Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“He’s smooth, isn’t he?”

Cat turned around. A man stood near her with a lowball drink in his hand and a grin that was much like Dean Casperson’s, only more cynical. He actually looked a lot like Casperson, but he was at least fifteen years younger and far less polished. Even so, he was cute. He had black hair and a muscular body, with hawkish pale eyes and a square chin. He wore an untucked Tommy Bahama shirt decorated with blue palm trees and glistening black slacks.

Cat stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Dean. He’s smooth as peanut butter. You can’t help but love him. Of course, I take the punches, not him.”

“What do you mean?”

The man put his hand out, and Cat shook it. His hands were rougher and more callused than the others she’d shaken this night. “My name is Jack Jensen. Jungle Jack is what people call me. I’m Dean’s stunt double. You see him take a header from a window? That’s me.”

“That’s very cool,” Cat said.

“Mind you, I’m just the muscle. Acting is in the face, and Dean works his face like he’s some kind of concert pianist. I’m in awe of what he can do.”

“Me, too. I think he’s great.”

“He brought me into this business. He’s my best friend in the world.” Jungle Jack snaked closer, and Cat felt herself flushing again under his high-wattage smile. “He has an eye for women, too. He was absolutely right about you, you know. You are stunning.”

“Really?”

“Really. I don’t see you with a drink in your hand. Do you want one?”

Cat had been good all evening. She remembered the list of noes, and no drinking was one of them, but this was a party. She was in a crowd of people. She really didn’t see the harm in it. She looked around to make sure Serena wasn’t watching, and then she said, “Um, yeah, why not?”

“Champagne?”

“Oh, definitely, yeah.”

Jack didn’t leave her side. He simply snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared by magic with a silver tray, and Jack grabbed one of the crystal glasses that was nearly fizzing over with champagne. He put it in her hand and then clinked his lowball glass against hers.

“To the prettiest girl here,” he said.

“What? No way.” Cat blushed. She took a sip, and it was really, really good champagne.

“So what brings you to the party, Cat?” Jack asked.

“I came with my — I came with a friend. A woman.”

“Yeah? A friend? Are you party models? Because if you’re getting paid to dress up the place, believe me, you’re doing your job.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I’ve done that, though. I mean, not at parties like this, but you can make some real money.” She was saying way too much and talking way too fast. She realized that she’d already finished the first bubbling glass of champagne in a couple of swallows and that Jack had put another one in her hand. It went down as easily as Sprite.

“I bet you can,” Jack told her. “Make money, that is. You wouldn’t believe what the girls make in L.A.”

“Really? How much?”

“Oh, thousands. Easy.”

“No kidding? For one party?”

“The stunners like you? Absolutely. And that can lead to magazine gigs, too. I can pass your name along to the right people if you want. You know, if you ever want to visit the Coast.”

“I do!”

“Just give me your number. Maybe we can hook up while I’m in town and talk about it some more.”

“Wow, okay. Sure, it’s—” Cat was so excited that she was having a hard time remembering her phone number.

Then a voice interrupted them. A subzero, furious voice.

“Let me help you out,” Serena said, clamping Jungle Jack’s shoulder like a vise and digging in her long nails. “Her number is 218-F-U-C-K-O-F-F. And she is seventeen years old .”

Jack looked at Serena, saw her badge, and paled. The blood disappeared from his face. Cat knew men well enough to know that the blood had probably vanished from other places, too.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he murmured. Then he tried to recover smoothly. He brushed back his hair and used his charm on Serena. Cat could have told him it was a losing effort. “Really, officer, I apologize. I had no idea about this young woman’s age. It was an honest mistake.”

Serena measured out her words one by one. “ Did — you — put — anything — in — her — drink? ”

“No, no way. Absolutely not.” His composure faltered again.

“I’m going to have her tested. If I find any date rape drugs, I will be back to put you in a cell. Do you understand me?”

“Completely,” Jack said.

“I don’t want you ever speaking to her again. Not one word. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Cat didn’t have time to say anything before Serena grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out the front door of the restaurant into the frigid air. The steam coming from Serena’s mouth as she breathed could well have been smoke. She yanked Cat through the parking lot toward the Mustang and didn’t say a word. Cat knew she’d screwed up. It always happened this way. She got carried away in the moment and went back to being a stupid girl from the street.

“Serena,” she said.

“Don’t talk.”

“Serena.”

“I said don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

“ Mom , please. All I want to say is you really kick ass.”

Serena stopped dead in the middle of the highway and looked up at the stars. Cat could see her breathing in and out and shaking her head. For all the bad things she’d done in the past, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Serena so mad. Then, out of nowhere, Serena reached out with her long arms and pulled her into a fierce hug. She whispered in Cat’s ear. She was still angry, but her voice was soft.

“I need you to listen to me, Catalina.”

Cat was shocked. Serena almost never called her that.

“Hey, I know I blew it,” Cat said.

Serena was still whispering. “Yes, you did, but that’s not what I want you to hear. Somebody told me something important tonight, and now I’m telling you the same thing. These people from the movies are so outside our world, they might as well be from another solar system. Don’t trust anything they tell you .”

Stride found the house in the Congdon Park neighborhood where Haley Adams had ordered a delivery of Chinese food. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

The house was on the sharp slope of a wooded neighborhood along Hawthorne Road just north of Fourth Street. The winter trees were bare, making it easy to see the upscale homes built on huge lots. The house was made of red brick, and all the lights were off. The sidewalk and driveway hadn’t been plowed from the overnight storm, and the snow throughout the yard showed nothing but rabbit tracks. The house looked unoccupied.

“This doesn’t look right,” Stride said. “No one’s staying here.”

He checked the number on the address he’d written down, but this was the place listed on the receipt. Even so, it obviously wasn’t being used by anyone from the movie.

“I think I know this place,” Maggie said. “Gorgonzola lives here.”

Stride chuckled. “Mags, you really need to dial it back on the nicknames.”

“Hey, Troy came up with that, not me. The guy’s name is George N. Zola. He used to be an exec at the port, but he retired last spring. Troy and I went to a going-away party here at the house.”

There was a long pause between them after Maggie mentioned Troy Grange. The name slipped easily from her mouth, but then he could see her face twitch unhappily as she thought about a relationship that had turned sour. It was a shame. Stride liked Troy. He’d thought Maggie had finally found someone for the long haul.