Nancy Bartholomew - Lethally Blonde

Before I can protest, Jeremy looks at Andrea and inclines his head in my direction. “Lovey, why don’t you help Porsche get settled in while I borrow your hubby and try and sort out this mess, all right?”

“But what about me?” Zoe wails. “I need you, too!”

Jeremy looks at Zoe and becomes the king again. “Wait in the library,” he says coldly. “I’ll come find you when I’m finished.”

The men walk away without a backward glance. Zoe appears to have lost herself in her role again because she is following three yards behind Jeremy, head down, pacing slowly back into the mansion.

“What in the hell is going on here?” I manage to ask Andrea.

She shrugs. “Welcome to Hollywood,” she says. “Where nothing is real, true or genuine. Everyone is trying to be someone or something else and no one is ever satisfied with things as they are.”

“So, do Zoe and Jeremy have a thing or what? I mean, why does she act that way with him?”

Andrea smiles. “It’s the project. She’s totally immersed herself in it, not just her role, but in the entire project. It’s Zoe’s concept, after all, and she and Jeremy are co-EP’s—executive procedures—on it.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding but not really understanding at all.

“Apparently Zoe’s been spending a lot of time finding her muse and exploring her spirituality. She’s like that, you know. Anyway, somehow in the process of all this, she read about some of the more ancient pagan rituals and religions. That’s where the idea came from for the script. She plays the love interest to Jeremy’s high priest or something. I think it’s a domination theme, you know, she’s the subservient follower to his Rasputin.”

I am about to say something really awful, like, who in their right mind would adore Jeremy Reins, but stop when I remember the way Jeremy transformed himself into a complete Adonis in the Peloponnesian War epic that got him nominated for an Oscar last year. Before either of us can continue, the security gate at the end of the driveway swings open and a white cargo van begins winding its way toward us with the two bodyguards, Scott and Dave, sitting in the front seats.

“Good,” Andrea says, sighing. “I feel better knowing they’re here.” She looks at me and makes a hasty attempt to retract her statement. “I mean, not that you didn’t do a great job of…”

“Listen, you’re the one with the brown belt. All I did was yell and shove Jeremy out of the way of a couple of killer paparazzi. I couldn’t take on a real threat! I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with feeling relieved to have a little help, even if we are awesome paragons of female strength and ability.”

I grin as I say this last part, because I most certainly do not think I am in any way prepared for real danger in the near future. I know Jimmy “The Heartbreaker” Valentine tried his best with me back at Gotham Roses Central, but practice only goes so far when real life intervenes. What in the world was I thinking, jumping into something like this?

It doesn’t matter that the morning’s “threat” hadn’t been a real attack, the people involved had all been frightened and I sense there is something more sinister going on than I’ve been told.

“You will absolutely not believe this,” I tell Emma. I am lying on my back, staring up at a huge canopy that covers the antique bed in the guest cottage, pinching myself as I study my surroundings and try to describe them to my friend.

“First of all, the ‘ranch’ as they call it, is hardly a ranch at all, at least not from what I can see. Remember that time we decided we wanted to get healthy and we went to Canyon Ranch in Tucson? It’s like that, only I bet the food’s better and the scenery is a definite improvement.”

Emma sees right through this. “Who is he?” she demands.

I roll over onto my stomach, look out the floor-length window and watch as Andrea emerges from the house, a frozen margarita in hand, to stroll beside the sparkling blue pool.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bug, there is no way you would be waxing rhapsodic about the Canyon Ranch without there being some sort of specimen of male beauty involved. Remember the cowboy who took us out on that God-awful trail ride? You went on and on about how lovely your ride was for days, and that after your horse tried to run you off a canyon wall and we both came back with saddle sores, stinking to high heaven!”

I close my eyes against the memory. “Em, really, this place is just sweet, that’s all. Private and too cute.”

“So there’s not even one good-looking man, aside from Jeremy Reins that is, on the entire property who meets the criteria?”

“Criteria?” I echo, knowing full well what she means.

“You wouldn’t sleep with any man you’ve seen so far? I mean, excluding Jeremy because he’s gay.”

“Well, Em, that’s what I was going to tell you—Jeremy is not gay, I mean, not totally.” I try to distract her with the paparazzi-in-the-baggage-cart story, and for awhile, Emma is at least interested.

“The man had a camera and you tackled Jeremy?”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do? I thought it was a gun.”

“So, you don’t think anyone is really after him then?” Emma sounds just a bit relieved.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. Jeremy seemed shaken by the episode, as if he expected trouble.”

“Hmmm. Bug, are you sure you’ll be all right? Have you told Renee about this?”

I roll off the bed and walk over to stare out the window, watching as Jeremy, Sam and Mark walk out onto the pool deck and join Andrea at the cabana bar. I watch Sam’s easy, long-legged stride and think he’d be quite something if he’d only been given a personality to match that body of his.

“Bug! Hel-lo! Have you told Renee?”

“Told her what?”

“All right, that’s it! What is going on and what is his name?”

I turn my back on the window and focus on Emma. “No, I haven’t spoken with Renee. I didn’t think I had enough to report about yet, but I’ll call her tonight.”

“And his name?”

“Sam,” I say, miserably. “God, Emma, how do you know me so well? This man is gorgeous, a real cowboy, but he is an absolute jerk. He’s rude and overbearing—”

“And has a body to die for, I’ll bet,” she interrupts.

“Totally.”

“Walk away, Bug. You’re there to do a job, not get laid.”

“I would never!”

Emma laughs. “Yes, you would and we both know it! But really, honey, this is risky business.”

I feel myself getting defensive and tell her, “Emma, I was only teasing about the cowboy. I know this is dangerous and I’m giving it my full attention. Besides, Jeremy’s agent’s wife, Andrea, says the guy is actually Jeremy’s manager. He’s from Jeremy’s old hometown—so checking him out was just part of looking at the whole picture. I mean, the guy could be the one behind all this, although I doubt it. Andrea says he was Jeremy’s drama teacher in high school.”

“Get out!” she says. “So he’s an old guy?”

I laugh. “Older, not old. Experienced is more like it.”

A loud knock at the cabin door startles me and I have to hang up quickly with Emma. Dave and Scott are standing there when I open the door, holding Marlena’s reassembled cage between them.

“Where do you want this?” Dave asks. The look on his face says, “This is so-o-o not our job!”

“In the corner,” I answer, pointing to the living room.

As they work to position it, I decide that I should begin doing some serious investigation, starting with these two. I walk over to them and smile, completely phony and I’m sure they know this, but what else can I do?