“Your looksarethe way I make a living, but you don’t see me all jittery.”
“No, not jittery.” Critical, she felt like saying, judging, but she wasn’t sure about that. Maybe the insecurity she felt lately didn’t come from Jesse but from within. A run on the beach, and she’d feel better. That’s what she needed. Maybe skip dinner. She wasn’t hungry, anyway. “I’m just tired,” she said.
She looked up at the television set. Julie Larimore’s photograph smiled back at her. It was a coy pose—head tilted, one arm crossed in front of her, blond-streaked hair lit from behind. The Killer Body pendant—a red-enameled woman’s silhouette on a silver chain—hung from her neck. “This whole Julie Larimore thing has me freaked.”
“It could be the best thing that ever happened to your career, so why do you care about her?”
“I don’t know. She lived this perfect life. No scandals, no secrets, no enemies.”
“Everyone in this business has enemies. Secrets, too.”
Julie’s face left the screen, and the television camera swept a tree-lined condominium complex. “That must be where she lived.” A shiver fluttered through her.
Jesse reached for the remote and flicked the television off.
“Hey, I was watching that.”
“I thought you wanted to go run.” His gaze dropped ever so slightly. Checking out her ass, she’d bet on it. She stood abruptly and brushed past him on her way to the door. She could still see Julie Larimore’s face, her barely there smile.
“How does someone just disappear in San Diego, of all places?”
“Stop being morbid.” Jesse swatted her on the ass. “And try not to be so nervous. You’ll get the job. The old man still digs you.”
“We’ll see Friday night. He’s invited me to a party.”
“So, we have to stay here until Friday?”
“I do.”
“Maybe I’ll go back to L.A. Unless you need me at the party.”
He flipped on the television again, this time with sound.
“…no sign of a disturbance,” the announcer said. “Larimore was believed to have been visiting friends in San Diego, according to her housekeeper.”
Rochelle stopped, her hand on the doorknob.
“Jesse,” she said. “Do you have a cigarette?”
The Interview
You and Rochelle McArthur are old friends, aren’t you, Julie?
Indeed, we are. Rochelle knew me when, a whole lot of whens.
How do you feel about her as a spokesmodel for exercise equipment?
I’m thrilled for her, and I think Rochelle will get whatever she wants. She always has. I respect her drive.
Conversely, I don’t know that I’d choose a youth-driven product such as exercise equipment. Plastic surgery, perhaps, breast augmentation, or any of the many areas that would inspire people in her age group might be an easier match.
Old friends? Right. Spokesmodel? Right. Exercise equipment? Even a small scrap of my job? Right, Rochelle. I’d die first.
Lucas
“You didn’t.”
Bobby W had been bleary-eyed since noon. Now he just sat in the boat’s galley, sitting straight up as if he thought someone was photographing him.
