Chapter 21 #2
“Now, hold on.” He struggled to untangle himself from her, but she covered his face with kisses.
“I knew you could do it. You never give up on me, do you?”
He sighed and patted her the way you’d pat a child. “No, I don’t.”
Lucas
He had been hurt worse than Bobby W. He was grateful for that. They talked to the police, who chalked up their attack to too much drinking on the island, and Bobby W seemed eager to agree. Lucas wasn’t so sure.
His aching body still attested to the anger of his attacker, and he’d have to concoct a story to explain the bruises and cuts on his face. He’d told Ellen the truth, of course, and now he was going to have to do something about these messages from Rikki.
He found Bobby W in the gallery, as the old man called it.
Ironic, because every room in Bobby W’s life was a photo gallery.
Some of the photos were collectors’ items—Mr. Universe John Grimek, Harold Zinkin, the first Mr. California, Jack La Lanne—all of them in shorts that looked clunky, regardless of how brief.
They posed while doing handstands or balancing women in swanlike poses.
In one bookend pyramid, a young Bobby W balanced on Zinkin’s back and held a white bathing-suit-clad woman in a handstand.
As he entered the room, he thought he heard voices, then realized Bobby W was whispering to the people in the photo.
“You feeling better?” Lucas asked in a louder-than-usual voice.
Bobby W turned from the black-and-white display with the face of a younger man. His cologne created a wall of scent between them. “Those were the days, Luke. We did things a lot differently back then. No AIDS, no palimony.”
“I doubt that it’s as simple as that.”
“It never is.” He pointed to a photo of him and his two partners, twisted into one unit of amazing proportion. “You see that pose? No one has ever duplicated it.”
How many times had he told him that? How many times had Lucas nodded in affirmation?
“You guys were the best, Bobby W.”
“No, those guys were the best. I was lucky to learn from them.” He flexed unconsciously, lifted his chin, gazing off at a beach in a time as old as the photos. “I took their drive, their discipline, and put it into this business. I’m proud of what we do.”
“You ought to be.”
“Now that Jules is coming back, we’ll be the way we were before. Better, by God.” His voice rose slightly. He looked at Lucas as if waiting for an answer.
“You are sure that was Julie on the phone?”
“I’m not senile. I talked to her every morning, even though I didn’t see her all that often.” His dark eyes held Lucas’s gaze. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
He turned from the past and walked to the window with its view of the red tiles and white buildings, stretching off into a rising skyline of wealth.
Lucas followed, standing as close beside him as he could without being overwhelmed by his scent, something heavy with sandalwood.
“You thought I was crazy to announce a new spokesmodel so soon after Julie’s disappearance.” His smile was tender, but his gaze was Bobby W at his sharpest. There had been no Dutch courage, as he called it, for breakfast today, no Bloody Mary, hold the tomato juice.
“I questioned your judgment, I’ll admit.”
“That’s because you don’t know Jules the way I do. You don’t know what makes her tick.”
“Which is?”
“She is Killer Body, and she’s proud of it. It’s not just the money, either.”
“I know that.” It’s the ego, he wanted to say, the drive for perfection, but he knew better.
“By announcing a search for a new spokesmodel, I was gambling that I could drive Jules out of hiding, whatever the reason.” He crossed his arms and smiled out on the view, as if he owned it, which in a way, he did.
When he turned to Lucas, tears glistened in his eyes and his lips quivered. “It worked.”
“It appears to have. When did Julie say she was coming back?”
“She didn’t say when, only that everything would be all right now, that we’d talk every day, like always.” Cold fingers clutched Lucas’s wrist. “She told me to hold the job for her.”
“You think we should call off the competition, then?”
“I keep changing my mind on that one, Luke. Even before I knew Jules was gone, I wanted to have a second spokesmodel for the Ass Blaster, but now I don’t know. What do you think?”
He didn’t know. They’d generated considerable publicity with the search. Now, if Julie returned, if she really did, would they need a second spokesmodel, especially if it turned out to be Rochelle, as he suspected?
“What do you think about what that bastard said when he jumped us? Do you think he knows anything about her?”
“A drunken bully.” Bobby W waved his words aside. What was he feeling? Shame that he couldn’t flatten the guy the way he would have in his youth? “I totally discount everything he said.”
The door swished open behind them.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Ellen’s pained expression belied her soft voice. “That pushy reporter. Rikki Fitzpatrick, has been trying to reach you all morning.”
Lucas tried to hide an unbidden smile, but he wasn’t fast enough. Bobby W’s sharp eyes caught it, and he chuckled.
“I probably should take it,” Lucas said.
At least he’d deceived Ellen. She pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear and handed him the phone. “Good luck.”
How was he going to talk to Rikki with the two of them watching, Ellen with professional concern and Bobby W for entertainment?
He turned his back on both of them and walked to the window.
If he couldn’t see them, he could pretend they weren’t there.
He hadn’t seen Rikki since Friday and that emotional scene in his house.
If he was lucky, maybe he could talk her into lunch.
He pressed the speak button and looked out the window. Santa Barbara never looked brighter, more inviting or full of promise. “This is Lucas.” Might as well try to sound professional.
“I’ve been trying to phone you all weekend.” Her voice was flat, edged in anger.
“If I’d known, you wouldn’t have had to phone more than once, believe me. Bobby W and I were out of town. Ran into a little problem. Have you had lunch yet?”
“This isn’t a personal call.”
He’d seen pride in her face, arrogance. He’d never seen the anger he heard in her voice. This was the woman with whom he’d shared something. A woman who felt something for him. It wasn’t his imagination. He knew she felt something, even now.
“What’s the matter, Rikki? What happened?”
“You lied to me.”
He felt the heavy presence of Bobby W and Ellen behind him. Lowered his voice even more.
“What are you talking about?” Then, in a voice a shade shy of a whisper, “We’re on the same side, remember?”
“Then tell me this.” He could feel her take a breath, and he took it with her, picturing her face, the lifting of her chest.
“What is it?”
“Just tell me. Who the hell is Julie Larimore?”