Drop Dead Beautiful

  “Excellent. I’m at the Presidente InterContinental Hotel. Seven-thirty suit you? We could meet in the bar.”

  Why not? she thought. She had a lover at home and an attractive man to take her to dinner.

  Anthony kept two mistresses. It was her time now.

  Back in Miami, Anthony didn’t bother going home—he called Emmanuelle from the airport.

  “Where are you?” he asked, none too pleased. “I tried the apartment, you’re not there.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m in the middle of a photo shoot,” she explained, speaking on her cell while her Puerto Rican hairstylist fussed with her long hair extensions.

  “I’m here,” he said. “An’ I wanna see you.”

  “I won’t be finished for a couple of hours.”

  “What is it with you an’ fuckin’ photo sessions?” he growled. “How come you wanna be on the cover of every fuckin’ magazine in town?”

  “They pay me the big bucks, Daddy,” she said soothingly. “And get me mucho attention.”

  “I pay you big bucks, an’ I give you plenty of attention,” he responded. “An’ don’t call me Daddy.”

  “But, honey,” she purred, “you never put anything in my name and that hurts my feelings.”

  Feelings? She had feelings? This was a big surprise.

  “I’m young,” she continued. “I have to make my own money ’cause if we break up, baby doesn’t want to find herself out on the street with nothing.”

  He was silent for a moment, considering what she’d said. Christ! Women and money. Was that all they ever thought about?

  “Where’s the studio?” he asked.

  She told him.

  “I’ll come by, check you out.”

  “No, poopsie, you’ll be bored,” she said quickly, thinking there was nothing she’d like less than Anthony barging into one of her photo shoots. “You know how you like being the center of attention,” she added. “You’ll hate sitting on the sidelines.”

  “I wanna see you at work,” he said stubbornly.

  “Okay,” she sighed, realizing he was giving her no choice. “If that’s how you really want to spend your day.”

  “No, what I really wanna do is fuck your brains out,” he said, flashing on her luscious body.

  “Later, honey,” she promised.

  “You’re makin’ me wait?” he said incredulously.

  “Only a few hours,” she murmured, ending the conversation.

  Only a few hours. Ha! Emmanuelle was letting her so-called career as a half-naked cover girl go to her head. She’d better start realizing that the car and the apartment and the clothes were perks that went along with making him happy, and he wasn’t happy when he had to wait.

  Anthony Bonar did not wait for any woman.

  They waited for him.

  Flushed with her success on the plane, Irma arrived back at her house and was surprised when the guard at the gate stepped out of his cubicle and stopped her driver.

  “Yes?” she said, opening the back window of the car. It was unusual for the guards to communicate with her in any way. They usually spoke only to Anthony.

  “Ah, Señora Bonar,” the guard said, leaning one hand against the top of the car while bending his head to speak to her. “I was wondering about the dogs. Are they following behind with Señor Bonar?”

  “No, the dogs are still in Acapulco,” she said, shrinking back from his garlic breath. “Mr. Bonar took the plane to Miami.”

  “I see,” the guard said, not moving.

  “Is that all?” Irma asked, eager to get up to the house.

  “Sí, Señora Bonar,” he said, still not moving. “I am Cesar,” he added with a lascivious leer. “And might I say you look very lovely today.”

  Abruptly she closed the car window and Cesar backed away. Was it appropriate for one of their guards to be complimenting her? Maybe she was giving off vibes today, what with the man on the plane, and now the guard throwing compliments her way.

  Marta, the cook, greeted her in the front hall. “I hear you have many parties in Acapulco, señora. I speak with my cousin, Rosa, she tell me lot of parties, much work, too much work.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Irma said, not about to get into a discussion about Rosa’s workload. “Are the gardeners here today?”

  “Sí, señora, they both outside.”

  “The dogs are still in Acapulco so you don’t have to worry about feeding them. I’m sure you’re thrilled about that.”

  “Sí, señora.”

  “I see no reason why you can’t take the rest of the day off.”

  “Is okay, señora, I fix you dinner tonight.”

  “No, it’s not necessary. I shall be dining out.”

  “Out, señora?” Marta said, raising her eyebrows. Everyone knew Irma never left the house at night unless the master was in town.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Irma said quickly. “You may go home early.”

  “Sí, señora.”

  Irma hurried upstairs and went straight to her bedroom window. She immediately saw that the old gardener was bent over the rosebushes working diligently, but she couldn’t spot Luis.

  She was desperate to see him, yet in a way she knew it was a bad idea, because getting too attached was a mistake.

  And yet … the moment she thought about him she was filled with a flurry of sexual longing.

  Hmm … she thought. There’s nothing to prevent me from having sex with Luis in the afternoon, and dinner with a perfect stranger in the evening.

  Absolutely nothing.

  And that’s exactly what she intended to do.

  Chapter 60

  “Hi, Max,” Gerald M. said, opening up the front door of his mansion, munching a tuna sandwich. Standing behind him was a statuesque blonde of indeterminate age. Bland and beautiful with overly full lips, she wore pink shorts, a tankini top, and a blank expression. Gerald M. did not bother introducing her. “Lucky was here looking for you earlier,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  “She was?” Max said, out of breath and totally relieved that she’d made it all the way back to L.A. without any mishaps. Thanks to Ace, the nightmare was behind her.

  “Yeah. You’d better give her a call, she seemed kinda frantic. She was gonna come out to my studio an’ listen to my music. She never made it. Tell her she’s gotta come back, she’s gotta hear the latest tracks I’m layin’ down.”

  “I’ll do that,” Max said, wishing he wasn’t in such a talkative mood. “Is Cookie around?”

  “My little girl’s feelin’ kinda fragile today—came down for coffee, an’ went straight back up to her room.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah, it was some party last night, you missed out. Where were you?”

  “Uh, I kinda got hung up.”

  “Yeah, well you don’t look so good. You want a sandwich? A Coke? Anything?”

  “No thanks. I’ll run up and see Cookie if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. Go ahead. An’ tell my baby girl I’ll be in the studio. You kids should come on out, take a listen.”

  “We will,” she said, bounding up the stairs to Cookie’s room and hammering on the door.

  “Go away,” Cookie mumbled. “I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

  “It’s me, Max.”

  Within seconds Cookie had opened up, still clad in nothing more than an oversized man’s T. “Where’ve you been, you freak!” she exclaimed.

  “It isn’t me who’s the freak, it’s the Internet maniac I hooked up with.”

  “Oh… my… God!” Cookie said, pulling her into the room, slamming the door shut, and locking it again. “What happened? Tell me everything! We haven’t stopped callin’ you all weekend, Lucky’s freakin’ furious! She’s questioned me like a billion times!”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothin’ much.”

  Harry, sitting on the floor smoking a joint, joined the conversation. “You promised to check in,” he s
aid accusingly. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Would’ve if I could’ve,” Max replied, flopping onto the bed, wondering if she should call Ace to let him know she’d made it.

  “What happened to you, girl?” Cookie said. “You look like crap.”

  “This is the story I’m telling my mom,” Max said, finally feeling safe and secure. “I was carjacked, okay?”

  “Carjacked!” Harry yelled, expelling a mouthful of smoke. “Whoa!”

  “Not really,” Max explained. “But that’s what I’m telling Lucky.”

  “So all this time you were getting it on with Internet Guy, right?” Cookie said, sitting cross-legged on her bed, fresh cornrows framing her expressive face.

  “No,” Max corrected, pausing for effect. “The real story is I was freaking kidnapped.”

  “What?” Harry said, dragging on his joint. “Like by an ax murderer?”

  “As if I’d still be here if it was an ax murderer,” Max said scornfully. “However, people, know this—it was way bad. You can’t even imagine how bad.”

  “Seriously, you like got kidnapped?” Cookie said, her eyes widening.

  “Yeah, an’ then I like got rescued by this hottie who was kidnapped with me,” Max said, once again thinking about Ace.

  “Huh?” Harry said, blowing smoke throughout the room. He was totally stoned.

  “It’s a long story,” Max sighed. “I hurt my ankle and my sides are all scratched up and—”

  “Man!” Cookie exclaimed, jumping off the bed. “Are you makin’ all this up?”

  “No way,” Max said vehemently. “We were kidnapped at gunpoint and held hostage.”

  “For money?” Cookie asked, her eyes growing wider by the minute.

  “Not for money.”

  “Then what?”

  “I dunno. It was all so weird.”

  “How about getting laid?” Cookie questioned. “Did you do it? Was it totally great?”

  “Aren’t you listening?” Max said, noticing that both her friends were stoned. “I got kidnapped, not laid.”

  “You’d better call Lucky,” Cookie said. “She’s major uptight.”

  “I will, but I should clean up first. Can I shower? And borrow clothes?”

  “Sure,” Cookie said. “But then I wanna hear everything. There’s no way you can zoom in here, drop that you were kidnapped, an’ not give out details.”

  “I will, after I’ve done something about my ankle,” Max said, rolling up the leg of her jeans.

  “Eew!” Cookie exclaimed, taking a peek. “That’s gnarly. How’d you do it?”

  “Internet Freak chained my foot to a bed.”

  “This is so like a scene from a horror movie,” Harry said, spiked hair standing on end.

  “No movie,” Max said gravely. “Truth.”

  “Whyn’t you call Lucky before you shower?” Cookie suggested. “Get that over with. She’s crazy mad, apparently she was supposed to go to Vegas today, canceled ’cause you were on the missing list.”

  “Oh shit!”

  “ ‘Oh shit’ is right.”

  “Lend me your phone.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  “It’s with my credit cards, money, and laptop. Internet Freak took everything.”

  “That sucks,” Cookie said, handing her phone over. Max finally got up the nerve to call Lucky.

  “Uh, hi, Mom,” she ventured when Lucky picked up. “It’s me, Max.”

  There was a long, ominous silence, until finally Lucky said, “Where exactly are you?”

  “Long story,” Max said cheerfully. “I’ll be home in an hour, tell you everything then.”

  “You’re in L.A.?”

  “Uh … I’m kinda on my way. Y’see, the thing is I got kind of carjacked.”

  “Carjacked,” Lucky repeated disbelievingly.

  “Yeah, so, um—”

  “Not another word,” Lucky said, her voice icy. “Get your ass home, go straight up to your room, and stay there until I get back from Vegas, where I should’ve been five hours ago. Do that, and don’t even think about leaving the house. You’re grounded. Understand?”

  “But, Mom,” Max wailed. “That’s so unfair. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “It never is,” Lucky said, clicking off.

  “Man!” Max complained, making a face. “She just told me I’m grounded.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Cookie said, yawning. “You promised her you’d be home for Gino’s party an’ you bailed. What did you expect? Oh yeah, and for your information, the party was like a total blast. You missed an awesome fight an’ everything.”

  “You got any disinfectant and bandages?” Max asked, not interested in hearing about the party she’d missed. “And I’d kill for something to eat, I’m major starving.”

  “Here,” Harry said, groping in his pants pocket and tossing her a pack of M&M’s. “Knock yourself out.”

  “You can deal with her,” Lucky steamed, clicking off her cell phone. “Believe me—she’s all yours.”

  “I’ve got a production meeting at four,” Lennie said, glancing at his watch. “I take it she’s on her way home.”

  “Thank God—yes! And I have to get my ass to Vegas, so now that I know she’s safe, I’m leaving ASAP. It’s all down to you.”

  “What’s her story anyway?”

  “Some bullshit about getting carjacked, which I do not believe for one single minute, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “That’s our Max—she’s inventive.”

  “She sure is.”

  “What time will you be back?”

  “Who knows? There’s so much to deal with. We open in less than two weeks and Mooney says it’s crazy. I might have to stay over a couple of days. Are you sure you can handle everything here?”

  “ ‘And once again his beautiful wife runs off, while he is left in charge of their delinquent daughter.’”

  “Please, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go look after your other baby.”

  “Now, about Max—”

  “You don’t have to tell me—she’s grounded.”

  “I mean it, Lennie, do not weaken, I’m depending on you.”

  “Surely you trust me?”

  “When it comes to little Miss Green Eyes, no.”

  “That’s ’cause I can’t help it, she reminds me of you.”

  “Should I take that as a compliment?” she asked wryly.

  “Max is beautiful, wild, and full of adventure. That’s you, Lucky, so yeah, take it as a compliment and don’t be too hard on the kid.”

  “Man,” Lucky said, shaking her head. “She’s got your number big time. Just remember: grounded—G-R-…”

  “I know. Now get moving. You’ve got a hotel to open.”

  It was such a relief to only have to face Lennie, since Lucky wasn’t home. It made things way easier. Whew! Her dad was so laid-back and cool and most of all understanding. He bought the carjacked story, didn’t question her too much, and had one of his assistants arrange to get her a new phone, cancel her credit cards, replace her driver’s license, and he even produced a duplicate set of car keys. Lennie was the best!

  If only Lucky could be so understanding. But no. Lucky would immediately know she was lying. Lucky had a bullshit detector a mile long.

  “Sorry, but you’re grounded, sweetie,” Lennie informed her. “I gotta go to a meeting, so make sure you stay around the house.”

  “I get carjacked, robbed, and I’m grounded,” Max protested.

  “Your mom’s orders.”

  “Since when did you take orders from her?”

  “Watch it, Max. Don’t screw with my good will.”

  She went upstairs, lay on her bed, and thought about Ace. She’d told Cookie and Harry about him, but neither of them really got it, they were more interested in puffing weed and listening to details about Internet Freak. Ugh! Every time she thought of the creep she got the chills.

  Now that her ordeal was over and she
was safely home, it all seemed so surreal, as if she had dreamed it. Only her ankle—already healing—and her scratched sides reminded her that it was indeed real. The Internet Freak—whoever he was—had been a definite psycho, and once again she realized how very fortunate they were to have escaped.