Lovers & Players

by Jackie Collins

  Without saying another word he hurried from the building, got into his car and drove home.

  After a few tense minutes of deliberation and a stiff drink, he called his lawyer, then Chris, and finally Detective Rodriguez.

  The truth was, he had nothing left to lose.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Early on Thursday morning, Liberty and Damon sat together at the caterer’s table on the beach eating breakfast. It was the last day of her photo shoot, and even though it had only been three days, she already knew how much she was going to miss everyone. Being fussed over was quite addictive, and having Damon in L.A. was the cream in her coffee–not only was he capable of giving her a future career, but she found him to be incredibly sexy, interesting and generous.

  She’d never felt this way about a man before. Just being with him was a total trip, and it had nothing to do with the way everyone treated him like a star with all the trimmings–the limos, clubs and expensive restaurants. To her he was Damon. Just a guy. And she’d fallen big-time.

  ‘Last night I was thinking about Cabo and, yeah–I was about to say yes,’ she said, sipping a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  ‘Keep talkin’.’

  ‘Then my mom called, and here’s the real reason I can’t go.’

  ‘Spill.’

  ‘She needs to tell me something, and according to her it’s about my dad and it’s important.’

  ‘How important?’

  ‘I don’t know until I get back to New York.’

  ‘And two days is gonna make a difference?’ he said, leaning in and giving her one of his intense looks.

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘You can’t understand. It’s too personal.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Y’see, I only have my mom, never had a dad, and it was only a few days ago she told me who he was. Now she’s ready to change her story, so that’s why I have to get back. I need to find out who I am.’

  ‘You’re you,’ Damon said quietly. ‘You always gotta remember that.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘You’re wrong, baby,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘I understand big-time.’

  ‘You’re always—’

  ‘Quit givin’ me that always shit like I don’t get it,’ he interrupted, narrowing his eyes. ‘You wanna hear ’bout me? I’ll tell you. My grandma raised me an’ my brother in the projects. We didn’t have nothin’ ’cept her love an’ encouragement. That woman worked two jobs to keep us goin’. She was never too busy to teach me that if I wanted somethin’–really wanted it–then I’d better shift my lazy ass an’ make it happen. An’ that’s exactly what I did.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Liberty said.

  ‘No reason you should. That’s private shit I keep to myself. Nobody’s business ’cept mine.’

  ‘Where’s your grandma now?’

  ‘Livin’ in a fancy house I bought her in Brooklyn with my brother, his wife an’ their three kids,’ he said. ‘I give that lady anythin’ she damn well wants. She worked her ass off for me an’ my little bro’ an’ she deserves the world.’

  ‘How about your parents? Are they around?’

  ‘Never met either of ’em. Don’t even know if they’re still alive. Don’t even give a crap.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Mom was a crackhead, my old man a dealer,’ he said flatly. ‘A coupla drugged-out freaks. They left us on our own till Grandma came an’ took us in. If it wasn’t for her we’d’ve been pushed into the welfare system.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘It must’ve been tough for you.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, shrugging, ‘you go with the breaks. My belief is you give props to the person who raised you, can’t be worryin’ ’bout no one else. My grandma is the best woman in the world.’

  Before she could say anything, Quinn came over to inform her it was time to get to the make-up trailer. Reluctantly she got up to leave.

  ‘So, don’t go backin’ away from Cabo,’ Damon said, standing up. ‘It’s somethin’ we’ll both get off on. You can figure out your family shit when we get back.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know, baby. I know.’

  ‘Sure you do,’ she said, smiling at his supreme confidence. ‘You seem to know everything.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Mr Big Ego,’ she murmured.

  ‘An’ doncha forget it.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ she teased.

  ‘See ya later, LL,’ he said, and began strolling off down the beach.

  ‘Shame he’s straight,’ Quinn murmured. ‘Such a diabolical waste!’

  ‘I’m sure his wife doesn’t think so,’ she said tartly. ‘He’s married, y’ know.’

  ‘My! My!’ Quinn dead-panned. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

  She watched Damon as he headed towards the hotel. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man…and yet he was a married man, and she’d never been into sharing.

  ‘Come along, dear,’ Quinn said crisply. ‘Time to stop lusting and come beautify.’

  ‘I’m not lusting,’ she objected, although she knew perfectly well that she was.

  ‘You could’ve fooled me.’

  Sitting in the make-up chair, she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now that he’d revealed a small part of his personal story, she was anxious to hear more. Damon was an inspiration, he’d made it from nothing and look at him now. He was only thirty-six, a man who’d put himself out there and made a huge success doing something he loved. He wasn’t just some rich hip-hop mogul with his own record label, he’d worked hard to get where he was, and it must’ve been quite a jump from nothing to everything.

  The great American dream. Damon was it.

  It occurred to her that getting back to New York didn’t seem so urgent. Whatever her mom had to say could wait. After all, she’d waited nineteen years to hear the truth–what difference would one weekend make?

  Besides, Damon was right, if she was going to achieve anything it was because of her efforts. It didn’t matter who her father was–he was long gone–she was her own person. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and seize everything life had to offer. Right now there was a trip to Cabo staring her in the face–and if Damon’s wife didn’t care, why should she?

  For the morning shoot she was wearing a slinky, soft black-leather Versace gown, so glamorous she was almost scared to move. It was slashed in the front all the way to the top of her thigh, while the back dipped dangerously low. Teddy piled her hair on top of her head, and Uma had procured a million bucks’ worth of diamond and emerald jewellery from Neil Lane–the king of the estate jewellery business. Neil himself came to the shoot, and couldn’t stop raving about how fantastic his jewels looked on her.

  When she finally hit the beach she was barefoot and flawless.

  ‘Phew!’ Chip was blown away when he saw her. ‘This’ll be the cover shot. No doubt in my mind.’

  ‘Not one of the swimsuit shots?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t showing flesh what this new magazine is all about?’

  ‘Believe me, this shot’s gonna beat ’em all,’ Chip assured her. ‘You got that Halle Berry mixed with Angelina Jolie thing going. Only younger and sexier. You’re amazing!’

  Amazing! Yes! Everything was amazing. A week ago she’d been toiling away as a waitress, and now here she was in L.A., wearing Versace and posing for the cover of a magazine. It was all too much! An adventure she’d never believed possible.

  Damon came back in time for an early lunch break.

  Before she was able to give him a positive response about Cabo, the caterer appeared with a huge cake–chocolate decorated with strawberries, the image of her face re-created in the centre.

  ‘What’s this?’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘It’s not my birthday.’

  ‘No, it’s a big thank-you from all of us,’ Chip said, crooked grin going f
ull force as he mingled with all the people involved in the photo shoot. ‘We wanted your first modelling experience to be memorable. Everyone, gather round, we’re taking a photo for posterity.’

  Damon started to move away, while Chip began to set up the shot with one of his assistants.

  ‘Damon,’ she said, calling him back boldly. ‘I want you in it too.’

  ‘This is your deal, LL,’ he said, uncharacteristically low-key. ‘Go ahead an’ shine. I’m not a part of it.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she insisted. ‘A very special part.’

  ‘Don’t tell me my charm’s finally meltin’ that stony heart of yours?’ he said, a slight smile hovering on his lips.

  ‘Shut up and get over here,’ she said, grinning. ‘I want you in this picture.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, mock-saluting.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ she added.

  ‘What you got for me now?’

  ‘I’m on for Cabo.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Separate rooms.’

  ‘The lady builds me up just so she can let me down,’ he said wryly. ‘She gives with one hand, takes away with the other.’

  ‘That’s the deal. Are we going?’

  ‘Damn straight we’re goin’. Gotta hunch you an’ I are gonna make sweet, sweet soul music.’

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  On Thursday morning Diahann got out of bed at the usual time, but instead of dressing quickly and heading straight to the kitchen in the main house, she took time for herself and applied a careful make-up, then styled her hair. After that was done, she chose a simple but stylish blue dress, then added a couple of pieces of gold jewellery left over from her days as a singer. If Red insisted that she be at his meeting, she certainly wasn’t about to walk in looking like the dowdy housekeeper.

  She stood back and appraised her appearance in the mirror. The transformation was quite startling. Like her daughter, Diahann was a beauty, a darker beauty than Liberty, but stunning with her green eyes, full lips and clouds of jet-black hair.

  It was strange seeing herself all done up. It had been so long since she’d got herself together. Why now?

  She knew why.

  Something big was about to take place. Something that would startle everyone. Although perhaps not Lady Bentley–for she’d obviously, somehow or other, found out her and Red’s secret. However, Red’s three sons would be shocked, and so would Liberty, if only she was here. Diahann had begged her to hurry back to New York but, as usual, Liberty was stubborn–she did things her way.

  Diahann thought about her daughter for a moment. When she’d been forced to send Liberty away to live with Aretha, she’d lost all control over her. Always a wild child, Liberty had grown up fast and furious. Diahann often thanked God for Cindi, at least Liberty wasn’t out on her own–she had her cousin to protect her.

  Diahann sighed. There’d been no one to protect her when she’d left home at sixteen, and arrived in New York. No one at all.

  Diahann Dozier got off the bus from Atlanta full of excitement and big dreams. She was in New York. New York City! And even though she had only a small amount of money, her desire to succeed as perhaps the new Anita Baker or Diana Ross outweighed all the disadvantages she might face. She could sing, she was good-looking–she’d imagined it was all going to be so damn easy.

  But no. Nothing was easy for a pretty black girl alone and broke in New York.

  For two years she persevered, scoring a few gigs here and there. Along the way she’d hooked up with a series of jazz musicians–not a good idea, for they all treated her in a cavalier way, passing her from one to the other.

  One day, at a recording session, she ran into Zippy Ventura, a two-bit manager who talked a big game and liked what he saw. ‘You do for me, kiddo, an’ I’ll do for you,’ he told her.

  Zippy was a short, skinny white man in his forties. He was married to Kandie–a tough-looking black woman with bleached, white-blonde hair and enormous fake breasts.

  Marriage didn’t seem to hinder Zippy, who was after any outside-his-marriage action he could get. In exchange for the occasional grope in his seedy office, he began to score Diahann quite a few decent gigs singing background at sessions and, even better, solo spots at a late-night club, Gloria’s in Harlem.

  Gloria, a large gay woman, took an immediate shine to Diahann, nicknaming her Dini, and constantly lecturing her on the joys of being with a woman as opposed to a man.

  Diahann was not convinced, although she could certainly have done without Zippy and his lascivious moves.

  Diahann sang at the club twice a week. Standing on the small smoky stage, belting out jazz versions of standards like ‘You Go To My Head’ and ‘But Not For Me’, she felt very much like she was heading for the big-time.

  Men chased her, especially the regular customers, but after her bad experiences with musicians, she’d kind of given up on men.

  One night Red Diamond showed up. Diahann had no idea who he was, but a very impressed Zippy and Gloria soon filled her in: Red Diamond was a much-married billionaire media tycoon with a fierce reputation. Zippy and Gloria were over the moon that he’d chosen to spend time at Gloria’s.

  After his first visit, Red Diamond returned several times, sometimes with a woman, sometimes alone. He sat at a front table and never took his eyes off her as she went through her repertoire of old standards.

  ‘He likes you,’ Zippy informed her.

  ‘So what?’ was her reply.

  ‘He wants you to have a drink with him,’ Gloria informed her.

  ‘Not me,’ was her reply.

  This went on for several weeks, until one night Zippy cornered her, and said, ‘You’re gonna sit down an’ have a drink with him or you’re outta a job.’

  Red Diamond was sixty. Diahann was eighteen. This didn’t seem to bother either Zippy or Gloria, so she sat down and had a drink with him.

  Red insisted she drink champagne–even though she was under-age.

  She obliged.

  He plied her with compliments, telling her he thought she was beautiful and sexy and ripe.

  Ripe? she thought. What does he mean by ripe?

  ‘I want to fuck you,’ he said.

  ‘No way,’ she said.

  A week later Zippy told her that if she didn’t sleep with Red Diamond she was out of a job.

  Nice. But she had nothing to lose except her job, so she did it.

  The experience wasn’t bad and it wasn’t good. It was just…nothing. Diahann was ashamed of herself for sleeping with a rich old man just to keep working. It wasn’t right, and she knew it. However, she reconciled herself to it: he wasn’t the first man she’d slept with and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  After that night Red Diamond stopped coming to the club.

  ‘What didja do to turn him off?’ Zippy demanded, left eye twitching as he stared at her accusingly.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered blankly.

  ‘You happy now?’ Gloria complained to Zippy. ‘You made her sleep with him and now we lost us a big-time customer.’

  Diahann couldn’t care less. All she wanted to do was sing. It didn’t bother her that Red never came back.

  Six weeks later she realized she was pregnant. She kept the news to herself until it was too late to have an abortion, whereupon she informed Zippy and Gloria that she had to go home to Atlanta and visit her family for a while. Then she took a job as a receptionist in a beauty salon on Lexington, working up until three weeks before her baby was born.

  Diahann named her baby Liberty–for freedom. And when Liberty was six weeks old, she contacted Zippy, told him she was back in the city and needed work.

  He grumbled that she’d been away too long, the small following she’d started to acquire had moved on.

  ‘Don’t you want to be my manager?’ she asked him.

  ‘You do for me, an’—’

  ‘No!’ she said, backing away from his hands-on approach. ‘It’s business or
nothing.’

  ‘Go find yourself a new manager,’ he muttered, quite insulted that she would turn him down.

  So she did. She found Fred Marks, an energetic go-getter who immediately booked her into a series of clubs–some as far away as Atlantic City. It didn’t matter, at least she was making enough money to pay her rent and hire a woman to take care of Liberty when she was working.

  Diahann adored her baby. She thought Liberty was the most beautiful little creature she’d ever seen. Sometimes, when people found out she had a child, they wanted to know who Liberty’s daddy was. Diahann came up with a variety of stories, none of them true. She had no desire for Red Diamond to find out that he’d fathered her child. She could manage very nicely without him, although sometimes–when things were slow–it was quite a struggle.

  Right after Liberty’s fifth birthday she met a man she liked. His name was Leon, and they were both singing back-up for some female one-hit wonder. They bonded over coffee and complaints about how bad the singer was. Two weeks later Leon moved in with her, which was a big help because he immediately took over half of the expenses. The other good news was that he fell in love with Liberty, and she with him. The two were sweet together, and Diahann knew that if Leon asked her to marry him, she would do so without a moment’s hesitation.

  But Leon didn’t ask, and one year together turned into two, and Diahann realized she wasn’t getting any younger and no big breaks were staring either of them in the face, so she broke up with him.

  Liberty was devastated. To her, Leon was Mr Daddy, and for him to abandon her was extremely painful. She was only seven, but it was the start of the trouble between her and Diahann.

  Fred did his best, but as time passed, the gigs became fewer and fewer–girl jazz singers were out of style. So one night Diahann decided to revisit Gloria’s.

  The club was still open, and there–mingling with her customers–was Gloria herself, big and warm and welcoming. Unfortunately, Zippy was still around too, pushing a young singer he insisted was the new Whitney Houston. Divorced and bitter, he was not pleased to see Diahann, but Gloria was. She invited her back to sing at the club three nights a week.