The Romeo Arrangement

“What?” Grace gasps. “You mean she was murdered?”

That’s the way I look at it, anyway, even if the law doesn’t agree.

The piece of shit who drove her off a balcony at a luxury resort, who caused her to snap her neck, might as well have pointed a loaded gun at her and pulled the trigger.

“Her career had its ups and downs. Her life did, too. Age is a major player in Hollywood, especially for an actress. This industry chews women up and spits them out. Some folks can handle it. They keep acting right up to the end, until they’re not being cast in lead roles reserved for younger, prettier starlets. Some have the pull to land roles that fit their age. Others just fade away gracefully.”

I sigh, knowing this is one fucked up conversation I don’t want to have.

Another part of me needs it.

“My mom wasn’t willing to go easy into that good night. She wouldn’t accept being cast as an older, side character. She had surgeries, plenty of them, trying to fight the inevitable creep of age…but she still wasn’t landing the parts she thought she deserved.” My neck muscles tense.

“You don’t have to tell me this if you’re not comfortable,” Grace says quietly while patting my arm. “But if you are…I’m here. I’m listening.”

“I want to.” For real. I want her to know the truth. “There was this guy…a studio executive. A real nasty scum-fuck. It was barely a secret he’d coerced more than one poor woman into his bed with the promise of rocketing their careers into the stratosphere. I don’t even know how my mother got mixed up with him, but she did. He swore he’d make her a star again for a price.”

She can figure out the rest.

Even after all of these years, I can’t stand picturing that hog of a man with my mom.

That rotting toad who was after a piece of the famous, beloved Judy Barnet to satisfy some demon part of his ego.

He wanted her money and her body.

I shake my head at the rage that starts foaming in my gut.

“It was a movie she was personally financing. They’d gone up to Lake Tahoe, this fancy ski lodge, to start filming.”

“Yeah, I read that’s where it happened,” she says quietly, her eyes glued to me.

“I’d read the script. She wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. The role was for a much younger woman, barely out of college. That freak knew it, too. He just needed the money, the financing, and her. He wanted his shit to get filmed with her backing and he also wanted…I think you know what the fuck else he was after.”

She closes her eyes for a long blink.

Can’t blame her for picturing the same horror I do every day of my life.

“Do you think he…did he push her?” Grace asks.

“Whether he physically did it or just gave her the drugs…same difference. She wasn’t in her right mind. Hell, maybe she even came to her senses and regretted everything.” I suck in a raw breath. “Of course, I couldn’t prove squat. He said she’d hurt herself, twisted her back on the ski lift. That’s why he got her the prescription. She’d taken too much and mixed it with wine. People had seen her in the restaurant that night. Drunk. Stoned. Whatever she’d been, she was stumbling all over the place, crashing into things. That’s why there were reports she’d fallen, that she’d jumped. Committed suicide due to the pain, the chronic depression she was in.”

“Ridge, I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracks.

I shrug. “Don’t bother. Not for me. Linus Hammond made the movie, started filming within days of Mom’s funeral with a new, younger actress. It was a minor hit. Not a blockbuster, but he made good money on it. Especially considering it hadn’t cost him anything.” I huff out a breath to finish the tale. “I ran into him not long after the movie debuted. We were in the men’s room at a large fundraiser for disaster relief after a tsunami in Indonesia. Told him I knew the truth. That I should sue him for every damn penny. He dared me. I flew off the chain, broke his nose in the bathroom, left him bleeding on the floor. Hammond never pressed charges because he knew I would sue him for sure then…or kill him.”

I bite my tongue.

I could’ve killed him that night, beaten him to a pulp on the men’s room floor, and been arrested.

It might’ve saved me the savage guilt of what came next. The last chapter of this sinister, fucked up tale I can’t bring myself to say.

What would she think if she knew I planned a murder?

“Weird, I didn’t see anything about that in those articles,” she says softly.

“You wouldn’t. It was kept hush-hush, salvaging his pride,” I tell her, my eyes locked on the road, burning me from the inside out.