Lovers & Players

  She glared back. ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Then I suggest you think about it,’ he said coldly. ‘We will meet tomorrow, and in the meantime you can exercise your memory and come up with some answers, because the son-of-a-bitch is blackmailing me, and I’m sure you don’t want him running to the tabloids anymore than I do. Tomorrow we’ll come up with a solution together.’

  And with those words he got up and slammed his way out of her apartment.

  ‘You dumb fuckhead.’

  ‘Huh?’ Chris said, fresh out of the shower as he picked up the bathroom phone.

  ‘Dumb motherfucker,’ the harsh voice repeated.

  ‘Roth?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s Roth, you Hollywood asshole.’

  ‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Chris asked, reaching for a towel.

  ‘I got it all right. What kind of a shit-assed game d’you think you’re playin’?’

  ‘No games, Roth, I swear,’ Chris said, knotting the towel round his waist. ‘It’s a legitimate family thing keeping me in New York. It’s my father…He’s, uh…very sick.’

  ‘Fuck your father an’ fuck you,’ Roth growled. ‘I want my fuckin’ money.’

  This was not the Roth Giagante he knew, the affable, laid-back owner of the Magiriano Hotel.

  ‘I want you to listen to me, Roth. You’ve been bitching about your hotel losing money–that the Palms and the Hard Rock are getting all the young action. Well, I have an answer for you—’

  ‘Fuck you. This is about your fuckin’ debt. Nothin’ else.’

  ‘I understand, and you’ll get your money. But right now I’m about to offer you something that’ll assure the Magiriano a worldwide publicity bonanza.’

  ‘I’m sendin’ someone to see you in New York,’ Roth said ominously. ‘You can expect a visitor.’

  ‘So can you,’ Chris said quickly. ‘Birdy Marvel wants to get married at your hotel.’

  ‘You’re pissin’ on the wrong guy,’ Roth said, and the line went dead.

  Chris wasn’t sure if Roth had hung up on him or if they’d been cut off. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And mentioning Birdy Marvel had not exactly sent Roth singing to the rafters. Obviously the Vegas bigshot didn’t get the enormous publicity bonanza Birdy Marvel would bring to his hotel.

  Chris wondered if it was worthwhile flying home for the day.

  No, he decided, it wasn’t. He’d explain everything to Roth when he got back to L.A. late on Monday.

  Then he started thinking. What the hell was that visitor threat? Christ! Surely Roth wasn’t serious?

  Just in case, he decided to take out some protection. He called down to the front desk and requested a driver-bodyguard for the evening.

  ‘Certainly, Mr Diamond,’ said the concierge, used to such requests.

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘He’ll be waiting for you. We’ll call your suite.’

  After that he felt better. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered, wondering why his life had suddenly turned to shit. His immaculate house had major leaks, Verona was turning into a bitch, and now Roth had become an impossible gangster-style pain in the ass. If he hadn’t promised to go with Jett to Max’s bachelor party, he would’ve cancelled and stayed safely in the hotel.

  I need a drink, he thought, and went to the mini-bar, where he selected a miniature of Jack Daniel’s and drank it straight from the bottle.

  Ever since Red’s request to see him, nothing had been going right. It was the curse of his old man. Why didn’t the old bastard drop dead and leave them all alone?

  Was that too harsh?

  No.

  An hour later Jett arrived at the hotel. ‘Nice suite,’ he said, wandering around. ‘You believe in treating yourself good, huh?’

  ‘I’m not married, got nobody else to spend it on except me,’ Chris said.

  ‘Be nice if I could say the same.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘No,’ Jett answered, walking to the window and staring out at the New York skyline. ‘I wish I could say I’ve got nobody to spend it on except me. Problem is, I haven’t got much to spend.’

  ‘You gotta be making money modelling?’

  ‘Horse crap compared to what you guys pull in. You and Max are rolling in it.’

  ‘If only that was so,’ Chris said. ‘Unfortunately, little bro’, I’ve got myself into something kinda dumb.’

  ‘You?’ Jett said, sounding surprised. ‘C’mon, Chris, you’re a sharp lawyer. Dumb is my bag.’

  Chris shrugged. ‘I started gambling.’

  ‘Gambling?’

  ‘I had this girlfriend, Holly Anton, a complete maniac, sex and anything else you can think of. Every weekend we flew to Vegas, and before I knew it I was hooked on poker and blackjack. It wasn’t long before I’d lost a lot of money. Now I owe big and they’re chasing me for it.’

  ‘Who’s chasing you?’ Jett asked, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Some Vegas bigshot. You can’t give those guys a cheque, they want cash, and right now I don’t have it.’

  ‘How much are we talking?’

  ‘Plenty. I flew here to see if Red’s about to kick it and leave us something.’

  ‘Same reason I’m here,’ Jett said, inhaling deeply. ‘Our old man treated us like trash, and our mothers the same way, but he’s still our father. I was thinking this could be how he’s gonna make it up to us.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Chris said guardedly. ‘Do you have to smoke in here?’

  ‘Is it bothering you?’

  ‘Frankly, yes.’

  ‘Then you’d better not go to Europe,’ Jett said, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Everyone smokes there.’

  ‘Did you ever get into gambling?’ Chris asked curiously.

  ‘No, just booze, women and drugs. That was enough. Smoking’s my only addiction now.’

  ‘It must be a satisfying feeling to put all the crap behind you.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Jett said, with a rueful grin. ‘It’s never behind you. I’m twenty-four and I’m an alcoholic. Oh, sure, a recovering alcoholic, but you never know what tomorrow brings. When I was drinking I was a wild man, the kind of person you didn’t wanna be around.’

  ‘You’re telling me?’ Chris said. ‘I remember Red’s seventy-fifth birthday party when you walked in with the Puerto Rican hooker. You were wearing no pants and feeling no pain. That was some sight!’

  They both started laughing.

  ‘I expect that particular scene went down well with the family, huh?’ Jett said wryly. ‘Especially Red.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, it was a laugh riot!’

  ‘Here’s the good news. I’m not the same person today.’

  ‘That’s nice to know.’

  ‘I’m the new, improved, sober and boring Jett. And I couldn’t care less if I ever have another drink.’

  ‘Okay, little bro’,’ Chris said. ‘I believe you. Now it’s time to hit the road and see what Max’s bachelor party has in store for us.’

  ‘I had no clue he was even divorced until I got here. Who’s he marrying now?’

  ‘Dunno. Guess we should ask him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jett said, grinning. ‘Guess we should.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Are we going somewhere?’ Lady Jane Bentley asked, entering Red Diamond’s pristine dressing room where he was busy picking out clothes.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ Red replied, choosing a white shirt from a hanging row of immaculate others. ‘I am going to Max’s bachelor party.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she replied. ‘You’re going where?’

  ‘I’m going to my son’s bachelor party,’ Red repeated, his voice rising. ‘What are you, woman–deaf?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were invited.’

  Red threw her a withering look. He was fast becoming bored with Lady Jane Bentley. Six years was long enough to be with one woman. Besides, getting old was not for the weak. Now, when he required a hard-on, he had to take
Viagra, and that infuriated him. A hard-on was a hard-on, not something manufactured by a little blue pill.

  ‘Red Diamond doesn’t need an invitation,’ he said off-handedly, her very presence irritating him.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, well aware that he was not in a mood to be pushed, but pushing anyway.

  ‘Yes, I can imagine it must be difficult for you to understand something so simple,’ he replied. ‘You’re not exactly a brain.’

  ‘I told your sons you couldn’t meet them this morning because you were feeling unwell,’ she said, refusing to go away.

  ‘So?’ Red cackled. ‘As you can see, I’ve made a rapid recovery.’

  ‘Surely it will seem odd if you turn up uninvited.’

  ‘Why are you so interested in my business?’

  ‘You are my business, Red. I’ve lived with you for six years, and even though we don’t share a bedroom, everything you do concerns me.’

  ‘What does not sharing a bedroom have to do with anything?’

  ‘Sharing a bedroom is true intimacy.’

  ‘To you it is,’ he said disdainfully. ‘To me it’s shit. If I want to fart all night I don’t care to listen to your complaints.’

  ‘Is it necessary to be so crude?’

  ‘What’s crude about farting? Too rough for your delicate ears?’

  ‘Sometimes I fail to understand you,’ she said, her mouth tightening.

  ‘You don’t understand much today, do you?’ he said, attempting to ignore her.

  She decided to stay silent. It was no good arguing with Red when he was in one of his cantankerous moods. However, going to a bachelor party, especially for one of his sons, was so out of character. She didn’t like it.

  Lately she’d felt that what little control she had over him was slipping away. Red never listened to her anyway. The only reason she stayed was because he was almost eighty, and how much longer did he have? She presumed that since she’d invested six good years she would be well taken care of. Red Diamond was one of the richest men in the world, and she was the person closest to him. He hated everyone else, as he never tired of telling her, so she was quite confident that she would inherit the bulk of his fortune, and that was why she stayed and put up with his uncouth behaviour and rudeness.

  ‘Very well.’ She sighed. ‘If you’re going out, I might go out also and have dinner with a friend.’

  ‘You have friends?’ Red said, a sarcastic tinge to his voice.

  ‘Is that such a surprise?’ she answered, determined not to allow him to get the better of her. ‘I realize you never make the effort to meet them, but I have many friends in New York.’

  ‘After you divorced your husband, do you think he was sorry to see you go?’ Red inquired, selecting a four-hundred-dollar silk tie, and holding it up to the mirror.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘’Cause you’re not the greatest cocksucker in the world,’ Red said, with a crude chuckle, knowing she’d be offended by his language and not caring.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ Lady Jane said, her face flushing a dull red. ‘I’ve told you before, I will not put up with your crass vulgarities.’

  ‘If you don’t like it, you know what you can do,’ Red muttered, hoping she might take the hint. ‘And right now you can get out while I finish dressing.’

  She stared at him for a moment, prepared to do battle if she had to. Then she realized that letting go was the smart move for now.

  He would pay for his lack of civility. Oh, yes, he would definitely pay.

  After leaving Mariska’s apartment, Max went home, took a shower, had another couple of drinks, tried to call Amy–who did not answer her phone–dressed, and finally set off.

  ‘Make sure I’m out of here by eleven,’ he ordered his driver tersely as they pulled up outside the private gentlemen’s club where his bachelor party was to take place.

  ‘Yes, sir, Mr Diamond.’

  ‘Christ!’ Max muttered, under his breath. ‘I wish I didn’t have to do this.’

  His driver said nothing.

  Max made his way into the club, a venue chosen by two of his younger executives, both married, both new fathers, both out to have a raucous good time.

  The club was closed for the night so the private party could take place without any gawkers. In the main room three tables were set out in front of a circular stage, each table seated ten people.

  Max looked around and groaned inwardly, suspecting what he was about to endure.

  He was greeted by Clive Barnaby, his chief executive, a tall, thin man with pointed features and caterpillar eyebrows. ‘Max!’ Clive said, clapping him on the shoulders. ‘This is going to be some night.’

  A young topless waitress sidled over, seeming completely oblivious that her breasts were on show. ‘What would the bachelor boy like to drink?’ she asked, with a wide and somewhat phoney smile.

  ‘Give me a Scotch on the rocks,’ he said, trying to avert his eyes from her perky nipples, randomly scattered with silver glitter.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, with another fake smile.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure there are no photographers here?’ Max said, turning back to Clive.

  ‘Would I let anyone do that to you?’ Clive said. ‘The only camera on the premises is my digital. We’ll print out a few photos just for our own amusement.’

  ‘No pictures,’ Max said sternly. ‘Not with your camera or anyone else’s.’

  ‘You don’t want any souvenirs of tonight?’ Clive asked, disappointed.

  ‘I don’t even want to be here tonight.’

  ‘Your brothers are over there,’ Clive said, gesturing toward the centre table. ‘I didn’t even know you had brothers, Max. It’s quite a surprise they’re here.’

  ‘No surprise to me,’ Max said evenly. ‘I invited them.’

  ‘You forgot to mention it.’

  ‘I didn’t realize tonight was so formal.’

  ‘There’s a list of guests at the door. We wouldn’t want anyone from the gossip columns sneaking in.’

  ‘I’m hardly Donald Trump. Why would they be interested in anything I do?’

  ‘Mariska’s often in the columns. And now that you’re getting married to Amy Scott-Simon, it’s quite a story.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Max snapped. ‘I hate this!’

  ‘Calm down,’ Clive said quickly. ‘You’re not going to see anything tonight that you haven’t seen before.’

  ‘That’s comforting,’ Max said sarcastically.

  ‘The Japanese contingent are by the bar. Believe me, they’re very happy to be here. I’ll make sure they get a front-row view of all the action. If this doesn’t seal the deal I don’t know what will. Come over and say hello.’

  Max followed Clive to the bar, where he made sure Mr Zagawaski and Mr Yamamoto felt suitably honoured.

  After dealing with the two Japanese bankers, he strolled over to his brothers and sat down. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ Chris replied, downing a vodka on the rocks, ‘if you really want to know, my house in California is springing leaks, I’m breaking up with my girlfriend, I’m being chased by a guy to whom I owe money in Vegas, but, hey, apart from that I’m doing fine.’

  ‘You owe money?’ Max said disapprovingly.

  ‘A gambling debt.’

  ‘I’ve never gambled,’ Max said, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘It’s throwing money away.’

  ‘You got any vices?’ Jett asked curiously.

  ‘Mariska,’ Max answered drily. ‘She was vice enough. And, as you know, I dumped her.’

  ‘How’s Lulu?’ Jett asked.

  ‘Lulu’s a fantastic little girl, you should meet her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I suppose I could arrange a brunch tomorrow,’ Max said thoughtfully. ‘We usually spend Saturdays together.’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘How about you?’ Max asked, turning to Chris. ‘Can you
make it?’

  ‘Sorry, I have to see Birdy Marvel. She wants to get married, so it’s pre-nup time.’

  ‘The singer?’ Max said. ‘She’s Lulu’s favourite. Perhaps you can arrange to get her an autographed picture.’

  ‘How old is Lulu now?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Isn’t she a little young to be a fan of Birdy Marvel?’

  ‘Let me know when you meet her,’ Max said. ‘Five is yesterday’s ten. Lulu’s very grown-up.’

  After drinks and mingling, everyone sat down. Dinner was served by six topless waitresses assisted by a dozen waiters. The waitresses wore nothing but high heels, sheer black stockings with lacy suspenders, and the mere whisper of a skirt. The waiters were fully dressed.

  Caesar salad was the first course, followed by large portions of Kobe steak, with creamed horseradish potatoes and an assortment of steamed vegetables.

  As Max chewed his steak, Red Diamond walked in. The shock was intense as the entire room fell into silence. Everyone knew who Red Diamond was.

  Almost choking on his steak, Max stood up. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘Surprising you,’ Red said, clicking his fingers at a waiter to pull up a chair for him next to Max.

  ‘Jesus, I–I thought you weren’t feeling well this morning. We came to the house for the meeting, and Jane told us—’

  ‘I recovered,’ Red interrupted, ‘so I thought I’d come visit my boys.’ He glanced over at Chris and Jett. ‘Hello, boys,’ he said sarcastically.

  Jett froze. Red frightened the shit out of him. He never knew what to say in the presence of his father, even now, when there wasn’t a chance in hell the old man could take a stick to him.

  Chris nodded, angry and resentful–the way Red always made him feel. And wasn’t the old man supposed to be on his deathbed? Why was he all dressed up in a suit and tie looking healthy as a fucking horse? ‘Hey, Dad,’ he managed.

  ‘Do not call me Dad,’ Red answered gruffly. ‘Sounds old. Call me Red. I’ve told you that since you were dumb little kids. Don’t any of you ever listen?’