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Still John said nothing. He was afraid to make even the smallest sound. The side of his face had begun to throb, and terror had taken over his entire being. Suddenly overwhelmed, he dropped his head in his hands.
The room was silent.
He could hear the wind outside...
Waves crashing...
“What do you want?” he finally whimpered, lowering his arms but keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Good. I’m glad I finally got your attention. Here’s the deal. You seem comfortable in that whore’s nest you’ve got in the Valley. It’s near the studio—lots of young flesh runnin’ around—just your scene. That’s where you’ll be livin’ for a while. Do we understand each other?”
John nodded.
“Now you’ll write my girl a note, explain how you’ve been screwin’ around and how sorry you are for treatin’ her so bad. Tell her the house is hers, you’ll promise not to come by or bother her, and you’ll send over quickie divorce papers next week. Hey! John! Are you listenin’?”
Trembling, John dared to raise his eyes.
“I understand,” he mumbled. “I’ll d-do whatever you say.”
“Good. You’ll include a check for twenty-five grand so she won’t have to worry about money for a while, and you’ll start the process to deed this house over to her tomorrow. Are we clear?”
“We’re c-clear,” John stammered.
“You’ve got what? About $250,000 in diversified investments?”
“Uh, yeah,” John replied, shocked the man knew about his personal finances.
“You’ve been such a jackass she should probably get it all, but if you cooperate and don’t cause her any more grief, I’ll let you keep half. More than generous if you ask me. Now get started writin’ that letter. Luke will deliver it to Stella at that party. I’ll be here keepin’ you company until he gets back. Oh, I almost forgot. You’ve got the weekend to clear out all your crap,” Wesley declared, leaning over him. “You’ll tell Stella that in the letter. She needs to stay with one of her friends till Monday mornin’. You’ll be completely cleared out by Sunday night, won’t you John?”
“Yes, Wesley. Sunday night.”
“As an added favor,” he said, placing his hand on John’s shoulder with a tight, painful grip, “Luke and Chas here will help you pack and make sure you get out of here and leave the place nice.”
John gulped.
“Beats jail time,” Wes said brusquely. “Now get writin’.”
Defeated and quaking, John moved down the hallway to his study with Wes and the two goons following him. As he sat behind his desk, he felt a heavy sense of loss, but it wasn’t the money or the house. It was Stella.
“Write,” Wesley barked.
* * *
AS THE FIRST MODELstarted down the stairs, John was signing his name. When the next model glided along the catwalk, the letter was placed in a sealed envelope and given to Luke. By the time Luke drove the black Cadillac Escalade into Matt’s motor-court, the show was almost over.
