have a brother,” she exclaimed.
“I’ve got four, but two are already spoken for,” Clay said as he pulled his hand from her grasp. “And those remaining two live a long way from Hollywood.”
“Hmmm, too bad. I was just telling my little Malcolm the other day that it was time for Mommy to find a new man, but of course I assured him that he’d always be the number-one little man in Mommy’s life. He’s going to be a big star, you know. It’s just a matter of time.”
Libby could almost see Clay’s eyes glazing over as Delores extolled the talents of her son. Delores was a bore…a caricature of a pushy, overbearing stage mother.
“We’re just waiting for the right vehicle to come along to carry him to stardom.” Delores smiled thinly at Libby. “Sooner or later something is going to come along.”
“Ah, but right now the movie industry seems to be hot for little girls.” Richard Walker joined them and Libby quickly made the introductions. Richard was the father of Gracie’s best friend, Kathryn. He was also a single parent.
Libby introduced Clay to the rest of the parents, then it was time to take their seats as the director, Jordan Rutherford, came onto the set to begin the day’s work.
Libby still didn’t know what she felt about Clay West. Most of the people who came to work for her or for Gracie were overtly eager to please, deferential to the point of being irritating.
In the brief time she’d spent with Clay, he certainly hadn’t been particularly deferential. Rather, she had the distinct impression he didn’t like her, didn’t approve of her lifestyle and couldn’t wait to get out of town.
What she found odd was that what people thought of her had never bothered her before, not since she’d left that dreary little town in Pennsylvania. She’d known she’d need to be hard and cold to survive in this world. What she didn’t know was why Clay West bothered her in a way nobody had since she’d arrived in Hollywood.
The morning passed quickly. Lunch break came and while Clay sat with Gracie, Libby went in search of Anna Baxter, the director’s assistant.
“Anna, could I speak to you for a moment?”
Anna looked like she was somewhere between the age of twelve and fourteen. She was a tiny young woman with gamine features that belied her real age of almost thirty.
“Of course, I can always make time for the mother of our little star.” She looked harried and busy, but the smile she offered Libby was genuine.
“I was wondering if there’s any way you could get me a list of all the people who are working on the movie.” Libby forced a light burst of laughter. “Gracie has it in her head that she wants to start a scrapbook and insists she wants to know the names of everyone who worked on this film.”
“Sure, I can probably get a list from payroll. How about I have it for you first thing in the morning?”
“That would be great,” Libby replied, relieved that she didn’t ask questions about the request but seemed to accept Libby’s explanation.
Lunch passed and the workday concluded at two. They were getting ready to leave when the director called to Libby, “I need to talk to you.”
A cold dread filled the pit of her stomach. Had her request for the list of people set off some sort of alarm? Or had somehow word filtered out that Gracie was receiving threats?
“Talk to me about what?” she asked after she’d made the introductions between him and Clay.
Jordan Rutherford smiled and ruffled Gracie’s hair affectionately. Rutherford was a big man with a frizzy head of snow-white hair that he wore too long and that gave him an almost demented look. “About our little girl, what else? A script hit my desk yesterday that I think is perfect for her. I’d like to finish up this project and roll right into another with her.”
“I don’t know, Jordan. We’re currently in the preliminary negotiations with Walter Zicar for a new project.”
“Screw Zicar,” Jordan exclaimed with vehemence. “He’s a has-been, an old man who’s lost his focus, lost his creativity.”
“He won the Oscar for best picture last year,” Libby said dryly.
“A crazy fluke,” Jordan said, and waved his hands dismissively. “Besides, I’m not talking about an Oscar for best picture, I’m talking about material that will stretch Gracie’s dramatic skills and earn her an Oscar for best actress. Wouldn’t you like that, little darling?” Again he patted Gracie’s head.
Gracie looked at her mother, then nodded vaguely. “You’ll have to talk to Charlie,” Libby said. “You know he handles all the negotiations for Gracie.”
Jordan flashed her a rueful smile. “We both know that’s crap. Charlie’s just your mouthpiece. If anyone wants to get to Gracie, we all know we have to go through you, not Charlie.”
Libby didn’t take the time to protest his words since they both knew they were true. “Send me a copy of the script. I’ll read it and let you know what I think.”
“Done,” Jordan replied.
Within minutes of being in the car carrying them home, Gracie fell asleep. She often napped on the thirty-minute ride between the studio and home.
A strained silence stretched taut between Libby and Clay. “Don’t forget that I arranged for Enrique to be at the house at four this afternoon to see about your wardrobe. We have a premiere this Saturday night to attend,” she said in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence.
He nodded.
“I arranged to get a list of all the people working on the film,” she said. “I should have it tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Is there someplace I can access the Internet?”
“My computer in my office. Why?”
His impossibly green eyes held her gaze. “My only job is to protect Gracie,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not an investigator but I sometimes do a little investigating in order to better protect my client. Once you get that list of names, I want to do a background check into each person to see what secrets I might find out about them.”
“I can’t imagine that anyone who knows Gracie, anyone who works with her, would want to harm her,” Libby replied.
“Spoken like a true mother,” he stated. His eyes narrowed slightly. “If you’re smart, you’ll view everyone as a potential suspect.”
His words troubled her. “What I can’t understand is why anyone would want to harm her.” She stroked a strand of Gracie’s pale blond hair.
“If we knew the why, we’d probably have a better idea of the who,” he replied. “Of course, in a case like this it’s a little more difficult because there might not be a rational why. If what you believe is true, then some wacko has just focused in on Gracie in some sort of obsessed delusion.”
“In which case we might never know who’s writing those letters.”
Clay
