Chapter 5
The limo arrived at Vandy’s home at 3:57 a.m. There were no signs of reporters or paparazzi. The trip to the private airfield was smooth and uneventful. The limo accessed a private entrance and pulled up directly to the plane. She stepped out of the limo and walked onto the plane. She was informed that her flight to Missoula would begin in less than 15 minutes and was handed a vanilla latte and a fruit plate by a handsome, young airline attendant.
She called her Uncle Randall, PACNY’s CFO, at least for now. If anyone was more under fire than her, it was Randall. For the media however, attacking a 62-year-old decorated former Navy SEAL wasn’t nearly as sexy as watching the self-destruction of a billionaire, former supermodel who is married to a movie star.
“Did Pam tell you I was leaving town for a few days?” she asked.
“No, she didn’t,” he replied.
“Sorry, I asked her to.”
“She won’t do shit when it comes to keeping me in the loop. You know that. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Montana for a couple of weeks, Uncle Randall,” she said. “I’m at the airfield now getting ready to board the private jet.”
“Now?” he responded. “Are you crazy? Vandy, I told you to ignore the press, not run away. This is no time to be running off—.’’
“Dr. Charles said I need to do this,” she interrupted. “I hate to leave you here holding the bag, but— you kind of deserve it, Uncle Randall. I’ve been defending you, but most of the heat we are facing falls on your lap.”
“Pam put you up to this, didn’t she?” he asked. “That bitch. When will you learn—that woman has her own agen…”
“Look, I know you two hate each other, but it was Dr. Charles who diagnosed me with an acute anxiety disorder,” she replied, “not Pam. He said isolation and rest is the best treatment. He wanted to actually institutionalize me.”
“Ahhh, that’s just a horseshit diagnosis from a Hollywood doctor who spends all his waking hours kissing the asses of celebrities,” Randall retorted. “Besides, if Pam ever stopped walking Dr. Charles’ nose would go straight up her ass.”
“My condition is real, Uncle Randall,” she fired back. “My nerves are shot. Cameron wants me to turn over my assets to him, Lindsay won’t even talk to me, the press is hounding me, the paparazzi is camped outside my house and office. I—I—I—can’t take it anymore.”
“Okay, okay, settle down,” he said. “I get it. We’ll manage. Where are you going in Montana?”
“West Glacier,” she responded.
“West what?” he replied, in disbelief. “I’ve never heard of it. It sounds like it’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“It is,” she replied. “There’s no cable television and no cell service.”
“No cell service?” he repeated, incredulously. “I suppose you’ll have to shit in the woods, too.”
Vandy laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed in quite some time, “No Uncle Randle. They have electricity, running water, toilet paper and everything?”
“So, you’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere by yourself,” he summed up. “Do you really think now is a good time to be alone? You are all over every website and news channel. There are a lot of whackos out there.”
“Alone is what I want to be right now,” she replied. “It’s what I need. That and sleep.”
“I supposed Abbott and Costello are going with you, too?” he asked.
Abbott and Costello were the names Randall Vanderbilt called Pete McCutchen and Mike Arnaiz, the two celebrity security goons Pam had wanted to go along. Her uncle disliked and distrusted them even more than Vandy did.
“No, I blew them off,” she replied. “This is truly going to be me… alone.”
“Well, I’m happy those two idiots aren’t going to be there but maybe I should send some of the company security team with you. They could…”
“No, Uncle Randall. I don’t want anyone to know where I’m at.”
“But…”
“All the arrangements have been made,” she added. “The only people who knows where I will be is you, Pam and Cameron.”
“Cameron? He’ll probably call the paparazzi himself. He hates your guts right now.”
“The feeling is mutual. Cameron is a king-sized dip shit, but he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Still,” he continued. “It just seems like you could accomplish the same goal without being so vulnerable.”
“That’s the Navy SEAL coming out in you,” she said. “This is not the Middle East. It’s East Montana. I was raised on a farm, remember? I can handle myself. I want to do this. It’s done, Uncle Randall.”
“What the hell are you going to do out there with no cell or internet or television?”
“Read; watch videos; sleep; hike; maybe even ski,” she said.
She could hear him sigh, “Okay. I just have one request.”
“Shoot,” she said.
“Call me when you get there. Let me know you made it safe.”
She smiled, “I will.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of things here,” he said.
“Really? You know we do need to sit down and talk. There are so many people pointing their finger at you. I’ve been defending you, Uncle Randall, but if this investigation bears fruit…”
“I know,” he said. “Like I’ve been telling you, when all the facts come out, we will be exonerated.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. The FTC is not going to admit to finding nothing. They will probably come up with a series of minor infractions and slap our wrist, but whatever tip they received about gross improprieties was false. I swear.”
She wanted to believe him.
“Okay, Uncle Randle.”
“Now go enjoy yourself.”