“Where’ve you been, girl?” Saffron asked. “I get withdrawals when you vanish.”
“Don’t ask,” Nicci sighed. “I need to see you. Got stuff to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“Like can you come by later?”
“If I get a baby-sitter.”
“Bring Lulu, I never see enough of her. You can both stay the night.”
“Lemme call you back.”
“I need you to be my shrink,” Nicci said. “I’ve got a bad feeling I might’ve made a major mistake.”
•
“FORGET ABOUT IT, there’s no way I’m going to Vegas just ’cause she received some crank’s letter,” Michael said stubbornly. He’d just gotten back to the office after meeting with a husband who suspected his wife was a cocaine addict. Now Quincy was immediately on his case.
“You gotta go,” Quincy retorted, trying to persuade him. “Lissa Roman’s one of our most important clients. We have a contract to take care of all her security needs.”
“I’m not a freaking bodyguard,” Michael said grimly.
“Nobody said you were. You’ll be goin’ there as a representative of our office, makin’ sure everything’s okay. Anyway, what the fuck’s with you an’ Lissa? Why doncha wanna go?”
“ ’Cause I’m not about to be summoned like some flunky. What am I supposed to do—hold her hand?”
“Hey, man, that’s up to you.”
“Quit with that shit, Q. I’ve had it.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll talk about it later.”
•
SAFFRON TURNED UP at the house with her three-year-old daughter, Lulu, whom Nicci adored.
Lulu threw herself into Nicci’s arms, smothering her with hugs and kisses.
“Why don’t I see more of my baby?” Nicci demanded, swinging her godchild around in circles. “I am her godmother.”
“It’s your fault,” Saffron said, as Lulu yelled excitedly. “You’re always busy doing nothing. Anyway, wait until you see Lulu’s dress. She’ll be the most beautiful flower girl ever. Won’t you, baby?” she said, grabbing her daughter.
“Not a baby,” Lulu said sternly. “Me big girl.”
“Sure you are,” Nicci agreed.
“Anyway . . . guess what?” Saffron said.
“What?” Nicci said.
“Prepare yourself, babe,” Saffron said with a secretive smile. “ ’Cause this Saturday is kidnap night.”
“It is?” Nicci said excitedly.
“You bet your fine ass. Saturday’s the night we take off on our magical mystery tour. So from five in the afternoon you’d better be ready for anything. And don’t even bother askin’ me questions, ’cause, girl, I am not tellin’ you a damn thing.”
“I’m totally psyched,” Nicci said, momentarily forgetting about her massive hangover. “I’ve always wanted a wild bachelor night, which I hope includes male strippers with huge—”
“Shush!” Saffron interrupted, indicating Lulu.
“Sorry.”
“Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!” Lulu yelled, jumping up and down.
“We’d better order food,” Saffron said. “She’s like me, wants what she wants as soon as she wants it!”
“How about burgers?” Nicci suggested. “Isn’t that what small people eat?”
“It’s what this kid eats,” Saffron said.
“Lulu, sugar-pie,” Nicci asked, “what d’you want for dinner?”
“Burger an’ french flies,” Lulu said, all huge eyes and baby dreadlocks, a small version of her mommy.
“Fries,” Saffron corrected.
“Flies,” Lulu giggled.
“I’ll call Johnny Rockets, they deliver,” Nicci said. “Do you think burgers are good for a hangover?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
“A drink.”
“Like that’s such a fine idea. Let’s get Lulu settled, then I’ll open the wine and tell you everything.”
•
QUINCY WAS STILL ARGUING with Michael about accompanying Lissa to Vegas, but now it was four hours later and they were sitting in Carol’s apartment, which she’d decorated with scented candles and vases of fresh flowers. She was busy in the kitchen with Amber.
Michael was pissed that Quincy was telling him he had to go to Vegas when he was trying his best to stay away from Lissa. He knew that somehow it was inevitable they’d eventually be together, and yet he was making a conscious effort to avoid it, because his gut instinct kept on warning him it would lead to nothing but trouble.
“C’mon, man,” Quincy persisted. “Stop givin’ me grief on this. The woman needs protection.”
“You go.”
“I would if I could.”
“Oh yeah, your leg—very convenient.”
“I’m tellin’ you, it’ll be good for the agency,” Quincy urged. “She’ll recommend us to people, so make sure you take plenty of cards with you.”
“What am I—a salesman for the Quincy Road Show?”
“It’s not the Quincy Road Show. It’s the Robbins/Scorsinni Road Show.”
“Shit,” Michael muttered.
“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” Quincy bellowed, finally getting angry.
“Okay, okay,” Michael said. “Don’t get your balls in a sweat, I’ll go.”
“Go where?” Amber asked, entering the room.
“Nowhere,” Michael said.
Carol came in from the kitchen, holding aloft a tray of canapés. “You’ll love these,” she said with a bright smile. “I splurged—baby baked potatoes with sour cream and caviar. What do you think, Michael?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Quincy boomed. “Bring ’em over here!”
Later, Michael had made up his mind to give her the speech. He wasn’t looking forward to it and wished he could do it over the phone. Only that would be the coward’s way out, and if there was one thing Michael wasn’t, it was a coward.
“What’re you cooking?” he asked.
“Roast beef, English Yorkshire pudding, and three different vegetables,” she announced proudly.
“Sounds good,” he said, remembering how comfortable he’d felt sitting with Lissa in her den eating lasagna on trays and getting to know her.
Carol ruffled his hair affectionately. “And later, after dinner, I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
“Something special.”
Yeah, he thought, and I have one for you too.
He couldn’t wait for the evening to end.
•
WHILE MICHAEL was at Carol’s, Lissa was on her way to Kyndra and Norio’s anniversary party with James and Claude. She wore a white Armani suit, Harry Winston diamonds, and an upswept hairstyle. It was her first social outing since the news of her split with Gregg, and she was determined to hold her head high. She preferred not to think about how many people might have seen the TV program the night before. If it wasn’t Kyndra and Norio’s party, there was no way she would have gone. But since they were such longtime friends, she couldn’t let them down. So here she was, sitting in the back of Claude’s black Rolls with James, while Claude sat up front next to his chauffeur. Claude was, at sixty-three, a man used to immediate service. A record and media tycoon, he’d made his first million by the time he was twenty. Now a billionaire, he’d enjoyed a ten-year live-in relationship with James. They were complete opposites. James, so tall and elegant, and English. Claude, a small nut of a black man, with energy to spare and a hearty enthusiasm for all the best things in life.
“Don’t worry, darling,” James said, reaching for her hand. “We will not leave your side.”
“It’s good you’re coming out now,” Claude agreed.
“Yes,” James said. “After all, your show is on Saturday, and everybody will see you there.”
“That’s different. My show is a public event. I can handle those kinds of appearances. It’s this private stuff I hate. All those Hollywood wives . . .”<
br />
“Ah, the bitch brigade,” James drawled. “And every one of their sweet honey tongues will be sharpened to kill.”
“Thanks, James,” she said. “You’ve made me feel so much better.”
•
“CRAP!” Saffron exclaimed, leaping up halfway through her burger.
“Crap!” Lulu repeated, giggling with delight. “Crap! Crap! Crap!”
“What’s up?” Nicci asked, staring at Saffron, who was looking a little wild-eyed.
“Tonight’s their anniversary,” Saffron wailed. “And I forgot!”
“Whose anniversary?” Nicci asked patiently.
“My parents! And we’re all supposed to be there, Lulu too.”
“Wanna go t’Grandma’s,” Lulu chanted. “Wanna go! Wanna go!”
“Don’t call her that,” Saffron said. “You know she hates it. Call her Kinny.”
“Wanna go t’Kinny’s,” Lulu giggled. “Now! Now! Now!”
“Guess you blew it,” Nicci said, picking up a french fry and popping it in her mouth. “It’s too late now.”
“Too late?” Saffron exclaimed. “It’s my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary, for God’s sake. Of course I gotta go. And so do you.”
“Leave me out,” Nicci groaned, warding her off with a dismissive hand. “I’m totally finished.”
“Then you’d better get it together, girl,” Saffron said firmly. “ ’Cause Kyndra’s expecting all of us. C’mon, let’s check out your closet and find something to wear.”
“Please,” Nicci said, clutching her head with a dramatic expression. “I’m sick. I can’t do this.”
“Sometimes we gotta do things we don’t want to,” Saffron said. “I took care of the bridesmaids’ dresses, so now it’s your turn t’do something for me. Move it, Nic. This is payback time.”
“Crap, Saff,” Nicci complained. “You’re giving me no choice.”
“Right,” Saffron said, pulling her up. “So let’s go do the closet thing.”
Chapter Twenty-five
* * *
THE TIME FOR ACTION was drawing close, and Eric liked to think that he had everything under control. Every day he followed Nicci as she went about her usual routine of doing nothing much at all, although the previous night she’d shocked him by changing her pattern and spending the night with her boyfriend’s brother. Oh yes, Eric knew all the players. He’d tracked the brother through the license plate on his car, which he’d left parked outside Nicci’s house all night.
The girl was obviously a whore—exactly like her mother. Eric wasn’t surprised. Most women were whores one way or the other. He’d never met one he could trust.
He was in daily touch with Arliss, who was supposed to make sure everyone took care of what they were instructed to do.
On Tuesday night he met with Danny in the same gay bar they always went to.
It was obvious that as far as Danny was concerned they had become friends. Nobody listened to him the way Eric Vernon did, nor bought rounds of drinks with such a generous spirit. He found himself telling Eric everything—including the troubles he was experiencing with his much older boyfriend.
Eric always listened sympathetically, and told Danny of his problems with his partner. Danny had this tingling feeling that when they were both free, they would finally get together in a sexual way.
“We’re off to Vegas on Thursday,” Danny confided, taking small sips of an apple martini—his new favorite drink. “On a private plane, no less. The hotel is sending it for us.”
“Sounds exciting,” Eric said. “Does she always travel by private plane?”
“Whenever she can,” Danny replied, toying with his new gold stud earring. He felt it gave him a jaunty, macho look.
“It’s just you and her, then?”
“And her makeup and hair people, and security, of course.”
“No daughter?”
“She never has Nicci to public events.”
“Do you go with her all the time?”
“Whenever I can,” Danny said. “Which is one of the main problems between me and George.” He lowered his voice. “George is jealous of her,” he whispered as if it were a state secret. “The nerve! Jealous of my princess.”
“I read in the papers that she’s getting three million dollars for one night’s work. Is that true?”
“Of course,” Danny said crisply. “And she deserves every cent. My princess works so hard and has such dreadful luck with men. The last one was very bad.” Again with the lowered voice. “I think he used to hit her.”
Eric made appropriate noises of horror. If he were the bitch’s husband, he would’ve beat her nonstop.
“Oooh, look,” Danny said, pursing his lips. “Isn’t that delicious!”
Eric glanced up as a steroid-enhanced, muscle-bound giant in tight shorts passed by their table.
“Not my type,” he said.
“What is your type?” Danny asked, getting slightly misty-eyed at the thought that he might be.
Eric shrugged, for once at a loss.
“Do you know,” Danny said in a confidential tone. “When we first met I had no hint that you were a friend of Dorothy’s.”
“Three million bucks,” Eric said, swiftly changing the subject. “That’s a lot of money. What do they do—give her a check?”
“I don’t know,” Danny said, clamming up.
Yes, you do, you dumb-ass faggot, Eric thought.
“Well,” he said, digging in his pocket. “Here’s a twenty. Put it on number thirty-five for me. And stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try,” Danny said with a high-pitched giggle. “Can’t promise!”
“If I should want to call you, is there a special number?”
“We’ll only be there four days.”
“In case I feel lucky and want to make another bet.”
Danny wrote down the private number and handed it to him. “This number goes straight to the suite,” he said. “Only use it if you’re desperate to speak to me. I’m not supposed to give it out.”
“Sure,” Eric said. “And when you get back—”
“Yes?” Danny interrupted, an eager-puppy look on his cheerful face.
“We should talk about us.”
“Oooh, yes,” Danny cooed. “We definitely should.”
Later, Eric met with Arliss, who assured him everything was set. Davey had his eye on exactly the right vehicle. Little Joe had already stolen the chloroform and a stash of sleeping pills to keep their victim sedated. And Big Mark was set for action.
“Good,” Eric said. “We’ll do it on Saturday. Be ready. I’ll let you know where we meet before then. Keep yourself available, and not a word to anyone. Got it?”
Arliss nodded his greasy head. He was as ready as he’d ever be.
Chapter Twenty-six
* * *
THE PARTY was in full swing when Claude’s Rolls drove up to Kyndra and Norio Domingo’s palatial estate in Bel Air. It was set in over thirty acres, and the Domingos had lived there for over twenty years.
The Rolls was soon stuck in a line of limos and cars.
“For God’s sake—how many people have they invited?” Claude grumbled.
“Too many,” James answered.
“Are you sure I should be doing this?” Lissa said, worrying, because she didn’t know how she’d handle it if any rude comments came her way.
“Of course, my angel,” James assured her. “You’ll be the star of the party. And if anyone says anything untoward to you, they’ll have me to deal with.”
“You’re sweet,” she sighed.
“Yes, I’m so sweet that you reveal nothing to me. Claude,” he said, leaning forward and tapping his partner on the shoulder, “are you aware that madam has a new love?”
“I do not,” she objected, furious that James was so intuitive.
“You cannot fool me,” James said with confidence. “It’s written all over your pretty face.”
“I’ve just g
otten rid of one,” she answered guardedly. “Why would I even think about a new one?”
“I suppose when you’re a stunning superstar, men simply fall into your lap. They can’t help themselves.”
“Bullshit, James.”
“I can see it, darling. You’re glowing.”
“I am not glowing.”
“How long do we have to sit here?” Claude complained, a man not used to waiting. “This is a joke.”
“Sorry, Mr. St. Lucia,” his driver said, apologizing as if it were his fault.
“I wish they’d learn to stagger the guests,” James said. “That would be the civilized way of doing it.”
“I can just see them staggering the guests,” Lissa said. “What did you have in mind, James? The A group first, and the C group later?”
“There is no C group at the Domingos’,” James said imperiously. “Everyone’s a star. And if they’re not, they’re married to one.”
Lissa adjusted her diamond earrings, she was getting more and more nervous about facing everyone. Would they think she was a failure? No. They would simply feed on her fame, because that’s all that really mattered in Hollywood.
She wondered what Michael was doing. He’d said he was getting ready to give someone the let’s-break-up speech. Hmm . . . who was that someone? A long-term affair? A casual three-weeker?
The Rolls was almost at the entrance to the house.
“We don’t have to stay long, do we?” Lissa asked, taking a deep breath.
“Just as long as it takes for you to dazzle and shine,” James said. “Then, I promise, we’ll have you home by midnight, exactly like Cinderella.”
•
KYNDRA GREETED her guests resplendent in a full-length gold strapless gown, a diamond choker, and long diamond-and-ruby earrings. Her ebony skin gleamed with gold flecks, and her jet hair was piled high on her head in an Erykah Badu do. She looked amazing, like an exotic African queen.
Norio, standing beside her, was a tall distinguished-looking Colombian, with hypnotic eyes, a bald head, and a sly way of flirting that made every woman feel special.
Their marriage had endured through several affairs on both sides, and now they’d settled into an easy togetherness.
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