Power

  God, no! Freddie thought. Let’s not disturb him if he’s working on a tan. Jesus! Where do these women find these men?

  “Have I told you that you look incredibly beautiful today?” Freddie said, lightening his strategy.

  “No,” Lucinda said, slightly flustered. “As a matter of fact you haven’t.”

  “Well, you do. You’re my most important client and that’s why I’m here.” He began pacing. “Sign the contract, Lucinda. Otherwise, this deal is about to fall through, and I wouldn’t want that happening to you.”

  She hesitated. He could sense that she was almost his—not quite. “But Dmitri said that if I was to star opposite Kevin Page, it might make me appear . . . older.”

  “You—older?” Freddie shook his head. “Every young guy in America will be wishing he was in Kevin Page’s shoes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Come along, Lucinda, let’s go in your office, sign the contract and then I can get on with my day.”

  “If you’re really sure . . .”

  “Have I ever guided you wrong?”

  Fifteen minutes later he was back in his car with the signed contracts on the seat beside him. Sometimes a little personal attention was all that was needed. And for a twelve-million-dollar deal, Freddie didn’t mind putting out.

  * * *

  The two men playing racquetball were going at it with a “take no prisoners” attitude. Both men were in their thirties, and very fit; even so the vigorous workout was making them sweat profusely.

  Max Steele slammed the final shot, clinching the game. “Fifty bucks!” he yelled triumphantly. “And I want cash.”

  Howie Powers slumped against the wall. He was a sandy-haired man in his thirties, with crooked features, a stocky build and a permanent tan. “Shit, Max!” he complained, irritated at being beaten. “You gotta win at everything?”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Max said cheerfully. “No point in playing if you don’t plan on winning.”

  Howie stood up straight. “I might go to Vegas for the day tomorrow. Wanna come?” he offered. “We can hop a ride on my dad’s plane, he’s goin’ on business.”

  “Don’t you ever work?” Max said, grabbing a towel as they made their way to the locker room.

  “Work? What’s that?” Howie said, smirking.

  Max shook his head. “Beats me why I hang with a bum like you,” he grumbled. “You’re useless.”

  “Why would I wanna work?” Howie questioned, genuinely puzzled. “I got plenty of bucks.”

  “Yeah, handouts from your old man.”

  “You’re forgetting my trust fund,” Howie said, with another satisfied smirk. “Who needs handouts? I only take ’em ’cause my old man insists.”

  “Aren’t you ever bored?” Max asked, thinking how much he would hate having nothing substantial to do.

  “Bored?” Howie said with a manic laugh. “You gotta be shittin’ me. There’s not enough time in the day to cover all the things I do.”

  Max nodded knowingly. “Yeah, like uh . . . go to the track, hang with the guys, play poker, smoke some primo grass, pick up girls, gamble, do a little coke, go out and get drunk . . .”

  “Sounds like a life to me,” Howie said, the smirk creeping back onto his face.

  “I’m into work,” Max said forcefully. “I get off on the power.”

  “You—you’re an overachiever,” Howie said. “Me—I’m into getting my rocks off while I can still get it up!”

  Max thought to himself that if he’d been born with a silver spoon up his ass, he’d probably enjoy the good life, too. But he’d had to work for everything he’d achieved—starting off in the mail room at William Morris, where he’d hooked up with Freddie. A fortunate meeting, for the two of them had risen together, until they’d made their break ten years ago and started their own agency. Now they were one of the top three agencies in town. In fact, right at this moment I.A.A. represented the biggest stars, the hottest screenwriters and the best directors and producers in Hollywood.

  And yet in spite of their well-earned success, for quite a while now Max had been thinking of making a change. Being an agent was one thing, but running a studio would give him a lot more of the power he craved. Hey, if guys like Jon Peters could do it, he was in like a sailor in a room full of hookers.

  The only problem was telling Freddie, who had no idea he was thinking of defecting, and would throw a total shit-fit when he told him of his plans. But that was nothing Max couldn’t handle.

  Not a word until the deal was done. Only then would he think of the perfect way out.

  chapter 10

  NATALIE RUSHED IN FROM THE studio all smiles. “Did you catch me on TV?” she asked enthusiastically. “How about the bit I did on Salli T. and Bo Deacon?”

  “Must have missed that,” Madison said. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, I said something like, ‘Guess who flew into L.A. together,’ you know—provocative inside gossip. The audience loves it.”

  “They weren’t together,” Madison pointed out.

  “Who cares?” Natalie said airily. “They’re both publicity hounds. They’ll get off hearing their names mentioned.”

  “If you say so,” Madison murmured, not so sure that Salli would be thrilled.

  “I know so,” Natalie said confidently. “You should read some of the letters I get—all they want is the dirt.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “No. That’s just how it is.”

  “If you say so,” Madison murmured.

  “C’mon,” Natalie said, full of energy. “Move your butt, I’m buying you dinner and hearing all about what happened with you and David.”

  “It’s a short story,” Madison said crisply.

  “Good. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine. Oh, did you get to see Cole?”

  “I certainly did,” Madison said, grabbing her purse. “He came home, jumped in the shower, took off again and told me to tell you he won’t be home tonight.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes disapprovingly. “He met some big showbiz executive—the type who picks a boy of the month. Trouble is Cole won’t hear anything against him.”

  “You’re not his mother—don’t try to run his life—especially his love life.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Natalie sighed, as they headed for the door. “But hey—I’m way more street smart than he is; he should listen.”

  “He told me he trains Freddie Leon’s partner, Max Steele,” Madison said.

  “Didn’t I mention it?”

  “No, you didn’t. But Cole said if I’m on the jogging track at UCLA at seven in the morning, he’ll introduce me.”

  “Seven!” Natalie wailed, opening up her car door. “Honey, don’t count on me to fix you coffee.”

  They went to Dan Tana’s for dinner and sat in a cozy booth.

  “Did I tell you I’m doing a piece for the magazine on Salli T.?” Madison said, ordering a vodka martini because she felt like it, and knew it would guarantee a good night’s sleep.

  “Yes. Didn’t old Victor get all excited when you mentioned her name?” Natalie said, requesting a beer.

  Madison nodded. “I plan on getting her to talk about the men who run Hollywood—they all seem to have this thing about hookers and strippers with hearts of gold—y’know, Julia what’s-her-name in Pretty Woman—the one with the big hair. And Demi Moore in Striptease. I want to get Salli’s take on it.”

  “Good, you can give me all the leftovers,” Natalie said, studying a menu. “I’ll use them on my show.”

  “You’re really into your show, huh?”

  “Hmm,” Natalie said, making a face. “Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. It’s so predictable. All these people out there plugging books, movies and their goddamn exercise tapes—and I have to pretend as if I’m interested.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Be a network news anchor, of course.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  ?
??Yeah?” Natalie said ruefully. “How many black news anchors do you see?”

  “Here’s my philosophy,” Madison said. “If you want something bad enough, you gotta go for it.”

  “Let’s order,” Natalie said. “My philosophy is—food solves a shitload of problems!”

  A few sips of her martini and Madison began talking. “I think I genuinely loved David,” she said wistfully. “But the truth is he got scared.”

  “Typical!” Natalie interrupted.

  “Some men say they’re okay with strong women, only when they find themselves with one, they can’t handle the pressure,” Madison continued. Natalie nodded her agreement. “We never talked about marriage,” Madison added. “We were happy just being together. Until one day he went out for cigarettes and failed to come back.” She paused, remembering, shaking her head because the memories were still painful. “The thing that hurt the most was that after he left, he ran off and married his high-school sweetheart. That was a real pisser.”

  “Girl, I know exactly what you mean,” Natalie said. “Denzl and I had this great thing going until I woke up one morning and the slippery son of a bitch wasn’t there. Nor was my CD collection, which, as you can imagine, totally freaked me. Losing him was one thing, but losing Marvin Gaye?”

  They stared at each other and suddenly burst out laughing. “Who’d believe this?” Natalie exclaimed. “Two smart, hot-looking women like us, and we just got ourselves dumped!”

  “At least we can laugh about it now.”

  “Maybe you can.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be with Denzl,” Madison said firmly. “And I wasn’t supposed to be with David. Somebody bigger and better will come along.”

  “Hmm . . . bigger,” Natalie said with a dirty laugh. “I like it!” Then she added a quick “Not that I’m interested in getting involved again.”

  “Me neither,” Madison agreed. “All this double-standard crap about how only guys can go out and have sex whenever they want, and it doesn’t mean a thing. Women can too. Why should we have to be in a relationship?”

  “Right on!” Natalie agreed. “Give me a great-looking guy with a great body. We’ll have great sex, and don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  “Yes!” Madison said. “As long as you use a condom. Things sure have changed since we were in college.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Natalie said. “The anchorman on my show asked us over to his house for dinner tomorrow night. I said we’d go. Okay with you?”

  “You’re not fixing me up I hope,” Madison said suspiciously.

  “He’s married.”

  “In that case, okay. I am not into fix-ups.”

  A waiter hovered by their table. “The gentleman at the bar would like to buy you two ladies a bottle of champagne.”

  They both looked over. An aging playboy with an ill-fitting black toupee perched on top of his head waved merrily. “Tell the gentleman thanks, but no thanks,” Madison said.

  “Yeah, suggest he save his money for his old age,” Natalie added. The waiter moved away. “That’s the oldest pickup line in the world,” Natalie said, grimacing. “Surely the poor old dude could come up with something more original?”

  “Pickup lines are universal,” Madison said wisely. “They go on forever.”

  “How much you wanna bet he’ll come over spouting another corny line?”

  Madison shook her head. “No balls,” she said.

  “Is that a rug he’s wearing, or am I seeing things?” Natalie said, stifling a crazed giggle.

  “Do not make eye contact,” Madison warned, suppressing her own laughter. “Otherwise, he will come over, and then we’ll be forced to insult him.”

  Two minutes later he was standing by their table. He was seventy-two and still considered himself a player. “Surely it’s not true that two beautiful young women like you do not drink champagne?” he demanded.

  “Hello,” Natalie said, putting on a sugary sexy voice. “I’m a stripper at the Body Shop on Sunset. Be there at ten tonight. Fifty bucks and I’ll perform a special lap dance just for you!” The man took a step back. “See you later,” Natalie said, barely able to contain her laughter. The would-be player hurriedly returned to the bar. “Guess he doesn’t watch TV,” Natalie deadpanned.

  “I like your line,” Madison mused. “Maybe I should use it sometime.”

  “Ha!” Natalie said. “Who’d believe you were a stripper? But me, black and pretty—why the hell not?”

  “Oh, God! Don’t start getting into racial stereotypes. You drove me insane with that crap in college.”

  “I’m simply saying it the way it is,” Natalie said stubbornly. “You’re a beautiful white woman. I’m a good-looking black woman. Guys respect you. They look at me and think—she’s black, therefore she’s easy.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  “I live in this world,” Natalie said, her voice rising. “I know I’m talking truth.”

  “What do you imagine I do—reside in a fairy-tale tower?”

  “You’re not black. You don’t get it.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again.”

  “Anyway,” Natalie said. “I’m glad you’re no longer with David, ’cause if he could run out on you, then he wasn’t worth shit.”

  “The same goes for Denzl.”

  “What we should do is concentrate on our careers and become media moguls. You can own your magazine, and I’ll be the first black Barbara Walters. How’s that for a deal?”

  “You got it going, girl.”

  “I love it when you try to talk black,” Natalie said, giggling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re too uptight to get into jive talk.”

  “Me? Uptight?”

  “You gotta loosen up—get yourself some attitude.”

  “What kind of attitude?”

  “Like this, girl,” Natalie said, high-fiving her. “Like this.”

  And they both broke into fits of raucous laughter.

  chapter 11

  KRISTIN WAS PUTTING THE FINISHING touches to her appearance when the phone rang. She reached for it. “Hello?”

  “A change of plan,” Darlene said, all business. “Tomorrow, not tonight.”

  “You mean Mister X is canceling?”

  “Not exactly canceling, merely rescheduling.”

  “Oh,” Kristin said, relieved and yet disappointed because she had wanted the money.

  “Tomorrow. Same time, same place,” Darlene said. “Which won’t interfere with your lunch. You’ll have plenty of time to rest up between appointments.”

  “Thanks so much,” Kristin drawled sarcastically.

  “I know you don’t like seeing Mister X,” Darlene continued. “But what’s not to like? He doesn’t touch you, and he pays more than any other client.”

  “That’s what’s so weird,” Kristin said. “I’m telling you, Darlene—there’s something strange about him.”

  “Oh, please,” Darlene said, dismissing her fears as if they didn’t matter. “Guys with fetishes—what’s so unusual?”

  Kristin put down the phone feeling depressed. She’d wanted to get it over and done with. She’d psyched herself up for another kinky encounter; now she faced a long evening ahead with nothing planned.

  For a moment her mind wandered over the events of the day, and she thought about Jake, the photographer with the tie problem. He had no idea who she was or what she did. “I’d really love to take your picture sometime,” he’d said. So why not? It certainly wasn’t going to lead to anything. Why couldn’t she do something she might enjoy for a change?

  On impulse she picked up the phone and obtained the number of the Sunset Marquis.

  When the hotel operator answered, she realized she had no idea what his surname was. “Uh . . . do you have a Jake staying there?” she said. “He’s a photographer. I seem to have forgotten his last name.”

  “Let me check that out for you,” said the o
perator obligingly, and a few moments later she was put through to his room.

  He answered immediately. “Bunny?” he said.

  “Not Bunny,” she replied, wondering who Bunny was.

  “Hey—Kristin, “he said, sounding pleased to hear from her. “What a nice surprise. Why are you calling?”

  Why was she calling? “Uh . . . I lied,” she said.

  “You did?”

  “I . . . I don’t have a fiancé. What I do have is a very jealous husband.”

  “And you couldn’t wait to tell me.”

  “We’re separated.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  A long pause, during which neither of them spoke. Kristin finally broke the silence, surprising herself. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “Me?” he said, obviously stalling for time.

  “No. Mel Gibson,” she said shortly, sorry she’d asked.

  “Uh . . . are you saying that you can have dinner with me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “What time would you like me to pick you up?”

  “I’ll meet you,” she said quickly, not wanting him to know where she lived.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “And where will that be?”

  Her mind wouldn’t function. She didn’t want to meet him where there might be people who knew her. “I’ll . . . I’ll come to your hotel,” she said.

  Wrong! Now he would think she was easy. Ha! If he only knew how easy. Expensive, but easy all the same.

  “If that’s what makes you happy,” he said. “What time shall I expect you?”

  It was so long since she’d gone on a legitimate date that she had no idea what to suggest. “How about seven-thirty?” she said, thinking that would give her plenty of time to change out of her white pristine outfit and get into something more suitable.

  “You got it,” he said.

  “You’re sure you can do this?” she asked, half hoping he’d tell her he was busy.

  “Would I say yes if I couldn’t?”

  “No . . .”

  “What’s your number in case I need to reach you?”

  “I’m not at home,” she lied, quickly putting down the phone so she wouldn’t have to answer his question. Then she was mad at herself. What are you doing? she thought. Why are you going out on a stupid date with a stupid guy that you don’t even know?