Genuine Lies

  Lyle settled on MTV, and since he was bored brainless, decided to get up and sneak a joint out of his stash. He had his ten neatly rolled buddies wrapped in plastic and hidden in a box of Quaker Oats. Miss B. had a strict policy on drugs. You use, you lose. She didn’t mean just the hard stuff either, and had made that perfectly clear when she’d hired him.

  Since the night was mild, he decided to do one better. Pulling on a pair of sweats, he gathered up the beer, the joint, and a pair of binoculars. At the last minute he turned the sound on the TV up so he could hear it on the roof.

  With the binoks slung around his neck, the joint clamped in his mouth, and the beer hooked in two fingers, he made the climb easily enough.

  Settled on his perch, he lit up. From there he could see most of the estate. Overhead was a canopy of stars and a sliver of moon. The mild breeze carried the mixture of scents from the garden, and the summery tang of grass mown by the gardener just that afternoon.

  The old girl lived high, and he respected that. She had it all—the pool, the tennis courts, all the fancy trees. Lyle had fond memories of the putting green Miss B. no longer had any interest in. He’d snuck a waitress onto the estate one eventful evening and had fucked her brains out on the cool, clipped grass. What had she said her name was? he wondered as he held marijuana smoke in his lungs. Terri, Sherri? Shit, whatever it had been, she’d had a mouth like a suction cup. Maybe he should look her up again.

  Idly, he swiveled the binoculars toward the guest house. Now, that was one fine piece of work in there. Real quality. Too bad that cute little ass of hers was so tight. She was cold as a witch’s tit too.

  And careful. He hadn’t once been able to catch her doing anything interesting with the shades up. He’d been able to spot her going past a lighted window, bundled in a robe, or covered in a baggy sweatshirt. But when she undressed, down came the shades. Since Lyle had been playing peek-a-boo for weeks, he was wondering if Miss Julia Summers ever took off her clothes at all.

  Now, Miss B. wasn’t so particular. Lyle had seen her strip down to the skin before, and he’d be the first to compliment her on how well preserved she was.

  Tonight there were lights on in the guest house. A guy could hope. Anyway, Lyle was looking at this Peeping Tom business as a job. A man in his position, with his ambitions, could always use some extra cash. Maybe if Julia had been friendlier he would have turned down the proposition that he spy on her. He laughed to himself as he began to cruise on the combo of Bud and grass. And maybe not. The pay was good; the work was a breeze.

  All he had to do was pass along the comings and goings in the guest house, write down Julia’s routine, and keep a record of her outside appointments. Even that wasn’t hard. The woman was so tied up in her kid, she never left the estate without leaving word where she’d be.

  Easy work. Good pay. What else could you ask for?

  Lyle perked up when her bedroom light came on. He caught a glimpse of her. She was still dressed in a sweater and slacks. She was pacing, distracted. Hope bloomed in horny Lyle’s chest. Maybe she was distracted enough to forget to close the blinds. She paused, was nearly centered in the window as she reached up to draw the band from her hair.

  “Oh, yeah. Come on, baby. Keep going.” Chuckling to himself, he held the binoks with one hand and slipped the other down his pants, where he was already firming up nicely.

  He’d always heard patience was rewarded. He believed it now when Julia dragged the sweater over her head. Underneath she was wearing some thin, lacy things. A camisole. Tap pants. Lyle prided himself on knowing the correct name in ladies’ lingerie.

  He murmured encouragement to her as he primed his own pump. “Come on, baby, don’t stop now. That’s the way. Ditch those pants. Oh, Christ. Look at those legs.”

  He let out a groan when the blinds came down, but he still had his imagination. By the time Julia’s lights blinked out, Lyle had shot himself to the moon.

  “The place is really hopping.” CeeCee slipped into the kitchen, where Julia was preparing a late afternoon snack for Brandon and Dustin.

  “I can hear the commotion.” That alone had caused Julia to ruin two nails and eat her way through a half a roll of Turns. “It’s taken all my wiles to keep the boys from running over and getting in the middle of it.”

  “It was nice of you to take Dustin to the park.” “They keep each other busy.” And to keep herself busy, Julia arranged fruit and vegetable slices on a tray in a way she hoped disguised nutrition. “I like watching them together.”

  Because she’d come to feel as comfortable in this kitchen as in her own, CeeCee chose an apple crescent. “If you want a real show, you should go next door. You should see the flowers! Man, truckloads of them. And there are all these people jumbling around, speaking in different languages. Miss Soloman’s running around trying to coordinate all of them, and they just keep coming.” “Miss Benedict?”

  “She’s being buffed and waxed by a team of three,” CeeCee said with her mouth full. “The phone hasn’t quit ringing all day. There was this guy in a white suit who actually started crying because some quail eggs hadn’t arrived yet. That’s when I left.” “Good thinking.”

  “Really, Julia, Miss. B.’s given some knockout parties, but this is the ultimate. Like she’s pulling out all the stops because she’s afraid she’ll never give another one. Hell, Aunt Dottie told me she was having those quail eggs and some kind of mushrooms flown in all the way from Japan or China or someplace over there.”

  “I’d just say Miss B. is indulging herself.”

  “Big time.” CeeCee popped a cube of cheese in her mouth.

  “I feel guilty that you’re going to miss it because you’re watching Brandon.”

  “Hey, I don’t mind.” Anyway, she planned to sneak the boys into the shrubbery to watch for an hour or so. “Half the fun’s seeing everybody go crazy putting it all together. Did you get a new dress?” she asked casually, trailing behind as Julia walked out to call the boys.

  “No, I meant to, but it slipped my mind. Hey up there. Snacks in the kitchen.” With the sound of clammering feet and war whoops, the boys streaked down the stairs and zapped into the kitchen. “I’ll put something together,” she told CeeCee. “Maybe you can help me decide.”

  CeeCee grinned and stuck her hands in the pockets of her cutoffs. “Sure. I love playing closet. Want to do it now?”

  Julia looked at her watch and sighed. Time was running out. “I suppose I should. You can’t get ready for a bash like this in less than two hours.”

  “You don’t sound excited. I mean, this is shaping up to be the Hollywood party this year.”

  “I do better at birthday parties. The kind with pin the tail on the donkey and twenty-five revved-up kids cramming in cake and ice cream.”

  “Tonight you’re not a mom,” CeeCee said, giving Julia a little nudge up the stairs. “Tonight you’re on Eve Benedict’s A list.” At the sound of a knock on the door, CeeCee jumped, then blocked Julia’s path. “No, no. I’ll get it. You go on up. I’ll bring it.”

  “Bring what?”

  “I mean, I’ll see who it is. Go ahead. And if you’re wearing a bra, take it off.”

  “If I’m …” But CeeCee was already rushing off. Shaking her head, Julia headed for the bedroom. Listlessly, she began to paw through her closet. There was the old reliable blue silk, but she’d worn that when she and Paul … It was her own fault she’d chosen to pack more business suits than finery. There was always basic black, she thought, and pulled out a simple number that had served her well for five years. She smiled to herself as she laid it on the bed. CeeCee would probably gag. Julia dove back into the closet.

  “My choices,” she said when she heard CeeCee come in, “are pitifully limited. But with a little ingenuity, who knows? She turned. “What’s that?”

  “Delivery.” CeeCee set the box she carried on the bed, then stepped back. “I guess you should open it.”

  “I didn’t order anything.
” Since the box was unmarked, Julia shrugged and ripped at the packing tape.

  “Here, let me.” Impatient, CeeCee grabbed a nail file from the nightstand and raked through.

  “I’d love to see you on Christmas morning.” Julia blew the hair out of her eyes and opened the top. “Tissue paper,” she said. “My favorite.” But her laugh changed to a gasp of astonishment when she lifted the paper aside.

  The shimmer of emerald silk, the dazzle of rhinestones. Hardly breathing, Julia gently slid the dress from the box. It was long, slim, and spectacular, a slither of silk that would sleek over the body like air. The high neck was topped with a banded collar that glittered with stones and was repeated at the cuffs at the end of long, snug sleeves. The back dropped off to nothing from shoulder to waist.

  “Oh, my,” Julia managed to get out.

  “There’s a card.” With her bottom lip caught in her teeth, CeeCee handed it over.

  “From Eve. She says she’d appreciate it if I’d wear this tonight.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think she’s put me in an awkward position.” Reluctantly, Julia laid the dress on the box, where it glittered up at her. “I can’t possibly accept this.”

  CeeCee looked down at the dress, then back at Julia. “You don’t like it?”

  “Don’t like it? It’s fabulous.” Giving in to temptation, Julia ran her hand along the skirt. “Stunning.”

  “Really?”

  “And outrageously expensive. No.” She wavered. “I don’t suppose I’d have to worry about it respecting me in the morning.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Julia caught herself and spread a layer of tissue paper over the dress. The rich emerald shimmered through, beckoning. “It isn’t right. It’s very generous of her, but it’s just not right.”

  “The dress isn’t right?”

  “No, for heaven’s sake, CeeCee, the dress is perfectly beautiful. It’s a matter of ethics.” She knew she was groping. She wanted that dress, wanted to feel it slide over her and change her into something, someone, elegant. “I’m Eve Benedict’s biographer, and that’s all. I’d feel better—” That was a lie. “It would be more appropriate for me to wear something of my own.”

  “But it is yours.” CeeCee grabbed the dress and held it in front of Julia. “It was made for you.”

  “I’ll admit it’s my style, and certainly seems to be my size—”

  “No, I mean it was made for you. I designed it for you myself.”

  “You made it?” Stunned, she turned full circle so she could study the dress held against her in the mirror.

  “Miss B. asked me to. She wanted you to have something special for tonight. And she likes surprises. I had to go through your closet.” CeeCee began to wipe her damp palms on her cutoffs when Julia remained silent. “I know it was sneaky. But I needed to get the fit right. You like rich colors, so I thought the emerald was a good choice, and the style … I figured I’d try for subtly sexy. You know, classy but not prim or anything.” Running out of steam, CeeCee sank to the bed. “You hate it. It’s okay,” she hurried on when Julia turned around. “I mean, I’m not like sensitive or anything. I understand if it’s not really your type.”

  Julia held up a hand, realizing CeeCee was getting her second wind. “Didn’t I say it was beautiful?”

  “Yeah, sure, but you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

  “I didn’t know you’d made it when I said that.”

  CeeCee pursed her lips as that sunk in. “Right.”

  Julia laid the dress aside again and placed her hands on CeeCee’s shoulders. “It’s an incredible dress, the most terrific dress I’ve ever had.”

  “Then you’re going to wear it?”

  “If you think I’m passing up the chance to wear a McKenna original, you’re crazy.” She laughed as CeeCee bounced up and hugged her.

  “Miss B. told me I could pick out some accessories too.” Running full steam, she spun around to tear at the tissue paper until she unearthed a velvet pouch. “This rhinestone clip. I thought you’d wear your hair up, you know?” She demonstrated by sweeping up her own. “And snap this in. And the earrings. Shoulder dusters.” Eyes bright with excitement, she held them out. “What do you think?”

  Julia jingled the long, glittery drops in her hand. She’d never thought of herself as the shoulder-duster type. Feather duster, maybe. But since CeeCee did, Julia was willing to risk it for one night. “I think I’m going to knock them dead.”

  Two and a half hours later, after a long, indulgent female ritual of creams, oils, powders, and perfumes, Julia let CeeCee help her into the dress.

  “Well?” Julia started to turn to the mirror, but CeeCee grabbed hold.

  “Not yet. First the earrings.”

  While Julia clipped them on, CeeCee fussed with her hair, tugged at the skirt of the dress, adjusted the collar.

  “Okay. You can look.” Stomach jittering, CeeCee took a long breath and held it.

  One glance told Julia the dress lived up to its promise. The dazzle of rhinestones added dash to the long, cool lines. The high collar and long, tight sleeves hinted at dignity. While the back hinted at something else altogether.

  “I feel like Cinderella,” Julia murmured. She turned and held out her hands to CeeCee. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “That’s easy. When people start asking you about your dress, be sure to tell them you discovered a hot new designer. CeeCee McKenna.”

  Julia’s feelings of panic had escalated several notches when she walked to the main house. The setting was perfect.

  An ocean of flowers set off by a trio of ice sculpture mermaids. Linen-covered tables as white as the rising moon groaning under the weight of elegant food, champagne enough to swim in, the twinkle of starry lights strung through the trees.

  There was a glamorous mixing of the old and the new, Hollywood’s tribute to youth, and to endurance. Julia thought it was epitomized by Victor Flannigan and Peter Jackson. Eve’s long and enduring love and—if the looks exchanged were anything to go by—her latest flirtation.

  Jewelry glittered, outsparkling the fairy lights. The fragile scents of roses, camellias, magnolias, wafted around perfumed flesh. Music floated over laughter, and the ubiquitous dealing that used galas as handily as boardrooms.

  More stars than a planetarium, Julia mused, recognizing faces familiar to the screen, small and large. And with the addition of producers, directors, writers, and the press, power enough to light any major city.

  And this is Hollywood, she thought. Where fame and power arm-wrestle on a daily basis.

  She spent over an hour mingling, making mental notes and wishing it wouldn’t have been bad form to haul out her tape recorder. Needing a breather, she slipped away from the crowd to listen to the music at the edge of the garden. “Hiding out?” Paul asked.

  Her smile came too quickly, so quickly she was grateful her back was to him. Because he enjoyed the view, he was glad of it himself.

  “Catching my breath,” she said. She told herself she had not been waiting for him, had not been looking for him. Or wishing for him. “Are you fashionably late?”

  “Just late. Had a good run going in chapter seven.” He offered her one of the two glasses of champagne he held. Looking at her, he wondered why it had seemed so urgent that he sweat out those last few pages. She smelled like a garden at dusk, and looked like sin. “Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Well, personally, I’ve had my hand kissed, my cheek bussed, and, in one unfortunate case, my ass pinched.” Her eyes laughed over the rim of her glass. “I’ve dodged, evaded, and avoided a number of pointed questions about my work on Eve’s book, tolerated numerous stares and whispers—relevant to the same, I’m sure—and interrupted a small, nasty quarrel between two stunning-looking creatures over someone named Clyde.”

  He slid a finger down the earring that brushed one silky shoulder. “Busy girl.”

  “So you can see why
I wanted to catch my breath.”

  Absently, he nodded as he scanned the clusters of people over terrace and lawn. They reminded him of the most elegant of animals set out to graze in an expensive zoo. “When Eve does it, she does it all the way.”

  “It’s been a terrific party so far. We have quail eggs and button mushrooms from the Far East. Truffles and pâté from the French countryside. Salmon from Alaska, lobster from Maine. And I believe the artichoke hearts were imported from Spain.”

  “We have much more than that. Do you see that man? The frail-looking one with thin white hair. He’s leaning on a cane and attended by a redhead who’s built like a—”

  “Yes, I see him.”

  “Michael Torrent.”

  “Torrent?” Julia took a step forward to get a better look. “But I thought he’d retired to the Riviera. I’ve been trying to contact him for a month to set up an interview.”

  Experimentally, Paul traced a fingertip down her spine, pleased