‘It’s . . . it’s kind of a blur after that. We heard a police siren in the distance. The girl wanted Mary Lou’s earrings and she wouldn’t give them up. I guess she felt brave ’cause the siren sounded like it was getting nearer.’
‘Is that when the girl shot her?’
‘No. She hit Mary Lou across the face with her gun, and I kinda lost it—’
‘Lost it?’
‘I tried to reach my gun, which was in the glove compartment. Then she shot Mary Lou, just like that. In cold fucking blood.’
‘What did the boy do?’
‘Nothing. He was standing behind her. She shoved the necklace at him and he put it in his pocket.’
‘And then?’
‘She started ripping the earrings out of Mary Lou’s ears, so I went for her. That’s when she shot me. After she fired the gun, they ran . . .’
‘Back to the jeep?’
‘Yeah . . .’
‘Did you get the licence-plate number?’
‘Don’t remember it,’ Lennie mumbled, feeling dizzy.
‘Anything would help.’
‘I – I can’t be sure.’
‘Excuse me, Officer,’ said a stern-faced nurse, moving close and taking hold of Lennie’s wrist to check his pulse. ‘It’s time for you to go.’
Detective Johnson nodded. ‘Get some rest,’ he said to Lennie. ‘It’ll help. I’ll come back in the morning. When I do, I’d like you to take a look through some books and talk to our sketch artist.’
‘Sure,’ Lennie said.
‘Thanks, Mr Golden.’
‘When can I see Mary Lou?’
‘Someone will let you know.’
‘Jesus!’ Lennie sighed. ‘This is surreal. Like it never really happened.’
‘Common reaction,’ Detective Johnson said. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Not too early,’ the nurse said snippily. ‘This patient needs his rest.’
* * *
Lucky raced into the hospital, Steven right behind her. Reception directed them to the intensive care unit.
Travelling up in the elevator neither of them said a word. Lucky was praying that Lennie would be okay, and Steven was too busy wondering why Mary Lou hadn’t called. She had the number of his cellphone, which she knew he always kept on, so he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t heard from her.
They got out of the elevator and hurried down the corridor to the nurses’ station.
‘Lennie Golden,’ Lucky said, to a tall, thin, black nurse.
‘Mr Golden’s been moved out of Intensive Care into a private room,’ the nurse said. ‘He’s doing fine.’ She stepped out from behind the desk. ‘Please follow me.’
Steven put his hand on her arm. ‘Where’s Mary Lou Berkeley?’ he demanded. ‘She was with Mr Golden when he was shot.’
The nurse glanced at him. ‘And you are . . .?’
‘Her husband.’
‘Uh . . . Mr Berkeley, you should speak to Dr Feldman.’
‘Who’s Dr Feldman?’
‘He’s looking after your wife.’
He felt his stomach drop. ‘So she was hurt?’
‘If you wait right here I’ll page the doctor,’ the nurse said. ‘Mrs Golden, you can come with me.’
Lucky quickly kissed Steven on the cheek. ‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I’ll see Lennie, then I’ll come find you.’
‘Right,’ Steven said, attempting to keep it together, although inside he was petrified. What if something bad had happened to his precious Mary Lou? What if she’d been shot too?
No. It was impossible. He was thinking the worst when everything was going to be okay.
The power of positive thinking. It worked every time.
* * *
Lucky hovered over Lennie’s bed. He looked pale and shaken, but very much alive. He winked at her.
‘Oh, God, Lennie!’ She sighed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘You’ve got to stop pulling these stunts. I can’t take it any more.’
He grimaced. ‘We got held up by a couple of kids. They came out of nowhere.’
‘I don’t want to say I told you so, but for Chrissakes get rid of that fucking Porsche.’
‘My wife the nag,’ he said, summoning a weak grin.
‘What happened to Mary Lou?’ Lucky asked. ‘Where is she?’ From the look on Lennie’s face, she knew it was not good news. ‘Oh, God.’ She groaned. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Can’t seem to get any information.’
‘Damn,’ Lucky said. ‘Now that I know you’re okay, I’d better go find out.’
* * *
Dr Feldman looked Steven straight in the eye and said, ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Mr Berkeley. Your wife has suffered serious damage from the bullet, which is lodged extremely close to her heart. She’s lost a tremendous amount of blood, and I’m sorry to tell you that she’s also lost the baby.’
‘What?’ Steven said blankly.
Dr Feldman cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. ‘You did know that your wife was pregnant?’
‘I . . . I didn’t.’
‘She was in the early stages . . . no more than two months.’
‘Can I see her?’ he asked, his mind in turmoil.
‘She’s very weak, Mr Berkeley.’
‘Can I see her?’ he repeated forcefully. ‘I want to see her now.’
‘Certainly,’ the doctor said, taking a step back.
Steven followed the man down the corridor to Intensive Care. The doctor was droning on about the bullet being lodged in a place they hadn’t been able to get to. And since she was in such a weakened state they were not going to try again until she’d had a blood transfusion. However, this would have to take place soon, because the bullet was blocking certain functions and it was essential they remove it, otherwise . . .
Mary Lou was in a semi-conscious state. Her beautiful big brown eyes flickered when she saw Steven, and she made a vain attempt at a smile.
‘Baby,’ he whispered, bending over her. ‘My sweet, sweet baby.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’ she murmured. ‘Wasn’t my fault . . .’
‘Nobody said it was,’ Steven said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead.
‘You do know that I love you,’ she said very softly.
‘Yes. I do know that, baby.’
‘If only . . .’
‘If only what?’ he said, leaning closer.
And she opened her eyes very wide and gazed into his. ‘Take . . . care . . . of . . . Carioca.’
Then she began to convulse, and as Steven screamed for help, she quietly slid away.
By the time Lucky reached them, Mary Lou was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Early in the morning Brigette and Lina shared a limo to the airport, both hiding behind oversized dark glasses – the supermodel staple. Lina attempted to bring up the subject of Carlo, but Brigette shushed her with a finger to her lips. ‘I don’t care to discuss it,’ she reminded her friend. ‘Whatever happened is over. Please don’t make me sorry I told you.’
‘Ha!’ sniffed Lina. ‘If you can’t tell me, who can you tell? We’re friends – remember?’
‘The only reason I told you was because I didn’t want you thinking I’d chased after him when I knew you were interested.’
‘I probably ’ad a narrow escape,’ Lina mused. ‘Rape ain’t my cuppa tea.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed Brigette, wondering how Lina could be so insensitive, but forgiving her anyway. ‘Let’s make a pact that we’ll never mention it again.’
‘Cool with me,’ Lina said.
Brigette felt a lot calmer. She’d made up her mind to put the Carlo incident firmly in the past where it belonged.
‘I’m looking forward to seein’ a bit of sunshine,’ Lina remarked, staring out of the limo window at the windy New York gloom. ‘Growin’ up in England, it bloody rained every day. Bleedin’ rain drove me bonkers.’
r /> ‘Ever thought of living in LA?’ Brigette ventured.
‘Nah,’ Lina said, with a wild chuckle. ‘I’d be dead within a year. All those temptations. You do know that me willpower’s non-existent!’
‘Like there aren’t temptations in New York?’ Brigette said.
‘I’d get carried away in LA,’ Lina explained. ‘Anyway, when I’m a movie star I’ll ’ave to spend more time there.’
‘You should meet Lucky,’ Brigette remarked. ‘She’s got a kick-ass attitude you’d love.’
‘I bet.’
‘I wish I could be more like her.’ Brigette sighed. ‘She’s got it together. Career, husband, kids. Lucky has it all.’
‘Who’s she married to?’
‘Lennie Golden – he used to be my stepdad.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
‘I suppose it is – was. You see, he was married to my mom for a short while – who happened to be Lucky’s best friend.’
The limo entered the private part of the airport. They were flying to the Bahamas on a chartered plane, courtesy of Sports World International, who were organizing the photo shoot for their once-a-year sportswear issue. This year they had six girls going to the Bahamas, accompanied by Sheila Margolis, the Sports World International den mother. Also along was their star photographer, Chris Marshall.
‘I’m totally into Chris.’ Lina sighed. ‘Wish he wasn’t married.’
‘Since when did that make any difference to you?’ Brigette remarked.
‘It does when ’is wife comes on the trip,’ Lina said, lighting a cigarette. ‘Remember? The old bag was there last year.’
‘Maybe this year you’ll get lucky.’
‘Yeah,’ Lina said ruefully. ‘Lucky or unlucky – depending ’ow you look at it.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I could go for him big time,’ Lina said, eyes lighting up at the thought. ‘We come from the same background an’ all. He was born, like, five minutes away from me. We got history.’
The limo drove across the tarmac to the plane, where Sheila Margolis waited to greet them. Sheila organized the shoot, watched every detail, and kept a beady eye on everyone. She was plump, friendly and well liked. The girls never crossed Sheila – they wouldn’t dare. She was the one who made sure they weren’t out partying all night, got their sleep and had plenty of energy for the gruelling shoot under the hot Bahamian sun. For six days she kept them under control, and on the last night everyone partied – including Sheila, who last year had been discovered at seven a.m. emerging from the room of a black basketball star, much to Lina’s chagrin, because Lina had wanted him for herself, and couldn’t imagine what he’d seen in the hardly glamorous Sheila.
‘Hi, Sheil,’ said Brigette, emerging from the limo and kissing Sheila on both cheeks.
‘Hello, darlings,’ Sheila greeted them, beaming.
Lina kissed her too. ‘Where’s Chris?’ she asked casually.
‘Already aboard,’ Sheila said, adding a succinct, ‘and keep your hands to yourself, Lina, dear. His wife’s not with him this trip.’
‘Ooooh,’ Lina said, with a wicked laugh. ‘There is a God.’
As they stood talking to Sheila, another limo drew up, and out got Annik Velderfon, the famous Dutch model. Annik was tall and wide-shouldered with a magnificent sweep of long blonde hair and a toothy smile. ‘Hello, girls,’ she said.
‘Hello, Annik,’ they chorused.
Annik began conferring with her driver, who was busy unloading her matching Vuitton luggage.
‘She’s got about as much personality as a dead salmon!’ Lina muttered.
‘Now, now,’ chided Brigette, stifling a giggle.
‘C’mon,’ Lina said. ‘Let’s grab the best seats.’
Chris stood up when he saw them coming. Chris was English, a Rod Stewart clone but younger, with a cheeky smile and plenty of attitude. ‘’Ello, ladies,’ he said, his thick Cockney accent matching Lina’s. ‘Fancy an ’orrible time?’
‘’Ello, darling,’ said Lina, swooping in for a big intimate hug. ‘I hear you left wifey-pie at home.’
‘The old bird’s pregnant,’ Chris announced, stopping Lina in her tracks.
‘Oh, that’s just great!’ she said, with a disappointed grimace. ‘I s’pose that means you’re off limits again.’
‘Sorry, darlin’,’ Chris said, chuckling. ‘The butler did it!’
‘Who else is coming today?’ Brigette asked.
‘There’s you,’ Chris said. ‘Lina, Annik, Suzi, and . . . oh, yeah . . . Kyra.’
‘Good, I like Kyra,’ Lina said. ‘She’s got balls – just like me!’
‘Where d’you keep ’em?’ Chris asked, with a cheeky wink.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ Lina answered, with a flirty smile.
And so it starts, thought Brigette.
‘I forgot,’ Chris said. ‘Didi Hamilton’s on this trip too.’
‘Shit!’ Lina said, pulling a disgusted face. ‘The poor man’s me.’
‘Don’t be like that, darlin’,’ Chris said. ‘Didi looks nothing like you.’
‘She’s black, isn’t she?’
‘You tellin’ me all black girls look alike?’
‘Only in the dark,’ Lina deadpanned. She was quite jealous of Didi who, at nineteen, was seven years younger than her, very skinny, with exceptionally large boobs – which Lina had tried to convince everyone were silicone-enhanced.
‘She’s the road version of you,’ Brigette whispered. ‘No style.’
‘Thanks a lot. I don’t need a freakin’ road version of me on this trip,’ Lina grumbled, sulking.
They found seats and settled in.
Kyra Kattleman arrived next. Kyra was Australian, over six feet tall, with a mane of reddish brown hair, a surfer’s body, big extra-white teeth, and a high, squeaky voice. She’d recently married a fellow model. ‘I’m exhausted!’ she said, flopping into a seat. ‘Anyone got illicit drugs? I need a boost.’
‘Who doesn’t?’ grumbled Lina.
Sheila Margolis bustled aboard. ‘Somebody’s missing,’ she said, looking around and frowning.
‘Didi’s late,’ Chris said.
‘As usual,’ Lina added.
‘No, not Didi, someone else,’ Sheila said.
‘Suzi,’ Kyra said. ‘I spoke to her last night.’
‘Suzi’s always on time,’ Sheila said, worrying.
‘She probably got held up in traffic,’ Lina said. ‘It’s a bitch getting here at this time.’
Most of the girls were secretly envious of Suzi, who’d recently starred in a Hollywood movie and was currently engaged to a sexy movie star.
‘Suzi’s a wanker’s dream,’ Lina had once said about her. ‘Totally non-threatening. They can come all over her an’ she’ll never complain!’
Suzi arrived two minutes later, apologizing for not being on time. She brought flowers for Sheila, a rare photography book for Chris, and home-made cookies for everyone else.
‘If I didn’t know ’er better, I’d swear she was kissing arse,’ Lina whispered.
‘No,’ Brigette said. ‘She’s just thoughtful.’
‘Bitch!’ Lina said.
After Suzi’s arrival, they all sat for another twenty minutes before Didi put in an appearance.
Didi sauntered on to the plane as if she had no idea she’d kept them all waiting, infuriating Lina. Naturally she had twice as much luggage as everyone else, so they had to wait even longer while it was loaded aboard.
‘You’re late,’ Lina snapped. ‘Don’t worry about keeping us all sitting around like a bunch of spare pricks at a wedding.’
‘You’re always in such a bad mood,’ Didi said, blowing finger kisses at Chris. ‘Going through the menopause?’
‘What did you say?’ Lina demanded, furious. ‘I’m twenty-six, for Chrissakes.’
‘Oh . . . sorry,’ Didi said, all girlish innocence. ‘You seem so much older.’
The two black sup
ermodels glared at each other.
This is going to be fun, Brigette thought.
Lina fastened her seatbelt, seething. ‘I’m not goin’ on another fucking location with that cow!’ she muttered ominously. ‘This is it.’
‘Ignore her,’ Brigette said.
‘She’s always effing with me. Did you hear what she said?’
‘Everyone knows she’s only trying to piss you off,’ Brigette said, trying to calm her down.
‘I don’t ’ave to take her shit,’ Lina said broodingly. ‘Who needs to be in stupid Sports World International? I’m gonna bleedin’ kill if she gets the cover an’ I don’t.’
‘She won’t,’ Brigette said reassuringly.
‘Easy for you to say, you made the cover last year. I’ve never been on the bleedin’ cover, ’ave I? Guess I’m too black.’
The plane began taxiing down the runway.
Brigette leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Every day she thought the same thing. This is the start of a whole new life. But where was her life taking her? The only time she seemed to be living was in front of a camera. And a press-clipping book of magazine covers and fashion layouts would not keep her warm at night.
She was never going to find a man she could trust, one who would treat her nicely. They’d all proved themselves to be untrustworthy time and time again. And yet she’d like nothing better than to meet the right one. Settle down, have a family. Be normal.
Oh, well . . . she had her career, and for now that would just have to do.
* * *
One thing Brigette loved was the excitement of being on location, hanging out in a place that completely took over her life. When she got up in the morning she didn’t have to make any decisions. There were people to do her makeup, style her hair, choose the outfits she was to wear that day. Everything was taken care of.
Then there was the camaraderie with all the other girls. Brigette got along with everyone. Supermodels – a rare and exotic breed. Leggy girls with slim bodies, manes of shiny hair, luminous skin, gorgeous smiles and plenty of attitude.
Early in the morning, Brigette and Lina took a long power jog along the beach before raiding the hotel room where all the clothes for the upcoming shoot were kept. Today they were starting off with a group shot, so naturally Lina had decided to outshine everyone. She sorted through the hanging racks of outfits, finally picking an outrageous leopard thong bikini with matching sarong skirt. ‘This’ll do,’ she said, stripping off her shorts and tank top and putting on the sexy bikini. ‘Think Chris’ll like me in this?’