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CHAPTER THiRTEEN
MATT MONTGOMERY LIKEDto venture into bustling shopping areas to bask in the admiring glances of passersby, and sign autographs if he was lucky enough to be asked.
After living the struggling actor life, waiting tables, delivering pizza, and driving an old, beat up car, he treasured his celebrity and had no desire to hide away. He wanted the clamoring throngs—he wanted the adulation—he wanted all the attention his notoriety brought to him.
But there was a problem.
Malibu residents were accustomed to celebrities. Not only was he just one of many, some were major motion picture stars who had won Oscars.
He’d just spent two hours sipping coffee at a popular cafe, and no-one had approached him. He wasn’t sure anyone even noticed him. It had been incredibly frustrating, and now standing in his kitchen and waiting for Tony Verdi to arrive for his weekly tennis lesson, Matt wasn’t sure if he was up to it.
When the gate intercom buzzed, he almost didn’t respond, but Tony was good company. Deciding the tennis coach might cheer him up, Matt buzzed him in, then ambled into the foyer and opened the front door. Tony’s convertible was rolling up the sweeping drive towards him.
“You should know I’m totally wired,” Matt declared as Tony stepped from his car. “I’ve been drinking coffee for almost two hours.”
“Too wired to play?”
“Am I too wired to play?” Matt repeated thoughtfully as Tony moved into the luxurious beach residence. “I don’t know, but I’m not in the best of moods.”
The home had been built in the style of a Mediterranean Villa, and Matt’s decorators had filled the house with expensive furniture and antiques. He didn’t know where most of them originated, but they looked good and showed off his wealth. That’s what mattered.
“So, if you don’t want to play, what would you like to do?” Tony asked.
“I’d like to have a beer,” Matt announced, walking into the expansive living room. “Do you want one?”
“Sure,” Tony replied, setting down his racket bag before following him.
Entering the spacious living room, he looked out the tall, domed, glass doors that opened to a wide terrace overlooking the beach. The fog was burning off. It would soon be another sunny, Southern California day.
“Your envelope’s on the table,” Matt said from behind the bar as he retrieved two beers from the small refrigerator beneath the counter. “Please take it. We may not be on the court, but your time is still valuable and I’d like you to stick around.”
Matt paid Tony in cash. It was his custom to leave it in an envelope on the coffee table, and he was suddenly happy Tony was there. He had a wicked sense of humor and was easy to be around.
“I don’t know why you’re glum, but I have something to tell you that might brighten your day,” Tony declared. “In fact, I’m sure it will.”
“I’d welcome some good news,” Matt replied, walking across the room and handing Tony his beer. “Malibu’s a great place to live, except for one thing.”
“And that would be?”
“The people here are so fucking jaded,” Matt grunted, flopping into the overstuffed armchair he always chose. “But I don’t want to go into any detail. What’s this good news that will cheer me up?”
“Seen any pretty feet lately?” Tony asked, lowering his voice and leaning slightly forward.
Feeling a warm blush move across his face, Matt took a swig of beer, burped, and shook his head.
“Sadly no.”
“I have, very pretty. Would you like to hear more?”
“What do you think?” Matt quipped with a grin.
“I think you would, and I think you’d also like to know...they’re available,” Tony added, speaking slowly, “provided you’re prepared to pay for the privilege.”
“A pro? I don’t want a pro.”
“Who said anything about a pro?
“If money’s involved she’s a pro.”
