Previously...

Heather grew increasingly jealous of Stormy's involvement with Lauren Spencer. Alex gave Jordan back his engagement ring. Winter continued to feel angry about Ethan going after Brooke.  James got a visit from a man offering a high risk loan to save Sunset Studios.  Philip tried to force himself on Alex and Jordan showed up, saving Alex by throwing Philip out. After Ethan and Brooke made love in Santo Domingo, the jeep Ethan was riding in was bombed by loyalists.  Brooke flew into hysterics when she was told that he couldn't have survived.  

  Episode 11

"High School Confidential"

Beside herself with anxiety, Brooke paced back and forth in her hotel room in Santo Domingo while she waited for word about Ethan.  The U.S. had arrived to intervene in the constant barrage of assaults among the Dominican Republic government.   When they learned of the jeep bombing, they began a search and recovery mission.

Brooke wrapped her arms around herself as she paused and sat down on the edge of the bed.  She reached down and picked up the T-shirt Ethan had been wearing the day before.  Smiling, she brought it to her face and smelled, relishing the musky scent that reminded her so much of him. 

She refused to believe that he was dead.   Juan and the others said that the jeep took a direct hit and that anyone or anything inside of it would be unrecognizable.   She begged them to accept the possibility that his body could have been thrown from the jeep.   Though filled with doubt, the troops began searching the area for any sign of Ethan.

But it had been an entire day since the explosion and there hadn't been any indication that he'd survived.   Determined to hold on to hope, she decided to stay on the island and not return home without him.

There was a knock at the door and she raced across the room to open it.  A U.S. soldier entered the room, followed by Juan.  Their solemn expressions of gloom told her the news wasn't good.  She looked at them, frozen in fear as Juan held out his hand and offered her the proof she needed.

Slowly, Brooke took Ethan's wallet from him, then the thin gold chain he wore in memory of his mother.   She burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as she examined the items in her hands.   It was almost too much to bear.   She couldn't believe that he was gone.

Juan and the soldier watched sympathetically as Brooke sunk to her knees and buried her face in her hands.    She didn't think there was anything harder than losing someone you love.   It wasn't fair.  No sooner had they finally realized their true feelings for one another than tragedy struck.  

Meanwhile, James was on the phone in his study trying to track down Brooke.  He called Bianca, Deb, and some of her friends she worked with at the Galleria.  No one had heard anything from her.    He was beginning to fear that something awful had happened.

On top of everything else, Ethan was nowhere to be found either.   Winter hadn't heard from him yet and he hadn't been to the mansion for days.   It wasn't like Ethan to disappear like that.   He was sure that they were together somewhere.   Maybe they were off at some romantic setting and he was the last thing on their minds.   The thought sent him into a panic.  He hated being powerless to stop it from happening.   Granted, it was his own fault for yelling at her like that before she left the other night.   Maybe he'd overreacted to her marriage to Philip.   She claimed it was an honest mistake.    But the fact remained that because of her negligence, they weren't legally married.  

He looked up when Miranda walked into the room.  "Good morning, Sweetheart," he said.

"Hi Daddy," Miranda said, yawning and stretching.   "Any word from Brooke or Ethan?"

James shook his head solemnly.  "No, none at all."

Miranda tried desperately to hide her enjoyment.  She knew her father wouldn't understand, but she was thrilled that Brooke was out of their lives.   She was trouble from the start, just like she'd predicted.

"I hate to say I told you so, but…"

"But you will anyway, right?" James interrupted, staring crossly at his daughter.  "If you've come in here to gloat, do me a favor and don’t."

Miranda shook her head and followed her father around the room.  "Daddy, I'm not gloating," she insisted.  "If you think I like seeing you miserable, you're wrong.  I just want you to be happy.    Is it my fault that Brooke didn't turn out to be the woman you thought she was?"

James rolled his eyes.  He loved his daughter but he couldn't stand her incessant pushing and badgering.  Sometimes she didn’t know when to leave things alone. 

Brett entered the study and approached Miranda with a kiss.  "Good morning," he said, then looked up at James.  "Mr. Blackthorne, has there been any word on your wife?"

James sighed and shook his head.   He didn't think he could handle Brett this morning.  He had too many other things on his mind to worry about the slouch his daughter married.  

"You'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help, won't you?" Brett asked, his arm around Miranda.

"Thank you," James replied offhandedly.  He realized Brett was trying to be helpful, but nonetheless it didn’t go without suspicion.  He didn't trust the man and the only reason he was still in his house was because he hadn't had time to deal with him yet.   So many other things took precedence lately.   Luckily he had confidence in his spirited daughter to be able to hold her own.

"Well I've got to get going," Brett said, kissing Miranda again.  "I'm meeting some musicians at the beach club to audition them.   Lauren starts singing there tomorrow night."

Miranda scowled, seeing red at the sound of Lauren's name.

"Incidentally, thank you for speaking to Renee DeWitt for us," Brett said to James.

But James barely heard him.  He was at the window gazing outside in a blank stare.  Miranda shrugged and led Brett out into the foyer.  "Do you have to go?" she asked.  "I thought I'd ditch classes today and we could spend the day together."

Brett sighed and put his arms around her.  "Babe, I can't," he said.  "There's so much to get done before Lauren's premier tomorrow night."

Miranda rolled her eyes and pulled away from him.  "Whatever.  I guess I'll just spend the day by myself again."

"Miranda, wait!" Brett called after her as she raced up the stairs.   Letting out a deep, exasperated breath, he jogged after her and found her in their bedroom about to slam the door shut.

"What?" she asked defensively.

He pushed the door open and walked into the room.  "I hate when you get upset with me," he said.  "I love you, Babe.  I hope you realize that."

Miranda shrugged and looked at him with a pout.  "Then how come Lauren Spencer is more important to you than I am?" she asked.  "Hell, even Stormy is more important to you than I am."

"That's not true," Brett said, using his best seductive voice and eyes as he ran his hands down her back.   "You're the most important thing in the world to me.  You've changed my life, Miranda.   Can't you see that?  Because of you I'm a better man."

She laughed and turned away.  "I haven't done anything."

Pulling her back, he lifted her head and leaned in closely.  "You have too.  You stood up to your family for me.  That's a big deal in my book."

Miranda closed her eyes as he kissed her warmly.   She wrapped her arms around him and they fell down onto the bed.   Brett unbuttoned her blouse and kissed her soft skin.  She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.   Moments later, they were peeling off their clothes and rolling around on the bed in a heated frenzy.  

Stormy and Lauren were seated in the living room of his house in the Valley, surrounded by stacks of CD's and sipping iced tea on the floor.   He flashed her a Barbra Streisand CD and grinned mischievously.

"How about covering one of hers?" he said.

Lauren rolled her eyes and laughed in hysterics.  "You've got to be kidding!" she exclaimed, rolling over onto the floor.  "Can you see me singing a Barbra Streisand song?"

He looked at the album again and shrugged.  "Hmm, I guess not," he joked.  "But we're running out of options.   I don't know.  Maybe doing a cover on the album isn't such a good idea."

Lauren sat up just as Heather walked inside from the pool and made her way to the kitchen, scowling at them with every step.  Lauren quickly jumped to her feet and ran over to her.  "Hi, you must be Heather.  I'm Lauren Spencer."

"I know," Heather replied coldly as she poured herself a glass of iced tea at the bar.

Lauren looked around awkwardly.   She immediately got the impression that Heather didn't like her and they'd only just met.  "I've heard all about you from Stormy.  I'm glad we finally got a chance to meet."

Heather gave her a snide grin and tossed back her long brown hair.  "Okay, that's great," she said, adjusting the strap on her bathing suit and brushing past her.   Pushing open the sliding glass door, she barely looked at Stormy as she returned to the back yard and took her place beside the pool.

"Did I say something wrong?" Lauren asked.

Stormy stood up and shook his head.  "She's just been a little high strung lately," he explained, digging his hands into the pockets of his shorts.  "Don't worry about her.  She'll warm up to you.   She's going to have to. I plan on keeping you around for a long, long time."

"How did you two meet anyway?" Lauren asked, taking a sip from her glass of tea.

"We went to West Beverly High together," Stormy replied.  "We dated since the ninth grade.  Broke up for a while after high school, then got back together and got married."

"Typical high school sweethearts," Lauren remarked with a knowing grin.

He laughed, staring into her blue eyes and then at her glossy wet lips.   Everything about her drove him crazy.  He couldn't help himself when he was around her.   If it had been a couple of years ago, Lauren Spencer would be a conquest that he wouldn't rest until he'd had.  But now he was married and his days of screwing around were over.    In the words of his father, he had to keep it in his pants and start getting serious.

"How about we head over to the studio and work on that track we laid down yesterday?" Stormy asked, hoping to break the awkward silence.

She nodded in agreement.   "Sure, let's do it."  She couldn't help but feel like Stormy was holding something back everytime they were together.  She wondered what it was that he wanted to say to her, but never could.

Juan handed Brooke a glass of water and removed a cold cloth from her forehead as she laid restlessly on the bed in her hotel room.

“Here, take this,” Juan said, giving her a small white pill.  “It’ll help you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Brooke replied, pushing his hand away in a fit of hysteria.   “I have to figure out what to do.   I have to tell James about Ethan….”

“Shhh,” Juan soothed her, holding her head up as she took a sip of water.  “You need to rest for a while.  You’ve had a big shock.  There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Reluctantly, Brooke swallowed the sleeping pill and took another sip of water.  She laid back down and shook her head in despair.   “I can’t do it alone,” she whispered.  “I have to call somebody.”

“Just rest now,” Juan said, feeling awful for the young woman’s ordeal.  He knew that if she didn’t get rest she would wear herself down and then she wouldn’t be any good to anybody.   “When you wake up we’ll call whoever you need to.”

Brooke nodded, trailing off into a fitful sleep and dreaming of her last night with Ethan.

Brett sat at the bar at the beach club, squinting through the bright morning sun that streamed in through the windows as he jotted some notes down on a piece of paper.  He picked up the phone on the countertop and dialed the number for Rolling Stone magazine. 

"Marjorie Stahl, please," he said, tapping his pen on the bar and looking around the empty restaurant while he waited.   He'd had a successful morning of interviewing musicians for Lauren's opening night.   Everything was lined up so far.   His next order of business was making sure all the important people in the music business were there.  Lauren's success depended on it.  And his success depended on Lauren.

Finally the editor-in-chief of Rolling Stone came onto the line.  He'd never met her personally but he knew the type.  All he had to do was act like he was her biggest fan and he'd have her wrapped around her finger.

"Marjorie, it's Brett Armstrong representing Lauren Spencer," he said.  "Just wanted to check in and make sure you got your tickets for the big opening at the Valley Beach Club tomorrow."

"Lauren who?"

"Lauren Spencer," Brett replied, leaning back in the barstool.   "She was just signed to Good Times Records.  Maybe you caught her on The View the other day."

"I think I missed it."

"Oh really?  She's the hottest thing going right now.   I'm surprised you haven't-"

"Oh right, Lauren Spencer," Marjorie interrupted.  "What time is the show?"

"Eight o'clock," he replied with a confident smile.  "I'll have a couple of tickets waiting for you at the door.   See you then Marjorie."

He hung up and smiled with exuberance.  Sometimes he was so good he surprised even himself.

"Well look at you, Mr. Big Shot," said a voice from behind.

The voice triggered alarms inside his head.  Quickly he spun around and his jaw dropped to the floor.   "Devon?" he said with wide eyes.  Suddenly his heart began racing and he almost fell off the stool.

"What the hell are you doing, Rick?" asked Devon Graham, a petite young girl with feathered short brown hair.

Nervously, Brett shuffled the papers in front of him and stood up.  He couldn't believe she found him.  She could ruin everything.  "Devon, I was just going to call you."

"You were not," she replied with a frown.  "I bet you ten thousand dollars you were hoping you'd never run into me again.    And don't tell me you don't have ten thousand dollars, because I know damn well you do.  Unless you’ve pissed it away on one of your get rich schemes."

Brett backed away from her.  "Listen, Devon.  I was going to come see you before I left Vegas but I sort of got sidetracked."

Devon squinted at him, pointing a thick finger in his direction.  "You mean you got sidetracked running from the cops after Bailey took a fall out of a ten story window?"

He shook his head adamantly.  "Listen, I was shocked as anyone to find out about Bailey," he said.  "But I had to get out of there.  If I stuck around, people would start asking questions and then our phony tour guide business would have been exposed.   You didn't want the authorities knowing about that, did you?   I did us a favor by taking off."

"News flash, Rick," Devon began.  "The police have been asking about you.  They questioned me, thinking I had something to do with Bailey's death."

Brett appeared alarmed.  "You didn't tell them anything about me did you?"

"You didn't do anything to Bailey, did you?" Devon asked, ignoring his question.

"No!  Of course not!  Why would you even ask me that?  I was his partner.  We were friends.  We were all friends."

“Yeah, friends who conned people out of money for a living,” Devon said, eyeing him carefully.  “Until one of those friends got greedy and took off with all the earnings.  And another friend wound up with his head splattered all over the street.”

Brett continued backing up away from her.   If Stormy or Miranda or anyone else walked in and saw him talking to her they’d surely start to ask questions.   Questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer about his past.

“What are you doing in L.A. anyway?” he asked her.

Devon hesitated, biting the tip of her finger with a smile.  “What if I said that I missed you?” she asked coyly.

He shook his head.  “No, I don’t buy that.  What we had…whatever we had was over a long time before I split.   You seemed to be more into Bailey than me anyway.”

Smiling with a vixenish pout, Devon traced her fingers down the front of his tight Lacoste polo.  “You know you were the one I always like the best,” she said.  “But you know, things were getting so complicated.  I began to feel like we were in a three way relationship.”

“That’s real funny,” Brett said.  “But it doesn’t matter now because I’ve moved on, and so should you.  We’ve been hanging around together since high school.  That’s too long.”

“Moved on huh?” she asked.  “So who is she?   Another rich heiress you’re trying to con out of her trust fund?”

“No, I’ve gone straight now,” Brett insisted.  “No more cons.   I’m trying to earn my own living and make it on my own.  All on the level.”

“Yeah right,” Devon said, shaking her head doubtfully.  “This isn’t senior year, Rick. You’re into something up to your eyeballs, I know it.   I saw an ad in the paper for musicians.  Contact Brett Armstrong, it said.   Brett Armstrong?&nb