THE NEXT TO DIE Read Online Free

Instincts .”
    That was the title of her ill-fated action-thriller. Dayle had played the leader of an environmentalist group, stalked in the wilderness by a team of crazed hunters. As the lean, mean, no-nonsense heroine, Dayle had given her sexually ambiguous character some lesbian undertones. She’d been a bit too convincing. It set people wondering about the lack of chemistry between Dayle Sutton and her last few leading men. Despite good reviews, the film came and went, but the wild rumors about Dayle’s private life prevailed.
    “ Survival Instincts was a couple of years ago,” Dennis said. “Middle America just wasn’t ready for you as a butch-female action hero—”
    “Huh, Rambimbo ,” Dayle muttered, rolling her eyes.
    “Attitudes have changed. It’s not so taboo to play a lesbian anymore. And this is a primo part for you—”
    “Next, Dennis,” she said, an edginess in her voice.
    Dennis sighed, then tossed what was left of his Tootsie Roll in the wastebasket. “Okay. Not your cup of Liptons.” He checked his clipboard. “Last but certainly least is a zany comedy. You and another star—Bette Midler, if somebody puts a gun to her head—are mothers, each with teenage daughters giving you loads of trouble. Turns out the gals were switched at birth.”
    “Imagine that,” Dayle said.
    “There’s madcap high jinks galore as you adjust to your real daughter and some heart-tugging moments as you miss that little hellion you’ve come to love now that she isn’t yours anymore.”
    “Stop before I throw up. It’ll probably rake in a fortune. You may shoot me if I ever show interest in a project like that. Anything else?”
    Dennis consulted his clipboard again. “Messages worth mentioning—you had a call from Leigh Simone this morning.”
    Dayle turned to glance at him. “Really?”
    A call from Leigh Simone was pretty heady stuff. The vibrant, black rock artist was the kind of superstar even other stars admired. Already a legend, she’d been dubbed The High Priestess of Rock.
    “We’re almost done here, Ms. Sutton,” one of the wardrobe women said. “You can lower your arms now.”
    “Thanks, Pam,” Dayle let her tired arms drop to her sides. She gave Dennis a nonchalant look. “So—did the call come from Leigh herself?”
    “No. From her personal assistant, Estelle. She wants to know if you’re available next Thursday night. I checked, and you are. Leigh has a concert in Portland. She’s donating the profits—speak of the devil—to one of Tony Katz’s favorite charities. Leigh wants you to read a tribute to him.”
    Dayle frowned. “Why me? I met Tony only a couple of times. That hardly qualifies me to give his eulogy at some benefit.”
    “In Hollywood it does. Besides, this is a worthwhile cause, and publicitywise, it wouldn’t hurt to share a stage with rock’s high priestess.”
    “I’ll have to think about it,” Dayle said. “Listen, I could use some time alone here. Are we almost finished, Pam?”
    “All done, Miss Sutton.”
    “Hallelujah.” She smiled at the seamstresses, then turned to Dennis. Her smile slipped away. “Knock when they need me on the set, okay?”
    “Will do.” He and the two wardrobe women headed out the trailer door.
    “Damn,” Dayle muttered, now alone. She felt as if she were suffocating. She wanted to strip off the tight gown and yank the blond wig from her head. Maybe then she’d breathe easier.
    She hated feeling so afraid. It clashed with the image she’d built up for herself: Dayle Sutton, the strong, sexy, intelligent actress. Sixteen years ago, when she’d first started making movies, Dayle had fought against playing glamour girl roles. She had to prove that she was more than a pretty girl with a head of long, wavy auburn hair and the body of a centerfold. An Academy Award helped earn her respect—and superstardom. Playboy labeled her “The Thinking Man’s Sex Symbol.” Back in the late eighties, she’d refused an offer to