“Easy,” she whispered as his thick fingers negotiated a passage past her thong and into her pussy, which was not exactly wet and willing. But she could rally.
Armand Jordan was her major catch of the day.
* * *
Peggy elicited the help of a willing desk clerk, who for fifty bucks was only too happy to escort her on a golf-cart ride to Armand’s villa and then let her in with a passkey. For who would suspect that this well-groomed woman—loaded with expensive jewelry—was anything other than the person she claimed to be. She’d told him she was Armand Jordan’s mother, and that she had to pick up some important papers from her son’s villa. He had no reason to doubt her.
“Should I wait for you?” the desk clerk asked.
“That would be lovely,” Peggy replied, not relishing the long walk back to the main hotel. “I’ll only be a minute or two.”
She entered the villa and was shocked to encounter two women of extremely dubious appearance. They were lolling around on high stools by the bar, drinking cocktails and smoking.
Luscious and Seducta were equally shocked to see Peggy.
“Where is Armand?” were the first words out of Peggy’s mouth.
“Who?” questioned Seducta, adjusting her mammoth breasts, which were fighting to escape from a lime-green halter top that was several sizes too small.
Luscious, slightly quicker on the draw, said a fast “He’s on his way. Who’re you?”
Peggy stood tall, trying to hide her dismay that this was the type of women her son was associating with. These women were certainly not ladies; they resembled cheap street hookers, the kind she’d observed acting the part on Law & Order.
“I am Armand’s mother,” Peggy said grandly, walking toward what she assumed was the bedroom.
“Kinky,” Seducta muttered.
“Shh,” Luscious admonished in a hoarse whisper. “Wouldn’t think the old bag’s here to stay.”
“Then what’ve we got ourselves stuck with?” Seducta said, gulping down her cocktail. “Some sexed-out freaky momma’s boy?”
Luscious shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself.
After a few moments, Peggy emerged from the bedroom and hurried to the door. She’d gotten what she’d come for, and she had no desire to run into Armand, not with these two dreadful women present. Her disgust was so palpable that she didn’t even bother saying anything as she slipped out the door. Tomorrow she vowed that she would sit down with Armand and discuss with him his choice of female companions. He might be a grown man, but it was blatantly obvious that it was time someone gave him guidance.
She was his mother.
She was entitled.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“We could hit another club,” Kev suggested.
“Why’d we wanna do that?” Billy responded.
“What the fuck’s t’ matter with you, dude?” Kev asked, squinting. “You’re acting like you don’t wanna do nothin’.”
“Maybe I don’t,” Billy replied. He simply wasn’t feeling it, and the more time he spent with Kev, the more his old friend was getting on his nerves. Some people you eventually outgrew. Kev was one of them.
“This is Vegas, man. Freakin’ Vegas!” Kev said, venting his frustration. “Land of pussy an’ cream.”
“So go get yourself some,” Billy suggested. “Me, I’m headin’ back to the hotel.”
“Why’d you wanna do that?” Kev complained. “We should be out there rippin’ up this town, tearing it to shreds.”
“Like I said, you’re on your own. You don’t need me.”
“Why not?” Kev said, sensing that a fun evening of debauchery was slipping away from him. “You’re a pussy magnet. The girls cream their panties just lookin’ at you.”
“Thanks, Kev,” Billy said grimly. “Exactly the description of my talent I was jonesing to hear.”
“It’s a freakin’ compliment, man,” Kev insisted.
“Yeah, yeah. Pussy catnip,” Billy said, getting more irritated by the minute. “Just the compliment I was hoping for.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Kev said, finally realizing he was pissing Billy off and that it was time to backpedal.
“What way should I take it, Kev?”
“Okay, okay, I get it. We’re on our way back to the hotel.”
“You can stay here an’ do your thing. It’s not like I need an escort.”
“Yeah, I think you do. All those bachelorette parties goin’ on in the hotel lobby. You need me t’ run interference.”
Billy’s cell buzzed. Turning his back on Kev, he fished it out of his pocket and answered.
“Hey,” said Max, sounding very young and very excited. “It’s me. What are you doing here?”
* * *
Although Jorge was quite a dancer, after a while Denver could tell he was dying to talk. She was very adept at reading people, and this poor guy seemed so damn desperate, as if he was in way over his head and didn’t quite know what to do.
“How long have you and Venus been together?” she asked, not really interested but making conversation anyway.
“Today. Tonight,” Jorge said with a helpless shrug. “Not sure about tomorrow.”
“Well, if Venus invited you to Vegas with her, then she must really like you,” Denver said encouragingly.
“She ignore me,” Jorge said glumly. “In front of people, she treat me like pet. Like little dog.”
“Oh dear,” Denver said sympathetically. “That’s not okay.”
“She not even introduce me,” Jorge complained. “Like I no matter.”
“Venus is a big star. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it.”
“We see,” Jorge said resignedly. “I come long way to be in America, to make success here.”
Then, whether she wanted to hear it or not, Jorge launched into the story of his life.
Denver realized she was trapped, but at the same time she felt sorry for him, so she remained on the dance floor and listened.
* * *
Frankie Romano in all his boastful glory was quite a show.
“What up?” he said to Bobby and M.J., happy to see them.
“Same old,” M.J. replied, exchanging a quick fist pump with his old friend.
“Hey,” Bobby said, repeating the gesture. “Long time no see.”
“You two guys, you never change,” Frankie said, his left eye twitching. “Son of a bitch! You both smash it out the park. A coupla studs.”
“You’re looking good too,” Bobby offered, although he didn’t think so.
“Didja hear?” Frankie said. “I opened my place in L.A. River. Course, it’s nothin’ like this setup. Mood is spectacular, with the pool an’ the lights an’ the view. But you gotta gimme kudos ’cause I finally got my shit together, an’ now I’m runnin’ my own club, an’ it’s flyin’.”
Bobby had heard all about River. It was the go-to club for any drug you desired. Coke, meth, quaaludes, E, weed, pills. Yeah, sure it was doing okay. L.A. was an easy town in which to acquire customers for your wares. Everyone had their secret little addictions—some of them not so secret.
Jokingly, Bobby had once suggested to M.J. that they’d be better off opening up luxury rehab centers than opening clubs. It seemed celebrities were willing to pay thousands of dollars a week just to give the impression that they were clean. More hooking up and illicit pill popping went on in rehab than anywhere else. Then a week out, everyone was back using.
“It’s great seein’ you guys,” Frankie said. “Missed your smilin’ faces.”
“Glad to hear you’re doing well,” Bobby said, keeping it neutral. Just because Frankie was in his club didn’t mean they had to become close buddies again. Those days were over. In a way, he missed Frankie, but in another way he didn’t. Frankie’s coke habit had gotten out of control, and from the looks of him, scarey-eyed and emaciated, nothing much had changed.
“You here for the fights?” M.J. asked.
“If I can score me s
ome ringside seats,” Frankie said. “Any connections?”
“As a matter of fact,” M.J. said, always Mister Nice, “I might be able to help you out.”
“That’s my main man,” Frankie said, clapping M.J. on the back. “You always did have your finger on what’s goin’ down. An’ speakin’ of goin’ down—you still married?”
“You bet I am,” M.J. replied. “Marriage rocks, man.”
“How ’bout you, Bobby?” Frankie asked, taking a swig from the glass of vodka he was holding onto. “You still with that little lawyer piece of ass?”
“If you mean Denver,” Bobby said, annoyed that Frankie would be so disrespectful, “we’re very much together.”
“Hey, that’s cool. Me, I can never stick with one of ’em for too long. Annabelle was my last big mistake.” Another swig of vodka, and a quick glance back at his table to see if he was missing any action. “Right now my thing is movin’ on. Lately I’m hangin’ with Gerald M.’s daughter, Cookie. You might’ve seen our pix online. Cookie’s young, hot, an’ boy, is she ready to partee—if you get my drift.”
“Max’s friend?” Bobby said, aghast. What the hell was Frankie doing with a teenager? Corrupting her, no doubt.
“’S right. But believe me, she’s one horny little tamale. On the ride here she was—”
“Gotta go,” Bobby said, itching to move on for two reasons. One, he remembered why he and Frankie had ceased hanging out. And two, what was Denver doing out on the dance floor with some random dude? He’d just noticed, and he wasn’t pleased.
Screw it. Was she trying to prove something?
If so, it certainly didn’t fly.
* * *
Eddie Falcon wasted no time in making the move over to Bobby’s table and concentrating on Venus, which did not sit well with Cassie, who fell into a major sulk. She was supposed to be the center of attention. This was her night.
Venus was enjoying the attention. Lately she’d been thinking of seeking new representation, and Eddie’s timing couldn’t be better. She knew of Eddie’s reputation, and it was stellar. He was a comer and hungry, the best kind of agent to have working for you.
“I can get you anything you want,” Eddie boasted to Venus. “Anyone you want. Director, star—Clooney, DiCaprio, Depp—you name who you’d like to work with, and I can make it happen.”
“Can you, now?” Venus said, not actually falling for it—she’d been in the business too long to believe everything an agent on the make had to say, but she was liking his enthusiasm. Her current representatives were doing nothing for her moviewise, and she was tired of always having to embark on a world tour every time she put out a new CD. With her divorce almost behind her, she was ready to concentrate on her film career, and Eddie Falcon might be just the man to make it happen. Besides, Billy was huge in movies. It was about time she reclaimed her throne.
“What’s going on?” Lucky said, inserting herself into the conversation. She’d known Eddie since he’d worked in the mailroom at Panther Studios. He’d always had big ambitions, and she was glad to see he was working it. “Is Eddie promising you the moon?” she asked with an amused grin.
“And the stars,” Venus responded with a smile. “Should I believe him?”
“Well,” Lucky said, still grinning, “the day you believe a Hollywood agent is the day you should pack your bags and scoot your fine ass out of town.”
“Thanks, Lucky,” Eddie said. “Nice to have your full support.”
The three of them laughed.
“Ah, show business.” Lucky sighed. “I do not miss it. Not one little bit.”
* * *
“I need your help,” Max said, cornering Cookie in the ladies’ room, where a crowd of underdressed and over-made-up girls jostled for space at the mirrors. The room was smoke-filled even though smoking was not allowed, and the smell of cheap perfume and musty sweat overpowered everything.
“Can you believe the a-hole, like, hasn’t even texted me to find out where I am?” Cookie griped, once again checking her phone. “He probably hasn’t even noticed I’m missing. What a douche!”
“I could’ve told you that,” Max said, grabbing Cookie’s arm, attempting to get her full attention. “But this is about me.”
“No,” Cookie argued, applying blush. “It’s about me havin’ to put up with a dumb-ass famous freakin’ dad who gets everyone fallin’ all over him. You are so right about Frankie. He’s a major star-fucker.”
“Listen, I have to get outta here,” Max said, wishing Cookie would concentrate for once. “It’s totally urgent.”
“Why? Where’re we goin?” Cookie asked, guilelessly.
“We are not going anywhere, that’s the whole point. I have to get out of here and, uh, meet someone.”
“Someone like who?” Cookie asked, her curiosity finally aroused.
“Someone I don’t want Ace to know about.”
“Woo-hoo! Now it’s gettin’ interesting,” Cookie said, her brown eyes lighting up.
“The thing is,” Max continued, “there’s no way I can pull it off without your help. So you’ve got to tell Ace that I got an important call from Lucky, and that I had to take off. Okay?”
“You’re kiddin’, right?” Cookie said, curling her lip. “Like what makes you think I’m gonna do this for you an’ you’re not givin’ me the lowdown on who you’re meetin’?”
“It’s just a boy,” Max said, feeling desperate.
“What boy?” Cookie demanded. “Who is he? Is he hot? Hotter than Ace?”
“Please do this for me, Cookie,” Max said, her voice rising. “Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything.”
“I dunno—” Cookie started to say.
“Screw you!” Max yelled, suddenly losing it. “I’ve been doing what you want all evening—so get it together and do this one thing for me. Tell Ace I’ll see him back at the hotel later, and don’t make it seem shady.”
And with that she stormed off, leaving an openmouthed Cookie in her wake.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
As they reached Armand’s villa, Annabelle was more or less sure that tonight she would be able to cement herself firmly into his life. This time she was not letting him slip away; he was too valuable a prospect.
She’d allowed him to finger-fuck her on the walk to his villa, and now it was time for her to exhibit her considerable bedroom skills. When she was living with Frankie Romano, he’d often told her that her blow jobs were superlative—the best he’d ever had. Now she had the opportunity to show off her technique (learned from a gay friend when she was fifteen) to Armand. Men loved nothing better than a woman going down on them. Annabelle knew that they considered it the ultimate power trip—a beautiful woman on her knees servicing them, his hand pressed firmly on her head. It was the best.
She recalled that when she and Frankie were running their call girl business in New York, the girls were always full of outrageous stories about their clients and the things they were into. Blow jobs were the number one topic. It seemed that once a man got married, the blow jobs ground to a sudden halt. Too bad, because there were always plenty of working girls ready and able to pick up the slack.
These were the thoughts running through Annabelle’s head as they entered the villa, but they came to an abrupt halt when she saw the two half-dressed women lounging on stools by the bar.
“Good evening, ladies,” Armand said, not at all surprised that he had company.
“Ladies”! Was he kidding? These two were straight off Forty-second Street on a bad night.
“Hello there,” Luscious said, greeting the client in what she considered a suitable manner. “Nice t’ meet you.”
Seducta, who’d imbibed a little too much free vodka, burped discreetly.
Armand gave Annabelle a sly look. The expression on her face was all that he needed to fuel his sexual desire. He walked behind the bar and opened a bottle of champagne. Had to celebrate, for this was about to be an evening to remember. It was his personal ce
lebration of what he knew was destined to happen to Lucky Santangelo.
Eventually.
It was a done deal.
All he had to do was arrange it.
* * *
The phone rang in Peggy’s suite. She immediately thought it was the messenger service she’d ordered to transport her samples to the DNA testing lab, which, for a price, had agreed to work on a weekend, enabling her to get fast results. Only in Vegas.
However, it was not the messenger service, it was Paige Santangelo.
“I wanted to make sure you got back to your room safely,” Paige said, her voice husky and intimate.
“I did,” Peggy replied. “And thank you so much for a delightful dinner.”
“I’m glad you were able to join us,” Paige said. “It’s always nice to have new company. Spending time with Gino can sometimes be … difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
“Gino is old, he’s set in his ways. When he was younger he was quite a dynamo.”
Oh yes, I know! Peggy thought.
“Anyway,” Paige continued with a deep sigh, “Gino’s not the man he used to be—if you understand where I’m going.”
Where are you going? Peggy wondered.
“Can I be frank?” Paige said after a long pause.
“Certainly,” Peggy replied, wondering if the messenger was on his way.
“The sad fact of life is that sexually, Gino no longer satisfies me.”
And here it comes, Peggy thought. She’s been heading in this direction all night, and I was too preoccupied to get it.
“I see,” Peggy said calmly.
“Do you?” Paige asked, sounding anxious.
“Do I what?”
“Do you understand that I have needs that are not being fulfilled? I’m getting the feeling that you might be in the same position.”
Peggy realized that she was being propositioned, and although it was not by a man, it was flattering all the same. Her sex life had been dead on arrival since Sidney’s passing, so what would be wrong with indulging in a little Sapphic lovemaking? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t experienced another woman before, albeit a long time ago—during her fantasy life in the king’s palace. Paige might be older, but so was she. And they were both attractive, well-preserved women.
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