“My knees aren’t bony,” he objected, sitting next to her. “My knees are perfect.”
“Says who?”
“Me?”
“Okay, he has perfect knees. I’ll accept that.”
“And she has a perfect mouth,” he responded.
“Anyway,” she said, becoming serious, “it’s no big deal, right?”
“What? My knees?”
“No. Us. Y’know, jumping into bed so quickly.”
“Right,” he agreed. “After all, we’ve been friends for a while now, almost a year.”
“That’s true, and as you said, this is our second date, so it wasn’t like I threw myself into bed with you on our first date.”
“You worry about stupid details,” he said.
“I know,” she agreed. “I’m trying to get over it.”
He smiled and sipped his coffee. “How’s work?”
“Same old grind. You know I wrote a piece for the magazine on call girls in L.A. I didn’t quote your girlfriend since you asked me not to.”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” he explained. “She was a nice girl with whom I had a brief fling. And she only got into the business because she had to take care of her sister.”
“How compassionate.”
“Don’t be bitchy.”
“Well . . . I do have to say,” Madison admitted grudgingly. “She was very beautiful.”
“She was pretty,” he said, giving Madison a long, intense look. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling the burn of intimacy and not quite sure how to handle it. After David she was determined never to get hurt again. Casual was the name of the game from now on. No expectations. No disappointments. Simply fun.
“How about you?” she asked. “What’s going on with you workwise?”
“Everything’s good,” he said. “I got back from Africa a week ago, where I was photographing cheetahs in the wild.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “I love cheetahs. They are the most beautiful animals.”
“You should watch them running. It has to be the most powerful sight you’ve ever witnessed.”
“Can I see your photographs?”
“Any time.”
“I’d like that.”
“And . . . I’d like to . . .”
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“I think you know what,” he said, leaning over and kissing her full on the mouth.
She could taste the coffee on his tongue, and once more desire began coursing through her. She wanted him again, and there was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t have him.
•
A week later he was gone. A long, lingering kiss at the door, and then he was out of there on his way to an assignment in Paris.
“Come with me?” he suggested.
She knew it was too soon to start following him around the world. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m waiting to hear from the detective. I have work commitments, and I’ve got to talk to Stella.”
Excuses, excuses. She could go if she wanted to.
“I’ll miss you,” he said. “I’ll miss everything about you.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“As long as it takes. You know me—not into making plans.”
She was beginning to understand that.
And so, after a week of complete togetherness, he vanished out of her life as quickly as he’d reentered it.
Normal existence resumed. She checked out her answering machine. It was jammed. For seven days she’d holed up with Jake and gotten lost in the experience. Now she had a list of people to call back and explain her absence to. Victor for one. Michael had phoned every day. Jamie, Natalie, Anton and David.
At least people cared whether she lived or died.
She called Victor back first.
“And where exactly have you been?” he boomed. “How dare you skip out of town and not tell anybody. You missed Evelyn’s birthday. Even more important—you missed the date she arranged for you. Evelyn is mad, and that’s not a pleasant sight.”
“Sorry, Victor. I fell in lust.”
“You what?”
“Caught up with an old friend.”
“You mean you had sex?”
“I really don’t think that’s any of your concern.”
“Ha!” Victor said loudly. “You’d better think of a way to make it up to Evelyn. She is not pleased. Besides, it makes me look bad.”
“We never had a definite arrangement.”
“Of course we did,” he argued. “You assured me you were coming.”
“How could I do that when I didn’t even know what day your party was?”
“I left six messages on your machine.”
“I only listened this morning.”
“Ha!” he repeated. “What if it had been an emergency?”
“It wasn’t, was it?”
“You always have an answer.”
“You trained me well.”
“How’s your research on The Panther coming along?”
“Pretty damn good,” she lied.
“You all set for Vegas?”
“I have a question,” she said, suddenly coming up with a great idea.
“Yes?”
“What photographer are you assigning?”
“Haven’t thought about it yet. If the Panther wins, we’ll do him as the cover, so I need the best.”
“And if he loses?”
“Tough shit.”
“You’re such a charmer, Victor.”
“Thanks,” he said, his voice louder than ever.
She hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. “Uh . . . remember Jake Sica? The photographer you hired in L.A.”
“That’s the guy who informed me he couldn’t work for us anymore. Had to go off and do other things. Like photographing wildlife or something.”
“He’s back.”
“In your bed?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“In your bed,” Victor said, absolutely sure.
“I was thinking he could do a fine job, he’s great with action shots. He might be the photographer to send to Vegas with me.”
“You don’t have to hit me over the head with a two-by-four,” Victor said. “I get it. Where can I contact him?”
“He’s in Paris at the moment. I’ll have him call you.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s your book progressing? Still working hard?”
“Oh, my book,” she said guiltily, realizing that she hadn’t worked on it in weeks. “Yes, it’s making progress,” she said, getting quite adept at lying to Victor. “I promise you’ll be the first to read it.”
“Good. Send Evelyn flowers.”
“No, you send Evelyn flowers, put my name on the card.”
“Cheapskate,” he muttered.
“You’re the one with the enormous expense account,” she pointed out. “I’m merely an employee.”
She called Michael next.
He sounded even more tense than the last time they’d spoken. “What is this?” he said. “You leave town and don’t even tell me where you are?”
“Why do you want to know?” she said, not prepared to offer any explanations.
“Because I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
Too bad, she thought, still trying to work out how she felt about him.
He’s my father and I love him.
He’s made my past meaningless and I hate him.
“What’s so important?” she asked, wanting to punish him with her indifference.
There was a long silence before he spoke. “It’s about Stella,” he said at last. “She’s . . . dead.” Another long, ominous pause. “The funeral’s tomorrow. I’d like you to be there.”
CHAPTER
18
Thank God for Chas, that’s all Rosarita could say. As far as entertaining Matt and Martha Cockranger went, he’d been a prince, she didn’t know what she would h
ave done without him. Probably thrown herself off the top of Barney’s, because anything was better than spending another minute with Dexter’s boring parents. The only good thing about them staying in the apartment was that it seemed to turn Dexter on.
The next night they all went to dinner at Le Cirque. Chas insisted on bringing his date—even though Rosarita begged him not to.
Her begging had put him in a bad mood. “Somethin’ wrong wit’ Alice?” he demanded. “She’s a nurse for crissakes. Give her some respect.”
“Nurse my ass,” Rosarita responded, acid tongue in action. “She’s a stripper with huge fake tits. Silicone has always been your weakness. Why can’t you get over it?”
After that little exchange, Chas chose to ignore his annoying daughter, palling up with Martha and Matt, who hung on to his every word as if he were a movie star. Chas basked in the attention as he entertained them with a few of his outlandish stories.
Rosarita had managed to consume two martinis and a hefty steak—which she planned to regurgitate later—when she suddenly spotted Joel. He entered the restaurant with a long, thin blonde draped all over him like a mink wrap. It made Rosarita crazy. She realized he had to have a life away from her, because after all, what could she offer him? She was married, so therefore she couldn’t spend all her time with him. But to actually see him out on the town with a date—well, it wasn’t very pleasant.
The girl had the kind of long, straight blond hair you saw on models in the fashion magazines. And she had creamy skin and legs that went on forever. And a flat chest, Rosarita was happy to note. She was taller than Joel. He probably didn’t like that. Or maybe he did.
It occurred to Rosarita that she had not bothered to investigate all of Joel’s likes and dislikes.
She gulped down the rest of her third martini and sat up straight. What was she supposed to do? Go over, wave, say hello? As far as Dex knew, she and Joel had barely met. She’d vaguely mentioned that she’d been introduced to both Leon Blaine and his son at a cocktail party. Dex hadn’t taken much notice, he probably had no idea who Leon Blaine was.
She reached into her purse, took out her compact and a lipstick, and examining her face in the compact mirror, decided that she looked miserable. She was miserable. Who wouldn’t be, stuck next to Matt and Martha Cockranger every night? And Chas wasn’t much help, what with insisting on bringing his latest inflated-tit bimbo. God! What a group to be seen with!
She watched Joel as the maître d’ seated him. His back was to her. Thank God he hadn’t spotted her. Now the only question was, did she go over or not?
Not. She didn’t care to be introduced to that tall drink of water he was with. Why should she honor her with a hello?
“I’m tired,” she complained to Dexter.
“We haven’t had dessert yet,” he said, studying the menu.
“I know, but I’m exhausted.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have had three martinis,” he said with a cutting edge to his voice.
“What’re you doing—counting my drinks?” she said belligerently.
“No. I simply happen to know how many you’ve had.”
“Now, now, children,” Martha interrupted, chuckling gaily. “No bickering at the table.”
Chas guffawed. Varoomba gave a squeaky little giggle.
“What hospital do you work at, Alice dear?” asked Martha, paying Varoomba some attention. “Is it one of those ER places, where you see all these emergencies, and handsome doctors running around? I love George Clooney.”
“What’s ER?” Varoomba said blankly.
“Emergency room,” Chas said, kicking her under the table.
“Oh, yeah, emergency room,” Varoomba said. “I’m a private nurse, I only give private service.”
“I see,” Martha said. “So you go to people’s homes?”
“Only if they pay me enough,” Varoomba said.
Chas threw her a shut-the-fuck-up look. So Varoomba shut the fuck up.
Rosarita ordered another martini while keeping a well-trained eye on Joel’s back. It seemed to her that his date was the one paying him all the attention. At one point she noticed the girl snake a long, thin arm around his shoulders, her hand making its way up to the back of his neck, where her fingers proceeded to do a little dance.
Skinny Bitch!
She managed to leave the restaurant without Joel seeing her. So much for small favors.
The next morning, the first thing she did was call him. His answering machine picked up, so she tried him at his office.
“Joel won’t be in for a few days,” said the girl with the green nails, or at least Rosarita assumed it was her.
“Is there anywhere I can reach him?”
“Who’s calling?” Jewel inquired.
Oh, Christ! Here we go again, Rosarita thought. And she hung up.
Damn! Joel hadn’t told her he was going away. But then why should he? They didn’t have that kind of relationship. And the reason they didn’t was because Dexter was in her way and refused to budge.
The sooner she got rid of him, the better off they’d all be.
“What happened to you?” she’d asked one night after a particularly vigorous lovemaking session.
“You’re my wife,” he’d answered. “I love you.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” she’d said.
“We’ll see,” he’d replied.
Did he know something she didn’t?
Martha was quite obviously entranced with Chas. Every word he uttered caused her to gaze at him with adoring eyes. Major middle-age crush, Rosarita thought. How pathetic. Chas was hardly a matinee idol.
Chas, of course, got off on the attention. In the Cockrangers’ eyes he was a big man, living in a magnificent town house with a luscious girlfriend. He had many tales to tell about his colorful past in the construction business, and they ate it up. Especially Martha, while Matt couldn’t take his eyes off Varoomba’s tits—or Alice’s as the family knew her.
Mostly, Rosarita ignored Chas’ latest conquest. Her daddy might want to hang with trash, but there was no reason she had to be polite.
She hadn’t been able to reach Joel for five days, which was pissing her off. Where was he? And even more important—who was he with? When she finally did connect and asked him where he’d been, he was most uncooperative. “Didn’t know I had to check in,” he said, like she was nothing more than a casual acquaintance.
“I saw you the other night,” she said accusingly.
“Where’d you see me?”
“At Le Cirque with some skinny bitch.”
Joel chuckled. “That skinny bitch happens to be a famous supermodel.”
“Famous my ass,” Rosarita snorted. “What’s the difference between a supermodel and a showroom girl? No difference. Supermodel is merely a word the media made up. It means nothing. Anyway,” she added, finishing with the ultimate put-down, “I’ve never seen her before.”
Joel chuckled again. “Don’t go getting jealous,” he warned. “She’s too thin to be sexy. All bones and no tits.”
“Who’s jealous?” Rosarita said, irritated that he would think she was.
“Wanna come by the office today?” he offered. “Maybe around lunchtime?”
Yes, she did. But the last thing she needed was for him to think she was too eager. “Depends what’s on the menu,” she said casually.
“Who do you think should do all the eating today,” he asked. “You or me?”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “I am hungry,” she admitted.
“Then how about we go with a doubleheader?”
She was getting turned on already. “In your office?”
“My desk. Your cute ass. Twelve-thirty. I promise you a window seat. Like that idea?”
Like it? She loved it. “I’ll be there,” she said. “Only do me a favor and tell that moron working reception to let me right in. I do not appreciate being kept waiting.”
“Jewel do something to offe
nd you?”
“She needs firing.”
“See you later, babe.”
Rosarita quickly checked out the time. Ten-thirty. Hmm . . . if she was going to indulge in a doubleheader, she definitely needed a bikini wax.
Shivering with anticipation, she called the Elizabeth Arden salon and made an immediate appointment.
•
“Have you heard the news?” Silver Anderson said, peering at Dexter with heavily made-up eyes.
“What news?” he said. He’d recently arrived at the studio and was waiting to go into makeup.
“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Silver drawled. “But you should know. You’re one of my favorites, Dexter. You try hard, and you look divine. You will be a star one of these days—mark my words.”
“What are you trying to say, Silver?”
“We’re being canceled.”
His stomach dropped. “Canceled?” he said, dismayed. “When did you hear this?”
“I have my spies,” she said. “And naturally, being the star of the show, I hear everything first. They haven’t made an official announcement, but I can assure you that within the next week you will get your pink slip. And, my dear, even though it seems positively ludicrous, so will I.”
“Jesus!” Dexter said, his stomach taking a further dive. “I thought we were doing so well. I receive at least a hundred fan letters a week.”
“And I get thousands,” Silver said. “However, it seems to make no difference. It’s the executives at the network who make such foolish decisions, and unfortunately they’re all mentally twelve. The fans mean nothing to them, they don’t care what the audience wants.”
Dexter attempted to pull himself together and not look like this was the end of his world. “What will they replace us with?” he asked.
“Who knows?” Silver said vaguely. “Some boring teen drama full of prepubescent nobodies. It’s shocking. And they’re so lucky to have me.”
“I agree,” he said. “You’re such a star, Silver. You’re so . . . so incredible. In fact,” he ventured, “you’re a legend in your own lifetime.”
She laughed. “For a moment I thought you were about to say ‘in your own mind.’ ”
“What will you do?” he asked, trying to focus on her. “Go back to L.A.?”