The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“Are you from New Orleans?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s the way people talk in New Orleans.”

She removed her shades and let her eyes adjust on my face. “Take a ride with me. No argument this time.”

“What for?”

“You got yourself in a lot of trouble. I can get you out of it.”

I told the other kid who worked in the station that I’d be back soon. He took one look at the Olds and the gorgeous woman behind the wheel and stared at me in disbelief. I got into her car and settled back in the comfortable softness of the leather. She stepped on the gas before I had the door closed.

“Where we headed?”

She squeezed me on the thigh, grinning behind her shades.

“What are you doing?” I said, alarmed.

“Don’t be so serious. Your virginity is safe. You’re a virgin, right? Anyway, I don’t molest young boys.”

She turned off the boulevard into the Rice University campus and parked in the shadow of the football stadium. She took a small leather-bound photo album from the glove box and marked one page with her thumb, then handed me the album. “Tell me who that is.”

“Benny Siegel and Virginia Hill.”

“Who’s that with them?”

“You?”

“At age twenty.”

“Who’s the guy with you?”

“Who’s he look like?”

I lifted my eyes to her. “Like me?”

“He was an actor. I met him at a lawn party at Jack Warner’s, next door to Siegel’s house. He was my first real love.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died from a heroin overdose. It was probably a hotshot. You know what that is?”

“No.”

“The dealer slips the user some high-grade stuff he’s not ready for. He was going to another studio. Hollywood is a place where you don’t break the rules. Vegas works the same way, Aaron. You come into their world, you play by their rules. You don’t sue the Mafia. You listening?”

“I didn’t choose to be involved in any of this.”

“Jesus, you’re thick. There’s a hot-dog cart by the street. Go get me one.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry. Now go do it. What’s the matter with you?” She handed me three dollars from her purse. “With relish and ketchup and mustard and onions. Buy yourself one. Bring us a couple of Cokes, too. I have to pee. I’m going into the stadium. Hurry up, now.”

I went after the hot dogs. When I got back, she was fixing her hair in the mirror, examining a sun blemish under one eye. She patted the dashboard, indicating where I should place the food and drinks.

“What did you think of Benny Siegel?” I said.