Toxic Bachelors

by Danielle Steel

  “From the sound of it, he already did. We'll have to watch how this one plays out,” Charlie said cautiously, as they pulled up to Madison Square Garden in the long black limousine. Charlie couldn't believe the crowds. It took them nearly twenty minutes to push their way in, with the help of the police. There were two plainclothes cops waiting to take them to their seats.

  Adam disappeared to check on things backstage, as soon as they found their seats. Charlie said he'd be fine, and sat watching the crowds swirling around him. And as he did, he noticed a pretty blond girl in the shortest skirt he'd ever seen. Her hair was long and teased. She was wearing high-heeled black leather boots, and a bright red leather jacket. She was wearing a lot of makeup and looked about seventeen. She asked him politely if there was anyone sitting in the empty seat, and he said there was. With that, she disappeared. He saw her again a few minutes later, speaking to someone else. He had the feeling she was cruising the theater, looking for a place to sit, and eventually she came back to him.

  “Are you sure there's someone sitting there?” she asked somewhat doggedly. He could see that she was older than he had first estimated, but not much, she was a striking-looking girl, and she had an incredible figure, most of which seemed to be straining at the seams of a black see-through blouse that gave him a generous view of her voluptuous curves. She would have looked like a hooker if there hadn't been something so innocent about her face.

  “Yes, I'm sure,” Charlie assured her again that the seat was occupied. “My friend just went backstage.”

  “Oh my God!” she said with an incredulous look. “Does your friend know Vana?” She said it as though asking if he knew God, and Charlie smiled at her and nodded.

  “He works for her. More or less.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down until he gets back?” she asked, and he wondered if she was cruising him, but he didn't think so. She was far more interested in meeting Adam, once she knew he was backstage. “My ticket is in the back row, and I can't see anything. I just thought I'd see if there were any empty seats up here, but I guess not. I waited on line for mine for two days. I brought a sleeping bag and camped out. My friend and I took turns.” He nodded, looking slightly dumbfounded as she sat down next to him. She looked no worse than the rest of the crowd, although she would have stood out like a sore thumb almost anywhere else. She looked like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman before Richard Gere transformed her on Rodeo Drive, and she had the same kind of breathtaking good looks. The outfit she was wearing was pretty breathtaking too, especially the boots, which had six-inch heels, and went well over her knees. Her skirt was barely decent, and the blouse would have blown from here to kingdom come if she sneezed. It was quite a look. But it seemed to work for her.

  Charlie couldn't help wondering what she looked like without the makeup, with her hair pulled back, in a clean pair of jeans. Probably even more striking than she did. He wondered if she was some kind of model, or an aspiring actress, but he was cautious about talking to her. He didn't want to encourage her to stay. She was perched on the edge of Adam's seat, and he looked stunned when he returned. He thought Charlie had picked her up, and he was impressed. He didn't think he had it in him to pursue a girl like her, in five minutes or less.

  “They found her wigs. Her hairdresser was drunk off her ass in the hotel. But they got her someone else. Whoever got her saved the day,” Adam explained, and looked with interest and confusion at the girl sitting in his seat. “Is there some reason why you're sitting here?” he asked her bluntly. “Have we met?” He couldn't help looking straight into her blouse, and then up at the perfect face. She was a knockout-looking girl, and just his type, on a lucky day.

  “Not yet.” She smiled at him. “My seat sucks. I was just talking to your friend. He says you work for Vana. I bet that's cool.” She was all goo-goo eyes and hero worship as she smiled at him.

  “Sometimes it's cool. Tonight it wasn't so cool.” Vana had been threatening to walk out when he got backstage. And then she calmed down when they found her wigs and someone else's hairdresser, but he didn't bother to try and explain it to this girl. He wasn't sure she would have understood. He assumed her IQ was questionable, but he thought her tits were great. IQ was never a huge issue for him. He preferred tits to brains, ever since Rachel. “Look, I hate to bother you, and I'd love to sit here and talk to you, but she's going to start in about five minutes, after they do her hair. You'd better go back to your seat.” The girl in the denim miniskirt and black patent-leather boots looked like she was going to burst into tears. Adam looked exasperated, but there was nothing he could do for her. There were no empty seats, and then he had an idea. He had no clue as to why he was helping her, and he figured he'd probably regret it, but he grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the seat, and beckoned her to come with him. “If you promise to behave yourself, I can get you a seat on the stage.” They always saved a few in case someone unexpected turned up.

  “Are you serious?” She was awestruck, as he led her quickly toward the stage, and showed his pass to one of the guards keeping the riffraff out. They instantly let him through. The girl knew he was completely serious by then. She hadn't had a stroke of luck like that in years. Her friend had told her she was crazy to head for the front row, but it had paid off big-time for her that night, as Adam helped her up the steps in her short skirt and high-heeled boots. He got a fabulous view of her bottom while she did, and had no qualms about checking it out. He figured that if she wore a skirt like that, she probably expected him to.

  “What's your name, by the way?” he asked for no particular reason, as he led her to a row of folding chairs tucked in at the back of the stage. They had to step over wires, and sound equipment, but she was going to get a fabulous view of the show, and she looked up at him as though she'd had a religious vision, and he was it.

  “Maggie O'Malley.”

  “Where are you from?” He looked down at her with a smile, as she took her seat and crossed her legs. From where he stood, he had a totally unobstructed view down her shirt. He wondered if she was as racy as she looked, or had just dressed the part for the concert. Being more experienced than Charlie with women who looked like that, he pegged her at about twenty-two.

  “I was born in Queens, but I live in the city now. On the West Side. I work at Pier 92.” It was a bar that catered to a rough crowd sometimes. It was essentially a restaurant and pickup bar, and the waitresses all looked like her. The prettier ones danced on the bar at hourly intervals and set the tone for sex and booze. Adam guessed correctly that she made a lot in tips. Sometimes the girls who worked there were young actresses out of work, and desperate for money.

  “Are you an actress?” he asked with interest.

  “No, I'm a waitress. But I dance a little. I used to tap-dance and take ballet as a kid, more or less.” She didn't tell him that what she'd learned, she'd picked up from TV. There'd been no formal dance lessons in her neighborhood. She had been born in the poorest, toughest part of Queens, and got out as soon as she could. Where she lived now on the Upper West Side, in a building that was barely more than a tenement, was a palace compared to where she'd grown up. And then she looked at Adam breathlessly with tears in her eyes. “Thank you for my seat. If I can ever do anything for you, look me up at Pier 92. I'll buy you a drink.” It was all she had to offer him, although there were other things he would have preferred to get from her. But she looked so innocent, despite the outrageous outfit, that he felt guilty for his thoughts. She seemed like a sweet girl, despite her sexy clothes.

  “Don't worry about it. Happy to do it. Maggie, was it?”

  “Mary Margaret actually,” she said, looking wide-eyed, and he could easily imagine her in a parochial school uniform. Mary Margaret O'Malley. He couldn't help wondering how she had come to dress the way she did. She had the face of an angel, and the body of a stripper, and her outfit needed to be burned. She would have looked incredible with the right hairdo and decent clothes, but life dealt the hands it did
. And she had done all right for tonight, for a poor girl from Queens who worked at Pier 92. She was sitting on the stage at Vana's show, in a special seat.

  “I'll come find you after the show,” he promised her, and meant it for a minute, and then suddenly she bounced up from the seat and gave him a hug like a little kid. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Thank you for what you did for me. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done.” The look in her eyes made him feel guilty for his earlier lascivious thoughts. Putting her on the stage had been easy for him.

  “Don't worry about it,” he said as he turned to leave, and then she grabbed his arm.

  “What's your name?” She wanted to know who her benefactor was, and he looked startled. They weren't likely to meet again.

  “Adam Weiss,” he said, and then ran back to his own seat. The lights were being dimmed. Two minutes later, as he sat next to Charlie, the show began. Charlie leaned toward him briefly just before Vana came out.

  “Did you find her a seat?” He had been mesmerized by her. Charlie had never seen anyone quite like her up close. Girls who looked like that were definitely not his thing.

  “I did,” Adam whispered. “She said she wants to go out with you,” he said with a mock-serious look, and Charlie laughed.

  “Not likely. Did you get her phone number, blood type, and address?”

  “No, just her bra size. It's a lot bigger than her IQ,” Adam said with a wicked grin.

  “Don't be mean,” Charlie scolded him. “She was sweet.”

  “Yeah, I know. Maybe we'll take her to the party with us, after the show.” Charlie gave him a grim look. He thought the concert would be enough for him. This was not his scene, although he had always liked Vana's music. And he did that night too.

  The show was fabulous, and Vana played seven encores. She had never looked or sounded better. Maggie came back to visit them during intermission, to thank Adam again. He put an arm around her shoulders and invited her to the party then. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him again, while Adam felt the impact of her breasts on his chest. Hers were real, and so was her nose. Everything she had had been God's gift, not store-bought. He hadn't seen a girl like her in years.

  “You shouldn't do that,” Charlie said quietly after she went back to her seat, before the second act began.

  “Do what?” Adam asked innocently. He could still feel her breasts on his chest. He had liked it a lot. He always did. He knew a million women like her, but none of them were real.

  “Take advantage of young girls. She may dress like a hooker, but you can see she's a sweet kid. Don't be a shitheel, Adam. It'll come back to haunt you one day. You wouldn't want someone doing that to your kid.”

  “If my kid dressed like that, I'd kill her, and so would her mother.” He had wanted to bring both his kids to the show, but Rachel wouldn't let him. She said it was a school night, and she didn't want their kids in an atmosphere like that. She said they were too young. He had nice, wholesome kids.

  “Maybe Maggie doesn't have anyone to tell her not to dress like that.” She looked like she'd gone to a lot of trouble to put her outfit together that night, but somewhere along the way, in her enthusiasm, it had gone wrong. But there wasn't much you could do too wrong to a face and body like hers. She'd been blessed. And maybe one day, when she grew up, she'd learn to tone it down, rather than up.

  “I guess not,” Adam commented drily, “if she works at Pier 92.” He had been there once and couldn't believe how bad it was. Every sleazeball on Broadway came in to paw the girls while they ate and drank. The waitresses weren't topless or naked, but they might as well have been, given how little they wore. They wore dresses that looked like mini–tennis skirts, and underneath them thongs, and on top cheesy satin bras that they were forced to wear several sizes too small. The place was a dump. “Stop feeling sorry for her, Charlie. There are worse things, like being born in Calcutta, or the little blind kid you told me about the other day at the place you visited in Harlem. That girl is gorgeous, and she'll figure it out one day. For all you know, she'll be discovered by some shithead agent and wind up a big star.”

  “I doubt it,” Charlie said sadly, thinking about her. Girls like that were a dime a dozen, and most of them never got out of the hell where they lived, particularly with guys like Adam chasing after them and taking advantage of them. It made him sad for her. And then the second act began.

  When it was over, the crowd went wild. Groupies, fans, photographers, and practically half the audience tried to crawl up on the stage. It took a dozen cops to get Vana off in one piece, and Adam couldn't even get backstage. He used his cell phone to call the stage manager, who told him that Vana was okay, and thrilled at how it had gone. He said to tell her he would see her at the party, and when he turned around to talk to Charlie, Maggie was there. She had nearly lost her blouse and jacket trying to get off the stage, but she had managed to get back to them, and thanked Adam profusely again. She had no idea what had happened to her friend. It would have been next to impossible to find anyone in that mob.

  “Do you want to come to the party?” Adam asked her. She looked fine for that crowd. He wasn't embarrassed to take her with him, although Charlie would have been. But Charlie wanted to go home anyway. The concert had been more than enough for him, although he had thoroughly enjoyed it. He just didn't need any more stimulation that night. Adam always did. He loved the seamy side of that life, and Maggie would fit right in. She was thrilled to go.

  It took the three of them half an hour to get back out to the sidewalk, and another twenty minutes to find the limousine, but they finally did, and the three of them crawled in. They were heading to the East Side to a private club that had been rented for the party. Charlie knew there would be lots of women, booze, and drugs. Not his scene. Adam didn't do drugs either, but he had nothing against women and drink. And lots of both. Maggie sat on the banquette opposite them with a look of ecstasy on her face, as Adam casually glanced up her skirt. Her legs were even better than he had realized at first. She had an absolutely unbelievable body. Charlie had noticed it too, but rather than look up her skirt, he had glanced out the window. And then she crossed her legs.

  “Where are we going?” she asked excitedly in a childlike voice, with a slight New York accent. It wasn't excessive, but it was recognizable. Adam seemed not to notice.

  “We're going to drop Charlie off first. Maybe we'll stop for a drink somewhere, and then I'll take you to the party.” And afterward, hopefully he'd take her home with him, if she was willing. He never forced anyone to do anything. He didn't have to. There were enough women in his life to keep him happy at all times. But she looked as though she'd go home with him, he didn't think there would be a problem. He had picked up plenty of girls like her, and they were so excited to be taken along, particularly on a night like this, that they almost always wound up in his bed. It was a rarity when they didn't. He was sure Maggie would. So was Charlie.

  Charlie said goodnight to her politely when they dropped him off. He said he hoped he'd see her again sometime, which he knew was unlikely. But what else could he say? Have a nice night in bed with Adam? For an odd moment, he hoped she wouldn't. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, and he wanted her to be better than that, or at least have a fair chance. She was much too impressed with where Adam was taking her, and the seat he'd gotten her on the stage. Charlie wanted to tell her to have more self-respect than that. But there were some things one couldn't change. And it was Adam's life, and hers. It was up to them what happened after he left, not up to him. He almost wanted to protect her from Adam, and herself, but there was no way he could do that. He rode up in the elevator, looking thoughtful, and when he let himself into his apartment, he stood looking out at the park in the dark. It had been a fun night, and he'd had a good time. He was tired, and a few minutes later he went to bed.

  Adam took Maggie to a bar, as he had promised, and she had a glass of wine. He had a margarita, followed by a mo
jito, and let her take a sip. She liked it, but said she didn't drink hard liquor, which surprised him. He was even more surprised when she said she was twenty-six. He had figured her for younger than that. She said she modeled at trade shows sometimes, and had done some catalog work, but mostly she just worked at Pier 92, and said she made a fortune on tips. It was easy to see why. She had a body that just wouldn't quit.

  They got to the party by one o'clock, and it was just starting. Adam knew there were a lot of drugs around. Cocaine, Ecstasy, heroin, crack, crystal meth. The crowd was wilder than usual, and it didn't take him long to figure out it was not a good scene to be in. It happened that way sometimes after concerts. He danced with Maggie for a few minutes, and then got her out, and back into the limousine. He invited her back to his place then for a nightcap, and she looked at him and shook her head.

  “I'd better not. It's pretty late. I have to be at work tomorrow, but thanks anyway.” He made no comment, and gave the driver her address. He was horrified when he saw where she lived. It was one of the most dangerous streets he'd ever seen. It was hard to imagine a girl who looked like her living there. Her life had to be a fight for survival every day, and he felt sorry for her, but he was also mildly annoyed that she hadn't spent the night with him.

  “I hope you don't mind that I didn't go to your apartment, Adam,” she said apologetically, particularly after all he'd done for her. “I don't do things like that on the first date.” He stood staring at her, wondering if she actually thought there would be a second one. She had written down her number for him, and he had shoved it in his pocket. He was going to throw it away when he got home. She was fun for a night, on a lark, or would have been, but there was no reason to ever see her again. He could have a hundred like her anytime he wanted to. He didn't need a waitress from Pier 92, no matter how pretty she was, or how good her legs were. It wouldn't have been any different if she'd gone home with him. It just would have been fun.