Hollywood Sinners

27

Las Vegas



Elisabeth Sabell fastened the clasp on her diamond necklace and took her position in the wings. Swathes of red curtain plunged all around like velvet waterfalls. She could hear the crowd taking their seats, the buzz of anticipation in the air. The spotlight awaited.

Lowering a hand to her stomach, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would have been like to be carrying Robert’s child. She would be eight weeks gone by now, they would be preparing to reveal their news to the world. But it hadn’t been. She was surprised by how deeply it had affected her–she never had herself down as the maternal type.

While she told herself it didn’t matter, that there had been nothing there in the first place to lose, it somehow felt portentous. Since they had returned from the South of France, an impossible distance had opened up between them.

Alberto Bellini was at her side.

‘You look ravishing.’ His voice was soft, dripping with intent.

Elisabeth ignored him, waiting for the director’s cue. She didn’t want to see Alberto right now–the performance demanded her full concentration.

‘What is it?’ she asked, refusing to meet his eye. ‘I only want to wish you luck.’ When he came closer she could smell his spicy cologne. ‘You know I care for you, Elisabeth.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I know.’

His eyes raked over her body, so like her mother’s. Clad in a sapphire shoulderless Dolce & Gabbana gown, she wore her golden hair loose. A string of jewels glinting at her throat was the only adornment. It could almost be thirty years before. It could almost be Linda.

His voice caught. ‘You are more exquisite by the day.’ ‘Thank you,’ she said tightly.

‘Will you meet me later? I wish to speak with you. It is important.’

Elisabeth received her thirty-second intro. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate.’ Alberto’s response was smooth. ‘I will be at the Oasis.’ He came so close that his lips grazed her ear. Elisabeth felt a hot chill. ‘I know you will change your mind.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ And she swept out to greet her adoring crowd.

Robert was as deep in conversation as he was in paperwork. Budgets, plans, details of sponsors and businesses littered his desk at the Orient. The Eastern Sky premiere, he promised Frank Bernstein, would be a superior show the likes of which had never been seen before.

Earlier that day he had met with organisers for an on-site consultation. They’d had big ideas; he had bigger. From high-impact lighting and set design, through a stunning red carpet backdrop to movie-themed hors d’oeuvres and customised menus, together they had it covered. In a city of gamblers, Robert was leaving nothing to chance.

‘What’s this crap about Elisabeth doin’ a show?’ asked Bernstein, reaching for his third consecutive cigar.

‘It’s under control.’

‘She oughtta be helpin’ you, not dancin’ around makin’ work for everyone.’

‘I’ve got it covered, Bernstein.’

Robert hoped the old man would leave it at that. He didn’t want to talk about his fiancée–his head was in business and he couldn’t indulge the disruption, even if it was related. He loved Elisabeth. It was just that it wasn’t the true, lasting, fundamental love he knew for a fact existed.

Bernstein puffed away thoughtfully. ‘You really want her?’ He raised his bristly eyebrows and Robert knew it was a loaded question.

‘Of course.’

‘Horseshit. You don’t think she’s that good.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Lie number one. Elisabeth was talented, but in his view her voice was average. It was her looks that made the performance special.

‘Well, between you an’ me, son, I don’t.’ Bernstein sat back in a leather recliner chair and put his feet on the desk. He knocked over an empty coffee cup, which Robert caught with one hand. ‘She’s better off takin’ over from me, runnin’ this town like it needs t’be run. Forget this parading heap of crap. And that goes for both of you.’ He gave Robert a meaningful look. ‘You see what I’m talkin’ about here?’

Robert saw only too well. Christ! Why couldn’t Bernstein take a goddamn step back? Ever since he’d introduced the two of them he’d been on at them about marriage, been set on tidying Elisabeth away for whatever reasons he was hiding. He was a bully, a tyrant, a dictator. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was Elisabeth’s father.

‘You gotta get a ring on her, St Louis. I’ve seen the kind of attention she gets. A thousand other guys would take her in a second.’

Robert slammed a palm down on the table. It hit the surface with such force it sent a flurry of papers to the floor. Bernstein didn’t flinch.

He spoke slowly. ‘Elisabeth’s and my relationship is ours alone. We will make our own decisions and nothing you say will interfere with or influence that. Tell me I’ve made myself clear.’

Bernstein chuckled infuriatingly. ‘You’re just like your father, kid. Too goddamn emotional.’ He blew out a ribbon of smoke.

Pushing his chair back, Robert paced over to the window. The lights on the Strip blinked and danced, all day, all night, always. He linked his hands behind his head. Bernstein spoke the truth–it was the right thing to do, for Elisabeth, for Bernstein and for Vegas. And, yes, even for him. Marriage would lay the past to rest, put an end to the time he had spent regretting a fact he could not change. He’d wasted enough of his life stalling, and in the hope of what? That she’d walk back into his life, say it had been a mistake? She wouldn’t dare.

Often he wished he had never met Lana Falcon, never bothered with any of it. Maybe if he’d stayed clear then none of the rest would have happened. Here he was now, prince of Sin City with a beautiful woman on his arm and all the money he could wish for. He clearly meant nothing to Lana. For her he’d given up everything and she’d dropped him like a stone.

The phone rang. It was his concierge. The distributors had arrived.

‘Send them up.’

Robert turned to Bernstein. ‘You want in?’ he asked. ‘We’re approaching the final decisions.’

Bernstein eyed him. ‘Ain’t that the truth, son.’