Crazy For You Read online

  Crazy For You

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part II

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Part III

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Part IV

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  CRAZY FOR YOU

  by

  Sandra Edwards

  ***

  Crazy For You

  Sandra Edwards

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2010 Sandra Edwards

  Discover other titles by Sandra Edwards at Smashwords.com and www.SandraWrites.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  ***

  A rags to riches tale set against the backdrop of the 80s, movie stars, and rock-n-roll.

  ***

  Prologue

  1988

  New York City

  The interview wasn’t going well. Not from Roxanne’s point of view. She knew Lauren Weber’s reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all. This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she’d ever been talked into this.

  If Lauren’s guest had anything to hide, she had a way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet and innocent.

  This is all Walt’s fault. Roxanne’s publicist had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie. Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.

  Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against her better judgment, she’d agreed to let America’s favorite talk show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne Simon.

  “What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?” Lauren’s questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.

  She didn’t falter at the mention of the ever-popular rock band. “Well…” Roxanne said, “I don’t know what I could tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Isn’t it true that you and your sister Candy knew them when they were nobody?”

  “I’ve never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody.”

  “Isn’t Frank Garrett the father of your son?”

  The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and whispers.

  Roxanne laughed skeptically. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, his name is Frankie.”

  “Frank is my father’s name,” Roxanne said with all the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under her belt.

  Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn’t falling for that. Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.

  “Your latest movie,” Lauren said, changing the subject, “Bad Company was released last week and it’s doing well at the box office.” She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for applause. “And rumor has it that it’ll be nominated for multiple Academy Awards.”

  “Well…I think it’s a little early to be supposing about the Oscars,” Roxanne declared.

  “You’re no stranger to the Oscars,” Lauren said. “You’ve won awards before. Aren’t you getting used to collecting them by now?”

  “I’ll never get so used to it that I’ll take something like that for granted,” Roxanne said meekly of the Oscars. “I’m always grateful for any recognition of my work.”

  Roxanne was surprised at how cool she’d managed to remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone. Territory known for bringing out Roxanne’s weaknesses.

  “What’s next?” Lauren’s voice remained casual.

  “A vacation,” Roxanne said, and dropped it at that. The time had not come for the public to know she’d started working on her autobiography.

  “Devoting some time to your son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he here with you?”

  Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she wouldn’t lie. In the past, her lies had had a way of biting her on the butt. “Yes, he is.”

  “Could we bring him out?”

  Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of the child had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine, but America was going to get a look at him now.

  If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to Frank. On the other hand, if she did let him come out, then Frank might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter. Refusing to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.

  “If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But Ms. Weber…please understand—” Her tone issued an unmistakable warning. “I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”

  That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.

  Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been placed between the talk show host and her guest.

  Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is Ms. Weber. She wants to talk to you.”

  Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.

  “Frankie...” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”

  Frankie nodded.

  Lauren pointed to the right. “Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want.”

  Frankie peered at the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

  Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?” She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.

  The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s
straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled Roxanne’s unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble his mother at all.

  After filming the show, Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been thinking.

  Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have chosen to never set foot in the state again. But Jerry, her psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an extended stay.

  Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from getting a firsthand look at him, she had to try.

  Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed her clothes inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”

  “They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”

  “Well, threaten them then.” She cradled the receiver in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented and involving Frank, wreaked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated with Simon Productions. Ever again.”

  “Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were kind, and draped in a sympathetic tone, but they missed the mark. “It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks...?” Nothing could lessen that blow. “Why so soon?”

  “Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole thing blow over.”

  Blow up was more like it. “Okay,” Roxanne agreed in a defeated tone. She slammed the phone down, but continued to stare at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down. “Bitch.”

  A Few Days Later

  Florida

  Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed down the highway. With the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her face.

  Approaching Tampa, she checked the radio to see if she could pick up Y-95. The station had been a favorite of hers. After a few twists of the dial, the hard-rocking sounds of J Geils poured out from the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their wit about how much Love Stinks, she said softly, “Boy, does it ever.”

  Ten minutes later, she passed the Welcome to Tampa sign, stirring a familiar excitement within her. Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.

  After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back to Florida, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was going to magically appear from out of nowhere that she bought the house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out, even though she’d never set foot in the place.

  At the intersection of Busch and Armenia, Roxanne waited for the traffic light to turn green. No matter how good coming home felt, it had little effect on her mounting dread. If Frank saw that show, or heard about it, he’d find her no matter where she was. She could only hope this would be the last place he’d look.

  Roxanne pulled her car into the semicircle driveway and parked behind Candy’s black Targa. She climbed out, and neither the humidity nor the heat dissuaded her as she went to the passenger side and gathered her sleeping son in her arms.

  Heading toward the front door of the two-story wood-trimmed house, she found it even more appealing than she had when she’d seen it in the photographs. In person, it looked even more inviting nestled amid tropical trees and plants.

  At the door, she was unable to get to her keys and leaned on the doorbell.

  The door opened promptly. “Hi, Jameson.” She felt a measure of comfort seeing half the husband-and-wife team that’d been in her employ since right after Frankie’s birth.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Roxanne.” Jameson’s accent suggested that he knew how to do things properly. And as far as Roxanne could see, he did. “Shall I take him?”

  “Yes, please.” She passed Frankie off to him. “Have Rose put him to bed,” she said of Jameson’s wife.

  “Ms. Candy is out by the pool.”

  “Thanks.” She gave Jameson a smile, then darted through the house and out into the backyard.

  Candy was bikini-clad and laid out on a poolside lounge chair, soaking up the sun. The tropical heat washed over Roxanne in a thick wave of sweltering moisture as she dropped into a nearby chair. She’d almost forgotten how unpleasant Florida’s humidity could be. Candy didn’t move. Roxanne considered that she might be sleeping and cleared her throat.

  Candy’s eyes opened behind her Sun Clouds. After a moment, she asked, “How’d the interview go?”

  An unpleasant feeling devoured Roxanne. Grudgingly, she admitted, “Not well.”

  “So what happened?”

  “All she wanted to talk about was Garrett-Hollander.” Roxanne tried to show as little emotion as possible, even to Candy.

  Candy tipped up her sunglasses and propped them on her forehead. “That was the subject?”

  In the background, one of Garrett-Hollander’s songs played on the radio sitting on the ground at Candy’s side. Since Roxanne’s mysterious departure from Frank’s life five years ago, he’d written many songs about her. Some indicated his hatred for her, while others simply begged her to come back. There were also songs alleging that she’d been a hooker. It was one of those songs that played on Candy’s radio now.

  …I played the fool

  I trusted her

  But she let me down

  Cause while I was away

  Roxanne was out selling herself

  All over town…

  “I’m surprised she didn’t ask me about that damn song.” Roxanne hated that song and she cursed Frank for writing it. To hear him tell it, she’d been out prostituting herself just because she could. It hadn’t been that way at all and it pissed her off that Frank would suggest as much.

  “So tell me what happened?” Candy flashed Roxanne an eager smile. She loved gossip. Especially when it involved the two of them.

  “Well, to make a long story short—” Roxanne hesitated. “She asked me point blank if Frank Garrett was the father of my son.”

  “No...” Candy’s disbelief glowed in her emerald eyes, brightening them. “What’d you say?”

  “I denied it, of course. But the bitch wouldn’t give up.” She paused long enough to get a hold of her frustration. “She even conned me into bringing Frankie out on the set.”

  “During taping?” Candy’s voice shook.

  “Oh, yes. And she commented on the resemblance too.” Roxanne reacted like an injured puppy. “And she wasn’t talking about me and Frankie.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “If he sees that show…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off as she thought about Frank. Quickly though, she regained her composure and added, “I hate to think of the consequences.”

  “Frank’s in his own little world,” Candy said. “The last thing he’s got time for is to keep up with you.”

  “Yeah, right.” Roxanne’s disbelief escaped in her laughter.

  Candy didn’t speak right away. The silence was deafening. “Did you know their first album was a flop?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “When their second album came out, it did so well that people went out and bought the first one.”

  “They have two albums?” Roxanne asked innocently.

  Candy raked an admonishing glare over Roxanne. “They have three, which is my point exactly.”
It was like she knew Roxanne had chosen to play dumb. Uh oh. That meant the lecture was coming. “It hasn’t been your concern to keep up with him, so why should he have gone to so much trouble to keep up with you?”

  “Okay, so maybe you’re right.” Roxanne wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight. “But if what you say is true…then why do you know so much about them?”

  Candy ignored Roxanne. “You do have reason to be concerned though.”

  “How so?”

  “If Frank sees that show...you’re dead meat.” She slid her sunglasses back over her eyes and sank down into the lounge chair.

  “That’s very comforting, Can…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. Nothing good could come from that.

  “Face the facts,” Candy said, “Frankie is a walking, talking replica of Frank.” Her unwelcome words surrounded Roxanne like a fine mist. “I know you had your reasons for running away from him.” Compassion filled her tone, yet if offered little comfort. “But you better realize…it just might be time to pay the piper.”