idea of a fun night out.'
'OK, OK,' Shep said. 'Let's meet later at Homebase.'
'You got it,' Jordanna replied. She'd spent a restless day thinking about Cheryl's revelations and wondering if she should tell Jordan. After all, if Kim used to be a working girl, surely her father was entitled to know?
Maybe I'll tell him.
Maybe not. You want him to be even more pissed at you?
I don't care.
Oh, yes, you do.
She called an actor friend of hers who was fun to be with and always had a great supply of pot. Wanna cruise the clubs tonight?' she asked hopefully.
'I've got a new girlfriend,' he said.
'Bring her along - I don't care.'
'Sure,
you
don't care, but
she
probably will.'
'Don't tell me you've hooked up with one of those jealous little things?' she needled.
He sounded uptight, definitely pussy-whipped. 'You could say that.'
She hung up the phone. Men. They sure as hell didn't make good best friends. But, hey, she didn't need a man to take her around, she could cruise on her own. In fact, hitting the clubs by herself allowed her more freedom.
After Shep left she watched a couple of movies on television, ordered a large pepperoni pizza from Jacopos, and shortly before eleven pulled on her oldest jeans, a pair of motorcycle boots, a man's oversize shirt and a Harley jacket.
Jordanna was ready to hit the streets.
* * *
Standing outside the house on Bedford brought back every bad memory. Bobby felt like a kid again, a stupid little kid whose father always put him down and told him he was useless.
Had to get his head straight. Had to remember he was not a kid. He was a successful businessman, producer, movie star.
Screw Jerry Rush. He was not afraid of him any more. He was going to walk into the house like a man and be treated with respect.
The black barman who'd worked for the Rushes for twenty-three years opened the front door. 'Mr Bobby,' the man exclaimed with a welcoming smile. 'Good to see you again after all this time.'
Bobby nodded. 'Thanks, Jimmy.'
He entered the house like a stranger. Darla had changed all the furniture. Hollywood wives had nothing much to do except redecorate and give great charity, and Darla was no exception.
He walked through the hallway, passing a familiar Picasso on his left, and a glass-fronted cabinet of African artifacts on his right. He strolled into the main living room trying to appear at ease.
Jerry sat in his favourite chair nursing a Scotch on the rocks. As soon as he spotted Bobby, he put down his drink, got up and threw open his arms. 'Welcome home, son,' he said magnanimously, as if playing to an attentive audience.
'Hello, Dad,' Bobby said, hanging back.
Gathered in the living room were Darla, clad in a shocking-pink Valentino suit and tasteful diamonds; stepbrother, Len, a florid-faced man with an aggravating wife called Trixie; and stepbrother, Stan, with his wife, Lana, a former
Playboy
bunny who'd put on thirty pounds since her glory days. From what Bobby had heard, Stan still fostered a major cocaine habit and his wife was into pill popping big time.
'Hello, everyone,' Bobby said, hoping he didn't sound as insincere as he felt. 'Nice to see you all.'
'Bobby,' Darla floated over, greeting him warmly. 'I'm
so
glad you're here. We're all delighted.'
Trixie darted across the room. She was a pinched-faced woman with small beady eyes and a snub nose covered in too many freckles. 'How would you like to speak at my ladies' lunch, Bobby?' she asked, never one to hang back. 'We meet once a month to discuss politics and world affairs. We're quite a cultural group and we'd love you to join us. Will you do it for me?'
'My schedule's full, Trixie.'
She pursed her lips. 'Too important for family now, is that it?' she asked peevishly.
It was starting already. 'No, Trixie, just too busy.'
He moved away from his annoying sister-in-law. Len came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Doin' pretty good, baby brother.'
'Yeah, things seem to have worked out.'
'Maybe we can
'OK, OK,' Shep said. 'Let's meet later at Homebase.'
'You got it,' Jordanna replied. She'd spent a restless day thinking about Cheryl's revelations and wondering if she should tell Jordan. After all, if Kim used to be a working girl, surely her father was entitled to know?
Maybe I'll tell him.
Maybe not. You want him to be even more pissed at you?
I don't care.
Oh, yes, you do.
She called an actor friend of hers who was fun to be with and always had a great supply of pot. Wanna cruise the clubs tonight?' she asked hopefully.
'I've got a new girlfriend,' he said.
'Bring her along - I don't care.'
'Sure,
you
don't care, but
she
probably will.'
'Don't tell me you've hooked up with one of those jealous little things?' she needled.
He sounded uptight, definitely pussy-whipped. 'You could say that.'
She hung up the phone. Men. They sure as hell didn't make good best friends. But, hey, she didn't need a man to take her around, she could cruise on her own. In fact, hitting the clubs by herself allowed her more freedom.
After Shep left she watched a couple of movies on television, ordered a large pepperoni pizza from Jacopos, and shortly before eleven pulled on her oldest jeans, a pair of motorcycle boots, a man's oversize shirt and a Harley jacket.
Jordanna was ready to hit the streets.
* * *
Standing outside the house on Bedford brought back every bad memory. Bobby felt like a kid again, a stupid little kid whose father always put him down and told him he was useless.
Had to get his head straight. Had to remember he was not a kid. He was a successful businessman, producer, movie star.
Screw Jerry Rush. He was not afraid of him any more. He was going to walk into the house like a man and be treated with respect.
The black barman who'd worked for the Rushes for twenty-three years opened the front door. 'Mr Bobby,' the man exclaimed with a welcoming smile. 'Good to see you again after all this time.'
Bobby nodded. 'Thanks, Jimmy.'
He entered the house like a stranger. Darla had changed all the furniture. Hollywood wives had nothing much to do except redecorate and give great charity, and Darla was no exception.
He walked through the hallway, passing a familiar Picasso on his left, and a glass-fronted cabinet of African artifacts on his right. He strolled into the main living room trying to appear at ease.
Jerry sat in his favourite chair nursing a Scotch on the rocks. As soon as he spotted Bobby, he put down his drink, got up and threw open his arms. 'Welcome home, son,' he said magnanimously, as if playing to an attentive audience.
'Hello, Dad,' Bobby said, hanging back.
Gathered in the living room were Darla, clad in a shocking-pink Valentino suit and tasteful diamonds; stepbrother, Len, a florid-faced man with an aggravating wife called Trixie; and stepbrother, Stan, with his wife, Lana, a former
Playboy
bunny who'd put on thirty pounds since her glory days. From what Bobby had heard, Stan still fostered a major cocaine habit and his wife was into pill popping big time.
'Hello, everyone,' Bobby said, hoping he didn't sound as insincere as he felt. 'Nice to see you all.'
'Bobby,' Darla floated over, greeting him warmly. 'I'm
so
glad you're here. We're all delighted.'
Trixie darted across the room. She was a pinched-faced woman with small beady eyes and a snub nose covered in too many freckles. 'How would you like to speak at my ladies' lunch, Bobby?' she asked, never one to hang back. 'We meet once a month to discuss politics and world affairs. We're quite a cultural group and we'd love you to join us. Will you do it for me?'
'My schedule's full, Trixie.'
She pursed her lips. 'Too important for family now, is that it?' she asked peevishly.
It was starting already. 'No, Trixie, just too busy.'
He moved away from his annoying sister-in-law. Len came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Doin' pretty good, baby brother.'
'Yeah, things seem to have worked out.'
'Maybe we can
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