Such a Pretty, Pretty Girl (Abridged)

by Winston Groom Narrated by Dylan Baker

Overview

Delia Jamison is a gorgeous woman of a certain age and at the pinnacle of her career as anchor of a network news show in Los Angeles. But she is being blackmailed by someone she is certain is one of her former lovers. Terrified to go to the police for fear the story will leak and cause a scandal, Delia's at her wit's end when she accidentally runs into none other than one of those former lovers, Johnny Lightfoot, whom she hasn't seen in nearly twenty years. Johnny is now an Academy Award-winning screenwriter living in New York and L.A. who feels the old emotional attraction for Delia rising again. Even though she's recently married, Delia mysteriously seems to encourage Johnny's interest.

Since she won't go to the police, Johnny agrees to help her find the culprit, which means she has to produce a list of the suspects. And what a list it is: moguls on the New York Stock Exchange, fancy lawyers, a stellar Ivy League professor--even a United States senator. As Johnny's investigation delves deeper into Delia's past, it exposes more than he ever wanted to know; meanwhile, the blackmailer rachets up his dangerous game. As the story moves to its frightening climax, Johnny Lightfoot finds himself entangled in a web of deceit and savage sexual violence that makes him wonder if he ever really knew Delia at all.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940172024085
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	11/15/2019
Edition description:	Abridged

Related Subjects

• Fiction
• Mystery & Thrillers
• Fiction Subjects
• Crimes - Fiction
• Thrillers
• Occupations - Fiction
• Arts & Entertainment - Fiction
• Blackmail & Extortion - Fiction
• Psychological Suspense
• Reporters & Journalists - Fiction
• Suspense Fiction
• Televison & Radio - Fiction

Read an Excerpt

It was raining in Los Angeles that evening, an omen of some magnitude out here. Sort of like Friday the thirteenth, I imagine, in other places. I saw her as soon as I walked into the bar of the Peninsula Hotel, long strands of lustrous auburn hair barely touching her shoulders, looking fashionable as ever in a navy blue suit. That sudden flush feeling rushed to my cheeks and then down to a pang in my stomach. In some ways it was like stumbling across a snake in the woods. Of course, I'd never exactly thought of Delia that way, although she sure had me snakebit once. She was in deep conversation at a table with two guys and another woman and didn't notice me. I made my way to my table to meet Toby Burr, the movie producer, wondering if one of those two guys was Delia's new husband.

I could tell that this was going to be a power night at the Peninsula, which had in many ways replaced the old bar at the Beverly Hills Hotel after it closed two years for renovations. Groups of producers, directors, actors, and even a genuine movie star or two sat leaning over mahogany tables sipping drinks in the dimly lit room, deep in conspiratorial-looking powwows. The bar itself was loaded two-deep with the usual assortment of Zsa Zsa Gabor look-alikes, and other wannabes or wanna-meets occasionally turning around to scope out the table crowd and decide how to position themselves when a good-looking girl or guy got up to go to the restrooms. It was a ratfuck, but at least some of the right rats were here. Burr was at his usual table in the back by the gas-log fireplace, which flickered invitingly even in summer. As usual, he didn't rise, just stuck out his hand.

"Why, old Johnny, you look a little pale. See a ghost?"
"Maybe I did," I said, sitting down. "See that girl over there?" I nodded discreetly as possible to Delia's table.
"Why," Burr said, peering, as usual, very indiscreetly, "that's Delia Jamison, the TV news babe. What about it?"
I don't know why, but Burr reminded me of Erich von Stroheim in Sunset Blvd.
"Old flame," I said. "Haven't seen her in person in maybe fifteen years."
"What, no--still carrying a torch?" Burr asked with great insensitivity, but he was still a good enough friend to get away with it.
"A candle, maybe. She still looks terrific, doesn't she?"
In fact, I hadn't really thought about Delia much during all this time, but some people always affect you no matter what. I'd known Delia in another life almost, but obviously she'd been lurking in the shadows of my "lizard brain," that dark primordial thing at the base of your neck.

"Better even in person," Burr remarked coarsely. "It's refreshing at my time of life to see a truly beautiful woman of, shall we say, 'a certain age.' "
But Burr was right. Delia seemed to get better looking as the years went on. Nearly two decades earlier in New York, when we'd been an item, I remember thinking she was one of those women who would probably "wear well." But then it was over between us and she was gone--until one day, about a year ago when I arrived back out here to start writing another movie, she suddenly resurfaced as lead anchor on a big L.A. network affiliate. Flipping around the dial one night, I was flabbergasted to see her face, looking right at me, as if she were speaking to me, personally, with those deep green eyes twinkling and her wide lush Deborah Norville lips mouthing out some local news story. I didn't catch a word of what she said; just sat there, shocked.

"By the way, Johnny, looks like you could use a drink," Burr offered. He summoned a...

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