Weep No More My Lady by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online

wouldn’t screw it up at the casinos, or blow it on the horses.
    He would know in a few days if Cheryl had the part. Just before they left, at Cheryl’s insistence, he had phoned Bob Koenig at home. Twenty-five years ago, Bob, fresh out of college, and Syd, a studio gofer, had met on a Hollywood set and become friends. Now Bob was president of World Motion Pictures. He even looked the part of the new breed of studio head, with his rugged features and broad shoulders. Syd knew thathe himself could be typecast for the stereotypical Brooklynite, with his long, slightly mournful face, receding curly hair and slight paunch that even rigorous exercise didn’t help. It was another thing he envied Bob Koenig for.
    Today Bob had let his irritation show. “Look, Syd, don’t call me at home on a Sunday to talk business again! Cheryl did a damn good test. We’re still seeing other people. You’ll hear one way or another in the next few days. And let me give you a tip. Sticking her in that play last year when Leila LaSalle died was a lousy judgment call, and it’s a big part of the problem with choosing her. Calling me at home on Sunday is a lousy judgment call too.”
    Syd’s palms began to sweat at the memory of the conversation. Oblivious of the scenery, he pondered the fact that he had made the mistake of abusing a friendship. If he wasn’t more careful, everyone he knew would be “in conference” when he phoned.
    And Bob was right. He had made a terrible mistake, talking Cheryl into going into the play with only a few days’ rehearsal. The critics had slaughtered her.
    Cheryl had been standing next to him when he called Bob. She’d heard what Bob said about the play’s being the reason she might not get the part. And of course, that triggered an explosion. Not the first one, nor the last.
    That goddamn play! He’d believed in it enough to beg and borrow until he had a million dollars to invest in it! It could have been a smash hit. And then Leila had started boozing and trying to act as if the play were the problem. . . .
    Anger parched Syd’s throat. All he had done for that bitch, and she’d fired him in Elaine’s in front of a roomful of show-business people, cursing him out at the top of her voice! And she knew how much he’d sunk into the play! He only hoped she’d been conscious enough to know what was happening before she hit the concrete!
    They were driving through Carmel: crowds of tourists on the streets; the sun bright; everybody looking relaxed and happy. He took the long way and threaded along the busiest streets. He could hear people comment when they started to recognize Cheryl. Now, of course, she was smiling, little Miss Gracious! She needed an audience the way other people needed air and water.
    They reached the gate to Pebble Beach. He paid the toll. They drove past Pebble Beach Lodge, the Crocker Woodland, to the gates of the Spa.
    â€œDrop me off at my bungalow,” Cheryl snapped. “I don’t want to bump into anybody until I get myself together.”
    She turned to him and pulled off her sunglasses. Her extraordinary eyes blazed. “Syd, what are my chances of becoming Amanda?”
    He answered the question as he had answered it a dozen times in the last week. “The best, baby,” he said sincerely. “The best.”
    They’d better be, he told himself, or it was all over.

4
    THE WESTWIND BANKED, TURNED AND BEGAN ITS DESCENT into Monterey airport. With methodical care, Ted checked the instrument panel. It had been a good flight from Hawaii-smooth air every foot of the way, the cloud banks lazy and floating like cotton candy at a circus. Funny; he liked the clouds, liked to fly over them and through them, but even as a kid he had despised cotton candy. One more contradiction in his life . . .
    In the copilot’s seat John Moore stirred, a quiet reminder that he was there if