about me anymore. I had to pop that overinflated ego and get Alex back on the show.
Chapter 7
A hot wind blew my short, olive-colored eyelet skirt against my thighs as I squinted across the vast expanse of asphalt. Christ, I shouldn’t have worn my tallest ankle-boot wedges. By the time I finished this hike, I was going to end up in traction, the skin on my feet sliced to ribbons on the lattice-cut leather of the peep-toes. I adjusted my sunglasses, pulled some strands of hair out of the corner of my mouth, and started hoofing it over the first of three parking lots I had to slog across, never taking my eyes off the buildings in the distance, just in case I blinked and they disappeared, like an illusory oasis in the Sahara. Or did that only happen in old Bugs Bunny cartoons?
Didn’t matter; the point was I had to get to those buildings. Because Alex was there. Yep, it only took three calls to his agent to get him to spill the details on Alex’s secret location.
“Faith, come on. What are you looking for him now for?”
“Will you just tell me, Anthony?”
“Can’t. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Don’t tell me he’s in a tin-can trailer outside Reno.”
“No!” he scoffed.
“Off ‘finding himself’ in Thailand again?”
“Faith, that was so two years ago.”
“On a private island somewhere, with Gwynnie, Chris, Apple, and Moses?”
“Nope. But I’m not telling you. My lips are sealed.”
Sure they were. All it took was the news that I wanted Alex back—well, “Alex was wanted,” nice and neutral and passive voice—and I could practically feel Anthony crumbling like a sandcastle with the tide coming in.
I went in for the kill. “Anthony, listen. A new contract for Alex means another nice, fat commission for you. And this’ll get him back in the public eye, which could mean movie offers again . . .”
“The paying acting groove . . . ? That’d be nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s acting, but he’s not getting paid, so I’m not getting a commission.”
“Tell me where he is, and I swear, Anthony, I will go get him and bring him back where he belongs.”
* * *
Around what felt like an hour later, I reached civilization. That is, some scrubby grass and sidewalks, with people on them. I was sure I’d left a few toes behind, and my shoulders had burned to a crisp, what with the parking lot pavement frying me like a strip of bacon in a skillet, but I’d survived. Bonus: I’d be able to find my way back to my car using the trail of blood from my feet.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this . . . and my bloody feet were also feeling a little cold. Time for some moral support before I chickened out. I dug my phone out of my bag and hit my most frequently used contact. Luckily Jaya answered her own phone for once; I didn’t have the strength to deal with Ashley at the moment. “Babe. You will never guess where I am.”
“Tell me you’re on a chaise lounge by a reflecting pool in Istanbul.”
“Nope. Alas.”
“Similar chaise, similar reflecting pool, Vietnam?”
“Not even.”
“At least gimme a beach scene.”
“How about lots of beach, no water.”
“Huh?”
“Very brown, very dry, three-hundred-and-fifty-degree open-oven, gates-of-hell-type heat. G’wan, guess.”
Jaya laughed. “Not on vacation, then.”
“Definitely not. I am working.” I took a deep breath. “I’m in Moreno Valley.”
There was a pause, then an incredulous, “Why?”
“Because here be Alex.”
Jaya let loose a little squeal. “You found him?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
Another deep breath, this one shakier. “I haven’t seen him yet. On my way there now.”
“What’s he doing in Moreno Valley? And—sorry—which is where, exactly, again?”
“An hour and a half, two hours inland from the coast . . . ish. I don’t know; I just followed my GPS.”
“And what’s he doing there?” she repeated.
I limped up the wide, shallow steps of a squat building that looked like all the other
Chapter 7
A hot wind blew my short, olive-colored eyelet skirt against my thighs as I squinted across the vast expanse of asphalt. Christ, I shouldn’t have worn my tallest ankle-boot wedges. By the time I finished this hike, I was going to end up in traction, the skin on my feet sliced to ribbons on the lattice-cut leather of the peep-toes. I adjusted my sunglasses, pulled some strands of hair out of the corner of my mouth, and started hoofing it over the first of three parking lots I had to slog across, never taking my eyes off the buildings in the distance, just in case I blinked and they disappeared, like an illusory oasis in the Sahara. Or did that only happen in old Bugs Bunny cartoons?
Didn’t matter; the point was I had to get to those buildings. Because Alex was there. Yep, it only took three calls to his agent to get him to spill the details on Alex’s secret location.
“Faith, come on. What are you looking for him now for?”
“Will you just tell me, Anthony?”
“Can’t. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Don’t tell me he’s in a tin-can trailer outside Reno.”
“No!” he scoffed.
“Off ‘finding himself’ in Thailand again?”
“Faith, that was so two years ago.”
“On a private island somewhere, with Gwynnie, Chris, Apple, and Moses?”
“Nope. But I’m not telling you. My lips are sealed.”
Sure they were. All it took was the news that I wanted Alex back—well, “Alex was wanted,” nice and neutral and passive voice—and I could practically feel Anthony crumbling like a sandcastle with the tide coming in.
I went in for the kill. “Anthony, listen. A new contract for Alex means another nice, fat commission for you. And this’ll get him back in the public eye, which could mean movie offers again . . .”
“The paying acting groove . . . ? That’d be nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s acting, but he’s not getting paid, so I’m not getting a commission.”
“Tell me where he is, and I swear, Anthony, I will go get him and bring him back where he belongs.”
* * *
Around what felt like an hour later, I reached civilization. That is, some scrubby grass and sidewalks, with people on them. I was sure I’d left a few toes behind, and my shoulders had burned to a crisp, what with the parking lot pavement frying me like a strip of bacon in a skillet, but I’d survived. Bonus: I’d be able to find my way back to my car using the trail of blood from my feet.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this . . . and my bloody feet were also feeling a little cold. Time for some moral support before I chickened out. I dug my phone out of my bag and hit my most frequently used contact. Luckily Jaya answered her own phone for once; I didn’t have the strength to deal with Ashley at the moment. “Babe. You will never guess where I am.”
“Tell me you’re on a chaise lounge by a reflecting pool in Istanbul.”
“Nope. Alas.”
“Similar chaise, similar reflecting pool, Vietnam?”
“Not even.”
“At least gimme a beach scene.”
“How about lots of beach, no water.”
“Huh?”
“Very brown, very dry, three-hundred-and-fifty-degree open-oven, gates-of-hell-type heat. G’wan, guess.”
Jaya laughed. “Not on vacation, then.”
“Definitely not. I am working.” I took a deep breath. “I’m in Moreno Valley.”
There was a pause, then an incredulous, “Why?”
“Because here be Alex.”
Jaya let loose a little squeal. “You found him?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
Another deep breath, this one shakier. “I haven’t seen him yet. On my way there now.”
“What’s he doing in Moreno Valley? And—sorry—which is where, exactly, again?”
“An hour and a half, two hours inland from the coast . . . ish. I don’t know; I just followed my GPS.”
“And what’s he doing there?” she repeated.
I limped up the wide, shallow steps of a squat building that looked like all the other
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