Genuine Lies (5 page)

Julia lectured herself during the short walk from house to house. Brandon wasn’t a shy or a clinging child. If he did wake up, he would not only accept the baby-sitter, he’d enjoy her. And, she reminded herself, she had a job to do. Part of that
job—the hardest part for her—was to socialize. The sooner she began, the better.

The light was softening, and she could smell roses, jasmine, and the damp green smell of leaves freshly watered. The pool was a curving half moon of pale blue fed by an arching fountain at one corner. She hoped pool privileges went along with the guest house, or Brandon would be hell to live with.

She hesitated on the terrace, then decided it would be more correct to go around to the front. She passed yet another gurgling fountain, a hedge of gloriously perfumed Russian olives, then spotted two cars in the drive. One was a late model Porsche in flaming red, the other an old, beautifully reconditioned Studebaker in classic cream. Both meant money.

The antacid pill had dissolved on her tongue by the time she rang the bell at the front door. Travers answered, gave a frigid nod, then led Julia to the salon.

The cocktail hour was in progress. Debussy was playing softly, and the evening garden scent had been captured indoors by a huge bouquet of scarlet roses. The lighting was subtle, flattering. The stage set.

From the doorway Julia quickly surveyed the people in the room. There was a busty redhead in a tiny, glittery black dress who looked miserably bored. Beside her was a tanned Adonis with sunstreaked blond hair—the Porsche.

He was wearing a very correct, very expensive pearl-gray suit and lounged against the mantel as he sipped his drink and murmured to the redhead. A sleek woman in an ice-blue sheath with cropped fawn-colored hair served Eve a flute of champagne. The mistress of the house was stunning in royal blue lounging pajamas piped in chartreuse. And she was smiling at the man beside her.

Julia recognized Paul Winthrop instantly. First, because of his resemblance to his father. And second, from the picture on the dust covers of his books. Like his father, he would always draw eyes and provoke fantasies. His looks weren’t as polished as those of the other man in the room, but they were far more dangerous.

He seemed tougher-looking in person, she noted. Less scholarly and more approachable. He, at least, had taken the informal rule to heart and wore slacks and scuffed Nikes with his jacket. He was grinning as he lighted Eve’s cigarette. Then he turned, looked at Julia, and the grin vanished.

“It seems your last guest has arrived.”

“Ah, Ms. Summers.” Eve glided across the room, silks whispering. “I take it CeeCee has everything under control.”

“Yes, she’s delightful.”

“She’s exhausting, but that’s youth. What will you have to drink?”

“Just some mineral water.” A sip of anything stronger, and she knew jet lag would settle her into a coma.

“Nina, dear,” Eve called, “we have a teetotaler who needs a Perrier. Julia, let me introduce you around. My nephew, Drake Morrison.”

“I’ve been eager to meet you.” He took Julia’s hand and smiled. His palm was smooth and warm, his eyes a compelling if slightly tamer version of Eve’s bright green eyes. “You’re the one who’ll dig all Eve’s secrets out. Even her family hasn’t succeeded in doing that.”

“Because it’s none of my family’s business until I say so.” Eve expelled a slow stream of smoke. “And this is—what was your name again, dear? Carla?”

“Darla.” The redhead corrected Eve with a pouty lisp. “Darla Rose.”

“Charming.” Eve’s voice held an edgy amusement that put Julia on alert. A few degrees sharper, and it could have rent flesh. “Our Darla is an actress-model. Such a fascinating phrase. More catchy than that lowering term,
starlet
, we used to use. And this is Nina Soloman, my right and left arms.”

“Pack mule and whipping boy,” the sleek blond said as she handed Julia a glass. There was good humor in the voice and quiet confidence in the bearing. On closer view, Julia noted that the woman was older than she’d first thought. Nearer fifty than forty but with a sleekness that age rolled off. “I’ll warn you, you’ll need more than mineral water if you work with Miss B. long.”

“If Ms. Summers has done her homework, she already knows I’m a professional bitch. And this is my own true love, Paul Winthrop.” Eve all but purred as she traced fingers down his arm. “A pity I married the father instead of waiting for the son.”

“Anytime you want to take a shot, gorgeous.” His voice was warm for Eve. His eyes were cool for Julia. He didn’t offer his hand. “Have you done your homework, Ms. Summers?”

“Yes. But I always take the time to form my own opinions.”

He lifted his drink and watched as Julia was immediately drawn into small talk. She was smaller than he’d pictured her, more finely built. Despite Darla’s flash and Nina’s elegance, she was the only woman in the room who could compete with Eve’s beauty. Still, he preferred the redhead’s blatant show of wares and wants to Julia’s cold composure. A man wouldn’t have to dig deeply to learn all there was to know about Darla Rose. The aloof Ms. Summers was another matter. But for Eve’s sake, Paul intended to find out all there was to learn about Julia.

Julia couldn’t relax. Even when they went into dinner and she accepted a single glass of wine, she couldn’t force the muscles of her neck and stomach to loosen. She told herself it was her own nerves that had her imagining hostility. There was no reason for anyone in the little group to resent her. Indeed, Drake was going out of his way to be charming. Darla had stopped moping and was packing away stuffed trout and wild rice. Eve was cruising on champagne, and Nina was chuckling over some comment Paul had made about a mutual acquaintance.

“Curt Dryfuss?” Eve put in, catching the end of the conversation. “He’d be a better director if he’d learn to keep his fly zipped. If he hadn’t had the leading lady bouncing on him so often during his last project, he might have gotten a decent performance out of her. Onscreen.”

“He could have been a eunuch and not gotten a decent performance out of her,” Paul corrected Eve. “Onscreen.”

“It’s all tits and ass these days.” Even skimmed a glance over Darla. Julia took time to hope that she was never on the
wrong end of that coldly amused stare. “Tell me, Ms. Summers, what do you think of our current crop of actresses?”

“I’d say it’s the same in this as in any generation. The cream rises to the top. You did.”

“If I’d waited to rise, I’d still be making B movies with second-rate directors.” She gestured with her glass. “I clawed and chewed my way to the top, and I’ve spent most of my life in a bloody battle to stay there.”

“Then I suppose the question would be, is it worth it?”

Eve’s eyes narrowed and glittered. Her lips curved. “You’re goddamn right it is.”

Julia leaned closer. “If you had it to do over again, would you change anything?”

“No. Nothing.” She took a quick and deep drink. A headache was beginning to play behind her eyes, and the dull pain infuriated her. “To change one thing is to change everything.”

Paul put a hand on Eve’s arm, but his eyes were on Julia. Because he didn’t bother to disguise it, Julia now could see the source of the hostility she’d been feeling. “Why don’t we let the interview wait until working hours?”

“Don’t be so snotty, Paul,” Eve said mildly. With a laugh, she patted his hand. She turned to Julia. “He disapproves. I’m sure he thinks I’ll spill his secrets along with mine.”

“You don’t know mine.”

This time her laugh took on an edge. “My dear boy, there is no secret, no lie, no scandal I don’t know. At one time it was thought that Parsons and Hopper were the ones to worry about. But they didn’t know how to hold on to a secret until it had ripened.” She drank again, as if toasting some private triumph. “How many calls have you fielded in the last two weeks, Nina, from worried luminaries?”

Nina let out a sigh. “Dozens.”

“Exactly.” Pleased, Eve sat back. In the candlelight, her eyes glittered like the jewels at her ears and around her throat. “It’s tremendously satisfying to be the one throwing the shit at the fan. And you, Drake, as my press agent, what do you think about my project?”

“That you’re going to make a lot of enemies. And a lot of money.”

“I’ve spent fifty years doing both of those things already. How about you, Ms. Summers, what do you hope to get out of this?”

Julia set her glass aside. “A good book.” She caught Paul’s look of derision and stiffened. She would have preferred to empty her water goblet into his lap, but relied on dignity. “Of course, I’ve gotten used to people considering celebrity biographies a long step below literature.” Her gaze shifted to meet his. “Just as many people consider popular fiction a bastard form of writing.”

Eve threw back her head and laughed; Paul picked up his fork to toy with the remnants of his trout. His clear blue eyes had darkened, but his voice was mild as he asked, “What do you consider your work, Ms. Summers?”

“Entertainment,” she said without hesitation. “What do you consider yours?”

He ignored the question and leapt on her answer. “So you believe it’s entertaining to exploit the name and the life of a public figure?”

She no longer felt like biting her nails, but pushing up her sleeves. “I doubt Sandburg thought so when he wrote of Lincoln. And I certainly don’t believe an
authorized
biography is exploitative of its subject!”

“You’re not comparing your work to Sandburg’s?”

“Yours has been compared to Steinbeck’s.” She moved her shoulders carelessly, though her temper was heating fast. “You tell a story based on imagination—or lies. I tell one based on facts and memories. The result of both techniques is that the finished work is read and enjoyed.”

“I’ve certainly read and enjoyed works by both of you,” Nina said, stepping in as peacemaker. “I’ve always been in awe of writers. All I do is compose business correspondence. Of course, Drake has those punchy press releases.”

“Which are a mix of truth and lies,” he said. He turned to Julia with a smile. “I suppose you’ll be interviewing people other than Eve, for a rounded picture.”

“That’s the usual procedure.” “I’m available. Anytime.”

“It looks like Darla’s ready for dessert,” Eve said dryly and rang for the last course. “The cook made raspberry trifle. You’ll take some back to Brandon.”

“Oh, yes, your little boy.” Satisfied the conversation had cooled, Nina poured more wine. “We were hoping to meet him tonight.”

“He was exhausted.” Julia snuck a peek at her watch. It succeeded only in reminding her that her body insisted it was past midnight. “I imagine he’ll be wide awake by four A.M. and wondering why the sun hasn’t come up.”

“He’s ten?” Nina asked. “You look much too young to have a ten-year-old.”

Julia’s polite smile was her only comment. She turned to Eve as the last dessert dish was served. “I wanted to ask you what portions of the estate are off limits.”

“The boy can have the run of the place. He swims?”

“Yes. Very well.”

“Then we won’t worry about the pool. Nina will let you know whenever I plan to entertain.”

Knowing her duty, Julia forced herself to stay alert until after the meal was finished. Even the single glass of dinner wine had been a mistake, she realized. Desperate for bed, she excused herself, thanking her hostess. It didn’t please her at all that Paul insisted on walking her back.

“I know the way.”

“There’s not much of a moon tonight.” He took her elbow and steered her onto the terrace. “It’s easy to get turned around in the dark. Or you might fall asleep on your feet and tumble into the pool.”

Julia shifted away from him automatically. “I swim very well myself.”

“That may be, but chlorine’s hell on silk.” He pulled a slim cigar from his pocket, and, cupping his hands around a lighter, touched the flame to the end. He’d noticed several things about her that evening, one of which was that she hadn’t
wanted her child to become dinner conversation. “You could have told Eve you were as exhausted as your son.”

“I’m fine.” She tilted her head to study his profile as they walked. “You don’t care for my profession, do you, Mr. Winthrop?”

“No. But then, this biography is Eve’s business, not mine.”

“Whether you care for it or not, I’m expecting an interview.”

“And do you get what you expect, always?”

“No, but I get what I’m after. Always.” She stopped at the door to the guest house. “Thank you for seeing me back.”

Very cool, he thought. Very controlled, very slick. He might have accepted her at face value if he hadn’t noticed her right thumbnail was chewed down to the quick. In a deliberate test he moved a little closer. While she didn’t jerk away, she did shoot up an invisible wall. It would be interesting, he decided, to see if she did the same with all men, or just with him. At the moment, he had only one priority.

“Eve Benedict is the most important person in my life.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Be careful, Ms. Summers. Be very careful. You wouldn’t want to have me as an enemy.”

Her palms had gone damp, and that infuriated her. She coated her temper with ice. “It appears I already have. And what I will be, Mr. Winthrop, is thorough. Very thorough. Good night.”