Lavish Loving

by A. C. Arthur

  Trent Corrigan, who’d been sitting next to Quinn, jumped up and ran over. “All right, girl,” he purred as London swung the now-dry hair she’d let down in the car. “You’d better work those ten packs of hair, girl.”

  “Ha! More like twenty.”

  “I love it, London.” Quinn came over, too, and fingered the long locks. “They did this for the shoot?”

  “Yes, and after sitting in that chair for almost two hours, I am determined to wear them for more than a day.”

  “You look totally different,” Quinn said.

  “She looks totally hot,” Trent added. “Where are we going to shake it up tonight? I’m ready to par-tay!”

  The three went to dinner at a restaurant run by one of Trent’s friends. It was in the Castro, one of the first openly gay neighborhoods in the United States. Located near the highly trafficked intersection of Castro and Market Streets, Pride & Good Prices was as much a place to socialize and meet up as it was a spot where one could get gourmet-quality international cuisine at reasonable prices. Reservations were highly encouraged, but you could always get seated when you were friends with the owner.

  After a complimentary glass of wine during their ten-minute wait for a table, during which notice of London produced selfies galore, the three were seated in a corner booth.

  “We don’t need menus,” Trent told the cute bald waiter who had skin smoother than London’s and whose makeup was on point. “Just tell the chef to serve up some good food.” And then he turned to London. “I can’t get over you and all that hair, honey. I think the last time we partied, you were wearing a Halle Berry cut.”

  “If you saw my hair that short, it was a wig. Either way, it was a long time ago.”

  “She tried to act like she didn’t remember you,” Quinn said. “But when I mentioned Cannes, fireworks, chalet and champagne in the same sentence, the memories flooded back.”

  Quinn and London were the same age and had both spent their high school years in Swiss boarding schools, but Trent was how they’d eventually met. He’d dabbled in modeling and through a connection had been offered a chalet during the film festival in Cannes. He’d invited Quinn, his best friend, to come, too. When he saw London, whom he’d done a show with just weeks prior, he’d invited her to a party at the chalet. The luxury villa was seated on a hilltop, with stunning views of the sea and city. Dom Pérignon had flowed like water. At midnight, a loud, gargantuan fireworks display had shocked and delighted the revelers from their unobstructed view.

  “Remember what you said, Trent?” Quinn asked, once Trent had recalled his version of the story. “‘The trumpets have sounded. The heavens have opened. Let the skinny-dipping begin!’”

  “I almost recreated that scene earlier tonight,” London said, laughing.

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “You posed nude?”

  “Not quite.” London told them about shooting in the rain and being inspired to make the most of it.

  They made quick work of all-American entrées and continued to chat. Trent hailed a taxi for the next place he’d planned for them, a private club with a sign at the entrance: Only Wild Child Allowed.

  And wild it was. As London’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, her thoughts went to one of the co-owners of Incomparable, her modeling agency, a former model who’d spent her teen years at the New York disco Studio 54. What London saw now was how she’d imagined the antics shared about the popular seventies’ disco. Outlandish costumes. Artistic expression. Various phases of nudity. Everyone happy and having a good time.

  So much so that when the excited young blond wearing a cowboy hat, leather chaps, alligator boots and jeans that exposed his butt cheeks pulled her over to dance between him and his partner, who wore tuxedo pants, a polka-dot bow tie and a smile, London thought nothing about it. Because of the strobing disco lights, she didn’t see the flash.

  Before dawn the next morning, London would once again make headlines. But Ace and the rest of the world would know about it before she had a clue.

  Chapter 14

  His alarm went off at 9:00 a.m. Eyes still shut, Ace fumbled around for the knob and shut it off. Five minutes later, his text indicator buzzed. He ignored it, too. Didn’t bother to answer the cell phone when it rang ten minutes after that, but when his landline chimed only seconds later, he jerked up the receiver.

  “What!”

  A brief pause and then, “So you’ve seen them.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Ace propped himself up against the headboard. “Dent? What the hell? We spent half the night looking at those pictures and the rest making sure they got out to all the right sources.”

  “No, not the ones from the shoot. The ones of London stirring up valuable publicity to make our upcoming press releases even more newsworthy. Even though she wasn’t wearing our clothes.”

  “Oh, man.” Ace placed the call on speaker and snatched a small tablet off his nightstand. “Was she wearing any?”

  Tyler chuckled. “A butt was exposed, but it wasn’t hers.”

  Ace typed London’s name into the search engine. Half a dozen news links came up along with a picture. London, laughing, sandwiched between two guys. One dancing provocatively behind her, cheek to cheek, one might say, while the other held her in what appeared to be a sizzling kiss.

  The thought of her in another man’s arms was enough to skyrocket his blood pressure. Seeing it made Ace think of kicking ass and taking names, and he wasn’t a violent man. It also pushed away the deep sleep that moments ago was the only thing he wanted. Now he wanted to find London and whoever this guy was and strangle him. Or her. Or both.

  He tapped on the notorious website, XYZ, which had broken the story. Toward the end of the first paragraph, he began to read out loud.

  “‘London, who recently ended a relationship with megarich director Maxwell Tata, creator of the wildly successful fanatica—fantasy combined with erotica—films, seems to have moved on from her lover...but in what direction? One moment she was seen giggling and hugging a pretty young woman as they exited the bathroom. The next one had her lip-locked with a gay—or maybe bi?—man in the middle of the dance floor. No details on who she went home with, but whoever the lucky choice was, looks like they had fun.’”

  Ace tossed the tablet on the bed, threw back the sheets and hopped out of bed. The article’s last line was like a bucket of water on his face, chasing any chance or desire of sleep away faster than a double espresso.

  “We probably should have said something during that first meeting, but she’s representing OTB now and needs to watch her ways,” he told Tyler, after snatching up the cordless receiver and beginning to pace.

  “Are you kidding me? This is fabulous press.”

  “This is a scandal and drama that I don’t need.”

  “Have you forgotten our company’s name?”

  The company and Ace’s last statement had nothing to do with each other. But he eyed his naked frame as he crossed a mirror in his pacing and kept that truth to himself.

  “OTB stands for ‘Out of the Box.’ That’s exactly the message these articles portray. With the money shots we took last night, our new tagline and London’s celebrity? We’ll probably get moved to a bigger space in New York and will definitely get a prime-time spot.”

  When they’d coined the line around 2:00 a.m., Ace thought the tagline Reigning Over Her was genius. But if pictures like these began dominating celebrity websites, the statement would take on a whole other meaning.

  “Have you talked to the PR team?”

  “No,” Tyler responded. “They’re my next call.”

  “I suggest we stay away from this tagline. Maybe push back those ads a day or two. Once Mira hears about this I’m sure she’ll agree.”

  “Negative, Ace. Mira called me, beyond excited. You’re going to get outv
oted on this one.”

  Damn.

  “I’ll be in the office in a couple hours. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

  Ace placed the receiver back in the cradle and reached for his cell phone. He was calmer now but still ticked at London. There was a lot on the line with this new unveiling, chiefly Ace’s name and reputation in the fashion industry. London needed to understand that as long as she was the face for OTB Her, their lives were intertwined. Mud thrown on her got him dirty. He wanted to stay clean, and planned to.

  “Ace?” Her voice was scratchy and groggy sounding, evidence she’d just woken up.

  “I’d say I’m sorry, except you’re why I’m awake.”

  “Huh?”

  “No one has told you yet?”

  “Told me what?”

  “That you’re trending right now, and all over the news.”

  “You woke me up to tell me that?” Ace heard a sound and could imagine her frowning and flopping back down on the bed. “I thought there was an emergency or something, like my house was on fire or someone died.”

  “Someone’s about to. Who’s the dude you were kissing?”

  “Excuse me?” she replied, all grogginess gone.

  “You heard me. There’s a picture with you and two guys dancing, one rubbing your butt and the other all in your face.”

  “Hold on.”

  Ace slipped on a pair of shorts and padded downstairs in bare feet.

  “This picture posted by XYZ?”

  He reached the kitchen and fired up his Keurig machine. “They’re one of several sources reporting the story.”

  “There’s a story, too? And you believed whatever it said?”

  “I was doubtful about you and the woman, but describing that picture doesn’t take a thousand words.”

  “No, it only takes a few truthful ones. Look, you’ve been in this industry longer than me and should know how the game is played. If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to learn where to put your trust, and it’s not in a tabloid or entertainment website.”

  “Wait, you can’t talk to me like that. I called to bawl you out.”

  “You might want to make sure you have your facts straight first.”

  “Are you going to tell me you weren’t kissing that guy?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to say.”

  “Really, London? You’re going to lie to my face like that?”

  “I’m telling the truth. Look at the angle of the picture. Do you actually see our faces? No. The paparazzi framed the picture to make it look like we’re kissing. I remember this moment. I’d asked him the regime to his buffed-out body. He made a joke. I couldn’t hear him over the loud music. So he pulled me to him. His mouth is closer to my ear than my lips. But since you obviously think I’m a promiscuous tramp, you drew your own conclusions.”

  “I don’t think that about you.”

  “Yet you call at an ungodly hour and wake me up to argue about a tabloid story.”

  Put that way, Ace’s anger began to deflate. A little embarrassment replaced it. But only a little.

  “Who’s the woman mentioned in the story?”

  “Quinn, my sister-in-law, Detective,” London sarcastically replied. “Any more questions?”

  “Only a couple before I wrap up this investigation,” he said in all seriousness. “Where were you?”

  “The Castro, one of Trent’s many playgrounds. We were at a private club, so I may have let down my guard and been a little freer than I would have at a public venue. Though when I think about it, paparazzi being there makes total sense. I saw a couple actors there—one an A-list heartthrob who is living life on the down low. At one point I saw him pushed up on his secret boyfriend. The photog obviously missed that action. And that would have been the money shot, a story way worthier than me out with my sister-in-law and her best friend.”

  “I apologize for jumping to conclusions and waking you up. But can I ask a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Try and remember that you’re representing something that is very important to me, something near and dear to my heart. After this weekend, anything you do will get tied to OTB Her. So can you please keep any scandals toned down and to a minimum?”

  “Only if you’ll promise me something, too.”

  Suspicion was evident in Ace’s hesitation. But he asked anyway. “What?”

  “Come over later so we can do some scandalous things...together?”

  “I’d love nothing better, but there’s no way I can get away today.”

  “What about tonight, or tomorrow?”

  “I thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

  “Given the right incentive, I could stay another day. I need to talk over something with you anyway.”

  “I’ve got about eight or nine incentives. Are you interested?”

  “The way those incentives feel inside me, stroke after delicious stroke? Consider my plans changed!”

  They laughed as Ace ended the call. He told himself he’d handled the situation, but he went through the day unable to shake the feeling that he’d gotten got instead.

  Chapter 15

  London walked into the bedroom where Quinn had slept Friday night. “I didn’t even think to ask what flight you’d booked us on. Why are you leaving so early?”

  “Because of a controlling man named Ike. You may have heard of him?”

  “Vaguely, but I try to keep my distance,” London teased. “We don’t see eye to eye.”

  “Considering yesterday’s headlines, you may want to keep it that way.”

  The women laughed. A year ago, Quinn had married London’s oldest brother, Ike Jr., ten years older than both London and Quinn. London was barely eight years old when Ike went off to college, and she’d moved to a Swiss boarding school by the time he returned. The age gap, distance and difference in moral viewpoints often kept the stubborn siblings in bicker mode. It had initially been that way with him and Quinn. Like London, she was free-spirited and spontaneous. She was proof that opposites could indeed attract, but Quinn had learned it also made certain areas of life tricky to navigate. Ike’s treating her like the center of his universe made these ministrations not only bearable but worth every frustrating minute.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay and go home with me tomorrow?”

  Quinn looked over at London as she continued to pack her bag. “As if you want me to. I know you said there was nothing going on between you two, but the look in your eyes every time you mention Ace’s name begs to differ.”

  “I said we weren’t dating. That doesn’t mean we’re not having sex.”

  “London!” Quinn stopped packing and plopped cross-legged on the bed. “You said after Max you were taking a break. Wanted to get your head clear, focus on you.”

  London fell back with an exaggerated sigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Has Max stopped calling?”

  “Not completely, but he doesn’t blow my phone up the way he used to. Or make every conversation about us getting back together. Now when we talk, it’s just a friend thing.”

  “I thought Max was a pretty good catch.”

  “At one time, so did I.”

  “Are you sure Papa Dee didn’t have an indirect hand in this rekindled romance?”

  “Maybe. Nothing happened in Temecula, much to my chagrin. But I kept at it, and my first night here in the condo I finally wore him down.”

  “Ooh, you are so bad.”

  “Troublemaker is what he calls me.”

  “Well, it’s obvious he makes you happy. I never saw Maxwell put that type of smile on your face. So what do you two have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I don’t know about him
, but I plan to get into as much...trouble...as I possibly can.”

  Quinn had only been gone thirty minutes or so when Ace rang London’s phone.

  “Hey, you! Can’t find parking? Just come around the back and I’ll open the garage.”

  “What did I say earlier on the phone? That I’d be by to pick you up.”

  “I know, but you’ve been so busy and I spent the last two days out with friends. I thought we could just, you know, enjoy a quiet afternoon watching movies and stuff.”

  “Watching movies, huh? That’s hardly what’s on your mind, you nympho. Put some clothes on, because you’re probably butt naked.”

  “No, I’m not!” London said amid laughter, because booty shorts, a tank top and no bra hardly qualified as fully dressed.

  “And you’re right. Parking is lousy, so I’m in the middle of the street. Put on something casual with comfortable shoes. And don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Just come in for a—hello? Hello?” London let out an exasperated huff and stomped up the stairs. But her heart was smiling.

  She exchanged the booty shorts for brushed corduroy leggings, pulled on a bulky sweater over the tank and grabbed the most comfortable shoes in the closet, a pair of boots with a three-inch wedge heel. She pulled her Rapunzel-like extensions into a loose braid and secured it at the bottom with a hair band. After grabbing her purse, keys and shades off the bar counter that separated the kitchen from a breakfast nook, she set the house alarm and walked out the door. Ace was double-parked in front of her house leaning against a gleaming silver Porsche, the one she’d seen the other night in his company’s garage. He was on the phone but ended the call as she approached, and opened her door.

  “I thought you said this wasn’t your car.” She gave him a playful pop upside the head as she slid into the buttery leather seat.

  He closed the door and leaned into the car through the open window. “Woman, you’re going to have to learn to keep your hands off me.” He gave her a quick peck before going around the front of the car, waving an apology at the car honking behind them, and got inside.