Read Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Online
Authors: Christopher Smith
“I understand,” he
said.
“And I agree—a sense of
humor can get you through pretty much anything.
I did bring some good news though.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a lot of
interest in your party, especially after this morning when the news about what
happened last night hit.”
“I don’t know how to feel
about that.”
“I don’t blame you.
I guess you need to understand how the
industry works.
If they didn’t
think there was going to be a massive turnout by the press for the opening of
your hotel before, they know better now.
And so should you.”
“Silver linings,” she
said.
“I won’t ask who’s
coming.
Surprise me, OK?”
“You’ll be
surprised.
Have you heard from
George?”
“Not a word.
Not a call.
Not even a fucking flower.
I don’t exist, but there’s no surprise
there.”
“I can’t believe he
didn’t at least call.”
“Guess he’s had a busy
day.”
She saw the anger on his face
and said, “Michael, this is who he is.
He’s a bastard, but sometimes, when universes collide, he shows traces
of humanity.
Unfortunately, that’s
generally when he wants something from you, which brings us back to him being a
bastard.
Do you know what he
proposed to me yesterday?”
Michael shrugged.
“You know the big
skyscraper he’s building on Columbus?”
“You mean ‘The Tallest
and Most-Exclusive Residential High-Rise in Manhattan’?” Michael said.
“At least that’s what the ads are
saying.”
Leana smiled.
“That’s the one.
He asked me to join our sweet cousin
Pepper from Arkansas in getting it ready for him.
Apparently Pepper’s personality was a
bit too much for the other lead to handle.
Because of her, he walked off the job and that man has worked for my
father for years.
She can’t do it
alone, so my father’s bringing in me to assist.”
“Do you think he still
plans to?”
“Since he hasn’t called
to tell me otherwise, I plan to go to work when I get out of here and start
doing what he asked of me.”
“Why help him?
Especially after the way he’s treated
you?”
“Because I’m going to
prove him wrong about me.”
“Leana, you’ve got
nothing to prove to him.”
“I think I do.”
“Not after your hotel,
you don’t.”
“It goes deeper than
that.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Oh, it’s worth it.”
“Do you think you can
handle her?”
“Are
you kidding?
By the time I’m on
site and we butt heads, which should be within the first five minutes, my
immune system will kick into overdrive, my eye will fully heal on the spot and
whatever is left over will take out the bacteria that is Pepper Redman.”
Later, when Michael left
the hospital and stepped forward to sign autographs, Vincent Spocatti was among
the crowd of reporters and the curious.
He watched him smile, pose for photos and engage in conversation with
some of his fans, but he sensed even from his position at the back of that
crowd that Michael Archer was uncomfortable doing any of it.
It was a good twenty minutes before he
was able to slip into the limousine waiting for him curbside and drive away.
Spocatti removed his cell
and called Carmen.
“Are you following
him?
“I am.”
“Good.
Let me know where he goes.”
“Are we acting
tonight?
Or am I just out for a
leisurely drive following him again?
I told you there’s a chance that he caught a glimpse of me the other
night.”
“At this point, I don’t
think it matters if he saw you—you could just be another fan.
He obviously has his share of them.”
“What about tonight?”
“I’m not sure what we’re
doing tonight.
But if I can get
away from here, I want to be prepared for anything.”
“I can take him out
myself, Vincent.”
“I know you can.
But I was involved in this last
time―you weren’t.
I spent
time with Michael, including when he saw George, Louis and Leana get shot.
If we take him out tonight, I’m going to
be there and I’ll be the one who kills him.
It’s nothing against you, Carmen.
It’s just that I want this one.
I want to be the one who kills the movie
star.
I want to know that I’m the
one who ruined―or, hell, maybe even made―the opening of what will
be his last film.
Does that make
sense?”
“In our world it does.”
He surveyed the crowds of
reporters and turned away from them.
He wasn’t sure when Leana Redman would be released, but he needed to be
here when she was.
He was curious
to see what she looked like.
He
also wanted to see what kind of security she had around her.
After what happened, he was certain
she’d have something in place.
Spocatti wanted to see what he was dealing with.
“It
likely won’t be tonight, but it will be soon.
I want to know his routine— where
he goes, what he does, where he eats, who he’s sleeping with, or if he even
leaves his apartment.
The more we
know about his life now will only help us when we decide to move forward and
take him off Louis’ list.”
In the limousine, Michael
Archer leaned against the black leather seat, turned on the air conditioner and
positioned the duct so the rush of cool air would evaporate the sweat along his
forehead and hairline.
Then he
turned to watch the crowd gather around the car as it started to pull
away.
On their faces, he saw a
range of emotions—disappointment that he was leaving, elation that they
had seen him in person.
He leaned toward the
driver.
“Go slow,” he said.
“Give them a moment.
It’s important.”
Though the windows were
tinted and they probably couldn’t see him, he pressed his palm against the
window just in case.
Several hands
pressed against it to meet his.
He
smiled and waved to them with his free hand, and he heard their screams of
farewell as the limo pulled away.
Regardless of how long
he’d been in this business, he still wasn’t used to that kind of
attention.
It was unreal to him
that his presence could cause that kind of excitement.
And if he was being honest with himself,
more often than not, he wished that it didn’t.
No one ever gave him a
blueprint for how to navigate that kind of chaos.
He loved the art of making movies.
He loved writing thrillers.
But this side of his job?
He often was too shy to handle it well,
so when he did go out in public, he went as far under the radar as possible,
usually with the help of dark glasses and a cap.
When he had the opportunity to stay
home, he took it and leaned on the help of his assistant, whom he valued more
than she knew.
In his youth, he sought
fame as a way of getting back at the one man who said he’d never amount to
anything—Louis Ryan.
Michael
had thought Ryan was his father until it was revealed that his father was, in
fact, George Redman, who refused to accept it to this day.
Regardless of how
grateful he was for the financial security his work provided him, fame now came
with mixed emotions.
At thirty-seven, in spite
of a three-year absence from making movies that could kill his career if the
new film didn’t hit big, he remained among the most powerful men in
Hollywood.
His movies made hundreds
of millions at the box office, his seven novels were blockbusters, and he had
adapted four of them for the screen—all of which he had starred in and
produced.
To the public, he not
only was a fine actor and writer, but also a respected businessman.
Through his novels and movies, he led
his fans into another world and gave them the escape they desired.
He was their king, their shining star.
His life looked like a fairytale to
them.
It was anything but.
The public knew only what
Michael Archer allowed them to know.
Few knew of his beginnings in Hollywood—a time when money was so
scarce, he was lucky to eat a meal a day.
Then, he hadn’t owned a villa in Italy, a brownstone in Boston, an
estate in Beverly Hills and an apartment in New York.
Then, Michael had known nothing but the
struggle of day-to-day life and his seedy apartment in West L.A.
When he turned eighteen,
he left Louis behind and got on a bus headed for Hollywood.
They had fought the night before and
Michael decided that he knew in his gut, after years of trying to have a
relationship with the man, for whatever reason, it wouldn’t happen.
No matter how hard he tried, he and
Louis never would get along.
And so he left.
Even now, all these years
later, Michael could remember how the fight ended.
Louis told Michael that he didn’t love
him and never had.
He said that he
wished it was Michael who had died, not his mother.
Now, he knew why that was
the case.
George Redman had an
affair with Michael’s mother, which resulted in his birth.
He thought about George
now and couldn’t still his anger.
How could he ignore what happened to Leana?
How could he overlook what might have
cost her her life?
As it was, she
might lose her sight in that eye.
What happened to her was in the papers and on television.
And yet he chose to dismiss it.
No visit.
No call.
Nothing.
He reached into his
pocket for his cell.
He held it for
a moment wondering if he should get involved, and then decided that someone
should let the son of a bitch have it.
It might as well be him.
He
looked up George’s personal line, and called him on his cell.
“This is George.”
“This is Michael.”
“I saw that on my
screen.”
“So, you can see.
That’s good.
Some people can’t.
One of them might be your daughter.
Have you seen the papers and
television?
Don’t answer that.
I know you have.”
“What’s this about,
Michael?”
“Is that even a
question?”
“You’re concerned that I
haven’t visited Leana.”
“I’m pissed that you
haven’t taken the time to see Leana.”
“What I do with my time
is none of your business.”
“She’s my sister.
When someone hurts her as you have, it
becomes my business.”
“We don’t know if she’s
your sister.”
“That’s because you
refuse to take a paternity test.”
“I have no interest.”
“Why?”
“Because you just want
your hands on my money.”
“I think you and I both
know that I have more than enough money.”
“You probably do well
with your movies and books, Michael, and whatever else you’re into, but you’re
no billionaire.
If it makes you
feel better, I’ve talked to her doctors.
I’m keeping tabs on her health.
I’ve meant to stop by, but something urgent always gets in the way.
I have a lot going on right now.
Certain projects are near completion and
they demand my attention.”
“Your priority is in the
hospital.”