Page 120 of Shallow

The last timeI stepped off an airplane into a crowded terminal, it was with a federal escort who maneuvered me around a savage mob of paparazzi. Now, I’m still with an escort, but I walk unnoticed through the hurried throngs of people in LAX rushing to catch their departingflights.

See, that’s the thing about Los Angeles. People here don’t get star struck. Celebrity sightings are as much of a normal occurrence as morning coffee or traffic jams on the 405. No one cares Shiloh West is weaving her way amongst them. To them, I’m just one in a crowd of amillion.

Funny. I remember someone always telling me I was always one inmillion.

By the time I make my way to baggage claim and haul my suitcases off the luggage carousel, I’m beyond exhausted and ready to collapse. The escort is long gone, so I pull my phone from my purse, I’m just about to call Dan Goldberg when a high-pitched squeal shatters myeardrums.

“Dollface!”

I glance up just in time as a tornado in diamonds and Gucci plows through a wall of travelers while two pissed off bodyguards chase after her. Lena leaps into my arms like some kind of glamorous kangaroo and wraps her arms around my neck until I can’tbreathe.

“Holy shit, how long have you been gone? A fuckingyear?”

In between gasping for air, I laugh. God, I’ve missedher.

“Close,” I say, hugging her back. “Twomonths.”

“Bullshit. It’s been at leasteight.”

“Let’s go with five and split it down themiddle.”

“Deal.” Leaning away from me, Lena tilts her head, circling a long fingernail in front of my face. “What’s this, honey? What’s going onhere?”

“What are you talkingabout?”

“You’ve had dick—and lots of it.” The look on her face is smug, but with the glee of a proudparent.

I stare at her in awe. “How the hell do you do that? Do you have some kind of sexual sixthsense?”

Tossing me a knowing wink, she nods to one of her abnormally large body guards then toward my bags. While her guards gather my belongings, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me through the airport exit toward a waiting limo parked by thecurb.

As the glass doors open, the dry California heat blasts me in the face, and I can’t help but notice the lack of humidity. Not a bead of sweat coats my lip, and the back of my shirt isn’t immediately soaked with stickyperspiration.

“Welcome home,” she says, squeezing myarm.

“Yeah,” I whisper, forcing a smile. “Home.”

* * *

Ichangedoutfits four times this morning before leaving the penthouse. Now, with two hours to kill before meeting with the Optimum Agency execs, I make a split-second decision. Giving Lena’s driver the address of an old friend, I close my eyes and wait for a visit ten monthsoverdue.

“We’re here, MissWest.”

Opening my eyes, I take in the curved brick partition and simple black sign that invites us to herhome.

Pierce Brothers Valhalla MemorialPark

Multicolored flowers are planted all along the length of the bricks. Just the sight of them makes me smile. They’reroses.

“Stop the car,” I choke out as the brick wall passes by mywindow.

“Ma’am?”

“Just stop thecar.”

My knees wobble as I stumble out and kneel over the flowerbed. It’s probably in poor taste and illegal as hell to do this, but I can’t stop myself. Leaning down, I pick a yellow one from the very back. It’s small and perfect. Just likeher.

Since the entrance to the cemetery is on the west end, we have to circle around to almost the complete opposite site of the property before we find the spot. My stomach knots as he pulls to the side of the road and parks thecar.