Lethal Seduction (34 page)

Finally he emerged from the bathroom, a towel knotted loosely around his narrow waist and a big, wide grin on his face.

“What are
you
so cheerful about?” Rosarita inquired, biting into a slice of unappetizing dry toast.

“I'm going to be a daddy, aren't I?” he said excitedly. “It's the greatest news I can think of!”

So intent had she been on reliving her sexual encounter with Joel, that for a moment she'd forgotten about the baby growing in her stomach. “Oh, yes,” she said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “I have to talk to you about that.”

“You do?”

“For God's sake,” she said irritably, “don't go telling the world.”

“I told my mom,” he said, surprised she didn't want it shouted from the top of the Empire State Building. “Is that so terrible?”

“You
told Martha,
she
told Chas, and
he's
fucking
furious.”

“Why's that?” Dexter asked, sensing big trouble ahead.

“Shouldn't
I
be the one to tell him? I was under the impression this is
my
exciting news.”

“Ours,” he said quietly.

Ignoring his comment, she pushed her tray away and said, “Go phone Martha right now and tell her to shut her stupid, fat mouth.”

“Don't talk about my mom like that,” he said indignantly.

“Then stop her from broadcasting the news of my pregnancy as if it's hers to broadcast.”

“If you feel so strongly—”

“And another thing,” she interrupted, not prepared to listen to his lame excuses.

“What?”

“How does Conchita know?”

“She
should
know. Conchita's the one who'll be looking after you.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Dex,” she yelled. “Get it into your head—I am
not
an invalid.
Nobody
has to look after me, and certainly not my maid.” An angry glare. “How
dare
you reveal my personal secrets to the maid.”

“Rosarita, honey—it's no secret,” he said, attempting to calm her down. “It's something we should be proud of. I'm so excited,
and
—on top of everything else, Silver's script is the real deal, it's sensational, and she wants
me
to be in the movie.”

“What script? You didn't mention a script.”

“Silver gave me a script to read. And uh . . . well . . .” he said, managing to look modest. “She assures me it's the part that'll make me a star.”

Rosarita laughed derisively. “How many times have we heard
that?”
she said in her best put-down voice.

“Exactly what
I
thought,” he said. “But this script is dynamite.”

Oh yes,
Rosarita thought.
Like Dex would know a dynamite script if it fell in his lap.
“Is it for a theatrical movie? Or a movie-of-the-week TV crap thing?”

“I have to call Silver and find out. I'm contemplating whether I should contact my agent and fill her in.”

“Of course you should. Let's see if she knows what she's doing. Anyway,
she
should be the one to call dear old Silver. And remember, you are
not
working for nothing—you'd better get that into your head,
and
your agent's.”

“Silver and I haven't discussed business,” Dexter said. “She only gave me the script last night.”

“Fine,” Rosarita said, losing interest. “Go call your mother before she does any more damage.”

“Let me put on some clothes first.”

While Dexter was in the bathroom getting dressed, Venice phoned.

“I'm so happy for you and Dexter,” she trilled. “It's such a special time for both of you.”

Rosarita prickled with indignation. How
dare
Chas tell Venice! Especially when she'd warned him not to. “I suppose Daddy told you,” she said, making a halfhearted attempt to be nice.

“No, Dexter's mom contacted me. Isn't that sweet of her?”

Sweet!
Sweet!
What bullshit!

“Very sweet,” Rosarita said, almost choking on the words, her eyes narrowing with fury. Enough was enough. “Dex!” she screamed, slamming down the phone. “Get in here before I go mad! Your mother is about to drive me fucking crazy!”

•

Silver Anderson was busy putting on her face when Dexter phoned. “Good morning, dear boy,” she said, balancing the phone in one hand as she continued to apply dramatic black eyeliner. “And what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me more about that script,” he said. “It's sensational!”

“You like it, do you?” she said, sounding amused.

“What actor wouldn't?”

“I rather thought you would,” she said smugly.

“Does it belong to you?”

“It was written by a young man who sent it to me through the mail. He thinks I'm the perfect star for his film.”

“Then what's the deal?” Dexter asked.

“I've optioned the property,” Silver said crisply. “And I need an investor. A nice, rich person who will stay in the background and put up the money to make
our
movie. And by today's standards it's comparatively low budget. Ten million dollars should do it, and that—
quelle surprise
—includes
my
fee. I'm having a detailed budget prepared even as we speak.”

“You mean it'll be a theatrical movie?”

“Naturally. I've had enough of boring television. Silver Anderson must be back on the big screen where she belongs.”

“Do you have any investors in mind?”

“I was hoping that
you
might be able to come up with someone.”

“Me?” he said, surprised and a little bit flattered.

“How about your wife's father? I understand he's quite well off.”

“I . . . I don't know,” Dexter stammered. “He's never invested in anything
I've
heard about.”

“There's always a first time,” Silver drawled. “And if he's of a certain age, I'm positive he's had a lifelong crush on me. How about bringing him to meet me so I can
charm
the money out of him.”

“What you're saying,” Dexter ventured, “is that if
I
bring you someone who'll put up the money, then
I
get the role of Lance Rich.”

“Oh, darling—you'll get the role anyway,” she said off-handedly. “You're perfect for it. I thought of you the moment I read it.” A meaningful pause. “Although, if we're
forced
to go to a studio, they'll probably
insist
upon a star. Naturally I'll fight for you all the way, but you know how they are.”

“Yes,” Dexter said, immediately realizing the studios would want Brad Pitt or Ben Affleck. He had to do something radical to secure the role for himself.

“My other idea was how about that divine man you used to work for? Remember when you had that billboard up in . . . where was it?”

“Times Square.”

“The one where you were posing in your tiny little briefs and looking rather naughty. I'm sure that's why they cast you in
Dark Days.
What was that designer's name?”

“Mortimer Marcel.”

“Ah yes, Mortimer Marcel. He must be
very
rich, and most likely he loves
you.
Arrange a meeting with him also.”

Dexter was getting the picture. “Let me see what I can do,”
he said. “I'll get back to you as soon as I've put something together.”

“Good boy,” Silver purred. “This is an opportunity neither of us can afford to let slip by.”

“I know,” Dexter said. “Leave it to me.”

M
AKING UP FOR LOST TIME
, Madison went to work with a vengeance. She thoroughly researched Antonio “The Panther” Lopez, also looking into the career of his opponent, the champ. Then—on a roll—she managed to write two chapters of her novel; attend a few yoga classes because she thought it would help relieve her tension; phone Stella's best friend, Warner Carlysle, who never returned her call; have a couple more lunches with Jamie; write a long letter to Michael, saying she did not wish to see him for a while and would contact him when she was ready; speak to Natalie on the phone at length; attend one of Victor's incredibly boring dinner parties; almost insult the blind date that Evelyn sat next to her; and finally, agree to have lunch with David, because his incessant phone calls were driving her nuts.

“If I have lunch with you, will you leave me alone?” she demanded on the phone.

“You have my word,” he promised.

Yeah, well, David's word was about as trustworthy as a recovering sex addict at an orgy. This could be because he was a producer of an early-morning news show, and as such, knew plenty about maneuvering his way out of difficult situations.

She walked to the Italian restaurant he'd chosen, thinking that she couldn't wait to get out of town. A change of scene was exactly what she needed, and the sooner the better. Victor, the coward, had not canceled Jake, so that was the only downer—
he
would be in Vegas. But she'd made up her mind—no more getting involved, however Jake decided to play it.

Relationships were a bitch. Who could figure anything out? Smart as she was,
she
certainly couldn't. She was still confused about the way Jake had behaved. She'd thought they were at the start of something special. He apparently had not.

The first words David said to her when she sat down at the cozy corner table he'd chosen were, “Have you met somebody else?”

“If I
were
to meet somebody else,” she said, immediately uptight, “that would mean there was somebody in my life in the first place, and believe me, David, you've been long gone.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, pouring her a glass of her favorite red wine, which he'd prudently ordered ahead of time.

“No, I don't,” she retaliated, pushing her wineglass away. “And I'm not drinking today, so don't bother.”

“Okay, I'll rephrase it,” he said. “Have you met somebody?”

“No, David,” she answered patiently, trying to keep her anger under control. “I have not met anybody. And I do not want to. Right now I'm off men.”

“That sounds bitter,” he said, making a face.

“Actually,” she said, messing with his head because deep down David was a pure chauvinist
and
a closet homophobe—two things she'd always hated about him—“I was thinking of changing tracks.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Changing tracks?”

“Maybe I'll get myself a girlfriend,” she continued, pushing his buttons. “Y'know, a sensitive
woman
who'll cater to my every need.”

“You're full of shit,” he said with a disbelieving snort. “You love sex.”

“I love sex with someone special,” she shot back. “I
thought
you were someone special. Turns out I was wrong.”

The waiter appeared by their table with menus. He handed them over, then reeled off a list of the day's specials. Madison ordered lightly grilled sea bass and a mixed green salad. David went for the house recommendation—seafood lasagna and a small Caesar.

“Listen to me,” he said, when the waiter had left. “The one who was wrong was me.” He fixed her with one of his intent looks. “I made a huge mistake.”

“You know what, David,” she said restlessly, wishing she hadn't agreed to come. “It wasn't a mistake as far as I'm concerned, because it proved to me what kind of person you are. If you're capable of doing that to me, then you're capable of anything.”

“Thanks,” he said sulkily.

“The truth is a bitch, right?”

He stared angrily at her. “Don't you have any compassion?” he said. “You
do
know I'm getting a divorce?”

Ha!
she thought.
Like I care. What kind of a doormat does he think I am?

“No, I didn't know,” she said evenly. “And I'm sorry to hear it, because I'm sure you must have had a delightful marriage. However, I have no intention of turning into your shrink and listening to your problems.”

“I'm not asking you to.”

“Yes you are, David. And
I'm
making it quite clear that the
only
reason I met you for lunch is
I
want you to leave me alone—and I mean it.”

“That's impossible,” he said, attempting to place his hand over hers.

“Oh,
please,”
she said angrily, snatching her hand away. “I don't need this shit.”

Realizing he was on shaky ground, he quickly changed tactics. “I read about your mother,” he said. “I know the two of you weren't always close, but it was such a terrible thing the way it happened. What's the story? Has there been an arrest?”

Madison frowned. He was trying to be intimate in every way he knew how, and she wasn't having it. He'd switched into his investigative producer mode, and she was not about to start revealing what had taken place. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, understanding that the good thing was that she could look at him and experience no feelings at all. “But it's over now, and I don't care to talk about it.”

“I can respect that.”

Can you?
she thought.
You have no idea what respect is.

“How about this for an idea?” he said as the waiter returned and began serving their salads. “You and I spend a weekend in Montauk. A friend of mine leases a house there, and he's offered to lend it to me next weekend.” He gazed at her with his I'm-the-most-sincere-guy-in-the-world expression. “Say yes, sweetheart. We shouldn't let the two years we spent together go to waste.”