Born to Be Wild (18 page)

She grinned over at him. “Making money is fun, it makes me feel worthwhile, but I know it can't last forever. If an actor gets caught up in thinking he's the greatest thing in the universe, he's in for trouble. And that's why I stay with my circle of friends and try not to get drawn into all the ridiculous hype.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “So you think it won't last? Your extreme popularity in this soap?”

She patted the dashboard. “Who knows? Truth be told, I'd rather drive Buffy than buy a thousand Manolo Blahniks.”

He raised an eyebrow as he climbed in and closed the door. She laughed. “Okay, Blahnik designs the coolest shoes in the universe. And hey, Buffy's bright red keeps me awake.” Once both of them had fastened their seat belts, she turned the key. “I got her from Chris Rock after I met him in a greenroom for some show we were both on. He said his wife didn't like the red, and so he gave me a good price.”

He'd heard of Chris Rock, naturally, and she'd spoken about him so naturally. He said, shaking his head, “No, Mary Lisa, your life is very different from mine. The last time I saw Chris Rock, we did not interact. He was behind the TV screen.”

She laughed. “The thing is, Chris agrees with me—if you count on anything in this town, you're setting yourself up for a big punch in the mouth.”

“But you're in a lucky situation, aren't you? Some of the soap opera stars keep their roles for years and years.”

“Yep, like Kay Chancellor and Victor Newman on
The Young and the Restless
. We'll see. Maybe something else will come along or maybe it won't. Right now, I'm having a ball. And I know I'm lucky. Hey, I'll take you to lunch at Alfredo's, over in Santa Monica.”

“I like Italian.”

“Hmm, well, it's not exactly Italian.”

What it was, Jack discovered twenty minutes later, was a fish and chips dive right across the street from the ocean, at the base of the long pier. He looked out to see at least fifty half-naked girls sprawled out on the sand for as far as the eye could see, guys in low-slung shorts trailing about, trying not to look too obvious about eyeing all the beautiful young bodies.

“This is never-never land,” he said as he added some more vinegar to his French fries.

“A guy's fantasy life can be in full bloom here, that's for sure.” She was contemplating a French fry. “This is my caloric meal for the week, so excuse me a moment, I'm connecting to my fat content.”

He watched her eat a moment, savoring each vinegar-drenched French fry, then locking in on the deep-fried haddock. “I tell myself it's okay because it's fish. What do you think?”

“Self-deception isn't always a bad thing.”

She chewed for a long time, finally swallowed, and laughed. “Have you always wanted to be a cop? Are you having fun with your choice right now?”

He stared at her a moment. “Usually I don't think about it, but yeah, I always wanted to be a cop. My grandfather was a Chicago detective. He was the finest man I ever knew. I wanted to be like him. And I wanted local, not FBI.” He ate another French fry, then looked at her thoughtfully. “I think I'm well suited to what I do. Yeah, I enjoy it.”

What about his father, she wondered. She said, smiling at him, “Good. That's the way it's supposed to be. Oh yes, I heard from John. I hope he's decided not to come down.”

The current French fry stopped two inches from Jack's mouth. “John said he was coming down here? Why?”

“I believe he said something like it was time for the big gun to take over.”

Jack laughed. “Pitty Pat does fine with crooks after they're all cleaned up, in shackles, and have a guard on either side.”

“Pitty Pat?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“You'll have to ask him.”

“What does John call you?”

“Goon Leader.”

“I thought you two got along really well.”

“As a matter of fact he's my best friend, but he shouldn't be down here, it would just muddy the water.”

“Seems to me there's plenty of mud already.”

“Excuse me a second.” Jack pushed away from the table, pulled out his cell phone, and walked away.

Mary Lisa pulled out her own cell phone. After two rings, a man answered. “Yeah, Chico here.”

“Chico? It's Mary Lisa Beverly. Can I see you this afternoon, say in thirty minutes?”

Silence, then: “Make it an hour. Now listen to me. You're gonna be real sore tonight, so plan to take a long hot tub and early to bed.”

“The hot tub's a go, bed has to wait.”

“It's your ass.” Chico hung up.

Jack walked back to the table. “When do you memorize your lines?”

“Usually when I'm in bed at night. And every morning I have at least two hours in makeup and wardrobe. I can memorize a whole scene in a pinch while Candy is doing my hair in the style du jour. I need to drop you off somewhere after lunch. I have an appointment.”

“Where?”

“One of the safest places in the land. You'll know soon enough, but not now, so I need to drop you off. Where would you like to go?”

“I don't want you by yourself. So I'll take you to this appointment.”

“I swear I'll be as safe as I was in the clink that night you locked me in. You didn't even give me a blanket.”

“There weren't any,” he said absently. “I'd ordered some, but they hadn't come yet.” He didn't like it, she could tell he didn't, but she didn't want to tell him where she was going, what she was doing, he'd just yell at her. He'd find out in good time. She grinned down at the half dozen limp French fries soaking in vinegar at the bottom of the cardboard box. She looked up to see the ocean breeze blowing black hair in his eyes. An impatient hand swiped it back. Big hands, long fingers, short filed nails. She was admiring his damned hands. She didn't like this, she really didn't. And now certainly wasn't the time, not with fear curdling her belly whenever her mind snapped back to this crazy guy after her, which was about every five minutes. She cleared her throat. “I'm not being stupid here so no arguments. Lou Lou will catch a ride to where I am and go home with me. No, I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. Now then, where can I drop you?”

He didn't look happy. Then he shrugged, popped the last French fry into his mouth, and said, “Lost Hills Station in Calabasas is fine. There's some stuff I need to check out with Daniel. I called John. He was having a screaming match with Pat Bigelow in his office. Between that and my telling him I didn't have a perp yet so he'd be about as helpful as a gerbil on a wheel, I don't think he'll be coming any time soon.”

“Why is lawyer Bigelow screaming at John?”

“Pat wants a new bail hearing. She's claiming Milo's health is suffering because of his leg wound. She wants him home. John handed her a photo of Milo doing his push-ups this morning.”

Mary Lisa laughed, a joyous sound, he thought, and for a moment, stared at her. She looked carefree, beautiful, and happy. Anyone who saw her wouldn't believe she was dealing with fear every minute of her life. He admired her greatly in that moment. How very odd life was, he thought, and looked out at the ocean. How could anyone want to hurt her?

“What are you thinking? You look all sorts of serious.”

He looked back at her. “Do I? Maybe it's because I was realizing that I really like your hair.”

She touched a finger to her tangling hair. “My hair?”

“Your dad was raving about you once—not to me, since I firmly believed you were a one-strike felon—but I'll admit I was listening. He was talking about how you had the most beautiful hair he'd ever seen, his own mother's hair, he said, only yours was a deeper red, and it was fuller, richer. Your dad thinks you walk on water.”

She paused a moment, rubbing her hands up and down the sides of her glass, and out of her mouth came, “If you take off those sunglasses of yours I'll take off mine.”

He pulled off the aviator glasses.

She stared at him right in his dark blue eyes, narrowed against the bright sun. “Okay, tell me what you think, Jack.”

He reached across the narrow, battered wooden table, pulled off her 49ers cap, ran his fingers through her hair, then wrapped a thick curl around his finger. He leaned up and brought the hair to his cheek and rubbed it. He sat back, crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well?”

“Nah, your grandmother had fuller, richer hair. Softer too.”

“You can't possibly know that!”

“I'm deducing it.”

She threw a French fry at him.

“I didn't like you either,” she said. “I really didn't. I didn't think you ever smiled.”

He became very still.

“Jack—”

“You're not going to let it go, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Truth is, maybe you were right. After I left Chicago, I guess I didn't smile much, and—” He shook his head and concentrated on the last piece of fried haddock in the cardboard carton.

“I knew you were divorced. Why did you break up?”

He didn't look like he was going to answer. She was on the point of retracting the question—impertinent, she knew, and really none of her business—when he said, “Rikki wanted kids and she wanted a father to be there for her kids. I wasn't ready.”

“Why not?”

“I honestly didn't know then, only that I kept telling her I wasn't ready. I finally figured it out a while back. My dad wasn't what you'd call a very moral character. He was never home, slept around on my mom, and treated us kids like we were an—imposition, like he wished we weren't there, like we cramped his style. It drove my grandfather nuts but there was nothing he could do about it except try to be there when he could break free from his job.

“I guess I didn't want to be the same way and knew if Rikki got pregnant I wouldn't be there to be a father, and I'd see my grandfather's face, staring at me like I was a loser.” He stopped suddenly, looked appalled at himself. Color stained his high cheekbones. “I can't believe I said that. Forget it. It's got to be the flaky air down here. Damn.”

Mary Lisa said thoughtfully, “Do you think your dad could take on my mom and win?”

He jerked back, the embarrassment fell off his face, and he grinned at her. “It would be some battle.”

She raised her soda glass and clicked it to his. “To parents. They never cease to amaze.”

“Hear, hear.”

She watched him take a bite of that last piece of haddock. “Did you love her?”

He wadded his paper napkin and threw it into the trash container. “That's it, Mary Lisa. No more of this personal stuff, this damned relationship stuff that makes a man's innards twist and bend. You women, what's with you and all this gut-spilling crap anyway?”

And he got up, shoved his sunglasses back on, walked to her bright red Mustang, climbed into the passenger seat, and settled his head against the seat.

“It's been three years, Jack, get over it.” She climbed into Buffy beside him. “It's time you came back and enjoyed yourself a bit, don't you think?”
With me, maybe
.

“Yeah? You mean like with you?”

Oh boy
.

He hadn't moved. She turned the key in the ignition, still didn't look at him.

“What about John?”

Still not looking at him, she said, “John was off the table the minute I found out about Kelly's feelings.”

He said nothing.

When she pulled up in front of the Lost Hills Station, Jack got out, then turned to look at her. “You be careful, you hear me? You promised me you weren't stupid. I'm holding you to that. I'll see you later.”

“At home,” she said.

He gave her an odd look. “Yeah,” he said, “at home. Along with half the population of Southern California. Why won't you tell me where you're off to?”

She shook her head, laughed, waved, and drove off.

She headed for Venice. She didn't want to be late for Chico.

At four o'clock Friday afternoon, Mary Lisa knew death was near. There was no way she could move, not if someone yelled fire, not if Brad Pitt walked naked in front of her, and it was that last thought that made her realize just how pathetic a condition she was in. Sprawled on her back, boneless, her arms and legs flung out, her sweaty hair matted to her head, all she could do was focus on breathing. It was hard even to suck enough air into her lungs, but at least she could manage that without whimpering. She stared up at the gorgeous man who'd done his best to kill her.

“Not so perky now, are you?”

Perky? Why was he talking about her breasts at a time like this? Breath, she needed more breath to tell him what she thought of him, none of it good. He offered her a hand, and she stared at it, praying for the strength to leap up and bite it. She managed a whisper. “If I press charges, do you think the cops will lock you up?”

“Nah, since you paid me for this, it shows you desire abuse and torture and gets me off the hook. I know you think I'm a sadist, you don't think I feel your pain. Hmm. Come to think of it, actually, I don't. But listen, you did really good for your first lesson. You're in good shape, you've got good balance, and you move well. But to be effective, you can't let your eyes tell your opponent every move you're going to make. I'll teach you to blank out that expression. Surprise is everything. Now, don't lie there like a pitiful log. I told you kicking with force would use your core muscles like nothing else. Get up, I want you to jog in place for three minutes, otherwise you'll be stiffer than my old rheumatoid dog, Bart, by tomorrow. Come on, Mary Lisa, get your butt off that mat.”

As she jogged in place, she told Chico Rayburn he must be registered a double-O-something with the Brits, she'd swear to that. He laughed and slapped her on the back, nearly sending her to the floor.

“I like your spunk, Mary Lisa. At this rate I can teach you some useful skills in a few weeks' time. But I need commitment from you. I told you I don't work with anyone who isn't committed, it's a waste of my time. Can you swear to me right now you're going to stick with this? You're not going to wimp out?”

Words, how to get words out of her mouth? “Yeah, fool that I am.” She'd managed five words, good.

He beamed at her. “You're no quitter, I knew that. And you've got motivation, what with that moron out there chasing you around. You don't want to have to depend on the cops or bodyguards to protect you the rest of your life. You're doing the right thing.”

She could breathe again and, glory be, she could speak, barely. “Yeah, I'm doing the right thing. I was hoping I'd be able to take the jerk down in maybe two weeks. Now I'm thinking maybe two hundred years.”

“You'll have some nice moves in two weeks. The rest, like any skill, takes practice and effort.”

“I want him mangled and whimpering at my feet. To be on the safe side, I want to practice—beginning with you.”

He didn't grin at that. He studied her a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay, good enough. You've got a fire in your gut, you want to kill me—all very commendable. Now, don't underestimate what I told you. Despite all the cardio, that cute little kickboxing class, and all that girl crap on the spinner, your body hasn't been through this before. You'll still be sore Sunday morning. I'll see you Sunday afternoon, say at one o'clock.” He gave her a list of resistance exercises and stretches, thankfully illustrated with drawings since the last thing her brain could do at the moment was concentrate.

Mary Lisa gave Chico a little wave as she walked out of the innocently bland building that housed his dojo, set between two upscale antique shops on Briar Street in the middle of Venice. She had called Lou Lou, who was waiting for her, arms crossed over her breasts, leaning against Buffy.

“Dear sweet baby Jesus, Mary Lisa, you look like you've dropped five pounds in body sweat. And Chico, that man looks like a fallen angel.”

“Only five pounds you think? As for Chico, he's no fallen angel, he's the devil himself. I saw it in the mirror on the way out and it was a near-death experience. You want to drive, Lou Lou?”

“Oh yeah, me and the Buffster, we're the duo.”

“Don't kill me.”

Mary Lisa grunted as she eased her maimed body into the passenger side, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. “My mom would laugh her head off if she could see me now. You know what, Lou Lou?”

“You're going to keel over without help from that loon out there?”

“Not me.” Mary Lisa opened her eyes and grinned real big. “I see everything very clearly now. I was born to be a karate queen. Maybe it won't even take me two weeks before that creep is really sorry he ever came after me. Oh yeah, come to Mamma. I'm gonna kick your sorry butt.”

Lou Lou rolled her eyes, honked at a skateboarder, who promptly flipped her a finger, and cut off a little Volkswagen Beetle.

Mary Lisa alternately groaned and sang along with the radio on PCH on the way back home. She didn't flinch when Lou Lou nearly rear-ended an SUV that was stopped on the highway for no apparent reason. She braked so fast Mary Lisa pictured her front end crumpling. Lou Lou was embarrassed, so stuck her head out the window and yelled, “You cheap putz! Put some ninety-two octane in that honker!”

The driver, a woman with carrot-red hair, yelled back some really inventive curses that had them thinking of horses and goats in a very different way. Mary Lisa shook her head. “I wonder what Elizabeth would say about this goat deal.”

“You'll see her tomorrow, ask her. She's flying in at about five o'clock.”

Mary Lisa sighed. “She's going to chew my ear. Truth is I didn't want to worry her, so I haven't been exactly forthcoming about all that's happened.”

Lou Lou pressed her foot on the gas pedal and swerved around a big Pathfinder, whose driver looked ready to spit nails until he saw Lou Lou up close and waved madly at her. “That's okay, Mary Lisa, I told her everything.”