Читать книгу Innocent Foxes: A Novel - Torey Hayden, Torey Hayden - Страница 11

Chapter Nine

Spencer spent most of the afternoon shut in his study, doing things on the internet. Just after six, he switched the computer off and that was the first time he noticed how quiet the house was. None of the usual squealing tyres, gunfire or explosions.

Coming through the French doors into the hallway, Spencer went to the door of the screening room and looked in. Nothing there but the boy’s mess. Dirty plates, a Coke can on its side, countless open DVD cases. This annoyed Spencer. He liked things orderly. Everything in its place and all that. Here was one more important reason the kid shouldn’t be in Montana. He messed up everything he touched. Spencer felt just about as much annoyance with Sidonie, however, because she knew how much clutter upset him.

Sidonie’s official title was ‘personal assistant’. PA. A good title, that, Spencer thought, because it covered everything. Including making sure the place was tidy. Sidonie knew how he felt about things like this. That’s why she had the frigging job. So where was she? Why hadn’t she done it?

Crossly, Spencer stomped down the hall and through the kitchen to the small room at the back of the house which Sidonie used as an office. She was in there, sitting behind the desk piled high with scripts. She looked up.

Sidonie was wearing her glasses, those black-rimmed ones that made her look like a school teacher. Her long blonde hair was bound up so casually that more tousled strands had escaped than were held in. She wore a plain black tank top with no bra and the shortest of short-shorts, showing off tanned legs as long as the Missouri River. It was her bare feet, however, that turned Spencer on. He loved clean, youthful feet. He loved it too when she dressed like that, all fresh and natural, but with just the slightest hint of streetwalker.

Indeed, this intuitive sexiness was what got Sidonie here at all. When Spencer had first met her, she was just another of the flawlessly beautiful girls who worked on movie sets while waiting to get famous. He was down in Mexico at the time filming Intimations, and Sidonie was assistant to the assistant make-up artist or something equally insignificant. She was drop-dead gorgeous, but then they all were, their plastic-surgery-and-orthodontics perfection so commonplace that Spencer seldom registered girls’ actual faces. He wouldn’t have been aware of Sidonie either, except that whenever she leaned over to wipe the make-up from his face, he noticed perspiration on her skin. It was never wet or runny, just a dewiness, as if someone had misted her, and it was always pristine. Unwiped, unsmeared, untouched. Mixed in with the usual young woman’s scent of shower gel and shampoo, this faint musky smell always gave him the sense that she was up for it. Spencer would get hard just sitting there in the make-up chair.

And she was up for it. Sidonie not only bathed him in her sexy smell as she worked, but she let him touch her. Just enough for him to know she liked it. Just enough to make him slip her the key to his trailer.

Not that Spencer didn’t slip most of the girls his key at one point or another. That was the culture of the movie set, all these luscious ripe things trading the currency of desire to buy their dreams. Sidonie could have been just one more faceless fuck, except that she proved to be that little bit more aware than the other girls. She didn’t just fuck. She observed. She paid attention. So afterwards, she would bring him coffee. That’s what impressed him. A good lay and then she got him coffee without his asking for it. And she remembered what kind of coffee he liked and exactly how he liked it.

He hadn’t expected it to turn into anything more. He wasn’t doing relationships these days. After the fiasco with Phoebe, Spencer had got the snip, so he knew for certain that would never be an issue again. Even so, Phoebe had left him paranoid. You just couldn’t trust people.

Plus, Sidonie wasn’t all sunshine and flowers. When he’d first met her, she had a coke habit that must have kept half of Columbia in riches and a boyfriend named Raoul next to whom a junkyard dog would look civilized. And she was stupid. Spencer had found that was generally true of all really beautiful girls. God obviously couldn’t give any one person everything. So, if you got the to-die-for bone structure and lips like swollen labia, you also got the brain that thought Shakespeare was the name of a porn star. Sidonie’s saving grace was that she knew she was stupid, so she didn’t try to bullshit about having Harvard degrees; and she’d already learned that the best way to hide stupidity was to keep your trap closed. After his experiences with Kathryn and Phoebe, Spencer was more than happy to trade intelligence in a woman for one who knew when to shut up.

He got so used to being with Sidonie in Mexico that when he came back to LA, he missed her. At first he thought it was just not having the routine he was used to, but when he woke in the night, it was her scent he longed for. He couldn’t stop himself wondering where she was, or worrying who else might be having her.

It took a bit of work to track her down. By the time he found her, Sidonie was in Croatia, working on Matt Damon’s set. Jealousy influenced Spencer’s decision to fly her back first class, although he never told her that.

Still, it was just a job he was offering her. Spencer was very clear about that right from the beginning, because he didn’t want Sidonie to have any misconception. A job, not a relationship. Personal assistant. Very personal, yes, but she was still simply an employee. With perks. So, yes to travelling with him. Yes to staying in his house. Yes to sex. No to the red carpet. No to eating out in restaurants with him. No to being seen anywhere in public that the media might interpret as a date. Spencer had his lawyer draw up a contract spelling it all out so that Sidonie would always know exactly where she stood.

Sidonie took it all in her stride. They’d been together two years now, and if she’d wanted something different from her life, it never showed. Spencer admired her for this. While Sidonie might not be book smart, she was canny. Most of the beautiful girls who came to Hollywood ended up typists or druggies or working on the street. Sidonie had about her a natural shrewdness. She recognized a good deal when it came along.

‘Where’s the kid at?’ Spencer asked.

Sidonie had been reading through scripts Spencer’s agent had sent over to see if any of them were worth Spencer’s consideration, and she was completely barricaded in by the stacks. Bleary-eyed, she sat back in her chair, stretched to ease tight muscles and pushed the glasses up on her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been in here since before three.’

‘He’s left a mess in the screening room,’ Spencer said. ‘Clean it up. It looks like a pigsty.’

She rose.

Could it be that the boy had actually taken his advice and gone outside? Spencer went into the kitchen and then out on to the deck. The barn wasn’t visible from the house because of the pine trees, but he gazed in that direction anyway.

It was a hot day. The mountains blocked the sun by that late point in the afternoon, leaving the deck in a warm, only-just-comfortable shade. The heavy scent of the pines wafted over Spencer as he stood. Focusing his mind in the way he’d learned to do from his meditation teacher, Spencer let the trees fill his senses. First the smell, then the sound of them. They were very still because of the heat, so he listened for the sound of birds and pine squirrels instead. He turned his attention back to the scent, trying to draw it in enough to get a taste of it, and the taste was there. Only very, very slightly but he could indeed sense the pines, pitchy and acrid, on his tongue.

He should meditate. Right then and there on the deck. It would be such a good place and Spencer kept meaning to establish a meditation practice. Meditation was so good for you, doing all those things like making you compassionate and lowering your blood pressure. If only it wasn’t so boring …

He lowered himself into a lotus position. His teacher in LA had complimented him on his flexibility and it was true. At forty-eight he could still do a full lotus perfectly. Spencer spent several minutes getting settled. Into the lotus. Out of the lotus. Back into the lotus. It was quite hard to imagine sitting for half an hour in such a position. All right for people who were malnourished anyway and would be lucky to see forty-five, but not so great for someone needing his joints to last eighty years. Spencer settled for just crossing his legs. Forefingers to thumbs, he rested his hands on his knees and exhaled deeply three times to release tension. Then he started into following his breathing in and out. Perfection, Spencer was thinking. Sitting here on the deck in the warm shade, the scent and sounds of the Montana mountains wafting over him. What could be more peaceful than this?

‘Have you found him yet?’ Sidonie asked when Spencer came back into the kitchen.

For just a split second Spencer wondered who ‘he’ was. Pleased with himself for having managed to spend a good twenty minutes properly meditating, Spencer had forgotten about the boy.

‘Maybe he’s with Guff,’ Sidonie said. ‘Could you ring the bell? I’ve already started dinner. By the time he gets here and washes up, we’ll be ready to eat.’

A wrought-iron triangle of the sort used on chuck wagons in the old West hung off the edge of the deck. Spencer took down the iron striker and clanged the triangle noisily. It was a rewarding activity. Like banging pot lids together when you were a child. He clanged it again. It was an effective means of communication too. You could hear it halfway across the valley.

For several moments Spencer waited on the deck to see the boy come up the path from the barn. When no one appeared, he clanged the triangle a third time, then he went back into the house. Sidonie was taking chicken kebabs out from the broiler. She spooned a sticky orange Chinese-influenced sauce over them.

The boy still didn’t show up.

‘Let’s eat,’ Spencer said. ‘It’s going to get cold otherwise.’

Sidonie’s brow furrowed. ‘Don’t you think we should see where he is first?’

‘You really shouldn’t do that, Sidonie,’ Spencer replied and gestured at her face. ‘Frown like that. You’re what? Twenty-six?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘You’re already getting lines on your forehead from doing that and you’re young. You want to stop. It’s just a mannerism.’

‘About Tennesee …’

‘Botox would sort it out. Dr Margolis. I’ve really liked what he’s done for me. Right up here, see? Just a little Botox right here’ – Spencer pointed alongside his eye – ‘and it’s completely removed any hint of crows’ feet. Make an appointment next time we’re in LA.’

Sidonie looked at him.

Spencer looked back.

‘About Tennesee?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think we should find him before we eat?’

‘No,’ Spencer said with finality and sat down at the table. ‘He knows how to tell time. It’ll serve him right, because he’s just doing it to be annoying. Besides, it won’t hurt the little porker to miss a meal anyhow.’

By seven o’clock Spencer was irritated. He knew what was going on. Under his laconic exterior, Guff was a marshmallow, particularly when it came to stray animals. How many damned cats did he have living down there with him now? The boy would have shown up with his sob story: Oh poor me, having to be here where I don’t want to, having nothing to do, and Guff would have gone all gooey and grandpa-ish.

‘Go down to the bunkhouse and tell Guff we can’t have this,’ he said to Sidonie. ‘If the kid thinks he can move in down there, he’s got another think coming.’

Half an hour later, Sidonie was back. ‘Guff says he hasn’t seen Tennesee at all today,’ she said, still slightly out of breath from the climb up the path from the barn.

A small, frozen moment followed when, caught off guard by that information, Spencer had no idea what to think next. ‘Fuck him,’ he finally said with weary irritation. ‘He’s hiding.’

When he went in to search the boy’s bedroom, Spencer found the note. I’m going back to LA. Don’t come after me becose you can’t make me come back. I hate it here. I hate you. Good by.

‘Oh fuck,’ Spencer muttered and stormed out into the hall. ‘Look at this.’

Sidonie came over.

‘He’s fucking run away,’ Spencer said. ‘The goddamned little turd has fucking picked up and fucking taken off. Just like his motherfucking cunt of a mother would do.’

Spencer wanted to scream with frustration. Here he was in the only place in the whole world where he could have any peace and all he wanted was to be left alone to enjoy the mountains. Was that asking too much of life? Phoebe obviously thought it was. Why had she had to send her fucking little bastard here? Why was she so hell-bent on destroying him? He wadded up the damned note and threw it to the floor.

‘I think we better call the police,’ Sidonie said.

‘Shit, no.’

She frowned again, as if she wanted to wreck her looks on purpose by doing that all the time. ‘Come on. We have to, Spence.’

‘The police here?’ he said crossly. ‘Think for two seconds with that pea-sized brain of yours, would you? What kind of police are we going to find in Abundance, Montana, for god’s sake? Some fucking little two-bit country copper who doesn’t know his gun from his asshole.’

‘Yes, but—?’

‘If the little turd wants to run away, fucking let him. I don’t want him here anyway.’

‘Spencer, we can’t do that. He’s only nine.’

‘Yeah, nine going on thirty-nine. And it would fucking well serve Phoebe right to have him turn up on her doorstep, that’s what. See how she likes it.’

‘Phoebe’s in the Virgin Islands, Spencer.’

‘Yeah, well, what the fuck do I care?’

‘Spencer.’

‘What the fuck do I care, Sidonie? He can stay with the maid when he gets to LA. I never asked that kid to come up here. I never wanted anything to do with him. I don’t care what the courts say. He’s not my responsibility. Even he knows that, because he doesn’t want to be here any more than I want him.’

Sidonie furrowed her brow more deeply.

‘Stop doing that with your damned forehead, Sidonie! You look like fucking Mr Toad. I’ve told you to stop a hundred times now, so stop it. Or you can just go yourself. If you don’t respect how I do things, you can get out of here too.’

She clapped a hand over her forehead, as if to smooth it out physically. Tears filled her eyes.

‘Oh shit,’ Spencer said. He sighed. ‘Sidonie, listen, calm down. Now listen. We can’t get the police involved. The press will find out. God, it would be a nightmare. It would totally destroy this place. The paparazzi would stake it out from here on to forever. We simply can’t do that.’

‘He’s only nine, Spencer. We can’t just let him disappear either.’

‘Be sensible, Sidonie. He’s probably not even off the property. Think about it. How would he leave, even if he wanted to? There’s almost two miles of private road. Then you come to River Road and no one drives on that except the local ranchers. It’s five more miles before you get to the old highway, and that is the old highway. Again, almost no traffic. Then another seven miles before you get to the main highway and five more after that to Abundance. So he’d have to walk almost twenty miles to get to any kind of civilization. He’s not going to manage that. Not as fat as he is. And he’s not stupid enough to try. He’s a smart boy, Sidonie. He’s playing us. He’ll be hiding somewhere around here, just trying to get the fuck back at me. And I’m not falling for it. I’m not going to play his fucking little game. If we wait long enough, he will come out.’

‘What about coyotes or something?’ Sidonie said.

‘Don’t be blonde. He’s not a chihuahua.’

Sidonie kept on with the sad eyes.

‘OK, look, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call Jamieson,’ Spencer said. Jamieson was his primary bodyguard in LA, a big burly black dude who looked as if he could bite the balls off a bull. ‘In the morning I’ll call the security agency and ask them to send a couple more guys with Jamieson. They can do everything the police do and much more quietly.’

‘In the morning?’ Sidonie asked dubiously.

‘Yes, in the morning,’ Spencer said decisively and lifted a bottle of Casa Nueva Meritage from the wine rack. ‘Now leave me alone.’