“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll no longer be your agent.”
“Freddie, dear, sometimes I think you don’t get it,” Lucinda said, her icy diva voice piercing his ear. “Agents should be kissing my left toe to represent me.”
“If that’s what you want, Lucinda,” he said, his tone perfectly cool.
“Maybe it is,” she said, challenging him.
“Let me know,” he said. And then he played his ace card. “Oh, by the way—remember that time way, way back, when you asked me to get hold of some early photographs your first husband took of you, and I was able to do so?”
“Yes.”
“Strange thing,” he said slowly. “I was going through my safe the other day, and it seems I still have a set of negatives.”
Her voice rose, hot with disbelief. “Are you blackmailing me, Freddie?”
“No,” he said evenly. “Merely trying to get you to sign a contract which has been on your desk for over a week. A contract that’ll pay you twelve million dollars, star you with the hottest young actor in the country, and keep your career at the top, exactly where it should be.” He paused, allowing her to mull over what he’d said. “Think about it, Lucinda, and let me know before the end of the day.” Before she could reply, he replaced the receiver.
Actresses! They’d had to suck so much dick on the way up that once they made it, all they wanted to do was cause trouble.
But nobody caused trouble for Freddie Leon.
He had the power, and he was not shy about using it.
chapter 3
NATALIE DE BARGE CONSULTED HER Bulgari Swatch watch, a recent present to herself, and swore softly under her breath. How come time passed so quickly? She was running late again, and it made her crazy. She had so much to do before meeting her best friend and old college roommate, Madison, at the airport. And, on top of everything else, after driving to LAX, she then had to get back to the studio in time for her spot on the six-o’clock news, where she was the show-biz news person on a local TV station. And although she enjoyed what she did, she certainly aspired to do more than cover trivial gossip and even more trivial show-biz events.
Natalie was an extremely vivacious twenty-nine-year-old black woman, with glowing skin, wide brown eyes and a curvaceous body. The bane of her life was the fact that she was only five feet, two inches tall, which really pissed her off, because she would have loved to have been born long and lean like Madison—whom she was genuinely excited about seeing. They spoke at least twice a week, but it wasn’t as good as living in the same city. Recently Natalie had split with her out-of-work artist boyfriend, Denzl. Quite convenient, since Madison was no longer with David. Ah yes, Natalie thought, they would certainly have plenty to discuss.
Natalie had already convinced herself that she hardly missed Denzl at all, although he had possessed a truly beautiful body. The sad truth was that sometimes a beautiful body was not enough. Denzl had leeched off her for over a year, and when she’d stopped paying the bills, he’d disappeared in the middle of the night with her expensive stereo equipment and entire CD collection of soul classics. She missed Marvin Gaye and Al Green more than she missed him.
“Hey you,” said Jimmy Sica, the nighttime news anchor recently hired out of Denver. “What’s with the hairstyle?”
Natalie turned, checking Jimmy out. He was six feet tall and extraordinarily handsome, which didn’t impress her at all, because she wasn’t into perfect good looks—she preferred her men more on the edgy side. “I cut it,” she said, casually touching her short, sleek do. “You like?”
“Makes you look about twelve.”
She grinned. “Gee, thanks! I think that’s a compliment in this town.”
“Long hair, short hair—you always look great,” Jimmy said, smiling. He had a gorgeous smile—and a gorgeous fair-haired wife whose picture he kept prominently displayed on his desk.
“Why, thank you, Jimmy,” she said, putting on an exaggerated Southern accent. “I never thought you noticed.”
Jimmy flashed his best anchorman smile, revealing perfect teeth and a strong jawline. “All the guys around here notice you.”
Was Jimmy Sica coming on to her? No way.
“I’m meeting my girlfriend later,” Natalie said, quickly changing the subject. “She’s flying in from New York to research a story on Freddie Leon.”
Jimmy was suitably impressed. “The agent?”
“Is there another Freddie Leon?”
“Sounds like an interesting gig.”
“Madison’s an interesting woman.”
Jimmy zeroed in for a long lingering look. “If she’s your friend, I’m sure she is.”
“Uh . . . maybe I’ll bring her to the studio one day, give her the grand tour.”
“I’ve got a better idea. My wife and I are having a small dinner on Saturday at the house—why don’t you bring your friend over? My brother’s in town, and a couple of old college buddies. We can make it a party.”
“What kind of party did you have in mind, Jimmy?” she asked coyly.
“Not that kind of party, honey,” he said with a quick laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the straightest guy in town.”
“I know,” she said, mildly flirting in spite of the fact that he wasn’t her type. “That’s what I like about you.”
He raised an expressive eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
They exchanged smiles. Hmm, she thought, he’s definitely coming on to me. Which made her slightly uncomfortable because he was married. Besides, he was way too tall for her.
“I’ll run it by Madison and let you know,” she said.
“Great,” he said.
Yeah. Great. Maybe his brother would turn out to be the big love of her life—the prince she was forever searching for. Black, white, multicolored—the right guy had to be out there somewhere.
Sure. And John F. Kennedy, Jr., is gay.
“I’m outta here,” she said, giving him a little wave. “See you later.”
Jimmy Sica smiled his brilliant smile. “You can bet I’ll be looking forward to it.”
chapter 4
THE PHONE RANG IN KRISTIN Carr’s pale peach apartment. It was past noon and she was asleep. In a vague fog she heard the loud ringing and waited for Chiew to pick up. To her annoyance, her lazy maid didn’t do so.
Hazily Kristin realized it must be her private line. Shit! She didn’t feel great. Too much Dom Perignon and coke the previous night, and a couple of Halcion to help her sleep. Shit!
Her long white arm snaked out from under pale peach satin sheets, groping for the receiver. “Yes?” she murmured, husky-voiced.
“Mister X would like to see you,” said a female voice.
“Oh, God, Darlene. Not again! I told you after the last time, I’m not interested.”
“Would four thousand cash change your mind?”
“Why me?” she groaned.
“Because you’re the best.”
Kristin thought about her two previous encounters with Mister X. The first time she’d met him in an underground parking lot in Century City as instructed. He was driving a dark pickup truck with no visible plates and was dressed entirely in black—including opaque sunglasses and a pulled-down baseball cap. Without leaving the truck he’d requested that she strip naked in the parking structure—which fortunately was deserted—and while she circled bare-assed around his truck, he’d jacked off. When he was finished he’d silently handed her an envelope through the window containing two thousand dollars, then hurriedly driven off.
The second time she’d met him in the back row of a movie theater in Westwood at noon. The darkened cinema was deserted, an Eddie Murphy movie played on the big screen, and Mister X was once more in deep disguise. He’d sat next to her, told her to remove her panties and hand them to him, then he’d satisfied himself on the panties and handed them back to her with an envelope containing cash. When she got out of the theater he was long gone.
&
nbsp; It was the easiest money she’d ever made and also the weirdest. Mister X gave her a bad feeling.
“He’s a freak,” she said.
“Force yourself,” Darlene said.
“All right,” she said grumpily, tempted by the exorbitant amount of money, although her instinct warned her to say no.
“It won’t be so bad.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s not as if he beats you up or anything. In fact, you told me that last time he didn’t so much as touch you.”
“I wish he had,” Kristin said heatedly. “Then at least I’d know he was human.”
“His money says he’s human. That should suffice.”
“Okay, okay,” Kristin said with a deep sigh. “What dump do I have to meet him at this time?”
“Hollywood Boulevard. A motel past La Brea. I’ll fax you the exact address. He wants you there at seven. And wear white—including shoes, hose and sunglasses.”
“Does that mean I get a clothes allowance too?” Kristin drawled sarcastically.
“Four thousand’s not bad,” Darlene pointed out. “That’s a thousand up on last time.”
“Big fucking deal.”
“Have fun.”
Darlene’s a great madam, Kristin thought bitterly. All she cares about is the almighty buck. Screw safety.
She slid out of bed and into the shower. Kristin was the original golden girl—everything natural. A sweep of long blond hair; all-American features; a curvaceous body with large breasts; and a tangle of fluffy gold pubic hair that turned grown men into horny little boys.
She looked like an angel. But she had a heart of stone and a calculator for a brain.
Kristin had a plan. The moment she had accumulated half a million dollars cash in her safe-deposit box, she was out of the business. Every little four thousand dollars helped.
But still . . . Mister X again, the second time in a week. She shuddered at the thought.
Reaching for a soft pink bathrobe, she wrapped it around her glorious body.
Oh, well, another day. Another step toward her goal.
Eventually she’d be free.
chapter 5
“WHAT A JERK!” SALLI T. Turner exclaimed, her heavily glossed shell pink lips turning down at the corners, signaling her disapproval.
“Excuse me?” said Madison. She had just settled back into her original seat and was busy thinking about her interview with Freddie Leon—an interview that, if all went smoothly, was due to take place very soon. Victor had promised to set it up through his connection with a mutual friend, even though Freddie Leon was famous for never speaking to the press. In the meantime, Madison planned on talking to his friends, acquaintances, clients and enemies. In fact, anyone who had anything to say about the man.
Salli leaned closer, allowing Madison a frightening close-up of her mascara-caked false lashes. She’s too pretty for that much makeup, Madison thought. Why doesn’t someone tell her?
“Bo,” Salli said in a half whisper. “He’s a real horny asshole.”
“I, uh . . . don’t know him,” Madison said, wondering why Salli had decided to confide in her.
“You don’t have to,” Salli snorted derisively. “He’s a man, isn’t he? And a famous one at that.” She wrinkled her snub nose. “All these famous guys think they can get anyone. Do you know what he asked me to do?”
“What?” Madison asked, her natural curiosity aroused.
“Invited me into the john so we could make out,” Salli whispered. “Only he didn’t put it that politely.”
“Are you serious?”
“Girl Scout’s honor,” Salli said. “Ha! Like I’d do it with him again. I mean, just ’cause I’ve got big boobs, blond hair and the whole bimbo bit, men think I’m like hanging around, waiting for ’em.”
“It must be a problem,” Madison murmured sympathetically, wondering what Salli meant by “again.”
“I can handle it,” Salli said, summoning up attitude. “In fact, I get off on the attention.” She shrugged, tugging at her short leather skirt. “Hey—I know I have the equipment, but it’s not like I’m dumb or anything.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” Madison said gently.
“No, I mean really,” Salli said, becoming quite heated. “I’ve used what I’ve got to get where I am today ’cause it’s the only way I could get noticed. Clint Eastwood used what he had to become a star. We’re just different, that’s all.”
Madison didn’t think it was prudent to point out that Clint Eastwood had been in the business for over thirty years, and had produced and directed many movies. Plus he had his own company and an impeccable professional reputation. But who knew? Maybe thirty years down the line Salli would have the same—stranger things had happened.
“Here’s the truth,” Salli said, leaning even closer, so that Madison could smell her peppermint-tinged breath. “My boobs are silicone, ’cause I know big boobs turn guys on. I’ve had all the fat sucked out of my thighs, and some of it pumped back into my lips. I bleach my hair and wear sexy clothes. I’m the proof that it all works. It got me a TV series and a sensational husband. Wait till you meet Bobby, he’ll be at the airport.”
“I’d like to,” Madison said.
“He’s a stud!” Salli boasted. “He’d kill Bo Deacon if he heard how disrespectful he was to me.”
“Then I suggest you don’t tell him.”
Salli widened her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”
“Did you know Bo before?” Madison asked.
“A long time ago . . . before I made it,” Salli said. “Then after I got famous, I was on his show a few times and we like flirted on camera. Nothing unusual about that, I flirt with them all—Letterman, Leno, Howard. Everyone does—Pamela Anderson, Heather Locklear, even Julia Roberts. That’s the deal. It’s expected.” She picked up her drink. “Now I’m married, so he shouldn’t be coming on to me. It’s not nice.”
“You’re right,” Madison agreed.
“Anyway,” Salli continued. “I’m sure you’re bored with hearing all about me. What do you do?” “You’ll hate this,” Madison said wryly, thinking that maybe she should have mentioned it before.
“What?”
“I’m a journalist.”
Salli burst into peals of girlish laughter. “Oh, no! A snoop! And here I am spilling the goods. Now I suppose I’ll be all over the cover of the Star or the Enquirer. True confessions of a sex queen. I’m such a ditz!”
“Not that kind of journalist,” Madison said quickly. “I write for Manhattan Style.”
“Wow!” Salli responded, her big blue eyes full of surprise. “That’s classy stuff. They’d never write about someone like little old me.” A short hopeful pause. “Would they?”
“Why not? You’d be an interesting interview.”
“You think?” Salli said eagerly.
“If you’re willing to get into the whole Hollywood sex machine deal. If you were really truthful, we could probably have an intriguing piece. I’m sure you’ve got lots of tales to tell.”
“You should hear some of my stories,” Salli said, rolling her eyes. “I could lay stuff on you that’d make your tonsils hurt! Guys in this town—ha! There’s nothing I don’t know.”
“Maybe I should talk to my editor.”
“Wow!” Salli said, wriggling in her seat. “Can I be on the cover?”
“We have twelve covers a year,” Madison explained. “Only four of those are show-business-related. That’s a tough prize to win.”
“Every magazine wants me on the cover,” Salli said guilelessly. “Truth is, I sell magazines.”
“I’m sure. But my editor walks his own path.”
“Remember those pictures of Demi Moore on the front of Vanity Fair—all naked and pregnant?” Salli said brightly. “I heard it zoomed their circulation. How about me naked? Would your editor go for that?”
Madison shook her head. “More Playboy than us.”
Salli giggled. “I know
. Only joking. I’ve been on Playboy’s cover three times. They adore me.” She giggled again. “Or rather, they adore my big boobs!”
“I can imagine you’re very popular.”
“Why are you coming to L.A.?” Salli asked.
“I’m interviewing Freddie Leon, the agent. You don’t happen to know him, do you?”
“Wow! Freddie Leon,” Salli sighed. “He’s the man.”
“I take it he’s high on your list of important people?”
“Freddie Leon is only the most powerful agent in Hollywood,” Salli said reverently, nodding as she said it, her blond curls bouncing. “My ambition is that one day he’ll represent me.”
“Have you ever met him?” Madison asked curiously.
Salli hesitated before answering. “Well,” she said tentatively, “once . . . a while ago.”
“Yes?” Madison encouraged, sensing a story. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t his type,” Salli said flatly, as if the memory didn’t please her.
Madison sensed a story. “Sexually? Or as a potential client?” she asked.
Salli wriggled in her seat. “One day I kinda tracked him in the underground parking of his office. He gave me the big brush.” She frowned. “Maybe he’s not into sex, ’cause believe me—I do not get turndowns—I mean like never!”
“You went there to have sex with him?” Madison asked, surprised at her openness.
“No!” Salli answered indignantly. “I went there to get his attention. I wasn’t married then, my career was going nowhere, so I was taking a shot.”
Madison decided that Salli’s honesty was quite refreshing. There was a certain girlish naïveté hidden beneath the bleached blond hair and outrageous boobs.
“Are we nearly there?” Salli inquired, beginning to get nervous.
“Yes,” Madison said. “Time to prepare yourself. Remember what I told you—close your eyes, take a long, deep breath and slowly count to a hundred. I’ll let you know when we’re on the ground.”
“You’re the best!” Salli exclaimed. “Truth is, I don’t have any girlfriends, they’re all jealous.” She gave a wan little smile. “Dunno why—they could have what I have for a price. Well, not everything,” she added thoughtfully. “They certainly couldn’t have Bobby—he’s totally yummy and all mine!”