Harry circumvented the line outside the club and marched up to the burly doorman, who was unimpressed—especially when Harry started yelling and waving hundred-dollar bills around. It made no difference. Underage was underage, and they couldn’t get in.
“This is bullshit,” Ace said, grabbing Max’s arm. “Let’s split.”
“Sure,” she said, nudging Cookie, who got the message and dragged Harry away from the entrance to the club and back to his car.
“I’ll drive,” Ace said.
“No way,” Harry objected, swaying slightly.
“You’re stoned,” Ace accused.
“No way,” Harry repeated, glaring at him.
Crap! Max thought. So this is why Harry is acting like such a prick. Ace is right. He’s totally stoned.
“Hey,” Ace said forcefully. “Either I drive or we’re getting a cab.”
“Go ahead,” Harry said belligerently, spiky black hair standing on end.
“Cool it, Harry,” Cookie said, stepping between them. “Let Ace drive. What’s your problem?”
“It’s my car and I’m driving it,” Harry shouted. “So you can all go fuck off.”
“He’s not usually like this,” Max whispered to Ace. “I don’t know what’s up with him.”
“Listen,” Ace said. “He’s your friend, and I’m sorry, but neither of us are getting in a car with him.”
“What about Cookie?”
“She shouldn’t drive with him either. Tell her.”
“Cookie, come with us,” Max said.
“I’ll stick with Harry,” Cookie decided. “He’s not that stoned. You two take off, we’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’m so sorry about Harry,” Max said as she and Ace walked off down Hollywood Boulevard.
“Those two are your best friends?” he said.
“They’re normally great, but lately they’re into this whole getting-stoned mind trip. It’s not my idea of a fun time.”
“Glad to hear it. I went through that phase when I was sixteen, but I didn’t drive. Truth is I didn’t have a car.”
“My mom thinks doing drugs is totally uncool. That’s one thing we agree on.”
He took her hand as a couple of suspicious-looking guys walked toward them.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, loving the way her hand felt in his.
“I’m not getting in a car with Harry tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll take my brother’s truck.”
“Really?”
“Your friend is on a roll, Max. I don’t want to be around when he crashes and burns.”
“Isn’t that like rather dramatic?” she said, looking up at him.
“Maybe, but it’s what happens.”
“Harry’s going through a tough time. His dad is some kind of mogul, and his mom’s a born-again. They went through a bad divorce, plus he’s stuck in the closet, so he’s major screwed up. Cookie, Harry, and me have been best friends since we were like five years old.”
“I understand, an’ I’m not being difficult, but you don’t wanna get in a car with somebody when they’re high.”
“Okay, we’ll take your truck, and they can either go in Cookie’s dad’s plane or drive.”
“Who’s Cookie’s dad?”
“He’s a famous soul singer. Gerald M. You heard of him?”
“Nope.”
“You really do live in the boondocks, don’t you?”
“You sound like a Beverly Hills brat when you say things like that.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said defensively. “You should meet my grandfather, he’s a real character, he built hotels in Vegas way back. He’s ninety-five now. My parents were way pissed I missed his party.”
“Your parents sound interesting.”
“My dad’s the greatest. He started out as a comedian, then he became a movie star, now he writes and directs movies.”
“I know, I looked him up on my brother’s computer.”
“Oh, so you do have e-mail at your house. How come you didn’t tell me?”
“Max,” he said, giving her another one of his penetrating looks. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you.”
“Like what?”
“Like one of these days—if we stay friends—you’ll find out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
The Grill was a speed demon. It would have taken a normal person an hour to get to the house and back, but The Grill managed to make it in half the time.
He entered Anthony’s office and handed him the small hidden camera that he’d installed in the master bedroom at his boss’s house the day before.
“You arranged for the car bringing my wife here to be delayed?” Anthony asked.
The Grill nodded.
“Get out,” Anthony ordered. “And tell my secretary nobody’s to disturb me.”
“Yes, boss,” The Grill said as he left the office.
Anthony connected the small spy camera to the TV before switching it on. He wasn’t sure what he was about to see, but whatever it was it would either validate what Cesar had told him, or it would make the man out to be a liar, in which case Cesar would be severely punished before his ass was fired.
Working the remote, Anthony sped through the scenes of the empty bedroom, stopping when Irma appeared. He observed her enter the room and walk straight over to the window.
What was she doing at the window? He couldn’t tell.
She looked out of the window for a few minutes before turning around and leaving the room.
He fast-forwarded again until she returned. Only this time she was not alone—this time there was a man with her.
Anthony’s back stiffened as the man followed Irma into their bedroom. Then the bitch locked the door, she locked the fuckin’ door!
Anthony sat very still watching intently as his wife began talking to the man, saying something Anthony couldn’t hear. He adjusted the sound and rewound to make sure he missed nothing.
“Luis,” Irma said, “what is going on with you?”
“’Scuse, señora,” the man muttered.
“Don’t call me señora,” Irma said. “My name is Irma. You know that.”
“Sí, Irma,” the man said.
Anthony pressed Pause and rewound again, just to make sure he was catching every word.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were married and your wife was pregnant?” Irma said as the tape continued.
The man shrugged and looked away. But then to Anthony’s fury, the son of a bitch turned toward her, and in a most familiar fashion placed his fuckin’ hand on her right breast.
Anthony leaned forward, hardly believing his own eyes. That Irma would dare to do this was beyond his comprehension.
Within seconds the man began undoing the buttons on her blouse. Next he unhooked the clip on the front of her bra, exposing her breasts.
Anthony attempted to keep his breathing even, but the anger that was building inside him was getting ready to explode.
“Oh, Luis,” Irma sighed, throwing her head back in abandon.
The man, or Luis, as that was obviously the bastard’s name, lightly brushed her nipples with his fingertips before bringing his lips down to suck on them.
She did not object. His wife did not object!
“Son of a mothafuckin’ bitch!” Anthony screamed, his face reddening. “Cheating fuckin’ WHORE!”
Irma sighed the name “Luis” again before the prick swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed where he proceeded to make love to her.
ANOTHER MAN WAS FUCKING HIS WIFE. ANTHONY BONAR’S WIFE! AND THE CUNT WAS ENJOYING IT!
Anthony could feel the bile rising in his throat. This was the woman he’d married, the woman he’d given his name to, the mother of his children.
This woman was nothing but a prostitute, a douche bag, an unfaithful cheating CUNT.
Abruptly Anthony switched off the TV and summoned The Grill.
The big man entered his office and stood at
attention.
“I have a job for you to take care of,” Anthony instructed. “A job that needs to be executed immediately.”
* * *
The driver took Irma to the same restaurant where she and Anthony had lunched the day before. She was not happy because the driver had insisted on making several stops along the way, claiming he was running errands for Señor Bonar. After the third stop she complained bitterly that she would be late for lunch and Señor Bonar would be very angry if she was late.
The driver shrugged and informed her that he was only following Señor Bonar’s orders.
Irma decided she would tell Anthony she did not wish to use this particular driver again—he was insolent.
When she finally arrived at the restaurant Anthony was not there, even though she was at least twenty minutes late. She requested a glass of wine and looked at the menu, then after fifteen minutes she called for the head waiter and asked if Señor Bonar had left a message for her.
“No, señora,” the man said. “Perhaps you would care to order?”
No, she wouldn’t care to order, not until Anthony got there.
Another ten minutes passed and she wasn’t sure what to do. She requested a phone and connected with Anthony at his office.
“Where are you?” she said. “I’ve been sitting here for over half an hour.”
“Something came up,” he said.
“Will you be here soon?”
“Go ahead and order.”
“Without you?”
“I’ll try to make it. Otherwise come to the office when you’re finished.”
“But I hate sitting alone in a restaurant,” she complained. “It’s uncomfortable. I feel awkward.”
“Sometimes we gotta do things we don’t want to. This is one of them.”
He did not sound as friendly as he had the day before, but she understood that when Anthony was immersed in business he became distant.
“Am I still coming to Vegas?” she asked, hoping that he hadn’t changed his mind.
“Wouldn’t want you to miss out, would I?”
“I’ll go ahead and order. Should I get something for you in case you make it?”
“It’s unlikely,” he said. “Take your time, I’ll be at my office waitin’ for you.”
“Can I bring you anything at all?”
“Funny thing,” he said slowly. “Seems like I lost my appetite.”
She ordered a salad and another glass of wine. She lingered over the wine. Anthony did not appear.
After a while she asked for the check, paid it, and was on her way out of the restaurant when who should she run into but Oliver Stanton.
“Irma,” he said, stopping and blocking her path.
“Oliver,” she replied, thanking God that Anthony wasn’t with her.
“I called you,” Oliver said, giving her a hurt look. “More than once, and you haven’t returned my calls.”
“I know,” she answered, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. “I’ve been very busy.”
“Was it something I said? Did? Because I was under the impression that we really hit it off.”
“No, no, Oliver, our evening together was most enjoyable.”
“But you never called me back.”
“I will,” she said quickly. “I’ve got your number.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “It’s just that things have changed since we were together.”
“They have?”
“I can’t explain right now,” she said, eager to get away from him. “I’ll call you later.”
She hurried from the restaurant without looking back. The driver was waiting by the car.
“Señor Bonar’s office,” she said, getting in the car. “And this time no stops along the way.”
“Sí, señora.”
She reached in her purse, took out her compact, and applied powder and lip gloss. Running into Oliver Stanton was quite a surprise. What if Anthony had been with her? How would she have explained it?
Anthony’s suite of offices was on the top floor of the building. His assistant was not at her desk and there seemed to be nobody else around, so Irma made her way to his office.
Anthony was sitting behind his desk smoking an expensive cigar.
“I thought you were so busy,” she scolded. “I didn’t enjoy lunching by myself. Sitting alone in a restaurant is embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing, huh?” he said, puffing away on his cigar.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Are the children okay?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“It’s simply that you seem so different from yesterday.”
“Different. In what way?”
“I don’t know, Anthony. Yesterday I thought that things were getting better between us. Now you’re acting toward me as if—”
“As if what, Irma?”
“As if I’ve done something wrong.”
“Have you?” he asked, blowing smoke in her direction.
“Have I what?”
“Done something wrong.”
“Of course not,” she said, adding, “I’m so looking forward to Vegas.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda lookin’ forward to it myself,” he said. “But first there’s a few things I gotta take care of, so whyn’t you sit down ’cause I got somethin’ t’show you.”
“What do you want to show me, Anthony?” she asked, sitting on a leather chair, folding her hands neatly on her lap.
“A movie,” he said mildly.
“A movie?”
“Yeah. It’s not exactly a love story, more a kinda porno.”
“Anthony,” she said sternly, “you know I do not enjoy porno films.”
“I believe you mentioned that when we were first married. Only things change, don’t they?”
“No, Anthony,” she said primly. “I refuse to watch porno. I find it demeaning to women.”
“You might get a kick outta watchin’ this one, ’cause it stars someone you know.”
“Who?” she asked, immediately thinking that perhaps it was one of his entourage’s wives. Wouldn’t that be something.
“Sit back, Irma, an’ enjoy the show. I gotta hunch you’re gonna find it more than interesting.”
THE KEYS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
“Good morning,” Lucky said, kissing her husband on the lips.
“Man,” Lennie groaned, waking up with a lazy smile on his face. “So cheerful for a dawn wake-up.”
“It’s six A.M., the sun is shining, and today’s my big day.”
“Yeah, an’ last night was my big night trading shots of tequila with your friend Billy. Why’d you let me do it?”
“I seem to recall us having the same conversation when I overdid the champagne at Gino’s party. Wasn’t it me saying to you, ‘Why’d you let me drink champagne?’ And you saying to me, ‘When have I ever stopped you from doing anything?’”
“She has a memory too.”
“She sure does. So I suggest that you haul your lazy ass out of bed and come with me.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Who knows? I’ve got this urge to walk around my hotel and take it all in before chaos.”
“Chaos, huh?”
“I guess I’m experiencing that feeling you get just before the opening of one of your movies.”
“Extreme stomach cramps and a desperate need to hide?”
“No,” she said, laughing. “Excitement. Pure unadulterated excitement.”
Lennie looked at his wife, marveling at how beautiful she was. Lucky Santangelo. Mother of his children. Powerhouse. Businesswoman. Tough. Vulnerable. Wildly sexy. His true partner in every way.
What a woman!
“Let’s go,” he said, jumping out of bed.
“You’re naked,” she pointed out. “Put your pants on.”
“First time you’ve asked me to do that,” he said, grinning.
“Don’t piss around with me today, Lennie, ’cause nothing you do is going to upset me.”
“Okay, then I won’t bother putting on pants.”
“Ha ha! This is not a nudist camp—pants on and let’s hit it. Okay, lover?”
“Okay, wife.”
* * *
Venus was up early too, in spite of the fact that they’d all ended up at the Cavendish and gambled until three A.M. Billy had been on a winning streak, which had put him in an excellent mood.
“I had no idea you were such a big gambler,” Venus had said. “Vegas agrees with you.”
“When I win it does,” Billy had said. “Last time I was here was for a bachelor party, had a wild time.”
“I bet you did, what with all the strip clubs, not to mention the convenient whorehouses.”
“Baby,” he’d said, laughing, “if there’s one thing I’ve never had to do, that’s pay for it.”
Now it was morning and she was ready to rehearse. “How are you going to occupy yourself today?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find something to do.”
“Yeah, if I know you, you’ll be heading back to the tables to lose it all.”
“Don’t knock it. Besides, there’s nothing else to do in Vegas.”
“Yes, there is,” she said crisply. “Shopping.”
“Shopping is a girls’ thing.”
“Since when? You love to shop.”
“Not today. Anyway, Kev’s arriving this morning, he’ll keep me company.”
“Is he coming by himself?”
“Uh, no,” Billy said, dreading the moment he might have to introduce Venus to Ali. “Think he’s bringing one of his girls.”
“You make him sound like a pimp.”
“He wishes.”
“Well,” Venus said, preparing to leave, “if you need me, I’ll be at rehearsal. I should be back around three. Then I plan on having a full-body massage and taking it easy until my makeup and hair people arrive at four.”
“Got it, babe.”
“Oh yes, and if you feel like buying me that apartment, go right ahead.”
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