Previously...

Brooke was rushed to the hospital after Miranda struck her with her car.  Miranda denied knowing how the accident happened, but Ethan quickly discovered the truth.  James told Ethan that Will Thomerson was an old enemy, but refused to discuss it further.  Jordan asked Alex to star in his new movie.  James walked in on another tender moment between Brooke and Ethan.  Ethan told James that Miranda hit Brooke with her car.  James blasted his daughter, sending her fleeing from the mansion hours before the wedding.

 Episode 4

"The Wedding"

Miranda sped down Pacific Coast Highway, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to focus on the road ahead.  She weaved through traffic and honked at cars relentlessly.  A few minutes later she was at the private airport where her father’s jet was always on hand.

She had to get as far away from Los Angeles as she could.  After the horrible things her father had said to her, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, or anyone else for that matter.

After parking her shiny red Camaro, she ran into the small terminal and found the pilot sitting behind the desk.

“Miss Blackthorne, this is a surprise,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“I want to get out of here,” she said in bated breath.  “Can you take me somewhere?”

“Sure thing, Miss Blackthorne,” said the pilot.  “Where are we going?”

Miranda hesitated, longing to go somewhere where nobody knew her.  She could go anywhere in the world.  No one would miss her.

Kenny DeWitt instructed his limousine driver to stop by Cedars-Sinai on the way to the Blackthorne's.  Renee was at the hospital board of directors meeting and they planned on going right to James and Brooke's wedding afterwards.

He climbed into the back seat and jumped with a start when he spotted Winter Austen sitting on the seat across from him, dressed in a beige raincoat and a wickedly seductive smile on her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kenny asked as he felt the limo pull away from his Bel Air mansion.   "I'm on my way to a wedding for chrissake!"

"Come on, Kenny," Winter purred, her full lips turned into a sexy pout.  "I know how you like to do it in the car."

Kenny's eyes widened and made sure that the partition was up so that the driver couldn't see anything in the back seat.    He took a handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket and dabbed a few beads of sweat from his forehead. 

"You've got to stop this," he said, trying to will himself to behave.  "Do you understand what my wife will do to me if she finds us together again?"

Winter laughed and tossed her feathered blond hair over her shoulders.  "I know you miss me," she said, spreading her legs and opening her raincoat.  Underneath she was wearing only red lace panties and a matching bra.    "Don't you want me, Kenny?"

He felt his heart racing and his face began sweating uncontrollably.  It was an impossible situation.  How could he resist her seductive charms and amazing body?  No man could turn her down.

But before he could jump across the seat and lick his tongue down her cleavage, he forced himself to stop and do a reality check.   He couldn't do anything that would put his marriage or his position on the land commission in jeopardy.   It simply was not worth it.

"You're going to have to get out, Winter," Kenny insisted, wiping his forehead again and waiting for the limo to stop before he opened the door.   "Please, just leave me alone."

"Wait a minute!" she yelled, pulling away as he tried grabbing her arm.  "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, Winter."  He pulled her to the door and pushed her outside onto the curb by the hospital.   "It's over, Sweetheart."

"Hey!" Winter yelled, laying on the pavement with her coat spread open and her underwear exposed for everyone to see.  "You can't do this to me, Kenny!"

Kenny looked up just as his wife approached the limo, a stern look of disapproval on her face.   "Baby, I can explain," he began.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Renee began, adjusting the collar on her fur coat.  "I specifically told you to never see this little tramp again or I'd make you very sorry.  What part of that didn't you understand, Kenny?"

"Who are you calling a tramp?" Winter asked defensively, struggling to stand up in her shiny red stilettos.

Renee looked down at her and grinned haughtily.  "I'm not the one laying on the ground in my underwear, dear."

"Don't you dear me, lady," Winter remarked bitterly, tying her coat around her waist.  "I can have your husband anytime I want.  Just wait and see."

"We'll see about that."

"Renee, it was a mistake," Kenny insisted.

"You're damn right it was a mistake," Renee spat.  "I warned you, Kenny.  Now you're going to have to suffer the consequences.  Both of you."

She ducked into the limo and left Kenny and Winter gawking by the curb.

"Look what you've done!" Kenny yelled, glaring at Winter with contempt.  He got into the limousine after his wife and closed the door.   He only hoped he could sway her from doing anything drastic. 

The limousine pulled away from the hospital and Winter watched in aggravation.  She was getting fed up with being pushed around like a common whore. 

The thought made her laugh to herself.  The truth was she was nothing more than a whore.  She was using Kenny for the financial freedom he gave her, and in exchange she slept with him whenever he wanted.  She wasn't even attracted to him.

Now that Renee had put a kibosh on their affair, what was she supposed to do for money?  Picking up extra shifts at the hospital didn't appeal to her.  She would have to find a roommate.  That didn't sound enjoyable either.

Cursing, she looked for a cab to take her home.  If it was still home, that is.   Who knows how much longer she had at her condo before the witch had her physically removed.

Brooke found James in the study standing by the French doors that let outside onto the expansive grounds of the Blackthorne mansion.   She approached him slowly and cautiously, not sure of what his state of mind was after the volatile blowout with Miranda a while ago.  She thought that after giving him a while to cool off he would be calmer and willing to talk to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, noting the faraway look in his eyes.

"Why did you lie about how you got hurt?" James asked, not taking his eyes from the window.  "I thought we could tell each other everything." 

Brooke shrugged, tracing her finger along the dark wood desk and pausing when she wound up directly behind him.  "I didn't want to start a war," she replied.  "And that's exactly what wound up happening."

"You don't understand Miranda's and my relationship," James said, finally turning and looked into her sad blue eyes.  "We fight and we argue.  We say things we don't mean. That's our way.  That's how we work things out.  It's always been that way with us.  It's different than Stormy and I.   We're not as close as Miranda and I are."

Brooke was surprised by his words.  "I pictured it being just the opposite," she said with uncertainty.  "The way you laid into her earlier…"

"It was par for the course," he said, feeling like he was trying to convince himself more than Brooke.   "Maybe I did take it too far this time.   But what she did was inexcusable.  She could have killed you."

"But she didn't," Brooke said, gently putting a hand alongside his face.  "It was an accident and that's all the matters."

James shook his head and threw his arms around her.  "If anything had happened to you I don't know what I would do."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Brooke assured him.  "We're going to get married this afternoon and nothing is going to stand in our way of a long and happy life together."

"I love you," James said, giving her another squeeze before taking a step back and smiling happily.  "You'd better go up and finish getting ready."

Brooke smiled in return and rushed out of the study.   James sighed and turned back to the window, gazing outside at the bright spring afternoon.   He hoped that Miranda could forgive him for being so awful to her.   He hated the thought of her being out there somewhere resenting him and crying over his harsh words.

The life size statue in the lobby of the Flamingo Hilton in Las Vegas seemed like a calling as Miranda paused in front of the magnificent structure.  She looked around at the crowded casino and decided she'd made the right choice by coming to Vegas.   Here nobody knew who she was and she could be whomever she wanted.  She didn't have her father or brother or Brooke or Ethan breathing down her neck at every turn, telling her what a disappointment she was to the family.

After buying a dazzling new dress from one of the many boutiques inside the hotel, she proceeded into the casino and managed to make a slew of new friends at the Roulette table.   She got a charge out of the way everyone cheered her on as she won each and every bet she placed.  She was on a roll, and making more money than she knew what to do with.

The drinks kept coming and she was feeling high as a kite, not caring about a thing in the world.   She put a stack of chips on red 8, her lucky number, and waited for the wheel to stop. 

"No more bets," announced the dealer.  When the ball landed he turned to Miranda with a smile.   "Red 8," he said, sliding her winnings across the table to her.

The crowed went wild and Miranda placed another bet.  She was having the time of her life.  She didn't care that she was missing her father's wedding.  After the way he talked to her earlier that day he probably wouldn't want her there anyway.

After a few more plays she left the table to get a drink at the bar.

"Excuse me," said the young man in line behind her.  "You don't look like you're from around here.  Would you be interested in a guided tour of the city?"

Miranda laughed mockingly.  "Is that some kind of come on?" she asked.  "Because I’m really not interested in being picked up today, buddy."

The young man shook his head and laughed.  He had a quality about him that Miranda couldn't quite put her finger on.  Something about him seemed very dangerous and exciting, but he exuded sex appeal like no other.   His feathered blond hair and deep brown eyes were mesmerizing, and she decided she wouldn't mind if he was coming on to her.

"My name’s Brett Armstrong.   I run a tour company," he explained.  "It's legit, I promise.  I've got one starting in just a few minutes."

"Oh, okay," Miranda replied.  "Well, thanks but I'm not really interested in a tour of the city.  I’m right where I want to be."

Brett shrugged and gave her a big toothy grin.   "No sweat.  Have a good time in Vegas."

"Thanks," Miranda replied and watched him go off through the casino.  She sighed and ordered her drink at the bar.   "Friendly men around here," she said to herself.

Alex Reynolds knocked on the door at the Peninsula hotel and shook her curly auburn locks from her face.  When Will Thomerson opened the door she stared in awe, dumbfounded as she tried to think of something to say.

“Can I help you?” he asked.  He was dressed in a red and black print smoking jacket and had a cigar pinched between his thumb and forefinger.  After a quick double take he recognized the beautiful woman before him as the legendary Alex Reynolds.

“It is you,” Alex whispered in amazement.

Will laughed and leaned against the doorframe.   “Pardon me, Ms. Reynolds,” he began, his proper dialect showing through clearly.  “I know who you are because…well, let’s face it, everyone knows you.   But how do you know who I am?”

“You’re Will Thomerson, the Broadway producer,” she replied.  “James mentioned you in the past but I never thought you’d show your face in L.A.  Does James know you’re here?   He’ll kill you if he sees you.”

“I had the pleasure of being the brunt of his murder attempt last night at his cliché Hollywood mansion,” Will mused, standing clear of the doorway and gesturing for her to come inside.   “And you are his ex-wife, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right,” Alex replied, walking into the spacious hotel suite.  “I saw you downstairs a while ago.  What brings you to California?”

“I’ve just acquired Jaguar Studios,” he explained.  “I decided to leave Broadway behind and try my hand at film producing.” 

“How resourceful.”

“Yes, I am,” Will conceded, leading her into the parlor and dropping a few ice cubes into two glasses.  “Would you care for a drink?”

“Scotch neat,” she replied, then quickly got back to the issue at hand.  “So James tried to kill you.  How typical.”

Will laughed and handed her the glass.  “I didn’t expect my showing up at his house to be welcomed, but I certainly didn’t think he would go for blood so soon.  I haven’t even began my revenge plot against him.”

“Revenge?” Alex asked, intrigued.

“Yes, a notion I’m sure you’ve entertained once or twice since he sent you packing.”

Alex ignored the jab and took a sip of her drink.

“You know, we could be allies,” Will continued.

Scoffing at his suggestion, Alex turned and surveyed the elegant suite.  She was impressed.  Will Thomerson obviously had the money and position that James did.  She had no idea they were such worthy adversaries.

“You assume I have nothing better to do than sit around plotting revenge against my ex husband?” she asked.  “What do you take me for, Mr. Thomerson?  You're living in the golden era.  Wives don’t bow to their husbands in this day and age.”

“Not at all.  I just thought-“

“You thought wrong.”

Will grinned mischievously and moved closer to her.  “Think about it, Alex,” he began.  “You and I together as a team.  We could crush James Blackthorne like a tiny bug on the sidewalk.”

Alex contemplated his words.  What he suggested was tempting.   On the other hand, so was Jordan Rydell’s offer to star in his next movie.  That would certainly hit James were it hurt.   But strangely, she was curious about what devious plots the handsome Will Thomerson could come up with.  Perhaps he would outdo Jordan and come up with something that would really put her ex husband in his place.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Ethan said to Brooke as they stood in the bedroom at the mansion.

“Ethan, it doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied, standing before the full-length mirror in her Chloe wedding dress.   “James knows the truth.   What’s done is done.   He and Miranda will be okay.”

“I just don’t like anyone taking advantage of you,” Ethan declared, standing behind her and admiring how beautiful she looked in her dress and veil.

She smiled and turned toward him.  “You’ve always been there for me, Ethan,” she announced.  “Because of you, I feel like I can really be a part of this family.”

He returned the smile and kissed her on the cheek. 

Outside in the hall, Heather was watching, her mind racing and full of suspicion.  She turned and walked down the hall until she ran into Stormy.

“Did you find Miranda?” he asked.

Heather shook her head.  “No, she’s nowhere to be found.”

Stormy sighed and started down the staircase to the foyer where dozens of guests had already arrived for the wedding.   There were rows of chairs set up, decorated in satin ribbon and white roses.  Two large pillars were positioned in front of the chairs with a red carpet nestled down the center aisle.  A violinist and cellist were seated to the side, entertaining the growing crowd with beautiful music that James and Brooke had picked out personally.

Heather ambled across the foyer and stopped when James approached her.  “Any sign of her?” he asked.

“No, I can’t find her anywhere,” Heather replied.  “It’s like she’s vanished.”

James sighed, adjusting his bow tie and cursing himself for getting so upset at his daughter.  “No, she was pretty miffed when she ran out of here earlier today.  She’s probably off somewhere cooling off.  Maybe she’s with Ethan.”

Heather shook her head.  “No, I just saw Ethan upstairs with Brooke.”

Stunned, he looked at her and then up at the staircase.  Of course Brooke and Ethan were together, he thought bitterly.  They’d been inseparable for weeks.  Every time he turned around they were together, holding each other, whispering.   He was getting fed up with it.  Whatever was going on between them, he would put a stop to it immediately.   There was no way he was going to lose his bride to a younger man, especially a blood relative.

Meanwhile, at the Flamingo Hilton in Las Vegas, Brett Armstrong rallied a group of tourists into a corner of the lobby, holding up a sign that read R&J Tour Company.  The tourists, mostly young kids and senior citizens, waited with anticipation for the bus tour to begin.

“If there’s anyone who hasn’t paid yet, please come to the front of the line,” Brett announced to the group of 20 or so people.   “Please remember, cash only.”

“Isn’t twenty bucks kind of a lot for a bus tour?” asked a sixty year old woman who stood with her husband, cameras strapped around their necks.   “Caesars advertises one for only twelve.”

“Well ma’am, this tour isn’t sponsored by the hotel,” Brett explained, grabbing fistfuls of cash from the eager participants.   “Those hotel tours only show you what they want you to see.  What you want is to see the real Vegas.”

“The real Vegas?” asked a young girl with her boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Brett replied, counting heads in the group.  “You know, the prostitutes, the live shows, the debauchery.”

“Prostitutes?” asked the elderly woman.  “I don’t know about this…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” Brett insisted with a toothy grin.  “Now if I can have everyone’s attention.   The driver will be pulling the bus around in front of the hotel in five minutes.  I need everyone to wait outside.  Please don’t crowd.  There’ll be room for everyone.”

The group followed his instructions and proceeded outside.  Once they were out of view, Brett raced off in the other direction, disappearing into an elevator and riding up to the tenth floor of the hotel.

He entered room 1013, grinning from ear to ear as he counted the handful of money he’d made that day.  He laughed, relishing every crinkle the bills made as he fanned them out in front of him.