“Oh, like you’re not gorgeous. Is that your new trip—putting yourself down?”
“I’m not his type.”
“Maybe it’s not a type he’s looking for. Maybe a fast blow job would do it for him.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, girl!”
Laughing, they both got out of the car.
“You know, you’re awfully naïve, Nat,” Madison said, as they walked toward the house. “Married men are all the same—none of them would say no to a little action on the side.”
“Now who’s sounding cynical.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” Madison said defensively.
“Yeah, yeah, you and your truths.”
“Listen, do what you want, but I’m here to tell you that I have absolutely no respect for married men who cheat.”
“Get a life, girl. That’s major unrealistic.”
“I suppose so, especially when we have a president who does it all the time.” She shook her head. “What in hell happened to moral values?”
Natalie shrugged as they reached the front door. “Moral values—what’s that?”
“Wasn’t it something we used to believe in when we were in college?” Madison said dryly. “Remember?”
“That was before all these tell-all books came out revealing every little detail.”
Madison frowned. “I find it totally disheartening that every president from Kennedy on was running around the Oval Office with his dick in his hand and WD-forty on his zipper!”
Natalie giggled and pressed the doorbell. “A power hard-on! Tell me—please—where can I find one?”
Madison, sardonically: “Like I said—try the White House.”
chapter 17
KRISTIN WAS EXCITED, AND IT wasn’t at the thought of seeing Mister X again. As she sat behind the wheel of her car, driving toward her destination, she couldn’t keep her mind off Jake. It was ridiculous really, because she was too smart to let anyone come between her and her goal of scoring enough money to get out of the call-girl business. And if she allowed herself to get involved, that’s exactly what would happen.
Forget about him, her cold, calculating side warned her. He’s only another john who doesn’t think he has to pay.
And yet . . . he had a warmth and a laid-back sincerity, friendly eyes and a smile that melted her heart.
For the first time since she’d started in the business she actually felt a deep sexual longing. She wanted to sleep with him, she yearned to have long, leisurely, unpaid-for sex, wake up in the morning to find herself safely enclosed in his strong arms.
Get real.
Why should I?
She pulled up at a stoplight and began drumming her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Enough thoughts about Jake; she’d better get ready to deal with Mister X and his bound-to-be-kinky demands.
She’d dressed all in white, as instructed, including a short dress and white-framed Christian Dior sunglasses. Darlene had faxed her the address of the motel where she was to meet him, and she was to sit in her parked car outside cabin six until further notice.
A car pulled up next to her, and the male driver leered suggestively through the window. She pretended not to notice and drove quickly off.
The motel—way down Hollywood Boulevard—was a seedy, run-down dump. Automatically she checked that her car door was locked as she pulled into the dilapidated courtyard and drove up to cabin six.
A drunk ambled out of the shadows carrying a half-empty bottle of cheap Scotch. He winked at her, burping loudly as he lurched past her car.
Ten minutes passed. She tried to stay calm, thinking only of the four thousand dollars and how it would pay her sister’s hospital bills for a while.
IF ONLY I DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THIS!
Ah, but you do.
A gloved hand knocked on her window. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform all in black—his peaked cap pulled low over his forehead—opaque wraparound shades completely covering his eyes.
Was it Mister X?
She couldn’t tell.
“Leave your car here and come with me,” he said in a muffled voice.
She took a deep breath and got out of her car, locking it behind her.
“Over here,” the chauffeur muttered, leading her toward a dark-colored limo parked curbside.
He opened the rear door and she obediently climbed inside. He moved to the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.
“Where are we going?” she asked, a certain numbness taking over her mind.
“Mister X requires you to put on a blindfold,” the chauffeur said, without turning around. “You will find it on the seat beside you.”
She groped on the plush leather seat, found the blindfold and placed it over her eyes.
Four thousand dollars. Cash. It didn’t matter. This was the last time she’d do business with Mister X.
chapter 18
DIANA LEON GREETED HER HUSBAND at the front door of their Bel Air mansion. “You’re late,” she said crossly.
“Didn’t realize I was on a time clock,” Freddie said, entering the house, which was now full of caterers preparing for their dinner party.
“How can you do this to me?” she said, glaring at him.
“Do what?” he said, distracted and out of breath.
“Invite an extra two guests.”
“You can fit ’em in,” he said, hurriedly heading for the stairs.
“No, I can’t,” Diana said, angrily following him. “Our dining table accommodates sixteen people, now you’ve added two more.”
“So we’ll squeeze a little. No big deal.”
“Why didn’t you put them on our original list?”
“Diana,” he said irritably. “Do I tell you how to run the house?”
“No.”
“Then don’t tell me how to run my business,” he snapped. “It’s extremely important that Ariel is here tonight.”
“And her husband, whom you can’t stand,” Diana pointed out, her voice tart.
“Sometimes you have to put up with the guy behind the woman, or under the woman, as the case may be.”
“Ariel was here last month,” Diana said, folding her arms.
“So now we’re having her again.”
Diana followed him into the bedroom. “Why did you leave it until the last minute?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he snapped, entering his private bathroom. “I have to take a shower. Leave me alone.” And with that he slammed the door in her face.
Once rid of Diana, he stood in front of his marble vanity and stared blankly into his shaving mirror. Moments passed before he cleared his mind and began thinking coherently. He still couldn’t believe that Max would be stupid enough to attempt to sell out his half of I.A.A. without consulting him first. Surely he had some idea of what it would be like to have Freddie Leon as an enemy?
No, Max Steele probably didn’t, because Max thought with his dick most of the time—useful when dealing with female clients—but as any fool knew, the brain has more staying power than the dick any day. The brain is always hard.
* * *
“Hello, ladies,” Jimmy Sica said, throwing open the front door of his house and ushering them inside.
“Hi,” Madison replied, as they entered the comfortable house. Natalie was right, Jimmy Sica was incredibly handsome in an I’m-a-TV-anchorman-with-a-sensational-smile way.
“Nice to meet you,” Jimmy said, squeezing her hand a tad too tightly as a chocolate-box-pretty blonde appeared behind him. “And this is my wife, Bunny,” he added, putting his arm around Bunny’s narrow waist.
“Bunny?” Madison questioned.
“I know,” Bunny said, with a wide smile that matched her husband’s. “It’s such a silly name, everyone says so. I was nicknamed Bunny as a little girl, and it kind of stuck. I collected bunny rabbits, still do, only Jimmy makes me hide them in a closet.”
“Now, now,” Jimmy said, patting his wife on the ass. “Mustn’t go givin
g away all our secrets. Madison’s likely to write about them. She’s a big-time writer from New York.”
“I know,” Bunny said, wriggling away from him. “You already told me, Jimmy pie.” She dazzled Madison with a big smile, revealing perfect white Chiclet teeth. “Welcome to our home, Madison. We’re so excited to meet you. I hope we can all become good friends.”
Oh God, Madison thought. Why did I agree to do this? I’m perfectly happy alone. I could be writing my piece on Salli. I don’t need to be with people. Especially these people.
Natalie had gone straight over to the bar, plopping herself down on a velvet-covered barstool.
“What’ll you have?” Jimmy said, running over and deftly placing himself behind it.
“Isn’t it margarita time?” Natalie replied, flirting in spite of herself. “Can you make one?”
“Can I make one?” Jimmy said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “I can make anything I put my mind to.” He gave her a look that underlined his double entendre.
Natalie quickly glanced around to see if Madison noticed, but Bunny was busy showing her a painting they’d recently bought of two rabbits being chased by a ferocious-looking fox. “The thing I like about this painting,” Bunny explained to Madison in a serious voice, “is that the wicked old fox hasn’t caught them yet. Isn’t that something?”
“Uh-huh,” Madison agreed, stifling a yawn.
A toilet flushed somewhere in the distance, then an exceptionally big, black man ambled into the room.
“Say hello to my college buddy, Luther,” Jimmy said, steering him in the direction of Natalie. Luther towered over her. “Luther used to play for the Chicago Bears,” Jimmy offered. “That is, until he got his shoulder busted.”
“Wow!” Natalie said, thinking that this was one big handsome hunk of a guy. “I guess you’re okay now, huh?”
“Still alive, sister,” Luther said, with a huge grin. “Got me a nice little electrical business. Better than gettin’ the crap kicked outta me every weekend—’scuse my language. Oh, yeah, Jimmy tells me you’re on TV with him.”
“No,” Natalie said. “Jimmy’s on TV with me.” And she smiled sweetly, realizing that if they ever had sex, she’d probably be crushed to death.
* * *
“Kevin, dear,” Lucinda gushed, balancing a martini in one hand and a caviar-loaded toast point in the other. “I’m thrilled we’re doing a project together. I’ve seen every one of your movies—three in eighteen months. Poor overworked boy—you must be exhausted.”
Kevin straightened up from a terminal slouch. “Thanks,” he muttered, considering that a word with his agent might not be a bad thing. Now that he’d seen Lucinda Bennett in the flesh he realized she was too old for the part, she’d make him look ridiculous.
“Hey—Freddie,” he said, veering in the superagent’s direction. “We gotta talk.”
“Later,” Freddie said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Ariel was at the door, and he needed to speak to her before Max put in an appearance.
* * *
Meanwhile, Max was pacing around his penthouse apartment in a fury, having just hung up on Inga. “I will be late, Max,” she’d said, in her precise Swedish accent. “Go to the dinner and I will try to join you.”
Try to join him. Was she totally nuts? Tonight was her big night, an opportunity to meet important people in the industry, and the silly Swedish blonde was blowing it. “Why?” he’d demanded. “What are you doing?”
“It’s private,” she’d answered curtly.
Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! Just who exactly did she think she was?
“You’d better make it, Inga,” he’d said, endeavoring to remain calm. “If you want to be in movies, you’d better make it soon.”
“We’ll see,” she’d said, infuriating him even more with her casual tone.
Now he would have to walk in alone. Shit! If Max Steele got stood up, it would be all over town by noon tomorrow. Shit!
chapter 19
JIMMY SICA WAS RUNNING AROUND playing the perfect host, fixing margaritas, making small talk, flashing his unbelievable smile. While Bunny was busy showing pictures of their kids to the next-door neighbors, who’d dropped by for a drink, an extremely amiable Chinese couple whose grasp of the English language was somewhat elusive.
Madison could see that Natalie was getting along fine with Luther. I wish I was at home, writing, she thought for the twentieth time. What am I doing here? This is not my kind of evening. I have enough casual friends in New York—no need to make new ones. And kiddie talk is not for me.
She decided that after dinner she’d ask Natalie if she could borrow her car and leave. Luther would probably be only too delighted to drive Natalie home.
“And this is a photo of Blackie,” Bunny announced proudly. “Blackie was my precious itsy bitsy black poodle who passed away last year.” Her lower lip quivered. “I’m still grieving.”
“Another margarita?” Jimmy suggested. “We’re waiting for my brother; he’s always late.”
“Okay,” Madison said, trailing him back to the bar.
“First trip to L.A.?” Jimmy asked, taking her empty glass.
“I’ve been here several times before.”
“I guess you must do a lot of traveling,” he said, turning on the blender.
Madison watched the frothy liquid as it spun around in its glass cage. “Natalie tells me you recently moved here from Denver,” she remarked.
“Six months ago,” he said, refilling her glass and handing it back to her. He paused, giving her a long, lingering look. “You know, Madison, I’m sure you’ve been told this many times.”
“What?”
He flashed his handsome-anchorman smile, favoring her with another intimate look. “You’re a powerfully attractive woman. In fact, you remind me of my first real love.”
Oh, get a life, Jimmy Sica. What a tired old line. You’ll be telling me your wife doesn’t understand you next.
“Thanks,” she murmured, ever polite. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
That shut him up for a moment.
Bunny ran over. “Where’s—” she began.
But before she could finish her sentence, Jimmy’s brother walked in. “I’m here,” he said with a crooked grin, thrusting a bunch of flowers at her. “Late as usual.”
“Thank goodness!” Bunny exclaimed, giving him a big hug and a squeeze. “We’d almost given up on you.”
“Hey—” he said, still grinning. “Never give up on me, you know I always make it in the end.”
Madison turned around to check out the new arrival. He was a rumpled version of the perfect TV anchor, only much sexier, with laughing brown eyes and longish brown hair.
“Meet my deadbeat brother, the photographer,” Jimmy said with a twist of genuine affection. “Jake, say hello to Madison. You two should have a lot in common—Madison’s a big-deal journalist.”
“Yeah?” Jake said, giving her a firm handshake. “Big-deal, huh?”
“Not so big,” Madison replied lightly, deciding that maybe tonight wasn’t going to be such a dead loss after all. Jake had the look. And perhaps a quick fling with no responsibility was exactly what she needed.
“Who do you work for?” he asked.
“Manhattan Style.”
“Very nice.”
“It pays the rent.”
“I bet it does.”
“And you?” she asked.
“Mostly freelance.”
“Really?”
“It pays the rent.”
They smiled at each other, and then Natalie bounded over, giving Madison a not-so-subtle wink.
Jimmy put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and walked him across the room. “You see how good I am to you,” he said in a low voice. “Not one, but two beauties. Take your pick, although personally I’d go for the journalist—she’s got that icy hot thing going. Very sexy.”
“Spoken like a true married man,” Jake
said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re not interested?”
“I met somebody.”
“Who?”
“Just a girl. Nice. Pretty. Perfect.”
“Oh, shit,” Jimmy said, bursting out laughing. “You’re not in love for chrissake?”
“No . . .” Jake said, hesitating for only a moment. “It’s just that there’s something special about her—something I can’t put into words. Hey—you’ll soon see for yourself. I asked her over later.”
“Can’t wait.”
“And please, don’t hit on her,” Jake warned.
Now it was Jimmy’s turn to grin. “Like you said, I’m a married man, bro.”
“Yeah, right.”
And together they returned to the bar.
Don't miss the other installments in the sexy, thrilling four-part L.A. Connections miniseries, a behind-the-curtains peek into the exclusive mansions of Hollywood, where the city's most powerful players willingly risk it all for love, lust, and murder, from New York Times bestselling author Jackie Collins!
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