room and opened the door.
An earnest young woman wearing owl-shaped glasses stood there. 'Hi,' the young woman said, 'I'm Jenny Scott. I'm here for the interview with Mr Rush.'
'Oh, Jenny,' Kennedy said, feeling guilty - but a story was a story and she was on a roll. 'Mr Rush isn't available today. Can you be here Monday at ten?'
Well, yes...' Jenny said unsurely. 'But I was told it was kind of urgent.'
'Not that urgent,' Kennedy said crisply. 'Come back on Monday, he'll be happy to see you then.'
The young woman left and she went back to the coffee machine, poured two mugs of black coffee with no sugar and sat down on the other side of his modern glass and chrome desk.
Bobby emerged a few minutes later clad in faded jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt and a big grin. His dirty blond hair was wet and curly. 'Jeez, that feels better,' he said. 'The only problem is I'm starving. How about walking over to the commissary?'
'Sure,' she said, deciding he was much better looking in person than on the big screen. He had these penetrating clear blue eyes and a certain energy about him. Sexually attractive definitely.
Who cared? Maybe her readers would.
'OK, let's go,' he said, already out the door.
She trailed him from the building, checking him out from behind. He had a confident walk and a tight butt.
Hmm... very nice...
Once outside, he covered his blue eyes with dark shades. She did the same.
'So,' he said, as they strolled over to the commissary. 'I was expecting someone younger. This job is for a gofer, a kid who's prepared to do a lot of running around for me. You look like you passed that stage in your career.'
'It's something to do,' she replied.
He lifted his glasses and pinned her with his intense eyes. 'Something to do for fun, huh?'
That's right,' she said, refusing to be sucked in by his movie-star charm.
'I'm very demanding,' he said, watching her closely.
'I'm sure you are.'
What I'm trying to say is, it may be fun for you, but I expect the person I hire to be there at all times of the day and night.'
'Day
and
night?' she asked quizzically.
'You get to go home to sleep.'
'How reassuring.'
'What was your last job?' he asked.
'I worked for a magazine in New York.'
'Hey,' he began to laugh, 'you're not going to hand me your unfinished screenplay, are you?'
'No, Mr Rush, I can assure you I'm not.'
'Call me Bobby.'
They entered the commissary. Bobby waved to several people as they made their way to his usual table.
As soon as they sat down a middle-aged waitress was all over him. 'Hello, Bobby. Are we baconing and egging it today, or is it the fruit thing?'
'The fruit thing, sweetheart,' he said, patting his washboard stomach. 'Gotta watch those rolls of fat.'
The waitress giggled. 'Not to worry, Bobby. If
you
don't watch 'em, every other woman in America will.'
'Hey, who cares about other women when you're around, Mavis,' he said, giving her a friendly pat on the ass.
More giggles from the waitress who was old enough to know better.
He picked up a menu. 'What'll you have?' he asked Kennedy.
'An orange juice will do nicely,' she replied.
'No muffins? No bacon and eggs?'
'Tell me, uh... Bobby, do you always buy breakfast for the people you interview?'
Now he was definitely coming on to her. 'Only when they're as beautiful as you,' he said, fixing her once again with the baby blues. 'What did you say your name was?'
* * *
Halfway down the freeway it occurred to Michael that he hadn't been thorough enough in searching through Rita's dirty laundry. All he'd done was tip it on the floor, taken a cursory poke through it, and then stuffed it back in the bag. But Rita was devious and he knew it. Something told him to turn the car around and take another look.
Driving off at the next ramp he headed back to her place.
When he arrived, Lily was leaning from her window.
'You remember anything yet, Lily?' he called up to her.
'Still thinking, Mister Cop,' she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes.
'Don't
An earnest young woman wearing owl-shaped glasses stood there. 'Hi,' the young woman said, 'I'm Jenny Scott. I'm here for the interview with Mr Rush.'
'Oh, Jenny,' Kennedy said, feeling guilty - but a story was a story and she was on a roll. 'Mr Rush isn't available today. Can you be here Monday at ten?'
Well, yes...' Jenny said unsurely. 'But I was told it was kind of urgent.'
'Not that urgent,' Kennedy said crisply. 'Come back on Monday, he'll be happy to see you then.'
The young woman left and she went back to the coffee machine, poured two mugs of black coffee with no sugar and sat down on the other side of his modern glass and chrome desk.
Bobby emerged a few minutes later clad in faded jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt and a big grin. His dirty blond hair was wet and curly. 'Jeez, that feels better,' he said. 'The only problem is I'm starving. How about walking over to the commissary?'
'Sure,' she said, deciding he was much better looking in person than on the big screen. He had these penetrating clear blue eyes and a certain energy about him. Sexually attractive definitely.
Who cared? Maybe her readers would.
'OK, let's go,' he said, already out the door.
She trailed him from the building, checking him out from behind. He had a confident walk and a tight butt.
Hmm... very nice...
Once outside, he covered his blue eyes with dark shades. She did the same.
'So,' he said, as they strolled over to the commissary. 'I was expecting someone younger. This job is for a gofer, a kid who's prepared to do a lot of running around for me. You look like you passed that stage in your career.'
'It's something to do,' she replied.
He lifted his glasses and pinned her with his intense eyes. 'Something to do for fun, huh?'
That's right,' she said, refusing to be sucked in by his movie-star charm.
'I'm very demanding,' he said, watching her closely.
'I'm sure you are.'
What I'm trying to say is, it may be fun for you, but I expect the person I hire to be there at all times of the day and night.'
'Day
and
night?' she asked quizzically.
'You get to go home to sleep.'
'How reassuring.'
'What was your last job?' he asked.
'I worked for a magazine in New York.'
'Hey,' he began to laugh, 'you're not going to hand me your unfinished screenplay, are you?'
'No, Mr Rush, I can assure you I'm not.'
'Call me Bobby.'
They entered the commissary. Bobby waved to several people as they made their way to his usual table.
As soon as they sat down a middle-aged waitress was all over him. 'Hello, Bobby. Are we baconing and egging it today, or is it the fruit thing?'
'The fruit thing, sweetheart,' he said, patting his washboard stomach. 'Gotta watch those rolls of fat.'
The waitress giggled. 'Not to worry, Bobby. If
you
don't watch 'em, every other woman in America will.'
'Hey, who cares about other women when you're around, Mavis,' he said, giving her a friendly pat on the ass.
More giggles from the waitress who was old enough to know better.
He picked up a menu. 'What'll you have?' he asked Kennedy.
'An orange juice will do nicely,' she replied.
'No muffins? No bacon and eggs?'
'Tell me, uh... Bobby, do you always buy breakfast for the people you interview?'
Now he was definitely coming on to her. 'Only when they're as beautiful as you,' he said, fixing her once again with the baby blues. 'What did you say your name was?'
* * *
Halfway down the freeway it occurred to Michael that he hadn't been thorough enough in searching through Rita's dirty laundry. All he'd done was tip it on the floor, taken a cursory poke through it, and then stuffed it back in the bag. But Rita was devious and he knew it. Something told him to turn the car around and take another look.
Driving off at the next ramp he headed back to her place.
When he arrived, Lily was leaning from her window.
'You remember anything yet, Lily?' he called up to her.
'Still thinking, Mister Cop,' she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes.
'Don't
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