97 Days Ago
The helicopter began lifting high into the air, pulling the ladder up with it as Heather hung onto the rungs. The chopper teetered in the air, half over the roof and half over the street thirty stories below.
Brett climbed up the ladder, trying to pull at Seth’s leg. He turned and brought his foot down onto Brett’s hand with a startling blow. Brett slipped and he started to fall. Quickly, he was able to reach up with his other hand and pull himself back up again. Moments later, Seth went sailing from the ladder, plummeting to the crowded street below and landing with a sickening, bloody thump.
“Dramatic footage coming to you from earlier this evening where an apparent hostage situation took place on the roof of this theatre in downtown Los Angeles, California in the United States,” said the news anchor from the local ABC affiliate on Swiss cable television. “After the ordeal, the hostages were questioned by authorities before being taken to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center for a checkup—”
Benji watched the news coverage from his dorm room at Beau-Soleil, his eyes glued to the television in disbelief. His father had told him about the incident and assured him that all was well, but seeing it unfold on camera was a different story. The events that had occured back home mere hours ago were nothing short of action-movie spectacular.
“You’re needed in the headmaster’s office,” called a voice over the blaring sound of the television.
Benji turned to the door where his dorm mother stood casting her disapproving eyes on him. He clicked off the news and followed her down the hall to the stairs.
Moments later, he was seated in the administration building across campus, the headmaster, the dean of students, and the dean of discipline all in attendance. Benji casually drummed his fingertips on the sole of his tennis shoes. Unaffected by their stares, he calmly waited for the headmaster to continue.
“Benji, in many ways you are a special case here at Beau Soleil,” he said, a rackety old man with deep wrinkles and calloused hands whose suit smelled like moth balls and fabric softener. “Your father has donated a great sum of money over the years in addition to your tuition. The arrangement has worked to our benefit. Up until now, that is.”
The severity escaped him still as Benji stared blankly out the window.
“Don’t sugar coat it, Dean Townsend,” said the Dean of Discipline. He walked over and leaned in to Benji, his face growing red and the veins in his forehead pulsating rapidly. “After what you did to my daughter, you had better be happy that you’re not shackled to a jail cell right at this moment.”
“Dean Andrews!” shrieked the dorm mother.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to insist that you leave school and—” began Dean Townsend in his usual patronizingly calm fashion.
Dean Andrews cut him off abruptly, infuriated by Benji’s cavalier attitude. “You are out of here!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Do you hear me! You’re gone! You’re your father’s problem now you little…”
Five days later he was on a plane back to California. He wondered if there would be anything in L.A. to hold his interest aside from the occasional rooftop hostage crises. After the experiences he’d had at boarding school, he doubted that anything would prove to be as exciting.
Today
The guard led Jordan down the cell block at the police station in downtown Los Angeles. He paused at the last cell where Benji was sitting anxiously on the cold concrete bench against the wall.
“Dad,” he said, flying over to the bars between them. “I’m sorry you had to come down here. I didn’t even know if you were back in town yet.”
“I just got back,” Jordan said.
“How was Switzerland?” Benji found himself asking out of sheer awkwardness. Anything to avoid the real issue at hand, namely his arrest an hour before. On his birthday nonetheless. “Did you stop by and say hi to everyone at my old school?”
“Actually, yes,” Jordan replied.
The smirk quickly disappeared from Benji’s face. He backed up a step, unable to look his father in the eye. “You did?” he asked with a nervous laugh. “What….what ah…did they say?”
“Well, for starters they told me that you didn’t graduate early. They forced you to leave and gave you a diploma just to get you out of their hair. They also told me what you did to the Dean of Discipline’s daughter,” Jordan said, his arms folded disapprovingly across his chest.
“She’s a liar,” Benji said quickly. “Dad, she lied about that. I never touched her—”
“They’ve decided not to press charges, in case you were wondering,” Jordan cut him off. “But you’re still not allowed back in the country…ever.”
Benji searched for the words to get out of this one. It proved to be more difficult than he’d imagined. “Look, I was going to tell you about all of that, but it’s like the minute I got here things just went haywire. First that stuff with Alex and the government, Heather’s pregnancy, Brett going to work for you…“
“Benji, stop!” Jordan shouted. “The police just told me what happened at the Viper Room last week. Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?”
But Benji refused to let this be his final stand. He’d gotten out of much more heady situations back at school.
“What happened to make you do this?” Jordan asked, his eyes cold and demanding. “What happened to my son?”
7 Days Ago
The convertible BMW sped down Sunset Boulevard, a New Order track blasting from the speakers as Benji careened around corners, weaved through traffic, and honked at a few slow-goers. It was quarter to midnight, a full moon hanging low in the pitch black sky. Holding his cell phone, he watched the video again and again, gritting his teeth in anger. His heart beat wildly inside his chest, his vision blurred with hatred, and he gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white as a sheet.
Peeling around a corner, he started up the hill to his father’s house in Beverly Hills, speeding directly into the path of an oncoming car. Quickly, he swerved away and missed a collision by mere inches.
“Would you slow down?” screamed Blake Distefano from the passenger’s seat. “You’re either going to kill us or get us arrested. Either way I’m not too jazzed about this little joy ride, Benji. What even set you off back there, anyway?”
“He’s gone too far this time,” Benji said, pushing the accelerator to the floor.
“Who?” Blake demanded. “Are you talking about that douche bag Sheldon Novak? Forget about him. He’s a tool. That business with you and Scott Kelly is just him trying to start rumors.”
Benji shook his head, pulling up to the driveway and slamming on the brakes. “Wait here,” he ordered his friend before climbing out of the car and darting inside the house.
Blake leaned his head back against the seat, sighing with frustration. He thought he’d gotten used to Benji’s overdramatic tantrums by now, particularly the rivalry that his friend had with Sheldon Novak—the spoiled heir to the most influential talent agency in the world. Sheldon, a nineteen-year-old pretty boy with more connections than it was safe for anyone to know about, had hated Benji from the get-go, and vice versa. He wasn’t sure what happened earlier to set Benji off, but what had started out as a normal night on the town had turned into something dark and explosive. He shuddered to think of what was to come.
A minute later, Benji jumped back into the car and threw the gear into reverse, haphazardly rocketing the car down the driveway to the main road.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Blake asked after a few moments of silence.
“What?”
“Why we had to come all the way back to your house.”
“I just had to get something,” Benji replied, barely acknowledging him as he sped down the street.
“Well what was it?” Blake asked in frustration. It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell him anything about what was going on. He looked at him and inspected his jacket, suddenly realizing just what was so important that they had to race back to Beverly Hills. There, tucked inside the interior pocket of Benji’s jacket was a black revolver. “Oh Jesus, Benji. What are you going to do?”
Benji didn’t answer, simply pressing his foot on the accelerator until it hit the floor.
The line to get into the Viper Room on Sunset was half a block long. Music from inside pounded through the heavy black walls, growing a little louder each time the door opened and the next fortunate patron was allowed inside.
All heads turned to the direction of the street where a black Porsche sped up to the curb and the passenger’s side door flung open. A pair of black calf boots stepped out onto the pavement, followed by legs, a dangerously short mini dress, and finally wildly teezed black hair.
“No, I don’t want to get back in the car!” Miranda Blackthorne screamed, tapping her boot on the ground and glaring through the open door. “I want you to watch me walk away and see what it is you’ve been missing. Then I’m going to go inside, get some guy to buy me a drink, and screw him until you’re nothing but a very bad memory.”
With that, she slammed the car door, turned and marched to the entrance. The bouncer at the door held her back and directed her to the end of the line but Miranda pulled a you’ve got to be kidding me face and shrugged him off.
“Yeah right. Do you know who I am?” she hollered in a drunken slur, shoving him aside and forcing her way into the club.
Once inside, a line of hungry men was already forming, offering up their credentials and lineage in vain attempts at wooing her. It wasn’t every night that Miranda Blackthorne made an appearance in Hollywood’s club scene. For the past three years she’d held her admirers at bay, too busy being married or involved, and entering the ranks of adulthood as a career woman. Tonight, however, she wanted to be none of those things.
She inspected them as if she were choosing a new car, looking them up and down, tossing their business cards aside with disinterest, and offering up cold, steely looks to see who would remain standing. Unfortunately, no one did.
“Some things haven’t changed,” she murmured to herself and turned with a sigh of resignation. “Aren’t there any real men in this town?”
As if on cue, a deep voice from behind caught her attention. “Here I am.”
She turned and leveled her dark eyes on Sheldon Novak. “Oh great,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “What are you, like seventeen?”
“Nineteen,” he corrected her, taking her hand and placing a martini in it. “But believe me, I’m all man. Why don’t you give me a chance to show you?”
Despite her knowledge of Sheldon Novak and his pretentious Hollywood reputation, she was impressed by his gumption. Maybe a younger man was just what she needed tonight. After a moment or two of hesitation, she shrugged and motioned for him to follow her to the bar.
“I’ll give you one chance not to disappoint me,” she said, then paused and looked at him dead on. “And believe me, I’m in no mood to be pissed off tonight, so if you pull any of that ‘I’m entitled to any woman I want because my daddy’s rich’ crap with me, I’ll rip each and every extremity from your body starting with your penis. Capisce?”
Sheldon nodded with a self-assured smile and followed her through the crowd of disappointed rejects.
The bathrooms at the Viper Room were filthy, humid, and plagued with a sticky substance on the floor that Stormy hoped was alcohol or juice from a spilled cocktail. He ran his hands under the faucet and vainly raked his fingers through his hair in front of the mirror. Behind him, Eddie paced the area with a look of dejection on his exaggerated face.
“You promised me you’d help me on this case,” he insisted. “We’ve been best friends since the ninth grade when we broke into the nurses office at school and raided the Nyquil supply. We started a business together, we did those twins in Tijuana on spring break in ’99, and now you blow me off when we were supposed to have plans tonight? Is she really that good in bed?”
Stormy exhaled deeply and turned toward his friend, ignoring the troupe of club patrons who came and went from the small bathroom. “Eddie, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that Kelly and I never get to go out. The only times we see each other are at home where we have to pretend like there’s nothing going on, or at the hotel when she’s working, and we can’t keep that up forever. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been interested in someone like this?”
“So your best friend should get lost so you can score with this Hawaiian hottie?” Eddie complained. “This isn’t the first time you’ve ditched me for her, either. Why don’t you just go public about your relationship and then things can go back to normal. You’ll get tired of her or cheat on her and I’ll go back to being your number one priority again.”
Amused by his dramatic overtures, Stormy patted him firmly on the back. “We just want to keep it a secret for now,” he said. “There’s a lot a stake. Our parents might not understand, and we want to tread carefully.”
“Um, hello? You’re twenty-six. Just tell Daddy you’re dating the maid’s daughter and be done with it.”
“Eddie, go home,” Stormy said as he opened the door and started out to the main floor of the club. When he spotted Miranda dancing several feet away with Sheldon Novak, he quickly ducked back into the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked.
“Miranda’s here,” he replied in a panic, leaning against the door and blocking anyone from entering or leaving the bathroom. “If she sees me and Kelly here together, the jig is up. She’ll go screaming to our father with this for sure.”
Eddie shrugged. “So? Maybe she’ll be like, decent about it and keep your secret.”
Stormy leveled a look of skepticism on him. “When have you ever known Miranda to be decent, or much less keep a secret?”
“True,” Eddie replied and giving it a brief moment of hesitation. “Gee, you’re kinda screwed.”
Stormy thought for a minute and suddenly got an idea. “Eddie, you’ve got to help me,” he said, hoping his friend would forget about their disagreement long enough to get Miranda off his back.
The band wailed on their instruments from the stage across the room, a slew of groupies clamoring for access and waving their hands in an effort to touch the lead singer or feel the spray of sweat that rained off of the bass player.
Several feet away, Benji and Blake had re-entered the club and were circling Sheldon and Miranda who danced in the center of the club floor. Benji’s eyes bore into Sheldon’s with white hot intensity, his hand resting gently beneath his jacket while concealing the gun from sight.
“Benji, think about what you’re doing,” Blake pleaded with him as he followed him around the room. “Sheldon Novak isn’t worth it. He’s an overcompensating namedropper who only knows people because they’re his daddy’s clients. Whatever he said doesn’t matter. Nobody listens to him anyway.”
“Maybe you should go, Blake,” Benji said, refusing to take his eyes off of him.
“Go? Go where? I rode with you. Besides, he’s with Miranda. What are you gonna do? Take a shot at him in front of her and an entire club full of people?”
At that very instant, Sheldon Novak decided to get handsy with Miranda, running his hand up the back of her leg beneath her short mini dress. Within seconds, she swatted him away and slapped him across the face.
“What did I say?” she began, putting her hand up in protest. “Get lost, punk.”
“Hey baby, I thought I was getting signals from you.” Sheldon protested.
“Get lost!” Miranda repeated and stormed off toward the bathroom. She felt as though she’d be sick. She’d had more than enough to drink, and that coupled with her foul mood wasn’t settling very well. She pushed the bathroom door open and ran directly into Kelly Kahoano coming out.
“Kelly,” she said in surprise, unused to seeing the young woman dressed in normal clothes, her hair done up beautifully, and at a coveted Hollywood nightclub to say the least. “What are you doing here?”
Kelly’s eyes darted nervously around the room and she quickly searched for something to say. Had Miranda seen here there with her brother? Had their secret been exposed at last?
“Um, is anyone home in there?” Miranda asked her with a frown just as Eddie walked out of the men’s room and put an arm around Kelly. “Are you with him?”
Kelly looked at Eddie and tried to hide her surprise. “Um, yeah,” she said. “I am. With Eddie, I mean.”
“Did I just land on Mars or something?” Miranda asked, her bad mood taking hold of her. “Kelly, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Least of all this big goofball.”
Awkwardness set in and Kelly again was at a loss for words. When Stormy approached and greeted them with mock surprise she realized it must have been a last minute call on their part to prevent a disaster.
“Eddie, Kelly, I thought that was you guys,” Stormy said, overplayed but fairly convincing, especially to a drunken Miranda. “Hey sis, what a coincidence. I guess we all had the same idea tonight. Isn’t the band great?”
“No. Stormy, did you know about these two?” Miranda asked, shifting her weight between each leg.
“Yeah, I did,” he replied quickly. “I mean, Kelly is all Eddie ever talks about. I think they wanted to keep it on the D.L., you know, until they were a little more stable. You know how Leilani can be. No one’s good enough for her daughter.”
Miranda shrugged indifferently. “Okay, whatever you say,” she began, then looked at her watch. “Kelly, just don’t stay out too late. We’ve got a full house at the hotel tonight which means a lot of rooms to clean tomorrow. I need you on top of your game.”
“No problem,” she replied behind gnashed teeth.
“Yeah, I should get you home honey,” Eddie said with a grin and squeezed Kelly tightly. “Wouldn’t want my little Cinderella to turn into a pumpkin.”
Stormy gave him an evil stare and quickly sprang to attention. “You know what, Eddie, that’s so far out of your way. Why don’t you let me take Kelly home. I mean, we do live in the same house. That is, if you don’t mind, Kelly.”
She shook her head with a faint grin. “Not at all,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“I hope you’re not trying to steal my girl away, Stormy,” Eddie joked, his arm still wrapped gingerly around Kelly. “I wouldn’t want our friendship to end over a woman.”
“Then shut up and let me take her home,” Stormy said under his breath. He took Kelly by the arm and led her away. “See you later. Miranda, do you need a ride?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not ready to leave.”
Perfectly content to stick it to Stormy for standing him up, Eddie pulled Kelly into an embrace and gave her a kiss with plenty of tongue. Stormy watched with aggravation and quickly pulled them apart.
“Okay, we’d better get going,” he said, quickly leading her to the front of the club.
After they’d gone, Eddie looked at Miranda, wiped his moist lips and shrugged immodestly. “That’s one hell of a maid you’ve got there,” he said with a wink.
Outside, the valet brought Stormy’s tricked out Cobra II to the curb and held the door open for Kelly who slipped into the passenger’s seat with a smile and a wink. Stormy got in and looked at her with a grin, shaking his head in amusement over the circumstances of their evening.
“Sorry we didn’t get our night out,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Kelly replied, massaging his leg with a well manicured hand. “Maybe it’s best we stay in for a while longer. You know, until we’re ready to tell people about us.”
“Are you okay with that?” he asked. “I mean, eventually telling people that we’re together? I still have no idea how my father or your mother will react.”
Hesitating, Kelly shrugged coquettishly and licked her jammy red lips. “Eventually,” she said, then leaned in closer and placed her hand between his hot skin and the waistband of his pants. “But for now I kind of like our secret rendezvous. It’s a lot more dangerous. And dangerous is sexy.”
Stormy groaned with pleasure, leaning in and kissing her hard. Kelly placed her hand on his chest through his unbuttoned shirt, her other hand massaging the back of his head while drawing him closer.
“You know,” he began after they broke free from the embrace. “There’s a spot up on Laurel Canyon that’s pretty secluded. What do you say we go there and steam up the windows?”
Kelly laughed gleefully and nodded her head in agreement, bracing herself against the seat as Stormy pushed the gas pedal down and took off down the street away from the club.
“So what are you doing here, anyway?” Eddie asked as he followed Miranda who was doing laps around the Viper Room. “I thought you were too good for the club scene. You know, being a scorned divorcee and business woman and all.”
She pulled a face and rolled her eyes in irritation. “I’m not scorned. I was the one who divorced Brett. My life has only gotten more fulfilling since then.”
“Well, you got dumped by David Jennings a few months ago. Didn’t that sting a little bit?”
Miranda glared heatedly at him. “I’ll give you something that will sting, you dumb airhead. And David Jennings did not dump me. I dumped him.”
“Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you keep telling people.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Blake raced over in bated breath, holding his hand up in urgent protest. “Eddie, you have to help me. Something’s about to go down. You have to come—”
“What are you doing here, dork?” Eddie asked. “If dad finds out you’re at the Viper Room he’s going to have a coronary. You’re supposed to be on probation.”
“I’ve been coming here for months,” Blake protested.
“You’re seventeen. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten your fake ID taken away and barred for life. Not to mention thrown in jail.”
“Eddie, just shut up and listen for a second!”
“Whatever. Get lost, you girl.”
Sighing, Blake turned and started off through the crowd again, realizing his brother was going to be no help in the latest crisis with Benji.
After he’d gone, Miranda raised an amused eyebrow. “As I was saying, I dumped David. Anything you hear to the contrary is a bold faced lie.”
Eddie looked at her skeptically. “So what are you doing here?” he asked, admiring her revealing outfit. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her dress the way she was tonight. The short mini dress, the boots, the wild hair. It was a Miranda he hadn’t seen much of in the past few years.
“Can’t a girl go out for a night of fun?” she asked.
“Something happened tonight, didn’t it?” he asked. “Something that made you want to go out and raise some hell.”
“Oh God, you think you can figure me out just because you got some Cracker Jack box P.I. license?”
Miranda stared at the floor in a daze, recalling the events that had brought her to the Viper Room that night.
Four Hours Earlier
Miranda sat at the bar at Hotel Terranova sipping a glass of chardonnay. After a long day of work she wanted nothing more than to unwind and have a drink before going home to another hum drum evening at home. Alone. Not that alone was a bad thing. She used the opportunity to spend time with her father, her cousin Ethan, even her brother. Anything to keep from wondering what would have been if things had worked out with her and David.
But when she turned her head and saw David saunter into the bar, all that progress was thrown out the window. Surprisingly he walked directly over to her. In an effort to boost her confidence, she swallowed the remainder of her wine and quickly ordered another glass.
“Hello Miranda,” David said. “You’re looking very well.”
“Thank you,” she said graciously and accepted the fresh glass from the bartender. “So are you. I guess being a world class jackass suits you.”
He smiled in amusement, having expected her to be bitter. They hadn’t seen each other since the breakup, after all, and he suspected the wounds were still relatively fresh.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your evening,” he said and started to walk in the opposite direction.
“David,” she called after him. “I’m sorry. I just keep going back to that day and wondering if I missed something.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, digging his hands deep into his pockets.
“Well, the only reason you gave me for breaking up with me was because you didn’t see that we had a future together,” she said, pausing to taking a big gulp of wine. “I’d like to know what you meant by that.”
He shrugged. “Just what it sounds like. I had fun with you while we were together but I don’t think it could go anywhere. I’m sorry.”
Miranda set her jaw and took a few steps forward. “Who is she?” she demanded.
Smiling, he shook his head in protest. “There is no one else, Miranda. That isn’t what this is about.” After all, it was true. Yes, he wanted Brooke Taylor. Yes, she stirred something in him that he’d never felt before. But as of yet, Brooke had held him at bay, refusing to get involved on any level until she sorted through her problems. That, compounded by the already hostile relationship between Brooke and Miranda, he felt no need to bring it up. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m having a late dinner with a colleague in the restaurant.”
Angry with herself for making a scene, Miranda returned to her perch at the bar and downed the rest of her chardonnay. She ordered another and finished it just as quickly. She didn’t need David Jennings. She had moved on since their breakup, as hard as it had been. Had she dated anyone else or even been remotely interested in anyone else? No. But she was over him.
An hour later when David passed through the lobby again, she was well on her way to being intoxicated. He approached and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
She frowned and flicked his hand off of her shoulder. “No way.”
“Miranda, you’ve had a lot to drink, and it’s getting late. Let me take you home. I won’t feel right about leaving you here.”
She looked at him with an intense frown, finally throwing her hands up in resignation and stumbling to her feet. “Fine. Take me home. But after that I never want to see your face again.”
David chuckled to himself and led her across the lobby to the doors, handing his claim ticket to the valet and hoping the fresh air would sober her up a little.
Minutes later they were in his black Porsche speeding down Sunset Boulevard. Miranda rolled the window down and let the cool night air invigorate her. The more she reflected, the more liberated she felt. She was actually over David. Sitting there in his car all she felt for him was irritation over his arrogance. Reaching for the stereo, she changed the preset to the Hair Band station and cranked up the volume.
“What are you doing?” David asked.
“It’s called living, David. What kind of question is that?” She flipped the sun visor down and examining her reflection in the mirror. She took her fingers and raked them through her hair, holding her head out the window and letting the wind do its own thing. When she was sufficiently in approval of the style, she reached down between her legs and grabbed hold of the hem on her black dress, giving it a quick rip, pulling until she was left with a much shorter and definitively sassier look.
“Miranda,” he said from the drivers’ seat. “What’s got in to you?”
“Pull up to curb two blocks up,” she instructed him, opening her purse and giving her lip gloss and mascara a quick touch up.
“Huh? Why?”
“Right up there,” she said and pointed out the window. “Where that line of people are.”
“You want to go to the Viper Room?” David asked.
All heads turned to the direction of the street when the black Porsche sped up to the curb and Miranda flung the passenger’s side door open.
“Miranda, just get back in the car,” David said.
“No, I don’t want to get back in the car!” she screamed, tapping her boot on the ground and glaring through the open door. “I want you to watch me walk away and see what it is you’ve been missing. Then I’m going to go inside, get some guy to buy me a drink, and screw him until you’re nothing but a very bad memory.
With that, she slammed the car door, turned and marched to the entrance.
“Are you ready to go home?” Eddie asked. “I can drive you if you want.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow. “What about Kelly? Won’t she get the wrong idea?”
Eddie laughed in turn, having almost forgotten about the charade Stormy had put them up to. “Who cares? I’m not that into her anyway.”
“Nice,” Miranda said with a grimace. “Yeah, I guess I came here with the wrong intentions anyway.”
“What intentions?”
“I was going to find someone to prove to everyone, and to myself that I’m over David.”
“And no luck?” Eddie asked.
She shrugged and looked around. “Well, other than that pretty boy Sheldon Novak, the only other guy I’ve talked to is you, so….”
Eddie raised an eyebrow and their eyes flickered past one another briefly. A few moments of awkward silence ensued, followed by the obligatory slow motion affect as their lips drew nearer until they were met in a deep, spontaneous kiss. They broke away at the same time, surveyed one another as if being confronted with a new experience, and then quickly ravaged one another with sloppy, wet kisses that lingered on the mouth for a great deal longer than either one of them had expected.
“What is your deal, Rydell?” Sheldon Novak asked as Benji pushed him into the bathroom and pressed him against the dirty subway tiled wall. “If you can’t handle being in the public eye then you should have stayed at your little prissy boarding school. This is Hollywood. Everything you do is subject to ridicule. Just ask your sister the cold-blooded murderer.”
“Shut your mouth you faggot,” Benji said, gritting his teeth, clutching the tell-tale bulge in his jacket pocket.
Sheldon laughed loudly. “I’m not the one who was caught with his mouth full in the VIP room at Vanguard last weekend. People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, you know.”
“You’re in over your head, Novak,” Benji said, pushing him harder against the wall. “You do not want to mess with me.”
“You mean that video I sent you from my phone?” Sheldon asked, his face contorted in pain from the pressure against his chest. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”
One Hour Earlier
Benji and Blake walked into the Viper Room, surveying the crowd and exchanging brief hellos with a smattering of Hollywood A-listers, all spoiled offspring of mega movie stars, renowned producers and beautiful starlets. They made a B-line for the bar, ordered drinks, and went to find a table. No sooner had they sat down when Benji’s cell phone alerted him of a text message.
He fished the device from his pocket and clicked on the message. A video loaded and began playing. He knew immediately what and who it was. The previous weekend he’d gone to Vanguard and hung out in the VIP room with Scott Kelly, the actor who was set to star with his stepmother, Alex Reynolds on Angel Assassin 2. One thing had led to another and Benji wound up on his knees in front of him. Now it seemed that they hadn’t been alone.
When the video ended, a message popped up from an anonymous number.
“Is that what they taught you at boarding school?” it said.
“What’s wrong?” Blake asked.
“Nothing,” Benji said and surveyed the crowded room. When he spotted Sheldon Novak watching him with a smug expression on his suntanned face, he immediately knew who was to blame for the anonymous text. He got up from the booth. “I’m just going to kill Sheldon Novak.”
Frowning, Blake followed him across the club and back out to his car parked on the street. “Where are we going?” he asked. “We just got here and you’re ready to leave?”
“We’ll be back,” Benji said, recalling exactly where his father left his gun in his bedroom.
As instructed, Blake was positioned outside the men’s room preventing anyone for gaining access. He stood nervously at the door, wishing he knew what was going on inside, but the band was so loud that he couldn’t hear a thing. His good sense told him to go in there and stop Benji from doing anything stupid. But being on probation himself, he hesitated to get involved.
“You’ve been in my face since the day I moved back here,” Benji said inside the bathroom, reaching his hand inside his jacket pocket. “All your cracks about my family, my prissy boarding school, my friends. You need to watch yourself or you’re going to find that I’m a very dangerous enemy to have. This isn’t your kingdom anymore. I’m here now and I’m shutting you down.”
Sheldon laughed again. “You? You’re a punk. What are you gonna do? Shoot me in cold blood like your psycho sister did that producer? Screw you, man. If you want to make it around here then you’re gonna have to get thicker skin because otherwise you’re going to get eaten alive.”
Finally at his breaking point, Benji reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed the butt of the revolver. He slowly began to withdraw it when the bathroom door opened and Blake busted inside.
“Benji, wait,” he said, realizing he was probably just in time. From the looks of things it had gotten pretty intense, and fast. “Come on, let’s just head.”
Sheldon cracked a smile. “I heard he’s good at that.”
Benji clenched his jaw so tightly that his head hurt. He pulled the gun from his pocket just as the door opened and a biker entered and went right for the urinal. Quick on the take, Benji held the gun behind his back and bided his time.
Finally done with the confrontation, Sheldon shook his head in amusement and headed for the door. “Well, this has been real, you guys. Listen, don’t have too much fun in here. I’d be willing to bet someone’s got a camera on their cell phone who’d be more than happy to catch every detail and post it social media.”
He left and Benji slammed his fist against the wall in anger. Blake waited for the biker to leave and then rushed over to his friend in disbelief. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was almost as if Benji has snapped or split into a derranged personality for about an hour.
“Will you put that thing away?” he insisted. “What the hell are you thinking, anyway? Do you really think that killing him is going to solve anything?”
Benji rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to kill him,” he said. “I only said that figuratively. I just can’t stand that smug son of a bitch.”
“Look, I don’t know what went on with you and Scott Kelly and what Novak has to do with it, but whatever it is, just move on. There’s always going to be some prick who tries to start stuff.”
Realizing he was right, Benji brought the gun up from behind his back and started to place it back in his interior pocket. His fingers slipped over the trigger and without warning it fired, the bullet shooting through the air, ricocheting off the tiled wall and nicking Blake in the arm. The sound of the bullet shell pinging onto the floor broke the silence that was followed by Blake’s painful howling.
“You shot me, you dickhead!” he screamed in agony, his hand instinctively covering the wound just below the shoulder.
“Blake, I’m so sorry!” Benji exclaimed, rushing toward his friend, the gun still dangling from his hand.
“Will you put that thing away? Jesus Christ, I told you this was a bad idea!”
“It just went off!” Benji insisted, carefully setting the gun back in his pocket. “Let me see.”
Blake removed his hand from the wound and grimaced at the blood that dribbled down his arm. “Is it bad?” he asked, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I can’t look.”
“It’s not good,” Benji said in a panic. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“Jesus, no,” Blake said. “Do you know what will happen to me if the police find out I was at the Viper Room? Or anywhere near someone with a gun? I’m on probation, remember.”
Running his hand over his face, Benji suddenly got an idea. He led him gently to the door and peered out into the crowd. Luckily the band was so loud that there was a good chance no one heard the gunshot, and if they did they probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it.
Twenty minutes later they were at a small bungalow in Studio City. Van Edgewater, son of Deacon Edgewater, CEO of Double Strike Studios, was renting the house and had met Benji and Blake on various occasions at parties he’d hosted. Van was in med school, third year, top of his class, but was also stoned ninety percent of the time. That aside, he was their only hope.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Blake winced uneasily as Van gathered the crude instruments necessary for stitching up the wound. A Fallout Boy track blasted so loudly from the stereo that he wondered how Van was going to concentrate on what he was doing. Benji paced across the room, grimacing as Van prepared the steel thread and needle, holding the sharp point to a flame in order to sanitize it.
“How did you guys say this happened again?” Van asked, a cloud of smoke from a lit joint filling the kitchen.
“He shot me,” Blake said with a groan.
“It was an accident,” Benji insisted. “The gun just…went off.”
Van chuckled and placed the needle against Blake’s arm. “Totally ef’d up,” he said, then laughed again. “Is that what they taught you back at boarding school, dude? If so I’d ask for your money back. You’re not a very good shot.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot him,” Benji clarified, then realized it was no use rationalizing with someone as stoned as Van was. He wondered if this was such a good idea. Actually, he knew it wasn’t a good idea, but they didn’t have much of a choice.
“This is only gonna hurt a little bit,” Van said, pushing the needle through Blake’s skin, Fallout Boy booming between the walls. “Hang on tight, dude.”
Gripping the back of the chair in one hand, Blake winced, squeezed as hard as he could. He felt the needle penetrate his skin and he screamed at the top of his lungs in agony.
Today
The ride home from the police station was anything but peaceful. Benji sat staring out the car window in a daze while Jordan expressed his varying degrees of disapproval over the events of the past week.
“You could have killed someone, Benji,” he said. “If you hadn’t brought Blake to the hospital today when you did, he would have lost an arm. Luckily the doctors said they got the infection under control.”
“We didn’t know.”
“Well do you know how lucky you are that all you got was two years probation?” Jordan asked him. “Despite the fact that today is your eighteenth birthday, they charged you as a minor. I also hope that you reconsider ever going anywhere near a gun again because the minute you do they’ll lock you up until you’re twenty-five.”
“Sure.”
Shaking his head in frustration, Jordan steered his car along the road up to their house in Beverly Hills. “I don’t understand what’s happened to you, Benji. All this violence and anger. What you did to that girl at school, and now this? I mean, I knew that you were a handful and did some pretty underhanded things at school. They kept me pretty well informed. I’m practically responsible for funding the entire sports complex myself thanks to the various donations of good will I had to make in order to keep you there.”
Finally Benji had had it. “Who asked you to?”
“What?” Jordan asked as he pulled the car up to the front of the house.
“Who asked you to keep me there?” Benji demanded. “Would it have been so horrible to have me here at home?”
Jordan was taken by surprise. “I thought we’d come to the understanding that you staying at school was in your best interests.”
“Don’t you mean in your best interests?” Benji shot back, pushed the car door open and jumped out in a flash.
Quickly, Jordan got out of the car and followed his son into the house. He walked into the foyer and called up to him on the staircase. “What does that supposed to mean?”
“It means it was easier for you to keep me away all those years.”
“Easier?”
“Easier for you to live the lifestyle of a swinging Hollywood bachelor while all the time not having to worry about your son and that you had to send me away to shut me up about that night.”
Jordan looked into his eyes and took a few steps forward. “What night, Benji?”
“The night of that earthquake when mom disappeared. A few weeks after that I was gone too and you never gave me a second thought.”
“That’s not true,” Jordan insisted. “I came to visit you, I brought you here to spend summers and holidays. You were every bit a part of my life.”
“Just not as big a part as Heather, though.”
Jordan shook his head in protest. “Every bit as big of a part as Heather. But she was older. She was already in school, she already had friends. I did what I thought was best for you at the time.”
“Or what was best for you.”
“Stop saying that,” Jordan demanded. “Look, I want us to be close. I want us to have a good relationship. But we can’t do that until you start dealing with whatever anger issues you’re having. Maybe you need to see a therapist. It’s done wonders for your sister.”
“You know how I feel about psychiatrists,” Benji said enigmatically.
Taking a deep breath, Jordan realized that he had his work cut out for him. His son was far more unstable than he’d realized. Something was causing him to lash out with such hostility, and it wasn’t about being sent away to boarding school.
Satisfied that he’d manipulated the situation to his benefit, Benji allowed his expression to soften a bit before walking up to his father. “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the gun, about getting kicked out of school, about everything. I just don’t want you to send me away again. I couldn’t bare that. I mean, I miss mom so much sometimes that it hurts. Sometimes I feel like she left because of me.”
Jordan put his arms around his son and pulled him close. “She didn’t, Benji,” he said. “I promise she didn’t. And I will not send you away again. No matter what happens, we’ll work through it together.”
Benji nodded and feigned a smile. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry about your birthday party. I’ll make it up to you.”
Nodding, Benji turned and started up the stairs to his bedroom. He closed the door behind and sat down on the bed in deep concentration. A minute later he laid down, placing his hands behind his head as he stretched out. A smile spread across his face and he realized that his strained relationship with his father, his mother’s disappearance, and the fact that he’d spent fifteen years in boarding school was all working to his benefit. The plain simple truth was, he could do anything and his father would cave out of guilt.
He wondered what he’d be able to get out of when he finally revealed that he knew his father had killed his mother.
Next time….
Brett learns the truth about his and Heather’s baby. Stormy and Kelly are caught in the act. Brooke agrees to go out with David, but their evening ends in chaos. Miranda fights her feelings for a new beau.
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