Fade To Black Read online

  “No offense, but …”

  “Just say it.” He prompted Sloane with a smile.

  “I’ve known them for twenty years. Why do you know so much more than me?”

  “You’ve been living in London. I’ve had a front row seat for the last five years. I probably have ten-percent of the entire picture, but I imagine that still might be more than anyone other than the Shellys themselves. I’ve watched Dominic and Melinda predict and invest in the future over and over in the five years I’ve been working with them. Their track record and execution are impressive.” Orson paused then finished his thought. “And by impressive, I mean impeccable.”

  “For example?”

  “You know F the 90s?”

  “Of course I know F the 90s.” Sloane felt her whole body flush. “I love F the 90s.”

  “When’s the last time you saw an episode?”

  She thought then said, “I don’t know … it’s been a while?”

  “You haven’t seen an episode because the Shellys bought all the rights and have managed to keep most of what’s still out there on the Internet — including the original webisodes — out of circulation. Why? Because of Juke, of course. They bought F the 90s on the cheap, took it off the market to make it scarce, then exploded my career to skyrocket the value of their initial investment. F the 90s is a launch series for Juke. There are a hundred titles like that, and that defines the Shellys approach. Their investments work to make something exponential, and all of that is in service of their ambition.”

  “In service of their ambition?” Sloane repeated with a giggle, after she swallowed another exceptional forkful of paella.

  “It is serious.” He looked sober to prove it. “On the surface, it looks like they love money more than anything. But there’s something else driving them.”

  “And what’s that?” She asked, dying to know.

  “I have no idea,” Orson admitted.

  “You must have some idea?”

  “Seriously, I think they want to change the world.”

  “Aren’t they doing that already?”

  He nodded. “Sure, in a way. But I think maybe they want to remake it.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But Juke’s just the start of it. And even then, I’m only guessing. You want to ask me something else that maybe I do know the answer to?”

  Sloane looked down at her empty plate. “Do you know what makes the paella so amazing?”

  “I can find out.” Orson raised his hand.

  A server immediately spotted him — of course — and rushed right over.

  “Yes, Mr. Beck? How can I help you?”

  “Can you please tell us what makes the paella at Arrivé so throughly delicious?”

  “Absolutely.” The server smiled. “Our paella uses Mexican oregano instead of the traditional Mediterranean version, and a blend of both sweet and smoked paprika. Plus, Chef Byrd’s recipe calls for the onions and garlic to get fried in bacon drippings.”

  Sloane gushed, “It’s better than the paella in Spain.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell the chef.” She bowed her head. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Can you please bring us two of your favorite desserts?” Orson asked.

  “Do you mean my first and second favorite, or my first favorite two times?”

  “How about two of each.” He grinned at his date. “Just in case.”

  “I’ll have those right out.” Another bow of her head then the server was gone.

  Her night had been dreamy so far. She had basked in every second at the restaurant with Orson, despite the bombardment of paparazzi on the way inside. Arrivé was a great place for a photographer of the rich and famous to camp out, especially with Cameo just up the street.

  But the restaurant staff had been almost supernatural in its ability to keep people away from their table and make it feel as much like an ordinary meal with two regular diners. The food was unforgettable, the wine a delightful lubricant, and the conversation breezier than the night outside.

  Sloane put a hand over her stomach. “I’m not sure I can handle dessert.”

  “Finish your wine. That will settle your tummy.”

  “My tummy?” She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s how it works. And besides, I need to drive after our flambe ice cream, or whatever they bring.”

  “Flambe ice cream isn’t a thing.”

  Maybe it was the wine, or the top finally popping on that insistent something that had been pressing on her mind. “I’m worried that Dominic and Melinda aren’t taking things seriously enough.”

  “You mean with Voldemort as a threat?”

  “With Wentz, yeah.” She felt the power in claiming his name.

  “I promise you, they are.”

  “Do you know something?” Sloane felt desperate for a yes.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not specifically about Wentz.”

  “Then what makes you sure?”

  “Plenty. But I’ll give you two reasons. First, the Shellys always protect their investments, and they’ve got a lot wrapped up in this project. Second, and much more compelling, the Shellys always get their way.” He blinked, and for a moment he looked lost. “I’ve literally never seen them lose.”

  “What do you mean?” Sloane put her hand over his without meaning to.

  Orson looked thoughtful as he swallowed. “Dominic and Melinda were willing to interfere with people I loved to keep my career on what they saw as the proper path … meaning, the one they had invested in.”

  “That sounds … menacing.”

  He nodded. “That’s a word for it. Effective is another one.”

  “Do you trust them?”

  Orson smiled. “I trust them to keep their promises. And I trust them to protect their territory.” He leaned forward and shook his head. “They’re not going to let anyone keep them from succeeding, and right now that includes both of us. So let’s go ahead and count ourselves lucky.”

  “Lucky,” she repeated, the words like early dessert on her lips. “Is there anything else I should know about the Shellys? They’ve been in my life forever and yet they’re still so mysterious.”

  “That’s part of their brand.” He leaned back and turned his hands so they were now over hers. “But yeah, I’m sure there’s plenty you should know. Let me think …” And then he grinned. “Don’t ever let them throw a party at your house, unless you’re cool with them turning it into an orgy.”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “I absolutely am not.” Orson shook his head. “I know you were a kid the last time you were in Hollywood, but this place is sexually rowdy.”

  Sloane rolled her eyes. “I live in London, not Utah.”

  “Ha. Utah’s probably worse than L.A. — did you know they consume more porn than any other state.”

  “Makes sense.” She shrugged. “It’s the behind closed doors rule.”

  Orson laughed. “The Shellys don’t need closed doors.”

  “Are you being serious right now?” She couldn’t tell. “What happened?”

  “Melinda invited me to join a threesome.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I am not.” He shook his head, but Orson was definitely smiling.

  “You’re an actor. You lie for a living. How am I supposed to trust you?”

  “Your choice, but I do cross my heart and hope to die.” Then he did, ending his gesture with a tap at his right eye to indicate the needle he’d be sticking there in the event of his dishonesty.

  “Did you do it?” She had to ask.

  “What you be jealous if I did?”

  “Yes, I would be.” She answered without thinking, then quickly added, “Melinda is very attractive.”

  A pregnant moment stretched between them. Orson stared back at her from across the table, working to determine whether or not she was serious. Then laughter found them in tandem.

  As they w
ere settling down, their desserts arrived, alongside a surprise.

  “Amanda!” Orson exclaimed and rose to give the celebrity chef an awkward hug as she held a pair of dessert plates slightly askew. “It’s great to see you.” When he pulled away from her, he reclaimed his seat, then introduced his date. “Amanda, this is Sloane. Sloane, this is Amanda, former owner of Arrivé and present-day host of Bake it Away and owner of the bakery behind it.”

  “It’s great to meet you.” Then, much lower and said like a secret. “I watch Remaking Christmas every December, and A Prayer for Alice Tremble is one of my favorite movies.”

  “Thank you.” Sloane looked down, feeling herself blush.

  “What are you doing here?” Orson asked.

  “Arrive’s desserts all come from Bake it Away, but I was here to talk to Harris and he told me you were eating, so I wanted to say hi. And bring you this.” She set the pair of plates on their table. “I know you ordered two each of Samantha’s favorites, but this is what you really want.”

  Sloane looked down with a smile at the stunning desserts.

  Amanda pointed to the plate on her left. “This one is rose petal panna cotta with damson and lavender Viennese shortbread.” Then to the one on her right. “And this one is a prune and Tokaji parfait, prune cake, Tokaji jelly, white chocolate ganache and mascarpone ice cream.”

  “Thank you!” Sloane was salivating again. “I can’t wait to try them.”

  “Bon appétit.” Amanda left.

  “So, how do you know her?” Sloane asked.

  Over dessert he explained that Dominic and Melinda had asked him to help her out with a bit of publicity after breaking from Arrivé to start Bake it Away. They became casual friends immediately after that.

  The dessert was to die for and still remember after death. Even so, Sloane could only eat a few bites. Of each. Same for Orson. Then they were suddenly both all gone.

  She felt tipsy on their way outside, and it wasn’t from the drink.

  “That was the second best restaurant?” Sloane asked outside. “When can we eat at the first?”

  “Someday.” Orson smiled. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

  They were in front of the valet stand, and perhaps a half-dozen photographers. She still nodded, wanting nothing more.

  “Even in front of all these people?”

  “Just do it,” Sloane said.

  So he did, and she could hear the shutters snapping.

  They said their goodbyes and their see you tomorrows, then the valet handed Sloane the fob to her RAV4 and she drove away believing that magic really did exist.

  The feeling didn’t last long.

  A quarter hour after leaving the restaurant, her paranoia returned.

  Except, it wasn’t paranoia.

  The driver behind her wasn’t just aggressive, he was getting more antagonistic by the second.

  She tried to wave him around her, but he refused to take the hint. There was nowhere to pull over and let him pass. So she floored it, going as fast as she could while still feeling safe, but he kept inching closer and closer.

  Sloane kept getting more and more scared.

  His fender punched at her bumper. She squealed and reached for her purse.

  Fumbled inside for her phone.

  Cursed herself for not taking the time to program it into the hands-free system of her rental.

  She sped up, going even faster.

  So did the driver behind her.

  And this time when he plowed into Sloane, he sent her careening right off the road and into—

  Sloane

  The side of the road. Sloane still couldn’t believe it. She was standing on the side of the road, trying not to shatter.

  She had been forced off the road around a half hour or so ago. Officers arrived on the scene almost immediately, but not for her benefit. Things started going sideways almost as soon as they got there.

  The crowd grew fast. Maybe it was her paranoia, but Sloane was sure that at least a few of the gathered horde had to be plants, there to take photos and make her feel exposed. A quiet stretch of road had made her assault possible, but that stretch was no longer so silent. A passing motorist pulled over just as the police arrived. She never got a chance to converse with the old woman, but the lady looked nice enough, and Sloane was willing to believe that the first person was a Good Samaritan.

  But one person turned into three, then ten, and now more than two-dozen lookie-loos were littering the roadside. And her life. The interrogation hadn’t left her any time to check, but she could imagine what had happened easily enough. Someone posted her accident on LiveLyfe or some other bullshit social media site, thereby making it open season on Sloane Alexander and her recurring misfortune.

  Right now, it was hard not to hate everyone at the scene. But she swallowed her bile, looked Officer Alvarez in his squinty little eyes, then gave him her statement yet again.

  “This is the fifth time now, right?” she confirmed, half to let him know that she could tally his crap, and half because Sloane still couldn’t believe it herself.

  “We just need to make sure that we have an accurate picture of what happened here.”

  “And you’re expecting it to come out of my mouth differently than it has the other four times I told you—”

  “You spoke to Officer Jensen, ma’am. I’ve not yet taken your statement.”

  “So … what? You don’t share information? Did I miss something? Are we in the old west all of a sudden?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that, ma’am.”

  “Stop calling me ma’am!”

  But then Sloane caught herself.

  She couldn’t afford to snap. That was exactly what everyone wanted. Her entire life had felt like a trial by media, with people not just willing but actively waiting to turn on her. And not just those working for the monster — for Liam Wentz — but regular everyday humans who fed off the misery of others like a vampire bat wading in a pool of blood.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Sloane gave Officer Alvarez her very best smile. “I’m just a little shaken is all. Go ahead and ask me whatever you need to.”

  She hated playing the game, but Sloane told herself it was just another role. She was probably reciting lines before she had been fully potty trained. Her earliest years were fuzzy, and it wasn’t like she could ever talk to her mother again to ask any clarifying questions.

  Sloane drifted through the interrogation on autopilot, answering every question that came her way with almost the exact same language she’d used before, but now sounding more submissive, more deferential, more like what the officers wanted to hear from her voice, and what the crowd needed to see in her posture.

  Her phone buzzed, but Sloane ignored it. She could answer the call in a moment, after she had proved herself to be a cooperative interview subject. Again.

  The crash had been terrifying, and Sloane spent the first few minutes in the immediate aftermath of her accident scared out of her mind. But now she was pissed, and more so by the second.

  Thank God she had dialed Melinda after calling the cops. Sloane had expected the law would respond appropriately to the situation. That they would see her as a victim and try to help. Instead, they were treating her like the cause of it all.

  In addition to the inquisition, Sloane had also taken two breathalyzers and had suffered enough flashbulbs to imagine what it might be like to live with permanent damage to her retinas. That was clearly a ridiculous leap in logic, but she didn’t know where else to redirect her thoughts. The entire situation was making her feel crazy.

  The EMT said nothing was an emergency, including the pain in her neck. He denied doing so when Sloane asked if he was suggesting she was making it up but offered no alternative explanation.

  “And how many drinks did you have at dinner?” Officer Alvarez glared at her like she’d been guzzling at red lights, right from the bottle.

  “You asked me that already. Not even five minutes ago.
”

  Alvarez pretended to look back at his notes. “Oh, yeah. Right. How about—”

  “How about we finish this up and get me to the hospital.” Sloane offered the officer her thinnest smile. “I have an excruciating pain in my neck, and no one is listening to me.”

  “I understand, ma’am. Just another—”

  “Just another nothing!”

  Sloane and the officer turned toward the commanding voice in tandem — the Shellys’ lawyer, Solomon Tummel.

  “Care to explain why you’re keeping my client from getting the medical attention she …”

  Sloane let Solomon’s tirade fade into the background. She had enough experience with the lawyer to know how the rest of his very short, very terse discussion with Officer Doubt Her Story would go.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Solomon put a gentle hand on Sloane’s shoulder and walked her to his car after leaving Alvarez verbally beaten, still dripping metaphorical blood.

  He stopped on the passenger side of his big black Mercedes. “Would you rather sit up front or in the back?”

  Nice of him to ask. “Up front, please.”

  Solomon nodded and opened the door for her.

  She climbed inside. After he closed her in, she leaned her head against the window.

  Solomon was a killer in the courtroom, and apparently the roadside or wherever he needed to be, but a teddy bear of a man as well. The Shellys were his only client.

  He was emotionally intelligent enough to ask her no questions, nor leave her to silence.

  He turned on the radio and Mozart flooded the cabin.

  His “Clarinet Concerto” to drown out the sounds of her crying.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sloane

  Sloane was in the hospital, dying to go home.

  But at least she wasn’t alone. By the time Solomon got her to Cedars Sinai, Melinda, Dominic, Miles, and Orson were all there and waiting. As much as she wanted to see Jolie, she was to relieved to hear that she and Connor were with Armando. Her daughter was in good hands. And at least for now, she wouldn’t have to see her mommy covered in boo-boos.

  “I still don’t understand why I can’t go,” She complained to everyone in the room. “All the tests are done, right?” No one answered, because everyone understood that wasn’t what she wanted. Sloane knew perfectly well why she couldn’t yet go. “I have mild whiplash and a slight concussion. A few contusions and a blood alcohol level that was well within the legal limits. So why can’t I leave?”