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When Evelyn could no longer stand to watch her husband fawn all over the little tramp, she paid her check and left the Polo Lounge. Outside, a warm LA breeze caressed her face as she waited for the valet to fetch her Mercedes.
“Here you go, Ma'am,” the young man said as he hopped out of her car and held the door open for her.
“Thank you,” she said. Evelyn gave the valet a generous tip, slid behind the wheel of her S-Class, and sped off toward her Beverly Hills mansion.
She loved the warmth and near constant sunshine of southern California, but Evelyn was a Bostonian at heart. She loved the city’s history and culture. It is why she insisted they purchase the Brownstone in the Back Bay twenty years ago. While Grant wanted to be in Hollywood most of the time, for the past two decades they had been rather bi-coastal.
Before Evelyn reached their neighborhood, she pulled into an alley behind many of the Beverly Hills boutiques she frequented. She got out of the car and went to the trunk. She opened it, took off the wig, removed the colored contact lenses, and changed out of the green slip dress. She placed those items in a trash bag and tossed it in a dumpster.
Evelyn put on the dress she had worn out of the house earlier that evening. She removed the sapphire ring and replaced it with her diamond ring. Evelyn couldn't bring herself to toss the sapphire ring. It was too beautiful. She placed it in her purse.
Evelyn closed the trunk and got back in the car. She checked her hair in the mirror. Satisfied she was herself again, Evelyn pulled out of the alley and drove the remaining three blocks to her home.
The Worthington's west coast home was fifteen thousand square feet in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in the 90201 zip code. As Evelyn pulled the Mercedes to a stop in the wide circular driveway, she was greeted by the tall Romanesque columns at the front of the sprawling home.
She walked up the steps as one of their staff got in the Mercedes and parked it in the five-car garage. Another of the Worthington's staff opened the front door and greeted her. Evelyn headed straight upstairs to the master suite.
The master suite had two rooms. A large bedroom with an ornate king-size bed was to the right. To the left was an equally large sitting area with two sofas. Evelyn passed through the sitting area to her walk-in closet, which was larger than a typical New York City apartment.
She undressed and put on a silk nightgown. Evelyn padded back into the sitting room and plopped down on one of the sofas. She tried not to think about Grant and Victoria back at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
Maybe Victoria would be the last affair? Evelyn figured Grant would be so shocked at three accidental deaths he would regain his senses. He would have to question what sort of sordid business the women from Premier Escort Services were involved in that three of them would end up dead.
Surely Grant would no longer want anything to do with Premier. He would never admit to using the service. He definitely would not admit to sleeping with some of the escorts.
Evelyn wouldn't let on about any of it. She would just suggest they take a long vacation. It would rekindle the magic. They could put a temporary unpleasant period of their lives behind them.
Was that possible? Could Evelyn go on as if nothing happened? His cheating? Her response?
Yes, she told herself. There was no other choice. She had done what needed to be done. Evelyn had long ago promised herself she would never let what happened to her mother happen to her.
All of her father's affairs with younger women destroyed their family. It destroyed her mother's life. And nearly destroyed Evelyn's life as well.
After her mother died from alcohol abuse, Evelyn worked two jobs to save for college. She refused to be a victim. At college, she met Grant. They fell in love. All her friends told her she could do better, but Grant made Evelyn happy.
When Grant inherited family money, the world was their oyster. Grant became the king of Hollywood, but they both had built the Worthington entertainment empire. In truth, it was as much Evelyn's as it was his.
She would not lose what they had built together. She wouldn't lose him. Gathering evidence for a divorce was a good cover story. But that is all it ever was.
Evelyn Worthington would never divorce her husband. For better or worse, until death do them part. But she couldn't allow Grant to continue with his affairs.
Like her father, Grant was weak around young and beautiful women. It was a disease. The only cure was to eliminate the temptation.
The burner cell phone rang. Evelyn picked it up.
“It's done,” Mercado said on the other end of the phone. “I'm texting you a picture as proof of death.”
“Good,” Evelyn said. “Now I need you to come to California. I have another job for you.”