Emotion threatens. My eyes sting. But I clear my throat and bite back the wave of emotion gripping me. “All right. I’ll see you in New York, Miss Ricci. Travel safe.”
74
GEORGINA
Wednesday 4:14 pm
After quite a bit of driving around, I find a parking spot in downtown LA and then start trekking the few blocks to my destination—a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called “Dee-Lish.” The eatery opened by Francesca Laramie after her release from prison three years ago. What were the crimes that sent Francesca to The Big House? Procurement of prostitution, conspiracy, tax evasion, and money laundering, all stemming from the high-end escort service she ran in Los Angeles for almost twenty years. All of which leads me to the inescapable conclusion, based on what Troy Eklund told me, that Isabel’s secret—the one Troy used to blackmail Reed into settling his lawsuit—was that, at one time or another, America’s Sweetheart worked for Francesca Laramie as a paid escort.
But so what? Assuming it’s true, is it something I’d write about? No. Just because I’ve discovered a secret about someone, that doesn’t give me the right to reveal it to the world. Even if that someone happens to be a world-famous actress. Even if that someone happens to be the woman who fooled around with my man.
No matter how much Reed hurt me, I’m not going to ruin Isabel’s life for a kiss. Or whatever happened in that garage. And I’m sure as hell not the kind of woman who’d shame another woman for doing whatever she wanted with her own body. Isn’t that what CeeCee taught me, when I asked her if it was okay for me to sleep with an interview subject? Not to shame another woman for doing whatever the hell she wants with her own body? Well, then, I’m paying it forward. You’re welcome, Isabel.
I admit I was devastated when Reed kissed Isabel. Or did whatever he did with her. But what I said to CeeCee was the truth: my issue is withReed.Reed is the one who slipped that ruby necklace around my neck and called me his “queen.” Reed is the one who told me nobody is allowed to hurt me, ever again, and then turned around and did just that.
Also, and this isn’t a small thing, I have to think Reed hired Isabel as his paid escort the night of CeeCee’s birthday party. Why else would theybothlie about how they met? Why else would Reed say he and Isabel went on a blind date that night, and Isabel say she met Reed through Josh Faraday? Really, it makes perfect sense. Reed had a rented tux that night. A rented limo. So, why not a rented woman, too? He had a plan to convince the power players at that party, especially CeeCee, he belonged there. Apparently, he figured a hot blonde on his arm was the ultimate status symbol. And guess what? He was probably right.
Frankly, this realization about Reed doesn’t shock me at all. Reed once told me he figured out how to be an “influencer” before the term was coined. He explained he figured out how to use his curated image as a “cool kid” to conquer the world. Well, bravo, Reed Rivers. If hiring Isabel was part of that strategy, then good for you. Look at you now. I know Reed has hurt me. But he’s also done amazingly wonderful things for my father and me. Life-changing things. And for that, he’ll always have my loyalty and love. Which means Isabel’s secret—and Reed’s, too, if I’m right about him hiring Isabel—are safe with me.
So, why am I walking to Francesca’s restaurant, then? Curiosity, I guess. Because she’s a breadcrumb to follow, which is my favorite thing to do. And also because... who knows? Maybe talking to Francesca will lead me to something of interest to write about forDig a Little Deeper. And if not, then, oh well. I’ll have wasted a couple hours getting to meet a famous madam. No big deal.
I reach Francesca’s small restaurant and peek in the window. Andthere she is. The woman I recognize from my online research. She’s standing behind a counter, talking to a stout man in a white apron. As I was hoping, the place isn’t bustling at this time of day. In fact, Francesca looks downright relaxed behind the counter.
As I grip the door handle, my stomach ripples with nerves. But I’ve come this far. I’m not turning back now. “Hi there, Ms. Laramie,” I say, coming to a stop before her. “My name is Georgina Ricci. I was wondering if?—”
“If you’re a reporter, don’t bother. I don’t talk to reporters.”
“Oh, no, I...”Crap. What now? “Can we go to a quiet spot? I just need five minutes of your time.”
“For what purpose?”
It’s a great question—one I don’t know how to answer.
“The film rights to my story have already been sold,” Francesca says, her arms crossed over her chest. “And I’m not interested in doing any more interviews about my life story.”
“I’m not here to interview you like that. I’m just here to... get information for... someone. A friend of mine. One of the girls who used to work for you. She was targeted by a blackmailer. She’s too famous to have come here herself. Could we speak privately, please? This is sensitive.”
Francesca looks me up and down. And just when I think she’s going to tell me to piss off, she turns to the stout guy in the white apron. “Mind the counter for me.” She looks at me. “You’ve got five minutes.”
I follow her through the restaurant’s tiny kitchen to an even tinier office that’s barely big enough for a small desk and chair. She closes the door, refolds her arms over her chest, and glares at me with hard, suspicious eyes. “Which girl?”
“Isabel Randolph.”
Francesca nods. It’s a subtle movement of her head, but unmistakable. Which is how I know my assumption about Isabel is spot-on: she did, in fact, work for Francesca at some point.
“Someone figured out she used to work for you, and now he’s blackmailing her.”
I’ve fudged the truth a bit. Made it sound like Troy ispresentlyblackmailing Isabel, which I don’t believe is the case. But I had to think ofsomethingto justify my presence here.
“Sorry to hear that. But it’s not my problem.”
In a flash, my mind sorts through the various interviewing tactics I learned in school—ways to get an interview subject to open up—and quickly settles onconfrontation. “Candidly, Francesca, I thought maybeyoucould be the one blackmailing Isabel. Her four-picture deal has been all over the news. She’s a big target now.” Francesca opens her mouth, clearly ready to curse me out, but I add quickly, “Although Isabel told me, quite vehemently, you’d never do that to her. I just wanted to come here and meet you and get a read on you myself.”
Francesca scoffs. “It’s well documented I went to prison for eighteen months longer than I needed to, simply because I wouldn’t give up a single name. Not of my girls, or my clients. And I never will.” She narrows her eyes. “What are you? A paralegal? Some sort of private investigator?”
I shake my head. “I’m just trying to help Isabel. All her dreams are coming true, and now someone is threatening her.”
Francesca shakes her head and exhales. “You know what really pisses me off? That anyone even has any leverage to blackmail her at all. There shouldn’t be any shame attached to what she did. Same with whatIdid. There was a demand for a particular service, and I filled it. Simple as that. My girls were adults who came tome. I never solicited or trafficked anyone. They were all models and actresses who wanted to earn extra cash in between jobs. And I always told them, they had absolute discretion regarding what they would, or wouldn’t do. That’s what I told the clients, too. ‘Treat my girls right, because if you don’t, they won’t do anything with you, no matter how much money you offer.’ And yet, just because money changed hands, these girls, some of whom went on to become highly successful and famous, like Isabel, have to deal with assholes threatening to ‘expose’ them for their pasts? Where is the justice in that?”
