Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  He sat in a coffee shop on Sunset toying with a late breakfast of bacon and eggs, ruminating his fate, and wondering why it was his luck to have met a gorgeous, delectable woman—with whom he’d fallen instantly in love, not to mention lust—who then turned out to be an extremely highly paid call girl. Goddamn it! The whole scenario was like a bad movie.

  Last night he’d had dinner with his new best friend, Madison, and she’d advised him to call Kristin and hear her side of things. He’d done so, but Kristin was out, so he’d left a long message on her answering machine. So far she hadn’t responded.

  He had a feeling she might have been sitting beside her machine listening to him and hating him because he’d walked out on her when he’d found out the shattering truth.

  Fuck! He’d blown it. He should at least have stayed around long enough to listen to what she had to say. Instead he’d marched out like an insulted virgin, yelling something like, “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve worn a condom.”

  Jesus! Talk about bad behavior.

  After brooding over his coffee, he finally went to a pay phone and tried again to reach Kristin.

  This time a female voice answered, only it wasn’t Kristin—it sounded more like a foreign maid. “Kristin?” he asked hopefully, even though he knew it wasn’t her.

  “No, this Chiew. I take message?”

  “Uh . . . I need to talk to the lady you work for. Will she be back soon?”

  “Don’t know. Madam not come home last night.”

  Oh, that was great. She was probably out with a big-bucks client having wild, paid-for sex.

  “What time will she be home?”

  “No, sorry.”

  He gave her his number at the hotel, impressing upon her that it was urgent Kristin call him the moment she came in. He didn’t know what else to do, but he did know it was imperative that he talk to her as soon as possible so that he could try to straighten things out.

  He went back to his table, finished his coffee, paid the check and strode out into the hot noon sun.

  • • •

  In her office at the TV station, Natalie De Barge was busy working on what could turn out to be the biggest story of her career, and it wasn’t about Salli T. Turner. The lead had been handed to her by her news director, Garth, who had a loyal spy in the police department. She’d taken the small amount of information he’d given her and run with it.

  Natalie was well aware that this was her big opportunity to get out of boring show-business gossip and into hard news. This was her chance to shine with a real story. She, Natalie De Barge, was about to become famous.

  She’d been working on her story all night, and now she had it together in time for the noon news.

  As she sat at her computer finishing up, Jimmy Sica, the good-looking news anchor with the dazzling smile, wandered over and stood behind her. “I hear you got a hot deal goin’, babe,” he said, rubbing her shoulders.

  “That’s right, Jimmy,” she replied, shrugging his hands off her back.

  “Y’know,” he said casually, “Garth and I were talking, and although your story’s kind of showbiz-related, he thought I should be the one to break it.”

  She turned around and stared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding. This is my story, Jimmy. Mine. I worked on this all damn night and all morning, and I am not giving it up to anyone.’

  “But it’ll be stronger coming from me,” Jimmy pointed out.

  “What’s wrong with Garth?” Natalie snapped, her eyes flashing major danger signals. “He didn’t have the balls to tell me himself?”

  “Guess he knew you’d be mad,” Jimmy said weakly.

  “Fuck him and fuck you, Jimmy,” she said furiously. “I’m on air with this. Don’t mess with me.”

  “No need to get nasty,” he said, backing off, a hurt expression on his handsome face.

  “If you had a great exclusive, wouldn’t you be angry?”

  “I’m only trying to be helpful.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “In what way?”

  “You’re not used to presenting hard news. You do the trivia—who’s sleeping with whom—the Leonardo DiCaprio and Gwyneth Paltrow shit.”

  “Yes. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to get away from. This is my opportunity.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your panties caught up your butt,” Jimmy said, rapidly backing off. “I’ll tell Garth.”

  “Yeah, and while you’re doing that, tell him the next time he has something to say to me, he can do it himself.”

  Jimmy mock-saluted. “Got it.”

  Natalie was fuming. She should’ve known that Garth wanted her to do the work, while Jimmy took all the glory. It was always that way.

  But they weren’t getting away with it this time. This story was definitely hers.

  chapter 9

  “I’M COMPLETELY DISARMED,” Madison said, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her eyes.

  They were sitting outside at Farmer’s Market eating Danish and sipping iced tea.

  Freddie leaned across the small table. “What was that?” he said.

  She laughed, “I said, I’m completely disarmed by you. You’re nothing at all like your public image.”

  “Yes, but we’ll keep that between us, won’t we?”

  “In everything I’ve read about you, you come across as a cold power broker with a heart of stone. A man who’s only interested in mega deals. Are you aware that everybody’s scared of you? Yet here I am, a journalist of all people, sitting here with you having an exceptionally pleasant time.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, sipping his iced tea. “As I told you before, you caught me on a strange day.” For a moment he paused, staring reflectively into the distance. “You see, yesterday I thought I wanted nothing more to do with Max Steele. And today I keep thinking about how we both started out together, our close friendship, the way we built our agency from nothing. Max was the personality, I was the brains. Not that I’m saying Max doesn’t have brains. He’s a hard worker and street smart—qualities I admire.”

  “I only met him briefly,” Madison said, remembering Max climbing into his pristine red Maserati with a big smile on his face. “However, I must say I liked him. He’s a complete egomaniac, but an unabashed one—which gives him a certain amount of charm.”

  “How did you meet him?” Freddie asked curiously.

  “My girlfriend’s brother, Cole, arranged it so that we bumped into each other jogging. He knew I wanted to ask Max about you.”

  “And how does Cole know Max?”

  “Cole’s a personal trainer. In fact, I think he’s worked you out a couple of times. Black guy, very good-looking.”

  “Diana hires the trainers.”

  “I get the picture. Your wife runs your personal life. You run the business.”

  He threw her one of his cold looks. “I can assure you, Madison, my personal life is all mine.”

  Hmm, she thought, mustn’t go too far; this is an interesting, complex man, and I should hold back. “So far you haven’t allowed me to put on my tape recorder,” she said, hoping he might acquiesce. “Which means I have no interview.”

  “That’s all right,” Freddie said, taking another sip of iced tea. “As I told you before, we must get to know each other first before I subject myself.”

  “But this would be so perfect to write about,” she said enthusiastically. “The real Freddie Leon. The man who actually bleeds if he’s cut.”

  “Maybe it’s the perfect interview for you, “he said evenly. “However, it is not quite the image I wish to present to the world.”

  She fixed him with a long look. “When do I get to put on my tape?”

  “Maybe later in the week I’ll take you to lunch and give you the official interview, the one I’ve never given before.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He offered a glimmer of a smile. “I’ll tell you how Max and I started out, all about our first clients, the people we’ve dealt
with over the years. I’ll give you a good interview. But today I feel like forgetting about everything. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know how you feel,” she said, nodding vigorously. “When Salli Turner got murdered I was in shock, and it’s only been a couple of days.”

  “Was she a friend of yours?”

  “An acquaintance. I’m going to her funeral later. Did you know her?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She remembered Salli telling her about how she’d met Freddie in the underground garage of his building. Probably he was stalked by so many would-be actresses that he genuinely didn’t remember.

  “Where’s the funeral?” he asked.

  “Westwood,” she replied. “Cole’s taking me, he knew Salli pretty well.”

  “It seems Cole knows everyone.”

  “He does. And all their secrets, too. Sort of like you, although on a different level.” She took a big bite of Danish; Freddie was right, it was delicious. “Who do you think murdered Salli?”

  Freddie paused before answering. “Difficult to know with these girls,” he said slowly. “They arrive in town with nothing but their looks and a whole lot of ambition. Then, if they’re lucky, they make a little money, get a touch of fame, and that’s when they all pick the wrong man. They’re incapable of dating anyone with substance. I’ve seen it happen a thousand times. We have a girl at our agency, Angela Musconni. She’s a wonderful young actress, yet there’s something about her—something I know will eventually destroy her—one way or the other.”

  “Must be tough for you to watch. Can we talk about that?”

  “Don’t push it, Madison,” he said shortly.

  She pushed it anyway. “I was thinking of interviewing your secretary, maybe your wife, and some of your friends,” she said. “Would that bother you?”

  “When I’m ready, I’ll give you the list of who you can talk to,” he said abruptly.

  “You’re very controlling, Freddie.”

  “The secret of my success, Madison.”

  “Okay,” she said, sighing. “The rules are yours, so I guess I’m going to have to play the game your way.”

  “Good. Because otherwise you’d be out of the ballpark.”

  An hour later he dropped her off in the underground parking garage at his building. “Call me tomorrow,” he said.

  “Will I get past the dreaded Ria?”

  “If you’re persistent.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She collected her car from the valet and drove home.

  “Am I glad you’re here,” Cole said, greeting her at the door. “Natalie called—she’s breakin’ a big story on the noon news, wants me to tape it. You got any idea how to work this goddamn machine?”

  “Put in a tape, and press Record.”

  “I don’t have to set it?”

  “C’mon, Cole—of course not. When you play it back, you merely fast-forward to where you want to go.”

  “Hey—very smart.”

  “What’s Nat’s story about?” Madison asked, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of Evian.

  “The Malibu blonde deal. She’s been working it all night.”

  “What happened with Luther?” Madison asked, swigging from the bottle.

  “She gave him up for her story.”

  “Natalie putting work before a guy? Now that’s progress.” They both laughed. “What time should we leave for Salli’s funeral?”

  “Soon as we’ve watched big Sis. We should get there early.”

  “Good.”

  “How’d it go with Freddie?”

  “He’s quite an amazing man,” Madison said thoughtfully. “With a great deal of personal integrity.”

  Cole raised an eyebrow. “Never heard that about Freddie Leon. Around town they call him the Snake—y’know, he’ll bite you soon as look at you.”

  “You’re a cynic, Cole.”

  “Takes one to know one,” he said, turning on the TV and fiddling with the tape machine.

  “I have bad news,” Madison said, flopping down on the couch. “The story hasn’t broken yet, but Max Steele was shot in a robbery yesterday.”

  “Whaaat?”

  “He’s in intensive care. Don’t spread the news; I was told in confidence.” “Anythin’ we can do?” “Guess not.”

  Cole shook his head and turned the sound up on the TV as Jimmy Sica appeared on screen and began reading the current news.

  “Jimmy’s one good-lookin’ dude,” he commented.

  “And straight, too,” Madison murmured dryly.

  “A guy can fantasize, can’t he?”

  “Personally I think his brother Jake’s more attractive. Jake doesn’t realize how sexy and handsome he is. Jimmy does. He probably spends most of his life admiring himself in front of a mirror.”

  “That’s ’cause he’s on TV,” Cole pointed out. “The dude has t’look good.”

  “Jake would get my vote any day.”

  “Gotta feelin’ you’re into him, huh?” Cole teased.

  “We’re friends, that’s all,” Madison said defensively. “As I told you last night, the man is taken.”

  “That, sugar pie, would never stop me,” Cole said with a wicked grin.

  “Hey, if a guy is bagged, it’s okay with me—I can walk away.”

  Natalie appeared on screen. “The sister’s lookin’ fine!” Cole exclaimed proudly.

  “She sure is,” Madison agreed, impressed with Natalie’s businesslike image: a black Armani suit with a white silk shirt, and no outrageous jewelry— Natalie’s usual trademark.

  “Good evening,” Natalie said, poised and in control. “Natalie De Barge reporting.” A short dramatic pause. “Hollywood. Land of dreams. A fantasy paradise where anything can happen, and some-times does. Yesterday a young girl’s body washed up on the Malibu shore. We were all quick to christen her the Malibu Mystery Blonde—after all, this is L.A., land of the instant sound bite, and we—the media—go with it every time. What could be better? A beautiful young blond female to titillate our thirst for the latest headline. But our Mystery Malibu Blonde has a name. She was nineteen-year-old Hildie Jane Livins from Idaho. Hildie came to L.A. three years ago, just like thousands of other young hopefuls with starry eyes and Hollywood dreams.”

  The camera cut to a medium shot of a plain-faced woman in a print dress standing outside a remote farmhouse. “Hilda was a good girl,” the woman said. “I lived next door to her family going on thirteen years. She was a pretty little thing. Never gave no one no trouble. Minded her own business an’ helped her mom around the house.”

  The camera cut back to Natalie. “In Hollywood Hildie tried to make it in show business. She got a job working as a checkout girl in a supermarket, attended acting class, and hung out with her friends who were also trying to make it. Mavis Ann Fenwick was Hildie’s roommate for two years.”

  Cut to shot of a skinny brunette with a big ass. She was standing on a Hollywood street, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “Hildie was the coolest,” Mavis Ann said, blinking nervously. “We always had fun, and when things weren’t going good, she never complained.” A manic giggle. “Once we lived on Campbell’s soup for three solid weeks ’cause we couldn’t afford nothin’ else.”

  Camera back to Natalie in the studio. “Eventually the temptations of Hollywood lured Hildie into a life of decadence,” Natalie continued. “This innocent young girl met a sophisticated worldly-wise woman who goes by the name of Darlene La Porte. Darlene’s real name is Pat Smithins—a former convicted prostitute who has also been arrested several times for pandering. According to Mavis Ann and other friends of Hildie’s, Darlene promised Hildie money and acting opportunities if she agreed to sleep with movie stars and rich men. Darlene, in fact, became Hildie’s madam.” A long pause. “Now Hildie is dead, murdered by drowning and dumped in the ocean to make it look like an accident. When we tried to reach Darlene La Porte for her comments, we were inf
ormed she had nothing to say. Tell that to Hildie’s grieving parents.”

  “Jesus!” Cole exclaimed, leaping up. “Whaddya think?”

  “I think it’s damn good investigative reporting,” Madison said. “I only hope she has plenty of hard facts to back up her story, because Darlene whatever her name is will have her lawyers crawling all over everyone.”

  Cole grabbed his jacket. “Come on,” he said. “We got a funeral to attend.”

  chapter 10

  KRISTIN WAS DESPERATELY trying to keep it together, but it was getting difficult. She was naked and alone, locked in a boarded-up room with no bathroom, she had no food or water, and although she was desperately trying not to panic, it had already occurred to her that maybe Mister X might not return.

  The thought sent tingles of fear up and down her spine. Nobody knew where she was or with whom she’d had a date. Mister X had booked her directly, and like a fool—because she was upset and disappointed about the Jake situation and Max not keeping their appointment—she’d gone.

  Stupid little whore. You’re getting what you deserve.

  She attempted to shut off the inner voice that screamed in her head. The voice that always spoke the painful truth.

  The light seeping through the boarded-up window was stronger now. It must be at least noon, she thought, and still there was no Mister X.

  The sick degenerate son of a bitch. Her greed had led her to him. Her greed would be her downfall. And yet all she’d really wanted to do was make sure Cherie was taken care of. Was that so terrible?

  Cherie. What would happen to her if Kristin wasn’t there to pay the bills? Oh God! They’d switch off the machines keeping her alive. Oh God!