She was standing just far enough away that he could easily have ignored her, but he called her over instead. “Isabel, I want you to meet some friends of mine.”
Tracy had teased Isabel about always looking tidy, but she didn’t feel tidy at the moment. As she moved toward them, she wished she could freeze time just long enough to take a bath, do her hair, put on makeup, slip into something elegant, and saunter over with a martini in her hand. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake. I’m a little the worse for wear.”
“These are friends of mine from L.A.,” Ren said. “Tad Keating and Ben Gearhart. The bozo on the cell is my agent, Larry Green.” He indicated the redhead first. “This is Savannah Sims.” Then the Pamela Anderson look-alike. “And that’s Pamela.”
Isabel blinked.
“I just look like her,” Pamela said. “We’re not related.”
“This is Isabel Favor,” Ren said. “She’s been staying in that farmhouse over there.”
“Oh, my God!” Pamela shrieked. “Our book club did two of your books last year!”
The fact that someone who looked like Pamela was also smart enough to belong to a book club could have given Isabel another reason to detest her, but she rose above it. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You’re a writer?” Savannah drawled. “That’s so cute.”
Okay, this one she was allowed to detest.
“I don’t know about all of you,” Ren said, “but I’m ready to party tonight. Isabel, why don’t you come to the villa after you get cleaned up? Unless you’re too tired.”
She hated it when anyone over the age of twenty-one used “party” as a verb. Even more, she hated the way he was making her feel like an outsider. “I’m not tired at all. As a matter of fact, I can’t wait. Woo, woo. Party hearty.”
Ren looked away.
When she got back to the house, she took a bath, then lay down for a quick nap, only to fall into a deep sleep. By the time she awakened, it was after nine. She shook off the cobwebs and began to dress. Since she couldn’t compete with the women in the hottie department; she didn’t try. Instead, she wore her simplest black dress, brushed her hair smooth, fastened on her bangle, grabbed her shawl, and set off for the villa with a sense of dread.
Because she felt like a guest, she rang the bell instead of simply walking in as she’d been doing. A blast of music hit her as Anna opened the door. “It is good you are here, Isabel,” she said, her posture stiff with disapproval. “These people…” She made a sound like air escaping from a tire.
Isabel gave her a sympathetic smile, then followed the music to the back of the house. When she got to the archway leading to the rear salon, she paused.
Ren’s agent lay facedown on the carpet with Pamela straddling him, her skirt riding to the top of her thighs as she gave him a back rub. The lights were low, the music loud. Abandoned food lay all around, and a black bra draped the marble bust of Venus. Next to it, Tad the Adonis was making out with the sultry young woman who worked in the cosmetic shop in town. Ben, the other Adonis, held a gnawed drumstick like a microphone and sang drunkenly along with the music.
Ren was dancing with Savannah and didn’t seem to notice Isabel’s arrival, maybe because the redhead’s breasts were plastered to his chest and she had both arms wrapped around his neck. A crystal tumbler filled with something lethal-looking dangled from his fingers as he rested his hand at her waist. Isabel watched his other hand slip down along her bony hip.
So…
“Hey, girlfriend!” Pamela waved from her perch on Larry Green’s back. “Larry loves twozies. Want to do his feet?”
“No, I don’t believe I do.”
Ren turned languidly as she spoke, and Savannah moved with him. He was elegantly dissolute in a pair of tailored black slacks and a white silk shirt open one button more than necessary. He took his time letting Savannah go. “There’s food on the table if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks.”
A lock of hair fell over his forehead as he made his way to the chest and refilled his glass from one of the liquor bottles that sat on a silver tray. He took a sip, then lit a cigarette. Smoke curled around his head like a tarnished halo. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
She slipped off her shawl and laid it over the back of the chair. “Miss a chance to party? No way. Just tell me I’m not too late for spin the bottle.”
His eyes swept over her, smoke trickling from his devil’s nostrils. Savannah of the haughty expression and endless legs regarded Isabel’s simple black dress with cool amusement. Pamela laughed and hopped off Larry Green’s back. “Isabel, you’re too funny. Hey, did you ever play that drinking game when you were in college where every time Sting sings ‘Roxanne,’ you chug?”
“I think I missed that one.”
“You were probably studying while I was hanging out in bars. I wanted to be a vet because I love animals, but the classes were really hard, and I finally dropped out.”
“Basic math is such a drag,” the Queen of the Bitches drawled.
“No, it was organic chemistry I couldn’t handle,” Pamela replied good-naturedly.
Adonis Ben abandoned his drumstick microphone for some air guitar. “Come on over here an’ love me, Pammy, ’Cause I’m an animal.”
Pamela giggled. “Take over with Larry, will you, Isabel?”
Savannah curled herself around Ren like a python. “Let’s dance.”
He slipped his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and gave Isabel a shrug. This time he locked his hands at the back of Savannah’s waist and began a slow grind.
Larry gazed up at Isabel from the floor. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to take over where Pam left off.”
“I think we should talk first to see if we’re compatible.”
Ren snorted.
Larry groaned and eased up. “Jet-lagged. The rest of them slept on the plane.” He shook her hand. “I’m Larry Green, Ren’s agent. I was on the phone when we were introduced. I haven’t read any of your books, but Pam was filling me in on your career. Who handles you?”
“Until recently, Ren.”
Larry laughed, and she noticed that his eyes were shrewd but not unkind. The rhythm of the music changed, and Ren slid his palm a few inches lower on Savannah’s hip.
Larry tilted his head toward the liquor chest. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Wine would be nice.” She took a seat on the couch. Her last meal had been eight hours ago, and she needed to eat, not drink, but she’d lost her appetite.
The music changed to a rhythmic ballad, and Savannah rubbed herself against every part of Ren she could reach. Larry handed Isabel a drink and took a seat next to her on the couch. “So I hear your career’s in the crapper.”
“On its final flush.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“That seems to be the million-dollar question.”
“If you were my client, I’d tell you to reinvent yourself. It’s the fastest way to get the energy back. Create a new persona.”
“Good advice, but unfortunately I seem to be a one-persona person.”
He smiled, and they began to talk about careers while she tried not to watch Ren and Savannah. She asked Larry about his work as an agent, and he asked her about life on the lecture circuit. Ren stopped dancing to show Savannah some of the antiques in the room, including the pistol he’d terrified Isabel with during her first visit. To her relief, he put it away, but as he moved closer, she realized that his speech had gotten slurred. He gestured toward Larry with his liquor glass. “Why th’ hell didn’t you bring some grass with you?”
“An irrational fear of foreign prisons. And since when do you…?”