Thrill

  God! How she’d love to tell her father. Let him know that what he took from her without permission, she was now charging for. It would drive him insane, his sweet little girl having sex for money. A fitting punishment for him.

  Sometimes she daydreamed about Norman setting her up in her own apartment in L.A., visiting once a week and paying all the bills. What an awesome trip that would be!

  The fact that her mother had shipped her back to Chicago without giving her a chance to contact him wasn’t fair. She’d spoken to Tina a few times. “Get your butt back here,” Tina had said. “There’s money to be made and mucho babes panting to pay us.”

  “I’m trying,” she’d said.

  “Try harder,” Tina insisted.

  Rachel knocked and poked her head around the door. She was pretty, Summer thought, but not in a Hollywood way—she had none of the dazzle and style of Tina or Darlene. Actually she resembled a very young Nikki.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

  “Nothing much,” Summer replied listlessly.

  “Want to go shopping? Spend a little of your daddy’s hard-earned cash?”

  “I’m always up for that,” Summer said, trying to dredge up some enthusiasm.

  “Let’s go, then,” Rachel said. “I’ll meet you by the car in five minutes.”

  Summer peered at herself in the mirror. Her tan was fading, which really pissed her off because she didn’t look half as good without a tan. Would Norman still like her all pale faced and miserable?

  She thought about Tina and Jed and the group of friends she’d hung with at the beach. Most of all she thought about Norman and his cute puppy-dog smile. She and Norman made a perfect couple.

  What a blast she’d had in California. Why did she have to be stuck in Chicago?

  And the big question—what was she going to do if her father ever came near her again?

  CHAPTER

  52

  FOR SEVERAL DAYS, NIKKI MANAGED to avoid having contact with Aiden, until one afternoon he cornered her on the set. She didn’t know what to say. Everything had happened so fast the other night, and when she’d awoken in the morning, he was gone.

  “Finally” he said, looking perplexed.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, quite flustered.

  He leaned close, speaking intimately in her ear. “You were somethin’ the other night. A real wild woman!”

  “I don’t regret it, Aiden,” she said, quickly, backing away. “Only, please—take it as a one-off.”

  He regarded her with narrowed eyes. “A one-off?”

  “It’s too difficult for me right now.”

  “I’m not askin’ you to marry me, Nikki,” he said, his mouth curving into a thin smile.

  “Gee—thanks. What are you asking for?”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Thought you’d drop by my place later—fix a hungry man dinner.”

  Well, he certainly had nerve. “You thought that, did you?” she said, irritated.

  “Don’t you wanna see how the other half lives? Not everyone has a beach house in Malibu.”

  “And what would I cook for you?”

  “Pasta, a steak, whatever you’re into.”

  “Tempting offer. I’m passing.”

  “Didn’t imagine you’d say yes.”

  His tone of voice indicated she was predictable. “What does that mean?” she asked, a little anger in her voice.

  “Nothing,” he said vaguely.

  “No,” she said heatedly. “I want to know what you meant.”

  “It’s your vibe.”

  “What ‘vibe’?”

  “Like, you’re only into money.”

  “That’s the last thing I’m into,” she said indignantly. “The very last thing.”

  “You married two rich guys, didn’t you? The shrink in Chicago must have big bucks, and Richard’s not exactly hurting.”

  “Money has nothing to do with any of my relationships,” she said stiffly.

  “Then come cook a meal for a bum actor. I won’t invite you again.”

  “Fine, I’ll be there.” And as she said it, she realized he’d caught her in a trap.

  • •

  Lara wanted to surprise Joey when they returned from their honeymoon. She knew how much he loved the ocean, and when they were married it seemed like a great idea for them to have a romantic hideaway to run to whenever they needed to be alone. A year ago she’d rented at the beach for the summer—an old-fashioned Cape Cod-style house perched on the edge of a bluff overlooking the ocean, located past Point Dume and quite remote. She’d loved it so much that she’d tried to buy it. At the time it wasn’t for sale. Recently she’d heard it was on the market, and she’d instructed her business manager to make an offer. The offer had been accepted, so the house was now hers, but she wasn’t going to tell Joey until they got back. It would be her wedding present to him.

  The only two people who knew about it were her business manager and Cassie, and she’d sworn them both to secrecy.

  Thank God nobody had any clue that she and Joey were planning on getting married. She could just imagine the furor if it became public knowledge. Her lawyer would insist on a prenuptial, and everyone else would worry that Joey was after her money.

  How could people enter into a marriage like that? This wasn’t a monetary deal. This was two people getting married because they loved each other.

  The wonderful thing about Joey’s love was that it had nothing to do with her being a movie star and all the trappings. He wasn’t interested in publicity or being seen with her; he preferred the simple pleasures of life. And great, loving, insane sex.

  Every time she thought about the sex, she became aroused. She’d never encountered a man who could turn her on the way Joey did. One glance and she was his. Richard was right about her not being exciting enough in bed—with him she probably hadn’t been, because the magic hadn’t existed. Joey had the magic. And as far as she was concerned, they’d be together forever.

  • •

  Late in the day, Nikki rode in Aiden’s truck to his apartment, stopping at a supermarket on the way to pick up a couple of steaks and some salad.

  They stood side by side in the checkout line. When it was time to pay she waited for Aiden to reach for his wallet. He made no attempt to do so. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she grumbled, fishing out her credit card.

  “Yes you do,” he said, picking up the grocery bag and carrying it to his truck. “ ’Cause you want to.”

  “No, I don’t,” she responded, trailing after him. “I told you—what we had was a one-time thing.”

  “Glad I made such an impression,” he said, throwing open the passenger door.

  “I’ll fix you a steak,” she said, climbing into his truck. “Then I have to go home. Richard’s bugging me; I think it’s time I spoke to my lawyer.”

  “You’re going for a divorce?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  His apartment was a dump. She walked around in shock. “How can you live like this?” she demanded.

  “Wanna move me into the beach house?” he joked.

  “Yeah, right,” she said, inspecting the tiny kitchen, noticing that the grill had not been cleaned in months. “No maid service?”

  “Doesn’t cut it, does she?” he said ruefully.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Nikki replied, going to work cleaning the grill, washing the steaks and placing them on it.

  While the meat was cooking, she chopped up tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers, tossing everything into a big wooden bowl. “Where’s your olive oil?”

  “You think I cook?”

  “How am I supposed to fix a salad dressing? You’d better run out and pick up a bottle.”

  “Jeez! This is so friggin’ domesticated,” he complained, but he went anyway.

  As soon as he left, she took a more thorough look around. Aiden was obviously not into possessions. His bed was a futon on the floor, his closet wa
s almost empty and the only personal things were stacks of scripts piled everywhere. What kind of man was he, anyway? Interesting for sure. Different. And a pretty sensational lover.

  She couldn’t help herself—she opened the top drawer of his dresser, just out of curiosity. Tons of mismatched socks, all mixed up. And a gun.

  She shut the drawer as quickly as she’d opened it. Dangerous territory. What was Aiden doing with a gun?

  I am not getting involved, she told herself sternly. No way.

  By the time he got back, the steaks were nearly done. “Clear some of those scripts off the table and we’ll eat,” she said, searching in a cupboard for a bottle of steak sauce. “Then I’d appreciate it if you’d drive me back to my car.”

  “You’re really pissy for somebody who had great sex,” he remarked. “One orgasm doesn’t do it for you, huh?”

  “I hate to burst your ego,” she said quickly. “It didn’t mean a thing.”

  “No?”

  “I can be exactly like a guy in that respect.”

  “Fuck and run, huh?”

  “I’ve always thought that anything a man can do, a woman can too. It was retribution—pure and simple.”

  “Oh, I get it,” he said, a little bit pissed off. “It was a revenge fuck. And the fact that you and I have this kind of electric thing between us had nothing to do with it—am I right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about hot . . . lustful . . . sex.”

  And before she could stop him, he spun her around and grabbed her, pressing his lips down on hers, his hungry mouth devouring her, while the steaks burned on the grill and neither of them cared.

  She made a feeble attempt to push him off.

  It was useless. She was as into it as he was.

  • •

  Shopping with Rachel was fun, although not as much fun as cruising Melrose with Tina. Summer yearned for L.A. It was like a sickness; being there was all she could think about as she trailed Rachel through Saks. Rachel spent Daddy Dearest’s money at a pretty fast pace, throwing her credit card in Summer’s direction whenever she needed it.

  Summer idly wondered what Rachel would do if she told her the truth. Freak out and cry, perhaps—she didn’t have much backbone.

  When Summer got home she called Tina again, and they had the same old conversation. “When are you coming back?” Tina demanded.

  “Maybe for Christmas. I’ll be sixteen then. If things work out, I can stay.”

  “Darlene says you got rave reviews from Norman. He keeps asking where you are.”

  “Wow!” she said. Norman Barton, an actual movie star, wondering where she was. This was too amazing!

  A few days later, Rachel came into her room crying. “It’s my mother,” Rachel sniffed. “She’s sick. I have to fly to Florida.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Summer offered.

  “No, I’ll be all right.”

  Summer didn’t much care if Rachel would be all right or not, but she dreaded being left alone in the house with her father. It had been over a year since he’d touched her, but what if he started again?

  Rachel departed the next morning. Summer watched from her bedroom window as her stepmother left, fervently hoping she’d be back soon.

  An hour later Summer set off for school, but before she could make a clean getaway, her father strode out of his study, cutting her off by the front door. “You and I will dine together tonight,” he said. “The two of us—it’ll be like old times, sweet pea.”

  “Uh . . . I already have a date, Daddy,” she stammered, the words “like old times” striking fear within her.

  Sheldon did not look pleased. “Who’s the lucky young man?” he demanded.

  “A boy at school,” she lied.

  Sheldon stared at her for a moment, his thin lips twitching. “I would like to meet him,” he said. “Make sure you bring him in when he collects you.”

  Oh no! What was she going to do now?

  As soon as she got to school she approached Stuart, the school geek, who had a mammoth crush on her. “Wanna go to a movie tonight?” she asked, cornering him by the lockers.

  Stuart swallowed three times, so impressed was he by the invitation. “Y . . . yes,” he stammered.

  “Okay, pick me up at seven, and don’t make me wait around.”

  Stuart was right on time, washed and brushed and eager as a frisky racehorse. Summer marched him in to meet her father.

  Sheldon looked him over with a cold eye. “Be sure to have my daughter home by ten. And no monkey business.”

  Monkey business! Was her father under the impression they were living in 1960?

  “Yes sir!” Stuart said, standing ramrod straight.

  Ass kisser, Summer thought.

  Stuart took her to an action adventure epic starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. Halfway through the movie he attempted to hold her hand.

  She snatched it away. “Like, get a life, Stuart,” she said in disgust, crushing any hope he might have had.

  After the movie they stopped for a hamburger and milkshake. Summer wolfed her burger, sipped her milkshake and barely spoke to Stuart. When they were finished he drove her home in his secondhand Buick.

  She got rid of him with a brusque, “G’night,” and rushed inside.

  Her father was waiting in the front hall—a bad sign.

  “Did you have a nice evening, dear?” he asked, puffing on a big, stinky cigar.

  “I’m really tired,” she said, feigning a yawn.

  “I want to talk to you,” he responded. “Come into my study.”

  She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to be alone in the house with him. She didn’t want to ever see him again.

  Unfortunately she had no choice, so she reluctantly trailed him into his study.

  “We haven’t had much opportunity to chat since you got back,” he said, reaching for a glass of brandy—a really bad sign. “Sit down, dear, and relax.”

  She balanced uncomfortably on the edge of one of his stiff leather chairs, while he settled behind his desk, slugging back big gulps of brandy. “You know, Summer,” he said, “since you returned from California, you haven’t been the same.”

  “Yes I have,” she answered defiantly.

  “I sense an unrest. There’s something different about you.”

  “No there’s not.”

  “I’m a professional when it comes to human behavior, dear, and I feel that being with your mother was not good for you. She’s hardly a positive influence.” A long pause. “You see, I care about you, Summer. I should have insisted you come to the Bahamas with Rachel and me, instead of running off to L.A.”

  Ha! If he cared about her so much, how come he’d done all those vile things to her while she was growing up?

  He refilled his brandy glass, fixing her with a penetrating stare. “Did you go out with boys in L.A., Summer?”

  “I . . . uh . . . I dated a bit,” she stammered, wondering where this was leading. “I’m nearly sixteen. I can do that.”

  “I know how old you are,” he said sonorously. “You’re my daughter.”

  “I’m allowed to date, aren’t I?” she said boldly. “Everyone else does.”

  “I don’t care what everyone else does.” Another sip of brandy. “Tell me, pumpkin. Do these boys you go out with try to get fresh with you?”

  Wow, he really is living in the sixties. “No,” she lied, saying what he wanted to hear. “I never let them touch me.”

  He puffed on his cigar. “How about kissing?”

  “No . . . I don’t let them kiss me either.”

  He nodded to himself, satisfied with her reply. “You’re a good girl, Summer,” he said. “I always knew you were a good girl.”

  She twisted restlessly in her chair, hating every minute of this stupid inquisition. “Can I go to bed now, Daddy?” she asked, biting her nails. “I’m really tired.”

  He nodded again, and before he could
stop her, she leaped up and ran upstairs without looking back.

  There was a lock on her bedroom door, but no key. Where was the key? She searched frantically, but couldn’t find it.

  She was scared. He was bound to come to her room tonight, she’d recognized that horrible look in his eyes. And yet, if he dared to do so, she was determined to repel him, because she didn’t have to take it anymore—there were laws against incest and sexual abuse. Besides, she was big enough now to fight back.

  She quickly put on her pajamas and got into bed, pulling the covers up around her neck, watching television until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

  She didn’t know how late it was when she heard the click of her door opening. By the time she was fully awake, he was sitting on the side of her bed, stinking of expensive cigars and too much brandy. He always has to have alcohol, she thought, her heart sinking. Alcohol and abuse. The two had gone together for as long as she could remember.

  “Wass it like, kitten,” he asked, slurring his words, “when boys kiss you? Whyn’t you show Daddy ’xactly how they do it?”

  “Daddy,” she said, reverting to the frightened little girl she once was. “Please don’t do this anymore. Please, Daddy, you know it’s not right.”

  “C’mon, sweet pea,” he mumbled. “Tell me what boys do to you. Do they put their tongue in your mouth? Touch your breasts? Your vagina? All your private places.” His big clumsy hands began unbuttoning her pajama top. “You can tell Daddy. Daddy’s entitled to know.”

  “No!” she shrieked, shrinking away from him. “I warned you—you can’t do this to me anymore!”

  “Wassamatter?” he slurred, his big hands fondling her breasts. “Aren’t you Daddy’s little angel anymore?”

  “No! No! No!” she yelled, shoving him away with all her strength.

  “But Daddy loves you,” he said, brandy breath enveloping her. “You’re my baby. My own little baby girly.”

  And as his hands started to fondle her again, she leaped from her bed, raced into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door in his face.

  Then she slid to the floor and burst into tears.

  Enough was enough. She had to get out.