“Sounds like a plan,” Denver said, happy to do so. She hadn’t felt like spending yet another evening home alone, and although she wasn’t really into babies, she had to admit that Andy was extremely adorable.
Sam had called and left a message. She hadn’t called him back; she didn’t want to encourage him. After all, she’d told him she was still involved—sort of. Maybe he hadn’t taken her as seriously as he should’ve.
After stopping by Chin Chin, she headed straight for Carolyn’s house.
Carolyn was sitting out in her back garden, Andy balanced on her knee. The two of them made a perfect picture, straight out of Modern Mother magazine.
Denver wondered whether her friend was thinking of going back to work anytime soon. Andy’s dad, the cheating Senator Stoneman, was certainly not sending her any child support. Who knew if he was even aware that he had a son? And since Carolyn’s parents had split up, they were probably not prepared to give financial aid to their daughter forever. Besides, Denver reckoned it would be therapeutic for Carolyn to find a job and put all the Washington trauma behind her.
“Hey,” she said lightly. “I left the food in the kitchen. Don’t you ever lock your front door? I walked right in.”
“Nothing for them to take except me and Andy,” Carolyn remarked, completely unconcerned. “And I’m sure nobody wants us.”
“How about your TV, your computer, your camera?” Denver pointed out. “All valuable items.”
“I’m hardly ripe for a robbery.”
“Everyone should take precautions,” Denver admonished. “Crime is all around us.”
“Spoken like a true DA.”
“So,” Denver said, throwing herself into the empty lawn chair beside Carolyn’s, “I’m dying to know—how was your walk on the wild side?”
“Interesting,” Carolyn said as her front doorbell chimed. She stood up and handed Denver the baby. “Some people ring before entering,” she commented.
“Some people haven’t known you since you were twelve,” Denver replied tartly. “Are you expecting someone?”
“You’ll see,” Carolyn said, vanishing into the house.
“I only brought enough salad for two,” Denver yelled after her. “And I’m starving, so I’m not in the mood for sharing.”
Andy let out a big burp, and a dribble of drool slid down the side of his mouth. Awkwardly, Denver tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand. She wasn’t used to babies; somehow the maternal gene had yet to kick in.
And then a vision appeared. A gorgeous woman with soft, naturally curly blond hair, kind eyes, and a bountiful figure.
Carolyn was right behind her. “Denver, meet Vanessa,” she said briskly.
Denver was surprised and shocked. Somehow or other she’d imagined Vanessa to be big and butch with cropped hair and no makeup, dressed in a manly leather jacket. This lovely, feminine woman was the complete opposite.
“Uh, hi,” Denver said, embarrassed that she’d had such a clichéd view of what a lesbian should look like.
“Hello,” Vanessa said, proffering a firm handshake and a friendly smile. “Carolyn talks about you a lot. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Finally? One date and now Vanessa was acting as if they were in a relationship. What the hell?
“Vanessa works for a TV production company,” Carolyn said, smiling blissfully at her new friend. “Documentaries and the like.”
“Really?” Denver said, suddenly feeling as if she was the odd one out.
“Yes,” Vanessa said, swooping down to steal Andy out of Denver’s arms. “I’m hoping to convince Carolyn to come join us. With all her Washington experience, she’d be such an asset. Will you please talk her into it?”
“I’ll try,” Denver said with a weak smile.
Carolyn giggled. Carolyn was so not a giggler. “I’m thinking about it,” she said coyly. “Nobody has to talk me into anything.”
“Well, think faster,” Vanessa chided, and the two exchanged an intimate look.
Oh my God! Denver thought. They’re acting as if they’re already a couple. Who knew?
* * *
Lucky’s apartment in The Keys was her dream home. Not that she didn’t love the Malibu house and spending time with her kids, but her haven in Vegas was her special place. Whenever she was there, she felt at peace. Sometimes she needed to be alone, and sitting in her penthouse above the Strip—looking out at the sparkling lights of the city—gave her immense satisfaction. It also reminded her of so many Vegas memories. Sometimes the memories were overwhelming, good and bad.
Picking up the house phone, she called downstairs to Danny, her personal assistant. Danny was the eyes and ears on everything Vegas when she wasn’t in residence. He’d only worked for her a year, but he was quite possibly the best assistant she’d ever had. He was young, twenty-something, gay—in a long-term relationship with Buff, his high school buddy. She trusted him implicitly.
“Did Gino arrive yet?” she asked.
“He’s here,” Danny responded. “Feisty as ever. I cannot believe how old that man is!”
Lucky smiled, thinking of her ninety-something father, who never slowed down. “Yes, he’s remarkable, isn’t he?” she said. Gino had his own suite at The Keys, and there was nothing he liked more than sitting in a lounge chair outside his private cabana at the pool, watching all the pretty girls pass by. He had not acquired the nickname Gino the Ram for nothing. Over the years, he’d certainly lived up to his reputation. Now married to his fifth wife, Paige, a woman decades younger than him, Gino seemed to have more energy than anyone.
“Is everything set for the board meeting on Friday?” Lucky asked.
“Of course,” Danny replied. “It’s all in order.”
“I think I’ve persuaded Alex Woods to come. Make sure he has the right accommodations. And arrange to have cars meet everyone at the airport.”
“Got it, Lucky.”
“Okay, then,” she said, tossing back her long jet-black hair. “I’m on my way to see Gino. We’ll talk later.”
* * *
The Malibu party started off slowly. A trickle of friends hanging out by the pool drinking beer and Coke from cans, laughing and talking and generally getting loose.
Max glanced around and wished she had invited Ace. Maybe this would’ve been the night they consummated their relationship, shifting it to another level. Since she was about to be eighteen, wasn’t it time to do something about taking things all the way?
She took a quick peek at her watch and realized it was only just past eight, so if she called him now he could probably make it in a couple of hours. But then he’d be annoyed that she hadn’t told him about it before, so it was best to leave it alone.
Cookie was busy draping herself all over the deejay Harry had gotten. The guy was Latin and a major hottie straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. Maybe Frankie wouldn’t show, and Cookie would settle for this guy. He certainly knew his stuff—rocking everything from Usher to Drake to Miley to old eighties soul and Beatles classics.
This is going to be a perfect evening, Max thought. A mellow way to celebrate turning eighteen. And after I’m eighteen, I’m moving to New York, far away from parental concerns. I’m going to be exactly like Bobby and make my own life.
Doing what?
I haven’t decided.
She darted inside the house to check that she’d locked up all the main rooms. She certainly didn’t want anyone coming into the house. Lucky would so not appreciate it.
Harry followed her, his spiked hair gelled higher than ever. “You gotta tell Cookie to lay off Paco,” he said, sounding flustered. “She’s such a greedy bitch. If it’s got a dick, she wants it.”
“Who’s Paco?”
Harry’s pale skin reddened. “The deejay.”
“Why d’you want her to back off?”
“’Cause I gotta wild hunch he’s gonna be way more into me than her,” Harry said.
“Oh crap!” Max exclaim
ed, getting the message.
“So do something about her,” Harry pleaded.
“I’ll try,” Max promised. “But you know Cookie.…”
Yes, everyone knew Cookie. If there was a party, she was there. If there was a hot guy, she was there. Cookie had lost her virginity to one of her famous father’s friends when she was fourteen, and she’d never looked back.
It kind of irked Max that she lurked so far behind in the sex stakes, but then again, she didn’t want to give it up to just anyone. The first time had to be special, and she was making sure that it would be.
* * *
Back in New York, Bobby stopped by his apartment, checked his e-mail, took a shower, put on fresh clothes, and headed for Mood.
It was past ten by the time he arrived, and the place was packed, as usual. Wednesday nights were usually extra happening, as it was guest deejay night, and everyone enjoyed the change of pace. His manager, Paulo, a suave Italian, assured him things were going well.
Bobby did the rounds, stopping by tables, buying people drinks, complimenting the women. He wasn’t crazy about playing the genial host, but he did it because he knew it was good for business.
Martin Constantine—the real-estate mogul—insisted that he join him and his wife, Nona, for a glass of champagne. At one time Bobby had considered asking Martin if he’d be interested in investing in future clubs, but then he’d decided against it, because Martin wouldn’t simply put up the money; he was the kind of man who’d expect to be involved.
Nona, an ex–beauty queen from Slovakia, was not her normal flirty self. Bobby was relieved. He’d never quite figured out how to deal with the horny wives of rich men, and it was surprising how many came on to him. Horny wives were a business hazard he tried to avoid.
After having a quick drink with Martin and Nona, he moved on to sit with Charlie Dollar and Cooper Turner, two old Hollywood stalwarts who still attracted a parade of beautiful girls. There was something about weathered movie stars that prevented them from being perceived as dirty old men. It was the Jack Nicholson/Al Pacino syndrome.
After a while, Paulo approached and whispered discreetly in his ear that the outrageous superstar Zeena was requesting his presence at her table.
Ah, Zeena! They’d had a few run-ins, the last one in Vegas, where she’d unexpectedly appeared in his shower and given him head, later practically announcing it onstage in the middle of her concert, while he was on his first date with Denver. Not easy explaining that little incident to Denver. It had gotten them off to a rocky start. But fortunately, everything had worked out, and the last thing he needed was Zeena screwing things up again.
He instructed Paulo to make sure there was no one taking any photos in the club—one had to watch out for cell phones—then reluctantly made his way over to Zeena’s table, where she was holding court with her usual entourage of hangers-on and her latest boyfriend, an emaciated English actor famous for playing a blood-crazed vampire on TV.
Zeena was her usual over-the-top self—she was half Brazilian, half Native American, and her exotic beauty could be mesmerizing.
“Bobbee,” she purred in her low-down husky voice. “Zeena hasn’t seen you for too long. Where has my Bobbee been?”
He stared into her catlike eyes and realized that the crush he’d once had on her was long gone. “Around,” he said casually, shaking the hand of her pale-faced boyfriend.
“Maybe Zeena should come visit you,” Zeena suggested. “You like?”
Vampire boyfriend spoke up. “No,” he said firmly. “He wouldn’t like, and neither would I.”
At last! Zeena had finally hooked up with someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up to her.
Bobby laughed, easing the sudden tension. “Zeena, always the joker,” he said smoothly, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. “I’m sending your table more champagne. Enjoy.”
And before she could respond with another unwelcome come-on, he was on his way to the next booth, where Adrien Brody and his friend Dieter Abt were ensconced with a group of beautiful models, male and female.
A fast escape. The best kind.
* * *
“Y’know,” Lucky said affectionately, “if I didn’t know any better, I would swear you weren’t a day over seventy! You’re amazing!”
Gino roared with laughter. Remarkably, he still had all his teeth, and although his hair was gray, it was still there. Age had not bowed him. “I’m in my nineties, kiddo,” he said. “Outlived ’em all. An’ I don’t regret a minute of the life I lived. ’Cept maybe when you an’ me wasn’t talkin’.”
“Well, that didn’t last, did it?” she said, remembering their many famous fights over the years.
“Naw. Knew it wouldn’t,” Gino answered, grinning. “You’re easy.”
“Sure I am,” Lucky replied sarcastically.
They were sitting together in Lucky’s favorite restaurant at The Keys, a cozy Italian place tucked away in a corner spot, aptly called Gino’s. The restaurant served all the food Gino loved. Meatballs with garlic and a rich tomato sauce. Penne pasta. Tasty veal chops with roasted Tuscan potatoes and myriad vegetables. Plus an assortment of pizzas named after various members of the Santangelo family.
Paige had elected not to join them, claiming she was tired, but Lucky knew it was because Paige was smart enough to know they enjoyed spending time together, just the two of them.
“How’s little Max?” Gino wanted to know. “Still plannin’ her escape?”
“Oh yes,” Lucky said ruefully. “There’s no stopping that one.”
“Just like you, Lucky, huh?” Gino said, nodding at the memories.
“I hope not. I was a wild one.”
“You still are, kiddo, you still are.”
“Thanks, Gino, but I don’t know about that.”
“Yeah, well, I do. You inherited the Santangelo balls; that’s what makes you such a winner. An’ you gotta teach Max how t’ deal.”
“She’s pretty smart, Gino.”
“Not as smart as you when you were her—”
“There’s plenty of time for her to learn,” Lucky interrupted.
“Time goes quickly, kiddo. You’d be surprised.”
“Not for you it doesn’t.”
“Y’know,” he said, lowering his gruff voice, “if ya wanna know what goes on in my head, I’m gonna tell ya—I got this thought goin’ on that I’m only thirty.” A big grin spread across his face. “How’s about that?”
“Right,” Lucky retorted. “And I’m sixteen, getting my ass married off to some dumb senator’s son ’cause my daddy thought it would control me. Lotsa luck with that.”
“Here she goes,” Gino groaned. “Always dredgin’ up the past.”
“Just f-ing with you, Gino,” she said lightly. “Nothing I like better than watching you squirm.”
And once again she smiled, realizing there was nothing more satisfying than spending time with her father, for who knew how long he’d be around.
* * *
Willow Price and her posse of nubile young women—all various shades of blond and bubbly—decided they would like to go clubbing. And since Billy had nothing better to do after buying them all dinner at an expensive restaurant, he thought he might as well tag along. After all, his image was out of control and he kind of liked it. Leaving BOA with the darling of the tabs, Willow Price, and her blond entourage guaranteed a major media blitz, and since Venus had been seen out and about with her young costar and the grizzled director of her current movie, it was only fitting that he do the same.
Also, Venus’s lawyer had informed his lawyer that she intended to keep their Vegas apartment in The Keys, and since he’d paid for half, that really pissed him off. He’d told his lawyer to fight her on that one. Screw Venus. Screw the big superstar who thought she could get anything she wanted.
Think again, sweetheart. He might be thirteen years younger than his soon-to-be ex, but he was no pushover.
Willow clung on to his arm for the s
ake of the paparazzi. The photographers descended like a pack of rabid dogs, screaming both their names, while the unknown blondes hovered and giggled, and flashed their tits and long legs emerging from tight micro miniskirts, thrilled to be a part of such mayhem.
“If you’re a very, very well-behaved boy,” Willow whispered in his ear, pouting innocently for the cameras, “I’ll let you watch me lick pussy later.”
He contemplated the future scenario she had in mind. Watching was not his thing. If he wasn’t a participant, he wasn’t interested.
“That’s all right,” he mumbled. “Whyn’t we get in the car an’ stop by River?”
“Oh yes,” Willow purred. “I’d like that.”
One last pose for the cameras, and they were on their way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three hours into what seemed like an under-the-radar, mellow party, chaos reigned. Max couldn’t figure out how it had happened. From the maybe seventy or eighty people they’d expected, others were pouring in at an alarming rate. Carloads of teenagers she didn’t know, didn’t want to know, and could do nothing about. And not only teenagers, but a bunch of dirty old men—probably agents or producers—in their flashy Porsches and Bentleys, not to mention flocks of random girls in tiny backless, almost frontless, outfits.
Several people brought booze with them. A boy in a Batman outfit dragged in a keg. Two girls came armed with a margarita machine. Some people were smoking weed, others snorting cocaine. A whole bunch of naked men and women were frolicking in the pool, while others were making out on the patio. It was insanity. And neither Cookie nor Harry was any help. Harry had affixed himself to Paco, the deejay, and refused to move, while Cookie was snorting and drinking and having herself a fine old time. They were both stoned. Both feeling no pain.
Max rarely drank, and she didn’t do drugs. Apparently she was the only one.
People were finding their way into the house. They’d already taken over the living room, and a drunken group of girls was attempting to break the lock on Lucky and Lennie’s bedroom door.
Panicked, Max thought about anonymously calling the cops and complaining about the noise, but that wouldn’t help, considering they might file a report of a disturbance, and then Lucky or Lennie would find out. Not a smart move.
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