Текст книги "Born Savages"

Автор книги: Cora Brent

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

OZ

Fuck it all.  I’m done.

The way we are with each other, it’s nothing but toxic.

In the afternoon I take a long hike and it’s while I’m among the lizards and the snakes that I think about every word Ren and I have exchanged since I got here.  However hostile she is to me, I manage to one up her every time.  I can’t seem to help it.

Every day I’m becoming a worse version of myself.

Did I come here to mess with her head?  Or did I come here because despite the pain of the past and the silence of five years I still had some hope?  That maybe with one look we would find our way back to those two kids who connected so strongly, loved so hard.

I don’t know the answer.  I never did.  This has been one massive fool’s errand.  The whim is over now.  Loren Savage and I are strangers.  Oscar Savage never existed.  It’s time for me to duck out of this fantasy and return to the world of Oz Acevedo.

Evening is well underway by the time I get back.  The minute I see Atlantis again I know what I need to do.  Once I’m in my room I’m practically kicking shit around from one side of the floor to the other in my haste to pack.   It doesn’t seem important that I’ve left the door open until Monty regards it an invitation to park himself in the frame and blow cigarette smoke into the room.

“Why don’t you take your temper tantrum somewhere that doesn’t share a wall with me?”

“Fuck you, Monty.”

“Fuck me,” he chuckles and inwardly I groan because I can tell where this is headed and at the moment I don’t feel like being locked in mortal combat with this jackass.

I drop a duffel bag on the floor and meet his eye.  “You want to do this in here or outside?”

“Don’t look so terrified, Mr. Oz.  At the moment I’m not excited about cutting up my knuckles on your face.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, picking up the duffel bag and zipping it shut.

Monty continues to smoke.  He leans against the doorjamb, all puffed up with big ideas about his cocky ass.  He’s insane if he thinks he could take me down, especially right now.  Right now I feel like I could punch my way through six feet of cinderblock before it would sting.  I hate the smell of cigarettes.

“You know, Oz, I keep trying and I just can’t figure out what the hell your end game is.”

“Well, you keep on figuring.  You can even send me a postcard when you reach a conclusion.”

His tone gets darker.  “I think you’re actually just biding your time, waiting for the right moment when you can hurt her the most.”

“God, you’re smart, Monty.  That’s exactly what I’m fucking doing.  That’s why I’m packing up all my shit and getting myself hell and gone from you people and your sick reality.”

Monty has no answer for that.  He doesn’t leave right away either though, so I just keep packing, breathing out of my mouth so I don’t have to smell his disgusting smoke.   After I zip the duffel bag closed I notice he’s finally gone.  A second later I hear the front door.  Good.  With any luck I can get out of here without running into him again.  Him, or any of the other Savages.  If Vogel Productions wants to chase after me for breach of contract or whatever those people call it, best of luck to them.

I throw two hastily packed bags over my shoulder and head for my truck.  It’s parked about twenty yards away, all by itself.   I toss the bags into the back bed and slam the door. I think I heard the crew truck taking off a little while ago, which is a good thing because I’m not too excited about explaining myself to anyone right now.  There’s an acrid, smoky taste in the air. A fire burns somewhere up north, sparked in the dense forests surrounding Flagstaff.  I hear that the season has been dry, meaning any fire will spread quickly.  Not down here though.  There’s not much in the way of brush so when fires start they don’t burn for long.

There are just a few more things I need to grab and then I’ll be out of here.  It’s quiet, no one in sight, so I should be able to make a clean exit.  Now that I’m thinking about it, instead of heading back home straight away I’d rather take a detour for a week or two.  Someplace cold.  Someplace that looks nothing like the barren wastelands of the Sonoran desert.   Montana sounds good.  I’ve always been meaning to go see Glacier National Park.  This is a perfect time for a fresh odyssey.

So why is there a gnawing hole in my chest right now?  Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up somewhere else.  I’ve spent five years troubled by the idea of what would happen if I ever saw Ren again.  Now I know.  And the answer is nothing.  Nothing good, anyway.

Yes.  At least now I know.

Once I’m back in the house I spend a few minutes snatching up the rest of my crap.  There wasn’t much to begin with.  And if there’s anything I’m forgetting it’s either replaceable or not worth having in the first place.

After some quick searches on my phone I calculate that I can be in Montana the day after tomorrow, especially if I push through and drive until morning.  I’m so keyed up, I bet I’ll end up doing exactly that.

When I return to the truck I stop in my tracks for a second because something that looks just like Loren Savage is sitting in the passenger seat.  She doesn’t turn her head even though with the window open she must realize I’m ten feet away.  She just sits there all statue-like, not even blinking.  Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders, grazing the swell of her breasts.

I open the driver’s side door and climb inside even though I almost can’t stand being this close to her.  “Hey, you lost?”

“Yes.”  Her voice is a husky whisper. “I’m lost.”

I toss the rest of my crap into the back and lean against the side of the truck.  “I don’t think I can help you with that, Ren.”

“I know you can’t.”

She’s too beautiful.  I don’t want to look at her anymore.   Instead I look at the last wisps of light in the western sky.  “What the hell do you want from me then?”

“I want you to drive into the desert.”

“What for?”

She looks straight at me.  “Just drive,” she whispers.

“Just drive,” I mutter, but I jump behind the wheel.

At this point I know the surrounding land pretty well.  The terrain isn’t that rough until you get real close to the mountains.  I drove slowly, using the brights to guide my way around towering saguaros and spectral Joshua trees.  After coasting for over a mile I stop and switch off the engine, waiting.

She’s watching me.  My eyes are pretty sharp in the dark, probably on account of spending so much time exploring the underground.

Damn, the beauty of her can still catch me off guard.  Her full lips are parted slightly and I think about tasting them, sucking them.  She stares at me for a moment and then glances around the dashboard.

“You got a camera in here?”

“Fuck no.”

With no warning she grabs my hand off the steering wheel and presses it firmly to her tits.  The hot flesh beneath her flimsy shirt arches against my palm.   All the blood in my body roars straight into my cock.   Whatever she’s doing, I’m not about to put a stop to it.  I flex my hand, lightly squeezing.

“Harder,” she whispers.

I get both my hands on her, one palm on each pleading tit, and start kneading them roughly.  Ren gasps once, then melts right into the seat, letting out a soft moan and covering my hands with hers.  The more I work her the more she gets off on it.  She wants me to be rough.

Fine.  I’ll give it to her rough.  But it will be my version.

With a grunt I ball up the front of her shirt in one fist and haul her toward me.  I feel the snap of her bra breaking as I get her straddled across my lap.  Her hair has fallen in her face so I seize two handfuls of it and yank hard until she winces and finally looks me in the eye.

“I know what you’re doing,” I growl at her.

She cocks her head to the side.  “Do you now?”

“You think if we go at it this way, all filthy and empty, that you can kill every bit of unfinished business there is between us.”

She just stares, stubborn and silent.  But the flash in her eyes tells me I’m right.

I push open the door and drag her outside with me.  I slam the door shut and press her against it, pulling her skirt up and parting her legs with my knee.

“You know what?  I need you gone for good too and maybe this is what it’ll take.”  When I push my hands between her legs she shudders and grips my shoulders as her body rocks against the rhythm of my crude stroking.  She’s ready all right.  This is what she’s here for.   My cock is so hard I’m about to bust out.

“Tell me that’s what you’re after.”

“Yes, Oz,” she pants through gritted teeth.  “This is what it’ll take.”

“And you know that once I’m done with you tonight you’ll just be another dumb snatch I’ve greased.”

She flinches but doesn’t back down.  “And you’ll just be another disposable dick.  Like you always were.”

I take a step back and yank my shirt over my head.  “I’m not kissing you.  I’ll never kiss you again, you cold-hearted bitch.  Kissing means something and this don’t mean shit.”

“No, it doesn’t mean shit.”

I drop my pants and close her hand around my cock.  She gasps slightly and squeezes her way along the hard flesh.  This is what I’ve fantasized about.  But there’s a crude, angry quality to it now. I let her stroke me for a few more beats before I swat her away and start pumping my junk myself.

“Get it all off.”

Her hands grasp the hem of her shirt but then she hesitates.

“Now, Ren.  You wanted nasty and I’m going to give it to you nasty as all fuck, but that means I’m sure as hell not undressing you all gentle and sweet.”

“Fuck you,” she sneers, “if I wanted gentle and sweet I wouldn’t be here.”

“Glad we finally understand each other.  So get all your shit off and get spread out.”

Her chest heaves as she gets rid of her shirt and her torn bra. “You’re despicable now. I really hate you.”

“You don’t hate me at all.  But you will by the time I’m done tonight.”

I know there are some condoms in my bag but it takes me a minute of hunting around in the dark to find them.   Ren still has her skirt on and she’s slow about sliding her underwear off.  She hasn’t moved from the side of the truck.  The tailgate creaks in protest when I tug it down.

For a second the insanity of the situation hits me and I’m almost ashamed.  If I still had some shreds of decency to rub together I would drive her back to Atlantis, bid her a cordial farewell and then drive off forever.  What’s about to happen isn’t going to do either of us any good but somehow I can’t stop it.

I don’t want to stop it.

I snap my fingers at her face.  “Now get your spoiled little ass over here if you want to do this.”

Ren slides slowly around to the back and faces me with her tits bared and her skirt bunched up in her fists.  My cock is pointed straight as a thick arrow and with my teeth I tear open the condom wrapper.

She’s staring at my cock and she’s still clutching the sides of her skirt around her thighs like she’s about to go wading in shallow water.  That drives me slightly crazy and I grab the fabric, crudely yanking it over her hips until she’s forced to let it go and puddle on the ground.

Goddammit, why does she have to be so beautiful?

Her high gasp makes me think she might just be all talk here so I shove my hand between her legs to find out.

“Fuuuck,” I groan because she’s so open and ready I lose two fingers inside her without even trying.

“No!”  She pushes my hand right out of her and spins around, bracing her hands on the flattened tailgate and rubbing her lush little ass against my extended cock.  She knows what she’s doing, teasing with that ripe little cleft until I almost forget where I am and who I am because above all else there’s the big fat fucking need to get my shit buried in a tight spot.

“We’re doing it like this,” she whispers.

Ren’s long dark hair cascades over her bare back and there’s never been anything that screams SEX as loud as this goddamn woman bent naked over the truck and trying to swallow my cock with her ripe ass.  She jerks her head suddenly, swinging her hair aside and looking back at me to bark out a terse order.  “And Oz, you damn well better make it hurt!”

I could.  I could bore straight into that sweet center like a fucking jackhammer and pound pound pound without mercy until she cries.   Instead I get my hands around her hips, arch her body slightly and slide carefully into the tight, slippery entrance I had once been the first man to find a way into.

“Oz!” she gasps, then groans as I get into the rhythm.

Damn you.  Damn you.  Damn you.  I loved you.  Damn you. 

She’s clenching, arching, doing everything she can to push back and work her body so that I’m reaching the sweet spot.  I’m not gentle.  I squeeze her tits, suck her skin and keep pumping until she’s so far gone into her moaning ecstasy she probably doesn’t remember her own name.  That’s when I slide a hand underneath where we’re joined, find her swollen clit and press down with two fingers until I feel the shudder of a powerful orgasm start to claim her.

Then I abruptly stop.  It’s kind of cruel but that’s the idea.  I take my hand away, pull my cock out and grab a fistful of her thick hair, clawing my fingers close to her scalp and then tugging hard enough to make her yelp.

“You still want me to make it hurt, Ren?”

“Oh god, yes!”  She grinds her lower body against the hard shell of the tailgate, desperate for release, bringing a perverse smile to my face. If I so much as fucking breathe on that needy little pussy right now she’ll come so hard she won’t be able to stand up afterwards.

But I’m not giving that to her.

She told me to make it hurt and I’m damn well going to make it hurt, just not the way she had in mind.

She’s light enough so that I can flip her over with ease.   The moonlight pours over her tits and her belly and every cursed perfect inch of her.   All I want to do is bend my head and use my mouth, my tongue, to worship all of her until the sun reclaims the sky.  Instead I spread her legs wider, grip her hips and plunge inside, barely hanging on to my own reason when she arches her back, bends those pretty tits toward my face and lets out a low, throaty moan that I’m dead sure will give me mental jerkoff material until the day my cock stops working.  She’s so close to the edge she’s shaking and I’m about ready to bust my load wide open but I pull out again anyway.

“Please,” she moans, shaking her head from side to side, “I need…”

I climb on top of her.  “Look at me.”

She’s drunk with passion, can hardly hear me. “Wha-“

With a roar I grab her face in my palm, my fingers digging into her soft cheeks until she winces.

“Look at me, Loren Savage!  You better open up and fucking see me!”

She opens her eyes and there must be something terrible about the look on my face because they widen with alarm.  That’s when I plunge into her again.  Hard.  Deliberate.  She responds with a wild buck of her hips and a scream of pleasure that’s swiftly drowned with my mouth.

I’d told her I wouldn’t kiss her and true to my word, this is no kiss.  This is a ruthless invasion of tongue and force that doesn’t let up until we are both trembling from the spasms of our violent climax.

“Oscar,” she sighs softly when I finally let go of her.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

No, that’s not this night.  That was another night, a long time ago.  It happened to two utterly different people who are long gone.  They won’t be coming back.

I don’t watch her as she pulls her clothes back on.  I sit there on the edge of the tailgate, naked and hollow, saying nothing.  Every ten seconds or so a flash of lightning burns the sky and shows the mountains hiding in the dark.  The wind kicks up slightly, rustling the dry mesquite leaves and stirring the dust on the desert floor.

Ren is beside me now, waiting.  Waiting for me to say a word, waiting for me to hop back in my truck and leave her out here to find her way back alone.  Without acknowledging her at all I manage to locate my clothes in the dust.

The used condom has already been tossed somewhere into the darkness.  Usually I’m scrupulous about such things but fuck it.  The desert can keep that one little sordid piece of us.

Once I’m behind the wheel again, Ren climbs into the passenger seat beside me and folds her hands primly in her lap as I steer the truck back to Atlantis.  There are lights on in the big house, not surprising since it isn’t really that late.  It’s not even nine o’clock.

I brake to a stop about fifty yards away from the house, close to the sadly overgrown plot of what was once a fake cemetery in a dozen old west movies.   On one side, the caretaker’s house squats behind the dark, silent brothel.  On the other the white clapboard church stands sentinel.  Last week when I ducked inside there I noticed weeds poking through the floorboards and thought it was possible no one had walked the floor in years.  I suppose that for Spencer the old church is simply not a caretaking priority.  It’ll probably just fall over one of these days.  In the distance, the faded letters on the broad Mercantile are visible if I squint.  I allow myself to have a few seconds to take in what I can see of the place in the dark because I’ve already made up my mind.

This will be the last time I ever see Atlantis Star.  This will be the last time I see Ren.

She already has her hand on the door but she pauses without opening it.  If she’s waiting for some poignant last words she’s not going to get them.  Even though my heart is full of chaos, confusion, even sorrow, it has to be this way.  If I ever had any doubts that we’re an unhealthy mix, that frenzied fuck fest in the desert just answered everything.

I never really did want to hurt her.  Not years ago when she kicked me out of her life, not when I landed back in Atlantis amid all the surreal camera craziness and not even tonight when she opened her legs and begged me to.

She was, and is, the owner of my heart.

She whispers my name.  “Oz.”

I have to pretend I just don’t hear it because I’m aching to pull her against my chest and stubbornly keep her no matter what it might do to my sanity.

I just turn my head and face the open window.  It’s as definite a refusal as I can muster without saying the words.  If I try to say anything right now I know I won’t end up leaving.  And at this point I’m leaving as much for her sake as for mine.   Thanks to this circus the world would sniff out a ‘cousin fucks cousin’ scandal without a care about whether there’s any actual biology involved.  They would harass her to the end of time.  Funny how after everything I still care about how she feels.

So I wait in silence until she gives up and slowly opens the door.  She’s probably combing her brain to figure out how to bid a final farewell to a hated ex-lover.  I guess she can’t come up with anything because after a moment I hear her footsteps heading in the opposite direction, toward the big house.  Only then do I look at her, just to catch one final glimpse of the swing of her hair and the straight line of her back before she melts into the darkness.

There’s nothing to do now but start the engine and head for the road.  In two minutes I’m outside of Atlantis and I don’t look back.

Now that I’m out of there can I start to think straight again.

Really, I lost my grudge against the Savages a long time ago.  Maybe it never existed in the first place.  I was angry and hurting for a long time so whatever reasons there were for my exile seemed unimportant.

I do know one thing.  No matter what she says these days, that girl loved me once.  She loved me as much as I loved her.  But the world is filled with a million sad stories, stories of what’s been lost and who has suffered.  Ren and I, we’re just another of those stories.

And now I can finally say that the story has ended.  Not happily, but ended just the same.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

REN

Nothing seems real tonight.  Not the ache between my legs or bruised sensation still on my lips or the fresh smell of the approaching rain. My steps are leaden as I leave Oscar and I don’t take a breath until I hear his truck roaring away into the night.

Spencer happens to be coming around the side of the house with a thick coil of rope around one shoulder when I reach the porch.  I try to avoid being bathed in the yellow porch light, but it’s not enough to escape my brother’s scrutiny.  He stops, staring.  “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing. “  My voice sounds froggy so I clear it and try again. “I was just out for a walk.”

“You look pretty messed up for a walk.”

“Yeah, well. It got windy, okay?”

Spence glances in the direction where Oz’s truck disappeared.  The sound of the engine lingers but the taillights are no longer visible.  He must have already gone around the bend of the road that leads out of Atlantis.  He’s gone.  There will be no answer to the misery in my soul.

Could I have stopped him from leaving?  No, there’s no use running after a man who finds you contemptible.  Twice now I’ve watched him leave.  At the moment I couldn’t say which occasion was more devastating.  I’m not as raw as I was five years ago though.

Perhaps my transition is complete.  I’m a ‘cold-hearted bitch’ who has finally turned to stone.

Spence shifts his weight around and seems like he wants to say something but Monty interrupts, flinging open the screen door like a cocksure king busting out of his castle.   He steps onto the porch, still holding the same bottle as earlier, but in the glint of the moonlight I can see it’s not as full.  Nonetheless, the look he gives me is sharp-eyed and suspicious, not dull and drunk.  Montgomery could always hold his liquor.  He crosses his arms and looks from side to side as if he’s searching for a hidden predator.  He gives me a nod.  “What’s going on, Ren?”

For a second I try to pat my wild hair down, then give up.  I realize that the shoulder of my shirt is torn but there’s nothing I can do about that right now.  I can’t make myself care much about appearances at the moment anyway.  “Jesus, you guys,” I snap. “Nothing happened.”

“She went for a walk,” Spence pipes up with helpful sarcasm.

Monty leans against the knotty wood porch beam and looks me over.  He evidently doesn’t like what he sees.  “You fall down the side of a fucking mountain on your walk?”

God, I’m tired.  I could sleep for a week. Perhaps when I wake up the dull pain will be gone.  “I fell down something.”

“Did that something have a pickup truck and a shitty attitude?”

I lower my head.  My hair falls across my vision like a dark veil. “So what if it did?”

Monty spits into the dirt.  “Fuck him. I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Oz is gone?” asks Spence.

“He’d better be.”

Spence is looking at me. “I never really understood what he was doing here anyway.  Doesn’t seem like the Hollywood type who would fit into all of this.”

Monty laughs.  “What about you, fantasy cowboy?  You’re not exactly the type either.”

“Shut up, you jailbird piece of shit.”

Monty lights another cigarette.  He’s becoming a goddamn chain smoker.  “Hey Ren, you let me know the minute that prick shows up here again and I’ll drop kick him to fucking Flagstaff.”

I raise my head and glare at him.  “Really, Monty?  I have my doubts that assault is encouraged during your parole.”

Monty grunts in response and takes a drag.

Spencer comes closer, really takes stock of my messy appearance and adopts an expression of supreme concern.  For Spencer, that means his eyebrows are slightly furrowed.  “Hey.  He didn’t rough you up or nothing, did he?”

“Oz?  Rough me up?” I throw my head back and laugh crazily.  I’m laughing because the concept so far from the truth and yet so completely true.  Yes, he roughed me up.  He told me the truth about myself and treated me how I deserve to be treated.

While I keep cackling, my brothers assume identical macho glowers.  They glower at me.  The glower at each other.  They glower at the darkness and the sky.  I’m sick of both of them and their stupid fucking glowering maleness at this point.  I stop laughing like a wild hyena.

“Whatever happened out there tonight is my business so let’s knock off the inquisition. Ninety nine percent of the time you don’t seem to give a damn about what I’m doing anyway.  So let’s save the show of brotherly concern for the daylight hours when the production crew can get some useful footage out of it.”

On that tender note I slam my way into the house.  Brigitte’s startled face is the first thing I see because she’s scooted a chair right next to the door, pretending to be immersed in her phone while discreetly listening to the conversation on the front porch.

She calls my name but I ignore her and head for the kitchen.  My mouth feels like it’s layered with mesquite bark.  I fill a glass with water from the sink even though the tap water tastes like warm sulfur out here. When I’m gulping it back, ignoring the awful taste, I catch sight of a camera that had been installed just above the sink.  I’d stopped noticing it days ago but now the empty stare of the black lens infuriates me so I rip it right out of the wall.  A few errant wires trail from its guts so I stuff the whole thing into the very back of the freezer, slamming the stainless steel door shut.

“Like that’ll do anything,” Brigitte snorts from the doorway.  She wafts into the room, grabs an apple from a bowl in the center of the table and flashes me a bemused glance.  “They’ll just put it back tomorrow.  Besides, there are about a hundred and seventy five more of them sewn into the walls of the house.  I’ll bet someone will still be picking hidden cameras out of the eaves fifty years after we’re dead.  By the way, big sister, you look like the proverbial cat who ate the canary.”

I empty the glass and set it down in the sink.  “So I guess you’re speaking to me again?”

She takes a bite of the apple, chews and looks thoughtfully wounded before opting to answer.  “I’m choosing to overlook your occasionally aggressive nature.  After all, I know this is a stressful environment.  I also know that I have the capacity to be a terrible bitch.”

I sink down in one of the hardback chairs.  “Cut out the theatrics.  You know Bree, I have to wonder if you have to ability to stop acting even if you try.”

Another bite of the apple.  “I’m not acting right now.  I’m just being your sister.”

“Then just be my sister and stop trying to direct a script.”

She sighs, touches her left palm to her forehead.  Bree suffers from frequent migraines, one of the few things we have in common.

“Loren,” she says quietly, “why are you in the habit of forgetting that I’m on your side?”

“Why are you in that habit of behaving as if you are starring in a vivid mini-series about your own life?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Yes you do.  It means I have to watch my back lest I get broadsided by your ambitions.”

The hand holding the apple wilts at her side and the flash of genuine confusion in her eyes makes me wish I could take my own words back.  I’ve been wishing that a lot lately.  Someone really ought to muzzle me.

We’re turning on each other.  Or maybe it’s all me, turning on everyone. 

She shakes her head, catching onto my meaning.  “Ren, I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.”

I close my eyes.  “Really?”

“No, I really didn’t!  If you want to know how it went down, well, okay. Gary asked.  Repeatedly.   Like he already knew everything about you and Oscar but was looking for someone to go on record with it.  But that someone wasn’t me.”

“You could have warned me, Brigitte.  You could have warned me that his name had come up.”

“Ren, why did you ever fool yourself into thinking it wouldn’t?”  She sighs.  “You’re right though.  I should have said something. But I thought if I did-“

“You thought I’d back out of the show.”

She lowers her head.  “Yes.”  After a long exhale she swallows and meets my eyes.  “I’m sorry, okay?  But I swear, the day he showed up I was as shocked to see him as you were.”

“Oh, I doubt anyone was as shocked to see him as I was.”

Bree scrunches up her nose and starts to say something before changing her mind and shutting her mouth.

“What do you want to say?”

Brigitte slides her lithe body into the chair across from me.  “I never even knew exactly what happened between you guys.  None of us really did.  I mean, we all knew you were together.  We knew Lita was simmering to a slow boil over it.  But the things she said about him, they couldn’t all have been true, right?”

The flashback to that night is visceral.  The smell of smoke, the feel of Oscar inside of me, my mother’s hand slapping my face hard enough to bring a trickle of blood to my nose.  Threats, promises, screaming, desolation.  And finally, emptiness.

“No, Bree,” I assure my sister.  “They weren’t all true.”

But it didn’t matter.  Not then, and certainly not now.  Lita was pathological about her lies but her promises were another story.  She’d left me with the cruelest choice she could think of.  But then, that was the idea.

“I figured as much,” says Brigitte with a wise nod.  Funny how I always think of my sisters as very young, even though I’m only a year older than Ava and barely two years older than Brigitte.

My sister winds the end of her brilliant red hair around a forefinger with a troubled expression.   It’s eerie how much she resembles Margaret O’Leary, film goddess from the last century.  She has the kind of face loved by the camera.  Suddenly her eyebrows knit together.  “I should probably tell you something.  The other day, that parasite Cate Camp let her guard down and said something about the show having some contact with Lita.  She realized right away she’d made a mistake mentioning her and started falling all over herself to cover it up, telling some spontaneous lie about how Lita was demanding that her name be kept out of the show altogether.”

The sound of my mother’s name is a sour one and I feel my face scrunching up. “I thought that was always the idea.  But escaping publicity doesn’t really sound like Lita.”

“I didn’t think so either but who knows?  I haven’t heard from her in over two years, not since I turned eighteen.  She didn’t even want to know about it when Ava had her baby.  Supposedly she’s holed up in her mansion in Beverly Hills, waiting for her meal ticket to stop breathing so she can enjoy the fruits of California’s community property laws.  God, she’s a bitch.”