Poor Little Bitch Girl (22 page)

* * *

For over an hour Carolyn debated with herself whether she should call Gregory’s home. After all, she
was
his assistant, and it
was
a workday. Surely she was allowed to call his house?

Unless Evelyn knew about her, then it wouldn’t be such a clever move. No. Not clever at all.

But still . . . she was, as always, anxious to speak to him, if only to hear the sound of his voice.

Reluctantly she ventured into Muriel’s office. The room smelled of lilac and stale cigarette smoke. Yes, Muriel had a bad habit – she smoked, although she always pretended that she’d given it up. The overpowering smell of lilacs concealed nothing.

“Did Mrs Stoneman give any indication of what time the Senator might come in today?” Carolyn asked.

Muriel glanced up from her desk, brow furrowed. “No, dear, she didn’t.”

“I see,” Carolyn said, adding a cheerful, “Well, I’m sure he’ll be in soon.”

“Or not,” Muriel said tartly.

“Excuse me?”

“Perhaps he’s taking the day off,” Muriel suggested with a sly smirk. “Perhaps he and Mrs Stoneman are spending some quality time together while the children are at school.”

Carolyn couldn’t help herself. “Why would he want to do that?” she blurted.

“Their wedding anniversary is coming up next week,” Muriel said, the sly smirk still hovering on her thin lips. “I would imagine he might be taking her shopping to her favorite jewelry store.”

Carolyn backed out of the room. That was
so
not happening. He’d be in soon, and everything would be fine.

W
hile Bobby waited for M.J. to pick him up, Frankie called to tell him that if they wanted to see Annabelle, they should come to the SoHo apartment. “We’ll be there,” Bobby said.

Try as he might, he could not seem to put Zeena on the back-burner. She was on his mind big-time. And how dumb was that? The woman was famous, a freaking superstar, and he didn’t even have her phone number.

He hadn’t asked.

She hadn’t offered.

Which meant that if he wanted to reach her, how was he supposed to do that?

It didn’t matter because he had no desire to contact her, did he?

A warning voice in his head stated,
“No way.”

Another voice said,
“Sure. Why not? It’s one helluva crazy ride. Why not take it?”

Obviously his emotions were conflicted. His hunch was that whenever Zeena decided, she would simply turn up at his apartment unannounced, just as she had the first time, and knowing Zeena she’d expect an instant replay.

He realized this was not a healthy situation. The woman was messing with his head, and if he was smart he’d get out now before she appeared at his door armed with handcuffs, vibrators, and God knew what else.

Was he strong enough to turn her away?

He would have to put that one to the test.

* * *

Annabelle fidgeted on the back seat of the Mercedes. She was all packed and ready to go to L.A., but as they headed for the SoHo apartment to meet the lawyer her father had sent, she couldn’t help feeling scared. What would it be like, facing Ralph? She hadn’t seen him in over a year. In fact, she hadn’t seen either of her esteemed parents for that amount of time. Now she would never see her mother again – unless Ralph opted for an open casket, and she suspected he wouldn’t go for that, not since Gemma had been shot in the face, her ethereal beauty obliterated for all time.

Annabelle remembered their last meeting. Ralph’s latest over-the-top movie was première-ing in New York, and they’d invited her to attend the grand opening. She hadn’t wanted to go, so she’d claimed she was too busy with her design business, and instead she’d dropped by the Four Seasons where they were staying.

The three of them had sat down for breakfast in their luxurious VIP suite. As usual Annabelle could remember thinking that they were the most beautiful couple she’d ever seen, so physically perfect in every way. Ralph, tall and craggy-faced – resplendent in silk pajamas, a burgundy robe, and fancy monogrammed slippers. Gemma, a fairy princess in a pale-pink negligée, golden curls surrounding her exquisite face, small diamond stud earrings affixed to her delicate earlobes.

They’d seemed pleased to see her.

“You look lovely,” Gemma had said with a faint note of surprise.

“Yes.” Ralph had nodded his large superhero head. “New York obviously agrees with you.”

She took their words to mean that they would prefer she stayed in New York – out of sight and out of mind, away from the dazzling stardom of her illustrious parents.

Ralph had slipped her a check for ten thousand dollars. “A little extra something,” he’d said with a jaunty wink. “Spend it wisely.”

Yes, Daddy
, she’d thought.
I promise I’ll spend it wisely and not return to L.A. to disturb your idyllic life together.

That was then and this was now. Soon she’d be on a plane back to L.A., her unfavorite place.

“You okay?” Frankie asked, patting her on the knee.

“I’m fine,” she replied coolly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Frankie shrugged. One moment she was hysterical about Sharif Rani’s rough son – and the next, she was all together and composed, planning what outfits she would take to L.A. Her mother being murdered didn’t seem to factor in to anything. He’d never really understood Annabelle and her mood swings. But who cared? He was too busy trying to be blasé about the trip, although he was definitely psyched they were going. The circumstances might not be ideal – but hey – he was heading for L.A. And he couldn’t wait.

* * *

Both Bobby and M.J. felt right about stopping by to pay their respects to Annabelle. The three of them went way back to their high-school days, and although they’d never been that close, there were a few shared memories – especially the infamous prom night when the three of them had gotten way beyond wasted and ended up having a threesome in a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel thoughtfully reserved for Annabelle by her loving parents – who wanted their girl to have a memorable prom night with her friends. Oh yes, it had turned out to be memorable all right, although everyone’s memories of it were quite fuddled due to the amount of alcohol consumed.

Frankie greeted the guys at the door to the SoHo apartment, where he’d asked them to come.

“Why’re you here and not at the Park Avenue place?” M.J. wanted to know.

“’Cause this is where Ralph thinks Annabelle lives,” Frankie explained. “He’s sending his lawyer to escort us to L.A. Gotta stay cool.”

“Right,” Bobby agreed.

“We’re travelin’ first-class all the way,” Frankie boasted. “I got it all arranged.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Bobby said.

Annabelle appeared wearing a sleek Valentino jumpsuit, thigh-high Jimmy Choo boots and a short, stylish fox-fur jacket. Her pale red hair was half-pulled back, and large black-out Chanel sunglasses concealed her eyes.

“Hey guys,” she said in a world-weary voice.

They took turns hugging her while letting forth with the usual words of, “Sorry for your loss.”

“And
I’m
sorry for dragging you to this place – it’s such a dump,” Annabelle grumbled, staring around the light and airy space which was by no means a dump.

“We’re only here for fifteen minutes,” Frankie said sharply. “Stop bitchin’.”

Annabelle raised her sunglasses and threw him a dirty look. Frankie was starting to get on her nerves. Why couldn’t she have hooked up with someone like Bobby? He was way hot and so good-looking. The two of them would make a dynamite combination. Plus he was rich. Mega-rich. If she was with Bobby she could stop running hookers and live a life of luxury.

Hmm . . . problem was that after the threesome incident Bobby had never pursued her; it was as if he regretted their history. Besides, he was one of Frankie’s best friends, so while she and Frankie remained a couple, things could never progress.

“Anyway, thanks for coming by, guys,” she said. “It’s nice of you to make it all the way down here.”

“No problem,” Bobby said, thinking that she didn’t seem at all upset by the tragedy that had recently taken place in L.A. Her attitude was one of remarkable calm. Frankie was the edgy one, darting around the apartment with an over-abundance of restless energy, coked out to the eyeballs.

Bobby tried to imagine how he would react if anything ever happened to
his
mom, the dangerously beautiful and forever full of life Lucky Santangelo. He would surely kill, set out to wreak vengeance, do
something
– for he was a Santangelo, after all. He would certainly not sit around in any kind of a calm state like Annabelle. One thing was for sure – no Italian blood ran through
her
veins.

“Where’s the lawyer?” Annabelle asked, impatiently glancing at her watch. “Shouldn’t he be here? It’s almost ten.”

“I forgot to mention,” Frankie said. “The lawyer’s a she – says she knows you.”

“Knows me?” Annabelle questioned. “How can she possibly know me?”

“Dunno,” Frankie said, cracking his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter, she’ll be here soon. All we need to know is that she sounds like she’s on top of everythin’.”

“Great!” Annabelle complained, her mouth turning down into a petulant pout. “Now we’ll have to contend with one of Ralph’s uptight watchdog bitches. Can’t wait!”

“I guess we’ll take off,” Bobby said. He wasn’t about to hang around listening to Annabelle and Frankie bicker.

“I wish you were coming with us,” Annabelle sighed. “I’m going to need all the support I can get, and you’ve always been such a good friend to me, Bobby.”

“You’re a strong girl, you’ll get through it,” he assured her. “All you gotta do is keep it together. Don’t let anyone or anything get to you.”

“Right,” M.J. agreed. “You’ll be back here before you know it.”

“I suppose . . .” she managed, her voice trailing off as she reached out to touch Bobby’s arm.

He automatically jerked away, sensing that Frankie would not approve of the way she seemed to be drawing close. Body language was a dead giveaway, and Annabelle was definitely leaning in his direction.

“We’d better get goin’,” M.J. announced. “Big meeting with a group of Russian investors.
Mood
, Moscow – I can see it now!”

“Sounds exciting,” Annabelle murmured. “If it all comes off, I’ll fly in for the big launch. All of us in Russia together, what a trip that would be!”

“Yeah, go hit it out the park, guys,” Frankie said, joining in. “We’ll both be in Moscow to celebrate with you. Caviar, vodka – gotta feelin’ Moscow’s my kinda town.”

“You got a feelin’ everywhere’s your kinda town,” Bobby joked, as he and M.J. headed for the door. Annabelle waved them a reluctant goodbye.

Frankie opened the front door to let them out, and as he did so – Denver appeared.

The sight of her brought all three of them to an abrupt stop.

“B
obby!” His name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Bobby Santangelo?” I added, pretending to be confused, although I wasn’t, not at all. I was transported back in time to my gawky thirteen-year-old self, with the biggest crush on a boy in a higher grade who had no idea I even existed.