West of Paradise by Gwen Davis Read Free Book Online Page B

The guest list was already fuller than the cemetery in Westwood, presenting some problems for the hotel, which could accommodate only a hundred and fifty guests. Norman had suggested he could perhaps build an annex for the occasion, as Larry Drayco had redecorated three meeting rooms of a Vegas hotel for one of his weddings.
    The Lipptons, Jessup, and Carina, or as they were known now, the Beautiful Four, were so affable they usually did everything at a similar pace, including leave parties, or a funeral like this one, at the same time. But because Norman, like many others at the event, wanted to show his affection for Darcy, who’d organized it, he stayed longer than the Lipptons.
    So he was there when Lila Darshowitz threw up all over herself and had to be carried to the ladies’ room. And he was there when the E reporter and crew, having run out of stars, trained their camera on Carina and asked to interview her.
    â€œYou’ll have to call my office,” he said, “and speak to our publicity director.”
    â€œBut we were hoping for a spontaneous…” said the tiny blonde who’d majored in communications, holding her microphone in his freckled face.
    â€œYou’ll have to call my office,” he said. And that was that.
    There was an authoritative but innocent nobility in his carriage, as though Tom Sawyer had grown up to be Abe Lincoln. He looked very much the country boy he wasn’t, with his great thatch of strawberry hair, cowlick, and freckles, an image added to and made more convincing by a kind of “down home” accent. That had been developed since the trial, where he’d spoken much too quickly, and said far more than had benefited him. Panic had stripped him of his customary confidence, and he’d turned into a blunderer, spilling over as he hadn’t since he was a boy. So he’d slowed himself down with a deliberate drawl. Too late to save him from the jury verdict, but maybe in time to save him from ever making the same mistake again, including trusting a woman like Sarah Nash.
    It was his fault for ever believing her, that she’d leave him out of the book. It was his fault for telling her who was screwing whom, who was taking what drugs, who embezzled, who covered up, really believing they had an understanding she would not involve him. She had been his buddy. The last bitch he’d ever buddy up to. She had proven once again, too late, that women were the enemy. He would never let one close into his life again. Except of course Carina. But she was another story.
    â€œWell, well, well,” Sarah Nash said, coming over to them at the buffet table. “If it isn’t the pseudocouple.”
    â€œYou’ve got brass balls talking to me,” Norman raged. Carina pulled at his elbow.
    â€œBetter brass than none at all.”
    â€œLet’s go,” Carina said, softly.
    â€œShe’s not chasing me out of anyplace,” he said proudly. “She’s the one who had to leave the country. She’s the one who had to hide. Who still has to hide from all the people who despise her.”
    â€œBut you’re the one who lost the lawsuit.”
    He drew himself up to his full, Lincolnesque height. “In the long run you failed to damage me,” he proclaimed, as his lawyer had tried to tell him ever since the trial. “Homosexuality is openly accepted in the civilized world—”
    â€œAnd its own little Mafia in Hollywood,” Sarah said.
    â€œI wonder if a woman can be found with her cunt in her mouth,” murmured Linus from the sidelines.
    Norman inhaled deeply, as his meditation teacher had taught him. “All of that is beside the point now.” He put his arm possessively around Carina. “I have fallen deeply in love with this exceptional woman, and she is soon to be my bride. You’ll understand if you’re not invited.”
    â€œOh, I understand all of it,” Sarah said.