Doll Face(18)
“I know. I'm just so fucking tired.” Turner runs his hands over his face again and takes a deep breath. “Anyway, that's why I wanted to look at this house. I'm planning for the future.” Ronnie takes the phone from his friend and raises his eyebrows as he stares at the screen.
“This is a big ass house, Turner. I thought you said we were all moving into suburbia together. Remember the speech? No beige, no picket fences, and no fucking golden retrievers. This is a really expensive place. I mean, this is a mansion, Turner.”
“Yeah. It's a mansion that also happens to qualify as a house which means I only need to put twenty percent down and pass a fucking credit check. Milo, how much money have we made in the last few months?” Their manager coughs and squirms a little, mumbling something like it's complicated under his breath. “Exactly. The answer to that shit is a lot, Ronnie. More than we ever could've dreamed of back in the day.” Turner grabs the phone back and spins it in a circle. “That's not about to end anytime soon. Do you know how popular we are now?”
“As opposed to what?” Ronnie asks, but he looks a little pale.
“As opposed to two days ago.” Turner moves past Ronnie and starts off towards the entrance, pausing near the front doors as if to say what the fuck are you waiting for. Ronnie looks down at me, and I shrug. He takes the wheelchair and points it towards Turner, dragging Milo and Jesse along behind us.
Everything looks okay through the glass doors. I see sun drenched pavement and a small garden area with four rounded hedges and a smattering of flowers. No crowds. We follow Turner out the front and pause at the edge of the sidewalk while he slips his fingers back in his pockets and chuckles under his breath.
Holy shit.
There are police everywhere doing crowd control, keeping back a mass of people and signs, candles and flowers, away from the entrance of the hospital. They stretch out to either side of us and down the block. Across several lanes of traffic, peering at us through the glittering mechanical river of vehicles that flows in an unending stream, there's even more of them.
“You have got to be motherfucking shitting on me,” Ronnie whispers as the gentle murmur of voices comes to a screeching halt. It's like the crowd's a collective whole, a single entity – just like it is during a concert – and those beady little eyes have just landed on us.
Within five seconds, the peaceful mass of people turns into a shouting, screaming wave of human desperation and driving hunger. Their voices rise up and consume us, spearing straight through my skull and out the other side.
“This,” Turner says, the sound of his voice hardly audible over the screeching hordes, like an army of demons with twisted souls and gaping maws, white-white teeth, and a path to hell paved with good intentions. “This is what immortality looks like.”
Turner Campbell, God bless your heart, I think as the real estate agent grins at us with huge, white teeth. She's wearing a suit that costs more than the rental car we just drove here in, and sweat is pouring down the sides of her face like water. I'm going to take a wild guess here and say it's not just the weather that's got her panties in a bunch.
“I am a huge fan,” she whispers¸ voice cracking a bit as Turner lifts his shades and frowns at the multi-million dollar piece of property in front of us like it's not at all impressive. I can't even believe I'm standing here. I run my tongue over my lip and try to pay attention to the real estate agent and her two assistants. I think her name's Camby or something like that, but I didn't catch the names of the men behind her. “And let me just say, that I am so sorry for what happened to Naomi.” Turner cringes, but he manages to keep that acidic tongue of his in check.
Almost.
“Yeah, well, better help us buy a house and quick. I'm not leaving her at that hospital a day longer than necessary.” Turner starts off towards the front doors, forcing Camby to scramble after him. I start to push Lola's wheelchair after them, but she waves her hand dismissively.
“Go,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her beautiful blue eyes put the California Coast to shame. “The view is to fucking die for, and I'd rather you kept Turner from making a complete ass out of himself than spent your time wheeling my handicapped ass around.”
“Thank you, babe,” I whisper, leaning down to press a kiss to her head. I spare a quick glance for our new security guards. Milo says that this time, he's the one that picked them out, but in this private slice of luxury, I'm sure Lola's safe whether these guys are good or not. We had to drive through two private gates to get in here and the entire property is surrounded by a stone fence and lush foliage that hides the house from the world. Welcome to Beverly Hills, bitches.