To think he used to skulk in like a pussy-whipped eunuch—what a laugh!
Now, as his limo surged to a halt in front of Auction Towers, he didn't bother to glance either to his left or his right but straight ahead, a careless oversight he would soon deeply regret.
Dina, waiting for the light to change at the corner of Madison and Seventy-fourth, did a double take. Even without checking out the GOLD-MRT vanity plates, her sharp eyes recognized the customized black stretch Caddy with the tinted windows, and her antennae went on full alert.
Sure enough. There was Robert, her Robert, charging from the car into Auction Towers as if there were a fire.
On an impulse, she changed her plans and decided to surprise him. Perhaps she could even corral him into taking her to lunch; she'd forgotten to call Le Cirque and cancel, and Sirio would be holding the table.
Plus, she'd still have plenty of time to check out the jewels afterward.
Lunch with her husband. Why not? It had been forever since they'd done that. It might even prove a pleasant diversion.
Dina altered her course and made a beeline for the Towers.
"Shit!" Robert glared at the elevator indicators. He was tuned-up, primed, and ready for lift-off.
Unfortunately, the elevators weren't as obliging. Three of the six cars of One Auction Towers were being serviced. One was on its way up. Two on their way down.
"Come on, come on!" he muttered, sliding a hand into his trouser pocket to cop a feel.
No problem down there, thank God! All systems were definitely go.
Now if only a goddamn elevator would come! Christ, but he hated to be kept waiting—
Bing! A pair of elegant bronze doors slid soundlessly open.
"About time!" he huffed, charging inside and hitting the panel for the twenty-seventh floor.
Robert's chauffeur was too engrossed (in the personals section of Screw, which he kept under the front seat) to see Dina coming. Likewise Robert, who was too hell-bent on rushing into the elevator.
Only the liveried doorman, who didn't know her from Adam, took notice and pushed open one of the heroically scaled bronze-and- glass doors.
"May I help you, madam?" he asked politely, once she was inside.
"Yes. Mr. Goldsmith just came in. Where can I find him?"
The doorman's face became a mask. "I beg your pardon, madam?"
"Mr. Goldsmith," she said impatiently. "Look, I just saw him come in. And his car is parked right outside. I need to see him."
"I'm sorry, madam. I couldn't say."
"Oh, I think you most certainly could."
He pulled the door open to show her back out. "Madam?"
Dina imperiously stood her ground. "Do you know who I am?" she demanded.
He gave her a vacant stare. He saw a fine-looking woman hitting thirty and fighting it every inch of the way. But what he did not see was someone he should recognize, like Becky V or Ivana Trump or Madonna.
"No, madam, I don't," he said. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave—"
"I will not!" Incensed, Dina unsnapped her crocodile bag and produced her wallet. She brandished her driver's license like a weapon.
"As you can see," she declared, "I am Dina Goldsmith." She paused. "Mrs ... Robert . . . A.... Goldsmith," she emphasized.
The doorman was mortified. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Goldsmith, but I didn't recognize—"
"That's quite all right. Your apology is accepted. Now. Where can I find my husband?"
The doorman sensed big trouble. He knew exactly where Robert A. Goldsmith could be found—what member on the building staff didn't? Speculation was rife about the entertainment 2714—Ms. Parker— provided, and the consensus was that it wasn't tea and crumpets she was serving.
"Tea and strumpets," one staff wag had proclaimed, to much hilarity.
But the doorman wasn't laughing now. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a domestic dispute.
"Well?" Dina tapped a restless foot. "I'm waiting."
He took a deep breath, shifted uncomfortably, swallowed, and refused to meet her gaze.
Dina, reading his body language, didn't need an interpreter.
So, she thought grimly. Robert obviously isn't here on business. He's seeing somebody—
—screwing somebody.
"Where?" she asked tightly from between clenched teeth.
"Apartment 2714," he whispered miserably.
"Thank you."
She began to head into the lobby, then had a thought and turned around, lasering him with her ice-blues.
"Oh, and one more thing," she said. "I strongly advise you against calling upstairs and forewarning anyone. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, madam," he sighed, seeing unemployment looming.
Dina clickety-clicked across the marble lobby to the elevators. Bronze doors slid obligingly aside as she approached.
One punch of a button and she was on her way up.
Robert leaned on the doorbell.
Hell's keeping the bitch? he groused, wishing Bambi would get a move on.
He didn't like being made to wait out here in the hall. He felt exposed and vulnerable—especially since her apartment was located right next to the bank of elevators.
He leaned on her bell some more.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he heard from the other side of the door. Then it opened as wide as the security chain would permit.
"What's kept ya?" he rasped.
"I was in the bathroom," Bambi said, with a pout.
"Well? Gonna let me in?"
"Oh." She giggled. "Sure."
She shut the door, removed the security chain, and opened it wide, posing with one hand on a hip and the other on the doorframe.
"Hi, lover." She batted pale lashes. "Wanna play?"
Did he ever! Christ. Just the sight of her nearly made him cream.
He ate her up with his eyes.
She was wearing a white peek-a-boo bra with strategic cutouts through which luscious nipples, like pointy cherries, thrust temptingly. A wasp-waisted, tightly laced corset. Crotchless white panties which left her curly blond bush open for inspection. Plus white stockings and garters, and black Mary Janes.
"Well?" She licked her lips with slow deliberation. "You likee?"
"Yeah." He was positively slavering. "I likee a lot."
She broke her pose, flung her arms around his neck, and pressed herself tightly against him, right there in the open doorway.
"Tell me you're happy to see me." Her eyes glowed up at him.
"Shit, yeah. Now let's get inside before—"
Bing! The doors of the nearest elevator slid open, and they quickly jumped apart.
Not quickly enough.
Out stepped Dina, the wrath of God.
"Shit!" Robert cursed under his breath, his hard-on and scrotum shriveling.
It was too late to lunge inside and slam the door. Useless to try and explain the situation as anything other than what it appeared to be.
Seeing was believing, and Dina saw plenty. She was a believer; all right.
"Just what the fuck," she demanded, "is going on here?"
Bambi stared at Robert.
Robert stared at Dina.
Dina stared at both of them. Then she pinned Robert with her eyes.
"Really, sweetie," she told him, advancing slowly, "I'm very disappointed in you."
He thrust his hands in his pockets, shuffled guiltily in place, and looked studiously up at the acoustic ceiling and down at the carpet.
Next, Dina focused her attention on Bambi. "And as for you, you little slut—"
"I beg your pardon," retorted Bambi, hands on her hips, "but I am not a slut!"
Dina raked her from head to toe and smiled like a shark. "Then what are you dressed up for? A go-go bar?"
"Well, maybe if you'd satisfy your husband, he wouldn't have to come and see me!"
That did it.
Dina's hackles rose, and a surge of red-hot anger shot through her. Mak
ing a fist, she swung and caught Bambi flush on the chin. The right hook connected solidly, and she could feel the shock of the punch jolting through her arm.
Bambi spun around once, looking dazed. Then her eyelids fluttered, the whites showed, and her knees buckled as she collapsed.
She was down for the count.
Dina prodded her with a well-shod foot. "Too bad I KOed her. I'd love to do that again."
She fixed Robert with a glare.
"And as for you, sweetie," she said quietly, jabbing an ominous finger at him, "you have some major explaining to do."
And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the elevators. After a moment, she called, "Robert?"
He was staring down at Bambi, who was struggling up onto her elbows, shaking her head to clear it of cobwebs.
"You can stop worrying about her, sweetie," Dina advised grimly. "If you know what's good for you, she's history."
He quailed inwardly. He wasn't ready to face the music. Not now. Not ever.
Still, he might as well get it over with. Knowing Dina, she wouldn't rest until they had it out.
With a sigh of resignation, he followed his wife.
Chapter 54
Dina struggled to keep a lid on her temper. She was enraged, wounded, bitter, humiliated, and boiling mad. How could Robert do this to her? And who the hell was that floozie?
Of course, Dina knew very well that Robert had a wandering eye— what healthy man didn't? But to ogle was one thing; keeping nookie stashed in a love nest was a monster of an entirely different sort.
No way was she going to put up with that.
"I want you and Darlene out of here," she told Julio in no uncertain terms as she and Robert returned to the Carlyle. "Stay down in your rooms until you are summoned." She raised an imperious eyebrow. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, madame."
"I do not wish to be interrupted."
"No, madame."
Seconds later, Julio and Darlene wisely made tracks.
While Dina ousted the help, Robert made a beeline to the living room and the bar, where he proceeded to top off a much-needed highball with fifty-year-old scotch.
Hearing the clink of crystal, Dina stalked into the living room and stood there, icing him through slitted lashes.
"You might as well bring the decanter," she said frostily. "You're going to need it."
Goddamn it! he thought peevishly. Trust her to rub it in! Aren't things bad enough as it is?
He wished he'd never had the bright idea of visiting Bambi. In fact, he wished he'd never taken up with her in the first place. He wished—
It's too late to wish, he told himself grimly. It's time to face the firing squad.
Dina headed regally for a straight-backed chair, took a seat, and clasped her hands primly in her lap. She waited, armored with heavy metal from Carrier, her spine erect and her chin raised, the ice queen preparing to pronounce sentence.
"I'm ready whenever you are," she told him quietly.
Robert cringed. Quickly he tossed back half the glass and waited for the fireball to sear his belly.
He expelled a scorching breath. Then, putting down the glass, he hunched over the bar, leaning on his hands and shutting his eyes.
Time to face the firing squad ...
Heaving a sigh, he pulled himself together, grabbed his glass, and trudged reluctantly over and plotzed down opposite her.
Dina looked him straight in the eye.
"I cannot pretend," she said with dignity, "that I'm not disappointed in you, Robert."
Oh, great. Just what I need. A lecture.
Tightening his lips, he shifted uncomfortably and looked away. What unsettled him most was that he'd fully expected her to blow a fuse. He'd been all prepared for rants and raves and identified flying objects.
Instead, she was surprisingly, alarmingly, cool and collected.
The quieter the species, he thought, the deadlier. I've got to watch every word.
"Do you," she asked, "have anything to say for yourself?"
He was tempted to say, It isn't what you think. He was tempted to say, Couldn't we just forget this and pretend it never happened? He was tempted to say, If you put out more, maybe then I wouldn't have to play around.
No, he thought. Talk about making a big mistake.
Besides, he knew it wasn't true. The truth was, he liked playing around. He liked having a Blow Job at his beck and call.
Was it his fault that he was led by his penis? Maybe it was a sickness. You couldn't be held responsible for your actions if it was a sickness, could you?
Better, he decided, to say nothing than to lie.
"Could you at least tell me how long this has been going on?" Dina asked, her chilly expression unwavering.
Oh, Christ!
He gulped down half of what remained in his glass, not about to return her gaze. How was he supposed to respond? Did she expect him to spill his guts? Maybe even go groveling around on his knees begging for forgiveness?
Fat chance.
Robert A. Goldsmith might be in the dog house, but he was damned if he was going to act like a fuckin' trained poodle!
"I take your silence to mean it's been going on for a while?"
Shit! Another loaded question. Better leave this one unanswered, too. If she found out, she'd really have a fit.
How long has it been? he wondered. Seven months? Eight? Something like that.
In all truth, he hadn't been keeping count.
"Look, Dina, I'm sorry," he whispered miserably, "aw right?"
"You're sorry ?" Dina widened steely eyes. "You've been keeping a mistress and now you're telling me you're sorry?"
He nodded. "Yeah." He was sweating profusely and fumbled a hankie out of his pants pocket, mopping his glistening brow.
"So," she said, "who is she?"
He shrugged. "Just some girl."
"Should I know her?"
He shrugged.
"She looked vaguely familiar. I could swear I've seen her around."
"She ... works."
Dina smiled icily, her expression saying: I bet she does.
"At Burghley's," he sighed.
She frowned, and then it suddenly dawned on her. "You're right," she said, "I have seen her there. And ... I've seen her elsewhere also, but where ... where ... ?"
Frowning slightly, she tapped her lips with a finger.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Of course. At Heinzie's birthday party. She was the girl who was all over you!"
He sighed again, not at all pleased by Dina's mnemonic powers. Her memory was like an elephant's, something he kept forgetting and—unless it was too late—it would behoove him to start keeping in mind.
"Now let me see—" She smiled acidly "—that was back in October, and this is March. Good heavens. This must have been going on for at least six months! I would say that makes her more than just some girl, Robert."
He thought it prudent to keep mum.
"I think," she murmured, "that I could also use a stiff drink."
Dina stood up, walked to the bar, quietly poured a little cognac into a glass, and returned to her chair. She took a tiny sip and put the glass down on the end table, the faceted crystal catching the light and refracting blue fire. Then once again she folded her hands in her lap.
"There are two questions I need to ask you, Robert. Just two. Please consider them carefully and answer truthfully."
"What are they?" he rasped guardedly.
"Do you love her?" Dina's voice carried a vibrato of unease.
He shook his head.
And shook it some more.
"I'd like to hear you say it, Robert. With your lips."
He looked at her, as if drawn by the intensity of her stare.
"No!" he expelled, his voice a strangled growl. "I don't love her!"
She held his gaze. "And do you love ... me?"
"Goddamn it, Dina! What kinduva stoopid question is that?"
"It is not stu
pid in the least," she replied softly. "It is, perhaps, one of the most important questions I've ever posed."
His chin went up pugnaciously and he retained eye contact with her.
"Yeah, Dina," he said, soughing a deep breath. "Yeah, I love ya, for cryin' out loud. God help me, but I do. What I did ..."
He lifted his hands in a futile gesture and let them drop. "Well, what I did hasn't changed the way I feel about ya. Ya know?"
He shot her an appealing look, which her Teflon armor deflected.
"Look, I made a mistake," he pleaded. "I admit it—okay?"
She pursed her lips and looked down, studying her clasped hands.
"I won't pretend I didn't screw her. I did. But I wasn't emotionally involved with her."
"A fine distinction," Dina murmured dryly.
"Yeah. But it is one. Right?"
"Robert," she sighed, "tell me something. Do the names Michael Kennedy, Raoul Felder, and Marvin Mitchelson ring a bell?"
Ring a bell! Christ almighty, just their names set alarms clanging, sirens screeching, and lights flashing. What wealthy married man didn't know Husband Enemy Number One? He felt a chill terror, like a physical stab, reach all the way to the marrow of his bones.
Holy shit! he thought in disbelief. She's talkin' divorce lawyers! She's talkin' New York's top three divorce lawyers—the best carcass pickers a woman could buy.
"Aw, come on, Dina!" he cajoled. "You're not gonna divorce me over this?"
She raised her eyes slowly. "I very well may. It all depends."
"On what?"
"Robert, Robert," she sighed despairingly. "Will you stop pretending to be so dense? You know very well it depends upon you."
"An' you," he pointed out.
"And me," she agreed, nodding. "Yes."
He contemplated ways to sweet talk her, ascertained that this was one situation where no amount of words would help. Beneath the ice queen demeanor, she was mad as all hell.
Not that I can blame her, he thought, feeling a wave of guilt.
"Is there any way I can make this up to ya?" he asked.
"No, Robert, I'm afraid there isn't. There are, however, several... er, things you might do which could influence my eventual decision."
Too Damn Rich Page 56
