“What about Silver Anderson?” Mortimer asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke.
“As I’m sure you know,” Dexter said smoothly, “Silver Anderson is a legend in her own lifetime.”
“She’s also an old drama queen,” Jefferson snorted. “Well past her sell date.”
“Age doesn’t make any difference,” Dexter said, maintaining his cool. “Silver’s still a great beauty, with a world-famous name.”
“I get your point,” Mortimer said impatiently. “Now enlighten me about this meeting.”
“Silver has a script she’s optioned.”
“We’re not interested,” Jefferson said, rolling his eyes.
Mortimer shot him a dirty look. “Continue,” he said to Dexter.
“She has this script, and it’s quite something,” Dexter said, getting nervous now. “She gave it to me to read, and I suggested that maybe I could come up with an investor rather than her taking it to a studio.”
“Bullshit,” Jefferson screeched. “What you mean is the studio won’t put up the money—right?”
“Silver wants to keep control of this project,” Dexter said, ignoring his enemy. “It’s a very special script, so she’s decided to look for an investor who’ll come up with the money to get the film made.”
“How does that involve me?” Mortimer inquired, vaguely interested. “Does she want me to design the clothes?”
“No,” Dexter said. “Although that’s a terrific idea. And with Silver in the movie, imagine the publicity.”
“Ha!” Jefferson sneered. “The last thing Mortimer Marcel needs is publicity. He’s as famous as Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger put together. Publicity—I hardly think so.”
“It occurred to me,” Dexter said, still ignoring Jefferson and directing all his energy and enthusiasm toward Mortimer, “that it might be a way for you to branch out into the film business, which I’m sure has always intrigued you.”
“The movie business is shit,” Jefferson offered. “You put money into that cesspool and you gotta have brain surgery.”
“Will you shut the fuck up,” Mortimer said, finally snapping. “This is my meeting, Jefferson. Mine, not yours. So be quiet, or if you can’t manage that—go and do something useful.”
Jefferson scowled.
“Would you be prepared to meet Silver Anderson?” Dexter asked, pressing on. “Allow her to outline what she has in mind?”
“I don’t see why not,” Mortimer said. “I’m surprised she isn’t a client.” He tapped his fingers together. “I could design her something wonderful. Bob Mackie, move over!”
“Bob Mackie!” Jefferson screeched in horror. “Pu . . . leese!”
“Set it up, Dexter,” Mortimer said, favoring his lover with a spiteful look, because nobody told Mortimer Marcel what to do. “And we’ll see where it goes from there.”
•
Meanwhile, across town in the underground parking lot of the Federal Building, Rosarita and Joel made fast, reckless love.
“You realize what would happen if we were caught?” Rosarita said, enjoying every decadent minute as she lay spread-eagled and half naked on the backseat of Joel’s Bentley.
“Yeah, I’d be headline news,” Joel said, bareassed and happy as he pumped away.
“What about me?” Rosarita said, wriggling into a more comfortable position. “I’m married to a celebrity.”
Joel roared with laughter. “Come on,” he spluttered. “You’re not calling that hunk of meat you’re married to a celebrity, are you?”
“He was on a soap for almost a year,” Rosarita said huffily. “He has a well-known face.”
“Gimme a break,” Joel said, almost at the point of orgasm.
“It’s too dark here,” Rosarita said, once again shifting her hips on the backseat. “Nobody can see us.”
“Next time we’ll take it out into the open,” Joel promised. “I thought there’d be more traffic, but apparently not.” He let out a loud grunt, followed by, “Oh yeah, baby, baby, baby!” as he finished the job.
Rosarita was pleased to note that Joel was no longer avoiding her calls. Ever since he’d summoned her to meet him at the Four Seasons, they’d been seeing each other most days. She had not told him she was shortly flying to Vegas. Instead she’d decided to let him wonder where she was. It would do him good to find out that she was not always available.
Apart from having regular public sex with Joel, Rosarita had not been idle. She’d been researching everything she could get her hands on regarding ways to poison someone. Ways that could not be traced. She’d finally settled on an obscure weed killer from Holland—banned in America—that she’d read about on a somewhat scary Internet site, a site she’d stumbled upon by accident. The poison was exactly what she was looking for. A colorless, tasteless, odorless liquid that could be poured into a drink and took about an hour to do its dirty deed.
Rosarita was triumphant. The only problem was that she didn’t know how to get it. But after continued probing, she’d finally gotten the address of the manufacturing company in Amsterdam. Knowing she could hardly order it under her own name, she’d opened a post office box in SoHo under an assumed name and sent the manufacturer of the poison a cash payment.
Now she was waiting for delivery, and since she would be leaving for Vegas in three days, she was becoming anxious in case it didn’t arrive in time.
Too bad if it didn’t, because that would ruin everything.
“You ever gotten fucked in the back row of a movie?” Joel asked, clumsily pulling on his pants.
“When I was a teenager,” she said, groping around on the leather seat for her thong. “Well, not exactly fucked, but I had this one boyfriend—he used to take the bottom out of his carton of popcorn, so every time I put my hand in, what did I get?”
“A hot dick!” Joel said, laughing lewdly. “Oldest trick around.”
“Exactly,” Rosarita said. “And nobody was any the wiser, including my math teacher, who happened to sit next to us one day.”
“You know somethin’?” Joel said. “We should do it in the back row of a movie theater. Bring back our teenage years.”
“Isn’t that rather risky?” Rosarita said, loving the idea.
“Risky is where it’s at, babe.”
“But what if we were caught?”
“How we gonna get caught?”
Rosarita considered the scenario if they were. She shuddered. It would not be a good thing.
•
Joel, meanwhile, had all his plans in place. Madam Sylvia had come up with the perfect specimen—Eduardo, a teenage Puerto Rican boy who was so darkly handsome that Joel almost fancied him himself!
He’d consulted with Testio, who’d agreed to bring Carrie Hanlon to Joel’s apartment that night for a small dinner. Joel had gathered together a few friends and arranged for the boy to be there too. He had it all planned. When Carrie spotted him, Testio would refer her to Joel, the boy would come on to her, then Joel would suggest the Vegas trip, luring her with the bait that Eduardo would meet her there.
It was a foolproof plan if what Testio said about Carrie was true.
Meanwhile, Joel had not spoken to his father regarding the trip to Vegas. Marika, his father’s Asian prison guard, was the one who’d made all the arrangements. Joel and Carrie were supposed to meet them on Thursday morning and fly to Vegas on Leon’s Gulfstream jet.
“Tell Carrie to bring plenty of changes of clothes,” Marika had informed him. “There’ll be many parties, and Leon is in a party mood.”
Sure, Joel had thought. That’ll be the day.
He decided not to tell Rosarita that he would be away for a few days. Let her wonder where he was, it would do her good.
There was nothing like a little where the hell is he? to build the sexual tension.
CHAPTER
37
JAMIE WAS A WRECK. It took Madison and Kimm twenty minutes to calm her down.
“I can’t believe the bastard has done this to me,” she shrieked, pacing agitatedly around Madison’s apartment. “I thought we were so happy. What is it with men and their traveling dicks? Tell me,” she demanded, her voice rising. “I want to know.”
“Take it easy,” Madison said soothingly. “You’re not sure of anything.”
“She knows for sure the condom is gone,” Kimm said, stoic as ever.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he used it,” Madison argued.
“I hate to say this, but I’m usually right,” Kimm said. “We’ll investigate Peter in the same way I handle all my cases.”
“What does that mean you’ll do?” Jamie asked, still pacing.
“We’ll have him followed, take photographs,” Kimm explained. “I’ll get a full report within forty-eight hours.”
“Christ!” Jamie snapped. “This is the worst.”
“You wanted to know, didn’t you?” Madison said.
“Hell yes!” Jamie said adamantly. “Because if he is screwing around, I’m leaving the son of a bitch.”
“Some women like to know, then they do nothing about it,” Kimm commented. “They prefer to stay in the marriage with the knowledge.”
“Why would they do that?” Jamie demanded. “What are they—idiots?”
“The knowledge gives them power.”
“Who wants power?” Jamie scoffed. “All I want is a faithful husband.”
“You know what Peter’s like,” Madison said, trying to be helpful. “When he’s had a few drinks . . .”
“Yes?” Jamie said, aquamarine eyes flashing.
“Well . . .” Madison said, treading carefully. “When he’s had a few drinks he can sometimes get a little lecherous.”
“How do you know?”
Oh, Christ! Madison thought. Now I’ve started something. She’s not letting this drop. “The truth is he . . . uh . . . comes on to all your friends.”
“He does what?”
“Only when he’s had too much to drink,” Madison said hastily.
“Has he come on to you?” Jamie asked accusingly.
“Not in a way that makes me think he means it.”
“For God’s sake,” Jamie snapped. Then she turned to Kimm and barked a sharp “When can you start?”
“I’ll need his Social Security number, work address, phone numbers—cell phone included. I’ll make out a list for you.”
“Is it really so terrible having somebody followed?” Jamie asked, turning back to Madison. “I mean, what if he’s totally innocent, and I’m simply being a jealous bitch?”
“At least you’ll know,” Madison said.
“Yeah, I’ll know,” Jamie said bitterly. “But I’ll still feel shitty about myself. Spying on him—it doesn’t feel right.”
“He’ll never find out,” Madison assured her.
“You know me,” Jamie wailed, thinking of the consequences. “I’m not good at keeping secrets. In a moment of weakness I’m likely to tell him.”
“That’s your prerogative. Nobody can advise you except yourself.”
“You’re hired,” Jamie said to Kimm. “Please start immediately.”
“Unfortunately I have a full workload at the moment,” Kimm explained. “But there are other competent people I use.”
“No, no,” Jamie said, vigorously shaking her blond head. “I must have you.”
“Can’t do it,” Kimm said.
“You’ve got to,” Jamie insisted.
“It’s not possible.”
“Maybe as a personal favor,” Madison interjected quickly. “For me.”
“You and your personal favors,” Kimm said dourly.
“Thanks,” Madison said. “I’ll buy you another leather coat.”
Kimm allowed herself a small smile. “Exactly what I don’t need.”
“Now what happens?” Jamie asked, agitated.
Kimm fished in her large purse and handed Jamie a pad and pencil. “Write down all the relevant information,” she said. “If he has family, include their addresses. And the names of his parents, his assistant and anyone he works closely with.”
“Why would you need that?”
“As I said before—knowledge is power.”
Later, after Kimm left, armed with all the information, Jamie said, “Is she okay? I mean, she’s like a bit odd, isn’t she?”
“Why would you say that?”
“ ’Cause maybe I’d be better off using a man.”
“Really?” Madison said slowly. “Would that be because you think men make better detectives?”
“You know what I mean,” Jamie said, flustered. “Men kind of get the job done faster. She’s a tall, big woman, with an aggressive attitude.”
“That’s a very sexist, bigoted remark,” Madison scolded. “I’m glad Natalie can’t hear you talking like this, she’d be shocked.”
“I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s just that . . . well, I don’t know what it is. I simply didn’t expect her to be the way she is.”
“Are you talking about her sexuality?”
“I’m not interested in her sex life.”
“You obviously figured out she’s gay.”
“I didn’t, and I wish you hadn’t told me; that makes it even worse.”
“Jesus, Jamie, if she does a great job, why would her being gay bother you?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Yes it does.”
“No,” Jamie said fiercely. “Peter bothers me. He bothers the hell out of me. I’ve tried so hard to be a great wife, and there he is fucking his bloody secretary for all I know.”
“That would be too much of a cliché,” Madison observed. “If Peter’s in bed with somebody, it won’t be a woman who works for him.”
“How do you know?”
“C’mon, you’ve got to admit—Peter’s a major snob. It’ll be someone he considers to be on his level.”
“Oh, you mean like my best friend?” Jamie said shrewdly.
“I’m your best friend,” Madison pointed out.
“He’s not in bed with you, is he?”
“I think I’d know if he was.”
“How will that Kimm person contact me?” Jamie asked, flopping down on the couch. “She can’t call me at home.”
“Kimm will get in touch with me,” Madison said. “Then I’ll set up another meeting.”
“But you’re leaving for Vegas.”
“Not for another couple of days.”
“I’m sorry to burden you with this,” Jamie sighed. “In comparison to what you’re going through, my problems seem insignificant.”
“Of course they’re not,” Madison said. “There’s no way you can stay with a guy if he’s cheating. You’re too special for that—too beautiful and smart.”
“Wow! It’s nice to have friends to fuel one’s ego.”
“Everything’s ahead of you, Jamie. You can do anything, have anybody. If Peter’s guilty, I suggest you bail. Look what happened with David and me.”
“At least you didn’t catch him screwing around.”
“No, he walked. That’s even worse.” She didn’t add that he was now begging to resume their relationship; it didn’t seem the appropriate time.
“Okay, enough of this drama,” Jamie said, jumping up. “My plan is to try and forget about it until your detective comes back and tells me it’s all my imagination.”
“That’s the best thing you can do.”
“How about dropping by the office with me?” Jamie suggested. “We’ll kidnap Anton for lunch.”
“You’re not planning on telling him, are you?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Anton—the eyes and ears of the world? No way! Besides, I have nothing to tell—yet.”
“Okay,” Madison said, deciding it might do her good to get out. “Let me grab my coat and we’ll go.”
•
After lunch with Jamie and Anton, which turned out to be relaxing and fun because, as always, Anton
was full of the most outrageous gossip, Madison decided to pay a surprise visit to Stella’s friend, Warner Carlysle. She wanted to talk to her, even though, ever since the funeral, Warner had been avoiding her calls. She was determined that before she left for Vegas they would get together, so she took a cab to Warner’s showroom in the hope that she’d catch her.
The place was crowded, but Madison knew how to get action. She walked up to the girl at reception and said, “Hi, I’m Madison Castelli from Manhattan Style. Warner’s expecting me—is she in her office?”
“Yes,” the girl said, harassed because several people were on her case at once. “I’ll buzz her.”
“That’s okay,” Madison said. “I know my way.”
Warner was on the phone, sitting behind a huge glass-topped desk in her cluttered office. She looked up, and registered shock when she saw Madison.
Madison gave a little wave, walked over to the couch in the corner, sat down and picked up a magazine.
“Uh . . . can I call you back?” Warner said into the receiver. Obviously the person on the other end said yes, because Warner quickly hung up. “Madison!” she exclaimed. “What a surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Madison said, putting down the magazine. “And since you haven’t returned my calls, I thought I’d drop by to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m so sorry—it’s fashion time,” Warner explained. “I’ve been extra busy. Everyone’s screaming for their jewelry.”
“I’m sure.”
“Anyway, it’s nice to see you,” Warner said.
Is it? Madison thought. I’ve got a strong suspicion there’s something you don’t want to talk to me about.
“Unfortunately,” Warner continued, “this is not the greatest of times for us to get together, because I have an appointment.” She glanced at her watch. “In exactly five minutes. Then after that, I’m taking a buyer from Houston to dinner.”
“Can we make a date?” Madison said. “I’m leaving on a trip Friday morning, and I’d like to get together before.”
“Bad timing,” Warner said regretfully. “As I mentioned before, this is the busiest time of the year for me.”
“You can’t clear an hour for us to sit down and talk?”