Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

  “I might,” she said. “Or I could decide to stay in New York. I enjoy it here. Perhaps I’ll even go to Europe. They positively worship older women in Europe. They understand that we are the ones who know all the secrets that make men very happy indeed.” She gave him a long, penetrating look. “Does your wife make you very happy indeed, Dexter?”

  He was embarrassed. He didn’t care to discuss his sex life with Silver Anderson; he admired and respected her too much.

  “Yeah, we have a good . . . uh . . . satisfactory sex thing going,” he mumbled.

  “I bet you do,” Silver trilled. “You know, Dexter, darling,” she confided, “in the old days I always slept with my leading men. It was a given.”

  “You did?” He gulped.

  “I considered it one of the perks of the business.” A low, throaty chuckle. “And believe me—so did they. However,” she sighed, “things are different today.” She reached out a languid hand. “Come over here, Dexter, come close to me.”

  He felt like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a particularly lethal weapon. Reluctantly he edged closer.

  “Surely I don’t scare you, do I?” Silver said, scaring the crap out of him.

  “You’re so . . . famous,” he managed. “Maybe I’m uh . . . y’know, in awe of you.”

  “You’re a very attractive man,” Silver said, her voice getting deeper. “And believe me, I’ve seen many attractive men in my time. Oh, I could tell you stories about some of the stars I’ve worked with. Burt Reynolds; William Shatner; even dear old Clint. But I’ve never been a believer in kissing and telling. I find that simply appalling. Although . . .” A naughty pause. “If I wanted to tell, I’d have stories that would make Esther Williams’ hair stand on end. Did you read her book? No, perhaps you didn’t,” she said, gripping his hand firmly. “You don’t spend a lot of time reading, do you, Dexter?”

  “Uh . . . no,” he managed.

  She began making intricate little circles in his palm with her index finger.

  In spite of himself, he felt a sudden and unexpected stirring in his pants.

  “Lock the door, Dexter,” she said in a low sexy growl. “It’s time for your farewell gift.”

  He tried to swallow but couldn’t quite do so. Her hand was on his zipper. She was pulling it down.

  Oh God! If his dad could only see him now.

  •

  This time Rosarita was not prepared to take any crap. She swept into Joel’s reception area, barely glancing at the girl with the green nails, who happened to be on the phone. “Jewel, dear,” she said patronizingly. “Joel’s expecting me. He told me to go straight in.”

  “He did?” Jewel said.

  Rosarita smiled. She had lovely teeth, white and even—they’d cost Chas a fortune. “Never mind, dear,” she said, and she was inside Joel’s office before Jewel could so much as give her one of her insolent looks.

  Joel was on the phone, his feet propped up on the desk. He was actually fully dressed.

  Rosarita slammed the door behind her. “Welcome back,” she said, approaching his desk. “Incidentally, where were you?”

  He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Fucking my brains out in Miami,” he said with a lewd wink. “Whyn’t you sit down.” He went back to his conversation. “Okay, babe,” he said into the receiver. “I’ll see you later.”

  Rosarita was dying to ask who was on the phone, but she was wise enough to keep her mouth firmly shut; it wouldn’t be cool to push.

  “How’s it going?” he said, clicking off the phone.

  “My in-laws are still in town,” she said. “The moment they leave, Dex and I are going through with our divorce.”

  He didn’t exactly jump with enthusiasm. In fact, he didn’t say anything. Instead he opened his desk drawer, took out a small glass vial of coke, tipped the contents onto the desk, arranged it in neat lines, handed her a short plastic straw and said, “Take a snort, babe.”

  It occurred to her that having people watch them have sex was one thing, but doing drugs with an audience across the street was quite another.

  “Should we do this with people watching?” she said.

  “What makes you think anyone’s watching?” he countered.

  “You walk around here most of the time with your crown jewels hanging out,” she said tartly. “I’m sure you’ve got an avid audience.”

  He roared with laughter. “You’re a trip.”

  “So are you,” she retorted. And then she thought, to hell with it, a little coke for lunch. Great for the figure. No food, just coke. Excellent choice.

  She took a delicate snort. He grinned at her and quickly snorted two lines. There was one line left.

  “You or me?” he questioned.

  “Go ahead,” she said graciously.

  He did so. He had a big capacity. There was a little bit of white powder remaining on the desktop. Dampening his finger, he placed it on the leftover powder, spreading the residue on his gums.

  “Take your clothes off, babe,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t we lock the—”

  “How many times I gotta tell you?” he said, shaking his head. “Nobody comes in here unless I invite ’em.”

  She was suddenly overcome with that same dirty feeling of excitement she always experienced around him. Quickly she unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of her skirt. She’d worn a thong especially for him, and a lacy low-cut bra.

  “You got any crotchless panties?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, making a mental note to buy a few pairs.

  “Wear ’em next time.”

  She nodded, already anticipating his rough touch.

  He stood up, dropped his pants and kicked them under the desk. “Take it all off, babe, get up on the desk an’ spread ’em,” he commanded.

  Who was she to argue? She removed her bra, stepped out of her thong and climbed onto his desk.

  “I said spread ’em, babe,” he said, parting her thighs. Then he crawled on top of her, employing the famous sixty-nine position.

  And so the dance began.

  CHAPTER

  19

  PETER AND JAMIE DROVE MADISON to the funeral in Connecticut. She was still in shock, desperately struggling to make sense of it all. “It’s surreal,” she mused, sitting in the back of Peter’s BMW. “I can’t quite explain it—but it’s like everything is happening in slow motion.”

  “I know,” Jamie agreed, turning her blond head to commiserate with her best friend.

  “First of all, I find out Stella isn’t my mother,” Madison continued. “And before I even have a chance to talk to her, she’s . . . she’s gone.”

  “What exactly did Michael tell you?” Jamie asked sympathetically.

  “Not much. Apparently there was a robbery, and Stella and this guy she was living with were both shot. It’s so . . . awful.”

  “Goddamnit!” Peter muttered angrily. “Nobody’s safe anymore.”

  “Did they put up a fight?” Jamie asked.

  “Who knows?” Madison said, thinking how strange Michael had sounded on the phone. There had been something in his voice—a coldness she couldn’t quite understand. Stella, his adored wife of over twenty-seven years was gone, and it was almost as if he’d completely disconnected.

  Death affects people in different ways, she thought. He’ll probably fall to pieces at the funeral.

  She wished for the hundredth time that she’d had an opportunity to talk to Stella—find out more about why she’d never been told the truth.

  Too late now—there was no going back.

  •

  Michael greeted her at the door of the big country house. He was dressed in a black suit and appeared to be perfectly normal and at ease. She threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, holding him tight, tears filling her eyes. “It’s such a tragedy.”

  “I know,” he agreed, his voice still strange.

  Before she could say anything el
se, he let go of her and turned to greet Jamie and Peter. She studied him for a moment, noticing that his eyes were not red-rimmed, which meant he hadn’t been crying. Was it because Stella had left him for another man that he didn’t seem upset? Could he be that cold?

  She was beginning to wonder about the father she’d thought she’d known all these years. It was odd, but in many ways it was almost as if he were a total stranger.

  A black limousine waited in the driveway to take them to the nearby church. Madison got in and sat next to Michael. He didn’t say a word.

  The funeral was a small affair, not more than two dozen people, gathered in clusters. To show his respect, Victor had driven up from New York in a chauffeured car. Embracing Madison, he murmured words of comfort. She thanked him and looked around, realizing that she knew hardly anyone; most of the people there were friends Michael and Stella had made in Connecticut. The only New Yorker she recognized was Stella’s best friend, Warner Carlysle, a jewelry designer. Madison had known Warner since she was a kid, not intimately, but enough to be able to go over and exchange condolences. She wondered if Warner knew the truth, that Stella had not been Madison’s mother, and suspected that she did.

  Warner was a tall, attractive woman, with short auburn hair and huge tinted shades. She seemed visibly distressed. “I can’t understand how this happened,” she said, obviously ill at ease. “Why would anybody want to kill them?”

  “It’s all so crazy,” Madison agreed.

  “Crazy is right,” Warner answered bitterly. “Did they take her jewelry?”

  “I have no idea,” Madison said, remembering Stella’s magnificent collection of art deco treasures, and wondering why Warner would be worrying about that at a time like this. “Stella was very security conscious. I think she kept most of her good stuff in the bank.”

  “Smart,” Warner said, adjusting her gold-and-emerald necklace.

  “Uh . . . did you know the man she was living with?” Madison asked. “Who was he?”

  “Lucien Martin, an artist in his twenties,” Warner said, nervously fidgeting with her shades. “The moment they met it was instant attraction, then a few weeks later she moved in with him.” Warner shook her head in disbelief. “Now they’re both gone.”

  After the church service, everyone trooped out to the burial ground, where there was another short service. Then after that was finished, there was a catered reception back at the house.

  Warner was loading up her plate at the buffet table when Madison approached her again. “Was she that unhappy with Michael?” she asked.

  “Your father never gave her the attention she craved,” Warner explained, piling more food onto her plate. “Stella required constant assurance that she was the most beautiful creature on earth. After a time, Michael got tired of telling her. Then she met Lucien, and he was there to tell her a thousand times a day.”

  “What was he like?”

  “A younger version of Michael,” Warner said shortly. “And he adored her.” She walked over to the couch in the living room and sat down with her plate of food. Madison followed.

  “Whatever you do, do not mention Lucien to Michael,” Warner said. “Michael was very angry and bitter about Stella running off. In fact,” she paused for a long moment, nervously looking around, “he even threatened her.”

  “Threatened her?” Madison said, her heart beating fast.

  “Yes, Stella was so scared that she and Lucien moved from his house into a high-security apartment. She shut herself off from Michael—didn’t want anything from him, not his money, nothing. She was planning on moving to New York with Lucien to get away from him. Then Michael found out, and he was furious.”

  Madison took a long, deep breath before speaking. “You’re . . . you’re not saying he could have had anything to do with their deaths, are you?”

  Warner stared at her with an impassive expression. “We’ll get together next week,” she said. “I can’t discuss it now.”

  The woman’s upset, Madison thought. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

  “I found out the truth about Stella and me,” Madison blurted out, waiting for a reaction.

  “The truth?” Warner said carefully, putting her plate down on the coffee table.

  “Michael told me.”

  “Oh God, I never thought he would.”

  “I guess you knew all along.”

  “Yes,” Warner said, nodding. “Stella and I were friends for over thirty years. I introduced her to Michael.”

  “You did?”

  “He was a friend of the man I was seeing then.”

  “I had no idea they met through you.”

  “Guilty, I’m afraid.”

  “Here’s my big regret.”

  “What?”

  “That I wasn’t able to talk to Stella before this happened.”

  “I’m sure it must be very difficult for you.”

  “It is—especially as we were never really close. Stella was always kind of . . . I was about to say cold, but it was more like distanced, you know?”

  “Yes, I do know, and that was because you weren’t hers, and you never could be,” Warner explained. “You were the constant reminder that Michael had a great love before her. Stella needed to be number one in his life, and she never felt that she was.”

  “How could she think that?” Madison said. “Michael worshiped her.”

  Warner nodded again. “We have to talk, but this is not the place. I’ll call you next week.”

  “Please,” Madison said. “I have so many questions I was hoping Stella could answer. Maybe you can answer some of them for me.”

  “I’ll try,” Warner said.

  Somehow Madison got through the rest of the day. Then later, when most people had left, she asked Michael if he’d like her to stay the night. He shook his head and said no. She didn’t push it; instead she said good-bye and got in the car to return to New York with Jamie and Peter.

  “Jesus!” Peter said, as they headed for the city. “What a day.”

  “Not one I’d want to repeat,” Madison said with a weary sigh.

  “How are you holding up?” Jamie asked.

  “All I can say is thank God you both came with me,” she replied. “I’m forever grateful.”

  “We wouldn’t’ve let you go by yourself,” Jamie said.

  “No way,” Peter added.

  “It’s so damn ironic,” Madison said, shaking her head. “Today I buried a mother I never had. Isn’t that something?”

  Jamie nodded understandingly. “You handled it well, as only you could.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Madison said softly. “I love Michael very much, only right now I’m completely confused about everything. I have no clue who he is anymore.”

  “Come stay with us for a few days,” Jamie suggested. “We’re not crazy about leaving you alone in your apartment.”

  “I’m not alone,” she said. “I have a dog. And a doorman. Oh yes, and David on the phone every day.”

  “Scratch him.”

  “And then of course there’s Jake, who’s somewhere in Paris and I have no idea where.”

  “I hate to be mean,” Jamie said. “But Jake sounds like a one-nighter.”

  “Don’t you mean a one-weeker?” Madison said wryly.

  “I’m not saying he doesn’t like you,” Jamie said quickly. “Only that he does seem to be Mister Unreliable.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, wasn’t he living with a call girl in L.A.?”

  “He wasn’t living with her, it was a quick affair.”

  “Listen, girls,” Peter interrupted, the voice of experience. “Any man who’s sleeping with a call girl is not exactly a winner in the love stakes. Because . . . if you have to pay for it—”

  “He didn’t pay for it,” Madison interrupted irritably. “He wasn’t aware that she was a working girl.”

  “Oh, please,” Peter said with a short, dry laugh. “A man knows imm
ediately.”

  “How?” Jamie said, fixing him with a suspicious look.

  “Those women have a certain technique,” Peter explained. “It’s all very professional.”

  “How would you know?” Jamie persisted.

  “I’m a man, aren’t I?”

  “A married man, Peter. And when did you ever pay for it?”

  “Never did, darling.”

  “Then how do you know all these things?” she asked accusingly.

  “Bachelor parties,” he said with a slight smirk.

  “Bachelor parties!” Jamie and Madison exclaimed in unison. “Didn’t they go out in 1965?”

  Peter laughed uncomfortably. “You women,” he said. “You’ll never accept there’s a double standard.”

  “Bullshit!” Madison said.

  “Crap!” Jamie said.

  Later, when Peter pulled his BMW up outside Madison’s apartment, Jamie was still worrying.

  “I’ll be fine,” Madison assured them. “All I need is time and space to think things out.”

  “Okay,” Jamie said. “But don’t forget, we’re only a phone call away.”

  “Thanks,” Madison said, getting out of the car. “It’s pretty special to have friends I can rely on.”

  “Love you,” Jamie said.

  Calvin was delighted to welcome her back. “Hope everything went all right, miss,” he said, escorting her up to her apartment. “I walked the dog about an hour ago, so he won’t be needing to go out again.”

  “Thanks, Calvin,” she said, letting herself in.

  Slammer, out of the kindness of his heart, decided not to punish her, instead he jumped all over her, thoroughly licking every inch of bare flesh he could find. She petted him for a minute, then went into the kitchen and threw him a treat. After that she did the usual ritual of checking out her answering machine.

  No Jake.

  Plenty of David.

  Damn! Where was Jake?

  “Can we meet?” David’s voice said. “I think you owe me that.”

  I owe you nothing, David, and I never will. Get over it!

  The third call was from Kimm Florian. A cryptic, “Call me back immediately.”

  So she did.

  Kimm picked up on the first ring. “I need to see you as soon as possible,” she said. “I can come over now.”