On the way over to Birdy’s hotel, Chris received another call. This time it was from Jonathan Goode, who should have been on his way to Europe, but apparently was not.
‘I need to see you, Chris,’ said Jonathan, not sounding like his usual in-control self. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘Where are you?’
‘My apartment,’ Jonathan said, and gave him the address.
‘I’m on my way to a client now. Soon as I’m through, I’ll make it over to you.’
Christ! Who the hell invented cellphones? People could reach you wherever you were–it was ridiculous. First Birdy, now Jonathan. All he needed was a call from Lola Sanchez and his day would be complete.
‘Vladimir is not good man,’ Mariska said, in a highly agitated state as she paced round her living room, her high heels clicking on the marble floor.
‘You’re not telling me anything new,’ Max said evenly.
‘Vladimir is dangerous. You do not understand how dangerous.’
‘Maybe not, Mariska. But I do understand that he’s your problem, not mine.’
‘No, Vladimir is our problem,’ she said vehemently. ‘I was never married to this man–the so-called papers he showed you are forgeries.’
‘I’m relieved to hear that.’
‘He can do bad things to us, Max. Very bad things.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘In California,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘they kill people who get in your way.’
‘What?’
‘In California Robert Blake doesn’t like his wife so the newspapers say he kills her, or perhaps arranges to have it done. Phil Spector doesn’t like the girl who comes back to his house, so poof–maybe he shoots her. We should do this to Vladimir.’
Jesus Christ! It was the same scenario that had crossed his mind. Coming from Mariska, it seemed surreal. ‘How can you even think something like that?’ he said harshly.
‘You want your daughter to be called illegitimate in the newspapers?’ Mariska said. ‘Lulu. Our Lulu.’
‘That won’t happen.’
‘If Vladimir is not silenced, it will.’
‘Has he contacted you?’ Max demanded.
‘No,’ she said, looking away from him.
Immediately he knew she was lying. Mariska had never been a convincing liar.
‘You have seen him,’ he said accusingly. ‘You might as well tell me the truth, Mariska, because it will come out eventually.’
‘All right,’ she admitted. ‘He came to my door last night. There was nothing I could do.’
‘And you let him in?’ Max said, shocked that she would be that stupid.
‘What was I supposed to do? He informed the desk clerk he was my brother.’
‘Christ! What did he want from you?’
‘Money.’
‘And?’
‘I told him I would talk to you.’
‘He’s already getting money from me.’ A long beat. ‘Mariska, if you swear to me that you have no connection with him, that the papers he has are indeed forged, then I can arrange to have him arrested.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Think of the headlines—’
‘What headlines? If he’s a fraud, whatever they write doesn’t matter. I’ll sue their asses.’
‘But you see, I–I did know him once, long time ago,’ she said, once again refusing to make eye-contact. ‘Vladimir was a–a business acquaintance of one of my cousins.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Max exploded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? You’re unbelievable.’
‘I’m sorry, Max. I—’
‘Were you married to him, Mariska?’ he interrupted. ‘You’d better tell me, because we’re not playing games here.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I tell you truth,’ she said defiantly.
‘I hope so.’
Mariska began pacing again. ‘We must get rid of him, Max,’ she said. ‘If we don’t, there will be trouble.’
‘What trouble?’
‘I know people who can handle this situation for us. It will cost fifty thousand dollars.’
‘Are you insane?’
‘In Russia we understand how to deal with the enemy.’
Had he really been married to this woman at one time?
‘I will find out where he’s staying,’ Mariska continued. ‘I have friends in Moscow. They’ll know.’
‘Oh, I see. You can just call Moscow and say, “Where is Vladimir Bushkin staying?” and they’ll tell you. It’s that easy?’
‘I have connections,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Get me the money and our problem will vanish.’
‘I refuse to pay to have someone killed,’ he said angrily. ‘This conversation is over.’
‘No, Max, it’s not. You must think about it overnight. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘I can’t tomorrow. It’s my rehearsal dinner with Amy.’
‘In the morning when your mind is clear.’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he said, exasperated. ‘I just told you I’m busy tomorrow.’
‘You bring me cash,’ Mariska said, not listening to a word he uttered, ‘and I will take care of everything. There is no need for you to be involved.’
‘No, Mariska. Listen to me. No!’
‘Max, I understand men like Vladimir. This is the only way.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Two clients, both demanding to see him, both claiming it was urgent. Ladies first, so Chris hurried over to Birdy’s hotel.
He was let in to her suite by the cousin who doubled as her useless assistant. Clad in baggy dungarees and a skimpy T-shirt emblazoned with the words B. MARVEL ROCKS, this cousin was a less attractive version of Birdy with stringy hair and a blank expression.
‘Where is she?’ Chris asked, striding into the suite and looking around. ‘She told me it was urgent.’
‘In the bedroom,’ Birdy’s cousin said, chewing gum. ‘Y’ can go on through.’
The bedroom was in darkness, drapes firmly closed.
‘Can somebody put a light on?’ Chris said, groping his way into the room. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
Birdy flicked on the bedside light. She was propped in the middle of the bed surrounded by the tabloids, several entertainment magazines and a slew of discarded candy wrappers.
Chris immediately saw why she was so anxious to remain in the dark. The pretty young singer was featuring a lethal black eye and a badly swollen split lip.
‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded, a redundant question because he already knew the answer.
‘He didn’t mean it,’ Birdy mumbled, in a little-girl voice. ‘We were, like, fighting, and he kinda hit me by accident.’
‘Some accident,’ Chris said, scratching his head.
‘I told you,’ she said, distressed that Chris didn’t believe her, ‘it was a mistake. Rocky wouldn’t hit me on purpose.’
‘We should call the police,’ Chris decided.
‘No!’ Birdy shrieked, sitting up straight. ‘If I’d wanted to call the cops I would’ve done it last night. Rocky was, like, upset ’cause of the whole pre-nup thing. I should’ve given him what he wanted, I know I should.’
‘Birdy, do you still want me to be your lawyer?’ Chris asked sternly. ‘Because if you do, you’d better start listening to me.’
‘I did listen to you,’ she answered sulkily. ‘Look where it got me.’
‘Where’s Rocky now?’
‘He was here earlier all kinda sorry,’ she sighed, reaching for a tissue, ‘but I’m, like, so not speaking to him.’
‘I take it the marriage is off?’
‘No way!’ Birdy exclaimed, shocked at the thought. ‘I’m punishing him ’cause I’m, like, mad he messed up my face. We’re still getting married, though.’
‘Birdy,’ Chris said, as patiently as he could, because getting through to his youngest client when she imagined herself in love was n
ot the easiest of tasks, ‘you can’t be in love with a man who beats you up.’
‘It was a one-time thing, Chris,’ she explained, rubbing the tip of her nose. ‘He made me, like, a solemn promise that he’d never do it again.’
‘You’d better tell me how it happened,’ Chris said, resigning himself to the fact that Rocky was going nowhere fast.
‘Well,’ Birdy said tremulously, ‘we were, like, coming out of Gatsby’s last night, an’ there were paparazzi everywhere–they were, like, pushing and shoving, trying to goad us into stuff. This made Rocky even madder, ’cause we’d already bin fightin’ in the club.’
‘Where were your bodyguards?’
‘My fault, ’cause we kinda ran out without them,’ she admitted sheepishly.
‘Smart move.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice getting smaller and smaller.
‘And then?’
‘Rocky was like kickin’ one of the photographers out the way, so I tried to stop him. That’s when he turned around and like accidentally punched me.’
‘Great!’ Chris said, considering the ramifications.
‘It’s possible they might’ve, y’ know, got some of it on camera,’ Birdy admitted.
‘Got some of what?’ Chris asked, frowning. ‘Not Rocky beating you up in public, I hope?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said, shamefaced.
‘Then I guess I should prepare for a lawsuit from the photographer?’
‘He didn’t get hurt,’ she whined. ‘Only me.’
‘Even better.’
‘I was wondering, Chris, if there’s anything you can do to keep it out of the rags.’
‘Too late now, you should’ve called me last night. The photographers have already sold their shots.’
‘Can’t we release a statement saying that, y’ know, it was all, like, an accident?’
‘Let’s see what they’ve got first. Then we’ll talk about statements.’ He took a beat. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘Room Service sent up a raw steak last night,’ she said, pulling a disgusted face. ‘I put it on my eye. It stank up the whole room.’
‘How about your lip? Does that need attention?’
‘Hurts,’ she said, in her little-girl voice.
‘We should get you a doctor. You might need stitches.’
‘Don’t wanna see a doctor,’ she mumbled, holding back tears.
‘I’m sure the hotel doctor is very discreet. I’ll call the concierge and see what he can arrange.’
‘Sorry, Chris,’ she said, even more tearful now. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’
‘It happened, Birdy,’ he said. ‘And you should think very seriously about marrying a man who treats you this way.’
‘I’m still marrying him,’ she said defiantly, ‘so you go ahead and arrange the wedding in Vegas. I told Rocky you’d give him the money from whoever buys exclusive rights to our wedding photos.’
‘And that didn’t please him?’
‘He was pissed when I said I couldn’t do the million-dollars-a-year thing if our marriage didn’t last.’
‘I think I should talk to him, straighten out a few things.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘He’ll just get mad at you, then take it out on me–that’s his way of dealing.’
‘Nice guy.’
‘He is, really he is,’ Birdy said, as if she believed it. ‘You’ve just gotta know him the way I do.’
Women and abusive men, they never learned. Chris wished he could make her see the error of her ways, but Birdy was in love or lust, so right now she was seeing nothing.
He made a call, and soon after that a doctor arrived. Chris showed the portly man into the bedroom, then paced around the living room waiting for him to leave so he could get over to Jonathan and sort out his drama, whatever it might be.
As the doctor emerged ready for a conversation, Chris’s cell rang. He checked caller ID, saw it was Verona, and decided she could wait.
Once he’d finished conferring with the doctor and made sure Birdy was all right, he took off to see Jonathan. On the way he called Verona back.
‘What’s up?’ he asked brusquely. ‘I’m in the middle of meetings.’
‘I’m calling as a friend,’ Verona said.
Hmm…sounded ominous. Maybe she was breaking up with him. Not such a bad deal–it would save him the trouble.
‘That’s nice, Verona,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘I’m thrilled to hear it.’
‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’
More bad news? What now?
‘There’s been a mudslide,’ she continued. ‘Your house is more or less wrecked.’
‘My house?’ he said, alarmed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I was driving by to make sure everything was okay because of the rain, and it must have just happened. There were fire trucks and paramedics–everyone was wondering if there was anyone inside. I told them no.’
‘My house?’ he repeated. ‘This is fucking impossible!’
‘It’s not my fault, Chris,’ she said, in an annoyingly sanctimonious tone. ‘Blame it on the weather. It’s still raining here.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ he exploded. ‘How bad is it?’
‘It’s bad, Chris. Your house is virtually buried under a complete landslide of mud. We’re lucky we weren’t in it–we could’ve been buried alive.’
‘My house is buried with everything in it?’ he said incredulously. ‘My house?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Call both my assistants. Get them over there immediately.’
‘I would, Chris, but I don’t have their home numbers. It’s best if you do it.’
‘You really are a big help, aren’t you?’
‘If we lived together, I could be.’
He clicked off his phone, contacted his main L.A. assistant and told him to get over to his house and see what he could salvage. ‘There’s a safe in there somewhere,’ he said. ‘Find it! And when you do, don’t let it out of your sight.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Come with me,’ Beverly said, beckoning Liberty to follow her. ‘I got a few minutes so I’ll take care of your eyebrows.’
‘I’m not sure if I—’ Liberty began, scared that Beverly was going to ruin her. She liked her thick eyebrows: they gave her face character.
‘You need it, sister,’ Beverly interrupted. ‘An’ I’m doin’ it for free, so let’s go.’
‘Okay,’ Liberty said, getting up. Why not? She had nothing to lose except her eyebrows. Besides, Damon P. Donnell had taken off an hour ago so there would be no more brief encounters.
They went to the make-up room, where Beverly sat her down in a chair, threw a towel round her shoulders and said, ‘Bet you’ve been told this many times, but I’m addin’ myself to the list. Your face is incredible, major bone structure. Ever considered modelling?’
‘Not really,’ Liberty replied, staring at herself in the long row of mirrors. ‘Modelling doesn’t interest me. I’m a singer.’
‘A working singer?’ Beverly inquired.
‘Yeah,’ Liberty answered, with a rueful laugh. ‘Workin’ as a waitress.’
‘Do you realize that with a face like yours you could be makin’ a shitload of money modelling?’
‘I could?’
‘You bet, babe,’ Beverly said, taking a step back to study Liberty’s face. ‘Want me to set you up with an agent?’
Could this day get any better? First Damon, now this offer. Things were definitely looking up. ‘Why are you being so nice?’ she couldn’t help asking.
‘’Cause I’ve been there, done the whole waitressin’ gig,’ Beverly explained. ‘Oh, yeah, an’ I know all about people treatin’ you as if you don’t exist.’
‘You’ve got that right,’ Liberty said, thinking of the woman in the knock-off Armani.
‘The reason I got into make-up was ’cause somebody helped me,’ Beverly explained. ‘So…whenever I can, I
try to give back.’
‘But you’re so beautiful,’ Liberty said. ‘How come you’re not a model?’
‘I like what I do. It suits me,’ Beverly said, shrugging. ‘Besides, I’m too old to be a model now. I’m gonna be thirty soon.’
‘That’s old?’
‘In the modelling world it is,’ Beverly said, nodding to herself. ‘They call ’em dinosaurs.’
‘Who’s a dinosaur?’
‘Oh, Cindy Crawford, Linda E,’ Beverly said casually. ‘Any girl over the big three-O.’
‘Wow!’
‘So, whaddaya think? Wanna give it a shot? Make yourself some real money. It worked for Whitney Houston. She was a successful model until she got into singing.’
‘Maybe I’ll take you up on it,’ Liberty said tentatively.
‘You should,’ Beverly said, producing a lethal pair of tweezers. ‘Now, don’t go gettin’ all panicky on me, ’cause I’m goin’ way drastic on the eyebrow thing.’
‘You are?’ Liberty said, wondering if it was too late to chicken out.
‘Lean your head back an’ relax,’ Beverly said encouragingly.
‘Is this going to be painful?’
‘Maybe,’ Beverly said, starting to pluck.
‘Ouch!’ Liberty yelled, almost leaping out of the chair. ‘That hurt.’
‘Course it hurts,’ Beverly said matter-of-factly. ‘Gotta suffer for beauty. You’ve never plucked ’em, have you?’
‘No,’ Liberty said, making a face.
‘I can tell. You got a forest growing there, girl.’
‘Oh, great!’
‘I could wax ’em, less painful, but I don’t have my equipment with me.’
‘I can put up with the pain,’ Liberty said, gritting her teeth. ‘As long as it’ll look good.’
‘Suffer, hon. Believe me, it’s a lot more fun than a Brazilian!’
‘What’s a Brazilian?’
‘Man!’ Beverly said, her hands moving swiftly. ‘You really are green.’
Liberty closed her eyes and thought about the end result. Cindi was always perusing the fashion magazines and pointing out before photos of people like Madonna and Jennifer Lopez. They’d both featured extremely thick eyebrows: now they looked sensational. Maybe their raging success was all to do with their eyebrows.
Lovers & Players Page 18