“Should we call the Truth Line?”
Mollie pushed aside her plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. She’d eaten all she could; she was worried she might not fit into her slinky dress for the party that night.
“I doubt anyone will be there yet,” Mollie said. “It’s only eight o’clock in Bayside. I’ll call Roberta instead. She’ll know what’s going on.”
“Good point.” Johnny put the phone on the kitchen table. “I’m going outside to play some football with Gary. Let me know how it goes.” Johnny pulled an old, torn gray sweatshirt over his head and ran outside.
Mollie picked up the phone and dialed. A few seconds later, Roberta answered. “Roberta, it’s me, Mollie.”
“Mollie! Am I glad to hear your voice. We were talking about you guys last night, and we kept hoping everything was cool. Is it?”
“Pretty much. We’re starting to find out a lot, but we don’t know anything for sure yet,” Mollie said. “What about on your end?”
“You’re not going to believe this. Friday afternoon, while you guys were taking off, Jaime and Sherman went to another modeling agency. They asked around about what places were good to work in San Francisco, you know, just being stupid and ignorant. Not much of a stretch for Sherman.” She laughed. “Okay, so this woman who used to model for Whistler starts telling them all about DeDario.”
“What did she say?”
“Number one, his real name is Aaron D., as in it’s his middle initial, and Dario is his last name, and he used to be a magician called The Great DeDario. Number two, he got busted back in 1984,” Roberta said.
“For what?” asked Mollie. “Bad magic tricks?”
“Almost. No, he was running an escort agency and dealing drugs at the same time,” Roberta said.
“Do you believe this woman?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure, so I went to the library and searched through the microfilm of the old newspapers. Sure enough, there were lots of front-page articles about our pal Aaron in July of eighty-four. Not only that, but guess who defended him when he went to trial? Dayton Hughes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Cross my heart and hope to be voted homecoming queen,” Roberta replied.
“Did he go to jail?” She hoped so.
“Yeah, but only for six months. Hughes got him a light sentence. Then, when he got out, Hughes hired him to manage an apartment building he owned. According to what I could find out, he stayed clean and quit the job a few years later to work for Whistler—with his new name, of course.”
“I had a feeling he was even slimier than we thought,” Mollie said. “What else is going on?”
“Well, the Truth Line is still buzzing. Everyone’s still talking about Meredith. Oh, one guy called who wanted to know if anybody had heard anything more about Janet.”
“What do you mean, heard anything more? What more is there to hear?” Mollie asked. “She’s dead.”
“That’s what everybody on the line said.”
“And what did he say?”
“He hung up,” Roberta said.
Mollie stepped out of the cab on lower Broadway and looked around. Johnny was leaning against a lamppost across the street. He looked like a different person in a crisp white shirt, a black blazer, and olive-colored linen pants. Instead of his usual black motorcycle boots, he was wearing black loafers. He had on a wild purple-and-green tie, too.
“The shoes are Gary’s,” he said, before Mollie could say anything. “Just in case you were about to make fun of me.”
“I wasn’t. You look great.”
“You look pretty good yourself.” He reached out to touch her hair. She had just come from A.J.’s studio, where Yves and Yoyo had worked their magic on her all over again.
“Careful, if it falls down we can’t recreate this,” Mollie said.
“Mollie, you … you’re beautiful all the time,” Johnny said. “You don’t need all this makeup and hair styling.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, did they give you some replacement lipstick to use during the evening?” Johnny asked.
“Why? Do you want to use some?”
“No.” Johnny leaned forward and kissed Mollie on the lips. “I just wanted to do that,” he whispered. “Before we go inside. Besides, I am supposed to be your boyfriend.”
“Well, now that it’s smudged, we might as well take advantage of it,” Mollie said, looking up at Johnny. He smiled, and they kissed again, this time more passionately.
“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to start something with me,” Johnny said, holding her hand.
“Maybe I am.”
“What about Mr. Quarterback?”
“We kind of broke up on Friday. I told him I didn’t want to see him so much, and he figured out what I was really trying to say.”
“He’s smart that way,” Johnny said. “So if we wanted to, we could …”
“Start a relationship?” Mollie said.
“I think it’s already started, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I think the party’s already started, too, and we’d better get in there before something happens and we miss it. Not that I would have wanted to miss anything that just happened out here.” Mollie smiled at Johnny, and they started to cross the street, hand in hand.
As they walked up to the building where the loft party was being held, Mollie could hear music blasting out the windows, and people yelling to one another. “I thought this was supposed to be a sophisticated party.”
“I guess this is how high society parties in New York.” Johnny pressed her hand.
“Right,” Mollie said as they got into the elevator. “Did you notice that we’re spending all our time in elevators lately?”
The doors opened onto a huge room, jammed with people. “Hi, you two. Remember me?” Fran, the receptionist from Whistler, greeted them as they stepped into the loft. “Are you having a good time?”
“We just got here,” Mollie said, scanning the room for familiar faces. There were lots of beautiful people milling around, carrying drinks, smoking, and talking in loud voices. A stereo was blasting, and photographers were circling the room, taking pictures. The flash from their cameras lit up the place like a slow-moving strobe light.
“This is Jackie,” Fran said, gesturing to a girl next to her. “Jackie, this is Bitsy Carlisle. And …” She looked at Johnny for help.
“Arthur Smith,” he said.
“Are you Kathy Carlisle’s sister?” Jackie asked. She looked as if she were about the same age as Mollie—only taller.
Mollie nodded. “Whose sister are you?”
Jackie tugged on the sleeve of the woman next to her. When she turned around, Mollie almost stopped breathing. “This is my sister, Rahel,” Jackie said, smiling. “Rahel, this is Bitsy Carlisle.”
Mollie stood there waiting for Rahel to say, “Bitsy? Ha! She is not!” But Rahel simply stared at her blankly, the way she usually looked. Mollie guessed the thick layer of makeup on her face was protecting her identity.
“You’re Kathy’s sister?” Rahel spat. “I hope you’re not anything like her, for your sake.”
“What do you mean?” Mollie had to pretend to be offended. After all, that was her sister Rahel was insulting.
“All I can say is, if she shows up tonight, she’d better stay out of my way.” Rahel flipped her hair back and marched over to the bar.
“Sorry about that,” Jackie said. “I guess they don’t get along.”
Mollie shrugged. “That’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Johnny leaned close to her. “I’m going to start asking around,” he whispered. “See if I can find out who deals around here.”
Mollie nodded. “And bring me a ginger ale, please,” she said.
“Sure thing,” Johnny said, and he moved out into the crowd.
“This is the second party like this I’ve been to in the last week,” Jackie said. “I was here last weekend, too, only Rahel didn’t show up, so I had to come back.”
“You were here last weekend? So was a girl I know back home in San Francisco. Maybe you met her—Meredith Hughes?”
Jackie nodded.
“She was really nice,” Fran commented. “I liked her.”
“Me, too,” said Jackie. “She didn’t seem that excited about being here, though.”
“Really? Did she hang out with anybody, or just stick to herself?” Mollie asked, trying to sound casual.
“I didn’t really notice, to tell you the truth,” Jackie said.
“I don’t think she became best friends with anybody or anything,” Fran added.
“Back home, she tends to hang out with the druggie crowd,” Mollie said. “I don’t know her all that well, because I don’t.”
“Really? That surprises me,” said Jackie.
Mollie was shocked. “Why, do I look like I’m a druggie?”
“No!” Jackie laughed. “I’m surprised she hangs out with a drug crowd at home, because when she was here, one of A.J.’s assistants offered her some coke, at a shoot, and she told him to blow off. Only she didn’t say it so nicely.”
“Coke as in cocaine?” Mollie asked.
Jackie nodded.
“Which assistant?” Mollie asked.
“See that guy over by the window? He has long blond curly hair, and he’s wearing that loud tapestrylike vest? His name’s T.C.—or his nickname, anyway. Who knows what it stands for?” Jackie said. “Total Cokehead, maybe.”
“He’s a real creep,” Fran said.
“I’m thirsty, do you guys want to get something to drink?” Jackie asked.
“No thanks,” Mollie said, “I think I’ll go find Arthur. He was supposed to bring me a ginger ale.” She smiled. “It was nice talking to you.”
“You, too,” Jackie said. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”
Mollie wandered around the loft, trying to find Johnny. She was glad that no one seemed to recognize her. She didn’t see Eleanor or Parker anywhere, not to mention Moeller, or DeDario, though she didn’t think he was coming. Suddenly she spotted Johnny. He was walking right up to T.C. They shook hands and seemed to be chatting about the people standing around them, making comments and laughing.
She watched discreetly as Johnny asked him something. T.C. shook his head, and Johnny moved closer to ask something else. T.C. replied by whispering into Johnny’s ear. Mollie was dying to know what they were talking about.
Johnny nodded and walked away, moving into the crowd toward Mollie. She stepped right in front of him. “What did you say? What did he say? Did you ask him if he had any drugs?”
“Calm down,” Johnny said. “Here, let’s move closer to the speakers, so no one will hear us.”
“I just found out he offered Meredith cocaine while she was here,” Mollie said excitedly. “She turned him down flat.”
“Interesting, but not as important as what I just found out. I told him I had a couple of ounces to sell, and that I had to get rid of it tonight because I was leaving town and needed the extra dough. He told me who to talk to.”
“Who?”
“Moeller.”