Chapter Two
Los Angeles, California
Six Months Later
Winter in California is no different from summer, Ivo Zacca thought, as he drove up to the gate of his father’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Too damn hot. He let himself in as he always did, but there was no answer to his welcoming call. He heard laughter from the terrace and walked out.
“Darling!” His mother, seventy years old and still stunning in a two-piece and wrap, got up from her lounger, drink still in hand and came to greet him.
“Buongiorno, Mama,” he said and she beamed. Adria La Loggia adored her only child as only an Italian mother could – completely, and, sometimes, overwhelmingly. Ivo was the love of her life, the reason she had given up her successful career as a movie star to raise him, just as she was beginning to make her mark in Hollywood. She still made her mark of course; her dark hair and bright green eyes, as well as her ample curves, made her a legend of the screen.
Ivo smiled at her now. “I thought I heard laughing, Mama, where’s Pa?”
“Right here,” said a voice behind him and his father grabbed him in a bear hug. Walter Zacca had been – as was still to many – a golden god of Hollywood. A charmer, a blonde matinee idol of the old school, Walter still worked, mainly cameos in big blockbusters for obscene amounts of money. He was fun to be around, a total man-whore who reveled in his good looks. He and Adria had divorced when Ivo was a child, but had remained each other’s best friends and, Ivo suspected with a grimace, each other’s booty calls when one or the other wasn’t seeing someone else – the someone else invariably being much younger than either of them.
Walter clapped his son on the back. Ivo rolled his eyes at his dad’s usual uniform of shorts and bare chest. Walter looked after himself and liked to show off his physique.
Ivo sat down next to his mother’s lounger. “I didn’t know you were over from Rome, Mama.”
Adria waved a hand. “Ah, I just got in last night. I thought I’d settle in and then call you.” She dropped her sunglasses down her nose and peered at him. “You look well. Have you gotten back with Clemence yet?”
Ivo sighed. This had been his mother’s mantra since the split. “No, Ma, Clemence and I are still over.”
“Shame that,” his father said mildly. “Lovely girl.”
Well, why don’t you date her? Ivo swallowed his annoyance and changed the subject. “Actually, I just came over to tell Dad, well, both of you now, that I’m going to be in Paris for a while. Do you remember Desiree?”
Adria shook her head, frowning, but Walter’s eyes lit up. “Tall. Blonde. Skin the color of milky coffee. Gallery owner. That the one?”
Ivo smothered a grin. He wondered how Walter would react if he ever suspected that Desiree, beautiful, gorgeous, a hell of a woman, was transgender. He wondered if his dad was that enlightened yet. “Yes, that’s her. Well, she called me. Seems she’s having a drought of artists worthy of her development skills, so she’s asked me to go over and headhunt for her. Seems like a good idea. I could do with getting away from the States for a while.”
Walter chuckled. “Nothing to do with the fact that Clemence is seeing that Senator from Washington State, is it? Seems funny, her picking up with him just as soon as you’d settled in Seattle.”
Ivo felt his skin itch. “Dad, I told you before, Seattle was supposed to be temporary. I have work to do with the Quilla Chen Mallory Foundation, but only for three months.”
His mother was still studying him. “Piccolo,” she said softly, giving him the nickname he’d had as a kid, and now quite incongruous for her six-foot-five son, “You look tired.”
Ivo nodded. The break-up might have been his doing, but it hadn’t been easy to get over. “I admit, Mama, a good deal of this trip to Paris will be vacation time. I’ve worked for four years straight. I need some down time and I can combine headhunting with pleasure too.”
Adria nodded, seemingly satisfied, but Walter squinted at his son. “You tired of your work?”
Ivo smiled at his father. “Not even a little bit. I know you wanted me to go into acting, but really, I’m never going to be the right sort of personality for it. Art is my life.”
Walter harrumphed. “Sometimes I do think we brought the wrong baby home from hospital.”
“You mean…the nannies brought the wrong kid home?” Ivo teased his father, who shrugged good-naturedly.
“Just the way it was, kiddo.”
“I know. And yeah, maybe I was swapped but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Love you both.”
“Ugh, mushy,” his dad shifted in his chair and Ivo and Adria laughed. Ivo leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Anyway, my flight is in a couple of hours, so I’d better get going. I’ll call you from Paris.”