Free Sex and Violence in Hollywood by Ray Garton Page B

shook his head, rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”
    “Rain seduced him. And when he wouldn’t give her money, she cried rape. Poor Taylor. He wasn’t such a bad guy. Now he’s in prison, probably with some big guy’s bitch.”
    The image terrified Adam, made him feel nauseated. But it confused him, too. He could not understand Gwen’s attitude toward what had happened. “Gwen, the man fucked your twelve-year-old daughter!”
    “I think everyone will fuck her eventually. Probably before she’s twenty. You didn’t see her when she was twelve, Adam. She developed early. Looked like an expensive whore before she was thirteen.”
    “But this guy, your boyfriend, he knew she was twelve, right?”
    Gwen reached over to stub out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table. Instead, she dropped it in when she heard Michael’s voice.
    “Who’s been smoking in here, Goddamnit?”
    Adam turned to see his dad standing in the kitchen with his attorney, Roger Menkin. Rog was Michael’s age and short, midway between five and six feet. He tried to make up for his lack of height with clothes and jewelry. One of Michael’s oldest friends, he had been his attorney long before Michael had become a success and amassed an army of attorneys. A freshly-lit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.
    “Oh, shit,” Gwen breathed as Michael came toward the breakfast nook. Rog stayed by the kitchen doorway.
    “How many times have I gotta tell you, Gwen?” he said angrily. “This is a non-smoking family. We’ve all gotta die, but nobody in the Julian family’s gonna do it because their lungs don’t work or they’ve got cancer.” He reached down and stubbed out the butt in the ashtray.
    Gwen stood and went to him, kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I was being naughty.” She reached down and squeezed his ass. “What brings you home so early?”
    He softened quickly, put his arms around her and smiled. “My baby’s health, that’s what,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t want anything to happen to your lungs. You know how much I love your...lungs.” They laughed together.
    Chuckling, Rog said, “Am I going to be able to get you out of here, Mike?”
    “Yeah, I’ve gotta go. I just came to pick up some stuff I left in the office.” He kissed her again and started to leave, but turned to Adam. “Hey, what about July Fourth? We need to know how many to plan for. You coming? Gonna bring anybody?”
    Adam cringed inside at the thought of a week on the yacht with his dad. Michael Julian went out on his yacht occasionally throughout the year, usually with assorted industry types. But every year on Independence Day, he took his family out for the week. It had been fun when Adam was a kid. Sometimes they went to Mexico, or north up the California coast to Oregon, Washington. On the night of the Fourth, Michael always shot off some elaborate fireworks. But as Adam grew older, the fighting between his parents had grown worse, and being with them for a week became less enjoyable every year. He had stopped going after his mom died, and now the very sight of Money Shot, as Michael had christened the yacht, depressed him.
    But it might be fun if Alyssa were with him. He liked the idea, but would have to decide if he was ready to expose her to his dad yet.
    “Yeah, I might go,” Adam said with a nod.
    “Might? What, you gonna check with your personal assistant? See what your schedule’s like?” Michael guffawed. “Okay, Adam, you have your people talk to my people. But do it by tomorrow, Goddamnit.” He kissed Gwen again, then left the breakfast nook saying, “I’m out of here.” Rog followed him out of the kitchen, and his cigarette trailed a ribbon of smoke.
    Gwen sighed. “I suppose I should try to accomplish something today.” She stood, picked up the coffee mug, and winked at Adam. “See you later.”
    After she was gone, Adam picked at his breakfast for a while