“What?” Carrie said rudely.
“Of course,” Marika continued, quite enjoying herself, “when Leon found out you had a sixteen-year-old boy waiting for you in your suite last night, he wasn’t impressed. It’s so pathetic when one has to pay for sex.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carrie said, paling slightly.
“Don’t you, dear? Well, all you need to do is remember what I said—stay away from Leon.”
“And if I don’t?” Carrie said boldly.
“Ah . . .” Marika said. “Let me see . . . if you don’t, you and your sixteen-year-old boy toy are destined to appear on the front pages of all the tabloids. I can see the headline now: DESPERATE CARRIE HANLON CAN’T GET A MAN—HAS TO SETTLE FOR A CHILD.”
“You bitch!” Carrie said.
Marika honored her with an inscrutable smile. “Takes one to know one.”
•
“Hi, honey,” Rosarita said, wondering if Dex could hear her heart beating. It was now pounding so loud that it was making a racket in her ears.
“Can we leave?” Dexter said. “I promised my mom we wouldn’t stay long.”
“Such a mommy’s boy,” she mocked. “Drink up and we’ll be out of here. I’m taking the glasses as a souvenir.”
“I don’t know what I did with mine,” he said.
“Have this,” she said, thrusting her glass at him.
“All right,” he said, taking her glass of champagne and draining it in three large gulps.
Things were working out better than she’d imagined. She removed the empty glass from his hand. “I’ll go rinse it out,” she said. “Then we’ll leave.”
“Isn’t it kind of dumb, taking a champagne glass to a boxing match?”
“What’s dumb to you, Dex, is not dumb to me,” she said, and hurried back to the ladies’ room.
Fortunately it was deserted. Setting down the glass, she crushed it under her high-heel shoe. Then she picked up the pieces with a Kleenex and dropped them into the trash.
Her breathing was totally out of control, and yet she was suffused with a feeling of immense triumph.
She’d done it! She’d actually done it!
How long would it take before the poison worked? Oh God, how long? One hour? Two? Better not be alone with him. Had to make sure they were always in crowds. And what better place to be in a crowd than at a boxing match.
“Can we go now?” he said, as soon as she returned.
“Yes, Dex. We’ll meet the others and go straight to the fight.”
“About time.”
“Are you feeling all right?” she ventured. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m perfectly okay,” he said.
“Good,” she said.
And once again she wondered how long the poison would take to do its deadly deed.
CHAPTER
57
THE HEADY EXCITEMENT of a championship fight about to take place was in the air. The lobby and casino of the Marigiano Hotel were alive with people, some going to the fight, others trying to score last-minute tickets—and a slew of wide-eyed tourists stargazing as a continual parade of celebrities made their way down the red carpet into the arena, where the preliminary bouts had already started.
As Martha and Matt trailed behind Chas, Renee and Varoomba, Martha wished that she could be standing with the fans. Watching everything out here would be much more entertaining than having to go directly to her seat.
She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her friends everything. All these celebrities—beautiful women and handsome men, TV cameras everywhere, it was almost too much to take in.
“I thought Dexter and Rosarita were meeting us,” she said, tapping Chas timidly on the shoulder as they entered the huge arena.
“Yeah, yeah, they’re gonna see us inside,” Chas said. “They got their tickets.”
“But it would have been so nice to have walked in with Dexter,” Martha sighed. “Perhaps I would’ve been photographed with him. I often see celebrities photographed with their moms.”
“Mebbe on the way out,” Chas said offhandedly. “Hang on to him, they’ll catch a shot or two.”
“Do you think so?” she said, eyes gleaming.
“Yeah, yeah,” Chas said, more interested in talking to Renee, who was strutting beside him in thigh-high boots, a snakeskin miniskirt and wide-shouldered jacket. The woman might be over fifty, but she was pure dynamite. She left Varoomba, in her stupid pink dress, trailing way behind, her big silicone tits forging the way like a pair of headlights.
Everything about Renee was the real McCoy. Chas could vouch for that.
•
There were so many people crowded into Antonio’s dressing room that Madison had no chance of getting near him—not that she had any desire to do so. She already had all the dumb quotes she could use.
Jake was maneuvering himself into corners to catch various shots of movie stars and sports personalities who kept dropping by to shake Antonio’s hand and wish him luck.
After twenty minutes of this, Madison was all set to move on. “Are you ready to get out of here?” she asked Jake, who’d managed to catch most of the action.
“I certainly am,” he replied.
“Damn! It’s crazy in there—just crazy,” she said, as they made a quick exit. “How can he prepare? Isn’t he supposed to be by himself?”
“I heard the champ won’t allow anybody in,” Jake said. “Only his manager, a couple of trainers and his sidekick. He’s very focused.”
“Shall we make a bet?” she suggested, suddenly getting into the spirit of Vegas.
“Do you bet?” he replied, giving her a skeptical look.
“No. Do you?”
“No, but since it’s your birthday we could put five hundred bucks on Antonio to win.”
“What are the odds?”
“She doesn’t bet,” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “Yet she wants to know the odds.”
“Do what you like. I don’t care.”
And she didn’t, she was happy just being with Jake.
“We could grab a bite to eat before the main fight. Or have sex,” he said with a smile. “Whatever turns you on.”
“Later,” she said, smiling back.
“Later.” He nodded. “Then how about a hamburger now? I’m starving.”
“I thought you didn’t eat meat,” she said accusingly.
“You thought that, did you?”
“Yes, Jake,” she teased. “I had you pegged as one of those, like um . . . tofu guys.”
“Me?” he said, eyebrows shooting up.
“You.”
“Jesus! You certainly know how to insult a person.”
“I learned at an early age.”
“I can eat a hamburger with the best of ’em, okay?” he said, grabbing her hand. “So let’s go order, then on to the fight, and then—Oh, shit,” he said, stopping abruptly.
“What?” she said quickly.
“I was forgetting—we’ve got dinner with your friends.”
“Is that an absolute must?” she said, wishing nothing more than to spend the night alone with Jake.
“ ’Fraid so.”
“Whatever.” A beat. “As long as there’s no cake.”
•
“I forgot my wrap,” Rosarita said.
“What?” Dexter said.
“My wrap,” she repeated, peering at him to see if he was exhibiting any ill effects. “I must’ve left it at the party.”
“And I suppose you want me to run back and get it?” he said brusquely.
“No, Dex, that’s all right. You go on—I’ll get it. I have to visit the little girls’ room again anyway.”
It was unlike Rosarita to be so obliging.
“If you’re sure,” he said.
“I’m sure. Give me my ticket, and I’ll meet you inside.”
He handed her ticket over, and she took off. As soon as she was certain Dex was out of si
ght, she switched directions, slipped outside and made her way to the swimming pool with the built-in fountains.
It wasn’t too hard to find, and Joel was right—at this time of night it was deserted. Not that deserted, there were a few people strolling around.
She smiled in anticipation. Trust Joel to come up with a good idea.
•
Dexter, meanwhile, made a stop at a pay phone on his way in to the fight. Over the last twenty-four hours he had become completely obsessed with Gem. She was all he could think about, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
She answered her own phone. No brother this time.
“How are you?” he said, clearing his throat.
“It’s you again?” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, it’s me again.”
“Didn’t we speak at lunchtime?”
“I know. I’m on my way to the fight.” A long pause. “Uh . . . Gem, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Maybe it can wait,” he said nervously. “We’re flying back tomorrow morning.”
“Who’s we?”
Another long pause before he spoke. “Well, uh . . . that’s what I’ve got to tell you.”
“What is it, Dexter?”
He loved the way she said his name; it sounded so smooth coming out of her mouth. “I uh . . . I have a wife,” he mumbled. “And uh . . . we’re shortly going to be separated.”
“Oh,” she said very quietly.
“Look, I mean, not that you and I are anything to each other,” he said, his words tumbling over each other. “But I’ve got a strong hunch we have a future together, and I can’t start anything until I separate and begin my new life with you. I know this sounds crazy, and we’ve only just met, but I’ve never found anybody like you. You’re everything I ever dreamed of. Beautiful inside and out.”
“No one’s ever talked to me like that before,” she whispered.
“And nobody ever will again,” he said, gaining confidence. “Because you’re mine. Immediately after the fight tonight, I’m telling my wife.”
“Are you sure?” she said, not the least bit argumentative.
“Yes. And if I can get a late flight out, I will. So if I’m very lucky I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, Dexter,” she said softly. “Later.”
He walked into the fight with a broad smile spread across his handsome face.
•
On his way to meet Rosarita, Joel was accosted by a couple of goons. They sidled up beside him, each took an arm, and they frog-marched him through the casino.
“What the fuck—” he began.
Then he was jabbed in his left side by something that felt suspiciously like a gun, so he abruptly shut up.
They headed for a side door behind a bank of slots. As they got outside, the hot night air hit Joel like a blast of steam.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, angry and scared—so scared that he was fast developing a bellyache.
“Never ya fuckin’ mind,” said goon number one, a classic broken-nosed hood in a creased brown suit.
“You know who I am?” Joel questioned, sure that this must be a case of mistaken identity.
“Fuckin’ right we do,” said goon number two, younger and tougher than the first one, although it was the first one who had the gun jammed into Joel’s side.
“So what’s the problem?” Joel muttered.
“Fuckin’ problem’s one million fuckin’ bucks,” said the man in the creased brown suit. “Five hundred thou’ the last time you was here. Now you’re into us for another five.”
“If you know who I am, then you know I’m good for it.”
“Sure we do,” the man sneered. “That’s why our boss wants payment tonight.”
“Are you crazy?” he said angrily. “Who carries that kind of money with them?”
“Get it,” the younger, tougher one said. “Pay your markers by midnight, or you’re a fuckin’ dead man.”
And with that he hauled off and smashed Joel in the face, followed by a right to the stomach that took him straight to the cement. And in case he wasn’t getting the message, the man in the brown suit kicked him in the groin. Twice for good measure. Then they were gone.
Groaning, Joel staggered to his feet, blood pouring from his nose, which felt like it was broken. “Shit!” he mumbled—a mumble that turned into a furious yell, “Shit! Shit! SHIT!”
•
“Where’s Rosarita?” Chas inquired, happily ensconced between Varoomba and Renee.
“On her way,” Dexter replied. “She left her wrap at the party.”
“Was the party nice, dear?” Martha asked plaintively. “I suppose you saw all kinds of stars.”
“Didn’t notice.”
“Dick!” Martha admonished.
“Dexter,” he corrected, glaring at his forgetful mom.
“Excuse me,” Madison said, making her way along the row of seats past Dexter, who seemed vaguely familiar.
“Hi,” he said, recognizing her too.
“You’re my friendly neighborhood jogger, right?” she said with a pleasant smile.
“That’s right. How’s that magnificent dog of yours?”
“Pining, I’m sure,” she said, moving on to her seat. Not quite ringside, but near enough. She searched for Jake, spotted him in the photographers’ area.
He saw her and waved. She blew him a kiss. He mouthed “Happy birthday.”
“Nice going,” said Natalie, already in her seat. “That’s two days in a row, isn’t it?”
“Will you stop,” Madison said, leaning across her to kiss Cole, who immediately introduced her to Mr. Mogul.
And then the fanfares began, announcing the entrance of the two boxers.
Antonio appeared first, waving his arms in the air as if he’d already snagged the title. Resplendent in a gold-and-blue cape, with matching satin trunks, black boots and white-and-silver striped socks. He jumped into the ring like a tiger, threw off his cape, made a victory sign with his hands, and the crowd went wild. Antonio was a big favorite.
Next came the champ. A more serious man, clad entirely in white. Bull Ali Jackson was bigger than Antonio and quite ferocious-looking. His skin was ebony. His head, bald. His eyes said he was ready to kick the shit out of anyone who dared to get in his way.
The crowd was impressed. They began chanting his name, “Bull Ali! Bull Ali! You’re the champ! Bull Ali!”
His wife, a serene black beauty, took her seat ringside, clutching a string of diamond-and-pearl prayer beads.
And so the fight commenced.
CHAPTER
58
TRYING TO STAUNCH the flow of blood pouring from his nose, Joel staggered back into the hotel. He was beyond furious. That he, Joel Blaine, had been subjected to the indignity of being beaten up by a couple of hired thugs was unfuckingbelievable.
His father could buy and sell Las Vegas. And they were worried about a measly million bucks. It was unreal. It didn’t make sense. Fuck ’em all. He’d leave town and never come back. They could whistle “The Star-Spangled Banner” for their lousy money.
He made it to a men’s room, stuffed Kleenex up his nose and splashed cold water on his face. Then he set off for the front of the hotel.
•
Jamie elected not to go to the fight, even though Mr. M. assured her he could get her a ticket.
“Not interested,” she’d said offhandedly. “I’ll meet you all at Madison’s dinner.”
“Stay away from Kris Phoenix,” Natalie said, wagging a warning finger.
“Of course.”
“What’ll you do?” Natalie asked.
“Play blackjack,” she’d said. “Joel Blaine taught me everything I need to know.”
“Stay away from him too. We’ll see you at the restaurant.”
“Call me when the fight’s over so I’m not sitting there by myself.”
“You got it.”
She hadn’t told anyone about Peter’s upsetting and belligerent phone call. How dare he track her down and demand that she come home. Did he honestly believe she was too stupid to have found out what was going on? She ran a very successful interior design business, she was no dummy.
Peter simply didn’t get it. And he sure as hell didn’t get her.
She sat at one of the blackjack tables, accepting pointers from a fat, red-faced man in a too-tight, striped seersucker suit, who squeezed in next to her.
The man made sure the champagne flowed, and her hangover from the night before soon vanished.
Gambling was definitely the perfect way to pass the time.
•
Rosarita paced back and forth by the pool, getting angrier by the minute. Was Joel Blaine actually standing her up? What kind of a shitty move was that?
“Hi, honey,” slurred a drunken man with a bad rug perched crookedly on the top of his head. “Lookin’ for company?”
“Get lost,” she snapped.
“I won me two hundred bucks and now I gotta find a place t’park it,” he said with a lascivious twitch of his right eye. “Get my drift, cutie?”
Outraged at being mistaken for a hooker, Rosarita stalked off.
•
Round one. Antonio on the attack. Cocky. Bouncing on the balls of his feet. Diving right in on the offensive, using his fists as lethal assault weapons.
Bull Ali taking it all in his stride. Standing tall. Unfazed. He is, after all—the champ.
The crowd picked up on the rumble and began a steady yell of encouragement.
The vibes were in the air. This championship match was destined to be a good one.
•
“You see?!” Madison said, hunching up in her seat. “I told you—he’s full of confidence.”
“Sexy with it too,” Natalie remarked, crunching on a handful of popcorn.
“He’s got me sold!” Cole said. “Nice abs.”
“Be quiet,” scolded Mr. Mogul. “It’s not polite to admire other men’s bodies when you’re in my presence.”
•
“Joel?” Jamie said, reaching out to grab his arm as he passed by the blackjack table she was sitting at. “We’ve got to quit meeting like this.”
“Huh?” So intent was he on getting out of there, that he almost didn’t stop.