Lovers & Players

by Jackie Collins

  ‘I can and I will,’ Max said. ‘So, Mariska, understand that if you have anything to tell me, you should do it now.’

  ‘I can’t believe you did not bring the money,’ she said, her face sulky. ‘You are so stupid. Things are already in motion.’

  ‘What things are in motion?’ he asked, alarmed that she might have done something foolish.

  ‘I need that cash. I have people to pay.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Stop acting so innocent, Max. You know what.’

  ‘No, Mariska,’ he said harshly. ‘Whatever you’ve arranged, you must put a stop to it immediately.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘It had better not be.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment, both busy with their own thoughts.

  Finally Max broke the silence. ‘For God’s sake, Mariska, were you married to Vladimir or not? I need to know the truth.’

  ‘You want the truth–I tell the truth,’ she said, practically spitting at him.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said, dreading what he was about to hear.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘I was married to Vladimir. Does that make you happy?’

  Max felt his heart sink, furious that she’d just confirmed his worst fears. How could he have been married to this lying, conniving bitch?

  ‘I came from poor family,’ Mariska continued. ‘Moscow was hell-hole, I had to get out somehow.’

  ‘While we’re on a truth kick, Mariska, were you working as a prostitute too?’

  ‘No!’ she said, glaring at him. ‘How dare you think that?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’ve lied about everything else.’

  ‘You must understand, Max, there was no choice for a beautiful woman other than to prostitute herself, but I never did that. When Vladimir tried to force me to do certain things, I managed to escape, and came to America.’

  ‘So you and Vladimir were never divorced?’

  ‘If he’d suspected I was leaving—’

  ‘This means that when you married the accountant, then me, both marriages were false? You committed bigamy?’

  ‘Surely you now realize why we must get rid of him,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Mariska, why couldn’t you have been truthful with me before?’

  ‘You left me, Max,’ she said accusingly. ‘You left me alone.’

  ‘I did not leave you alone, I left you with a large financial settlement and the pleasure of our child.’

  ‘I will never forgive you for leaving me,’ she said, eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Now you’re marrying this stupid girl. Everyone is laughing at you.’

  ‘You really are a piece of work,’ he said, still trying to control his temper, because all he wanted to do was slap her until she cried out for mercy. He would never forgive her for what she’d done to Lulu. Never.

  ‘Everywhere there are rumours,’ she continued. ‘I hear you are in financial trouble. How you think that makes me look?’

  ‘That’s all you’re interested in, isn’t it?’ he said wearily. ‘The way you look.’

  ‘Appearances are important.’

  ‘You want to talk about appearances. Did you ever think about me and Lulu? Our marriage was a sham, and you know what that makes Lulu.’

  ‘With Vladimir gone, nobody will ever know.’

  ‘You’re fucking crazy.’

  ‘You will see–disposing of Vladimir is our only answer.’

  ‘No, Mariska, I’m having him arrested, and I don’t give a damn what the newspapers say.’

  ‘You should, Max, because it affects your daughter.’

  ‘Leave Lulu out of this. I’ve already spoken to my lawyers about gaining full custody.’

  ‘That will never happen.’

  ‘You want to bet?’

  ‘You’re a smart man, Max, so listen carefully. Vladimir will not be coming to your office again. I have taken care of the situation. And bring me cash, or there will be more problems to deal with. People perform services, they expect to get paid.’

  He stared at her in shock, realizing what she was implying.

  She met his gaze, cool and composed.

  And he knew, filled with dread, that maybe this time she was speaking the truth.

  Huddled in the back of the cab across from the apartment where she’d spent her one wild night, Amy began to feel like a stalker. What was she doing? Was she planning on getting out of the cab, going up to his apartment, knocking on his door, and saying, ‘Hi, I’m the girl from the other night. Do you remember me?’

  No, she wasn’t doing that.

  Then why was she here? It was stupid.

  The cab driver had his radio on–Kid Rock was mumbling about kicking someone’s ass.

  ‘How long we gonna sit here, Miss?’ the cab driver asked, turning his head and throwing her a squinty look.

  ‘I’m, uh, waiting for somebody,’ she answered vaguely. ‘Five minutes or so. Is that okay?’

  ‘You’re paying,’ he said, picking up a copy of the New York Post and proceeding to read the sports pages.

  Now what? She was here on a whim and it was a total waste of time.

  Just as she was about to tell the driver they could leave, a limo pulled into sight and stopped in front of the building.

  She leaned forward, and sure enough there he was, S. Lucas, getting out of the limo looking even more handsome than she remembered. He had on jeans, tennis shoes, and a denim workshirt, his dirty blond hair flopping on his forehead.

  Should she get out of the cab and pretend she was just passing? Should she run over to him and say, ‘Hi–I thought we should talk about what happened between us.’ Or would a simple ‘What’s your name?’ suffice?

  Before she could decide what to do, he leaned down and began to help someone out of the limo. It turned out to be possibly one of the most beautiful women Amy had ever seen.

  She cringed against the back seat of the cab, holding her breath as she watched the beautiful woman throw her arms round his neck, and kiss him–long, lingering kisses.

  He started laughing, while attempting to push her away in a don’t-stop-I-really-like-it fashion.

  Was the woman his wife, girlfriend, what?

  The driver of the limo opened the trunk and unloaded several Louis Vuitton suitcases, which he then lugged into the building.

  And all the while the beautiful woman kept hugging S. Lucas, and touching him in places Amy didn’t want to think about.

  After a few minutes the two of them vanished inside, and she could finally breathe again.

  ‘We can go now,’ she managed.

  ‘Okay, where to?’ asked the cab driver, throwing down his newspaper.

  ‘Home,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘Where I belong.’

  Chapter Thirty

  As soon as he saw his home in daylight, Chris realized exactly what a disaster area it was. His white house was buried under a huge amount of mud. Even worse, the structure looked like it was half collapsed, and a good part of it seemed about to teeter down the hillside.

  The unexpected L.A. weather had demolished his home, and what could he do about it?

  Exactly nothing.

  There were certain things he could control, like his feelings about his father, the way he dealt with his clients, his love life–but not the weather.

  He stood there in the driving rain staring at his once immaculate home for a long time, thinking about all the work he’d put into it, and everything he’d lost. His Cybex-equipped gym, his specially crafted pool table, his collection of rare movies on DVD, his multiple plasma TVs, everything he possessed.

  This was an act of nature, and he wasn’t sure if insurance covered natural disasters. Only this wasn’t about the money, this was about losing his home.

  Andy met him there, then drove with him to LAX.

  ‘You’ve got to get my safe out,’ Chris instructed him. ‘It’s imperative that you do. And be sure to stay around when th
ey dig it out. It’s on your head if anything gets stolen.’

  ‘I won’t leave the site,’ Andy assured him. ‘I’ll set up camp in my car. No leaving until you tell me to.’

  ‘You’re a good kid,’ Chris said, and decided that Andy definitely deserved a raise.

  Once he was settled in the airport lounge waiting to board his plane back to New York, he called the journalist Jonathan had entertained at his apartment. The man’s name was Wes Duncan, and Chris had checked him out on the Internet. He was indeed a legitimate journalist working for Stud magazine, one of the better gay publications.

  Chris introduced himself and told him how much he admired his work, especially the piece he’d written on homophobia in Hollywood.

  Wes seemed to enjoy the compliments, until Chris revealed he was Jonathan Goode’s lawyer. When Wes heard that, he became verbally abusive, carrying on about movie stars who thought they owned the world.

  Chris let him rant for a while, then hit him with the words every writer longs to hear. ‘You’re very talented, Mr Duncan. Have you ever thought about writing a screenplay?’

  Silence. Then, ‘Well, I do have some ideas…’

  ‘Excellent. Because I’m ready to pay for those ideas.’

  Another, shorter silence. Then, ‘How much?’

  Bingo! Everyone was for sale. All you had to do was establish a price.

  It seemed to Jett that Gianna was being overly affectionate. He couldn’t remember her ever being this clinging–she was all over him. Maybe America had this effect on her, because the moment they entered Sam’s apartment she was intent on making love. He demurred, he simply wasn’t feeling like it.

  ‘I take a shower, then we do it,’ Gianna announced, flouncing into the bathroom, shedding a trail of expensive clothes along the way.

  When she emerged ten minutes later there was no escape. She strode toward him like a magnificent panther–sleek, naked and ready for action.

  Even though he wasn’t in the mood, he was a man, and automatically his dick jumped to attention.

  She threw her arms around his neck and licked his face. ‘Ah, carino, I miss you,’ she whispered seductively. ‘You have everything Gianna likes.’

  Her hands were all over him, caressing his balls, stroking his cock, making him rock hard.

  He couldn’t resist her. They fell on top of the bed and began indulging in sexual acrobats, because that was what Gianna was into. She refused to lie there and allow a man to do what he had to do, she got her kicks taking control and giving him intense pleasure.

  By the end of their lovemaking session he felt more as if he’d experienced a vigorous workout. There was only one word to describe Gianna, and that was ‘predatory’. She was like an animal–she wanted to fuck, eat and sleep, in that order.

  She flopped on the bed, arms thrown above her head, long legs spread wide. ‘Gianna sleep now,’ she said, with a satisfied smile. ‘You wake me one hour before we go.’

  Once she was asleep, he started thinking about what his mom had told him. That Chris had paid for him to go to Italy and covered his treatment in rehab. How come his brother had never mentioned it? He’d always thought Sam had paid for everything.

  He called the Four Seasons. There was no answer from Chris’s suite, so he tried Max.

  ‘Is Chris coming tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s on a plane back,’ Max replied.

  ‘Back from where?’

  ‘He flew to L.A. There was an emergency, something to do with his house.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘No. There’s devastating storms and rain hitting the coast. Seems his house was one of the casualties. He’ll try to make it in time for dinner.’

  Even though he was somewhat in awe of Max, this bonding between the three of them was kind of nice. Jett felt like he was part of a family, something he’d never experienced before. When he was growing up, Edie had always been so busy with her drinking, and her steady stream of younger boyfriends, that she’d never had time for him. As for Red–well, the idea of Red as a father figure was one huge joke.

  The moment Gianna awoke, she wanted to make love again. At twenty-four, Jett had plenty of stamina, so once more they went a few rounds. As far as he was concerned it was purely a physical thing. In his mind he was still thinking about the mystery girl and how he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  After their second vigorous lovemaking session, Gianna insisted on finishing him off with one of her spectacular blow-jobs.

  Man, she knew how to send a man flying and then some. Which was quite rare, because beautiful women were usually not into giving head. Jett had always found they felt it was their right to receive, not give. Although with him they usually changed their minds.

  Finished with sex, Gianna began to unpack, flinging expensive clothes all over the bedroom, piling bottles and jars of make-up into the small bathroom, plugging her iPod speakers into the wall outlet so that her favourite Brazilian and Spanish music blared throughout the apartment. She was a big Marc Anthony and Carlos Santana fan, and sang along at full volume. One talent Gianna did not have was singing.

  ‘What I wear, carino?’ she fretted, producing many elaborate designer outfits and holding them up against her naked body.

  ‘Dunno. Never been to one of these events,’ he said. ‘You’ll look fantastic whatever you decide.’

  ‘And you–what you wear?’

  ‘I guess Levi’s won’t cut it, huh?’ he said, pushing his hands through his hair and grinning.

  ‘Prego,’ she said mischievously, fishing out a maroon plastic garment bag from her suitcase and handing it to him. ‘For you.’

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, unzipping it.

  ‘A gift from Mr Armani,’ she replied, with a jaunty wink as he extracted a sleek black Armani suit. ‘For my molto handsome Yankee boyfriend,’ she said, with a seductive smile. ‘’Cause he make me veree happy.’

  After a long, hot shower, Amy felt she’d washed away all memories of her one night of craziness. She’d seen her mystery man in the light of day with another woman, the two of them affectionate and loving. That was enough for her. As far as she was concerned, it was over, a closed chapter, a memory she would try not to think about again.

  She didn’t regret it, because it had made her realize that passion was a good thing, and she would find that same passion with Max when they consummated their marriage. Actually, it was a relief, because now she could concentrate on the rehearsal dinner and her husband-to-be. And she did love Max. Tina was right, he’d be a perfect husband.

  Impulsively, she picked up the phone and called him. ‘Just wanted to tell you how excited I am about tonight,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hi, sweetie, how are you?’ Max responded, pleased to hear from her.

  ‘Great, actually. The wedding meeting went well and Mother was pleased.’

  ‘I’m glad for you. I know how difficult your mom can be.’

  ‘She’s still wondering about your father. Have you any idea if he’s coming or not?’

  ‘I’ll find out in the morning. That’s a promise.’

  ‘Uh…Max,’ Amy said tentatively. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve seemed a bit edgy these last few days but, you know, what with the wedding coming up so soon, and my mother driving me crazy, not to mention that bossy wedding planner, it’s all been a bit of a strain.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he assured her. ‘I haven’t been exactly calm myself.’

  ‘I know you didn’t want to go through the ordeal of a rehearsal dinner,’ she continued, ‘but it is traditional, and it’s for my mother, so having the dinner tonight really helps me out.’

  ‘I have no objections. Your mother organized everything, all I have to do is pay.’

  ‘Max?’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘I love you,’ she said impulsively.

  ‘You, too, sweetheart. See you soon.’

  She dressed slowly, taking her time. Vera Wang had designed a simp
le lilac silk dress for her. She added matching shoes, a discreet diamond pendant, the tennis bracelet Grandma Poppy had given her, and a pair of diamond stud earrings–an earlier gift from Grandma Poppy.

  When she was ready she stood and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  Amy Scott-Simon, soon to be Mrs Maxwell Diamond. It would all work out.

  On the plane back to New York, Chris was seated next to a young actress he vaguely knew. Her name was Inez Fallon, and she was overly talkative, which was exactly what he didn’t need. They’d met once or twice when he was with Holly, and it was obvious she liked him, or maybe she liked what he represented–a powerful L.A. entertainment lawyer. He could almost hear her mind ticking. If I sleep with him, will he advise me for free?

  She informed him she was flying to New York to appear on Letterman. Her latest movie, a horror flick, was about to open, and she planned on doing a lot of promotion.

  ‘Have you been on Letterman before?’ he asked, attempting to be polite.

  ‘No, but I heard he hates women,’ she confided. ‘Then I heard he either hates them or flirts with them, so I’m gonna flirt. I’ll wear something so low-cut and sexy that he won’t have a chance to be rude. And I’m told his studio is freezing, so my nipples will be very happy!’

  ‘Shouldn’t think you can outdo Drew Barrymore,’ Chris remarked.

  ‘Why? What did she do?’

  ‘Jumped on his desk and flashed her breasts in his face.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Inez said, quite seriously.

  ‘Do you want to?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘If it sells tickets I’ll do whatever it takes.’

  Actresses. They were all the same. Anything for attention.

  Verona was different. But Verona wanted commitment, so now she was out. He hadn’t bothered calling her in the short time he’d spent in L.A. Why even go there?

  ‘Can I pick your brain?’ Inez asked, leaning close.

  Sure, free advice, and she hasn’t even fucked me. ‘Go ahead,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been offered two movies and I can’t decide which to choose. One’s with Leonardo DiCaprio, and the other’s with Johnny Depp. Who do you think is the hottest?’