He gave himself a moment to admire the stunning sight of Vera on the lounger. She wore a pair of green shorts with narrow cuffs that showed off her long, elegant legs. The halter top matched the shorts. A wide-brimmed sun hat protected her lovely face from the warm California sun.
Paxton smiled to himself. He had come a long way from the small farm town where he’d grown up. These days he not only partied with the stars, he was fucking the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. Her first film, Dark Road, had made her an overnight sensation. The studio had moved quickly after that hit, casting Vera as the lead in two more films. The most recent one, Lady in the Shadows, had been out for only two months, and she was scheduled to start shooting her fourth picture in a few weeks.
Not only was she making money for her studio, she was pulling in a lot of cash for him. He made sure that, as often as possible, the cameras caught her with a bottle of Dr. Paxton’s Diet Tonic in her hand.
Vera noticed him and looked up with a concerned expression. Not for the first time he marveled that her beautiful brown eyes—eyes that could reflect any emotion that a director demanded for the camera—had such a remarkably vapid quality in real life.
“Did you solve your business problem?” she asked.
She had the voice to go with the face—warm, husky, sensuous. It was a voice that thrilled audiences from coast to coast.
“I think so.” He walked forward and sat down on the lounger adjacent to Vera’s. “The bottling plant is overwhelmed. I’m going to have to expand the facility. I told the manager to go ahead and have the architect draw up the plans.”
“That means that business is good, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled. “Business is excellent, thanks to you, sweetheart.”
“After all you’ve done for me, I’m just glad I can do something for you, darling.”
The press often speculated about why Vera was not romantically linked with one of Hollywood’s leading men. But Paxton understood. Liaisons between powerful stars were fraught. The two people involved in such a relationship were fundamentally rivals, after all. They competed for the same publicity opportunities—the covers of the gossip magazines and the front pages of the nation’s newspapers.
Career jealousy was an ever-present acid that ate away any hope of a long-lasting relationship. Hollywood was a jungle, Paxton reflected. Only those who were willing to claw their way to the top stood a chance of survival. Love and friendship were the first casualties along the way.
But unlike a leading man, he was not a direct career threat, Paxton thought. Vera felt safe with him. He had done a very good job of convincing her that she needed him in order to feel emotionally secure.
In a few years her looks would start to fade, of course. The press would bestow the title of the most beautiful woman in Hollywood on another, younger actress. He would no longer have any use for her. But for now she trusted him. He was her closest confidant. That made her very useful, indeed.
There was another bonus for him in the relationship. He got an amazing erection every time he thought about the fact that he was the man who was fucking the most beautiful woman in Hollywood.
On impulse he leaned forward and kissed her. He would smudge her carefully applied maroon red lipstick but she could repair her makeup before she walked back through the hotel lobby.
She dropped the script beside the lounger. The anxiety in her eyes told him just how much she needed him.
“Calvin,” she whispered urgently, “promise me you will never leave me alone. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He slipped one hand between her warm thighs. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always be here to take care of you.”
She believed him, he thought. The most beautiful woman in Hollywood would never win the title of the smartest woman in Hollywood.
Chapter 5
Adelaide went briskly back across the tearoom. The encounter with Jake Truett had left her feeling oddly energized. It occurred to her that she had been living a lie for so long—first at Rushbrook Sanitarium and now, for the last two months, in Burning Cove—that she had forgotten how it felt to allow her real emotions to surface. The short burst of temper a moment ago had felt real, and it was nothing short of stimulating.
Florence, who had evidently watched the entire scene from the other side of the counter, rolled her eyes. Adelaide pretended not to notice.
She was halfway to her goal when she heard the rumble of a heavy car engine. She glanced out the window and saw a familiar green Packard limousine come to a halt on the street in front of the tearoom. Madam Zolanda had become a regular customer shortly after her arrival in Burning Cove two weeks earlier.
The driver jumped out from behind the steering wheel. As usual, Thelma Leggett was nattily attired in a chauffeur’s livery. Having a female driver added yet another exotic touch to Madam Zolanda’s allure. Thelma reached out with a gloved hand and opened the rear door with a flourish.
Madam Zolanda—the woman the press had labeled the psychic to the stars—emerged. She walked to the front door as though she were walking onstage. Thelma sprang forward to open the door. Zolanda made her entrance and masterfully succeeded in turning every head in the tearoom.
She was as flamboyant as any of her film star clients and, whenever she was in public at least, she stayed in character. She was in her late twenties and unusually tall for a woman. She was also very pretty with vivid blue eyes and a wealth of blond hair that billowed around her shoulders in deep waves. Her eyebrows had been plucked to a fare-thee-well and redrawn with a pencil to create elegantly arched curves. Her lipstick was the latest, most fashionable shade of red.
As usual, she was dressed for her chosen role in a long, flowing, exotically printed red and orange caftan that looked as if it had been created from an assortment of fantastically patterned silk scarves. Gold-toned bangles were stacked halfway up her arms.
The small crowd in the tearoom watched, fascinated, as Zolanda came to a stop just inside the entrance, closed her eyes, and appeared to go into a trance.
“There is such good energy in this place,” she intoned.
Adelaide changed course instantly and rushed to greet her. “May I show you to your usual table, madam?”
Zolanda opened her heavily made-up eyes and bestowed a beatific smile on Adelaide.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said. “I am in need of some of my special tea. I am preparing for a performance here in town tomorrow evening. Perhaps you are aware of it?”
“Yes, of course,” Adelaide said. She was no actress but she was a waitress, and a good waitress knew how to respond to a customer’s cue. “You’ll be appearing onstage at the Palace.”
“At seven thirty,” Zolanda clarified in a voice meant to carry across the tearoom. “The performance is almost sold out.”
“I’m not at all surprised,” Adelaide said. “This way, please.”
Zolanda spoke to the chauffeur without looking at her. “That will be all for now, Miss Leggett. I’ll send someone to notify you when I’m ready to leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Thelma tugged at the bill of her cap and let herself out the door. She retreated to the long, green Packard.
Adelaide escorted Zolanda to a small table near a window.
“You’d better bring a large pot of my Enlightenment tea,” Zolanda said. “I’ll need two cups today. Oh, and I’ll also have one or two of those lovely little tea cakes.”
“Of course,” Adelaide said. She made a mental note to make sure there were three tea cakes on Zolanda’s plate.
“Your Enlightenment tea helps me fortify myself for the stress involved in opening the psychic door to the other dimension,” Zolanda said.
“Happy to be of service,” Adelaide said. “I’ll be right back with a large pot of Enlightenment.”
“Thank you, Miss Br
ockton.”
Adelaide went around the end of the counter and selected a teapot. She exchanged a glance with Florence, who bobbed her thin brows up and down a few times. They both knew that Madam Zolanda was good for business. She was not a film star, but her clients were. The press and the public were well aware of it.
Normal conversation resumed in the tearoom. Adelaide arranged the pot of Enlightenment and a cup and saucer on a tray. She added three dainty tea cakes and carried the tray to Zolanda’s table.
“Thank you,” Zolanda said. “By the way, I have a small surprise for you.”
Adelaide set the tea things down and straightened. Her first thought was that Zolanda was about to offer her a free psychic reading. She tried to think of a polite way to decline.
“That’s not necessary—” she began.
Zolanda interrupted, raising her voice so that everyone in the tearoom could hear her. “As I said a moment ago, I will be giving a performance at the Palace Theater tomorrow night. I would love for you to attend.”
Adelaide struggled to come up with an excuse. She was living on a strict budget these days. It allowed for the occasional dinner and a movie with her friend, Raina Kirk, but she was not keen on springing for an expensive ticket to attend one of Madam Zolanda’s performances.
“That would be wonderful,” she managed weakly. “But I’m sure the performance will be sold out—”
“Of course it will be sold out,” Zolanda said. She waved one hand in a grand gesture that set the bangles on her arms clashing. “I always play to a full house. But that does not mean that I don’t save a few special seats for special people. There will be a ticket waiting for you at the box office tomorrow night. Remember, the show starts at seven thirty sharp.”
“That’s very kind of you but I expect tomorrow will be a very busy day here at the tearoom. I’ll probably be too tired to go out.”
“Bring a friend.” Zolanda made another sweeping gesture. “There will be two tickets waiting at the box office. Surely you know someone who might be thrilled to attend the performance with you?”
Another hush had fallen over the tearoom. Adelaide realized that this time she was the center of attention. Everyone, including Jake, was waiting to see if she would take the generous offer. There was no graceful way out.
“Thank you,” she said in low tones. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Excellent,” Zolanda said, delighted. “I’m so glad. I sense that my connection to the spirit world will be especially strong tomorrow night. The moon is almost full, you know. A full or nearly full moon always enhances the experience.”
“Really?” Adelaide said, somewhat weakly. “How interesting.”
The Rushbrook Sanitarium staff had maintained that the patients got crazier than usual on nights when the moon was full. There had been a full moon the night she escaped.
“I hope you and your lucky friend enjoy the performance,” Zolanda said.
Adelaide went back across the room. Florence bobbed her eyebrows again.
“Who are you going to take with you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Haven’t had a chance to think about it. Do you want to come?”
“Nope. You should ask Truett.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, I am not kidding. Ask him.”
“I’m sure he’s got better things to do than watch a fake psychic pretend to commune with the spirit world,” Adelaide whispered.
“No,” Jake said quietly behind her. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
Startled, Adelaide whipped around. Jake was lounging against the counter looking like a man who was waiting to pay his bill. Adelaide glared at him.
“You must be really bored if you want to attend Madam Zolanda’s show with me,” she said, careful to keep her voice to a near whisper.
“I was planning to invite you to go to the art museum with me, but Zolanda’s show sounds more interesting.”
Florence beamed approvingly. “I’m sure it will be a lot more entertaining.”
What the heck, Adelaide thought. According to Florence, Jake Truett would only be around for a few weeks, if that long. He had made it clear that he was already bored. When he’d had enough of resting his nerves by the seaside, he would head back to Los Angeles. She would never see him again. There was no risk of a long-term relationship. No risk that he would ask too many questions that she would have trouble answering. All in all, he was the ideal date.
Besides, she was tired of spending most of her evenings alone.
She fixed Jake with a level look. “All right, Mr. Truett. You can have my second ticket to the show tomorrow evening. I’ll meet you at the box office.”
“It’s Jake, remember? And there’s no need to take two cars,” Jake said. “I’ll pick you up.”
She hesitated but couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to refuse. Her car was a used Ford that was quite capable of breaking down and leaving her stranded by the side of the road.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be ready by seven. Now, will you kindly return to your table before people start to wonder what is going on?”
“Good idea,” he said. He smiled politely but there was a calculating gleam in his eyes. “I could use that cup of tea I ordered. I think my nerves are exhibiting unmistakable signs of overstimulation.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Adelaide shot back.
“Of course not. No telling where it might lead.”
He turned, moving with his usual prowling grace, and made his way back to his table.
Florence looked at Adelaide. “His nerves are overstimulated? What was he talking about?”
“I have no idea, and you can bet I’m not going to ask him. Call me psychic, but something tells me I wouldn’t like the answer.”
Chapter 6
“Well?” Thelma asked as she fired up the Packard’s heavy engine. “Did she take the bait?”
Zolanda, ensconced on the elegantly tufted leather seat, met Thelma’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They had been a team for three years. Their partnership had been formed when she was still Dorothy Higgins, an aspiring actress who had never managed to land a role. She knew that she had the talent and she was pretty enough, but she lacked the magical quality that transformed an actress like Vera Westlake into a radiant beauty on the silver screen.
At the time, Thelma had been a secretary at one of the studios and a regular at the lunch counter where Zolanda worked. Thelma, too, had once had dreams of becoming a star, but working for an executive inside the business had given her a more realistic approach to life. It was Thelma who had observed that actors were a superstitious lot. They spent an amazing amount of money on palm readers, fortune-tellers, mystics, and psychics.
Thelma had pointed out the business potential over a turkey sandwich that Dorothy had just put in front of her on the counter. You’re a damn good actress, she’d said. You would just need to get into the role.
Exclusivity had been the key, of course. Celebrities did not patronize psychics who worked out of shabby storefront fortune-teller shops. Thelma had selected their first client, a neurotic actress who was easily persuaded that she needed career advice from a psychic. The initial consultation had been a huge success. Zolanda looked back on that first performance as a psychic advisor to the stars with pride. It had been nothing short of brilliant.
A week later the neurotic actress had requested another session. Within the month she had a handful of new clients. Thelma arranged for the consultations to take place in the privacy of the clients’ own homes.
Within two months Hollywood Whispers and Silver Screen Secrets had bestowed the title “Psychic to the Stars” on Madam Zolanda. Once the word got out that the stars were consulting Zolanda, everyone who was anyone in L.A. was calling for an appointment. Thelma w
as careful to keep the client list limited.
It took another few months for Zolanda and Thelma to realize that, as lucrative as the fashionable psychic business was, the real money was in collecting their clients’ secrets. Blackmail was an inherently dangerous pursuit, but it could be astonishingly profitable.
Some of the secrets were time sensitive and had to be cashed in immediately. Others would become more valuable in the future. She and Thelma had always referred to those secrets as their pension plan.
“Adelaide Brockton agreed to attend the performance tomorrow night,” Zolanda said, “but she was not exactly enthusiastic. I had to cough up an extra ticket and convince her to bring a friend.”
“So what? All we care about is that she shows up at the Palace Theater tomorrow night.”
“She’ll be there,” Zolanda said. “But we may have another problem.”
Thelma glanced into the rearview mirror again. “Truett?”
“He seems to have taken an interest in Adelaide.”
“It’s got to be a coincidence,” Thelma said.
But she looked uneasy.
“I don’t like the fact that he just happened to show up here in Burning Cove eight days ago,” Zolanda said.
“Where else does a rich businessman from L.A. go for some rest and relaxation? I’m telling you, his being here is sheer coincidence.”
Zolanda snorted softly. “A real psychic would tell you that there is no such thing as a coincidence.”
Thelma smiled. “But you aren’t a real psychic, are you? You’re just a damn good actress.”
Zolanda looked out the window. The morning fog had burned off. The golden light of the California sun flashed and sparkled on the Pacific. She thought about the day that she and her best friend had gotten off the train in Los Angeles with a couple of battered grips that contained all their worldly possessions.
Her dreams of stardom had kept her going for a time. She had worked the lunch-counter job and slept with too many sleazy bastards who claimed to be talent scouts or studio executives. But the guys had all been liars and cheats. She had never even managed to land a screen test. It was all so unfair because she possessed real talent.