Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

“Got a call from Silver Anderson,” he said. “She says she has to see me.”

  “Silver Anderson?” Rosarita said. “What does that old bag want?”

  “She mentioned something about a script.”

  “Not another one of those dreary soaps, I hope,” Rosarita said, trying to conceal a satisfied yawn.

  “Who knows?” Dexter said. “It’s worth finding out.”

  “Well, try not to be long, ’cause I’m starving.”

  “Everything okay with Chas?”

  “Who?”

  “Your dad.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said quickly, remembering her excuse. “Everything’s fine.”

  “You look flushed.”

  “I hate riding in cabs. All those stupid foreigners drive like maniacs. They should send every one of them back to where they came from.”

  “For God’s sake, it’s not nice to say things like that.”

  She threw him a look. Dex was such a tight ass; she couldn’t wait to never have to see him again.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Get into bed, rest and look after yourself.”

  “I plan to,” Rosarita said, wishing he’d leave already. “I plan to look after myself all the way.”

  •

  A Filipino houseman came to the door of Silver’s apartment and ushered Dexter in. “Follow me, please,” the man said, leading Dexter into a large living room, where Silver lolled on a brocade-covered chaise lounge. She was clad in a pale-peach negligee trimmed with dyed-to-match fox fur. On her feet were high-heeled silver mules.

  Dexter’s stomach dropped—it was definitely an “out to seduce” outfit, and he had no intention of allowing himself to be seduced again. Especially as somewhere in the future he was going to become a daddy.

  “Hi, Silver,” he said, hovering in the doorway.

  “Dexter, darling, do come in and sit down,” she said, waving a languid arm in his direction.

  He’d never visited her apartment before. He entered the living room tentatively and glanced around, noting it was quite luxurious, in the diva style. There were enormous white couches, leopard throws and a great many ornate silver frames with pictures of Silver cozying up to various celebrities—not to mention a President or two. He couldn’t help being impressed as he settled down on the vast couch opposite her chaise.

  “Drink?” she offered.

  “I’ll pass,” he said.

  “How about a glass of champagne to celebrate?”

  “Celebrate what?”

  She picked up a bound script from the marble coffee table and tossed it over to him. “Our new project, darling,” she drawled. “Forget about agents and managers. I’m the one who’ll make you a star! I’m the one to whom you’re going to be very grateful indeed.”

  And he believed her.

  Why shouldn’t he?

  CHAPTER

  33

  MADISON AND KIMM were sitting side by side on the plane, but there was no talking going on. Madison had a hangover from hell; everything hurt, especially her head. She gazed out of the window as the plane prepared for takeoff. God! What a way to handle things—getting drunk and laid. Big answer. Very smart.

  She was mad at herself, and Kimm was mad at her because she hadn’t gotten back to the hotel until 6:00 a.m. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be worried out of my mind about you?” Kimm had said.

  “Sorry,” she’d mumbled, heading straight for the shower.

  Standing in the shower for almost an hour, letting the cold water bring her back to reality, she’d thought about everything going on in her life, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Anyway,” she’d said, when she’d finally emerged, “I was under the impression you were too busy having fun.”

  “I was,” Kimm admitted. “Not a one-night stand—just fun.”

  “Okay,” Madison had said. “No lectures. I know what I did. I fucked up. I had an opportunity to convince my aunt we could mean something to each other and I blew it. I sat in her office in a drunken haze, listening to everything she had to say and hardly reacting at all. Then I ran off with Juan and indulged in a night of mindless sex. Good move, huh?”

  Kimm had shaken her head disapprovingly.

  “Hey, listen, I’ve got this theory,” Madison had said. “Sometimes a person has to blast off, otherwise they’ll explode. I blasted off, now I can go home and attempt to cope with things.”

  Kimm had nodded, noncommittal to the end. “If that’s your way of handling it.”

  Now they sat on the plane in silence.

  Sipping a tomato juice, Madison decided what she would do when they got back: concentrate on her career, that was for sure. She’d leave Michael on a back burner for now, because there was no way she could deal with seeing him. He was a liar and a fraud. Maybe even a killer.

  Michael. Her father. Daddy. The betrayer.

  She shuddered at the thought of what he might be.

  Once the plane was in the air, she fell asleep, awakening shortly before landing.

  “I suppose this concludes our business together,” Kimm said, busily tightening her seat belt. “It’s been an interesting experience.”

  “It certainly has,” Madison replied. “And I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “Do you?” Kimm said. “Maybe you’d be happier if I hadn’t found out some of the things I did.”

  “No.” Madison shook her head. “I’m one of those people who prefer to know everything—and now I do.” She took a sip of her tomato juice. “And thanks for coming to Miami with me, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Wish I could’ve been more help.”

  “Like how?” Madison said. “Stopped me from making a fool of myself?”

  “You didn’t make a fool of yourself,” Kimm said, sensible as ever. “You slept with a very attractive young man. It’s understandable.”

  “Young’s the operative word,” Madison responded ruefully. “But what the heck—I’m free to do what I please—big fucking deal.”

  Easy enough to say, she thought. Inside she was cringing. A one-night stand with a baby. How humiliating! She hadn’t wanted it to be that way, but she’d had no one else to hang on to. If only Jake had been in her corner, things might have been different. But no. Jake was exactly like all the rest. He’d proved that she was nothing more than a sexual interlude to him, and it hurt. How foolish of her to have imagined it was more.

  She had no desire to see Jake again; therefore she had to call Victor and tell him to assign another photographer for the Vegas gig. Jake was yesterday’s news, and the last thing she wanted was to work with him.

  “Well,” she said, turning to Kimm, whom she’d noticed was a white-knuckle flyer, “did you at least enjoy yourself a little bit?”

  “I relaxed,” Kimm said. “And I got a new outfit.”

  “You looked like you were having fun. I saw you on the dance floor.”

  “There’s something very energizing about that place,” Kimm said with the glimmer of a smile. “I got caught up in the moment.”

  “Tell me about it,” Madison said wryly.

  Outside the airport they hailed a cab and shared it into the city. The driver—a talkative Armenian—dropped Madison off first.

  Standing on the curb in front of her building, she suggested to Kimm that they get together for lunch before she left for Vegas.

  “Call me,” Kimm said, raising the window as the cab took off.

  But they both knew she probably wouldn’t. This was a phase of her life she was anxious to forget, and Kimm would always be a painful reminder.

  Slammer—fed up with her absences—went totally berserk when he saw her, barking and drooling with excitement.

  “I’m not very fair to you, am I?” she said, collapsing on the floor next to him and rubbing his stomach. “I dump on you all the time. No nice long walks. I’m always miserable. But it’s going to change, I promise. Things are definitely returning to norm
al.”

  Slammer barked as if he understood. He probably did—he was one smart dog.

  She jumped up and played back the messages on her answering machine. The usual suspects: David, who was obviously never giving up; Jamie; Victor, wanting to know how far she’d progressed on her research; and Michael—damn him. Right now she wanted nothing to do with him. Even speaking to him would be an ordeal.

  She took her second shower of the day, her mind drifting back to the night before. Already it seemed as if South Beach was in another world, another time. Kimm had said there was something about the atmosphere there, and she was right. Some kind of sexual buzz had taken over, rendering her helpless.

  After getting dressed, she headed for the office.

  Victor greeted her with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Ah, my star reporter has decided to put in an appearance,” he boomed. “What an exciting occasion!”

  “I had business in Miami,” she explained.

  “Miami?” His jowls quivered. “Why would anybody go there?”

  “You should take your wife to South Beach, Victor,” Madison said. “It’ll loosen her up, get the plug out of her ass.”

  Victor’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” he said.

  Madison laughed. “You heard. It’s a very laid-back place.”

  “Ah,” Victor said. “I can tell somebody got lucky.”

  “Lucky, unlucky—it doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “Oh, and by the way, I’d like you to assign another photographer to the Vegas gig. Jake Sica isn’t right for the job.”

  “Too late,” Victor said loudly. “I’ve already hired him. Besides, his work is excellent.”

  “Damn!” she muttered.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I was hoping you might break into your piggy bank and hire Annie Leibovitz. Her photographs are awesome.”

  “That would please Vanity Fair,” he said dryly. “She’s theirs.”

  “I thought it would be a good change to work with a woman,” she said, well aware that Victor was notorious for employing a mostly male staff, something she was always complaining about.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Why not?” she said, challenging him. “You’re so sexist, Victor. Lighten up.”

  “Me? Sexist?” he said, quite offended.

  “Okay, boss, don’t go getting your balls in an uproar.”

  “You leave my balls alone.”

  She grinned. “That’s a promise.”

  “By the way,” Victor said, “it’s about time we started lining up your next victim.”

  “Now?”

  “I was thinking Bruce Willis.”

  “Bruce Willis?”

  “He’s an extremely underrated actor. And with the divorce thing behind him, and the fact that he’s such a macho kind of man—not to mention one of the highest paid movie stars in the world—I’m sure people will be salivating to read your take on him.”

  “What’s this thing you have about movie stars?”

  “They generate heat and big newsstand sales.”

  “Give me another choice?”

  “Charlie Dollar.”

  “Trouble in waiting.”

  “Nothing wrong with trouble. Isn’t that your forte?”

  “What you’re trying to tell me is that you want another boring Hollywood cover.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then how about Lucky Santangelo? Titan of Panther Studios?”

  “She’d be a real coup,” Victor said enthusiastically. “However, I understand she doesn’t do publicity.”

  “Maybe I can persuade her.”

  “How?”

  “Woman to woman. She’s an incredible character. She’s done a lot for women and I’m sure I could get to her. I’m vaguely friendly with Alex Woods—remember—he nearly did my call-girl project, and I understand he’s quite close to her. Send me out to the Coast for a while, and I’ll see what I can pull off.”

  “Do I sense you’re anxious to get away from New York?”

  “I’ve had a lot of personal problems to deal with. I need a change.”

  “Ah yes,” Victor said. “The death of your mother was a terrible tragedy.”

  “It’s more than that,” she said, thinking, If he only knew. “Things I can’t talk about now.”

  “Are you sure?” Victor said, shooting her a penetrating stare. “I have an extremely sympathetic ear.”

  “Someday, when I’ve gotten used to the situation.”

  He looked concerned. “Whatever it is, Madison, you know I’m always here for you.”

  “That’s the one good thing,” she said. “I’ve discovered that I really do have wonderfully loyal friends.”

  “And so you should,” Victor said pompously. “A person gets the friends they deserve. And you, my dear, deserve only the best.”

  •

  Madison left the office, hit Lexington and immediately heard someone calling her name. She stopped for a moment and looked around. Running down the street toward her was Jake Sica. “Hey,” he yelled, reaching her side. “I thought it was you.”

  “Well, well, well,” she said, cool as ice. “The traveling photographer. Hello, stranger.”

  “Stranger?” He looked at her quizzically. “Two weeks and I’m a stranger?”

  “Did you have a good time in Paris?” she asked, still on the icy side. “I guess you must have, because I sure as hell didn’t hear from you.”

  “You didn’t hear from me ’cause I hate those damn answering machines.”

  “So you’re telling me you phoned and failed to leave a message?”

  “Nope,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t phone ’cause I know your machine’s always on. I figured I’d see you when I got back.”

  “Really.”

  “Right now I’m on my way to visit Victor. How about you?”

  “I just left him.”

  “Wanna come with me and surprise him?”

  The surprise will be on you, she thought. If Victor has the balls, he’ll cancel you off the Vegas job, and it’ll be good-bye, Jake.

  “No thanks,” she said, faking a bored expression.

  “You look tired,” he said. “Everything okay?”

  Screw you, Jake Sica! I am not tired—I am hungover. Plus I have a sex hangover too, because the sex I had last night was amazing—better than the sex we had. And you have no idea what I’ve been through since you left. So fuck you big time.

  “I only got back from Miami this morning,” she said, trying not to sound too uptight. “I was covering a few of the clubs in South Beach. Up all night; you know how it is.”

  “Miami, huh?” he said. “You must’ve had a good time.”

  “Naturally,” she said. “Wouldn’t waste it.”

  He leaned in a little closer. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  “You keep on asking me that,” she said, backing away. “I’m fine.”

  “I understand we’re covering the fight in Vegas together.”

  “We are?” she said, as if it was the first she’d heard of it.

  “Victor mentioned you requested me. Thanks.”

  I don’t want to work with you, Jake. I don’t want to sleep with you again either. You’re exactly like all the rest.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said, pointedly glancing at her watch. “I’ve got an appointment and I can’t be late. Work first. Everything else second.”

  “Can I see you tonight?”

  Was he dense or what? “Let me ask you one question,” she said, unable to hold back any longer. “Do you want to see me because you happened to run into me, or were you planning on calling me later?”

  “Oh, I get it,” he said, nodding knowingly. “You’re pissed, aren’t you?”

  “Why would I be pissed?” she said quickly.

  “Oh yeah, you’re pissed all right.”

  “No I’m not,” she said, hating him for having any kind of effect on her.


  “Yes you are.”

  “Okay,” she admitted, fed up with playing games. “Maybe I am. We were together for a week, had a perfectly great time, then you take off to Paris, and not another word until I bump into you a few minutes ago. Tell me, Jake, why the hell shouldn’t I be pissed?”

  “You could’ve called me,” he said, infuriating her even more.

  “I could’ve. Only one minor problem—you didn’t give me your phone number or tell me where you were staying.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “That would be a problem.”

  “So, you will excuse me, won’t you?” she said icily. “I am pissed, and I do not wish to discuss it.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she took off, striding down the street without looking back.

  Just another selfish jerk with bedroom eyes and a great body. Who the hell did he think he was? Screw him.

  She stopped at the nearest coffee shop, went straight to the pay phone in the back and called Jamie. “I’m here,” she announced. “And ready to talk.”

  “Thank God for that,” Jamie exclaimed. “I can’t keep up with you anymore.”

  “Guess who I bumped into on the street?”

  “Who?”

  “Jake,” she said excitedly. “Can you believe it? And the son of a bitch acted as if nothing happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. The prick doesn’t call me after spending a week at my apartment. What does he expect? That I’ll jump into his arms? I don’t think so. I fucking hate him.”

  “You need a therapy session,” Jamie said calmly.

  “Oh, Christ! If one more person tells me I need a shrink, I’ll go totally stone-cold crazy.”

  “I’m not saying you need a shrink. What I’m saying is you need a therapy session—with me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. Talking it out helps. Are you free for lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s meet.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, where?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.”

  •

  They met for lunch in the refurbished Russian Tea Room, and over borscht, blinis and several white Russians, Madison let it all out.

  Jamie listened sympathetically, interjecting only when it was absolutely necessary. “If this were a plot for a movie,” she said, when Madison had finished her long story, “I wouldn’t believe it.”