Tabloid Trix Chapter 28
Crabapple Farm…
Helen Belden had a guilty pleasure. She really felt bad about her secret vice, especially after everything that happened with the children. She tried to rationalize it by telling herself that celebrities knew the type of life they were getting into, while the Bob-Whites and their families were innocent bystanders.
She was addicted, and like most addicts, hid it from the family. Peter was busy out in the barn, building her the studio she always yearned for. Bobby was totally engrossed in Modern Warfare 97, or whatever number the franchise was up to now. That left the flat-screen television in her bedroom free, and better yet, uninterrupted.
A slight flush rose unbidden as she snicked the lock on the door, picked up the remote, and parked herself on her bed against a mound of pillows and soft cushions. A quick press of the button marked 'cable', and the upbeat, instantly recognizable theme of In the Know filled the room.
That pretty Cilla Cecere came on, her long caramel hair in an elegant upsweep, and her million-dollar legs flashing in a brief, tasteful short skirt that matched the pretty suit jacket and pink camisole. Helen folded her hands in her lap and glued her bright blue eyes to the screen.
"Tonight, on In the Know," Cilla's smiling voice was glossing over the intros, as the screen panned over a big, black limousine surrounded by screaming people. "You might think Justin Bieber or Rob Pattinson is getting mobbed, but you'd be wrong. Just who is in this car, and what connection do they have to this jet, taking off from a little airport in New Jersey?" The picture switched to the jet taking to the skies, with the W/H Inc. logo clearly visible.
"We'll have all that, and more, when In the Know returns after these words from our sponsors."
Helen sat there, frozen, her brain denying what her eyes had just seen. On national television. As the sponsors' words played out, unheard, she waited for the program to return to the air. There are a lot of private jets with similar logos. The picture was kind of grainy. Maybe I was mistaken.
Of course, when the show returned, the first story was about another Hollywood bust-up. Under normal circumstances, Helen would have sympathized with the wronged party, and a tiny little part of her would be smug in her love for Peter, his love for her, and the family they created together. She picked up one of the throw pillows on the bed, kept turning it round and round with her restless, nervous hands.
The next story chronicled the latest deliciously horrifying antics of the child star who was in a free-fall from grace as an adult, and then Cilla was back, her lovely voice teasing. "Have you figured out the identity of the person or persons in the limo yet? We'll tell you all that and more, after these words."
Helen banged her head against the headboard in frustration. More commercials. And then Cilla was on, whispering secrets directly to you, making you feel like you were simply having a cup of coffee with her and catching up on all the latest news.
The camera panned to the three published issues of OMG!, lingering slightly on each lurid cover. "You may recognize this magazine from your newsstand, supermarket or other retailer. OMG! was an upstart gossip magazine that never quite got off the ground." There was that pregnant pause, "Until recently, when they started publishing a series of articles about a group of young adults we're going to call The Billionaires' Kids Club."
Paul Trent's apartment building…
"Nice place," Ryan Hanson remarked, all facetiousness. While the segment was airing tonight, he and Cilla were out trying to get some interviews and were not having even a smidgen of success.
None of the now-terminated editorial staff of OMG! deigned to give them the time of day, never mind a behind-the-scenes scoop, even if it meant ignoring a veiled reference to how being on television might enhance their now non-existent careers.
Calls to World Vista Entertainment, the parent corporation of the defunct magazine, were answered with a terse, "The announcement on the website is the only comment we are providing regarding ceasing publication of OMG!."
It was blind luck they even found Trent's address; Ryan remembered vaguely that he thought Trent might have applied to the show as a writer. Since Trent was inexperienced, his application was put to the side; Ryan was a packrat and there it was, in the mess he called his office.
Cilla approached the mesh cage, intoning in a sepulchral voice, "It was a dark and stormy night…"
A glance inside the cage through what she assumed was bulletproof glass showed a filthy little cubicle, with a 1998 nudie calendar yellowing on the wall, and a half-eaten sub sandwich that had seen better days. Pulling her blouse over her finger, she depressed the buzzer that sounded faintly in another room.
Surprise, surprise. No-one came.
She leaned on the buzzer again; it worked, they heard it, but the cage remained stubbornly empty. The two stood there, wondering what to do next when a working girl and her 'appointment' entered. Cilla remarked to the heavily-made up woman, "No-one's answering."
The woman rolled her eyes, took a few dollars and pushed them through the slot in the glass. "Den just leave him duh money, go up ta duh fifth and grab an empty room," she explained. She looked at Ryan. "If ya wanna wait fer a bit, we kin have a threesome." She winked at Cilla, and sauntered off.
Ryan tried, really tried, not to burst out laughing like a lunatic, but he couldn't hold back. Not when Cilla had the most amazing look, a cross between outrage and outright amusement, on her face. The laughter bubbled up and out, and rang through the poor excuse for a lobby.
"C'mon, laughing boy," Cilla snorted, and began to climb the stairs. "The least you can do is escort me upstairs."
Ryan, wiping the tears from his merry eyes, followed her up. "How much you gonna charge me for this?"
Rolling her eyes, she just sniffed and turned, leading the way to Trent's apartment, hoping he was home and would be amenable to answering a few questions.
Misto Cay, Orchid Villa…
James Winthrop Frayne II was leaning on the frame of opened French doors, his long legs crossed at the ankles, the balmy tropical breeze cooling their beautiful bedroom. There were, it seemed, billions of stars twinkling in the sky, so many more than you could see in the City.
There may be a million more things to do, and maybe the City never slept, but Jim couldn't help thinking he much preferred the night sky and the Milky Way to the bright, harsh lights from the City that cancelled out their loveliness.
The day was wonderful, in a tiring way, even the discussion about Trent. At least they had a plan. Even Ia…Aidan agreed it sounded pretty good, although Jim deduced Aidan was still secretly amused at being named Honey's mystery man.
Jim sighed, and rolled his eyes. He saw the look Aidan gave Trixie, before the shutters came down in the other man's eyes. He recognized it immediately; it was the same look he himself sported before that brilliant day when he spilled it all out to his Trix in a school parking lot.
His lips curved up as he remembered that day, and that evening when Trixie set out to seduce him. He cast aside his cloak of honorability without even blinking an eye.
"Trixie? Are you done yet?" Jim knocked at his bedroom door. It was awfully quiet in there. He hoped she didn't fall asleep or something.
A muffled voice responded. "Jim, I need your help, can you come in for a second?"
She probably needs help with a zipper or something. Or the toilet. It's probably running again. I need to let Dad know so he could get the plumber in. He pushed open the door and stepped into his own bedroom. He saw her clothes on the floor, not that he expected anything else. But he didn't see her. "Trixie?"
She pushed the door closed and locked it. Leaning indolently against the hard wood, she watched his eyes widen and the emerald deepen as he turned around with a question that died before it was born.
Trixie. She was leaning against his door, clad only in some tiny blue panties and some sort of silky top that barely reached her waist. There was a vast expanse of skin between the end of that top and the beginning of those panties. And right there, right where his eyes zeroed in on it like a sweet target, was that silver dangle that haunted his dreams night after night. Before he realized what he was doing, his fingers reached out and lightly brushed it. He couldn't control the tremor as they brushed against the taut, toned, naked skin of her belly.
Trixie's own hands, pressed against the door, slid to Jim's, and placed each hand on the side of her hips, right where she wanted them. For now. Her hands slid up his arms and around his neck, and she actually stood on his feet to reach up to his face.
She kissed his jaw, smelled his cologne and proceeded to lightly kiss her way to his ear. "Jim?" Her voice was throaty, womanly, thick. "I decided I want dessert before dinner. And Jim?" she added, whispering so only he could hear. "I've been on the pill since I was 17. Waiting. For you."
Just the thought of it, and he was becoming unbearably aroused. How had he ever managed without her sweet body pressed up to his, night after night? Lying in bed with her, talking late at night, that look in her eyes just for him. A look that had always been just for him. Only, he was too scared or too stupid to realize it.
She hadn't been frightened when he tumbled her into his bed, that first time. Her first time, and his too. She was his Trixie, full of energy, enthusiasm and god, so beautiful, her voice so sultry, so seductive and she wanted him. Only him. It heated him up from the inside out, and it still did.
Afterwards, he couldn't feel guilty. She was everything, just everything to him, and making love with her was more amazing than any fantasy he was able to conjure up in those dark, lonely days apart from her.
"Jim?" Her quiet voice interrupted his musings, and he turned to face her and gulped.
Her long spirals of gold caught at the light from the moon, as did her big blue eyes. She had on a long nightgown, made of the thinnest, finest white cotton; so thin he could see the outline of her body, tantalizing him. Her lips were curved in that special smile she reserved just for him.
"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," his voice rasped out. His intense green gaze caught her cerulean one, would not let go.
The tiny tendrils of a sensuous web were spinning between them. He was awash in the soft, silvery light, and she had to catch her breath. He was so tall, so strong, so gorgeously male. And he was hers. "You are all I want," she breathed out at last, her voice catching as it did when she was immeasurably moved.
As if in slow motion, they met in the middle of the big room, unable to glance away, their eyes colliding, locked. When he claimed her lips, those soft, lush full lips, when her tongue slid along his, he was lost. Every single glorious, virile, male molecule of his was driving him to complete himself with her. Only with her. Forever, with her.
'Til death do them part.
Crabapple Farm…
She was frozen. The night wasn't especially cold, but she could feel the chill creeping into her bones, making her shiver and shake.
The television was blaring on, long after In the Know signed off. Some silly game show, but she didn't see it. The images from the program, the sound of Cilla Cecere's voice; it was all burned into her brain, as sure if someone took a hot branding iron and stamped it there.
Pictures of Matt and Maddie at some social event in the City. The private billionaire and his high-society wife. Pictures of Ed and Sharon at the same event – the man and his wife who went from nothing to one of the richest families in the nation.
Helen would have dealt with that; after all, her friends were extremely wealthy and did have social and business obligations. Their photographs had graced various charity events and business events over the years. She supposed it was a necessary part of doing business; after all, when Peter was named president of the bank, they had to step up to country-club membership and Peter schmoozed with the business leaders in Sleepyside rather frequently at chamber of commerce meetings and the like.
She was not prepared for the silky voice explaining how the children were kept out of the limelight – until now. How ridiculously good-looking they all were, how tight was their friendship; speculating as to why Matthew Wheeler and Edward Lynch raised their children far from the harsh scrutiny of the paparazzi.
She was not prepared for the mob scene at the limo in front of the apartment house where the kids lived; of seeing crying and screaming people beating at the car with hands and fists, screaming the names of her sons – all of them, those of her body, and those of her heart.
And her daughter. Her beautiful daughter, who had not a shred of vanity whatsoever, plastered in full living 42 inch color across millions of television screens while the hostess' voice provided more fuel to the fire that was BWG mania.
"The beautiful woman you see here is Trixie Belden Frayne. Yes, sorry girls, not Jim's sister, but his very new wife. From all we can gather, Jim and Trixie have had special feelings for each other since they were very young adolescents." A pause. "We'll delve into their relationship, and the relationships of all of the privileged members of the…Billionaires' Kids Club in our next few shows. And, we'll have some special information about Trixie Frayne that will astound you."
Helen's hand was shaking as she telephoned the Manor House.
She vowed to herself she would make Paul Trent pay.
Paul Trent's apartment…
Ryan couldn't resist needling Cilla all the way up the numerous flights of steps to Trent's floor. It was just too delicious, the infamous Cilla Cecere being mistaken for a working girl. Not even a high-class call girl, but a common, ordinary street 'ho.
"Two bucks, Cilla. Come on. It's the best offer you'll have tonight," he wheedled. God, he wished he was recording this.
She arched a brow and remarked very casually over her shoulder, "Watch out for the…oh, too late. Sorry." She giggled as Ryan stepped on a discarded condom.
"Oh. Gross!" He began to shake his foot wildly, hoping to dislodge the offending item. "You did that on purpose!"
She fluttered her eyelashes. "Moi? I think not."
As they walked down the hallway, Ryan scraped his shoe on the filthy rug. "These were my favorite shoes," he moaned. "Now I have to throw them away."
Cilla stopped in front of the battered door with barely discernible number painted on. "Shush. Mr. Trent?" She knocked on the door. "Paul Trent? It's Cilla Cecere from In the Know."
No response.
She knocked harder. "Paul? Mr. Trent?" The door swung open slightly, but a head did not peek out. Something warm and coppery wafted out of the room, and Ryan grabbed Cilla and put her behind him.
"Trent? Are you okay in there?" He turned to Cilla. "I don't like this, Cil. Stay behind me."
He pushed the door open, and stepped into hell.
