‘Yes,’ agreed Dana, a curvaceous redhead with a sexy overbite. ‘You can’t get hitched without a bachelorette night. It’s tradition.’
‘And don’t think,’ Yolanda interrupted, ‘that your intended is not going to have himself a bachelor night. An’ those things get wild. Strippers, hookers, all kinda slutlings.’
‘Slutlings?’ Amy said, frowning. ‘What are they?’
‘Girls from hell!’ Dana joked. ‘An engaged woman’s worst nightmare!’
‘You guys are so cynical,’ Amy said, shaking her head. ‘Believe me, Max is not like that.’
‘Oh, sure,’ Yolanda and Dana chorused together, both rolling their eyes. ‘He’s a man, isn’t he? He’s got a dick, hasn’t he?’
At that moment Sofia Courtenelli appeared. In the overcrowded field of fashion, Sofia Courtenelli was a star. Chic and no-nonsense, she was in her early fifties, well preserved, with pale copper hair worn in a severe bob, skilfully applied dramatic eye make-up and a permanent St. Tropez tan. Although Sofia was a hard worker, she still managed to spend most weekends either in the South of France or the Hamptons, depending on the season. Sofia was a party animal.
‘Amy!’ she said imperiously, snapping her fingers, showing off silver nail polish and an assortment of diamond rings. ‘Follow me.’
‘Yes, Miz Courtenelli,’ Amy said, trailing her boss into Sofia’s luxuriously appointed office.
‘Sit down,’ Sofia commanded, waving her towards an over-stuffed gold-lacquered chair with leopard-print upholstery and ornate carved legs.
Amy sat, wondering what was on the agenda. She didn’t usually get a one-on-one with her glamorous and somewhat intimidating boss.
‘Is true you getting married?’ Sofia said, in her low-down, slightly accented voice. Amy nodded. ‘To Max Diamond?’
‘That’s right,’ Amy agreed, wondering what was coming next.
‘Hmm…’ Sofia murmured, picking up a silver Cartier pen and tapping it impatiently on her Roman marble desk-top. ‘He is quite the catch, no?’
Amy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she mumbled a quick ‘Thank you.’
‘Is good,’ Sofia said, nodding to herself.
‘Uh…yes.’
‘Maybe I come to the wedding,’ Sofia added casually, as if it had only just occurred to her.
Oh, crap, they hadn’t sent her an invitation, even though Nancy had wanted to. Amy had thought having her boss there would be too nerve-racking. Now she had no choice. ‘Uh…we’d love you to come,’ she lied, quick as a flash.
‘Bene,’ Sofia said, twirling a trio of thin diamond bracelets on her tanned and slightly scrawny wrist. ‘I bring Carlo.’
Everyone knew about Sofia’s toy-boys. She had a line-up she paraded to various events, and Carlo was currently her number-one pick. Lean and lizard-like, twenty-two-year-old Carlo was a raging bisexual. Apparently this didn’t bother Sofia, as it was rumoured she was into girls as well as toy-boys, so why would it matter?
‘That’s great,’ Amy said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Oh, God, her mother was going to kill her: this would definitely screw up Nancy’s extremely well-thought-out seating arrangements.
‘And who make your dress?’ Sofia inquired, her mild tone hiding a sudden flash of annoyance as she realized it obviously wasn’t the House of Courtenelli.
‘Uh…Valentino,’ Amy muttered. ‘My mother—’
‘No need to explain,’ Sofia said, holding up an authoritative diamond beringed hand. ‘Although–how you say?–press-wise, is bad thing you not ask me.’
‘My mother—’ Amy began.
Sofia cut her off again. ‘Prego, dear,’ she said dismissively, indicating the door. ‘We speak enough.’
Amy slunk out. Of course, Sofia Courtenelli was right. She should’ve invited her to the wedding, and asked her to design the dress, instead of listening to her mother, who’d insisted on Valentino, a close personal friend.
Too late now.
Amy hoped this little breach of etiquette hadn’t put her job in jeopardy. Even though she was getting married, she planned on continuing to work. She and Max had not discussed it, but she saw no reason for him to object.
Later that day she had lunch with Tina, her best friend from college. Tina, a petite brunette, was happily pregnant with the enviable glow that many pregnant women project. Married for two years to Brad, a commodities dealer, Tina was excited about her baby, due in a couple of weeks.
The two of them went to downtown Cipriani, where Amy told Tina about her uncomfortable meeting with Sofia Courtenelli, before seguing onto the offer she’d received of a bachelorette party from her co-workers, and how she really didn’t want one.
‘Yes!’ Tina said, thumping the table with her fist. ‘It’s a fabulous idea. You need to cut loose–you’re way too uptight.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
Amy wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks.’
‘Come on, Amy, get real, you’re marrying a man you haven’t even slept with. How weird is that?’
‘Shout a little louder,’ Amy said, glancing around the restaurant. ‘The person at the corner table didn’t hear you.’
‘Listen to me,’ Tina said, lowering her voice. ‘What if Max is a dud in bed? You wouldn’t even know.’
‘Yes, I would,’ Amy answered stubbornly. ‘I certainly would.’
‘How?’ Tina persisted, leaning her elbows on the table and staring at her best friend.
‘I might be the last virgin in Manhattan, but I’ve had my experiences.’
‘Neckin’ ain’t fuckin’,’ Tina said succinctly, putting on a loud Brooklyn accent.
‘You are so crass,’ Amy said, once more darting her eyes around the restaurant to see who’d overheard that little gem.
‘You have no idea how crass I can be,’ Tina said, breaking into laughter.
‘Oh, yes, I do,’ Amy retorted, nibbling on a breadstick. ‘We were college room-mates, remember?’
‘How could I ever forget? That first year you were a total pain.’
‘So were you.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ Tina objected, shaking her head. ‘I was merely trying to figure you out. You were so introverted. It wasn’t until you told me about the kidnapping thing—’
‘Don’t!’ Amy interrupted. ‘I confided that in strict confidence, and I never want to talk about it again.’
‘You should’ve seen a therapist,’ Tina said. ‘I don’t understand your mother…’
‘That’s okay’ Amy said dryly. ‘Nobody does, including me.’
‘Look, here’s the deal,’ Tina said, tapping her fingers on the table. ‘I adore my husband–Brad’s the best. But I have to tell you, there are times I kind of wish I’d experimented more before getting married. Y’ know, put myself out there and gone wild.’
‘Really?’ Amy said, surprised. ‘But you and Brad are such a fantastic couple. You never fight, you’re always in sync, you—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tina interrupted, feigning a yawn. ‘We’re perfect, and I would never cheat on Brad. However,’ she added pointedly, ‘you’ve still got a window of opportunity, and in view of your sexual history–or non-history–it’s kind of important you don’t rush into marriage with absolutely no experience. So…my advice is that you should put yourself out there and have a quick fling. As long as you’re careful, you’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ Amy said, frowning. ‘It would be—’
‘It’s not as if I’m suggesting a relationship,’ Tina said, interrupting again. ‘More like, y’ know, a sexy one-nighter.’
‘Tina! You’re out of control!’
‘C’mon, sweetie,’ Tina cajoled. ‘If you don’t do something wild now, you’ll never know, and that would be sad.’
‘What if I don’t want to know?’ Amy said, trying to convince herself how wrong Tina was. ‘What if I’m perfectly happy with the way things are?’
‘Th
e least you can do is think about it,’ Tina said, teasingly adding, ‘Who knows? You might even enjoy it.’
On her way back to the office Amy couldn’t help thinking over Tina’s outlandish suggestions. A quick fling. A sexy one-nighter. It so wasn’t her. And yet…
The next day her friends at work were all over her about the bachelorette party. Finally she’d agreed, just to shut them up.
Tonight was the night.
In a way she was dreading it.
On the other hand–why not have some fun? Like Tina said, she might even enjoy it.
Chapter Eight
‘Lookin’ good, my man,’ Beverly exclaimed, hands on hips. ‘Real good.’
Jett grinned at his old friend. ‘And you–what can I say? You’re still the hottest babe in New York.’
‘Yeah, not bad for an old bag,’ she said wryly. ‘I’m gonna be thirty any minute. Freakin’ thirty! How is that possible?’
‘I heard tell thirty is the new thirteen,’ he said, winking at her.
‘Stoned or sober, you always did know the right thing to say,’ she replied, indicating her companion, a thin white dude with a scraggly beard and long hair pulled back in a ponytail, very nineteen-seventies. ‘Meet my man, Chet, he’s a musician.’
‘Hey!’ Jett said, holding out his hand.
Chet responded with a hostile nod.
Beverly gave an amused laugh. ‘He thinks we fucked,’ she said, quite unperturbed. ‘Keep on telling him we didn’t.’
‘Hey, man, I can promise you we didn’t,’ Jett assured Chet, whose sour expression remained the same.
Dinner was all about catching up. Beverly wanted to hear everything about his stay in Italy, so over a good old American steak and a side of fries, he filled her in.
Chet did not appear to be the talkative type. He sat at the table totally silent, until Jett got him discussing his music. Then, finally, he warmed up. It turned out he was a session musician who’d jammed with Springsteen and the Stones. He was also in AA, so they bonded over that, and by the time Beverly suggested they drop by Gatsby’s–the hot new club–they were not exactly close but at least they were having a conversation.
In the cab on the way to Gatsby’s, Jett changed his mind. ‘Y’ know, I’m feeling kinda jet-lagged,’ he said, stretching his arms and yawning. ‘You two go have a blast. I’m gonna bail.’
‘No way!’ Beverly insisted, giving him a playful punch in the chest. ‘You’re comin’, I insist.’
‘Gimme a break,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s five a.m. Milan time. And my girlfriend gave me some sweet send-off.’
‘Too bad,’ Beverly responded, refusing to take no for an answer. ‘Consider this your welcome-back party. You are not bailing!’
‘I’m not, huh?’
‘Like I said–no way.’
He grinned and reached for a cigarette. ‘Guess I’m coming.’
She grinned back. ‘Guess you are.’
Beverly knew the doorman at Gatsby’s. She sashayed over to the menacing-looking man, gave him a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and he ushered them into the club past a milling crowd of wannabes. The scene reminded Jett of the old days when he’d been on familiar terms with every doorman and bouncer in town. They’d all known him. They hadn’t all welcomed him.
Man, he’d been thrown out of more places…
But things were different now. He was in control and he had to admit it was a pretty nice feeling.
Any excuse and Mariska was on the phone. ‘Lulu has a temperature and she wishes to see you,’ his ex-wife informed him.
Max stifled his aggravation. It was late and he did not relish going out again. ‘I’ll come by in the morning,’ he said stiffly.
‘That is not good enough.’ Mariska sniffed. ‘Your daughter wants to see you now.’
He knew that Mariska was hoping he was lying in bed next to his fiancée. Anything she could do to disrupt his relationship with Amy was okay with her.
Well, too bad, he wasn’t. He and Amy did not live together. They had not even had sex. Amy wanted to wait until they were married, and he respected her for that. A girl with morals. It made a refreshing change from the usual social piranhas who chased after him for his money, hot to score a rich husband.
‘Okay,’ he muttered.
‘Okay what?’
‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘I would think so,’ Mariska said, in the superior tone he hated.
Mariska was extremely fond of getting the last word. It didn’t bother him because he was used to it, although after he and Amy were married, things would have to change. No more phone calls in the middle of the night unless it was an absolute emergency. His ex-wife would soon learn that he was no longer available.
He buzzed down to the garage to have his car brought up, not pleased to have to go out, but concerned about Lulu. After calling for his car, he wondered if he should speak to his personal physician or wait until he saw his little daughter, then decided it was best to wait. Damnit, this was so inconvenient.
Mariska greeted him at the door to her apartment clad in a diaphanous negligee and high-heeled mules trimmed with fur. She was perfectly made up as usual, her shoulder-length flaxen hair straight and shiny.
It occurred to Max that she was still a very attractive woman, so why couldn’t she find a man to take her off his hands? It shouldn’t be that hard.
Unfortunately he knew the reason only too well. She had no desire to become involved with anyone because she would never relinquish the title of Mrs Maxwell Diamond. It gave her the cachet she required. Social acceptance was of utmost importance to Mariska, and even though she was the ex-Mrs Diamond, in her world it still counted.
‘How’s Lulu?’ he asked, stepping inside the marble foyer.
‘Asleep,’ Mariska replied, unfazed. ‘You cannot disturb her.’
‘What do you mean, I can’t disturb her?’ he said brusquely. ‘You told me she had to see me.’
‘Unfortunately you took too long,’ Mariska replied, steely-eyed as usual. ‘It is good she is sleeping.’
He wanted to slap her face. He wanted to put his handprint on that creamy white skin and make his mark.
But he didn’t. He kept his temper in check. This move was typical of Mariska, so he wasn’t surprised. ‘I’ll go take a look at her,’ he said, attempting to move past his ex-wife.
‘No,’ Mariska said, blocking his way. ‘You’ll wake her. You know what a light sleeper she is.’
‘Of course I know,’ he said shortly. ‘She’s my daughter, isn’t she.’
It was a statement, not a question. So when Mariska murmured a sly ‘Maybe,’ Max was shocked. ‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I said maybe you should go home now,’ Mariska said, turning away from him.
But the damage had been done.
Max left her apartment in a fury, the seeds of doubt firmly planted.
As soon as he could get away with it, Chris ducked out of Birdy’s party and headed over to Elaine’s, where he joined up with his one writer client, Gregory Dark–a grizzled bear of a man who specialized in writing gritty crime stories based loosely on fact. Three of Gregory’s books had been made into successful movies, and Chris was currently negotiating a major new deal for him at Universal.
Gregory was English, overweight and pushing sixty. He had rheumy eyes that had experienced a thousand hangovers and a shock of startlingly thick white hair. He spent half his time in Hollywood, where he kept a Malibu beach house and the requisite blonde girlfriend, and the other half in Manhattan, where he inhabited a book-filled apartment with his crabby, lesbian-inclined wife.
Gregory was an old-school type guy. He was into drinking Jack Daniel’s, smoking strong Cuban cigars and showing off his extensive gun collection.
‘Have a drink,’ Gregory said, in a deep whisky-soaked voice. He was sitting with a couple of cronies–one of them a former police captain. ‘How’s the shifting shit in California?’
/> Gregory always made out that he was not a fan of L.A. However, he seemed very happy when he was lounging on the deck of his six-million-dollar house in the Malibu Colony with his blonde babe by his side, and movie stars as his neighbours.
‘We’re making progress on the new deal,’ Chris said, pulling up a chair. ‘Should have contracts for you to look over in the next couple of weeks.’
‘Cannot wait, dear boy,’ Gregory drawled sarcastically. ‘This time I want everything.’
‘You’ll get it,’ Chris said, ordering Scotch in a tall glass with a lot of ice. He’d learned how to keep up with Gregory’s drinking habits and still look as if he was imbibing. Ice was the secret. Plenty of it.
‘Excellent,’ boomed Gregory, and, turning to his friends, ‘This boy is the best.’
Chris did not appreciate being called ‘boy’, but he knew it was just Gregory’s way, and since the old guy was such a big-bucks client, what did he care?
After two drinks he made his exit and took a cab back to the Four Seasons. On the way he called one of his assistants in L.A., and listened while Andy filled him in on the day’s business. Nothing he couldn’t deal with on his return to L.A. No major problems, although there was always something going on.
Tomorrow morning he’d see his father, and maybe by the time he left New York, he’d be a hell of a lot richer.
Chapter Nine
In a way Diahann Dozier dreaded spending the weekend with her daughter. Whenever they got together there was always a fight involved. Liberty had never really forgiven her for abandoning a going-nowhere singing career and settling for a steady income with a permanent home.
Diahann was well aware that her daughter considered her job as Mr Diamond’s housekeeper demeaning and beneath her. But Liberty was only nineteen and had no idea of what life was all about or how hard it could be. She’d learn soon enough the difficulties of being out there on your own, especially for a woman with a baby to support.
Diahann sighed. Liberty was a beautiful girl, stunning in fact, so if she was smart she’d find herself a decent man and settle down. Enough of this I-want-a-career nonsense. Diahann knew well enough how hopeless it was chasing dreams that never materialized.