Poor Little Bitch Girl

by Jackie Collins

  “Meet Frankie Romano,” Rick said. “You might’ve seen him on the cover of Truth & Fact this week.”

  “Seen him! I’ve fucked him!” Fanny cackled, breaking up at her attempt at humor. “No kiddies, I haven’t,” she continued. “That must’ve been the water delivery guy. You’ve seen one little prick, you’ve seen ’em all!”

  Frankie shot Rick a dirty look. This was the woman he was about to trust with his and Annabelle’s future? No way.

  He started to get up.

  “Sit your ass down,” Fanny commanded, taking off her diamanté glasses and twirling them in a circle. “Learn to take a joke, an’ you an’ I will be as tight as an ant’s crack.”

  For once in his life, Frankie was speechless.

  “I’ve read the story,” Fanny continued. “So tell me, Mister Pimp Man, whaddaya want outta this? Fame? Money? Glory? ’Cause I can get you all of it.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Oh dollface, I’m sure as a shitload of sailors on shore-leave headin’ for a whorehouse.”

  And Frankie didn’t know why, but suddenly he was convinced.

  * * *

  The Leonardo DiCaprio movie finished, and Annabelle was bored. Frankie had told her not to go anywhere, but being holed up in a hotel was not to her liking. She sat in the middle of the kingsize bed, propped herself up with multiple pillows, and clicked TV channels, coming across E.T., a program she sometimes watched – probably because Mark Steines was so damn cute.

  Mary Hart was sitting outside on a location shoot with Shia LaBeouf, questioning the young actor about his love-life.

  Idly Annabelle watched them interact until a slew of commercials hit the screen.

  Back from commercials, a somber-faced Mark Steines announced that he had a breaking news story, and as he launched into it, Annabelle realized that he was speaking about her mother’s murder. Apparently, there had been an arrest.

  Sitting up straight, she immediately called for Frankie. Then she remembered he was out, securing their future.

  Damn. She needed to speak with him. And she needed to speak with him now.

  * * *

  “Simon – you limey sonofabitch,” Fanny roared into her pink old-fashioned phone perched atop her mirrored desk. Her words were said with a mixture of cheery affection and thinly veiled venom. “What’s kickin’ between your big balls today?”

  “Fanny Bernstein,” Simon Waitrose, Editor of Truth & Fact, stated. “My balls are doing fine. How about yours, luv? Still big and bouncy?”

  “That’s my tits, you horny bastard,” Fanny cackled.

  “How could I ever forget?”

  “You got that right, sleaze-bag. Once seen, never forgotten.”

  This entire conversation was being played out on speaker-phone. Frankie and Rick were Fanny’s attentive audience.

  Frankie was impressed that she knew exactly who to call, and that she had the man’s home number, because it was three hours later in New York.

  “I presume I must’ve insulted one of your clients,” Simon Waitrose went on. “Right, luv? ’Cause why else would the lady herself be calling, interrupting my dinner with a lovely young thing.”

  “A date with another hooker, Simon?” Fanny said caustically, winking at her captive audience. “Is she one of Frankie Romano’s girls?”

  “Oh Jesus! Don’t tell me Frankie Romano is your client,” Simon groaned.

  “Yes, dear. So I wanna know who gave you the story? And you’d better e-mail me part two, otherwise there’ll be a big fat juicy lawsuit writhing its way up your skinny English ass.”

  “Damnit, Fanny,” Simon objected, “every word we printed is the truth.”

  “Sure it is, dollface,” Fanny sing-songed. “An’ you don’t use Viagra.”

  “What?”

  “E-mail me part two, then we’ll talk.”

  She hung up with a satisfied smirk, opened her desk drawer and removed a stack of faxes which she passed across the desk to Frankie.

  “Part two,” she said. “Read it, then get down on your knees an’ thank me.”

  “But didn’t you just ask him to send you part two?” Rick said, sweating, because Fanny refused to put on the air conditioning. She insisted her office remain at 85 degrees at all times.

  “Simon’s main assistant resides in my back pocket – if y’know what I mean,” she said, with another knowing wink. “Soon as you told me why we were having this meeting, I got onto it. Simon Waitrose deserves to shift his ass for the deal I’m about to offer him.”

  Frankie was busy reading part two. All of a sudden he had relatives and friends he never knew existed; there were photos of him as a kid and quotes from his dad – the fucking loser who used to beat the crap out of him, and never came looking when he took off at the age of fifteen.

  “I don’t believe this shit,” he said, angrily throwing the faxes back on her desk. “I’ve never heard of any of these assholes, claimin’ they were at school with me. As for my dad – we haven’t spoken in ten years.”

  “Not to worry, dollface,” Fanny said. “I’ll get it stopped. Simon owes me a big one. And in return, after the exclusives with the respectable media – and I use the word ‘respectable’ loosely – we’ll throw him a bone. A one-on-one sitdown with Annabelle. So tell me, dollface, where is your partner in the selling-flesh business?”

  “At the hotel,” Frankie said. “We’re hiding out so Ralph doesn’t get hold of her. We’ve heard he’s in a raging fury and wants to bury my ass.”

  “Ah . . . Ralphie,” Fanny sighed, a faraway gleam in her eyes. “Had him when I was fifteen and a virgin. It was a one-night stand. He spotted me at a party, sent his stand-in over to see if my tits were real, then took me upstairs and had his way with me.” She guffawed at the memory. “Nice cock. Not big enough for me, though.”

  Once again Frankie was speechless.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Carolyn

  Fat Black Pussies wasn’t his favorite porno, but it was still turning Benito on. He started thinking about jacking off since Rosa wasn’t around to service him. No food. No pussy. What the fuck was a man supposed to do to keep himself entertained?

  Then it occurred to him that there was a perfectly workable pussy lying on his bed. A pussy that was good enough for a Senator. And if he jammed his big fat dick into that pussy – maybe it would shift the baby she was carrying, and everyone could go home happy.

  Yeah. He’d blindfold her, fuck her, give her a whiff of chloroform, stick her in the trunk of his car, and drop her off on a street corner far enough away that she could never lead anyone back to his cousin’s house.

  Screw Rosa. He didn’t need her. He’d solved the problem all on his own.

  He moved toward the door of the bedroom and opened it an inch. The room was dark enough, but he could make out his victim moving around on the bed.

  Then, just as he was about to fling the door wide open and take his hard-on into the bedroom, the phone rang.

  Shit! Bad timing! But in case it was business, he closed the door and picked up the phone.

  It was big brother Ramirez.

  * * *

  For one long moment Carolyn was completely paralyzed. Fear crept over her like a shroud of fog, and she found herself unable to move. She’d almost freed herself, then someone had started to open the door. A phone rang, and whoever was there closed the door and went away.

  Now she was too scared to run.

  Get it together! her inner voice cried out in her head. At least make an attempt to find a way out of this hellhole. Do it! Do it now!

  Filled with apprehension, she broke the final tie and forced herself to put her feet on the floor. Her shoes were gone, they must’ve fallen off when she was first taken. But having no shoes was the least of her problems.

  Shaking, she got off the bed, rushed toward the window and what she hoped and prayed would soon be freedom.

  * * *

  “Fuck you!” Benito screamed
into the phone. “I ain’t listenin’ to anything ya gotta say.”

  “Calm down, my brother,” Ramirez replied. “All I’m asking is that you come to the center tomorrow and speak with me.”

  “Why th’fuck I wanna do that?” Benito yelled.

  “Word on the street is that you’re a target,” Ramirez said calmly. “And I can help you.”

  “Don’ fuck with me just ’cuz ya think ya King of the fuckin’ Do-gooders,” Benito sneered. “I got news – anybody get near me, they seein’ a war on their mo-fuckin’ hands. I got an army behind me.”

  “What good an army do you if someone put a bullet in your head?” Ramirez said, the voice of reason. “No army gonna save you then.”

  “Fuck you!” Benito screamed again, before slamming down the phone.

  His brother drove him loco, always trying to persuade him to come to the center and repent his ways. Last time he’d gone there he’d almost got shot leaving the place. Rosa’s fuckin’ baby daddy again. It was time he reversed the situation and blew the mo’fuckin’ prick away.

  He began going over his conversation with his brother. It wouldn’t surprise him if Ramirez was trying to set him up. Get rid of him, so that under the guise of Mister Clean, Ramirez could move in and take over his lucrative drug-running business.

  Yeah, that was it. Ramirez was jealous, he wanted what was his.

  Too bad. Big brother was getting nothing.

  * * *

  Upon reaching the window, Carolyn frantically dragged the torn covering aside. Outside it was pitch black. She could see nothing.

  The fear she felt was all the way in her throat. Her heart was pounding out of control. She felt sick to her stomach and dizzy.

  The window itself opened outwards with a rusty handle. There was no lock and she knew it would be tight, but with a little luck she could squeeze through the limited space. She had to.

  Random thoughts flooded her brain.

  What if her captors came in the room and pulled her back inside when she was halfway through the window?

  What if they were so mad they beat her up, or even killed her?

  As frightened as she was, there was no going back.

  Somehow or other, she began her escape.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Bobby & Denver

  We were on our way to the Vegas airport, Bobby and I. When I’d told him about my emergency, he’d insisted on flying me to Washington in his plane in spite of my objections. Then he decided he’d better come with me in case I required his assistance in any way.

  What was I supposed to do? The text from George Henderson was a desperate cry for help, and although George wasn’t asking me to head for Washington, where he and his wife already were, I knew that I had to go. And if the fastest way to get there was on Bobby’s plane, so be it.

  Carolyn was missing – not in a “gone away for a few days” kind of way, but in a sinister “she’s been abducted” kind of way. And everybody who has ever watched the news knows exactly what that means.

  Missing girl more often than not equals rape and murder.

  According to George, the police had found Carolyn’s car abandoned in a remote spot with the driver’s door open, one of her shoes lying on the ground. She had not turned up at work, missed an arranged breakfast with a neighbor, and had not been seen since noon on Tuesday when she’d left the office for a supposed dental appointment. When contacted, her dentist said there was no appointment.

  I had no idea what I could do to help, but Carolyn was my best friend, and I knew I had to be there, if only to lend moral support to her parents.

  I called Felix on my way to the airport to give him a heads up.

  “I don’t understand what’s the matter with you lately,” Felix snapped, his usual charming self. “Do you not care about your job?”

  This hurt, coming from Felix. Of course I cared. In all the time I’d worked at Saunders, Fields, Simmons & Johnson, I’d always put my job first. Just ask Josh.

  Once again I wondered if the time had come to think about moving on. I’m sure I could score an excellent position elsewhere.

  I then phoned my next-door neighbor to let him know I would not be back for a few days, and could he keep Amy Wine-house for me? “She’s fine,” he assured me. “Not to worry.”

  As soon as I was off the phone, Bobby jumped on my case. “Everything okay?” he asked, being annoyingly solicitous – like that was going to make me forget Zeena’s revealing little speech, a speech I had not mentioned, nor had he.

  The not-mentioned speech was standing between us like an elephant in the room, except we weren’t in a room – we were in a limo on our way to the airport and Bobby’s private plane.

  He is so not me – what was I thinking?

  * * *

  Ever since Bobby realized that he had a certain power because of his heritage, he’d managed to gain control over most situations. He’d learned from both his parents, and even though he was a child when Dimitri passed, he’d studied his late father in photos and on videos, and noted the way he acted. Dimitri had always conducted himself with immense charm, compassion and unwavering control. The three C’s.

  Lucky had her own particular way of handling things, and it always seemed to work for her.

  Both his parents were tough, loyal and driven, they both knew what they wanted, and they’d always come out on top.

  Bobby desired the same for himself. He realized he’d been born into great privilege, but he’d never allowed himself to get carried away with all the trappings of enormous wealth, and he’d certainly never traded on his exceptional good looks. He’d made a concentrated effort to make it on his own, and he’d succeeded.

  One of the things he prided himself on was that he’d always treated women well – making sure to let them down easy when things didn’t work out. He’d endeavored to be a good guy.

  Now Zeena had managed to make him look like her dumb-ass little plaything. And he was furious. At Zeena. But most of all at himself.

  From the moment the words had slipped from Zeena’s scarlet lips, Denver had begun to treat him like a vague acquaintance with whom she was being forced to spend time. Sure, she’d agreed to a ride on his plane, but that was out of an urgency to get to Washington, not because she wished to be with him.

  He didn’t know what to say to her. Should he try explaining? Uh . . . Denver, here’s the deal – Zeena came into my shower unexpectedly, I never invited her, and uh, yeah, she did give me head, but . . . uh . . .

  Shit! Where could he possibly go with this?

  The first girl he’d liked in a long time, and Zeena had crushed any hope he had of taking it further.

  The limo pulled up at the airport, and a special services escort smoothed their path to the plane.

  Once aboard, Denver noted where Bobby was sitting, and deliberately chose a seat across the aisle. Gitta, one of the attractive flight attendants, asked her if she needed anything.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

  “You know,” Bobby said, leaning across the aisle, “there’s a bedroom aboard, so if you feel like sleeping . . .” He trailed off. Mentioning a bedroom sounded suggestive in a ridiculous kind of way, almost as if he was coming on to her. Which he wasn’t. Not at all.

  But he’d like to. Oh yes, he’d definitely like to.

  The problem was that Zeena had put paid to any chance of that.

  * * *

  It’s strange. When something dramatic happens in your life, everything else seems unimportant. Two hours ago, I’d been kind of obsessed with Bobby, but right now I couldn’t care less. Had I really been running around spending all my salary on a sexy designer dress and shoes? Getting my hair done? Enduring the discomfort of stupid false eyelashes and too much make-up? Silly me. I must’ve had a brainstorm.

  Now all I could think about was Carolyn. Where was she? Had she been abducted as George Henderson seemed to believe? How did one even begin to search for her?
>
  I didn’t have any answers, and for someone who has a need to be on top of things, that’s frustrating.

  I started thinking about the recent texts I’d received from her. Fortunately I store everything in my phone memory – just in case. Was there a clue somewhere?

  Pulling out my phone, I began going over them. The last text I’d received from her was on Monday. We must talk! So much is happening!

  What did that mean? Was she back with Matt, her ex? Had she met someone new?

  It had to be about a man, I was sure of it.

  I glanced over at Bobby. He was slumped in his seat, probably exhausted after his late-afternoon blow-job from the scary-looking superstar. Zeena reminded me of Vampira – a superwoman from another planet.

  Still clad in my far too revealing red dress and uncomfortable heels, I grabbed the shopping bag that contained my original clothes, undid my seatbelt and stood up.

  A pretty Hawaiian flight attendant who’d introduced herself as Hani, rushed to see what I needed. “I’d like to change clothes, Hani,” I said. “Is that possible?”

  “Certainly,” Hani replied with a polite smile. “Follow me.”

  I followed her into a fully decorated bedroom. A bedroom! On a plane!

  There was a queen-size bed, flatscreen TV, a closet, and a full en-suite bathroom complete with a walk-in shower!

  I wondered if Bobby had given Zeena a ride on his plane.

  No, she probably had her own 747. Mega-rich people lived in a different world.

  I didn’t care. All I cared about was finding Carolyn.

  * * *

  Denver shut herself in the bedroom and emerged fifteen minutes later dressed in the clothes she’d worn earlier: loose-fitting beige pants, a crisp white shirt and a slouchy jacket. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she’d removed most of her make-up.

  Bobby thought she looked glowingly beautiful. This girl was a natural beauty, she didn’t need all the trimmings. He quickly recalled the great time they’d had in the bar at the Cavendish earlier. The two of them had experienced such a strong connection. He knew it wasn’t his imagination, they’d really had major chemistry.