Power

  Yes, we must, Freddie thought. We’ll put her in the middle of a face-to-face confrontation between you and me, Max. Because if you think you’re going to walk without telling me, you have another think coming.

  Freddie continued to study the list. Lucinda and her new boyfriend, Dmitri. That should be interesting. Kevin Page and his current girlfriend, Angela Musconni—nothing like new young talent to give an evening heat. The other guests were a billionaire businessman and his wife, a New York financier and his L.A. mistress, and the head of one of the TV networks. Not a bad mix.

  Freddie put down the list. An invitation to the Leons’ was a much-sought-after prize—he had to give Diana points for creating evenings that everyone fought to be invited to.

  He buzzed Ria. “Get me Ariel Shore,” he said abruptly. “And if she’s not at the studio—find her. I need to speak to her immediately.”

  chapter 14

  KRISTIN HAD A REGULAR, ONCE-A-MONTH client who liked to lunch with her before watching her perform with a girl of his choice. Over lunch he made her regale him with tales about her previous month’s customers, and he in turn fed her unbelievable dish about Hollywood stars. Not that she was interested—she couldn’t care less about who was doing what to whom. As a professional she kept her mouth shut and did her job to the best of her ability. Ratting on a john was a no-no.

  So instead of revealing the truth, she made up tales of outrageous sexual goings-on, while her client listened with gleaming eyes and a satisfied smile.

  Usually after her session with this particular client, she visited her sister in the nursing home just outside Palm Springs where—as long as Kristin could afford to pay the bills—Cherie resided permanently. Today she couldn’t go because Mister X had rescheduled. Damn Mister X! Everything about him made her skin crawl. His disguise, his kinky demands. He was sinister, maybe even dangerous.

  She dressed for lunch in a simple, pale beige Armani suit. Underneath the jacket she wore a plunging cream-color blouse and no bra so that the darkness of her nipples showed through the flimsy fabric. Her client enjoyed having other men in the restaurant look and lust. Little did he know that several of them were also clients of hers who knew exactly who she was and what she did.

  He liked to lunch at Morton’s, where he had a regular table. Kristin arrived first and sat down, wondering, as she always did, what this particular guy’s trip was. He was powerful, not unattractive, with a manic if somewhat over-the-top personality—he could probably take his pick of most of the young actresses and models in Hollywood, and yet, he chose to have lunch with her once a month, and then pay for sex. Not so strange really. If she was a date he’d be forced to make small talk, send flowers, buy gifts, build up to the final moment. With her it was a sure thing, he’d pay her and she’d go home. No strings. A simple business deal.

  Plus she had no objections to performing with another girl. Why would she? It was her profession. She knew that a lot of the women who did what she did were lesbians, so turned off by men and the way they treated women that they’d switched leagues. Although Kristin knew how to make all the right moves, she had no inclination in that direction.

  She watched her client as he made his entrance, smiling and joking with several people as he passed by their tables. He was a nice enough guy, she didn’t mind their monthly meetings. It was seeing Mister X later that was freaking her out.

  “Hi, Max,” she said, as he sat down at the table.

  “Hi, doll,” Max Steele replied, summoning the waiter and ordering an iced tea. His mind was dodging this way and that. There was so much going on, and yet all he could think about was his date that night with Inga Cruelle. She was giving him a hard time and he liked it. Max considered the chase everything. Once he scored, he was out of there. Which is why he’d never married, and why he enjoyed meeting Kristin once a month. No demands, sensational sex, and the two-girls-together fantasy he’d dreamt about since first drooling over the centerfolds in Playboy at thirteen.

  “How have you been, Max?” Kristin asked politely.

  “Pretty damn good,” he replied. “I’m in shape, business is zooming, it’s all happenin’, babe.”

  “Still single?” Kristin inquired, not really interested, but she knew he liked her to appear as if she cared.

  He roared with laughter. “You know me, baby—one woman could never do it for me.” He took a couple of healthy swigs of iced tea and leaned eagerly toward her. “So c’mon, honeysuckle, gimme the goods—what’s been going on in hooker land?”

  “Well,” she said, toying with the glass of wine she’d prudently ordered, although she didn’t usually drink on appointments. “There was this politician who came into town from Washington, someone very high up in the Senate.”

  Max leaned even closer; this was the kind of stuff he got a buzz from. If only he could get names out of her, but she was adamant about never revealing her clients’ identities. In a way it was a good thing—it meant she’d never talk about him. “You wanna give me his name?” he asked, hopeful as ever.

  An enigmatic smile. “You know I can’t do that.”

  He ran a hand through his curly brown hair. “You’re somethin’ else, babe. How come you chose to be a hooker, not an actress or model?”

  “You ask me that every time, Max.”

  “What’s the answer?”

  “I can choose who I sleep with.” Not true, she thought. If you can choose, why are you meeting Mister X, when you know he’s a sick pervert? “Models and actresses—they have to cater to people, they’re worried about their next magazine cover, their next movie. Me—I never have to worry about the next client, they’re lining up.”

  “You gonna name the politician?” Max asked eagerly, hungry for information.

  Kristin shook her head. “You know I’m not.”

  “Okay, okay,” Max said, giving up. “But you can at least tell me what he got up to—or down to—depending on his trip.”

  “Well . . .” Kristin began, making up a fabulously erotic story that made Max’s eyes bug.

  Their ritual was always the same. An hour-long lunch, during which she fed him sexy stories which she swore were true, and some of which were. Then she’d follow his car to the Century Plaza Hotel, where he’d rented a penthouse suite. Another girl would be waiting, and after snorting a little coke, the three of them would go in the bedroom. Max would sit in a chair, watching and barking orders, while they did everything he requested. Sometimes he joined in. Sometimes he didn’t. Then he would hand out cash and everybody would go home.

  She’d repeated this scenario with Max Steele for almost a year now, and the order of events never varied.

  Idly she wondered how he’d react if she told him the only reason she was doing this was to support her sister who lay in a coma in a nursing home. Would he offer money and help her to get out of the business? Or would he merely put an end to their monthly meetings because she made him feel guilty? It was difficult to know.

  Max glanced at his gold Rolex watch. He’d almost canceled Kristin today, thinking he might save himself for the evening’s activities. But then it had occurred to him that it might be better to indulge in some afternoon sex. That way he wouldn’t be too anxious with Inga. He’d be in control, so if he did manage to get into her sexy little thong, he could give her the great lover treatment he was famous for. Sex with Kristin would keep his appetite at bay. She was very good at what she did.

  He studied her face as she sipped her wine. She was quite a knockout, in a totally different way from Inga. Blond, fresh and pretty, the girl-next-door look with a body to die for.

  Max had only been in love once, and that was with a girl in high school who’d treated him badly, humiliating him in front of his friends. He’d never forgotten her, never forgiven her either.

  It was nice to be with a woman whom he controlled for an hour or so.

  It was satisfying to be able to call every shot.

  chapter 15

  “HI.” SA
LLI T. ANSWERED THE door of her huge Pacific Palisades mansion herself. She was barefoot, wearing a skimpy little sundress that barely covered the top of her thighs. What was most evident were her long skinny brown legs, huge silicone boobs, white-blond hair and an abundance of makeup. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, full of enthusiasm. “Come on in.”

  Madison entered the vast mansion, where she was immediately set upon by two small, fluffy white dogs who jumped all over her ankles, sniffing and barking.

  “This is Muff and Snuff,” Salli T. said, making no attempt to call them off. “Aren’t they adorable? Bobby bought them for me on our wedding day. We took them on our honeymoon, and they crapped all over the bedroom. Boy—was he furious! But you know what? Now he loves them as much as I do.” She scooped up one of the barking dogs and nuzzled its furry little face into hers. “I’m so happy when I’m around animals. Do you have a pet?”

  Madison shook her head. “It’s not that easy when you live in a New York apartment.”

  “Tell you what,” Salli T. said brightly. “If these two ever have puppies, I’ll send you one. I read this thing once where it said you live ten years longer if you own a dog.”

  “Ten years longer than what?”

  Salli T. squealed with laughter. “You’re so funnee!”

  Madison looked around. The front hall was all soft pile carpets and soaring mirrored walls. Directly facing her was a giant portrait of Salli T., bare-assed, lying facedown on a white sheepskin rug.

  “That was from my first Playboy shoot,” Salli said proudly. “I know it’s kind of a trip to hang it in the front hall, but it sure gets a lot of attention!” She giggled. “Bobby loves it. He brings all his friends by—just to take a peek.”

  “I bet he does,” Madison murmured.

  An Asian man in tight orange pants and a white tank top appeared in the hall. “This is Froo,” Salli said, waving in his direction. “Anything you want, all you gotta do is ask. He’s fixing us lunch. And after, if you want a massage, he does that, too.”

  “No, thank you,” Madison said quickly.

  “You sure?” Salli said, leading her through the living room, outside to an Olympic-size, brilliant blue pool. “If you let him near your feet, it’s totally orgasmic!”

  Madison took in the view of the ocean, which shimmered like a glorious picture postcard.

  “We can swim after lunch,” Salli said. “It’s real good for the boobs—keeps ’em up, if you know what I mean!”

  “Didn’t occur to me to bring my swimsuit,” Madison said.

  “That’s okay, I’ll lend you something.”

  The thought of her slim figure in one of Salli T.’s outrageous black rubber swimsuits brought a smile to Madison’s lips.

  “We’re eating beside the pool,” Salli said. “Sooo Hollywood. But, y’know, this is what I dreamed about when I was a little girl. I wished I’d get to live in a place like this. And my wish came true. Sometimes I have to pinch myself—isn’t that crazy?”

  “You know,” Madison said, sensing that this was going to be a terrific piece. “That’s exactly what I’d like to talk about. Your dreams, how you got here, the way the people you met on the way up treated you, the men in Hollywood, all of that stuff.”

  “Wow!” Salli giggled. “Usually people just wanna know how big my boobs are.”

  “Well, today,” Madison said, “will certainly be different.”

  chapter 16

  JUST AS KRISTIN HAD FINISHED dressing all in white for her meeting with Mister X, her phone rang. To answer or not to answer—that was the question. It might be Mister X canceling again, or perhaps the nursing home with news of Cherie. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of not answering her phone, so she quickly picked up.

  “Is this the hamburger queen?” said a male voice.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s me, Jake. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  On impulse she’d given him her number, but she’d never thought he’d call. In spite of herself she felt a tiny buzz of excitement. “Well . . .” she said hesitantly.

  He sighed. “Guess I am.”

  “No, no . . .” she said quickly. “I can talk.”

  “I realize this is kind of late notice,” Jake said, “but I’m on my way to my brother’s house for a home-cooked meal. Can you come?”

  No, Jake, I will be otherwise engaged with a disgusting perverted freak.

  “I’d love to, only—”

  “I know, I know,” he said ruefully. “You’ve probably got guys lined up around the block.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Actually, I have a business appointment,” she said stiffly.

  “I was thinking,” he said. “What with me doing all the talking last night, I never got around to asking what you do.”

  I’m a call girl, sweetheart. Extremely expensive. Very talented. So if you know what’s good for you—stay away.

  “I . . . uh . . . I’m a makeup artist,” she lied. “I go to people’s homes and give them a professional makeup.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yes. It’s what I do.”

  “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “In that case maybe I can hire you.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, frowning.

  “Photographer. Makeup artist. We should work together.”

  One part of her wanted to keep talking, but sanity warned her to steer clear of all personal relationships. Getting involved could only lead to big trouble.

  Then why did you give him your phone number?

  How the hell should I know?

  “Uh . . . I have to go,” she said, aware that she sounded flustered. “I’m running late for my appointment.”

  “How about I give you my brother’s address, and maybe you can drop by later when you’re through?” A meaningful pause. “I’d very much like to see you again, Kristin.”

  And I’d like to see you, too, Jake.

  “Okay,” she said, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen.

  She had no intention of going—but just in case she changed her mind . . .

  * * *

  On their way to Jimmy Sica’s house in the Valley, Madison recounted her afternoon with Salli T. “I never thought I’d say this,” she said. “But Salli’s adorable. If I was a guy, I’d probably fall in love with her—silicone boobs and all.”

  “Oh, come on,” Natalie said disbelievingly, as she raced her car along the freeway. “Salli T. Turner is the definitive Hollywood cliché. All giant tits and candy-floss hair.”

  “She plays that role,” Madison explained. “Which is why she’s so successful. But I’m here to tell you that underneath all the dumb gloss and glitter lurks a very nice little kid who’s enjoying every moment. Trust me—this woman had it tough getting to the top.”

  “Sure,” Natalie said with a toss of her head. “I can tell you about tough.”

  “Don’t be such a mean bitch.”

  “I’m not a bitch,” Natalie objected indignantly. “I’m merely voicing the way everyone thinks about her.”

  “No, you’re being judgmental. If you got to know her, I promise you—you’d really like her.”

  “Okay, okay, if you say so,” Natalie said, barely missing a huge truck as she skimmed past. “And how about the cute husband? Did you get to meet him?”

  “He’s in Vegas,” Madison said, making sure her seat belt was firmly buckled because Natalie’s driving was a trip indeed. “He called ten times, and they had these lovey-dovey conversations. It was quite sweet. They certainly seem to be in love.”

  Natalie pulled a face. “Think I’m gonna throw up!”

  “Will you stop being such a cynic.”

  “Thing I’m surprised at is you,” Natalie chided, as she zoomed alongside a Ferrari. “I’d take a bet with you that their marriage will not make it to the end of the year.”

  “No, Natalie,” Madison said, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. What they have between them is genuine. Y’
see, they both come from small towns, both arrived in L.A. determined to make it big. Now they’ve got everyone falling all over them to do anything they want, and they’re loving it. I’m telling you, I like her a lot, and so would you if you got to know her.”

  Natalie was still unconvinced. “Puleease,” she said.

  “She told me some great stories,” Madison offered.

  This got Natalie’s attention. “Hmm . . .” she said, eyes gleaming. “Tell me every detail.”

  “No. You’ll have to read about them in the magazine like everyone else.”

  “Oh, come on,” Natalie complained, almost rear-ending a white Toyota. “You wouldn’t do that to me—your best friend.”

  Madison placed her hands on the dashboard. “Oh, yes, I would.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Natalie said, blithely changing lanes. “You give me all the juicy bits before the magazine hits the stands, and I’ll do a whole program on it—y’know, give the mag a big plug so people’ll be racing out to buy it.”

  “I hate to tell you this,” Madison said, “but they race out anyway.”

  “Why can’t you be like everyone else and get behind plugging something?” Natalie grumbled as she exited the freeway, cutting off a man in a sports car who gave her the finger.

  “In my next life,” Madison joked.

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Never said I was.”

  A few minutes later Natalie pulled her car to a shuddering stop in front of a modest country-style house on a quiet side street. “Okay, so I’d better fill you in on Jimmy Sica.”

  “What about him?” Madison asked, releasing her seat belt, relieved they’d arrived in one piece.

  “He’s incredibly handsome, with a lovely wife—picture displayed proudly on his desk.” A succinct pause. “And . . . I think he’s coming on to me.”

  Madison raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, you think he’s coming on to you? Either he is or he isn’t.”

  “Well,” Natalie said unsurely. “I guess he is, but somehow I can’t believe it ’cause he’s married to such a gorgeous woman.”