Genuine Lies

wants me to write her authorized biography.”
    Brandon shrugged. His mother had already written two books about movie stars. Old people. Not neat ones like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Harrison Ford. “Okay.”
    “But it’s a little complicated. The woman—Eve Benedict— is a big star. I have some of her movies on tape.”
    The name meant nothing. He slurped chocolate. It left a frothy brown line above his lip. A young man’s first mustache. “Those dumb black and white ones?”
    “Some of them are black and white, not all of them. The thing is, to write the book, we’d have to go to California.”
    He looked up then, his eyes wary. “We have to move away?”
    “No.” Eyes sober, she put her hands on his shoulders. She understood how much home meant to him. He’d been uprooted enough in his ten years, and she would never do it tohim again. “No, we wouldn’t move, but we’d have to go there and stay for a few months.” “Like a visit?”
    “A long one. That’s why we have to think about it. You’d have to go to school there for a while, and I know you’re just getting used to being here. So it’s something we both have to think about.”
    “Why can’t she come here?”
    Julia smiled. “Because she’s the star and I’m not, kiddo. One of her stipulations is that I come to her and stay until the first draft is finished. I’m not sure how I feel about that.” She looked away, out the kitchen window. The snow had stopped, and night was falling. “California’s a long way from here.”
    “But we’d come back?”
    How like him to cut to the bottom line. “Yeah, we’d come back. This is home now. For keeps.” “Could we go to Disneyland?”
    Surprised and amused, she looked back at her son. “Sure.”
    “Can I meet Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
    With a laugh, Julia lowered her brow to him. “I don’t know. We could ask.”
    “Okay.” Satisfied, Brandon finished off his hot chocolate.

It was okay, Julia told herself as the plane made its final approach into LAX. The house had been closed up, the arrangements had been made. Her agent and Eve Benedict’s had phoned and faxed each other continually over the last three weeks. Right now Brandon was bouncing in his seat, impatient for the plane to land.
    There was nothing to worry about. But, of course, she knew that she made a science out of worrying. She was biting her nails again, and she was annoyed to have ruined her manicure—especially since she hated the whole process of manicures, the soaking and filing, the agony of indecision over the right shade of polish. Lucious Lilac or Fuchsia Delight. As usual, she’d settled on two coats of clear. Boring but noncommittal.
    She caught herself gnawing what was left of her thumbnail and linked her fingers tightly in her lap. Christ, now she was thinking of nail polish like wine. A flirty but substantial shade.
    Were they ever going to land?
    She pushed up the sleeves of her jacket, then pulled themdown again while Brandon stared wide-eyed through the window. At least she’d managed not to pass on her terror of flying.
    She let out a long, quiet breath, and her fingers relaxed fractionally as the plane touched down. You lived through another one, Jules, she told herself before she let her head fall back against the seat. Now all she had to do was survive the initial interview with Eve the Great, make a temporary home in the star’s guest house, see that Brandon adjusted to his new school, and earn a living.
    Not such a big deal, she thought, clipping open her compact to see if she had any color left in her cheeks. She touched up her lipstick, dusted her nose with powder. If there was one thing she was skilled at, it was disguising nerves. Eve Benedict would see nothing but confidence.
    As the plane glided to a stop at the gate, Julia took a Tums out of her jacket pocket. “Here we go, kid,” she said to Brandon with a wink. “Ready or not.”
    He hefted his gym bag, she her briefcase. Hands linked, they deplaned, and even before they stepped through the gate, a man in a dark uniform and cap approached. “Ms. Summers?”
    Julia drew Brandon a fraction closer. “Yes?”
    “I’m Lyle, Miss Benedict’s driver. I’ll take you directly to the estate. Your luggage will be delivered.”
    He was no more than thirty, Julia judged as she nodded. And built like a linebacker. There was enough swagger in his hips to make the discreet uniform a joke. He led them through the terminal while Brandon