“Because I didn’t want what I have to tell you to come as a shock,” Kimm said. “Better prepared than not.”
“Prepared for what?” Madison asked, perplexed.
Kimm studied her gravely. “I don’t know you very well, although I do observe you to be a most together person. And observation is my business.”
“Thanks,” Madison said, not feeling at all together.
“So,” Kimm continued. “Do I sugarcoat it, or do I give it to you straight?”
“Straight,” Madison replied. Straight before I scream!
“I thought so,” Kimm said, getting up and walking across the room. “I’ve read some of your interviews. I always think it’s a good idea to know something about the person I’m working for.”
Get on with it! Madison’s inner voice screamed.
“You’re very insightful when it comes to other people,” Kimm continued. “Only you never investigated your own life.”
“Didn’t know I had to,” Madison said flippantly, although inside her stomach was busy doing flip-flops.
“What do you know about your father?” Kimm asked, giving her a long, steady look.
“That’s a weird question.”
“It might be weird, but it’s quite basic.”
“I suppose.”
“So?”
“Michael is a wonderful man,” she said slowly. “And a terrific father.”
“What’s his profession?”
“His profession?” Madison said, puzzled by this line of questioning. “Well . . . he’s actually retired, did that when he moved to Connecticut a few years ago. I know you’re probably thinking he’s too young to retire, but that was the whole point, he decided to enjoy himself while he was still young enough. You see, he and Stella—they like to travel, visit Europe, explore; they’re always going somewhere. Or at least they were. I guess Stella isn’t going anywhere anymore.”
“You’re not telling me what your father’s profession was.”
“Investments.”
“Sounds vague.”
“He made a lot of money.”
“I’m sure.”
“Lived extremely well. Still does.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“What are you getting at?” Madison asked, exasperated. “Spit it out, Kimm, you’re making me nervous.”
Kimm was silent for a moment before speaking. “Your father was a hit man for the mob,” she said at last.
“Whaaat?” The word fell out of Madison’s mouth like a painful cry for help. “That’s . . . that’s impossible.”
“Not impossible. A fact,” Kimm stated, her expression stoic.
Madison felt as if she were in the middle of some bizarre nightmare. Wake up. Please wake up, her inner voice urged.
No go, baby, this is actually happening.
“Why would you even say something like that?” she managed at last. “It’s . . . it’s ludicrous, unthinkable and totally untrue.”
“I’m afraid it’s not,” Kimm replied, annoyingly calm and assured. “Your father’s real name is Vincenzio Michael Castellino. He changed it legally to Michael Castelli after the trial.”
“What trial?”
“The trial where he was accused of murdering your mother.” A long, ominous pause. “And, oh yes, her name wasn’t Gloria, he lied to you about that too. It was Beth.” A short pause. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such devastating news, but unfortunately, this is the truth, and . . . I have the evidence to prove it.”
CHAPTER
22
“I GOTTA SURPRISE FOR EVERYONE,” Chas announced.
Oh, no, Rosarita thought. Chas and his surprises. What is he about to come up with now?
She was in a good mood because this was the Cockrangers’ farewell dinner.
Farewell, Matt.
Farewell, Martha.
And as soon as they were out of sight, farewell, Dex.
Chas had chosen to give them a dinner party at his house, where Varoomba, recently ensconced, was playing hostess.
What a joke, Rosarita thought. How come he’s allowed this big bimbo to move in with him? There’s nothing more pathetic than an old guy with a young dingbat. Especially a dummy like Varoomba with zonkers bigger than footballs.
Chas had also invited Venice, Eddie, and their two horrible little brats. Rosarita was less than pleased as she observed the action. Aunt material she was not.
When Martha wasn’t playing flirty eyes with Chas, she was busy fussing over Venice’s kids. Matt, as usual, started drooling every time he managed to sneak a glimpse of Varoomba’s voluptuous cleavage, and Dex seemed to be in a slump, which he’d been in ever since he’d gotten the official news of his show being canceled.
It had not, Rosarita observed, affected his sexual prowess. What with her sessions with Joel a couple of times a week, and Dex every night, she was beginning to wonder if she had too much of a good thing going. There was only so much sex a girl could take.
“What’s your surprise, Daddy?” Venice asked, all goo-goo eyed and sugary as candy floss.
“For you,” he said magnanimously, “it’s a trip to Hawaii with the kids, all expenses covered.”
Rosarita’s face fell. How dare he waste her inheritance in such a fashion! Venice didn’t deserve shit. Certainly not a fabulous vacation.
“An’ for you,” he said, turning to Rosarita, “it’s a trip to Vegas, ’cause I know how ya love it there.”
“Vegas?” she said blankly.
“Yeah, Vegas. I got us all tickets for the big fight. Whaddya think of that?”
What did she think of that? Not a lot.
“An’—here’s the kicker,” Chas continued. “I’m throwin’ in two ringside seats for Martha and Matt, ’cause Martha told me she’s never bin to Vegas. An’ if ya ain’t seen Vegas, ya ain’t lived.”
Martha clapped her hands together in ecstasy. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “I’m so excited.”
Rosarita was dumbfounded. What the hell was going on? One minute she was telling Chas she wanted Dex knocked off, and the next he was inviting the whole gang to Vegas, including Dex and his stupid parents. She could happily strangle him.
Matt cleared his throat. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “This is quite something.”
“Don’t wantcha worryin’ ’bout a thing,” Chas said. “I know you’re leavin’ tomorra, an’ the fight don’t take place for a while yet, so I’ll be sendin’ you plane tickets, an’ we’ll all meet up in Vegas.”
For once Rosarita was totally speechless. She glanced at Dex to see how he was taking the news. He seemed oblivious, in his usual blue funk, damn him!
Hovering on the sidelines, Varoomba didn’t say a word. She’d learned that when in Chas’ company, it was best to stay quiet, especially when his two daughters were around. Venice was okay, but the other one was a bitch on roller skates, and Varoomba made sure to steer clear.
“So . . . whaddya think?” Chas said, beaming at the assorted company, getting off on playing big man on campus.
“Hawaii sounds dreamy,” Venice breathed. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Thanks, Chas,” Eddie said, brownnosing as usual. “We could all do with a vacation.”
“What about me?” Varoomba wanted to say, but she prudently kept quiet—not anxious to piss Chas off. If he did plan to take her to Vegas, it was probably best not to mention that she’d worked there at one time. In fact, her grandmother, who used to be queen of the Strip, still lived there.
Rosarita couldn’t wait to get her father alone. Oh boy, was she going to give him a piece of her mind.
On the way home in the car, she sulked, while Martha yammered on about what a fabulous evening they’d had and how fantastic it was that they were all going to be meeting up in Vegas.
“You won’t be able to come,” Rosarita said, shooting Dex a moody look.
“Why not?” he said.
“You’ll be working.”
“No, I won’t,” he said. “This is my last week on the show, after Friday I’ll be free to go wherever I want.”
“Oh, well then,” she said sarcastically, “I guess a nice little trip to Vegas is just what you need. Why work? Why not stand around gambling all day?”
“You’re so goddamn negative. Why don’t you shut the fuck up,” Dexter said, surprising everyone with his unexpected outburst.
“Are you swearing at me in front of your parents?” Rosarita responded furiously.
“Yes, dear,” Martha interjected, glaring at her son. “It’s not nice to use bad language. I thought I taught you that when you were a boy.”
“Yes, Dex, it’s not nice,” Rosarita mocked.
“You know,” Martha said, oblivious to her son’s bad mood. “When Dickie was nine, he came home from school one day chanting the ‘S’ word. I had to wash his mouth out with soap.”
“Did you, now?” Rosarita said, enjoying every moment of Dex’s obvious embarrassment.
“We’re all tired,” Matt said with a hearty yawn. “It’s been a hectic two weeks.”
“Actually, you mean three weeks,” Rosarita pointed out, silently adding that she’d counted every minute of every day, so she should know.
•
The next morning, as soon as she awoke, Rosarita was on the phone to Chas. “What are you thinking?” she screeched.
“Huh?” Chas mumbled. “Wassamatter?”
“I’m coming over to see you.” And before he could think of a way to stop her, she slammed the phone down.
Twenty minutes later she was at his house. Ignoring Varoomba, who was hovering in the front hall, looking especially top heavy in a pink negligee, she swept into the library.
A few minutes later a reluctant Chas put in an appearance. He knew he was due for an ear-bashing, and he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. When Rosarita was on a roll there was no stopping her.
“What is wrong with you?” Rosarita shouted, walking over and slamming the library door shut. “I told you how I feel about Dex. How dare you invite him and his stupid parents to Vegas. I don’t get it. You know what I asked you to do, and since you refused, I’ll be forced to make other arrangements.”
“Shut your mouth with that bullshit crap,” Chas said, scowling. “Do what everyone else does when they wanna divorce. Wait it out.”
“I’m not giving him half of everything,” she yelled. “You bought me the Mercedes. The wedding presents are mine. The apartment is mine. He’s getting nothing!”
“It’s only money,” Chas said.
“Only money,” she said ominously. “What happened to you? You used to be able to take care of things, now look at you, you’re turning into a senile old man.”
“Shut your damn mouth,” Chas repeated angrily, red in the face. “Dexter’s folks are decent people, an’ even though he’s a dumb actor, he seems to be an okay guy. An’ more important—God help the poor bastard—he loves you. Where’re you gonna find that? Most guys are assholes, an’ you know it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What you’re saying is that you think I should sacrifice my chance of happiness and stay with Dex.”
“You could do worse.”
“And I could do better. And let me tell you . . .” A triumphant pause. “I have.”
“Yeah?” he said, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I wasn’t going to tell you, Daddy, but I’ve been seeing somebody.”
“Dexter know about this?”
“Of course not,” she said, rolling her eyes at his stupidity. “That’s why I’ve got to get rid of him. Can’t have him getting in my way, can I?”
“Who’re you seein’?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Leon Blaine.”
Chas’ mouth twitched. “You screwin’ that old fuck?”
“No,” she said scornfully. “Not him. His son, Joel. He’s crazy about me.”
“Joel Blaine is crazy ’bout you?” Chas repeated, now certain his elder daughter was delusional.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Daddy,” she said, slightly put out that he obviously didn’t believe her. “Men go wild for me, and since I have an opportunity to be with Leon Blaine’s son, I think I should take it, and not be hindered in my quest to do so.”
“You . . . you’re something else,” Chas said, shaking his head in wonderment.
“I’m not letting Joel Blaine slip out of my sight,” she said stubbornly. “I have to do something fast.”
“You’re talkin’ crazy,” Chas said, scratching his chin. “Crazier every day.”
“Fuck you!” she yelled in frustration, because he simply didn’t get it. “You’re no help. You’re forcing me to deal with this myself. And I will. That’s a goddamn promise!”
And before he could come up with a suitable answer, she slammed her way out of his house.
•
Joel waited for Varoomba to call him and keep their appointment. She didn’t, which pissed him off because he’d had it all planned. He was going to have her dance for him on his desk—giving them a show across the street the likes of which they’d never seen. He was bored with Rosarita; he needed a new distraction, and Varoomba was it.
After a few days he contacted the manager at the Boom Boom Club, who informed him he had no idea where Varoomba had gone.
Jewel buzzed him at his desk. “That woman’s been on the phone again, the one with the Mexican name,” she said. “What’ll I tell her?”
“That I’m out,” he said shortly. “Permanently out to her.”
“Sure,” Jewel said, used to the way he treated women. They came. They went. They lasted a few weeks, then it was bye-bye and on to the next.
She was well aware of what went on in his office, but it didn’t bother her, as long as he didn’t bother her. And he never did, because as far as she could tell, Joel Blaine sat in his office all day jerking off, which suited her fine. No E-mails, no faxes, no filing. Joel didn’t know what work was. Besides, everyone knew that his daddy was the man with the power—Leon Blaine controlled everything. Poor old Joel was lucky if he got him on the phone once a week.
•
Meanwhile, Dexter was doing his best to avoid all contact with Silver Anderson. This was not easy since they were working side by side and sometimes had scenes to perform together.
The day after their show was officially canceled, Silver had finally cornered him. “You’ve been staying out of my way, you bad boy,” she’d scolded, wagging a beringed finger at him.
“N . . . not true,” he’d stammered.
“Yes, you have,” she’d admonished. “And I know why. It’s because you are uneasy about putting me in a compromising position.” A pause. A smile. “Actually, I think that’s very gentlemanly.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but went along with it anyway. “You’re right, Silver,” he’d said. “I’d never want to see you hurt. And as you know, I am a married man.”
“I understand, darling, and it makes no difference to me, because I have absolutely no desire to steal you away from your wife.” A naughty giggle. “All I did was suck your cock. No need for a meltdown.”
Dexter was shocked. How could a woman of her age and dignity talk in such a base fashion? If it meant he never had to see her again, then he was relieved the show was canceled.
He’d called his agent two days previously. The man had failed to get back to him, which was not a good sign. But Dexter had confidence; he knew that something else would come along. He was quite sure he was destined to be far more than one of the leads of a canceled soap.
Yes, there were big things waiting for him, and when they came, he’d be ready to seize the opportunities.
Dexter Falcon was prepared for bigger and better.
CHAPTER
23
MADISON HAD LIVED with the news for a week, one long, nightmare week. She’d holed up in her apartment, not speaking to anyone, becoming a recluse, even turning the sound do
wn on her answering machine so she wouldn’t have to listen to anyone’s pleas to return their calls.
Kimm’s information had shaken her to the very core. If she’d thought she was upset before, it was nothing to how she felt now.
Kimm had left behind a briefcase of documentation—old newspaper clippings, magazine articles, some videotape of the trial. For several days Madison had refused to go near it, but finally she’d given in and opened it, devouring everything it contained.
She’d soon found out that Kimm was not lying. Michael had been arrested, tried and acquitted for her mother’s murder. The facts were there in black and white, copies of numerous newspaper clippings full of allegations about Michael’s past and the people he was rumored to be involved with, including his lawyer, reportedly one of the best, hired for him by the man he allegedly worked for—the infamous Don Carlo Giovanni of the notorious Giovanni family.
She read the reports of the trial carefully. Michael and Beth had lived together in a house in Queens. While Michael was out one night, someone had broken in, shot Beth in the back of her head and fled. Madison—nine months old at the time—was asleep in her crib.
The day of Michael’s acquittal, the newspapers were once more filled with the news and his photograph, standing on the courtroom steps, making a victory sign with his right hand.
She studied the photos for a long time. Her daddy. Michael. He was so young, and he looked so different with his long, slicked-back hair, seventies-style suit and dark shades. He was still unbelievably handsome.
The first time she saw her mother’s face was in a photograph in the New York Post. Beth’s innocent beauty took her breath away.
Later that night she’d stared at her own reflection in the mirror and realized she was a combination of both her parents—it was uncanny. She was truly their child.
Kimm had asked her what Michael’s profession was, and she’d told her investments. Sure. That was vague enough. And she’d never questioned what he did. How naïve she was to have always believed him.
Kimm was right: how come she’d always found out, with relative ease, everything she needed to know about her interview subjects, yet it had never occurred to her to even question the apparent facts of her own family? But then, why would she?