Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,32
yourself.
Chapter 11
Gemma
I arrive at the address to find a scene that’s not much different from the one that greeted Dylan and I on the morning he stayed over. Cars line the road, closely-parked right where Ramona is supposed to be, and there are a bunch of sketchy-looking guys standing around making small talk, their eyes occasionally flickering toward the gates of the address.
I roll my car past them, trying to figure out a way of getting through. ‘The abandoned mother and the homewrecker’ – if they saw me visiting Ramona it would be a dynamite story for them. I’d better be careful. I park up some way down the road and look back at the cluster of paparazzi.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, as I look around for some other way to get to the house. After walking a few steps I notice an alleyway that leads around to the back of someone else’s yard – it wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve done in the past few weeks, and if I hold on to my questions any longer they’re going to explode inside of me.
I keep my eyes on the photographers and dart into the alleyway, glancing in all directions as I take a sharp turn and start jogging across somebody else’s well-preserved lawn. After a few minutes I reach a fence – Ramona’s fence. I see something moving between the wooden panels and lean in close. It’s a kid. I can’t tell, but it has to be Ramona’s - Dylan’s.
“Psst!” I say, waving over the top of the fence as I angle my head to look between the panels. “Hey kid! Over here!”
He turns and sees my hand. I see him stiffen as he runs through all the procedures he has for dealing with strangers – I’m hoping that none of them involve calling the police. After a few more seconds of frantic waving, and smiling like a Disneyworld employee, the kid turns back to the house and runs.
“Mom!” he screams, as he leaps up the steps and enters the house. “Mom!”
I jerk my head wildly as I try to catch sight of the door between the thin gaps, and can just about make out the sight of the dark-haired woman stamping out into her yard, the kid pointing out my position behind the fence.
“Go away!” she says. “This is private property! I’m calling the cops right now.” She waves her phone threateningly. “Leave my kid out of this. Don’t you people know where to draw the line?”
“Wait! I’m not a photographer! Please, I just want to talk!”
She stops screaming when she hears my voice, pocketing the phone and slowly walking towards the fence. I angle my head so she can see as much of my face as possible.
“Who are you?”
“I work with Dylan. I need to find him. I just want to talk with you. He’s…he’s gone.”
She walks past me, and I look along the fence. A second later, part of it swings open, and I jog towards the entrance. She’s a good-looking woman. Dark-haired and tanned. She has an earthy, effortless beauty, and I begin to rethink the possibility of Dylan being involved with her – she’s definitely got what a guy like Dylan would like.
“Ramona?” I say, suddenly realizing that I’m panting from the excitement and jogging.
She nods.
“I’m Gemma. I’m Dylan’s—”
“Babysitter,” she interjects, smiling. “Yeah, he told me all about you. Come in quick, before those rats outside see you. Sorry for the paranoia.”
A few minutes later I’m sitting in front of the glass doors, sipping espresso with Ramona, as the kid – whose name I find out is Ben – kicks a soccer ball energetically around the yard.
“Cute kid,” I say.
“Yeah,” Ramona says, wistfully, “cute and a troublemaker – like most men in my life.”
I turn to look at her over my coffee cup, before putting it down slowly and figuring out where to start.
“Is he…” I start, before trailing off. I suddenly feel bad, intruding on her life like this and digging for secrets – no better than the paparazzi outside.
“Dylan’s?” she says, a small smile showing that she expects to talk about it, and isn’t hiding. “It’s a long story.”
I sip my coffee again, saying nothing. Ramona knows I want to hear it. After a few seconds she sighs a little and looks out over the yard towards Ben again.
“I met Dylan – and Cal – pretty much right after they came to LA. They went way back; growing up together in