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building, an unheard of occurrence, but she cruised right past it without slowing down.
    It wasn’t until she was half a mile away that she was forced to admit her destination. She was headed to Lise’s place. Running home to Mommy.
    And why not? As much as anyone, Lise could commiserate with her on the vagaries and bad breaks of show biz. With any luck, she and her mother could indulge in a full-blown mother-daughter pity party. After that, Greer promised herself, she’d go home and face her empty apartment. And unplug from life.
    As usual, Greer felt a little flare of jealousy when she parked in the “visitor’s slot” in the lot beside her mother’s apartment complex.
    A bougainvillea vine spilled shocking pink flowers around the wrought iron archway with the cursive letters that announced she’d arrived at Villa Encantada. The vest pocket lawn was a deep green, and palm trees and ferns and hibiscus shrubs lined the courtyard garden, where two of her mother’s neighbors sat in the shade of a green-and-white-striped umbrella, sipping their de rigueur afternoon cocktails.
    “Hey, Greer,” called Luis. “Where you been?”
    “Come have a Mai Tai,” urged his partner, Sean.
    “Sorry, girls, can’t right now. Maybe later?”
    Her mother’s unit was one of the sought-after second-floor corner tower apartments, one of only a pair of two-bedroom units at Villa Encantada, which itself was a highly sought-after address in West Hollywood.
    There weren’t that many original 1920s bungalow complexes left in L.A. Once, young actresses like Marilyn Monroe and Ava Gardner had lived in bungalows like these. Kim Basinger’s call girl character in L.A. Confidential had lived in one that looked a lot like Villa Encantada, although Greer was pretty sure it wasn’t this one, and Lise claimed that Errol Flynn had once lived in her unit.
    Greer herself had used the villas for two television commercials and a film shoot, which had, unfortunately, gone straight to video. Which did nothing to lessen the charm of Villa Encantada.
    The dark oak door into the complex vestibule was ajar. Greer climbed the Mexican-tiled stairs to the second floor. She rapped the brass doorknocker and waited. And waited. She frowned. Lise’s aging Mercedes was parked in its slot in the lot across the street, so she was sure her mother was home.
    She knocked again, then began to worry. She fished a key from her purse, unlocked the door, and stepped inside the apartment.
    When she heard her mother’s low voice coming from the bedroom she relaxed a little. Lise was here, and on the phone. She started toward the bedroom, noticing that her mother’s normally spotless apartment seemed unusually messy. A trail of crumbs littered the hardwood floor from the kitchen to the living room. Magazines were piled on the coffee table, along with a cereal bowl and an overturned glass.
    Greer picked up the glass, sniffed, then set it back, upright, feeling guilty but relieved.
    “Hey, baby,” she heard her mother purr. “Are you ready to get naughty?”
    Greer froze in her tracks.
    “Me?” Lise’s voice was smoky. “Mmm. I’ve got on that black leather garter belt you like, and some six-inch black patent-leather spike-heeled boots. And I’m wearing crotchless panties and a black lace bustier, too, but it’s so tight. I think maybe I’ll unhook just the first hook. Would that be all right with you? Hmm?”
    Greer felt her face in flames. Was her mother with a man? She turned and began to tiptoe back the way she came.
    Before she could make her escape, the front door suddenly swung wide open.
    Sean burst into the living room brandishing a silver cocktail shaker. “Greer! You can’t sneak out of here that easy. It’s Luis’s birthday. How about some…”
    “Greer?” Lise appeared in the bedroom doorway, dressed not in black leather and lace, but in an oversized L.A. Dodgers T-shirt and navy blue leggings that bagged in the seat and knees. She was