My Gun Has Bullets by Lee Goldberg Read Free Book Online Page B

chair like a bored guest.
    She saw it the moment she came in. She didn't have to open it to know what was inside, but she did anyway. A dozen eight-by-ten photos that could have been a Penthouse spread on sexual positions. Or a Playgirl tribute to the male sex organ.
    Only the limber lass cavorting with the endowed stud wasn't some airbrushed centerfold beauty. It was Esther. Her immediate reaction to the photos was always the same. First came pride. She looked fucking incredible. Was it any wonder this Adonis, thirty years younger than she, was hard enough to cut diamonds? Hell no. She was, and always had been, a spectacular lover and a devastating beauty. Esther was half tempted to ask for blowups. The photos should be published the world over, so men could dream of having her and women could dream of being her. Even Madonna could learn a few things.
    After three or four minutes of self-adulation came the deadlier reaction. The one that stayed with her through all her waking hours. The one that gnawed at her like some ravenous parasite. The one that motivated her to do terrible things to innocent people. Rage.
    Sharon Stone could be caught giving three guys blowjobs at the same time and it would only make her more popular. Madonna could fuck a horse and it wouldn't hurt her career. But get a snapshot of kindly Miss Agatha holding a man's face between her legs, and civilization would come to an end. Certainly her career would. Other stars could fuck and be admired for it, but not her. It was grossly, horribly, unspeakably unfair, an inequity made all the more unbearable because it had a price tag. Each roll of film cost her $50,000 in small bills stuffed into a canvas Pinnacle Studios tour bag.
    This was the third time the blackmailer had asked for $50,000 and it was going to be the last. She knew damn well who was doing this to her.
    Charlie Willis.
    It had to be him. The photos started showing up as soon as he arrived on the lot. It wasn't enough that the studio gave him a series. He had to soak her, too.
    Well, that was going to end. The same way it began.
    She was envisioning her revenge when there was a knock on her door. Esther stuck the photos in a drawer and sat down in one of her Pierre Deux upholstered chairs.
    "Enter," she commanded.
    The door opened and Boyd Hartnell tentatively stuck his celerystalk head in. "I hope we aren't disturbing you, Esther."
    "We?" she asked imperiously.
    "Yes, I've got Sabrina with me. She's very eager to meet you." Boyd stepped in, expecting a vase or a knife to come sailing his way at any moment. "You've been her idol for—" He caught himself before he could make a fatal reference to her age. "—for obvious reasons," he stammered. "You're an inspiration to actresses everywhere."
    When Boyd had told Esther she was getting a co-star, and that there was nothing she could do or say about it, the old crone went crazy—destroyed everything in Boyd's office. He had to hide under the desk as if riding out the Big One. Now he had no idea what she would do. He certainly didn't expect what came next.
    Esther broke into the warm, grandmotherly smile that made Miss Agatha welcome in millions of living rooms. "Well, don't leave her standing there in that heat. Bring her right in. Let me give you both a nice glass of iced tea."
    Boyd stepped in and motioned outside to Sabrina, who stood a few feet away, staring at the cavernous soundstage as if it were the Vatican. She had finally arrived. This wasn't another crummy refurbished warehouse in Van Nuys or Valencia, this was a real studio where real shows were made. Where professionals plied their craft in an atmosphere of mutual respect. Where nobodies become international stars. Her nipples were already stiffening on their own.
    She turned to the Greyhound bus, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. Her agent had warned her about Esther Radcliffe. But could this old lady be any worse than the predatory, drooling pack of producers, agents,