Page 17 of The Oscar Escape
He ignored the beige-colored patches and opened the letter.
The smoking stops now. Attach a nicotine patch to your arm, then wave to the people in the car parked behind you.
In a daze, he got out of the truck. With the box in his hands, he took a few steps toward a massive car and studied the vehicle—a sleek SUV limousine. He hadn’t even noticed it parked a few feet behind his truck. When had it pulled up? He’d barely processed that someone had been watching him when the door to the vehicle opened. Light from the SUV’s interior caught him off guard. He stumbled, blinked, then blinked again before his eyes adjusted.
He peered inside, and his jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter4
OSCAR
“When you saw that box, you thought for a second that you were holding a load of dog poop, didn’t you?”
“Inez?” Oscar stammered. He looked past his manager and was met with another surprise—a surprise wearing a red scarf.
“Oscar, darling,” Madelyn Malone crooned in a rich Eastern European accent, “you look like something the cat dragged in. Please, get in the car and have some sparkling water.”
“Madelyn?” he sputtered.
“I think we broke his brain,” Inez remarked.
His manager might be right. His head felt ready to explode.
“No,” Madelyn said with a wave of her hand. “Those greasy burgers, barely sleeping, and days spent chain smoking in his truck have left him groggy and disheveled.”
“I’ll say,” came another voice.
A third woman, previously hidden behind Madelyn, leaned forward.
“Mitzi Jones?” he stammered, taking her in.
These women were each a powerhouse in their field. He shifted his weight nervously. He’d barely slept in days. Going into a tête-à-tête with Madelyn, Mitzi, and Inez in his state wasn’t optimal, to say the least. But there was no going back. He had to face them. He attempted to gather his scattered thoughts. The women knew he’d been living out of his truck. They knew he hadn’t been taking care of himself. How did they get that information? Then again, he knew better than anyone that anything was possible when Madelyn Malone was in the picture.
“Are you going to stand there holding that box catching flies with your mouth, or will you join us for a chat?” Madelyn asked with a twist of a grin and waved him into the car.
He shook his head, trying to clear the mental cobwebs, then slipped inside the behemoth of a car. He set the box on the seat next to him. The women sat on one side, and he sat across from them like a man in front of a firing squad. It was an appropriate description for this group.
Inez handed him a green glass bottle. “Drink.”
He eyed the beverage. “Got anything stronger?”
“Not for you, Oscar. I have a feeling you’ll need to keep your wits about you this evening,” Madelyn replied smoothly.
He didn’t know what she meant by that, but Madelyn often spoke as if she’d already conferred with a crystal ball and could see the future. He had to pull himself together. He unscrewed the metal cap and downed the liquid in a few gulps. Relaxing into the seat, he rubbed the back of his wrist across his mouth. “What are you all doing here? And Inez, why didn’t you say you were parked behind me? We spoke minutes ago.”
A twist of a grin graced Madelyn’s lips. “You can blame me for that. I hope you don’t mind.”
What the hell did that mean?
He studied the women. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”
“I love the East Coast,” Madelyn began, not answering his question. “It’s one of my old stomping grounds. You know this part of the country, too, don’t you, Oscar?”
He tried to read her expression, but the matchmaker was a poker-faced pro. “I know a little bit about a lot of places,” he replied. Two could play at giving vague answers.
“We’re here because of a concert. I believe you know the artist who performed tonight. My nephew is her manager,” Mitzi Jones chimed.
These women were cooking up something.
