From Cape Town with Love Read Online Free PDF

trying to reach me, too; I wished I could see the look on his face. “We’d given up on you! Come to our hotel. We’re leaving for an orphanage in the township in two hours. Sofia will be glad. You’ll see our white van outside the lobby.”
    She never asked my rate, not that it probably mattered to her.
    An orphanage would be the perfect reality check, I realized. Instant perspective.
    I couldn’t wait to get back to work in Cape Town.

    â€œWhat is it with adopting these African babies?” Len said when I clicked to his call. “Do they poop Botox, or what?” Rachel Wentz must have mentioned the orphanage to Len, because I wouldn’t have. Any time I spend with a client is their own business.
    â€œWhat is it with folks who don’t want
any
kids, but feel free to judge people who do?” I said, a bit sharply. “Orphans need homes.”
    â€œTen, you’re so damn naive. Sofia Maitlin doesn’t do anything unless it’s been plotted by three publicists, two managers, an agent, and a partridge in a pear tree. Expect a red carpet at the orphanage door—this is probably her new Oscar campaign. And gee, what a coincidence, Rachel Wentz is there. This is disgusting. That kid will need therapy.”
    Len’s cynicism was hard to stomach first thing in the morning.
    â€œAt least he’ll be rich enough to pay for it,” I said. “I say live and let live.”
    â€œYeah, we’ll see. Hey, I almost forgot: What about April? How’d it go?”
    I love you, Alice.
    â€œDidn’t.”
    There was a long silence on the other end. Len had had a minor nervous breakdown during his divorce, although I was one of only two people who knew. I’d found him sobbing under his desk one day, but we never talked about that. Only two months before, I’d taken April by his office to meet him—the first time I’d brought a date out into the light. Len had beamed at me like a proud father, gushing about how good April was for me.
    â€œShit. I’m really sorry,” Len said. “You know I mean that.”
    â€œThanks. Next subject.”
    â€œTen, I’ve been there. Your guts just got stomped to dogshit, and you need a boost. Boy, do I get that head space.”
    â€œYou stink at pep talks. Move on.”
    Len pressed on with his true agenda: “. . . but no matter what, do
not
bump uglies with the boss—Sofia Maitlin is very engaged. To be honest, too many people know about the Lynda Jewell thing. You get tied to Maitlin, you’re the
Enquirer’s
poster boy for a year.”
    â€œFuck you very much, Len.”
    â€œTennyson, promise me you will not screw Sofia Maitlin.”
    Len only called me Tennyson as my friend, not my agent. He’d watched me flush my career away once. He knew I had sex with every woman who came near me, mostly because I could. The grieving woman I’d coaxed into bed in L.A. soon after April cut me loose was engaged, too. I was still a whore, whether or not I charged money. April had just helped me forget for a while.
    And Sofia Maitlin was one of the most beautiful women in the world.
    â€œI promise you,” I told Len, “nobody will know if I fuck Sofia Maitlin. Especially you.”
    â€œTen, this isn’t a joke—”
    I hung up, realizing the harsh truth: I could easily start working day and night again, like the Michael Jackson song. It wasn’t so far behind me.
So what?
my mind challenged.
At least you’d get paid. You should send a damn bill to April. She was joyriding you, man, and in this world, joy comes with a price tag.
    Anger was my medicine, softening the bite. I drove faster on the nearly deserted road, creeping far beyond the 120-kilometer-per-hour speed limit. My iPhone was on shuffle, and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird” played on the car’s speakers next. The Southern-fried beat of liberation suited me fine. I jammed on