“You mean it’ll be a theatrical movie?”
“Naturally. I’ve had enough of boring television. Silver Anderson must be back on the big screen where she belongs.”
“Do you have any investors in mind?”
“I was hoping that you might be able to come up with someone.”
“Me?” he said, surprised and a little bit flattered.
“How about your wife’s father? I understand he’s quite well off.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Dexter stammered. “He’s never invested in anything I’ve heard about.”
“There’s always a first time,” Silver drawled. “And if he’s of a certain age, I’m positive he’s had a lifelong crush on me. How about bringing him to meet me so I can charm the money out of him.”
“What you’re saying,” Dexter ventured, “is that if I bring you someone who’ll put up the money, then I get the role of Lance Rich.”
“Oh, darling—you’ll get the role anyway,” she said off-handedly. “You’re perfect for it. I thought of you the moment I read it.” A meaningful pause. “Although, if we’re forced to go to a studio, they’ll probably insist upon a star. Naturally I’ll fight for you all the way, but you know how they are.”
“Yes,” Dexter said, immediately realizing the studios would want Brad Pitt or Ben Affleck. He had to do something radical to secure the role for himself.
“My other idea was how about that divine man you used to work for? Remember when you had that billboard up in . . . where was it?”
“Times Square.”
“The one where you were posing in your tiny little briefs and looking rather naughty. I’m sure that’s why they cast you in Dark Days. What was that designer’s name?”
“Mortimer Marcel.”
“Ah yes, Mortimer Marcel. He must be very rich, and most likely he loves you. Arrange a meeting with him also.”
Dexter was getting the picture. “Let me see what I can do,” he said. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve put something together.”
“Good boy,” Silver purred. “This is an opportunity neither of us can afford to let slip by.”
“I know,” Dexter said. “Leave it to me.”
CHAPTER
35
MAKING UP FOR LOST TIME, Madison went to work with a vengeance. She thoroughly researched Antonio “The Panther” Lopez, also looking into the career of his opponent, the champ. Then—on a roll—she managed to write two chapters of her novel; attend a few yoga classes because she thought it would help relieve her tension; phone Stella’s best friend, Warner Carlysle, who never returned her call; have a couple more lunches with Jamie; write a long letter to Michael, saying she did not wish to see him for a while and would contact him when she was ready; speak to Natalie on the phone at length; attend one of Victor’s incredibly boring dinner parties; almost insult the blind date that Evelyn sat next to her; and finally, agree to have lunch with David, because his incessant phone calls were driving her nuts.
“If I have lunch with you, will you leave me alone?” she demanded on the phone.
“You have my word,” he promised.
Yeah, well, David’s word was about as trustworthy as a recovering sex addict at an orgy. This could be because he was a producer of an early-morning news show, and as such, knew plenty about maneuvering his way out of difficult situations.
She walked to the Italian restaurant he’d chosen, thinking that she couldn’t wait to get out of town. A change of scene was exactly what she needed, and the sooner the better. Victor, the coward, had not canceled Jake, so that was the only downer—he would be in Vegas. But she’d made up her mind—no more getting involved, however Jake decided to play it.
Relationships were a bitch. Who could figure anything out? Smart as she was, she certainly couldn’t. She was still confused about the way Jake had behaved. She’d thought they were at the start of something special. He apparently had not.
The first words David said to her when she sat down at the cozy corner table he’d chosen were, “Have you met somebody else?”
“If I were to meet somebody else,” she said, immediately uptight, “that would mean there was somebody in my life in the first place, and believe me, David, you’ve been long gone.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, pouring her a glass of her favorite red wine, which he’d prudently ordered ahead of time.
“No, I don’t,” she retaliated, pushing her wineglass away. “And I’m not drinking today, so don’t bother.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase it,” he said. “Have you met somebody?”
“No, David,” she answered patiently, trying to keep her anger under control. “I have not met anybody. And I do not want to. Right now I’m off men.”
“That sounds bitter,” he said, making a face.
“Actually,” she said, messing with his head because deep down David was a pure chauvinist and a closet homophobe—two things she’d always hated about him—“I was thinking of changing tracks.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Changing tracks?”
“Maybe I’ll get myself a girlfriend,” she continued, pushing his buttons. “Y’know, a sensitive woman who’ll cater to my every need.”
“You’re full of shit,” he said with a disbelieving snort. “You love sex.”
“I love sex with someone special,” she shot back. “I thought you were someone special. Turns out I was wrong.”
The waiter appeared by their table with menus. He handed them over, then reeled off a list of the day’s specials. Madison ordered lightly grilled sea bass and a mixed green salad. David went for the house recommendation—seafood lasagna and a small Caesar.
“Listen to me,” he said, when the waiter had left. “The one who was wrong was me.” He fixed her with one of his intent looks. “I made a huge mistake.”
“You know what, David,” she said restlessly, wishing she hadn’t agreed to come. “It wasn’t a mistake as far as I’m concerned, because it proved to me what kind of person you are. If you’re capable of doing that to me, then you’re capable of anything.”
“Thanks,” he said sulkily.
“The truth is a bitch, right?”
He stared angrily at her. “Don’t you have any compassion?” he said. “You do know I’m getting a divorce?”
Ha! she thought. Like I care. What kind of a doormat does he think I am?
“No, I didn’t know,” she said evenly. “And I’m sorry to hear it, because I’m sure you must have had a delightful marriage. However, I have no intention of turning into your shrink and listening to your problems.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Yes you are, David. And I’m making it quite clear that the only reason I met you for lunch is I want you to leave me alone—and I mean it.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, attempting to place his hand over hers.
“Oh, please,” she said angrily, snatching her hand away. “I don’t need this shit.”
Realizing he was on shaky ground, he quickly changed tactics. “I read about your mother,” he said. “I know the two of you weren’t always close, but it was such a terrible thing the way it happened. What’s the story? Has there been an arrest?”
Madison frowned. He was trying to be intimate in every way he knew how, and she wasn’t having it. He’d switched into his investigative producer mode, and she was not about to start revealing what had taken place. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, understanding that the good thing was that she could look at him and experience no feelings at all. “But it’s over now, and I don’t care to talk about it.”
“I can respect that.”
Can you? she thought. You have no idea what respect is.
“How about this for an idea?” he said as the waiter returned and began serving their salads. “You and I spend a weekend in Montauk. A friend of mine leases a house there, and he’s offered to lend it to me next weekend.” He gazed at her with his I’m-the-most-sincere-
guy-in-the-world expression. “Say yes, sweetheart. We shouldn’t let the two years we spent together go to waste.”
She couldn’t help laughing. He really thought he was going to talk his way back in. “Let what go to waste? We’re over, David. Can’t you understand that? You walked out on me. Remember?”
“That’s just it,” he said quickly. “I walked out, now I’m back and truly sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, picking up her fork.
“It wasn’t like we had closure,” he said, beginning to sound whiny.
“Oh, we had closure all right,” she said heatedly. “You married someone else.”
“It was a mistake, so let’s spend the weekend together, talk it out, see if we can put everything back together.”
Typical David. His marriage didn’t work out, so he thought he could step right back into her life and pick up where they had left off.
Think again, asshole.
“We can’t,” she said coolly. “Because here’s the thing, David—I can never trust you again. And without trust, there’s nothing.”
“I never cheated on you when we were together,” he said, as if it were an award-winning feat.
She shook her head in amazement. “What do you want—a bouquet of roses?”
“That’s something, isn’t it?” he persisted. “Most guys cheat all the time.”
She’d had enough of his painful excuses, it was getting boring. “For God’s sake,” she said. “You’re only making this worse. Why don’t you go find yourself a beauty queen with big tits? Or a schoolteacher. Anyone who isn’t me.”
“That’s nice talk.”
“Whatever you do,” she continued, “I couldn’t care less. And yes,” she added, thinking this was the perfect lie to get rid of him once and for all, “if you really want to know, there is someone else.”
He jumped on that one. “The guy you were with in the lobby of your apartment building?”
“No, not him.”
“Then who?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
He shook his head. “Jesus, Madison, you’re cold.”
“I’m cold,” she said, refusing to hold her anger in any longer. “Fuck you, David! Fuck you big time.” She stood up from the table and glared at him. “Don’t call me again, or come by my apartment building. This is it, so get it into your thick head—it’s over.” And with that she strode out of the restaurant.
Saying good-bye for the final time felt extraordinarily good. It was as if he was fully exorcised, and she could put him behind her once and for all.
S’long, David. It wasn’t fun.
•
While Madison was busy getting her life back on track and throwing herself into her work, Jamie was making slow progress. Every night after Peter fell asleep she decided it was time to check out his wallet again. But somehow or other she couldn’t bring herself to do it; she found it too dishonorable. Besides, there was no way he was screwing around on her. He made love to her every day, treated her like a queen. Okay, so he was stubborn about going to Las Vegas, but the rest of the time she could get more or less anything she wanted from him.
Monday night he called her from the office and informed her he’d be home late. She reminded him they were due to attend a dinner at Anton’s.
“Shit!” he said. “I forgot. Don’t worry, though, I’ll meet you there.”
“Aren’t you coming home to shower and change clothes?” she asked.
“I’ll take a shower at the office. No need to change—I look pretty good today.”
“You always look pretty good,” she said, agreeable as ever. “Damn!” she added wistfully. “I hate going without you.”
“Call Maddy, she’ll go with you.”
“Maddy passed on the invite. She’s too swamped with work.”
“I won’t be late,” he promised. “You know Anton’s cocktail hour always goes on too long. I’ll be there in time for dinner.”
Jamie never liked walking in anywhere on her own, and she especially didn’t like taking cabs by herself at night. So after thinking about it for a few minutes, she decided what the hell—she’d be late along with Peter. All she had to do was alert Anton not to expect them for drinks before dinner.
She called Peter back at his office. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Remembering the main switchboard shut down at a certain time, she tried him on his cell phone. An electronic voice requested her to leave a message.
Warning signals immediately began going off in her head. If Peter was at his office, why wasn’t he answering his phone?
Damn him! Now she felt suspicious again. Tonight she would definitely check out his wallet and see if the stupid condom was still there with her mark on the packet.
The moment she arrived at Anton’s, he could sense her nervousness. “What’s the matter, princess?” he asked. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing,” she answered vaguely. “I was thinking about that job we have to finish in the Hamptons. Maybe you should take it over.”
“Why would you suggest that?”
“Because I was there two days last week, and I’m not into leaving Peter alone.”
“Pray, why?” Anton said, chuckling. “Think he’ll be a bad boy?”
“Of course not,” she said sharply.
“Sorry,” Anton said.
Now she started thinking about the previous week, when she’d spent two days in the Hamptons moving clients into their new house, which, she had to admit, looked amazing, and already was due to be photographed by Architectural Digest. Every night she’d called Peter at the same time, and every night he’d been at home. But how did she know that the moment she hung up he hadn’t slipped out? How did she know he didn’t have a girlfriend on the side?
True to his promise, Peter arrived before everyone sat down to dinner. Putting his arm around his wife, he nuzzled her ear. “Hi, gorgeous,” he whispered. “Miss me?”
“I always miss you,” she said. “In fact, I called you back, but there was no answer.”
“You know the switchboard closes down at six.”
“I tried your cell phone, no answer there either.”
He patted his pocket, not taking a beat. “The battery must be dead.”
“Then how come the service picked up?”
“I’ll have to check into it,” he said. “Battery could need recharging. You know what,” he whispered in her ear. “At the same time, I’ll recharge you. I’ll recharge you all over our apartment.”
“Shush!” she said, giggling nervously. “Somebody’ll hear.”
“Oh, yeah, that’d be a shock, wouldn’t it? Two married people talking about sex.”
She laughed softly. It was all her imagination, she knew it. And yet, deep down, she had this nagging feeling of unease.
Later, when they got home, they made love, and it was as good as it had ever been.
Tonight, though, she waited until Peter fell asleep, then she slipped out of their bed and went into the dressing room.
His wallet was in its usual place. She took it off the dresser, opened it, checked out the contents and, to her chagrin, discovered there was no condom packet.
No goddamn condom in his wallet.
Where was it? What had he done with it? Had the son of a bitch used it?
The fact that it wasn’t there blew her mind. This wasn’t the way things should be. She was furious, her suspicions were correct.
The bastard was screwing around on her.
She hurried into the bathroom and opened the clothes hamper. Burrowing around in it, she took out the shirt he’d had on. She picked it up and pressed it to her nose.
Yes, she could swear there was a trace of perfume, and it certainly wasn’t hers.
Damn him!
I’ve got to play this cool, she thought. I cannot accuse him unless I know for sure.
It was too late to call Madison, yet she was desperate for her advice.
Not
hing she could do until the morning, so eventually she got back into bed and fell into a troubled sleep.
In the morning, as far as Peter was concerned, she was her normal self.
As soon as he left for the office, she called Madison. “Remember that detective you told me you hired?” she said. “I need to meet her. And I need to meet her today.”
CHAPTER
36
IT TOOK DEXTER A FEW days, but eventually he was able to secure a meeting with Mortimer Marcel. Mortimer, who kept very luxurious offices on Park Avenue, suggested he drop by at five to see him.
Dexter arrived on time. Mortimer greeted him sitting behind his elegant antique desk. Stationed beside him was his faithful black lover, Jefferson, who obviously did not trust his paramour to be alone in Dexter’s company. There had always been an edgy atmosphere between them. Jefferson was extremely jealous of Dexter—whom he considered a rival of sorts.
Dexter greeted them both, and they all exchanged the usual, “You’re looking wonderfuls.”
“I hear your soap has been canceled,” Jefferson couldn’t wait to say. “Does that mean you’re coming back to try and score another underwear campaign?”
Dexter managed a smile. “I got so many other things going on,” he said. “My new agent is confident we’re about to sign on for something big.”
“Excellent news,” Mortimer said, while Jefferson merely glared. “Now, what can I do for you?” Mortimer asked, sitting up extremely straight, looking every inch the fashion maven in a pale-blue sports shirt with a crisp white collar and impeccably pressed beige linen pants.
“Well . . .” Dexter began. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Silver Anderson.”
“Who hasn’t?” Jefferson sniffed, running a hand over his shiny bald head.
“I actually had the honor of working with her on my soap,” Dexter said.
“The one that was just canceled?” Jefferson interjected.
“That’s right,” Dexter said, wishing that Jefferson would butt out or get lost. It was painfully obvious Mortimer’s boyfriend was not pleased to have Dexter back on the scene.