“Nobody special, just an acquaintance.” His gaze traveled from my head to my toe. “You look amazing, Janie, just beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t forgotten our plans, by the way.”
“Plans?” I said, as if I hadn’t remembered.
“To drive up PCH, take a weekend together.”
I shrugged. “Oh, I’d forgotten about that and thought you had too, with all the excitement of your new job.”
He leaned in close to me and whispered, “How could I forget something like that? You look incredible, Janie . . .” –his eyes strayed to the other side of the room—“shit, is that Daniel Glass?” Cal’s brow creased into a sharp frown.
“Yeah, actually, Cal, Daniel and I—”
“Fuck, is that the time?” –Cal glanced at his watch—“I’ve gotta meet someone. Bye, Janie, I’ll call.” He’d gotten the hint, obviously, that Daniel and I were an item. Good. Cal made a B-line out of the room, crushing through the sea of glamorous bodies. The blonde whom he’d been talking to met my eye and gave me a thin smile, so I took that as an invitation to say hi. Why not? I needed to mingle while Daniel was talking business.
She was pretty—very LA, in a tight little red dress, her cleavage beyond ample. Very “done” but done well, nonetheless.
“Daniel sure high-tailed it out of there,” she remarked, her smile weak. “Hi, I’m Sydney.”
I felt a little insulted by her ‘Daniel’ remark but just said, “business stuff, you know, he wanted to talk to some boring CEO types.”
“He’s a close friend of yours?” she pried, her eyes sizing me up and down as if to check out the competition.
“You could say that.”
She cast her gaze downwards—I could see hurt flit across her face. I knew that Daniel was a magnet, and women loved him, but why the sad expression?
“We’re seeing each other,” I said, just to make things crystal clear. I wondered if this would be my new role; guard dog holding on to my territory. Keep away from my man!
Her eyes glistened as if she were about to burst out crying. “Oh, I had no idea—the asshole could have told me!”
“What?” I hissed, “you two have something going on?”
“I had hoped so. I mean, no . . . but . . . well yeah, we just made out.”
I stood tall. “But Daniel’s been with me all evening. We just arrived half an hour ago.”
“We are talking about the same man, aren’t we? Daniel Glass, the movie director?”
I looked across the other side of the room but couldn’t see him.
“The guy you were just talking to five minutes ago?” she went on.
I frowned with confusion. “That was Cal. He’s an actor. Cal Halpan.”
“The dark-haired guy who just left in a hurry was Daniel Glass,” she said emphatically.
“No, believe me, that was Cal Halpan. Daniel Glass is here, in another room, and he’s my date, and the guy you made out with was not Daniel Glass, I can assure you.”
“But he told me he was Daniel Glass!”
Everything began to fit into place. Cal must have been masquerading as Daniel and sweet-talking blond actresses into bed, or in this case, up against a wall somewhere. I got my cellphone out to show her photos on the web of Daniel, but remembered; they were few and far between, he was very private and didn’t like the limelight. I scrolled through the ones I found but none of them were close-ups—no wonder Cal had gotten away with it—both men were tall, dark and handsome. I wanted to feel furious with Cal—this was identity theft! But I couldn’t. Relief surged through me in a blissful wave, perhaps a smile was creeping across my face. Daniel had not been fucking his way around Hollywood, he’d been telling the truth!
I punched in Cal’s number and handed Sydney my phone. “You speak to Cal. Tell him he’s been busted and his little game makes him look like a real jerk.”
She snatched my phone but pressed the red button to end the ringtone. “No,” she said, “I think I’ve been humiliated enough—don’t want to rub salt into my wound. I just don’t get why—”
“Your wound? It’s Cal who should feel humiliated!” I said. “Pretty sad and pathetic, I’d say, to go around impersonating someone else, especially as he doesn’t need to. And especially when the person he’s mimicking has orchestrated a plum role for him in a TV series. What an a-hole!”
A waiter came by, and I popped a canapé into my mouth. It was delicious. Sydney stepped closer, her breasts nestling up against my arm. “He made me do an audition for him,” she whispered conspiratorially, “for the movie, The Dark Edge of Love.” Her whisper was laced with whimsical desire. She was still into him, even after knowing he was a total fraud?
“What did he make you do?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Put it this way . . . tomorrow I’ll have a bunch of bruises all over me, especially on my butt.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Playing Dom, was he? I’m so sorry he did that to you.” I felt badly for her, but her stupidity stunned me. I added, “The part in The Dark Edge of Love is mine, by the way—it’s not up for grabs.”
I suddenly realized what I’d said; the part is mine. I hadn’t signed the deal yet, but I was damned if any other actress would be getting close up and personal with Daniel. The real Daniel. I still could not believe what Cal had been playing at.
“Sydney, I’m sorry you got hoodwinked by Cal. What he did is beyond dishonorable, it’s cheap!”
To my amazement she replied, “But I really like him, and he’s so hot, it could have been worse.”
“Oh, okay, so I shouldn’t feel badly for you, then? Not furious on behalf of the female sex? Even after he totally lied to you?”
Her cheeks flushed. She wasn’t a Natasha Jürgen lookalike, after all—she couldn’t have been more than twenty-two and didn’t have the poise and sophistication of Daniel’s late wife. Jake and Star had gotten the gossip wrong, this woman was one hundred percent Hollywood fodder: lacking in brain cells, although fabulous to look at. In a babelicious sort of way. No wonder men like Cal got away with behaving like this, when women like Sydney were so readily available. And gullible.
“Yeah, I really, really like him,” she admitted.
I shrugged my shoulders. To each their own. “Hey, if you like him, call him.”
Her eyes brightened. “You think I have a chance?”
I stood there, open-mouthed. Then I said, “Who knows? Give it a go. And while you’re at it, tell him to stop pretending he’s someone else, especially when that someone is my . . . my boyfriend.”
Renewed hope glittered in Sydney’s big round eyes. I left her to her fate and found Daniel in another room, deep in conversation, talking shop with some money people.
After introducing me to the group as his ‘girlfriend and number one leading lady’ Daniel took my hand. “I’m done, Janie, I hope you weren’t hit on too many times.”
The ‘girlfriend’ label had my head spinning. All I could think of was consummating our union. “I’d like to go back to where we left off,” I told him.
“The elevator?” His mouth curled into a wicked smile.
“No, before that. In the airplane. I think I’m brave enough to handle you now.” We all know what I’ll be handling.
I whispered in his ear, “I’d like to start rehearsing for the movie.”
Relief flooded his face. “Is that a yes, then? You’ll do the part of Sylvie?”
I nuzzled my head against the lapel of his tux. “It’s a yes, in every single way possible.”
He took me by the hand and, with his other resting on the small of my back, led me away from the crowded party. The buzz of being Daniel’s official girlfriend sent tingles all over my body. A grin spread from one ear to the other.
“You seem to have a definite purpose, where are you taking me?” I asked him.
“Gambling.”
“Gambling?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Jani
e, we’re in Vegas after all.”
For some reason I’d assumed we’d be going to his hotel to celebrate, and in my fantasies the kind of celebration had to do with getting stark naked and frolicking between the sheets, or anywhere else he had in mind. Gambling hadn’t been part of my plan. Not at all.
“I’ve never gambled before and I don’t want to start now,” I complained, hoping he’d change his mind. I thought of Will winning all that money and wondered why I hadn’t seen him at the party.
“You don’t have to,” Daniel said. “Just hang onto my arm, choose a number, and be my lucky mascot.” I loved the idea of hanging on his arm but dreaded the moment when he lost because of the dud numbers I might pick.
“Are we going far?” I was tottering in my heels and my feet were beginning to ache.
“No. Right here in the Bellagio. Not bad to have a show, a party, and gambling all under one roof. Also, there’s a European wheel here, which is a single 0 wheel, rather than the 00 wheel, so we have more chance of winning. The house edge on the single 0 wheel is just over two and a half percent, whereas on the 00 roulette wheel, the American wheel, the house edge doubles to over five and a half percent. Hence sticking with this casino.”
“Jeez, it sounds like you’re a professional, I didn’t know there were nerd gamblers.”
The corner of his lip quirked up, and he pressed the button for the elevator. “I just dabble when the mood takes me.”
We got into the elevator car and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Daniel, something kind of unpleasant happened at the party.”
His eyes bored into me. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone, but I thought you’d have more fun chatting up movie stars than listening to boring money talk about investments, mergers and take-overs. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to punch someone out?”
“Well, yeah, maybe you should.”
His eyes darkened. “Mild flirtation or gross behavior, because if it was the latter, I won’t be happy. Not one bit.”
“Cal,” I said. “He’s running around Hollywood and Vegas pretending he’s you, telling people his name is Daniel Glass.”
To my astonishment, Daniel roared with laughter.
“It’s not funny! You’ve got a reputation now as a womanizer . . . that’s why I thought you were shagging Natasha Jürgen lookalikes.”
“And to think I gave him that job. He shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“He must be pretty screwed up to think he can get away with it.”
“Well what are you going to do about it?” We arrived at the casino, Daniel rested his hand on my behind and steered me out of the elevator. I loved this new Daniel, the Daniel who was keen to show in public that I belonged to him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Let him have his fun. There’s one thing you should know about me; I don’t give a fuck what people think. I know who I am, and if my friends doubt me or judge me, then they’re not my friends and they can fuck right off. Let’s go and play. You ready?”
“Don’t blame me if I lose.”
“I’d never blame you for anything, Janie. Come. Something tells me tonight’s going to be pretty interesting.”
There were no seats at the roulette table, but an elderly man made way for us to get in on the action. There was a lighted board that indicated the last winning numbers. Daniel noticed me studying it.
“Don’t pay attention to that,” he warned. “That’s how they make their money. Every roulette play is completely random and has nothing to do with previous wins. Just because black came up the last seven times doesn’t necessarily mean red is due to come up next. Ever heard of the law of independent trials?”
I shook my head. More evidence that Daniel was steeped in this dangerous world. At least he had the money to experiment with his dollars. Could afford to take risks.
“If most people see one color come up several times in a row, the odds are they’ll bet the opposite color, and lose,” he explained.
He took out a wad of freshly minted hundred dollar bills from his jacket pocket and bought several stacks of chips. I wanted to run from the casino, there and then. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of anyone losing all that money, especially on my account.
The croupier spun the wheel and called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.”
“Go ahead, Janie,” Daniel urged.
“I know nothing about this game,” I said in a low voice, my heart in my throat.
“Pick a number, pick a color. Quick.”
“Okay, black and nineteen,” I said on impulse. I was nineteen when I lost my virginity, and for some reason, at this present moment, I had sex on the brain. Perhaps it was because everything that Daniel did was sexy; the way he moved, the way he challenged me with his azure eyes—his dark, mussed up hair, his wicked smile, his confidence. But mostly, the flashbacks of what had happened in the plane, the memory of how huge he was and how much he’d desired me.
Daniel placed a high pile of chips on 19 and some on various other numbers, his long fingers cool and unhurried. My eyes moved with the ball as it clunked over several different numbers on the spinning wheel. I immediately wished I’d picked red and the number 15, my lucky number. I felt as if time was frozen as everyone’s locked gazes followed the little white ball tumbling over one number to the next. Finally it landed on 15, and I felt completely nauseous. I knew it, I knew it! But then, like magic, it toppled over into the 19 slot. I waited, holding my breath. What if it toppled over again into the next number and we lost?
But it didn’t. I gasped, my heart racing a million miles an hour. I thought I’d faint again, the way I had before I’d ended up in the hospital. But Daniel had me in his grasp, his hands clinched around my waist, as if he knew instinctively how shocked I’d be.
I squealed out in delight, and a few people at the table smiled at me. The croupier handed Daniel several colored chips.
“This one’s for you, Janie,” Daniel said, handing me a pretty pink and blue chip. I stared at it, stunned. It was worth $25,000!
“Don’t be silly,” I protested. I slipped it into his jacket pocket. But he retrieved it.
“It’s yours. You’re the one who picked the winning number.” He prized my clutch from my fingers, snapped it open and popped the pretty chip inside. “Just don’t lose your purse,” he warned. “And I’d cash it in soon, if I were you.”
I opened my mouth to speak but thought of my student loan debt, and closed it again.
“Let’s go,” he said, “I don’t want you getting hooked on this shit.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my hotel. That is if what you said about rehearsing was true.”
I could feel heat rise to my face. Rehearsing for the movie. Playing the BDSM game. Hmm, the idea sent shivers along my bare spine.
Daniel pulled me away from the table, nodding a thank you to the croupier and tipping him. He said quietly, “Janie, are you sure you’re up for it?” He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not Cinderella.”
“I haven’t fed you, you need to eat something first.”
“I stuffed myself with hors d’oeuvres at the party,” I fibbed. I hadn’t. Was too excited to eat, I simply didn’t have an appetite.
“You really want me to get into character?”
I felt that familiar Daniel ache between my legs. “Yeah, I do.”
“As Finn?”
I giggled. “You make him sound like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
Daniel didn’t smile. “We don’t know yet what he’s capable of.”
He, not Daniel himself, I noticed. Ever the actor.
“Finn’s not going to turn into some serial killer, is he?” I joked.
But Daniel’s face was solemn. “I don’t know, Janie. I may want to . . . ”—and he lowered his voice so only I could hear—“really go for it, you know. I don’t trust mysel
f if I had you in my room in private, with all those sex toys we have in the film. I’ve never done this ‘Dom’ shit before, I might get carried away.”
“But we’ll be doing it on set, anyway. Might as well start now.”
“But it won’t be real on set—we’ll be acting. We’ll have the crew around us.”
“I want to try it out for real, though.”
By now we had exited the hotel and were standing outside the Bellagio. The fountain light show was just beginning its extraordinary display: thousands of spritzers shooting hundreds of feet into the air, making synchronized dancing patterns on the large lake, which spanned several acres and separated the hotel from the Strip. Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me To The Moon” was playing. The water was glittering, Vegas beckoning, making me feel that everything and anything was possible. Risks paid off—didn’t we just win all that money? It was now-or-never time. You only-live-once time. And I was definitely in the mood to fly to the moon with Daniel. Hell, I’d go with him anywhere. Yes, even Hell. I wanted him in every way possible, and in that moment, I needed him to own me in some way. To be his possession.
Daniel winced, then stopped walking. His tongue slid languidly along his top lip. “Oh fuck, Janie, you’ve made me hard discussing all this.” I looked down at his crotch. There it was, that huge great ridge again, straining against his slacks. I could feel a slickness in my panties—it wasn’t just Daniel getting excited in the nether regions.
“I want to play,” I cajoled, slipping my arm under his dress shirt, and onto his warm, hard stomach, “experiment a bit, try it out for real and see what it’s like—you know, do the Method.”
The Method, started by Stanislavski and favored by actors like Marlon Brando, Dustin Hoffman, and Robert de Niro—the practice of connecting to a character by drawing on real emotions and memories, aided by a set of exercises and practices, including sense memory. But also living out the scenario for real, if possible. Be it, not just imagine it. Be the real thing, do the real thing, like De Niro putting on all that weight for Raging Bull—the Method in its extreme.
“It’ll be more realistic if I actually experience it—at least once,” I coaxed.
GLASS: A Standalone Novel Page 16
