Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Shoving the rim of my cap as low as it will go, I pause in front of the long chrome counter and glance at the screen. I instantly swallow a groan when I notice that the female reporter is reciting her broadcast from directly in front of the Lester Hotel.
I bite back a curse when the skinny desk clerk enters the frame.
“I’m now talking to Joe Dorsey, an employee of the hotel where Ben Barrett was last seen. Derek, what can you tell us about your encounter with Barrett?”
I curl my hands into fists.
“Well, he looked very agitated,” the kid says, his eyes darting from the microphone to the camera trained on him. “He looked nervous.”
“What do you mean by nervous?”
“I think he was on drugs.”
The reporter feigns shock.
“And he wasn’t alone,” the kid adds, then waves at the camera and mouths, “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you saying Ben Barrett met someone here last night?”
“Not someone. A woman. She came in an hour after he did.” Dorsey grins, which causes his bony face to jut out awkwardly. “I think they were engaging in sexual relations, Katie.”
The blood rushing to my head prevents me from hearing the end of the interview. Fists clenched, I stalk toward the deserted corridor by the restrooms.
I fish my phone out of my back pocket and call my agent.
“Ben, are you okay?” Stu Steinberg’s voice booms after we’ve been connected.
“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh. I rub the stubble dotting my chin. “What the hell is going on?”
“You’re asking me?” Stu shoots out a string of four-letter words. “Why was your car found gutted in front of a strip joint?”
“I was trying to lose the press. Then I checked into a hotel to get some sleep.” Even to my own ears the answer sounds stupid at best and pathetic at worst.
“And who’s this hooker you were with last night?”
My features harden. “I wasn’t with a hooker. You know that’s not my style.”
My agent’s voice mocks me from the other end of the line. “You want to know what I do know about you, Ben? You’re a fucking idiot. You just inherited twenty million bucks from a woman you had no business sleeping with—”
“Gretchen and I never—”
“So I told you to lay low, but did you listen? Oh no, you went out and caused a media storm. Do you realize how many calls I’ve gotten from the press this morning? Not to mention the police.”
“Stu—”
“They think you were abducted by a crazed whore, for Christ’s sake!”
“Stu—”
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Ben. I’ll call Mary and have her fly to New York. She’ll sit down with you and figure out a way to spin this so that you don’t look like a complete jerk. But first we need to call off the cops and tell them Mr. Movie Star is alive and well. Capiche?”
“You’re not Italian,” I mutter.
“Capiche?” he repeats, sterner now.
“Whatever, sure. That sounds good. As for Mary, tell her to stay in LA. There’s nothing to spin here.”
“Are you insane?”
I grip the phone so tightly I fear it might shatter into a million little pieces. “I’m not insane. I’m just tired. I’m tired of being hounded and harassed and I haven’t slept in a week, Stu. So go ahead and tell the police to call off their investigation, but don’t expect me to make a solitary public appearance to explain this ridiculous story the press has yet again concocted.”
“So, what, you’re just going to fuel the fire by disappearing off the face of the earth?” Stu demands, sounding angrier than ever.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to disappear. You wanted me to lay low? Fine, I’ll lay low. I’m not answering any calls, I’m not meeting with Mary or anyone from the PR firm. In fact, I’m not doing a fucking thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Ben Barrett is officially out of the limelight. For how long, I don’t know. But I’m done, Stu. If I don’t get some peace and quiet I’ll end up in a nuthouse, so placate the cops, say whatever you want to the reporters and leave me the hell alone. Capiche?”
7
Maggie
“Bye, Maggie!”
I smile at the two little girls in the doorway before signing out at the community center where I volunteer. I wave at the counselor who doubles as a receptionist, give each of the giggling girls by the door a big hug good-bye and step outside.
Finally alone, I let out the weary sigh that’s been lodged in my chest all afternoon.
Considering I got a grand total of three hours sleep last night, I probably should’ve skipped my shift and stayed in bed, but as usual, my irritating sense of responsibility prevented me from being lazy.
My work at the Joshua Broger Youth Center is more than just field placement for my degree. It’s important to me, and I know the kids are disappointed when I don’t show up—which is rare. Most of the children who come to the center live in foster homes, and having been a part of the foster system for thirteen years of my life, I only wish I’d had a place like the Broger Center to visit. Somewhere to get help with my homework, or talk to a counselor, or just spend some time with other children my age.