blades of an electric fan.
Gazing down into her baby blues, he teased, “No, I didn't get a good look. An old boyfriend maybe?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don't have any old boyfriends in LA. And for your information, that idiot running through the crowd was none other than Rodwell Archibald Godfrey,
Rag!
Does that refresh your memory?”
Suddenly, Chris's face went grim. He dropped his arms to his sides, pulling her inside the theater. “You're sure?”
No longer the least bit excited about seeing what was being touted as the next Oscar winner, Abby was suddenly anxious to escape. She had to get out of there.
“Chris, let's just go. I know you went to a lot of trouble tonight, hiring a limo and wearing that sexy tux, but I won't enjoy myself for one second knowing that bastard might be on the loose. Who knows? He might end up trying to trash the offices at
The Informer.
Remember, his pal tried to burn the place down right before Rag disappeared?” Abby felt bad, but she didn't have a lot of time to consider her decision. “I'm going, Chris. With or without you.”
“With,” he said and led her back outside, where the crowd was getting bigger by the minute. It would be near impossible to find anyone there without a GPS attached to their ass, but Chris wasn't going to say this to Abby. He knew that when she made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her.
They backtracked over the red carpet, not bothering to respond to the paparazzi calling out to them. It wasn't like they were celebrities. A dark-haired guy, tall and with a beard to his chest, raced alongside them as they tried to make an exit. Chris was one second away from telling the photographer to fuck off when he spoke.
“Abby Simpson!”
They both stopped, turning to look at the bearded guy. Chris wrapped a protective arm around Abby's shoulders and guided them closer to the guy so they could talk without being overheard.
“Oh shit,” Abby said. “What are you doing here? And what's with the beard?”
“You know this guy?” Chris asked.
She nodded, then moved away from Chris and leaned over the barricade. With her right hand, she reached up to tug on the extra-long beard. It moved, but the guy didn't seem to feel an ounce of pain. “I hope you have a good explanation,
Josh,
because you're supposed to be working.” Abby turned to Chris. “He works at
The Informer.
He's my computer geek.”
“Gee, thanks, Abs,” Josh replied.
“Don't call me Abs, either. Now, tell me why you're here, before I fire your ass.” She was beyond ticked. Josh was the second in command, or at least he had been. Not only had he ruined her evening, but he hadn't followed her orders. Not that she ordered him around, but she'd counted on him to direct
The Informer
's reporters to the right places. Tonight was a big night in Hollywood. Not only was there tonight's premiere, but there were also a couple of celebrity weddings, and they were trying to find the locations.
Josh leaned across the barricade, then turned around. “I got a tip, Abs. I mean Abby. You know I wouldn't intentionally do anything to cause problems at the paper. I received a phone call a couple of hours ago. Whoever it was said that Godfrey was attending tonight's premiere. I figured given all the grief he's caused you in the past, I'd show up, see if I could spot him, then call the police. Of course, I would've called you first.” Josh scratched at the fake beard and raised his eyes, as though asking for mercy.
“Okay, you did the right thing, but you should have called me
first.
And your tip was on the money. He was here. I saw him, and he saw me. He actually called out to me. I was about to try to chase him down when
someone
shouted my name! So for what it's worth, I'm wasting my time standing here explaining this to you. Now, head back to the office. If you hear anything, you call me first. Do not leave the office, is that clear?”
Josh had the grace to blush. “I thought I was doing what you would do. I know how important tonight is . . .
was.
Sorry, Abby.”
Damn! This wasn't Josh's fault. He'd tried to do the right thing. She would've done the exact same thing had she been in his position. Minus the beard.
She took a deep breath. “Forget what I said. Just get back to the paper. I'll see you later. And if you get any more suspicious calls, you call me right away. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Abby. I understand you loud and clear.” Josh saluted her, then backed away from the barricade. “I'll call you if I hear anything.”
Abby waved, but Josh turned around before he could see.
She looked at Chris. “Let's get out of here. Maybe I can find that jerk before he has a chance to get away again. He's been on the run for over two years now. I think it's high time he paid his dues.”
“If you insist, but I doubt we're going to find him in this crowd. Just look. It's tripled since we've been here. The fans are out tonight,” Chris said.
Abby looked at the throngs of excited people, all there hoping to catch a glimpse of a movie star. Suddenly, it all seemed silly and meaningless to her. Who really cared? This wasn't reality; it was the land of make-believe. And she'd spent the better part of her adult life actively pursuing these people as though doing so truly mattered. Abby knew she'd just had a major epiphany. Tabloid reporting was her life. Now was not the time for such a revelation; she had to find Rodwell Archibald Godfrey first. Then, and only then, would she think about her future.
“Yes, and we're just standing here wasting time. Come on, let's get out of here.” Abby pulled Chris by the arm. Several flashes of light went off in her face. She didn't bother trying to avoid them; she couldn't. As her mother always said, “It is what it is.”
Chris removed his cell phone from his pocket. He spoke; then a few minutes later the sleek limousine, which he had hired to drive them to one of the hottest tickets in Hollywood, pulled alongside the curb, where several other limos were parked.
Neither spoke as they drove away from the fans hoping to catch a look at the stars and wondering who was driving away from the premiere even before it began.
Chapter 12
T
oots was no stranger to flying in a private aircraft. As the Learjet rolled into the FBOâfixed base operatorâat Naples, KAPF Auxiliary Page Field, they were met by the usual red carpet, as the line crew had been alerted to their medical emergency.
After they whisked Frankie quickly into the courtesy car provided by the airport, it was a quick drive down Radio Road to the Animal Specialty Hospital, where Dr. Carnes waited for their arrival.
Pulling into A.S.H., they were met by Dr. Carnes and her assistant, Daphne.
Dr. Becker hadn't seen Michelle since she was a little girl with red hair and freckles. He'd read in a medical journal that she had earned the distinction of being one of only 160 animal neurologists in the United States.
Dr. Carnes wore teal green scrubs and looked nothing like the little girl he remembered. “I can't believe you're a full-fledged doctor now. I hear you're one of the best in the country. Your dad must be very proud of you,” Phil said.
She gave him a huge smile and a hug. “Yes, he is. Now, let me look at this little guy here and see what we can do for him.” There would be time for pleasantries after Dr. Carnes performed her magic.
Having made a quick assessment of Frankie's condition, Dr. Carnes explained her treatment plan. “The herniated disk can cause something known as deep pain, causing permanent damage to the spinal cord. If it's been more than twenty-four hours since he suffered the injury, he could be left permanently disabled. We'll need to do an MRI, and if it's as I suspect, we'll need to immediately begin preparations for Frankie's emergency surgery. Since we're looking at several hours, give your contact information to Daphne while I take care of Frankie.”
As soon as they gave Daphne Dr. Becker's contact information, he called the airport and arranged to keep the courtesy car overnight. Once that was completed, he turned to Toots and asked, “Is it too late for that date I promised you?”
Toots smiled as they got into the car. “I'm game if you are.” The evening was turning into something she had never experienced. The excitement of the unknown gave her the same giddy feelings she'd experienced in her teens when she'd prepared for a date.
Who would've thought poor Frankie's misfortune could be the start of yet another love interest? She couldn't think of number nine and what it would imply.
Dr. Becker was no stranger to the many places and things to do in the Naples area, and told her so. There was Fifth Avenue South, with many fine restaurants and nighttime entertainment. But he remembered Fort Myers Beach and how he used to enjoy walks in the cool evening breeze on his many trips here in the wintertime. It was only a short drive north on Highway 41, then left on Vanderbilt Beach Road, which would take them along the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico to some of his favorite hangouts. And after an evening out, there was always Diamond Head, the resort where they could spend the night. The thought excited him, but he didn't want to get ahead of himself.
“I've vacationed here for years. There's lots to do during the daytime hours, but I'm positive we can find someplace that's still open for dinner. Then we could take a walk on the beach if you want.”
Toots found the prospect of a romantic stroll on the beach more exciting than she would admit. “That sounds nice.”
God,
she thought. She was about as exciting as a pig in a mudslide. She'd all but forgotten proper dating etiquette. She was used to being the one in control, even in some of her marriages. Hell, what she was thinking? She was
always
in control. But she kind of liked letting someone else make the decisions for a change.
“Just nice?” Phil asked as he reached across the console for her hand.
Toots felt a shudder in places that hadn't shuddered in a very long time.
“Actually, I feel more than nice. I haven't felt this way for many years.”
Had she revealed too much too soon?
He squeezed her hand. “I know the feeling. How do you feel about raw oysters? I know a place that serves the best on the beach, Snug Harbor. It's on the water, and the view is out of this world. The fishing boats come and go in and out of the inlet. It's quite a sight.”
Raw oysters? An aphrodisiac, one of nature's gifts to the pleasures of mankind. Toots wondered about the rest of his plans for the evening.
“I love raw oysters. Nothing like an oyster on a fresh saltine cracker piled high with horseradish, lemon juice, and a bit of salt. So yes, Snug Harbor sounds good to me. Are they open late?” Toots asked, grinning to beat the band.
“They're always open till the wee hours of the morning,” Phil informed her as they swung into the parking lot.
Because it was so late, the parking lot was nearly empty. As they got out of the car, loud music from a bar across the street blasted away the tranquillity of the evening. The night air was thick with humidity. The scent of fish and salt water filled the air. Seagulls dipped into the gulf in hopes of catching their next meal.
“This is nothing like California, though it does remind me of Charleston, what with this humidity.” Toots waved her hand in front of her face as they walked down the small pier leading to the restaurant's entrance.
“The heat is treacherous here in the summer, but it's great in the wintertime. Mid- to low eighties, with no humidity.”
When they reached the door to the restaurant, Phil was informed by a waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks that they were no longer serving dinner but offered an after-hours menu in the lounge.
“Is that okay with you?” he asked Toots.
Hell, she would've enjoyed McDonald's as long as he was with her. “It's perfect. I don't like to eat late at night, anyway.” Toots knew that wasn't the full truth, but he already knew about her sugar addiction. She didn't need to tell him about her nighttime forages in the freezer for ice cream. Besides, she wasn't sure she could eat a full meal, anyway. She was too excited. And not once had she craved a cigarette. Phil Becker was good for her.
Faded pictures of locals with giant fish twice their size still hung on the walls. The nautical theme hadn't changed since he had been there the previous time. Fishing nets filled with seashells, starfish, and sea sponges decorated the walls. The view he'd wanted to share with Toots was unavailable in the bar area, but there would be other times, he hoped.
They sat at a tall table, where a cocktail waitress took their drink order. Both declined alcohol because of the late hour; plus, Phil was driving. He ordered two dozen raw oysters with all the extras Toots had asked for. Ten minutes later, a platter covered with ice and the creamy gray oysters was placed between them. A basket of saltines, a dish of lemons, and a cup of horseradish filled the table. There was barely enough room for their Cokes.
Between bites, they made small talk.
“So what do you do when you're not saving lives?” Toots asked.
“I fish when I have time off. I have a place in Myrtle Beach, where I've been playing around with the idea of writing a novel. Work consumes a big part of my life. I haven't had a lot of free time to pursue anything more than that.”
Toots was intrigued. She loved reading the tabloids; hell, she owned one. To learn that he was interested in writing a novel was just another plus in Dr. Becker's list of many admirable qualities, as far as she was concerned. “What, all work and no play? I thought doctors lived on the golf course and flew around the world when they were not saving lives.”
“Not me. I've devoted my life to medicine, which is why I've never married. Didn't want to commit to a relationship when I took the Hippocratic oath. Looking back, I'm sorry I didn't marry and have a family. Now that I'm slowing down and thinking about retirement, meeting someone as fascinating as you has made me realize just how much I've missed. Enough about me. I know you're dedicated to your friends, and that you have that fancy house in Malibu, but there has to be more. What about Abby's father? Is he still around?”
Toots had dreaded this moment ever since she realized that Phil was interested in her. What would he think when he learned of her past? Would he think her a tramp or some floozy who married for money, as all her husbands, except her first, Abby's father, had been very well to do? How did she go about explaining this to a man with a blank past in the marriage department?
Oh my God, where do I start?
With number one. John Simpson, Abby's father and the first love of her life.
“Abby's father died in a car accident when she was five. Lucky for me and Abby, John had a huge life insurance policy. With the help of a good friend who's a banker, we relocated from New Jersey to South Carolina, and he made some very wise investments for us. One of the companies was a fledgling computer company now known as Apple. Then there was Wal-Mart, and after that, Amazon. So, I was lucky. I hired Bernice right before I decided to move, and she's been with me ever since. I've been married and widowed a couple times since, but life has been good to me. I have my health and a daughter I adore, plus the three women you met tonight, all of whom just happen to be my daughter's godmothers. We've been friends since seventh grade.”
Toots hoped that was enough information about her past to satisfy his curiosity. She'd done a few things she wasn't proud of, like the time she and the g's broke into that warehouse in Charleston to get material for Mavis's line of clothing for the dearly departed. Then there were the séances. That was not something she could reveal on a first date to a renowned cardiologist. He would run as fast as that Learjet could return him to Charleston. Fearing another question, she wanted to give a sigh of relief when she heard the bartender shout, “Last call.”