Popcorn

wore the sexy teen version of conservative grownup clothes. Today it was a smart, tight little twopiece woollen suit in pink – tiny miniskirt and figurehugging little jacket – white tights, high heels, lots of makeup. A scrummy little bundle all trussed up in pastels. Cute and clean and shiny as a ripe cherry. Wayne whistled appreciatively through his teeth.

‘Mm mm, I’ll bet you’re proud of this one, Bruce.’

Velvet set her jaw against his leering stare, but she was acting more confident than she felt.

Scout looked at Velvet too, but she did not appreciate what she saw. It was strange, she thought, how rich girls had that way of looking that was just so clean and fresh and undamaged. Scout knew that Wayne would just love to dirty up that little girl’s life. He wouldn’t do it, of course, because she’d kill him if he did and he knew it. All the same, she didn’t like him leering that way, and she didn’t think much of Velvet.

‘It’s just like you said, precious.’ Wayne was still staring at the girl. ‘We’re friends of your of man’s. I’m Wayne, this is Scout and the bitch with the fat lip is Brooke Daniels.’

‘Brooke Daniels?’ Velvet was now convinced that she’d caught her father in the middle of some disgusting postOscar debauch. She was half relieved and half horrified, relieved to discover that the situation was not more sinister, horrified because it was so disgusting. Overhearing one’s parents having sex is enough to traumatize some kids, so walking in on one of their orgies was a tough call, even for a diamondhard Hollywood brat like Velvet.

She made an ugly face. ‘Oh Daddy, Playboy bunnies? Purlease! That is sooo trashy and also just totally nineteen eighties.’

‘I was never a bunny, I was a centrefold. What’s more, I’m an actress,’ Brooke said quietly.

Bruce had to try again to make Farrah leave, whatever the risk of arousing Wayne ’s anger. The alternative was to let Velvet prattle on, and Bruce knew it would not be long before she made dangerously obvious her distaste for the company she found herself in. Karl had been killed for showing disrespect, and when it came to showing disrespect tough New York agents were not in the same class as cocky little Hollywood princesses.

‘Farrah,’ Bruce barked, pointing his finger at her, ‘I’m busy! Get the girl out. Now!’

Farrah wasn’t going anywhere. It was clear to her that Bruce was worried, even flustered. This suited her; she’d rarely ever seen him anything other than calm and in control. His current mood was likely to bring forth further financial concessions in her favour. She held Velvet to her.

‘Bruce, you are speaking about your own daughter. Trying to throw her out of what was her home. You disgust me. You’d rather be with sluts and street trash than-’

‘Excuse me.’ It was Scout who interrupted her.

Bruce froze, fully expecting his little family to be instantly cut down in a hail of vengeful bullets. But Scout was happy to ignore the insult. She was in a curious mood.

‘Mrs Delamitri? Can I ask you something now?’

‘No, you may not,’ Farrah replied, with enough haughty disdain to cool a chili pepper, haughty disdain which was entirely lost on Scout, who pressed on regardless.

‘Is it true you got so puke drunk one time that you miscarried? That you retched up so hard you done lost your baby?’

For a moment, even Farrah was lost for words. Her battle with the bottle had been long and public. She was naturally aware of the numerous disgusting myths that circulated about her, but she had never been so rudely confronted with one before.

‘What did you say?’

‘Well, that’s what I read in the National Enquirer,’ Scout protested.

‘Well, I heard a better one than that,’ said Wayne. ‘I heard Mrs Delamitri here got stopped in her car one time by the cops, and they asked her to blow in the bag and she offered to blow the cops instead. And she did! Ain’t that right, Farrah?’ Wayne had recounted this anecdote often before, but it still made him laugh.

‘I don’t know about no cops and unhygienic acts,’ Scout said primly, ‘but it sure did say she got puke drunk and lost her child.’

‘And that Velvet here had her first blowjob when she was seven,’ Wayne added.

Velvet had read the article in question. ‘It said nose job! And it wasn’t true!’

Farrah turned on Bruce in fury. ‘What is going on here, Bruce? Is this some kind of pathetic tactic? Are you trying to scare me or something? Because it won’t work.’

‘No, Daddy, it won’t,’ said Velvet, standing beside her mother in fiscal solidarity. ‘Mommy and I want this house, plus the New York apartment.

‘Otherwise it’s trial by talk show. I’ll tell Oprah you used erection creams-’

‘Mommy! Don’t be gross.’

Wayne roared with laughter and poured himself another drink. This was better than he could ever have hoped.

Bruce was desperate now. He threw caution aside. ‘You can have what you want, Farrah, everything, the last cent. I’ll sign today. Just get Velvet out now.’

At last it dawned on Farrah that something might be wrong. She was hardly the most sensitive of souls. She lived in Hollywood, and other people’s problems were other people’s problems. She had been born with a thick skin, and it had been pulled so taut by cosmetic surgeons that these days bad vibes tended just to bounce off it like dried peas off a drum. But when Bruce started talking about handing over everything, she knew something was very wrong. Also, clearly it must have something to do with the dangerouslooking people who seemed to have invaded Bruce’s life. She decided to pursue her claims at a later date.

‘I’ll have my lawyer call. Come on, Velvet. We’re outa here.’

But alas the penny had dropped too late. Wayne was already blocking the doorway.

‘No need for them legal parasites to get involved, Mrs Delamitri. Fuckin’ lawyers are eating away at the soul of this country. So fuck ‘em I say. Fact is, I’ll be handling Mr Delamitri’s side of the negotiations from now on. Is that OK with you?’

‘Come on, Velvet. We’ll talk with your father another time.’ Farrah took Velvet’s hand and tried to push past Wayne, but he held his ground.

‘Truth is, Mrs Delamitri, Bruce here wants you dead.’

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, ‘He’s said so himself, and I have decided, in view of all the pleasure your husband has given me in the past, to fulfil his wish.’

With this he produced his gun and smiled a big smile.

‘For God’s sake, Wayne, let them go. You said you’d let them go.’

Wayne raised the gun to his shoulder and aimed it at Farrah.

Velvet screamed, shedding about thirtyfive years in three seconds arid turning into a fourteenyearold girl.

‘Daddy, do something!’

‘ Wayne, please!’ Bruce shouted.

Wayne kept his eye trained along the barrel and straight into Farrah’s face.

‘You said you wanted her dead, Bruce. You said that. He admitted he said that, didn’t he, Scout?’

‘I heard him.’

‘You don’t go saying stuff you don’t mean, do you, Bruce?’ Wayne did not take his eye off Farrah.

‘It was a figure of speech,’ Bruce pleaded, his voice cracking with fear. ‘For God’s sake, man, it was a figure of speech.’

‘Bruce, Bruce, calm down, buddy. It is not such a big deal. People get killed every few seconds. Listen, in South Central LA they’re pleased if they make it through lunch. Man, if you live to see your balls drop, you’re a survivor, you’re an old man! C’mon, let me waste the bitch. I’ll take the rap and you get to keep everything.’

Bruce’s brain was thumping. He had to think of something, say something.

‘C’mon, Bruce,’ Wayne continued, ‘this is the luckiest night of your life. I’m a wanted killer, dropped a hundred people. One more or less won’t make any difference to me, but for you… Hey, you’ll never have to hear this bitch’s voice again, never have to put up with that scrawny fuckin’ skullhead in front of your face. You said you wanted her dead, Bruce, you know you did.’

Wayne hadn’t taken his eye off Farrah. It was still trained along the barrel of his gun, while he spoke his killing pitch.