Lovers & Players

by Jackie Collins

  ‘But, Max—’

  ‘No buts,’ he said resolutely. ‘Believe me, I know what’s best for you.’

  How humiliating was this? Her husband-to-be had no desire to sleep with her. He was turning her down flat. Oh, God! She felt like such a fool.

  ‘Get your coat, sweetie,’ he said, heading out of the bedroom. ‘I’m taking you home.’

  With that he picked up his car keys from the hall table and started for the front door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Party-time meant loud music, plenty of booze, writhing, sweaty bodies, and an over-abundance of weed–so strong a person could get a contact high merely breathing the air.

  This was all taking place in the living room of Slick Jimmy’s basement house in Harlem, which he shared with two other rappers. The place was a comfortable dump with an insanely expensive sound system that was blasting heavy-core rap.

  Cindi hit the scene and was in heaven. Liberty found a corner to lurk in, wishing she had not allowed Cindi to talk her into coming. But that was their relationship, wasn’t it? Cindi was forever talking her into things she didn’t want to do.

  ‘You let that ’ho walk all over you,’ Kev often complained. ‘Whyn’t you dump her an’ move in with me? You don’t need her.’

  ‘Cindi’s like my sister, Kev, so don’t be calling her a ’ho.’

  ‘She uses you ’cause you’re so fine an’ she’s so not fine.’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to talk. Cindi would do anything for me.’

  Although sometimes she wasn’t so sure. Cindi did have a pushy way about her, and tonight was a prime example. Here she was, at a party she didn’t want to be at, sitting in a corner by herself, while Cindi was out there in the midst of it, coming onto every guy she could get her hands on.

  But then again, Cindi and her mom had taken her in when Diahann had pushed her out. She’d lived with them as though she was Cindi’s sister, and when it was time to move out, she and Cindi had done it together. It was Cindi who’d found them an apartment and scored them jobs at the coffee shop. Cindi had always watched out for her and, yeah, maybe her cousin did use her sometimes because she was better-looking, but so what? Looks weren’t everything, and Cindi had a great big heart.

  Since she didn’t know anyone at the party, Liberty found herself stuck in the corner sorting through the many CDs stacked next to the sound system.

  ‘Finding anything you like?’ asked a familiar voice.

  She turned round. It was Maleek. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, pleased to see someone she knew.

  ‘You did great today,’ Maleek said. ‘You could make yourself a living appearing in videos. You got the look.’

  ‘I have no plans to be The Girl in the video,’ she said, half smiling. ‘I’m a singer-songwriter–didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Maybe you did an’ maybe you didn’t,’ Maleek said, swigging from a bottle of beer. ‘But in my experience you gotta use what you got. I wanted to be a dancer and look what happened to me.’

  ‘Directing’s way cool.’

  ‘I enjoy it, and so does my wife. You should meet her–she’s smart, like you.’

  ‘You’re married?’ Liberty asked, pleased that Maleek considered her smart.

  ‘Surprised?’

  ‘You’re young to be married.’

  Maleek shrugged. ‘Twenty-eight. Got married ’cause my wife was knocked up an’ I didn’t want to bring another child into the world who wasn’t sure who her daddy was.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ Liberty said. ‘What does your wife do?’

  ‘She’s a dancer,’ he said proudly.

  ‘Was she at the shoot today?’

  ‘No, honey, not that kinda dancer. My wife’s a ballet dancer.’

  ‘Wow! That’s impressive.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s one talented white woman,’ he said, taking another swig of beer. ‘You’re bi-racial, right?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I am,’ Liberty said, shrugging. ‘My mom’s always telling me I’m black, but I have a feeling there’s some white blood running through my veins.’

  ‘You don’t know who your father is? Is that where this conversation’s headin’?’

  ‘I never got to meet him. He died before I was born.’

  ‘Must’ve bin tough for you,’ Maleek said sympathetically.

  ‘My mom raised me. She was a singer, but she gave it up.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Something bad you can’t tell me?’

  ‘Something dumb I don’t want to tell you.’

  ‘Here comes my wife,’ Maleek said, as a brittle-looking white woman at least ten years older than him approached. Her dark hair was scraped back into a tight bun, and she wore a long white dress. She did not seem particularly friendly as she gave Liberty a cursory nod, took Maleek’s arm and said, ‘You need to come with me.’ She promptly dragged him away.

  So much for new friendships.

  Cindi was out on the dance-floor rockin’ an’ rollin’ with Slick Jimmy. Large as she was, she had plenty of rhythm and an abundance of style–Cindi could shake it with the best of them.

  Liberty wondered how long she’d have to stay at the party before she could leave, grab a cab and go home. Cindi wouldn’t even notice she’d left.

  So why was she waiting? Who did she think was going to appear? Damon?

  Yeah, sure.

  She looked around the room and thought, Why would Damon choose to hang with these people? They were just a bunch of stoners and Damon didn’t fit in. Although Maleek was here, so maybe Damon would come.

  She wished Kev was with her. There was something soul-destroying about being at a party by yourself–it looked like you were trying to hook up or get laid, and she wasn’t into doing either of those things.

  Very slowly she began edging towards the door.

  And then it happened. Just as she was almost there, Damon appeared.

  As usual he was Mr Cool. Tonight he was all in black, a giant diamond cross hanging round his neck, diamond studs in both ears, a circular watch, studded with diamonds, and a short fur coat flung casually around his shoulders.

  He gave her a quick glance, not at all surprised to see her. ‘Hey, Liberty,’ he said, flashing a friendly smile. ‘I got a new name for you.’

  ‘You do?’ she said, determined to remain calm.

  ‘Yeah, from now on I’m callin’ you LL.’

  ‘LL?’ she questioned.

  ‘Lady Liberty,’ he said, with a lazy grin. ‘You dig?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You’re not leaving?’

  ‘Uh…yes,’ she managed. ‘I kinda am.’

  ‘Got a ride?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ she murmured, recovering her composure. ‘I never go anywhere without my car and driver. He even drops me off at the coffee shop every morning.’

  ‘Funny girl.’

  ‘You think?’

  They exchanged a long look.

  ‘I gotta go say hello to Slick Jimmy, mebbe hang for ten minutes,’ Damon said. ‘If you wanna wait around, I’ll drop you somewhere.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she said, feeling his heat.

  ‘You don’t wanna ride with me?’ he said, pinning her with his sexy eyes.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she said, trying to control the dizzying effect he had on her.

  ‘So chill,’ he said. ‘I’ll go say hi to Jimmy, then we’ll split.’

  ‘Okay,’ she found herself saying.

  ‘You hungry?’

  ‘I ate at my aunt’s place. She’s kind of a major cook.’

  ‘What’d she make?’ he asked, moving closer, enabling her to get a whiff of his expensive cologne.

  ‘Um, let me see. Tonight she made fried chicken, honey spare ribs and monkey bread. Lots of good things.’

  ‘Sounds like I need an invite.’

  ‘I don’t think hanging at Aunt Aretha’s is exactly your scene.’

&nb
sp; ‘Why not? Restaurant food gets tired, baby. There’s times I crave a little down-home cookin’.’

  ‘You do?’ she said, wondering if his wife ever hustled her expensive ass into the kitchen. Probably not.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, zeroing in with those eyes of his, ‘I’m a normal man with normal appetites.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can arrange,’ she said, thinking there was nothing normal about Damon P. Donnell. Then she started imagining Aunt Aretha’s face if she ever got a close-up look at Damon’s outrageous bling. She’d crap herself!

  Casually he took her hand and led her over to Slick Jimmy, who was busy doing his thing with Cindi. The two of them were not so much dancing, more like a whole lot of shaking and touching. Suddenly Liberty realized she felt very comfortable with Damon, they were totally in sync.

  ‘Hey, it’s my man!’ Slick Jimmy yelled, stopping everything. The two men banged fists, followed by a macho hug.

  Cindi shot Liberty a what-is-goin’-on-here? look, while Liberty attempted to stay casual. Then Damon let go of her hand and went over to greet Maleek. Liberty noticed that Maleek’s wife cheered up at the sight of Damon–the woman actually managed a tight-assed smile. After a few minutes of standing there, Liberty made her way back to her corner. She didn’t think it was cool to be trailing around behind Damon looking like she was some girl he’d picked up and was about to take home and screw.

  The music was getting louder, the air was getting smokier, and she wondered how long it would be before Damon chose to leave. She decided to give him ten minutes and then, ride or no ride, she was out of there.

  Twenty minutes later Beverly burst in with a group of friends. ‘This looks like a party!’ she exclaimed, swooping down on Liberty. ‘You remember Jett, an’ this is my man, Chet.’

  Gianna grabbed Jett’s arm. ‘Come, carino, we dance,’ she said, dragging him off into the moving throng.

  ‘You here with Cindi?’ Beverly yelled, over the loud music.

  ‘I was,’ Liberty shouted back. ‘She’s over there with Slick Jimmy. They seem to have a thing going. I’m leaving soon.’

  ‘You need a cab?’

  ‘Damon’s giving me a ride.’

  Beverly raised a disapproving eyebrow. ‘Damon?’

  ‘He’s just dropping me off.’

  ‘Don’t be forgettin’ what I told you,’ Beverly admonished. ‘Believe me, I’m not interested in seein’ your sorry ass when he sweet-talks you into bed, an’ that’s it. Damon’s never gonna change, you’d best remember that.’

  ‘He’s not sweet-talking me into anything,’ Liberty said, annoyed that Beverly considered her such an easy mark.

  ‘Hey–you’ve been warned. The man is a player, girl, so stay smart.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice, but I do know what I’m doing.’

  By the time Damon was ready to leave, another half-hour had passed. Like a fool, Liberty had waited. Mad at herself, yet unable to resist, she had watched him from afar, until eventually he came over, grabbed her hand and led her outside to where his silver Cadillac Escalade with special wheel rims was parked curbside, a female uniformed driver standing to attention next to it.

  ‘Get in the back, baby,’ Damon ordered.

  ‘Shouldn’t I give the driver my address?’

  ‘Thought we’d hit a coupla clubs,’ he said, leaning against the side of the car chewing on a toothpick.

  ‘I don’t feel like doing that.’

  ‘Then we’ll stop by a bar, have ourselves a drink, get to know each other.’

  ‘I’m really tired,’ she said, trying not to sound pissed off, although she was more mad at herself for hanging around waiting for him like some dumb groupie. ‘You took forever,’ she couldn’t help adding.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said unconcernedly.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, realizing she probably sounded like a nagging wife. Too bad. She wasn’t about to jump.

  ‘So you’re sayin’ you don’t wanna have a drink with me?’ he asked, throwing her a quizzical look. ‘I’m gettin’ a no, right?’

  ‘It was a long day,’ she said, determined not to back down. ‘I’m ready to go home.’

  ‘If that’s how you wanna play it.’

  ‘I’m not playing anything,’ she said, tossing back her long hair.

  ‘No problem. Give my driver your address an’ she’ll take you home.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘No. The car’ll come back for me. I’m gonna party some more.’

  ‘You are?’ she said, strangely disappointed.

  ‘Got nothin’ else t’ do,’ he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘See you tomorrow, LL, six-thirty. Don’t be late.’

  ‘I–I won’t.’

  He started to walk away, then suddenly stopped and fixed her with another look. ‘You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?’

  ‘Positive,’ she said, although she wasn’t positive at all.

  Oh, God, if only he wasn’t married…

  ‘Got it,’ he said, diamonds flashing. ‘See ya.’

  And with that he walked back into the house, and she was left by herself with nothing to do except wonder if she’d made the right decision.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sonja Sivarious studied the gold Rolex she’d stolen from Chris Diamond. Usually when she acquired a new piece of jewellery she sold it to her friendly neighbourhood fence, but there was something about the gold Rolex she coveted. It was masculine and heavy, which made her wrist appear delicate and girlish.

  She was standing in the bathroom of Red Diamond’s apartment on 59th Street. Red Diamond, the billionaire. He was so old it was a shock that he could still get it up.

  Her girlfriend and sometime partner in sex shows, Famka, had called her over on Saturday night, telling her there was money flying. Now it was late Sunday and the old man was still going strong. Viagra. What a drug! It made worn-out old cocks strong again.

  Sonja sighed and felt sorry for all the tired old wives who were suddenly forced to deal with their husband’s raging libidos.

  She sucked in her cheeks as she admired herself in the bathroom mirror. Little Sonja Sivarious from Slovakia. Somebody should write a poem about her. She’d done well for herself. A tall, skinny stick at school, the boys had taunted her and the girls had avoided her because of her impoverished background. She’d compensated by giving the boys what they wanted–the kind of things they couldn’t get from so-called nice girls. The result was that the boys chased after her, and the girls avoided her even more.

  At sixteen she’d run away from home and taken a train to Prague with her cousin Igor, and a car salesman twenty years her senior. The car salesman had introduced her to other men, and soon she was making money. After a while, she’d hooked up with an older girl from the Ukraine, Famka, who, at nineteen, had seemed very worldly. They hit it off, and began putting on girl-on-girl shows–which were a big success until Famka took off for America with a rich businessman.

  Two years later Famka sent for her. She went willingly, paying for Igor to come too.

  Famka had solid connections to whom she introduced Sonja, and it wasn’t long before they were known around New York as an extremely versatile and obliging team.

  Now, three years later, Sonja lived in a nice apartment. She had furs and jewels, and made plenty of money. She had her own connections, and when anyone required a special girl in New York, she was top of the recommended list. Which was how she’d come to do the job for Roth Giagante. It was a simple job–all she’d had to do was fuck the man Roth told her to, and pass on a message. She’d been unable to resist adding her own PS to the message she’d left scrawled on his bathroom mirror. Actually the guy was very attractive and excellent in the sack. But Sonja had a rule: she never told men they were accomplished in bed, better to let them worry.

  Famka started knocking on the bathroom door. ‘He wants you,’ Famka called out. ‘Hurry!’

  Of course he wa
nts me, Sonja thought, still admiring herself in the mirror. I am the best.

  She strolled back into the bedroom, naked except for five-inch hooker heels and a low-slung belt of rhinestones round her waist, her flame-coloured hair reaching below her waist, matching her public hair–dyed and groomed into a neat landing-strip.

  Famka had tied up the old man at his request. He was naked and decrepit, yet still unbelievably horny.

  It occurred to Sonja that he’d taken too many of those stupid blue pills. He could suffer a stroke or a heart-attack, and if he did, she was out of there.

  The old man didn’t look sick. He looked happy, with a shit-eating grin on his leathery face. ‘Come on, girlies,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Let’s see what you can do.’

  ‘Oh, I can do anything you want,’ Sonja boasted, standing with her legs astride, hands on her hips. ‘Anything.’

  Chris was woken at three a.m. by the phone. He’d forgotten to leave a ‘Do Not Disturb’ on his line, which really pissed him off.

  Inez was long gone. Once the sex was over, so was she. ‘A girl has to get her beauty sleep,’ she’d said, quite coyly for a girl who, a few minutes earlier, had been screaming like a banshee. Then she’d left his suite, which pleased him–he hated it when he had to persuade them to leave.

  It was Roth on the phone.

  ‘Been thinkin’ about your idea,’ Roth said, in his raspy voice. ‘I talked to my PR like you suggested, and since I ain’t got my fuckin’ money yet, we may as well make the most of this opportunity. We’re gonna throw the fuckin’ wedding for Birdy Marvel.’

  ‘You got any idea what time it is?’ Chris mumbled, staring in disbelief at the illuminated clock-radio by the bed.

  ‘Who gives a fuck? You’re lucky I’m talkin’ to you.’

  ‘Yeah, lucky me,’ he said, covering a yawn.

  ‘Lucky you is right,’ Roth growled. ‘This don’t mean you’re off the hook with your debt. It buys you more time, that’s the deal.’

  ‘Okay,’ Chris said, still half asleep. ‘Have your PR call me tomorrow. Birdy expects it to be special, and the media has to be strictly controlled.’

  ‘Thought I’d give you the word before you went runnin’ to Peter Morton.’