Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

  Madison gave her a big hug. Natalie squealed with delight. She was a vivacious five-foot-two-inch black woman with glowing skin and wide brown eyes. “Man, you look great!” she exclaimed, stepping back.

  “So do you,” Madison said.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting you to look so good,” Natalie said. “From what I hear, things are pretty down.”

  “That’s true,” Madison said, shrugging. “But you know me—always the survivor.”

  “Come on,” Natalie said, grabbing her by the arm. “I got us a table inside.”

  “I’d sooner sit outside and watch the passing crowd. Vegas is a circus. I love the action.”

  “Oh, good. Does that mean we can hit the blackjack tables later?” Natalie said, approaching the maître d’ and organizing a table for two on the patio.

  “I’ll watch,” Madison said. “Given the way my luck’s been running . . .” she trailed off as they were seated.

  Natalie clicked her fingers for a waiter.

  “Drinks, ladies?” the waiter asked. He was a would-be actor with tousled, mud-brown hair and a boyish grin.

  “Perrier,” Madison said.

  “Same,” Natalie said, smiling up at him. “And bring us a couple of your delicious pizzas.”

  “You got it.”

  “Hmm . . . not bad,” Natalie said, watching him as he retreated. “Nice ass.”

  “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?”

  Natalie smiled mischievously. “Is there anything else?”

  “Cute.”

  “So, how was Antonio ‘The Panther’—or whatever his name is?”

  “Major sexist asshole.”

  “Figures. While you were with him, I was interviewing the champ. Although I gotta say—your one’s more of a babe.”

  “He’s not my one,” Madison objected. “And he’s not a babe, he’s a dummy. You should hear the crap that spews out of his mouth. I mean, where do guys learn such bad behavior?”

  “Hey—he must be all of twenty,” Natalie said. “At that age guys think with their dicks, an’ since this one makes a living with his fists, what did you expect, girl—Einstein?”

  “Right,” Madison agreed, with a dry laugh. “I keep forgetting how young he is. Young and full of himself. He’s convinced he’ll win.”

  “Whatever gets him through the day.”

  The waiter returned with their drinks, and Natalie bestowed another big smile on him.

  “Flirt!” Madison admonished, after he left.

  “Can’t help it,” Natalie giggled. “It comes naturally.”

  “Tell me about the champ,” Madison said, picking up her Perrier and sipping it.

  “Busy black boy doing his Muhammad Ali shtick,” Natalie said, waving at an acquaintance.

  “Did he come on to you?”

  “No!” Natalie exclaimed. “He’s a Muslim with a knockout babe of a wife who sits silently in the background, completely calm, watching everything. Man, that woman’s got dagger eyes. He wouldn’t dare look at another female; she’d have his balls for breakfast, sprinkled with sugar.”

  “So eloquent,” Madison said, laughing.

  “I try.”

  “And how is the complicated and always interesting love life of Miz Natalie De Barge? You still seeing the football player?”

  Natalie grinned. “Big Luther? Sure, when he’s around.” A succinct pause. “He comes, he goes—if you get my subtle drift.”

  “Your not-so-subtle drift.”

  “And you?” Natalie inquired. “Anything new and exciting in the love stakes?”

  “Remember I told you Jake Sica called me.”

  “And?”

  “He was in New York recently, and we . . . had a little interlude. Actually, it was more like a weeklong interlude.”

  “Girl!” Natalie yelled. “Don’t tell me you finally did it?”

  “Shout a little louder,” Madison said, frowning. “I think there’s a couple in the corner who didn’t quite hear.”

  “Thank God!” Natalie exclaimed. “I thought we’d never get you laid again!”

  “You’re so crude.”

  “Never said I wasn’t.”

  “Jesus!”

  “Of course,” Natalie mused, waving at another acquaintance. “You two always had chemistry.”

  “Oh, yeah, there was chemistry all right,” Madison said wryly. “After seven great, inseparable days and nights, he took off for Paris, and that’s the last I heard from him until I ran into him on the street. Unfortunately, I’d already suggested him for this job, so he’s here in Vegas, and he wants to have dinner with me tonight. Naturally, I told him no.”

  The waiter returned with two pizzas. “May I say that I love your show,” he said to Natalie, a lock of tousled hair falling appealingly on his forehead.

  She grinned, pleased. “You may.”

  “Are you here for the fight?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Bruce Willis was in last night,” he confided. “So was Leonardo.”

  “Cool.”

  “Will you be interviewing either of them?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll be watching.”

  “I think he likes you,” Madison said as the waiter departed.

  “Cute guy with taste,” Natalie said, grinning again. “Now back to you—here’s the thing . . .”

  “What?”

  “When it comes to men, you’re too particular.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means you gotta loosen up, girl; the poor guy is probably scared shitless of you. A week in your company is enough to scare anybody.”

  “Ah—compliments,” Madison said dryly. “Exactly what I’m craving.”

  “I’m sorry to say this, Maddy, ’cause you know how much I love you, but your extreme smarts intimidate people—especially guys who can’t live up to you.”

  “Hmm . . .” Madison drawled sarcastically. “Maybe I should try to appear dumber.”

  “Jake probably figured he couldn’t compete. So he took off rather than try.”

  “Christ, Natalie! Am I that bad?”

  “Like David,” Natalie said, on an unstoppable roll. “You see, basically David knew he wasn’t as smart as you, so he ran into the arms of the first dumb blonde he could find.”

  “She was his childhood sweetheart,” Madison pointed out.

  “Doesn’t make her any smarter.”

  Madison sighed; she’d had enough of Natalie’s dime-store philosophy. “And I suppose that’s why he’s begging to come back?” she said.

  “David?” Natalie questioned, eyebrows shooting up.

  “Yes, David. Believe me, I haven’t even begun to tell you all the stuff that’s been going on.”

  “Well, girl,” Natalie said, leaning back in her chair. “Enough of this Perrier crap. I think it’s time I ordered myself a long, cool martini. Then I’m chillin’ out and listening to everything you have to say.”

  •

  Carrie managed to irritate Joel all the way to the private airstrip where Leon’s G-4 waited, sitting on the tarmac like a huge, gleaming predatory bird.

  He’d had the driver stop the limo and purchase a bottle of Cristal. Then he’d opened it, inadvertently spilling it all over his Armani sports jacket. After that little mishap, he’d filled a glass for her, and the bitch had barely taken a sip. Instead she’d gazed out of the window as if bored, ignoring his valiant attempts at conversation. The truth was, in the limo—with only the two of them as witnesses—that was okay. But how about on the plane, when he had to impress his goddamn father? Not to mention the Asian prison guard?

  Carrie Hanlon had to shape up and put on some kind of show, or he was royally fucked.

  He considered the situation. She had her own money, plenty of adulation, a hot career. What could he possibly offer her that she didn’t already possess?

  Of course, there was always Eduardo. But he was a done deal. Paid
for and waiting in a luxurious suite at the hotel.

  What to offer the bitch—that was the question.

  And then it came to him. A movie career. Yes! Every supermodel he’d ever known had lusted after a movie career. They all fancied themselves as the next Cameron Diaz.

  “Carrie,” he said slowly, as the limo drew to a halt. “You ever met Marty Scorsese?”

  “No,” she said, not really interested.

  “The reason I ask,” he said, persevering, “is ’cause he’ll be at the fight, an’ he happens to be a very good friend of mine.”

  She considered his words for a minute.

  “A very, very good friend,” he added, in case she hadn’t gotten it the first time.

  “Hmm . . .” she said, licking her full lips with a surprisingly pointed pink tongue. “I’ve already done a movie.”

  “A flop,” he said, remembering her debut in a tits-and-ass debacle, in which the producers had her running around in a barely there T-shirt, cavorting with a lackluster costar.

  “It was an action/adventure film,” Carrie said, a touch huffy.

  “No, darling,” Joel corrected, quite pleased with himself. “It was a genuine piece of crap.”

  “That’s your opinion,” she muttered.

  “And every reviewer’s in America,” he said, guessing accurately. “You see, Carrie, the way to make it in the movies is with an A-number-one director.”

  “Like Scorsese,” she said, the thought of meeting the talented director finally sinking in.

  “He did it for Sharon Stone.”

  “She had to show her snatch.”

  “Not for Scorsese. For him she got nominated for an Oscar.”

  “Really?”

  “Casino.”

  “Oh.”

  “Somethin’, huh?”

  “My agent says—”

  “Forget about agents,” he interrupted. “They don’t know shit. What you need is to meet one of these big-time directors on a personal level.”

  “I can meet anyone I want,” she said defiantly.

  “Sure you can,” he answered soothingly. “But you gotta realize—meeting them at the right time in the right place—it means a lot. And what with Marty being such a close friend of the family . . .” He trailed off, allowing her time to think about it—which she did.

  “Introduce me,” she said.

  “Be nice to me in front of my old man, and I will.”

  And so they made a bargain. And Joel wondered how the hell he was going to pull this one off, on account of the fact that he didn’t even know Martin Scorsese, let alone have any idea if the director was in Vegas.

  He’d find a way. He always did.

  •

  “Did Jamie call you?” Madison asked, sampling a piece of irresistible apple pie sent to their table by the dessert chef.

  “Was she supposed to?” Natalie said.

  “I guess you’ll hear,” Madison ventured. “Only I wanted it to come from her first.”

  “Hear what?”

  “About her and Peter.”

  “What about them?”

  “Things are not good. She put a detective on him, and it’s really bad.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Natalie groaned. “Not Jamie and Peter—my dream couple.”

  “I’m sorry to say the dream couple are about to hit a brick wall.”

  “Is he gettin’ it on with someone else?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Somebody Jamie knows?”

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “Why not?” Natalie demanded, determined to know everything.

  “Because I’d sooner she told you herself.”

  “Why?”

  “If you can make the time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to fly to New York. Right now she needs her friends around her.”

  “When are you going back?”

  Madison took a deep breath. The very thought of going back was a total turnoff. Go back to what? Michael and his lies? No. She could do without her father for a while. He was a man she didn’t know anymore, and merely thinking about him gave her a creepy feeling.

  “Uh . . . I was hoping to stop off in L.A. for a few weeks,” she said vaguely.

  “I’d love that,” Natalie said excitedly. “So would Cole. Baby bro is crazy about you.”

  “It’s mutual.”

  “Shame he’s gay,” Natalie mused. “The two of you would’ve made a lovely couple.”

  “You are about the most unrealistic person I know,” Madison said, shaking her head in wonderment.

  Natalie giggled. “It’s more fun that way.”

  “I guess,” Madison said, thinking about the events of the last few months. “After everything I’ve been through, I could do with a little fantasy. Y’know, I was saying to Jamie the other day—I think I belong on the Jerry Springer Show.”

  “You?” Natalie said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Miss Classy Boots?”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Madison said, pushing the tempting dessert away. “How is Cole anyway?”

  “Doing okay. He and Mr. Mogul seem to be couple of the year.”

  “I thought you hated Mr. Mogul?”

  “I did. But at least he’s kept Cole close for a while, so that makes me feel more secure. The man has a reputation for dumping the prettiest boys in town.”

  “Cole’s a great guy. And smart. Why would anyone dump him?”

  “Hey—I’m just the critical sister who only wants the best for baby bro.”

  Madison nodded. She enjoyed being with Natalie—like Jamie, Natalie was the sister she’d never had. Telling her everything over lunch had been a cathartic experience; now it was time to return to work. She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get moving,” she said. “The man who would be champ is waiting—not!”

  “Me too,” Natalie agreed. “I’m doing a sit-down with Jimmy Smits, and that I do not want to be late for.”

  “Lucky you,” Madison said. “I get stuck with a boxer, when I’d sooner be in Washington talking to a politician.”

  “Politicians are way worse than boxers,” Natalie said knowledgeably. “They’re so horny it’s pathetic! I interviewed a senator last week—and practically jumped ten feet in the air when he stuck his goddamn hand up my skirt!”

  “Ah,” Madison said knowingly. “The Clinton legacy.”

  “My cameraman was falling down laughing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Continued the interview. What else? Hey—” she grinned. “Nobody can ever accuse me of not being professional.”

  “You’re something, Natalie.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  Madison snapped her fingers for the check.

  “My check,” Natalie insisted, as the waiter appeared at their table.

  “No, mine,” Madison argued. “The magazine will pay.”

  “It’s all taken care of,” their waiter said, a cowlick of mud-brown hair drifting on his forehead. “Compliments of Wolfgang.” A sly wink directed toward Natalie. “He watches your show too.”

  “Why thanks,” Natalie said, wide smile springing into action. “And your name is . . .?”

  “Willem.”

  “You deserve a tip, Willem.”

  “It’s not necessary,” he said.

  “Yes it is,” Natalie answered crisply. “Change your name—it’s the best tip you’ll ever get.”

  CHAPTER

  43

  “FUCKIN’ A WOMAN is like eatin’ a meal,” Antonio proclaimed, bare chested in a pair of orange shorts, thick white socks and brown lace-up boots.

  “And why would that be?” Madison asked, keeping her voice in neutral.

  “ ’Cause y’see,” Antonio explained, creasing his forehead as if he’d given the subject a great deal of serious thought. “You got all types a wimmen, an’ all kinda food. Yeah,” he nodded to himself, pleased with his speech, “like you can get a hot dog or a steak. A burrito or a pizz
a. Get it?”

  “No,” Madison said. “Tell me what you mean.”

  He regarded her as if she were extremely dense, then launched into his philosophy. Fortunately his manager was out of earshot.

  “You order a steak,” he said patiently. “Like you’d compare a steak to one of them movie actresses or a dancer or a singer—they’re somethin’ special. Then you got your everyday burrito—a quick snack—you eat ’em an’ take off.” He guffawed heartily. “Sometime you eat ’em an wanna throw up.” Another hearty guffaw.

  “And currently . . .” Madison said. “You are eating . . .?”

  “Prime rump,” he boasted. “Ass on her better than Jennifer Lopez!”

  “Any relation?”

  “Naw,” Antonio crowed cheerfully. “But I’m gonna fuck her one of these days.”

  Madison rolled her eyes. She’d had enough of Antonio and his dumb, sexist rhetoric. She had her story, it was time to move on. “Thanks,” she said, standing up and looking around for Jake. He was conferring with his young assistant, preparing for the cover shot. Since returning to Antonio’s training compound she’d had no chance at all to speak with Jake. It was obvious that when he was working he became totally immersed in what he was doing. Occasionally she’d glanced over, observing him behind his camera, his face alert and concentrated. Anyone could see he was very into what he did—creating pictures, mind images that captured the imagination, although she knew that photographing celebrities was not his favorite thing to do.

  She waved at Antonio’s manager. “I’m leaving,” she called out. “See you tomorrow night.”

  “You’re gonna be watchin’ a winner tomorrow,” Antonio boasted, flexing his arm muscles. “Better make sure you do what I tell you, lady—put yourself on-line for a big bet.”

  “I told you,” she said, wishing he’d shut up. “I don’t bet.”

  “You gotta—for me,” Antonio said, his gold teeth still catching the light. “It bring me plenty a luck.”

  The manager escorted her over to her rental car. “Y’know, sometimes Tonio says things he don’t really mean,” he confided. “But I can see you’re a nice, honest gal. You wouldn’t print nothing to make Tonio come over stupid, would you?”

  “I print the truth,” she answered calmly. “I don’t make things up.”

  “No, no, honey—it’s not that we don’t trust you,” he said, speaking much too fast. “Only sometimes Tonio says things about women that, you know, some people could find disrespectful. But that’s Tonio—he loves women too much.”