Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(49)

Fleur stared at her mother. A chill slithered through her. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

As Fleur gazed into Belinda’s face, she saw only determination. Her lungs compressed, and she ran from the restroom. Belinda called out for her, but Fleur didn’t stop. She wove through the tables and out onto the street. The thin soles of her sandals slapped the pavement as she began to run, up one street, down another, trying to outrace her misery. She had no destination in mind, but she couldn’t stop. Then she saw the phone booth.

Her hands shook as she placed the call, and her dress stuck to her skin.

“It’s…me,” she said when he answered.

“I can barely hear you. Is something wrong, enfant?”

“Yes, something’s really wrong. She—she lied to me.” Struggling to breathe, she told him what had happened.

“You signed a contract without reading it first?” he said when she finished.

“Belinda always takes care of that.”

“I am very much afraid, enfant,” he said quietly, “that you have learned a most difficult lesson about your mother. She is not to be trusted. Ever.”

Ironically, Alexi’s attack on Belinda made Fleur feel an automatic need to defend her. She didn’t.

She waited until she knew Belinda would be at her hair appointment before she went home. As soon as she got there, she changed into a swimsuit and threw herself into the pool. Jake found her as she was climbing out.

He wore a pair of ratty navy shorts and a T-shirt so faded that only the outlines of Beethoven’s face were still visible on the front. One of his sweat socks had fallen into accordion folds around his ankle. He was rumpled and mussed, a hard-fisted cowboy misplaced in Beverly Hills. She was absurdly, insanely glad to see him. “Go away, Koranda. Nobody invited you.”

“Get your shoes on. We’re going for a run.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t piss me off. You’ve got a minute and a half to change your clothes.”

“Or what?”

“I call in Bird Dog.”

“I’m scared.” She grabbed a towel and took her time drying off. “I’ll run with you, but only because I was planning to go out anyway.”

“Understood.”

She went into the house and changed. If what she felt for Jake was puppy love, she prayed the real thing never came along. It was too painful. Every night as she fell asleep, she imagined they were making love in a sun-drenched room filled with flowers and soft music. She saw them lying on a bed with pastel sheets that billowed over their bodies in the breeze from the open window. He pulled a flower from a vase by the bed and brushed the petals over her nipples and her stomach. She opened her legs, and he touched her there, too. They were in love, and they were alone. No camera. No crew. Just the two of them.

She snared her hair in a ponytail and tightened it with a hard yank. He was waiting for her in the driveway. They began to run, but they’d barely made it a half mile before she had to stop. “I can’t today. You go on.”

Normally he would have teased her, but today he didn’t. Instead he slowed. “We’ll walk back. Let’s take my car to the park and shoot some baskets instead. If we’re lucky, it’ll be deserted, and we won’t have to sign any autographs.”

She knew they had to talk about what had happened, and it would be easier if she didn’t have to look him in the eye. “All right.”

He’d driven over in his truck, a ’66 Chevy pickup with a Corvette racing engine. If he’d been any other actor, she might have been able to pull off the nude scene. As much as she would have hated it, she could have detached from what was happening and gotten through it. But not with Jake. Not while she dreamed about a room filled with flowers and music.

“I don’t want to do the scene,” she said.

“I know.” He stopped the truck next to the park and pulled a basketball from behind the seat. They walked across the grass to the deserted basketball court. He began to dribble. “The scene isn’t sleazy, Flower. It’s necessary.” He made a quick dunk and then passed the ball to her.

She dribbled toward the basket, shot, and hit the rim. “I don’t work nude.”

“Your people don’t seem to understand that.”

“They understand it.”

“Then why did this happen?”

Because she’d trusted her mother. “Because I didn’t read the contract before I signed it, that’s how.”

He made a quick jump from the side and sank a clean shot. “We’re not after the raincoat crowd. It’ll be handled tastefully.”

“Tastefully! What does that mean?” She batted the ball at his chest. “Let me tell you what it means. It means it won’t be your noodle everybody is seeing!” She stomped off the court.

“Flower.” She spun around and caught him smiling. He wiped it off and tucked the ball under his arm. “Sorry. It was just your manner of expression.” He walked over to her and brushed his index finger under her chin. “It won’t be your noodle, either, kiddo. The most the audience will see is your backside. Mine, too, for that matter. They may not even see your breasts. It depends on how it’s edited.”