Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [153]
No, it couldn’t be Bob, he was a good friend; look how he’d helped him. Then that left Bill Kaufmann as the blackmailer, or Margie, but surely she was too dumb and too coked out even to try?
Slamming the car door, Rory walked wearily across to the house. He hated this place now. Funny, he’d liked it so much at first, he’d thought it so smart, exactly the right sort of place for an up-and-coming actor, a chic wood-and-glass duplex condominium on Newport Marina. But now he was a star, now he needed a place where he could entertain, a fancy drawing room and a screening room of his own, a pool and a court … goddamn Bill Kaufmann!
Margie heard him come in and sat up, cross-legged on the bed, waiting.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rory stared at her angrily. She looked terrible, she was so thin she was scrawny! Her face was puffy and her eyes nervous as she smiled at him. Well, at least she was a friendly face! Or was she?
“I let myself in,” said Margie sweetly. “I thought you might be pleased to see me.”
“You came to see me?” Rory pointed to the crystal bowl, its lid off. “Or you came for that?”
“Both,” admitted Margie. “It’s been a while, Rory. Haven’t you missed me?”
“No,” said Rory, pulling off his shirt and throwing it on a chair. “I can’t say that I have.” Tugging off his loafers he stepped out of his jeans. He kicked them out of his path as he headed toward the shower.
He looked good, thought Margie, admiring the broad-shouldered, sleekly muscled body of the nation’s number-one television star, he really was terrific.
“Wait a minute.” Rory turned and retraced his steps. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
He stood by the side of the bed, staring angrily at her. Margie put out a tentative hand to stroke his thigh. He surely was mad at her. What had she done that was so bad? All she’d taken was a little coke.
“Who’ve you been talking to about me?” demanded Rory. “About me and Jenny?”
“Jenny?” Margie stared at him, puzzled. “I haven’t talked to anyone. What is there to say? Oh,” she remembered, “that is, no one except Bob, and he already knew you were with her that night—”
“Bob!” Rory felt his knees go weak as he sank into the bed next to her. “You told Bob?”
“I didn’t tell him,” she corrected, “you did. He told me so, and then I asked him how he knew—”
“When?” demanded Rory. “Tell me when, you dumb bitch!”
Margie shrank back from the violence in his voice. “It was that night you all went to La Scala and wouldn’t take me. You forgot to bring me back a pizza and I was hungry, so Bob took me to Du Par’s on the way home. But he knew, Rory, I swear he knew.”
Rory’s hand itched to slap her stupid burned-out little face, and with an effort he drew back; he was in enough trouble without being accused of beating up teenage girls. Shaking, he made his way back to the bathroom. So it was Bob. The bastard had tricked Margie into telling him, and then he’d tricked him into confessing. “It’s no good keeping things locked away inside you, you should talk to a friend”—wasn’t that what he’d said? Then was it Bob who was blackmailing him? The money was for the Haven girls. So who was Bob working for?
Rory turned the shower to cold, and stepped under the stinging jets that spouted from all four sides as well as the top, gasping as they hit. He didn’t want to think anymore about who Bob was working for. God damn, he was a fool, a stupid fucking fool.
Margie had pulled on her red suede boots and was sitting nervously on the side of the bed. She hadn’t even dared to touch the coke in case he got mad at her.
Rory ignored her as he opened and shut drawers, slamming around finding clean shorts, a black tracksuit, sneakers. He wanted to get out of here, he couldn’t stand this place any longer. Goddamn everybody. That house in Benedict was his, he had earned it.
He stared into the mirror, suddenly transfixed.