Free Diva's Last Curtain Call by Angela Henry Page A

coffee.
    “Since when was Vivianne ever a mother to me? Hell, just ’cause she’s dead don’t suddenly make her mother of the year. You sure weren’t talking that mother shit when she was alive and well,” said Mr. Dreads, aka Kurt.
    My ears perked up big-time. Were they talking about Vivianne DeArmond? Could Kurt be Vivianne’s son? I stole a glance and saw that Kurt’s pale face was grim and unsmiling. He had gray eyes and freckles ran rampant across his face. I couldn’t see much of Vivianne DeArmond in him at all.
    “Kurt, honey, don’t cuss at your father,” said the blond woman, rubbing Kurt’s arm. The woman was attractive. Her strong jawline and high wide forehead kept her from being pretty. But too much time spent in the sun, heavy makeup and over-bleached hair made her look hard, as well. The plunging neckline of her purple top revealed cleavage that was way too deep and her breasts in general had the big and unnaturally round look of surgical enhancement. Why any woman would want boobs bigger than her head was beyond me. She smiled at Kurt and it softened her face, but not much.
    “Then tell him to stop picking on me,” Kurt said, jabbing a finger in his father’s direction. “Damn, I just got out of rehab last month. I’m finished with alcohol. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
    Kurt’s father laughed. It was a loud angry snort that didn’t have much to do with being amused.
    “I’ve heard all this before, remember? The first time around it was cocaine. Then you moved on to prescription painkillers, this last time it was alcohol. What’s it gonna be next, Kurt, huh? I bet if you could mainline Kool-Aid you’d do that, too, wouldn’t you?”
    “Cliff, please,” pleaded the blonde in a whisper. She looked around, aware that they were causing a scene. “Can’t you see how hard he’s trying? Leave him alone.”
    “Stay out of this, Stephanie. You’re part of his whole problem. You baby him too much. Twenty-five years old and never had to work hard a day in his life. I get him jobs and he messes them up then expects me to hand out money to him like it grows on trees in the backyard—”
    “Aw, forget it,” Kurt said, cutting him off. “I don’t need this bullshit.” He slid out of the booth. “Soon as the funeral’s over I’m going back to L.A. and you won’t have to worry about me asking your ass for another dime ever again.” He stalked toward the door, but his father wasn’t finished yet.
    “I’ll believe that the day I sprout wings and fly to the moon!” Kurt turned and flipped his father the finger before walking out the door. Cliff leapt out of the booth to follow him. Stephanie quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into the booth. He angrily slapped her hands away.
    Everybody in the restaurant stopped eating and stared at Cliff as though he had, in fact, sprouted wings, and Stephanie, who I assumed must be his wife, glared at him as if she wished he would indeed fly away.
    “Was that really necessary? Why do you have to be such a bully?” Stephanie said. I watched as she got up and hurried after Kurt. I was doubtful she’d catch up to him in her tight white miniskirt and four-inch gold pumps.
    I was looking out the window trying to see them when the server set my food in front of me. By the time I’d salted my fries and taken the first bite of my tuna melt, I glanced out the window again and saw Stephanie and Kurt talking. Cliff was watching, too, and made a disgusted noise as she slipped something into Kurt’s hand on the sly. The way Kurt’s face lit up, I knew it was money. He gave her peck on the cheek and then sprinted across the street. Seconds later, he was out of sight, and Stephanie came back into the restaurant. She’d barely sat down before Cliff starting bitching.
    “How in the hell is that boy supposed to learn any responsibility when you keep babying him?” Cliff face was bright red and I feared for his blood