Marg put the dead cigarette between her lips again. “It’d be real nice if you respected Lee’s private love life and stuck to a story about how much his family supports him. That’s why we invited you here. That’s all we came here for—to buck up little Lee.”
At the mention of the lover, Cassie had wandered over. Her face was mottled. Boy, was Mama going to get an earful from this daughter later.
Dawn thought how she’d react in the same situation, chiding a mother who’d done wrong. But she couldn’t dredge up a connecting emotion. It sent a split of pain through her chest, reminding her of why she’d never wanted to need a mom anyway.
Swallowing away the ache, Dawn joined the daughters in watching Coral adjust her blouse, then run a finger around her mouth to absently clear away stray lipstick.
“So, now that we’re done here…” Marg said, changing the subject. “You know any hot spots?”
Hot spots? Was she kidding? She was asking about places to party? Wow, Marg was definitely in mourning.
“What kind of action are you looking for?” Dawn asked.
“Like places the celebrities hang out.”
Star screwing. God. Dawn wanted to tell Marg the reality of Tinseltown: it was all fake. From the limos driving bankrupt stars around, to the glossy magazines that crowed about family-oriented producers who held orgies in their second, off-limits mansions, Hollywood was a lie. Not even Marg would be able to find the fantasy of it if she knew everything.
“Marg,” Cassie said.
The woman held up her ciggie as she spread her hands. “You don’t wanna know, too?”
Her sister presented her back and left. Marg didn’t seem to care much as she turned to Dawn again.
“The thing is,” Dawn began, “once the public knows where the celebrities hang out, they kind of never go there again. Most of the really big stars enjoy their privacy, unless they’re in the mood for PR.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Where do they show up?”
Before Dawn could answer, she was saved by what looked to be a boy in a back brace dressed in a striped shirt and jeans. He’d pulled a baseball cap down so low his face was barely visible. Just above the bill, the sign of the cross blazed in full glory. He was carrying a bucket and handing out candy bars attached to small Bibles.
“Peace and love,” Kiko was saying in a modulated, higher kid voice as he gave each Tomlinson a gift, holding their hands in the process. He was so anxious to get readings this time out that he’d sacrificed the patch of hair beneath his lower lip, shaving it off so he would look years younger.
Lingering over every touch, especially Coral’s, Kiko made his rounds, then disappeared behind the motel. He’d meet the team at the SUV.
“They let their kids Bible-thump out here without parents around?” Marg asked, staring at the tiny book in her hand.
Dawn shrugged. “L.A. kids get geriatric when they’re, like, five.”
The other woman shook her head. “Poor little cripple boy. He doesn’t even have a good mom.”
Minutes later, the photo session was completed, but Breisi attempted to wheedle a few more rounds of question-and-answer from the Tomlinsons. Lane just gave her a knowing grin, then personally escorted his mother back to the room. The rest of the family trailed behind.
Ultimately, Lane was the last one in and, as he closed the door behind them all, Dawn caught a sincere glint of sadness in his gaze. It struck her that his emotion seemed much less dramatic than his own mother’s.
Wasting no time, Breisi and Dawn rushed down the street to the SUV, where Kiko had already crawled into the backseat. Wasn’t he even going to call shotgun?
The women climbed in, too, locking the doors. Breisi flicked on a dashboard switch that allowed The Voice to listen in from wherever he might be.
Even though he wasn’t here, his presence felt real and solid, a perpetual thrum in Dawn’s body.
“What did you get?” Breisi asked Kiko.
The psychic didn’t answer, not verbally anyway. Instead, he reached out to Dawn. She was wearing one of Frank’s sleeveless T’s under her blouse, and she knew exactly what he wanted to do.
Slipping the white blouse off of her shoulder, she allowed him to touch the undershirt, allowed him to close his eyes and summon whatever nightmares Frank might be having today.
But when Kiko’s mouth twitched, she knew it was out of frustration. He wasn’t getting anything, and that meant…
“No readings from the Tomlinsons,” she said.
Almost out of desperation, he darted his hand out to touch the shirt again, but Dawn grabbed his wrist.
“I just need to concentrate more,” he said, voice strangled. “Please.”
“Kiko,” Breisi said, taking his arm from Dawn. “Don’t worry. It’ll all come back.”
“When? My talents are as useless as—”
He stopped, grabbed his arm from Breisi, and fell back to the seat, where he stared out the window.
Dawn could’ve finished his sentence for him. His talents were as useless as his body.