Genuine Lies Read Free Page B

dripping parka—he was much quicker about such things than she—and was reaching for a cookie from the wicker basket set out on the kitchen counter. His hair was wet, and was dark, deer-hide blond like hers. Again, like his mother, he was small in stature, something she knew bothered him a great deal. He had a lean little face that had shed its baby fat early. A stubborn chin—again his mother’s son. But his eyes, unlike her cool gray, were a rich brandy brown. His only apparent legacy from his father.
    “Two,” she said automatically. “Dinner’s in a couple of hours.”
    Brandon bit the head off a reindeer and wondered how soon he could talk her into letting him open a present. He could smell the spaghetti sauce that was bubbling on the stove. The rich, tangy scent pleased him, almost as much as it pleased him to lick the colored sugar from his lips. They
always
had spaghetti on Christmas Eve. Because it was his favorite.
    This year they would have Christmas in their new house, but he knew exactly what would happen, and when. They would have dinner—in the dining room because tonight was special—then they would do the dishes. His mother would put music on, and they would play games in front of the fire. Later they would take turns filling the stockings.
    He knew there wasn’t a real Santa Claus, and it didn’t bother him very much. It was fun to pretend to
be
Santa. By the time the stockings were filled, he would have talked his mother into letting him open a present. He knew just the one he wanted tonight. The one that was wrapped in silver and green paper, and rattled. He desperately hoped it was an Erector set.
    He began to dream of the morning when he would wake his mother before the sun came out. How they would come downstairs, turn on the tree lights, put on the music, and open presents.
    “It’s an awful long time till morning,” he began when sheset the mug of chocolate on the counter. “Maybe we could open all our presents tonight. Lots of people do, then you don’t have to get up so early.”
    “Oh, I don’t mind getting up early.” Julia leaned her elbows on the counter and smiled at him. It was a sharp, challenging smile. The game, they both knew, was on. “But if you’d rather, you can sleep late, and we’ll open presents at noon.”
    “It’s better when it’s dark. It’s getting dark now.”
    “So it is.” Reaching over, she brushed the hair away from his eyes. “I love you, Brandon.”
    He shifted in his seat. It wasn’t the way the game was played. “Okay.”
    She had to laugh. Skirting the counter, she took the stool beside his, wrapped her stocking feet around the rungs. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. I got a call from Ann a little while ago.”
    Brandon knew Ann was his mother’s agent, and that the talk would be about work. “Are you going on tour again?”
    “No. Not right now. It’s about a new book. There’s a woman in California, a very big star, who 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