‘For you to respect me as a proper wife should.’
‘I try,’ she said wearily.
‘Tonight you did nothing to support me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You allowed that Santangelo bitch to insult me.’
‘I have no idea what she said.’
‘I can assure you, Brigette, I will never allow you to see her again.’
And he determined that as soon as they got back to the hotel, he would call the airlines and book them on an early-morning flight to Europe, away from the people who dared to threaten his future.
* * *
‘Slow down,’ Steven said.
‘What?’ Lina said, half-way out of her Versace dress.
‘You’re moving too fast.’
‘For what?’ she asked, genuinely confused.
‘For me.’
‘I thought—’
‘Don’t think. Slow it down.’
Lina was puzzled. The first thing guys wanted to do was to get her out of her clothes. So what was with Steven and his request for her to slow down? She knew what she was doing. Oh, yes, and so she should, she’d been doing it since she was fourteen.
They’d walked into his house five minutes ago. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he’d asked.
‘Champagne,’ she’d answered. And when he’d gone over to the small bar in the corner of the living room, she’d started to remove her dress, thinking he’d be totally turned on. Instead of which he was asking her to slow down. Talk about being embarrassed!
She quickly pulled the top of her dress up, insecure for once.
‘I have no champagne,’ Steven said, still at the bar. ‘Only white wine.’
‘That’ll do,’ she said, feeling awkward, for she really liked this man, and now he probably thought she was the world’s worst tramp out for a quick fuck.
He poured her a glass of wine, took a Diet Coke for himself, came over and sat beside her on the couch.
‘Lina,’ he said gently.
‘Yes, Steven?’ she said, switching from wild party girl to demure good listener.
‘Always let the guy set the pace.’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re young, famous, extremely sexy – not to mention beautiful. I’m sure you’re rich, too. So, lay back.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Listen to me,’ he interrupted. ‘When was your last serious relationship?’
Her mind started racing, ticking off a list of conquests that included rich playboys, rock stars, media moguls, sports personalities, trust-fund babes – she’d had ’em all.
‘I’m not into getting serious,’ she said defensively. ‘Doesn’t interest me.’
‘Why?’
Why? Why? Why? Good question. She was twenty-six years old and the longest time she’d spent with any one man was a seven-week fling with an extremely wealthy New York business tycoon who’d used her to irritate his wife, a jaded society woman who was busy screwing their Puerto Rican chauffeur.
‘Me mum was always by herself,’ she said at last, ‘an’ she did all right. Brought me up, didn’t she? No bloody man ’anging round ’er neck tellin’ ’er what t’ do.’
‘A relationship is not telling someone what to do,’ Steven explained. ‘A relationship is being with someone you love, having fun together, caring through good times and bad.’
‘Oh,’ she said, wondering how she was going to get him into bed, because the more he talked, the more she wanted him. And getting everything she wanted was one of the main perks of being a supermodel.
‘All I’m saying,’ Steven continued, ‘is take it easy.’
‘Yes, Steven,’ she said obediently, and waited for him to kiss her.
* * *
‘Claudia, what are you doing here?’ Lennie said, in total shock.
Claudia smiled at him, a dazzling smile filled with warmth and raw love. ‘You said if I ever needed anything . . .’ she murmured, her words trailing off as Lucky stepped forward and stared at Lennie questioningly.
‘Uh . . . sweetheart,’ he said, highly uncomfortable because who in a million years would imagine that this situation could occur? ‘This is Claudia. She’s the uh . . . person who helped me escape when I was kidnapped. I uh . . . guess I owe her my life.’
‘I guess you do,’ Lucky said, checking out the curvaceous combination of Salma Hayek and a young Sophia Loren. Lennie had failed to mention how gorgeous his rescuer was. In fact, when questioned, he’d mumbled something about her being a dog.
‘This is my wife, Claudia,’ Lennie said, with a strong emphasis on wife.
‘Oh.’ Claudia’s face clouded over with disappointment – something Lucky did not miss.
Neither did Alex, who was still standing there, an avid observer.
‘Where did you come from?’ Lennie asked, noting her somewhat exhausted appearance.
‘Italy,’ she said.
‘Italy?’ Lucky repeated. ‘You mean you arrived today?’
Claudia nodded. ‘This is so,’ she said. ‘We arrive by plane from Roma. Then a kind man drove us to a place where we could get a bus to come here. All I had was your address, Lennie. I was hoping you would still be here. It has been five years . . .’
‘I know,’ he said, utterly confused. ‘So you got on a plane and came here – with the hope of finding me?’
Her eyes shone with sincerity. ‘You told me if I ever needed help . . .’ she said again.
‘Well, yeah, but you should’ve called or something.’
‘Is this your son?’ Lucky asked, gesturing towards the little boy. ‘He looks exhausted.’
‘Yes,’ Claudia said. ‘He is tired and very hungry.’
‘What’s his name?’ Lucky asked, feeling sorry for the child, who hadn’t uttered a word.
Claudia glanced at Lennie, before dropping her gaze to the floor. ‘Leonardo,’ she murmured.
‘Leonardo,’ Lucky repeated. And then, even though she knew the answer just by looking at the boy, she couldn’t help asking the question, ‘Who’s his father?’
Claudia’s eyes met Lennie’s. ‘He is our son, Lennie,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Leonardo is the reason I am here.’
‘Oh, God!’ Lucky cried, turning to her husband. ‘Your son?’
‘I – I don’t know anything about this,’ Lennie muttered, shocked and surprised.
Lucky’s expression was icy. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere where Claudia can explain properly, without half the party listening?’ she said coldly, shooting Alex a look. ‘Good night, Alex,’ she added abruptly.
‘Hey, it’s not my fault,’ Alex said, shrugging. ‘She was hanging around outside asking for Lennie. I was only doing my good deed for the day.’
Lucky turned on her heel, furious that on top of everything Alex was a witness to her humiliation. ‘Bring Claudia into the library,’ she said to Lennie.
Once they were settled in the library, Claudia started to talk, her words directed at Lennie. ‘The day we made love I became pregnant,’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘After you escaped, my brothers and the rest of my family became very angry. When they discovered it was I who helped you I was beaten. Then later, when my baby started to show, I was sent to live with relatives in a distant village.’ She hesitated for a moment, overcome with emotion. ‘They said I was a disgrace to my family. After my son was born, nobody would talk to me, so one day we fled to Roma, where I got a job. But the money was not enough to make things work. After years of hardship, I realized my son should be with his father, so I brought Leonardo to you, Lennie, in America, where I know he will be well looked after.’
Lennie swallowed hard as the world he knew crumbled around him. He had a child he hadn’t been aware of until now. A son. And he knew it would change everything.
Yes, it was true, he had made love to Claudia – once. He should’ve told Lucky as soon as he’d gotten home, asked for her forgiveness.
But he hadn’t
. He’d figured it was something she need never find out.
Wrong. Because if he knew Lucky at all, he knew that she would never forgive him. Never.
He’d lied to her about another woman, and in her eyes that was about as bad as it could get.
Chapter Sixty-Three
When the news hit, it exploded with a vengeance, becoming the lead news story on all three TV networks. Not to mention headlines in the LA Times and USA Today, even making the third page of the New York Times. The tabloids came out in force with a slew of lurid stories about Price’s former drug addiction and Mary Lou’s long-ago nude photos – as if either of those things had anything to do with the murder.
Price Washington had not realized what big news he was. Fuck! This was not the way he’d wanted to make the headlines. If his mother knew – Teddy’s grandma – she’d climb out of her grave and beat up on both of them.
Outside his house, news crews and reporters gathered, clamouring for a quote or a soundbite.
This was shit! He forbade Teddy to leave the premises. ‘An’ don’t look out any windows,’ he added. ‘They’re everywhere with their goddamn cameras.’
Mila was still in jail, even though Irena had begged Price to put up bail if it was granted.
‘No fuckin’ way,’ he’d growled. ‘She’s the one that got Teddy into this shit storm. Let her stay there.’
‘If I can see her, I’ll make her tell the truth,’ she’d said.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Price had answered disbelievingly. ‘You’ll let your daughter take the rap so Teddy can go free? Not on my time. You’d better pack your bags an’ split, Irena, it’s over.’
‘I cannot understand how, after all these years, you would tell me to go,’ she’d said, in a muffled voice.
‘What the fuck am I supposed to do?’ he’d yelled, filled with frustration. ‘How can I keep you with what’s goin’ on?’
Irena had gone to her room and brooded.
The day the news broke, Howard Greenspan smuggled Ginee in through the back of the house for a reunion with her son. Once inside, she strutted her enormous bulk around the living room like she owned it, which of course she once had – in a way. ‘Place is lookin’ good,’ she said grudgingly, fingering the plush velvet-covered couch. ‘I see you redecorated.’
‘Be careful what you say to Teddy,’ Price warned, hating the fact that she was back in his house, her very presence invading his personal space. ‘He’s real down.’
‘Shit! I’m down,’ Ginee announced, double chins quivering. ‘I’m the goddamn mother of the criminal. You think that’s the kinda reputation gonna get me the best table in a restaurant?’
‘We made a bargain, Ginee,’ Price said evenly. ‘You keep your side of it and I’ll keep mine.’
‘Now, now,’ Howard said, playing good lawyer. ‘It’s important that you two get along, especially in front of the boy.’
Price nodded his agreement.
‘Price an’ I always get along good,’ Ginee said, sticking out her mammoth bosom. ‘An’ I got the cheques to prove it!’
Price glared at her. He was trying to stay calm, even though he was heading for a black funk. His agent had been on the phone that morning claiming the studio wanted to push the start date back on his upcoming movie. ‘What kinda bullshit is that?’ he’d screamed.
‘It’s a stalling technique,’ his agent had explained. ‘They’re waiting to see which way the case’ll go before committing. If you attract the public’s sympathy, it’ll mean big box office. If you don’t, it’s disaster time, so they’re hedging.’
‘Fuck the studio,’ Price had steamed.
‘Yeah,’ his agent had said. ‘Like I haven’t heard that before.’
‘What does a girl havta do t’ get a drink around here?’ Ginee asked coyly.
Price buzzed Irena, who arrived instantly, as if she’d been listening outside the door.
‘Christ!’ Ginee said, her lip curling in disgust when she saw Irena. ‘You’re still here. What a freakin’ joke that is.’
Irena avoided eye contact, although it didn’t cause her grief to notice that Ginee had put on a hundred pounds.
‘Get me a black coffee with a shot of Sambuca,’ Ginee ordered, then turning to Howard she added – ‘This Teddy crap is upsetting. I gotta get me a lift.’
Howard nodded, wondering how on earth Price had ever been married to this large piece of blubber.
Irena glided from the room. The only lift Ginee needed was around her face.
* * *
Teddy combed his hair yet again and pulled a pose in the mirror. He had a definite look. Oh, yeah, Will Smith mixed with a touch of Tiger Woods.
Today he was seeing his mom for the first time in twelve years, and his stomach was turning upside down with fear and anticipation. Would she still love him with all this shit going on? Had she ever loved him? Was it true what his father said about her? Was she a whore?
Price had taken him to one side last night and warned him, ‘Your mom’s put on a few pounds. Don’t mention it, ’cause she could get nasty.’
Did that mean she was fat? It didn’t bother Teddy if she was. What did bother him was that she hadn’t wanted to see him in all these years.
Still . . . seeing her now was better than nothing, because he sure as hell couldn’t communicate with his dad. Price’s fury was a scary thing.
The news was full of Mary Lou again. Her picture stared out at him from the front of every newspaper. That heart-shaped face and sweet, sweet smile reminding him of that fateful night. Every image of her filled him with grief, self-loathing and a fearsome guilt.
He hated himself all over again. Hated Mila even more. She was a witch. She’d done it. She’d shot down Mary Lou like a dog. And he’d stood and watched. Done nothing to stop her.
He deserved to be punished – even if it meant being locked away with gang-bangers and thieves and murderers. He deserved the worst.
His dad was right, he should’ve gone to the cops when he’d had a chance.
But he hadn’t. Now it was time to pay the price.
* * *
Locked away with a bunch of other females, Mila didn’t like it one bit. She especially didn’t like the unflattering uniform and the prison guards who seemed incapable of cracking a smile. Bunch of ugly old dykes. She’d be out before they could screw with her.
On her second night in jail she got into a verbal battle with a puny brunette, and ended up beating the crap out of the girl. Twenty-four hours in solitary confinement went a long way to raising her status with the bad-ass contingent.
Shortly after she got out of solitary she bonded with her cell-mate, Maybelline Browning. Maybelline was slight and pretty with a baby face and quite an appealing overbite.
‘What did you do?’ Maybelline asked, chewing on a strand of her own wispy pale red hair, a disgusting habit Mila soon got used to watching.
‘Shot some black bitch who was getting in my way,’ Mila replied, full of bravado. ‘How ’bout you?’
‘Stabbed my step-grandma with a bread-knife while she was sleeping,’ Maybelline said, an angelic smile on her baby face. ‘Unfortunately the old cunt didn’t die. But that’s okay, I’ll get her another time. Me or my brother will finish her off.’
‘Did your brother help you last time?’
‘No. Duke was away, otherwise the miserable old cow would’ve been dead meat.’
‘What did she do to piss you off?’ Mila asked curiously.
‘Stayed alive after my grand-daddy died. Bitch!’
Mila appreciated Maybelline’s style, although her street smarts warned her that Maybelline was a girl to be careful around.
As the days passed, Mila waited for Irena to arrange bail. It didn’t happen.
She also waited for Price’s expensive Beverly Hills attorney to arrive. That didn’t happen either. Instead, a court-appointed public defender came to see her. Willard Hocksmith, a seedy-looking jerk with yellow teeth and bad breath. He was dres
sed in a mud-brown suit and a frayed-at-the-collar white shirt. She didn’t trust him on sight.
‘I want out,’ she said, glaring at him balefully, as if it was his fault she was locked up. ‘I didn’t do it. Teddy Washington did it. And I can prove it.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Give me whatever you can.’
‘When the time is right.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. And then she didn’t hear from him.
As the days passed, a deep fury started to build within her. It appeared that everyone was against her – even her own mother, who had not come to see her. Surely Irena realized IT WASN’T HER FAULT.
She didn’t care, because they’d all pay, Teddy and Price and Irena. She had her secret weapon. She had Price Washington’s gun with Teddy’s prints on. It was hidden away and she didn’t want to mention it until she was sure it would get into the right hands. Because cops could be bought, and it would be easy enough for Price to pay someone off.
So she would wait. Until the right moment.
And then, oh, yes, by the time she was finished, they’d all pay big time. Every single one of them.
* * *
‘Say hello t’ your mom,’ Price growled, lurking by the door, rubbing his bald head – a sure sign that he was uptight.
Teddy stood in the doorway, frozen for a moment. What was he supposed to do? Run towards her yelling, ‘Mommy! Mommy!’
Who was this woman anyway? Nobody he remembered. This woman was huge. A mountain. A mountain he had no desire to hug.
‘How ya doin’, Teddy?’ she asked, chewing gum like a cow chewing the cud, lipstick smeared liberally across her front teeth.
‘Okay,’ he mumbled, unable to match this woman with the picture he had of his mother holding him on her lap when he was two years old. The woman in the picture was a beauty. This other woman was a big fat freak with clown makeup.
‘We’ll leave you two alone,’ Howard said, steering Price out of the room and shutting the door behind them.
There was an awkward silence.
‘Got yourself into some trouble, huh, kid?’ Ginee said at last, picking up one of Price’s TV awards and examining it.
‘Guess so,’ he said, staring at the carpet, focusing on her low-cut-at-the-front red shoes, from which her toes bulged like a row of fat black maggots.
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