forget, if you come up with anything at all you've got my number.'
He entered Rita's apartment, went straight to the laundry bag, once again tipped everything on to the floor, and started a more methodical search. She sure was into lingerie - there were lacy bras, skimpy teddies, and a variety of other delicate little items. It brought back all the memories. When the sex was good it was very good.
Picking up a pair of black pantihose he noticed something stuffed in the foot. Investigating further, he discovered three Polaroids and a slip of paper with a name and a number written on it.
He checked out the Polaroids first. They were standard Rita, she'd always gotten off on having fun with a camera. In the first photo she wore nothing but a smile, a black lace garterbelt and roll-up stockings. The second one showed her minus the garter-belt, smile firmly in place. And the third was of a greasy-looking man with an enormous hard-on pointed straight at the camera.
Michael quickly read the scrawl on the piece of paper, recognizing Rita's bad handwriting. Heron Jones, she'd written. Club Erotica.
Pocketing the information, he threw the clothes back into the laundry bag, dumped it on the bathroom floor and hurried from the apartment.
Chapter Eleven
Bobby Rush felt good, breakfast with a beautiful woman did it for him every time. He'd enjoyed meeting Kennedy Chase, even though she wasn't right for the job, she sure was something.
He'd walked her to her car from the commissary. '
'You're
the one should have been doing the talking, not me,' he'd said with a rueful smile.
'Really?'
'That's usually the way it goes. I was supposed to be interviewing you , and you ended up asking all the questions.'
'That's because I like to know what I'm getting into.'
Well, you sure found out. I think I told you my life story.'
'It was interesting.'
'Uh, Kennedy, I'll be honest with you. You're way too qualified for this job.'
'You have no idea what my qualifications are.'
'No, but I bet they're first rate.'
She'd laughed. Great laugh, very throaty. 'That sounds like one of those breakup lines where the guy says "You're too good for me, so I have to go find someone new." '
He'd laughed too. 'I have to admit I've used that one a couple of times.'
'So you're into using lines?'
'Isn't everyone?'
'I'm not.'
That makes you very unusual.'
He'd watched her drive off. Classy lady. He'd give it a day, send her flowers, maybe take her on a date, get laid.
Ha! He was starting to think like his father. God forbid!
Get laid, huh? It had been quite some time. Getting laid was not what it used to be. AIDS was out there now and casual sex was a thing of the past.
He was well aware that just because he was a movie star he could have almost anyone he wanted. But today that didn't mean shit.
He was on edge. Tonight was the big night - dinner with Jerry. Darla had insisted the reunion take place at the family mansion with both his brothers and their wives present. Great, and he didn't have a date. Maybe it was just as well - this way Jerry couldn't put a move on whomever he was with.
He was apprehensive about seeing his father after all these years, although deep down he was hopeful that Jerry might have changed, that maybe he'd tell him he was proud of him and all his achievements. Wouldn't it be something to hear that from his old man?
Dream on. Jerry is a selfish sonofabitch, he's always been a selfish sonofabitch. Why would he change?
* * *
'Are we going to Cheryl's party?' Shep asked, pottering around his tiny neat kitchen.
'Why?' Jordanna replied, biting into an apple as she sat at the counter flicking through the pages of
L.A. Weekly
.
'It might be amusing.'
She put down the newspaper. 'Amusing to mix with a room full of hookers? I don't think so.'
'Come on, Jordy, you used to be adventurous.'
'You go if you want, but the thought of going to a party at Cheryl's while she pursues her new career as
the
Hollywood madam is not my
He entered Rita's apartment, went straight to the laundry bag, once again tipped everything on to the floor, and started a more methodical search. She sure was into lingerie - there were lacy bras, skimpy teddies, and a variety of other delicate little items. It brought back all the memories. When the sex was good it was very good.
Picking up a pair of black pantihose he noticed something stuffed in the foot. Investigating further, he discovered three Polaroids and a slip of paper with a name and a number written on it.
He checked out the Polaroids first. They were standard Rita, she'd always gotten off on having fun with a camera. In the first photo she wore nothing but a smile, a black lace garterbelt and roll-up stockings. The second one showed her minus the garter-belt, smile firmly in place. And the third was of a greasy-looking man with an enormous hard-on pointed straight at the camera.
Michael quickly read the scrawl on the piece of paper, recognizing Rita's bad handwriting. Heron Jones, she'd written. Club Erotica.
Pocketing the information, he threw the clothes back into the laundry bag, dumped it on the bathroom floor and hurried from the apartment.
Chapter Eleven
Bobby Rush felt good, breakfast with a beautiful woman did it for him every time. He'd enjoyed meeting Kennedy Chase, even though she wasn't right for the job, she sure was something.
He'd walked her to her car from the commissary. '
'You're
the one should have been doing the talking, not me,' he'd said with a rueful smile.
'Really?'
'That's usually the way it goes. I was supposed to be interviewing you , and you ended up asking all the questions.'
'That's because I like to know what I'm getting into.'
Well, you sure found out. I think I told you my life story.'
'It was interesting.'
'Uh, Kennedy, I'll be honest with you. You're way too qualified for this job.'
'You have no idea what my qualifications are.'
'No, but I bet they're first rate.'
She'd laughed. Great laugh, very throaty. 'That sounds like one of those breakup lines where the guy says "You're too good for me, so I have to go find someone new." '
He'd laughed too. 'I have to admit I've used that one a couple of times.'
'So you're into using lines?'
'Isn't everyone?'
'I'm not.'
That makes you very unusual.'
He'd watched her drive off. Classy lady. He'd give it a day, send her flowers, maybe take her on a date, get laid.
Ha! He was starting to think like his father. God forbid!
Get laid, huh? It had been quite some time. Getting laid was not what it used to be. AIDS was out there now and casual sex was a thing of the past.
He was well aware that just because he was a movie star he could have almost anyone he wanted. But today that didn't mean shit.
He was on edge. Tonight was the big night - dinner with Jerry. Darla had insisted the reunion take place at the family mansion with both his brothers and their wives present. Great, and he didn't have a date. Maybe it was just as well - this way Jerry couldn't put a move on whomever he was with.
He was apprehensive about seeing his father after all these years, although deep down he was hopeful that Jerry might have changed, that maybe he'd tell him he was proud of him and all his achievements. Wouldn't it be something to hear that from his old man?
Dream on. Jerry is a selfish sonofabitch, he's always been a selfish sonofabitch. Why would he change?
* * *
'Are we going to Cheryl's party?' Shep asked, pottering around his tiny neat kitchen.
'Why?' Jordanna replied, biting into an apple as she sat at the counter flicking through the pages of
L.A. Weekly
.
'It might be amusing.'
She put down the newspaper. 'Amusing to mix with a room full of hookers? I don't think so.'
'Come on, Jordy, you used to be adventurous.'
'You go if you want, but the thought of going to a party at Cheryl's while she pursues her new career as
the
Hollywood madam is not my
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