No Cure For Love Read Free Page A

It never failed to amaze her. Back in Yorkshire, where she had been born and raised, the standard fare was fish and chips – fries, as they were called here – with a side order of mushy peas and maybe, for the truly adventurous, a dollop of curry sauce on the chips. A salad usually consisted of one limp, translucent lettuce leaf with a thin slice of greenish yellow tomato squatting on top of it, and there was generally a bottle of salad cream nearby, too, if you really wanted it.
    Now, though, here she was in Hollywood trying to decide between a Swiss chard and leek frittata or Belgian endive and dandelion greens with Cabernet vinaigrette. Salad dressings alone must be a growth industry in California, she thought. If only her mother could see her now. Or her father. She could just picture him scanning the menu with a scowl on his face and finally commenting, ‘There’s nowt edible here,’ most likely within the hearing of the chef.
    Finally, she decided on the endive and dandelion with a glass of Evian water. Stuart went for rosemary chicken strips and fettucini with sun-dried tomato and garlic cream, but then he always did overeat. That was why he was twenty pounds overweight.
    ‘Going to Jack’s birthday party tonight?’ Stuart asked after Mark had disappeared with their order.
    Sarah sighed. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
    ‘That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up at eight. So where’s this letter you were telling me about on the way here?’
    Sarah opened her purse, took out the letter and handed it to him. ‘It’s probably nothing, really,’ she said. ‘I just . . .’
    Stuart pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and frowned as he read.
    ‘Hmm,’ he said, putting it back in the envelope. ‘I’ve seen worse. I’d say the real mystery is why you haven’t had anything like this before now.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Stuart waved the envelope. ‘This kind of thing. It’s all over the place in this business. Occupational hazard. Everybody gets them. Fuck’s sake, Sarah, you’re a beautiful woman. You’re in the public eye. Hardly surprising some fucking wacko has decided he’s in love with you, excuse my French.’
    ‘But what should I do?’ Sarah asked. ‘Should I go to the police?’
    ‘I can’t see that they could do very much.’
    ‘It’s the third,’ Sarah admitted.
    Stuart raised his eyebrows. ‘Even so. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Believe me, I’ve seen dozens of these things, much worse than this. These guys are usually so sick all they can do is write letters. If he ever met you face to face he’d probably crap his pants if he didn’t come in his shorts first.’
    ‘Stuart, you’re disgusting.’
    ‘I know. But you still love me, don’t you, sweetheart?’
    ‘I’ve heard of cases where they turn violent,’ Sarah said. ‘Rebecca Shaeffer. Didn’t she get shot by someone who wrote letters to her? And what about that man who shot Reagan to impress Jodie Foster?’
    ‘Hey, look, kid, we’re talking about serious wackos there. This guy, he’s just . . . You’ve only got to read the letter.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, he’s even fairly literate, for a start. Most of the guys who write these things don’t know how to spell or put a sentence together. What’s with this “Little Star” business, anyway? Someone been listening to Little Anthony and the Imperials?’
    Sarah shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ But even as she spoke, a faint, distant bell rang deep in the darkest part of her memory, sounding a warning.
    ‘Sure it doesn’t mean anything to you?’
    ‘No. I don’t think so.’
    ‘And he calls you Sally, too.’
    ‘Yes. But he could have got that from the TV Guide interview. Or maybe Entertainment Tonight .’
    ‘I guess so. That was a great feature on ET , by the way. Should up your profile a few notches.’
    They kept quiet as Mark delivered their food. It looked very pretty – nicely