Lethal Seduction

by Jackie Collins

  “You sound like Stella.”

  “Not me.”

  Since it was such a clear and crisp morning, they decided to walk to the Plaza. Madison felt pretty good strolling along Lexington with her father. She wished she could see more of him, but a few times a year was better than nothing.

  “So,” she said, as they headed toward the hotel. “When am I going to hear what’s going on?”

  “Can’t you wait until I get a cup of coffee?” he said.

  “No,” she replied, unable to hold back any longer. “I’m really pissed, Michael. How could you not tell me you’re moving back to the city?”

  He looked at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Anton told me.”

  “Who’s Anton, and what did he tell you?”

  “Anton is Jamie’s partner. They have an interior design business. He told me that Stella called him about decorating your New York apartment.”

  “Did Stella tell him where she could be reached?”

  “I guess so. I didn’t ask. What’s going on?”

  “You’re just like me. Impatient. Have to know everything immediately.”

  “This isn’t exactly immediately,” she pointed out. “I doubt you’d be telling me anything at all if I hadn’t busted you on it.”

  “You know if I didn’t tell you, there had to be a reason. Right?”

  “Right. So when am I going to hear?”

  “Jesus!” he said irritably. “Take it easy.”

  “Okay, I’ll be patient. How is Stella anyway? And why didn’t she come with you today?”

  Michael stared straight ahead. “No idea. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Uh-oh, this is not good. “What do you mean? How could you not see her when you live together?”

  “You couldn’t wait until we’re sitting down, eating brunch like two civilized people,” he said harshly. “No, you have to find out now.” He took a long ominous beat. “The reason I haven’t seen Stella is because she left me.”

  “She did what?” Madison said breathlessly.

  “You heard.”

  “Stella left you?”

  “You got it. Ran off with some twenty-six-year-old kid.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe it,” he said flatly. “It happened.”

  “But you and Mom, you’ve always been so close.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Who knows?” he said evenly. “I’m merely the guy who got left. Came home one day and she was gone. I haven’t spoken to her since.”

  “Oh my God!” Madison exclaimed, trying to digest this shocking news.

  “That’s the story, Princess,” Michael said calmly. “I guess it’s her who’s moving to New York, not me.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Madison suddenly stopped and faced him. “How . . . how can you let her do this to me?”

  Michael laughed dryly. “Nobody’s doing anything to you,” he said.

  “You’re my parents,” she said accusingly, knowing she sounded totally unreasonable but unable to stop herself. “I don’t want divorced parents.”

  “You don’t want divorced parents, huh?” he repeated. “What are you—eight?”

  “No,” she said heatedly. “But I’ve always looked up to you both as an example. Your marriage was . . . well anyway, I thought it was so idyllic. The two of you . . . forever together.”

  “Everything isn’t always what it seems,” he said grimly. “Stella wanted a younger body in her bed. Harder abs. Harder everything.” A cold laugh. “Hey, guys do it all the time. Thing is—I don’t happen to be that kind of guy.”

  Madison clung onto his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, realizing that he was taking this far too calmly.

  “Me? I’m fine,” he said. “I was planning on telling you when I was ready. Didn’t want to spring it on you out of nowhere.” Another dry laugh. “Guess we blew that.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “Why hasn’t she called me?”

  “You were never exactly close, were you?”

  “She is my mother, don’t you think I should have heard it from her?”

  “Madison,” he sighed. “You’re all grown up. You’ve got a great job interviewing lots of interesting people, and you do it well. You’ve achieved plenty, which I know wasn’t easy.” A long slow beat. “Truth is, you didn’t always get the attention from either of us that you deserved, and somehow that bothers me.”

  “I guess . . .” she mumbled, feeling totally mixed up and sad. “It was you and Stella, I was the outsider.”

  “Don’t get carried away.”

  “No, Michael, I was. That’s why I’m so shocked at this news.”

  “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, speaking fast. “There’s something else I have to tell you—something that might help you understand things better.”

  “What?” she asked, holding on to his arm tighter.

  “It’ll have to wait until we’re sitting down.”

  She nodded blankly. Today was definitely going to be a day to remember.

  CHAPTER

  8

  “I HOPE YOU’RE THINKING about babies,” Martha Cockranger said, her round cheeks flushed and rosy.

  “What?” Rosarita said, as Martha trailed her around the ground floor of Saks.

  “Babies,” Martha repeated with a coy chuckle. “Little ones.” A confidential whisper. “Dick wants three, you know.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you—he’s not called Dick anymore,” Rosarita said irritably. “And while we’re on the subject—how could you stick him with a name like Dick when your surname is Cockranger?”

  “Dick was his grandfather’s name,” Martha said, managing to look hurt. “He never should’ve changed it. His daddy is still upset.”

  Oh, Christ! Rosarita thought. What am I doing here? This unsophisticated dolt simply doesn’t get it.

  “I’m not planning on becoming pregnant anytime soon,” she said, putting what she hoped was an end to that discussion.

  “You’re not?” Martha said, disappointed.

  “Definitely not,” Rosarita said, dragging her mother-in-law over to the accessory section and quickly pulling a long chiffon Armani scarf off the stand. “What do you think of this?” she asked.

  “It’s lovely!” Martha exclaimed.

  “I’ll buy it for you,” Rosarita said, waving her Saks charge card at a salesperson.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Martha objected.

  “Why not?” Rosarita said airily. “Dex’ll pay.”

  “Please, no,” Martha said, getting all flustered. “I can’t have him spending his hard-earned money on me. He works so hard, and this scarf is—” Her voice rose in horror as she took a peek at the price tag. “Three hundred and fifty dollars!”

  Ha! Rosarita thought. Works hard? He goes in early, has makeup slapped on his face, sits around with a bunch of mediocre actors, then comes home. What’s so hard about that?

  Instead she nodded understandingly. “I know, it must be tough for him.”

  “Yes,” Martha agreed. “But at least he has you to come home to.” Another confidential whisper. “He adores you, dear, you should see the letters he writes us.”

  “He writes you letters?” Rosarita said, surprised.

  “Once a week we get a handwritten letter from him telling us all about your exciting life together.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He tells us about the places you go to dinner, what you wear, the meals you eat. I love to hear all the details, and he knows it.” A happy sigh. “He’s such a good son.”

  “I’m sure,” Rosarita muttered. Good and boring and he won’t give me a divorce. It’ll be the death of him.

  “The morning he appeared on Regis & Kathie Lee was the most exciting day of my life,” Martha confided dreamily.
“Kathie Lee’s my favorite, you know, such a delightful woman. I don’t believe a word about those nasty sweatshops; it’s all lies.”

  “He wasn’t on the show by himself,” Rosarita pointed out. “He was there with the rest of the cast, and he only appeared at the end of the program. It was actually an interview with the witch who plays the lead.”

  “Ah . . . Silver Anderson,” Martha said admiringly. “Such a lady! I’m hoping Dick . . . I mean Dex, will take us to the studio one day to meet her.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Rosarita said, bored with this conversation.

  “What night are we seeing that lovely daddy of yours?” Martha inquired, flinging the chiffon scarf around her neck and parading in front of a mirror.

  “I’ll call him later,” Rosarita said, spotting a girlfriend of hers in the distance.

  Quick as a flash she pulled Martha around to the other side of the counter.

  She couldn’t be seen with her. It was far too humiliating.

  •

  “When are you starting a family, son?” Matt Cockranger said as he lifted weights in Dexter’s makeshift gym.

  “Dunno,” Dexter mumbled, busy on the rowing machine.

  Clearing his throat, Matt lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but when I married your mother she was already pregnant with your older sister.”

  “She was?” Dexter said, quite shocked at this intimate revelation.

  “She’d kill me if she thought I’d told you,” Matt said, looking around to make sure that Martha was not about to suddenly appear. “The secret is to start early.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Dexter said, hoping to shut him up.

  Matt had no intention of shutting up. “No point in waiting,” he said. “Knock her up, boy, that’s what you’ve got to do.”

  “Dad,” Dexter said, shaking his head. “Where did you learn phrases like ‘knock her up’?”

  “I was quite a ladies’ man in my time,” Matt said with a boastful chuckle. “Handsome, like you. Captain of the football team. And my Martha was the prettiest girl in school; all the fellows were after her.”

  “They were?” Dexter said, eyebrows rising at the thought that his dear old mom might have once been a sex magnet.

  “Yes indeed,” Matt said, moving over to the Life Cycle. “But I knew she was the one for me as soon as I met her.”

  “Really?” Dexter said.

  “Oh, yes,” Matt said, nodding to himself. “She wouldn’t let anyone else near her except me. Had to wait weeks before she’d give me so much as a good-night kiss. What a girl! To this day I’m the only man she’s ever had.”

  “You’re telling me too many details, Dad,” Dexter said nervously.

  “I know what I’m talking about, son. You’ve got to knock your wife up, keeps ’em in their place.”

  “Right,” Dexter said, thinking that nothing would keep Rosarita in her place.

  “Has she been getting uppity with you lately?” Matt asked.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I was in the kitchen last night, and I heard shouting coming from your bedroom. Not that I’d ever interfere.”

  “You didn’t tell Mom, did you?”

  “No,” Matt said. “Wouldn’t do to upset her.”

  “Don’t!” Dexter said. “She’d hate to think we were fighting.”

  “What were you fighting about?”

  “I want to start a family,” Dexter mumbled. “Rosarita doesn’t.”

  “Is she on the pill, son?” Matt asked, slowing down.

  Dexter shook his head, sweat beading his brow.

  “What does she use?” Matt asked. “One of those rubber diaphragm things?”

  Dexter nodded, embarrassed to be discussing such a personal subject with his dad.

  “I’ll tell you what to do,” Matt said, stopping his machine. “And you’d better listen to me, ’cause I’m wiser than you—not more famous, but older and wiser.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Dexter said, resigned to the fact that there was no stopping him.

  “You take a pin, find her diaphragm and prick a few little holes in it. She’ll never know you’ve done it, and before long she’ll be pregnant. After that things will be fine. Take it from me, son, once they’ve had a baby they calm down.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” Matt said, nodding. “Heed the voice of experience, son. Matt Cockranger knows what he’s talking about.”

  •

  Back at the apartment, Rosarita escaped to the bedroom, locked the door and sat staring at the phone. Should she call him? Shouldn’t she? She was ready for action with a vengeance, and Joel was certainly the man to give it to her. But there was no way she could see him over the weekend, not with the Cockrangers on her case every single minute.

  Damn! She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, and Rosarita always got what she wanted.

  On impulse, she picked up the phone and got through to Chas. “You know that little favor I asked you to do?” she said, picking at her nail polish—a nervous habit she couldn’t shake.

  “Ha!” Chas said. “Some little goddamn favor. I wanna talk to you ’bout that.”

  “Anyway,” she said casually, “put it on hold. His parents are in town.”

  “Dexter’s mom and dad?”

  “Yes, they’re here in New York, staying with us. Which brings me to favor number two.”

  “And what’s that?” Chas said sourly. “Ya want I should arrange t’whack the whole family?”

  “Funny,” Rosarita said.

  “What do ya want?” Chas said, thoroughly steamed at his unpredictable daughter.

  “Daddy,” she said, reverting to little-girl tactics. “Don’t be so mean. Dex’s stupid parents are here, and I’ve got to entertain them. They’re dying to see you. Can we all have dinner tonight?”

  “No way,” Chas growled. “I gotta hot date.”

  “You can bring your date,” Rosarita said persuasively. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  “The last time you was in the company of one of my dates, ya ended up callin’ her a cheap whore to her face.”

  “I did?” Rosarita said innocently, remembering the incident well.

  “Yeah, an’ that kinda behavior I don’t appreciate, considerin’ me an’ the broad was in the middle of a very cozy relationship.”

  “You were?”

  “Don’t go playin’ innocent tootsie with me,” Chas said. “Ya know what ya did. My lady friend ran out on me so fast she forgot her panties.”

  “Lucky you,” Rosarita said with a wicked laugh. “You can parade around wearing them.”

  “You’re gettin’ a real smart mouth,” Chas said angrily.

  Rosarita changed tactics again. “Anyway,” she said as sweetly as she could. “How about if we all come to dinner at your house? You’ve got a cook who sits around doing nothing all day. Please, Daddy, please.”

  “Jeez!” Chas grumbled. “This is all I freakin’ need. What’s their name? Shiprangers?”

  “No, Daddy,” she said patiently. “Cockrangers.”

  “What kinda name is that?”

  “At least Dex was smart enough to change it,” Rosarita said with a wild giggle. “Can you imagine if I was Mrs. Cockranger?”

  Yeah, Chas thought. You would’ve gotten the name you deserve.

  •

  The moment Chas got off the phone with Rosarita he phoned his other daughter.

  “Hello, Daddy,” Venice said. “How are you?”

  Venice always had a happy face and a kind word—not to mention two adorable small kids and a pleasant, low-key husband whom she was not nagging Chas to dispose of.

  “How ya doin’, babydoll?” he said, happy to speak to her.

  “We’re all fine, thank you, Daddy.”

  “Glad t’hear it.”

  “I was thinking of bringing the children over tomorrow. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Sure, I wa
nna see ’em. But I also wanna see you an’ . . .” He hesitated for a moment, never quite certain of Venice’s husband’s name.

  “Eddie,” she reminded.

  “Yeah, yeah—I know, Eddie for crissakes. I want you an’ Eddie t’come for dinner tonight at the house. Rosarita’s in-laws are in town.”

  “Martha and Matt,” Venice said. “I remember them from the wedding; they’re nice people.”

  “I’m glad somebody remembers ’em.”

  “What time shall we be there, Daddy?”

  “Around seven-thirty.”

  “Should Eddie wear a tie?”

  “Yeah, good idea.” He hesitated again—Venice was his sensitive daughter, he didn’t want to shock or surprise her. “Uh . . . hon—is it okay with you if I got a date? It won’t upset you or nothin’?”

  “Why on earth would it upset me? I know how much you loved Mommy, which is why you never got remarried. I’m happy you have a date. I’m sure if she’s with you, she must be someone special.”

  “Yeah, honey, she is, she is.”

  “What does she do?”

  Chas fumbled for a moment. “She’s uh . . . she’s a nurse,” he finally said, trying to decide how he was going to tell his current stripper girlfriend that she had to pretend to be a nurse for the night.

  And how was he going to get her to hide those huge silicone jugs?

  Jesus! Problems, problems. But nothing he couldn’t deal with.

  “See you later, kiddo,” he said, and hung up.

  •

  Dexter felt like a criminal. He’d done as his father had advised him, located Rosarita’s diaphragm—which he’d found conveniently stashed in her bathroom cabinet—and poked a few minuscule holes in it. Doing such a thing had made him feel bad about himself. Was it right to trick her? On the other hand, was it right that she wanted a divorce after only eighteen months of what he considered a pretty good marriage?

  Since their argument last night, Rosarita was behaving. She’d taken his mother shopping and bought her a beautiful scarf. She’d actually sat down and had a conversation with his father about a Clint Eastwood movie they’d both seen and liked. Then she’d informed them that she’d organized dinner at Chas’ house.

  The Cockrangers were duly pleased. “What shall I wear?” Martha repeated over and over, fussing.