Lethal Seduction (42 page)

“You?”
Natalie said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Miss Classy Boots?”

“Don't give me that crap,” Madison said, pushing the tempting dessert away. “How is Cole anyway?”

“Doing okay. He and Mr. Mogul seem to be couple of the year.”

“I thought you hated Mr. Mogul?”

“I did. But at least he's kept Cole close for a while, so that makes me feel more secure. The man has a reputation for dumping the prettiest boys in town.”

“Cole's a great guy. And smart. Why would anyone dump him?”

“Hey—I'm just the critical sister who only wants the best for baby bro.”

Madison nodded. She enjoyed being with Natalie—like Jamie, Natalie was the sister she'd never had. Telling her everything over lunch had been a cathartic experience; now it was time to return to work. She glanced at her watch. “I'd better get moving,” she said. “The man who would be champ is waiting—
not!”

“Me too,” Natalie agreed. “I'm doing a sit-down with Jimmy Smits, and that I
do not
want to be late for.”

“Lucky you,” Madison said. “I get stuck with a boxer, when I'd sooner be in Washington talking to a politician.”

“Politicians are
way
worse than boxers,” Natalie said knowledgeably. “They're so horny it's pathetic! I interviewed a senator last week—and practically jumped ten feet in the air when he stuck his goddamn
hand
up my skirt!”

“Ah,” Madison said knowingly. “The Clinton legacy.”

“My cameraman was falling down laughing.”

“What did
you
do?”

“Continued the interview. What else? Hey—” she grinned. “Nobody can
ever
accuse me of not being professional.”

“You're something, Natalie.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Madison snapped her fingers for the check.

“My
check,” Natalie insisted, as the waiter appeared at their table.

“No, mine,” Madison argued. “The magazine will pay.”

“It's all taken care of,” their waiter said, a cowlick of mud-brown hair drifting on his forehead. “Compliments of Wolfgang.” A sly wink directed toward Natalie. “He watches your show too.”

“Why thanks,” Natalie said, wide smile springing into action. “And your name is . . .?”

“Willem.”

“You deserve a tip, Willem.”

“It's not necessary,” he said.

“Yes it is,” Natalie answered crisply. “Change your name—it's the best tip you'll ever get.”

“F
UCKIN
'
A WOMAN
is like eatin' a meal,” Antonio proclaimed, bare chested in a pair of orange shorts, thick white socks and brown lace-up boots.

“And why would that be?” Madison asked, keeping her voice in neutral.

“ 'Cause y'see,” Antonio explained, creasing his forehead as if he'd given the subject a great deal of serious thought. “You got all types a wimmen, an' all kinda food. Yeah,” he nodded to himself, pleased with his speech, “like you can get a hot dog or a steak. A burrito or a pizza. Get it?”

“No,” Madison said. “Tell me what you mean.”

He regarded her as if she were extremely dense, then launched into his philosophy. Fortunately his manager was out of earshot.

“You order a steak,” he said patiently. “Like you'd compare a steak to one of them movie actresses or a dancer or a singer—they're somethin' special. Then you got your everyday burrito—a quick snack—you eat 'em an' take off.” He guffawed heartily. “Sometime you eat 'em an wanna throw up.” Another hearty guffaw.

“And currently . . .” Madison said. “You are eating . . .?”

“Prime rump,” he boasted. “Ass on her better than Jennifer Lopez!”

“Any relation?”

“Naw,” Antonio crowed cheerfully. “But I'm gonna fuck her one of these days.”

Madison rolled her eyes. She'd had enough of Antonio and his dumb, sexist rhetoric. She had her story, it was time to move on. “Thanks,” she said, standing up and looking around for Jake. He was conferring with his young assistant, preparing for the cover shot. Since returning to Antonio's training compound she'd had no chance at all to speak with Jake. It was obvious that when he was working he became totally immersed in what he was doing. Occasionally she'd glanced over, observing him behind his camera, his face alert and concentrated. Anyone could see he was very into what he did—creating pictures, mind images that captured the imagination, although she knew that photographing celebrities was not his favorite thing to do.

She waved at Antonio's manager. “I'm leaving,” she called out. “See you tomorrow night.”

“You're gonna be watchin' a winner tomorrow,” Antonio boasted, flexing his arm muscles. “Better make sure you do what I tell you, lady—put yourself on-line for a big bet.”

“I told you,” she said, wishing he'd shut up. “I don't bet.”

“You gotta—for me,” Antonio said, his gold teeth still catching the light. “It bring me plenty a luck.”

The manager escorted her over to her rental car. “Y'know, sometimes Tonio says things he don't really mean,” he confided. “But I can see you're a nice, honest gal. You wouldn't print nothing to make Tonio come over stupid, would you?”

“I print the truth,” she answered calmly. “I don't make things up.”

“No, no, honey—it's not that we don't trust you,” he said, speaking much too fast. “Only sometimes Tonio says things about women that, you know, some people could find disrespectful. But that's Tonio—he loves women too much.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“So, uh . . . you'll come by the dressing room tomorrow before
the fight. The place'll be crazy, but you'll sit in the corner, stay quiet, take a few notes . . . that kinda thing. It's what you do, huh?”

“Yes,” Madison said. “It's what I do.”

Jake didn't even notice she was leaving. Hmm . . . so much for their supposed dinner plans. Not that she'd considered saying yes, but it would have been nice if he'd repeated his invitation.

Damn him! How come he was on her mind so much?

Well, why shouldn't he be? They'd had such a great time together, so why did it have to end up like this?

Now she had nothing to do later, although Natalie had promised to call, and Natalie
always
had plans. “There're a million parties in town,” Natalie had assured her. “And I'm gonna hit all of 'em. And there's also the Kris Phoenix concert, which I'm supposed to be covering. So . . . if you don't go to dinner with Jake, you'll come with me.”

The last thing Madison was in the mood to do was party.
Natalie
was the party girl.
She
preferred staying home. And she certainly didn't care to tag along while Natalie interviewed Kris Phoenix. Aging rockers were not her thing.

However, sitting alone in a hotel room wasn't exactly tempting either, so maybe she
would
join Natalie.

Why not? It wasn't like she had anything else to do.

•

Rosarita was talking nonstop in the limo taking them to the Beverly Hills Hotel, but Dexter wasn't really listening, his mind was on Gem. He was thinking about how he'd finally met the girl of his dreams, and yet he was completely trapped in a marriage his wife had repeatedly told him she didn't want. Because even though Rosarita was pregnant, deep down he knew she didn't care to stay married to him. And now that he'd met Gem, he was inclined to feel the same way.

But Rosarita was carrying his baby, so therefore they were both stuck. And yet, how could he tell his mind to stop thinking about Gem—the wonderful girl with the innocent face?

“This is
stupid,”
Rosarita announced in her shrieky voice.

“What's stupid now?” Chas growled.

“Stopping off in L.A.,” Rosarita complained. “I mean, if I wanted to come to Beverly Hills, I'd certainly plan on spending more than one night here.”

“You're lucky we're here at all,” Chas said. “An' I got another surprise—I arranged for Matt and Martha to meet us. We're
all
having dinner at Spago.”

“Shit!” Rosarita yelled, startling their limo driver, who immediately slowed down in case this turned into trouble. “Why did you do
that?”

“What do you mean, why did he do that?” Dexter said, affronted that she would object to his parents meeting them in L.A.

“I thought they wanted to see Vegas,” she said sulkily. “Wasn't that the whole idea?”

“I'm treatin' 'em to a trip to Beverly Hills too,” Chas said. “You don't
mind,
do you?”

“Of course not,” she said stiffly. “It's just that it seems foolish. I would have liked to have spent the day shopping on Rodeo Drive, but no, we have to rush to the hotel, rush to dinner, then rush back to the airport tomorrow morning.”

“Ya got time t'shop,” Chas said.

“Not enough,” Rosarita replied.

“Anybody ever told you you're spoiled?” Chas said.

“I may be spoiled,” Rosarita responded, pouting. “But guess who made me that way?”

“I spent a week in Beverly Hills once,” Varoomba offered, joining in the conversation.

Nobody took any notice; nobody was particularly interested.

The limousine pulled up in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel, and they all piled out.

“This is where I stayed,” Varoomba chirped. “In a bungalow.” She thought it prudent not to add that she'd been with two Saudi princes who'd won her in a poker game. But that was another story.

Dexter took a deep breath. California—it even smelled different from New York. He gazed at the palm trees and lush foliage surrounding the front of the luxurious hotel.
Yeah,
he thought,
I could get used to this. And I bet Gem would love it.

“We got dinner reservations at seven o'clock,” Chas announced.

“Seven o'clock?” Rosarita screeched. “Why so early?”

“ 'Cause that's the only time I could get a table at Spago.”

“Not if you know someone,” Rosarita said. “You should've let
me
do it.”

“Ya wanna call an' see if you can make it for eight?”

“Too late now,” she snapped. “Anyway, that'll give me time to do
some
shopping.”

“I'll come with you,” Dexter said. “I've always wanted to take a walk down Rodeo Drive.”

“No, Dex,” she said sharply. “You spend time with your parents. That's the whole idea, isn't it?”

“Can
I
come with you?” Varoomba ventured, anxious to get on Rosarita's good side. “I know all the best stores.”

“That's very kind of you, dear,” Rosarita said, dismissing Stripper Slut with a wave of her hand. “But nobody has
ever
had to help
me
find the best stores.
I
put the ‘S' in shopping.”

•

Joel had to hand it to her, when Carrie Hanlon cared to put on the charm, she dazzled. And right now she was busy dazzling Leon Blaine, who was not the easiest man in the world to impress. Even Marika had perked up considerably, especially when she and Carrie had gotten into a spirited discussion about several Paris designers and their sexual foibles.

It was the first time Joel had ever seen Marika crack a smile.

“This girl is charming,” Marika said, catching him by the buffet table on Leon's plane, where he was loading a plate with bagels, smoked salmon and cream cheese.

“Yeah, well, I told you she was a regular girl,” he said, savoring his triumph.

“She's more than a regular girl,” Marika said imperiously. “She is a beauty.”

“Glad you like her,” Joel said. Frankly, he couldn't give a piss less what Marika thought, it was Leon he was out to impress.

“Yes, Carrie is delightful,” Marika added, still full of praise. “I only hope you'll be able to hang on to her.”

Hang on to her? What the hell did that mean?

Marika was a cunt, a definite cunt. In fact, she gave the word “cunt” a whole new meaning.

He silently glowered.

•

“Hi,” Jamie said, smiling softly at the desk clerk, who immediately fell in love with the classy blonde in the long, blue cashmere coat. “I wonder if you can help me?”

Help her? He'd walk over hot coals if it would assist him in getting closer. “Yes, ma'am,” he said, clearing his throat. “What can I do for you?”

“It's like this,” she said, gazing appealingly at him with her wide aquamarine eyes. “I flew in unexpectedly to surprise a friend on her birthday, and I was so busy getting out of town in a hurry that I forgot to make a reservation.”

“We're booked out, ma'am,” he said regretfully. “It's the big fight tomorrow night, and every room is taken.”

“I'm sure,” she said. “But you see, my friend who's having the birthday is Madison Castelli. She's here interviewing Antonio Lopez for
Manhattan Style.
And the other friend I'm meeting is Natalie De Barge—the TV reporter. So . . . I was thinking that you probably have emergency accommodations available for last-minute VIP arrivals. And although I'm not a VIP, I'm sure that you
can
help me, can't you?”

He'd recently turned away a six-foot-three Texan who'd offered him two thousand bucks cash if he could give him a room for one night. However, money wasn't everything, and this delectable beauty was right—there were always VIP rooms available, although by tomorrow afternoon they'd all be gone.

“Uh . . . can you wait here a minute?” he said. “I'll see what I can do.”