“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.
Ace had wanted them to go to the police and report him, but she simply couldn’t face doing that. If Lucky ever discovered how stupid she’d been, she’d never live it down. Lucky expected everyone to be strong and invincible, just like she was.
Yes. Carjacked was the way to go. She’d told Lennie a story and she was sticking to it. Carjacked, managed to outwit the would-be carjackers, and somehow or other gotten stuck in the woods—which is why she hadn’t made it back for Gino’s party.
It was the best she could come up with.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Fortunately, they were out on location and not confined to a studio, so Billy felt that it wasn’t necessary to confront Alex. Apologizing to the director was not an option—he was adamant about that.
There were extra security guards to control the paparazzi, and several cops doing duty on crowd control.
Billy lounged in his chair on the street way behind the camera, long legs stretched out in front of him.
“She called you yet?” Kev asked, wandering over.
“Who?” Billy said, although he knew exactly who Kev meant.
“The ho who gave you the crabs,” Kev said, chewing on a carrot stick.
“Stop mentioning the crabs,” Billy said irritably. “According to her, she didn’t give ’em to me.”
“Then who did?”
“How the frig do I know?”
“Maybe you got ’em from Venus,” Kev said slyly.
“Get a life, Kev.”
“You never know.”
“Venus is dead-on faithful.”
“For sure?”
“Yes,” Billy said. “Disappointed?”
“I suppose she’s gotta be, hasn’t she?”
“How’s that?”
“You’re her young stud. She wouldn’t want to piss you off, not until she’s through with the ride.”
“How many times I gotta tell you to quit with the stud jokes?”
“Seems t’me you an’ Venus can’t last that long anyway. It’s not as if you’re gonna walk down the freakin’ aisle. I mean, have you considered the fact that when you’re forty she’ll be fifty-three?”
“Is this what you do all day, Kev, sit around thinking up this crap?” Billy said, yawning. “Stay outta my business, okay?”
“Your business is my business,” Kev said, still chewing on his carrot stick. “You pay me to be your main man.”
“Yeah, an’ my main man is not gettin’ paid to bug the shit outta me.”
“Okay, okay,” Kev said, throwing up his hands. “I like Venus, but even you gotta admit you’re not exactly a perfect match.”
“Listen to the expert,” Billy said. “I’m having a good time, that’s all that matters.”
Unfortunately, Kev was envious of his relationship with Venus. Before Venus, they’d spent their nights cruising the clubs, picking up girls, bringing them back to the house, and experiencing a slam-dunk party every night. Then Billy had hooked up with Venus, and as far as Kev was concerned, the fun times were history.
Billy still wasn’t sure how long it would last between him and his superstar girlfriend. This boy toy crap was getting older every day.
Later his cell phone rang and it was Miss Broken Taillight. He didn’t know her name, so when she said, “Hi, this is Ali,” he had no idea who he was speaking to.
“Yeah,” he said. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, you can help me,” she answered, sounding uptight. “I’m the girl who was up at your house last week. Remember me? The one who sucked your cock. You made me a promise and I’m calling to collect.”
“Collect?” he said. “That’s an odd way of putting it, makes you sound like a bookie.”
“You made me a promise,” she repeated. “And I made you one back. I won’t spill to your girlfriend, and you’ll swing me a part in your movie.”
“I will, huh?”
“That was our deal.”
“Then you’d better drive down to the set,” he said, telling her where to come. “I’ll figure something out.”
“You’d better.”
Ignoring her implied threat, he said, “When you get here, ask for Kev. Do not let on you know me. You’re dealing with my friend Kev on this.”
“Oh,” she said huffily. “So now I’m not good enough to know you, is that it? Why can’t I be your out-of-town cousin or something?”
“It’s not an option. There’s press everywhere, an’ I can’t be seen talking to you.”
“Why?”
“’Cause we’ll end up in People or Us. Like I said—deal with Kev.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“Thanks. I love you too,” he said, snapping his phone shut. He called Kev over and filled him in.
“What’s she like?” Kev asked, sounding a little too interested.
“Young, pretty, skillful, and hands off.”
“Why? You savin’ her for a repeat performance?”
Before he could answer, he was finally called to the set. He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure that Alex had changed the shooting schedule so that he was forced to sit around all morning even though his call was six A.M.
The scene he was about to shoot was with a fellow actor, a black ex–football player who was over six feet four and built like the proverbial brick house.
Billy knew he was about to get a beating whether he wanted one or not. Shooting this scene would be Alex’s way of getting back at him.
Fuck it! He’d take it like a man. How bad could it be? The crew were all watching; the other actor seemed like a reasonable guy. The only sadist on the set was Alex Woods.
He was right. Alex demanded seventeen takes, and in each take he had to get punched on the jaw, and even though they were supposed to be fake punches, Alex wanted it to look real—so guess what, he got pounded.
It was bad enough that he had a black eye; once they were through, his jaw felt as if he’d been struck a series of blows with a sledgehammer.
“I’m going back to my trailer,” he told the assistant assigned to him when Alex was finally satisfied.
“I’ll escort you,” said the girl.
She was overweight and enthusiastic, and any time she could spend with Billy Melina was a bonus.
There was quite a crowd of people on the street straining to see stars. They all wanted to get a peek at Billy. The cops were doing a good job of keeping them back.
His trailer was parked on a side street. The female assistant chattered nonstop about what a thrill it was working with him, and how wonderful he was in the scene, how she’d seen all his movies, how she’d only been working on this particular one for a month and it was the best moment of her life meeting him.
Assistant/fan. Great! Just what he didn’t need.
He tuned her out, not in the mood to listen.
“Thanks, hon,” he said when they reached his trailer.
He climbed the steps, all ready to collapse on his couch, flung open the door, and there was Miss Broken Taillight giving Kev a blow job.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Emmanuelle was posing, showing off in a string bikini that left little to the imagination. She lounged against a tropical background in the studio, Cuban music blasting over the loudspeakers, a wiry photographer dancing around behind his camera.
Anthony was embarrassed for her. She shouldn’t be half naked in front of a studio full of people, it wasn’t right. He could see her nipples straining against the thin material of her tiny top, the curve of her snatch through the bikini bottom.
In spite of himself, he began to get hard. Goddammit! If he was hard, so were all the other men in the studio—unless they were gay. Emmanuelle always assured him that all the men she worked with were gay, but looking around he wasn’t so sure.
The Grill was hovering somewhere behind him. He didn’t want the big lug ogling his girlfriend’s private parts—it infuriated him.
“Go wait in the car,” he ordered.
“You sure, boss?”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure,” he replied, scowling.
Emmanuelle hadn’t spotted him yet, she was too busy posing, flinging her long legs this way and that, bringing her arms up, seductively touching her breasts, playing to the camera as if it were his dick.
Jesus Christ! Enough already!
He stepped up beside the guy with the camera. “Hey!” he yelled at Emmanuelle. “Over here, sugar.”
Emmanuelle barely stopped posing. Putting a finger to her lips, she murmured, “Shush, honey, I’m in the middle.”
“The middle of what?” he said.
“In the middle of my shoot,” she answered, pouting.
“’Scuse me, we’re working here,” the photographer said, taking an aggressive stance.
Anthony turned on him, his face dark as thunder. “Ya think I’m fuckin’ blind?” he snarled. “I can see that. You’re shootin’ my fuckin’ girlfriend.”
“Okay, man,” the photographer said, hurriedly backing off. “But do you think you can give us some space here? We’ll be ready to break in twenty minutes, then she’s all yours.”
“Fuck you,” Anthony said. “If I wanna talk to my girlfriend, I’ll talk to her now.”
Emmanuelle jumped up and ran forward, breasts jiggling. “That’s okay, Rodriguez,” she said, coming between them. “It might be a good idea if we break early.”
The photographer glared at her, while the makeup and hair people started gossiping among themselves, shooting Anthony looks as if to say, “Who is this thug?”
Taking Anthony’s arm, Emmanuelle steered him into her dressing room. “Honey,” she said. “You can’t pull me out of a shoot like this, it’s not fair.”
“Is this what you call work?” he snorted. “Look at you—ya got no fuckin’ clothes on.”
“You know what I do, poopsie,” she purred. “You love seeing my photos when they’re on the cover of a magazine.”
“There’s only one thing I love,” he said, reaching forward and pinching her left nipple.
“What, honey?” she said, trying not to wince because he was hurting her.
He kicked the door shut. “I love it when you suck my fuckin’ dick,” he said, unzipping his pants.
“Not here, baby,” she objected. “Everybody’s outside, I can’t do it here.”
“Oh, yes you can,” he said, pressing down on her shoulders. “Now get on your knees an’ show me your real talent.”
* * *
Unable to lure Luis up to her bedroom, Irma was disappointed. After showering and changing clothes she’d gone out to the garden where Luis was busy mowing the lawn. When she’d approached him and asked him to come into the house he’d shaken his head, indicating the older gardener who was working nearby.
“It’s okay,” she’d said, giving him a meaningful look. “I need you to come see my houseplants.”
“No, señora,” he’d replied, vigorously shaking his head, refusing to look her in the eye. “No today.”
She couldn’t believe he was turning her down. But then, perhaps he was merely being careful, or perhaps he was upset that she’d gone to Acapulco with her husband. After a while she’d given up, and gone back into the house.
Now she watched him from the window. She watched him until he left at four o’clock.
Later she ordered a car and driver to take her to the hotel in town. Using her husband’s driver would be a mistake, the man probably reported everything to Anthony, and that would be a disaster. Better to be safe than sorry.
* * *
Cesar stopped Luis at the gate as the younger man attempted to drive out.
“Well,” Cesar said, licking his thick lips in anticipation, “when do I get a taste of American pussy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luis replied in Spanish. “You are imagining things, Cesar.”
“I am imagining nothing,” Cesar responded. “You think everyone doesn’t know what’s going on? I want a piece, Luis, otherwise I tell Señor Bonar, and I tell your wife.”
“You wouldn’t dare tell Señor Bonar.”
“You imagine you know me, Luis, but you don’t,” Cesar said. “Either I fuck that American ass, or your fun and games are over.”
“You’re crazy,” Luis said, refusing to play Cesar’s sick game.
“No,” Cesar fired back. “You’re the crazy one, because if you do not arrange what I want, your life will be over, my friend.”
* * *
During the drive into the center of the city, Irma attempted to compose herself, although her thoughts kept on drifting back to Luis. Why hadn’t he come into the house? It was frustrating. Three days away from him and she found herself yearning for his touch.
Am I in love? she thought.
No. Lust. Pure and simple lust.
Her companion from the plane, Oliver Stanton, was waiting at the hotel bar nursing a tumbler of Scotch. As soon as he saw her approaching he jumped to his feet. “You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied, noting he was tall and well built, although not as well built as Luis.
The name Oliver had a nice ring to it. She decided that she and Oliver would date when she arrived in Los Angeles. She and Oliver might even become a couple.
She wondered what he did. During their conversation on the plane she had not thought of finding out, or maybe she’d forgotten to ask him as she’d been so busy talking about herself and her early days as a beauty queen, so much so that she hadn’t given him a chance to talk about himself. It didn’t matter, she’d draw him out at dinner.
“I thought we’d eat in the restaurant here,” he said. “I checked it out, seems perfect.”
“Fine with me,” she said, nodding.
They made pleasant conversation over dinner. She enjoyed her food and drank several glasses of red wine. Glancing around the restaurant, she felt like a human being for a change, not Anthony Bonar’s wife relegated to the background. Her future stretched before her, and she was ready to embrace it.
They lingered over dessert, until eventually Oliver leaned across the table, took her hand, and said, “How about coming up to my roo
m for a nightcap?”
She was thankful she’d thought of removing her wedding ring as she considered the possibility. She was not naive—she knew exactly what Oliver had in mind. And why not? She was about to be a free woman, and Luis had rejected her—which she did not appreciate, and even now Anthony was probably bedding down his Miami bimbo.
“Yes,” she murmured, the wine loosening her inhibitions. “I think I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said, signing the check.
Once they were in the elevator on their way up to his room, Oliver moved in close and kissed her, a dry kiss, unlike Luis’s passionate tongue kisses, but it got her juices flowing all the same, and when they reached his room she was ready, and so was he.
He pushed her back on the bed, lifted her skirt, and pulled down her panties. Then he gave her head for approximately one minute, reached up and fondled her breasts for another minute, then unzipped his pants, put on a condom, and was inside her within seconds.
She lay there thinking about Luis, and how he worshipped her body, how he spent time kissing every inch of her body, how different his touch was.
When Oliver climaxed, she didn’t.
“That was very, very nice,” he announced, rolling off her. “You’re quite a woman. Did you—”
“Yes,” she lied, searching for the right word. “It was wonderful.”
“Now we can enjoy our nightcap,” he said, getting up and going over to the minibar. “Brandy? Liquor? What’s your pleasure?”
“Do you have wine?” she asked, adjusting her clothes and getting off the bed.
“Anything m’lady wants,” he said, opening a half-size bottle of red wine and a miniature bottle of brandy.
She sat at a small corner table as he handed her a wineglass and pulled up another chair. Then he toasted her and told her once again that she was quite a woman.
She didn’t feel like quite a woman, she felt empty inside, and it occurred to her that sleeping around was not a very satisfying way to go.
Five minutes of conversation, she’d drink her wine and make a graceful exit. “So, Oliver,” she said, remembering that she still had not asked him what he did, “what business are you in?”
“You’ll never guess,” he said, smiling at her.