Too Damn Rich

by Gould, Judith

  "Then how about we start by taking this promotion of yours one day at a time? Huh?"

  Suddenly she felt unsure of herself, as though the pond she was skating upon had inexplicably turned to very thin ice. Her voice almost trembled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Exactly what I said. You displease me once and you're out on your ass." His fingers dug into her flesh. "Still like the big league?" he taunted.

  "Ro-bert! You're hurting me!"

  His eyes drilled right into her. "I wonder if you know what pain really is."

  She remained silent.

  "But just so we're on the same wavelength, I'll give you one last piece of advice." He drew his lips back across his teeth. "Never forget that you're expendable. Blow jobs come a dime a dozen in this town!"

  Angrily she tried to wrench herself free, but he was too strong. Her eyes flashed with spite and her bosom heaved with every quickened breath.

  "Well? Still wanna threaten to withhold your cunt?"

  She seemed on the verge of hissing a reply, but then thought better of it. Her lips tightened into a thin line. "No, Robert," she said almost meekly. "But I want to be more than just another blow job."

  "Smart girl." He loosened his grip and grinned. "Maybe now that we understand each other, you'll stop bitching. You got what you wanted, didn't ya?"

  She was no longer certain of anything. "If you say so," she said guardedly.

  "Just don't let me down," he warned. The orchestra was segueing into "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." He looked at her questioningly. "Well? What're you waitin' for?"

  Bambi looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

  Pulling her close, he guided her hand back down to his groin. "Aren't you going to show your appreciation?"

  "But I thought it was time I made myself scarce."

  "Why? Is there a fire?"

  "You said one dance," she reminded him.

  "So I changed my mind." He gave her a lewd wink. "Seems to me, there's a lot more to dancing than I previously thought."

  Dina was enjoying herself immensely. Lord Rosenkrantz was such an unbelievably good dancer that even the most intricate, out-of-date steps were a breeze to pick up. Despite his beer-barrel physique, he was so light and agile on his feet that it was easy to fancy herself as Ginger Rogers to his (well, his rather plump, she allowed herself charitably) Fred Astaire, so smoothly and effortlessly did he lead her, and ...... and unless her sharp eyes were deceiving her, wasn't that her husband, Robert—the very same Robert who always refused to set foot on a dance floor, and claimed to absolutely loathe dancing!—doing exactly that with a peach-complexioned blonde plastered right up against him?

  The momentary glimpse she'd caught became a dark, ominous cloud hovering on her social horizon. Strangely enough, what she found most troubling of all was not Robert's weakness for PYTs—Pretty Young Things. Nor was she particularly disturbed by possible philandering on his part, at least not for the time being. No; that could wait. What evoked her wrath was his sense of timing.

  Why now? Why did he have to overstep the bounds of propriety on this, the night of her single greatest social triumph when everyone all but salaamed obsequiously before her?

  Well, he'll soon be sorry! Dina vowed darkly, and immediately detached herself from her dance partner.

  Lord Rosenkrantz looked concerned. "Is something the matter?"

  She summoned her best false smile. "Only my feet, Lord Rosenkrantz," she lied. "I'm afraid it's these new shoes. I should have known better than to wear them tonight."

  Lord Rosenkrantz looked as sorrowful as if she had announced a death in his immediate family. "More's the pity, madam," he murmured, and then his voice regained its ebulliency. "However, your comfort and well-being must take priority!"

  He cocked his arm, she hooked hers through it, and he gallantly escorted her off the dance floor.

  "Alas," he told her when they reached the sidelines. "I am bereft. Having once experienced feet lighter than air, I cannot conceive of dancing with anyone else."

  "You, Lord Rosenkrantz," she laughed, "are the most incorrigible flatterer!"

  "And you, madam, flatter me with your very presence." He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  She felt the merest whisper of breath on her fingertips.

  "May I get you a libation?"

  "Please." Dina decided some serious fortification was in order. "I'll have a double vodka," she decided. "Straight." Then, remembering her calories, she quickly changed her mind. "On second thought, make that a club soda. No ice."

  "At once, madam," he said with a courtly bow, every inch the Continental gentleman.

  She waited until he was gone, then hopped on tiptoe and craned her neck, her slitted eyes sweeping the area of the dance floor where she had last caught sight of her husband.

  Where had he disappeared to ... ? She knew she had seen him, he must be—

  —there! A sudden opening in the cluster of dancers momentarily revealed him before obscuring him once again.

  She felt her cheeks draw in; her stomach shift poisonously. The glimpse she'd caught was only fleeting, but she had seen enough to sense—to know!—that something untoward was going on.

  Because Robert and the blonde were not so much dancing or flirting as they were positively glued to one another, joined as though in sexual embrace!

  Dina felt the jolt of physical agony. Suddenly she had a dissonant sense of confinement in this vast, jam-packed space. Makeup-laminated faces took on a menacing, Daliesque surreality; ordinary laughter curdled into the screeches of the deranged.

  How could Robert! she quailed. How could he? He's my husband!

  Through sheer willpower, Dina forced away the hallucinatory edge of panic; fought to bring reality back into focus.

  Slowly her breathing calmed and anger replaced shock.

  She thought: I could always pretend I didn't see anything and confront Robert later, after we get home. The only trouble is, by then he'll have thought up any number of excuses, and even try to convince me I was imagining things. No, best to nip things in the bud now—before they get out of hand ...

  Having decided upon a strategy, Dina was ready to slay dragons. She marched onto the dance floor and expertly navigated her way through the slow-dancing crowd.

  Homing in on her target, her raptorial eyes didn't miss a trick.

  Not Bambi's aerobics-toned body or sensuous movements, nor the way Robert's hands were all over her, and especially not the way the girl's arm was—good heavens!—covertly doing the hokey pokey!

  Robert, Robert, Robert, Dina chided wordlessly, shaking her head and clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. What am I going to do with you?

  But she already knew.

  Stealing up on him from behind, she gave his buttocks a sharp tweak and exclaimed: "Sweetie! Why didn't you tell me you have a girlfriend?"

  For once Robert A. Goldsmith was caught completely off guard. He and Bambi leapt apart like scalded cats.

  "D-D-Dina!" he blustered. "What a pleasant—"

  Dina cut him off with a merciless glare. Then, turning to Bambi, she snapped, "Adios, Cinderella!"

  Bambi wisely made tracks.

  Dina watched her departure through slitted eyes. Knowing trouble when she saw it, she filed away a mental mugshot; chances were, this girl might pop up again sometime in the future. Of course, it behooved Robert to make certain she wouldn't.

  Still, I've been forewarned. It won't hurt to monitor him more closely from now on.

  With Bambi gone, Dina turned her full attention upon her husband.

  "... goddamn hot in here," he mumbled, mopping sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief.

  "Well, you know what they say, Robert. If you can't take the heat, stay out of the fire."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Sweetie, you know exactly what it means." She smiled saccharinely. "Crossing the line with your little Junior Miss, what else?"

  "Crossing the
line?" he said indignantly. "What line? We were only dancing. Anyway, if you hadn't been so busy with Lord What's-His-Name, I'd have asked you."

  "Oh, really?" Dina's voice dripped sarcasm. "Well, never mind. You were looking to dance with me, so how about it?" She extended bracelet- laden arms and awaited his embrace. "Shall we?"

  Robert had no choice but to comply. He held her clumsily, dancing with stiff, awkward movements.

  Dina burst out laughing. "My God, Robert, you dance as if you're constipated! You certainly weren't this uptight with your little Junior Miss. Now relax—" She enjoyed his discomfiture immensely. "—all you have to do is follow my lead. But first, you might want to hold me a little closer ... you know . . . like you held her?"

  Robert, loosening up a little, stole a longing glance in the direction in which Bambi had fled.

  A major mistake.

  Dina's spiky heel came down on his toes. Hard.

  Letting out a yelp, he hopped comically up and down on one foot. "Now what did you do that for?" he accused, looking aggrieved.

  "Why, to get your attention," Dina cooed, "what else? And while we're on that subject, I strongly suggest you forget her."

  He played dumb. "Forget who?"

  "Your little Cinderella. Really, Robert. Need I remind you that we're married? Or reel off the names of men who were toppled from the Forbes Four Hundred, and all because of divorce settlements?"

  She was pleased to see him blanch.

  "I didn't think so," she purred, smugly secure in the knowledge that she had scored her point and hit where it hurt most.

  Not below the belt, but in his most painful spot of all.

  His wallet.

  Chapter 18

  As soon as they stepped outside, Hannes's features knotted into an expression of disgust. The night was wet and shiny: what had begun as a drizzle had turned into a full-fledged cloudburst. Sheets of silvery rain, hard as a heavyweight's fists, thrashed the city with a vengeance.

  To his surprise, Kenzie uttered a cry of sheer joy and turned a bright face to his. "Isn't it glorious?" she breathed.

  And before he could reply that no, this abominable weather was definitely not glorious, she waved away the footman who came rushing with an oversized umbrella, left Hannes standing in the shelter between two massive columns, and darted out into the downpour.

  Tilting her head heavenward, she spread her arms wide and twirled, reveling in the pounding, cleansing rain.

  "You are mad!" Hannes shouted from under the sanctuary of the overhanging cornice. "Do you know that? Utterly, depravedly mad!"

  "Wonderfully mad!" she enthused, her hair already plastered to her skull like a sleek dark helmet. Running back to him, she grabbed both his hands and tugged him, protesting, out into the rain. Then, clinging tightly to his arm, she tromped happily beside him down the sodden, red- carpeted steps.

  "Now admit it," she said. "Doesn't this feel great?"

  "Being with you feels great," he offered with meaningful emphasis.

  "Oh, yeah?" She stopped and tipped her head to one side in order to favor him with a pleased look.

  "Yeah." He pulled her into an embrace.

  Agile as a Fagin urchin, she squirmed out of his arms and laughed, playfully skipping the rest of the way down with him in hot pursuit.

  Reaching the bottom, she found herself facing limousine row. From left to right, slant-parked as far as the eye could see was a veritable armada of dark limousines and Lincoln Town Cars—plus a single white superstretch Caddy with blacked-out windows and DINA G vanity plates, whose chauffeur was leaning against the driver's door under an umbrella. He had observed Kenzie's descent with interest. Now that she was within ten feet, he pushed his peaked, visored cap back on his head and gave her an appreciative once-over.

  Kenzie, aware of his gaze, saw a whippet-thin guy who smoked from a cupped hand while simultaneously chewing on a wad of gum and a toothpick. Caught him flashing her a knowing grin and a wink, both of which she ignored.

  She turned to Hannes as he caught up with her. He was laughing and lifted her easily off her feet and gently twirled her around and around in a circle.

  "Why do I feel as though I'm fifteen again?" he asked once he set her back down.

  "Because you are." Her voice was a whisper amid the crashing of the rain. She reached up and touched his cheek tenderly with her fingertips. "Because tonight we both are."

  He looked at her. A streetlamp threw its harsh glare around them, but she had her back to it. Her face was in shadows. Only her eyes shone with a peculiar light all their own. Despite the cold lashing of the rain he could feel the fires within her reach out toward him.

  Then she lowered her hand and turned away. Abruptly the spell was broken. She gestured in front of her.

  He stood beside her; then followed her sweeping hand as it encompassed all of limousine row.

  "Am I correct in assuming that none of these vehicles is yours?"

  He could detect a note of humor in her voice and smiled. "You are, so it's good you like the rain. Come. Let's find a taxi."

  He took her by the hand and pulled her in single-file between the white superstretch and a midnight-blue Town Car.

  Dina's chauffeur made himself thinner so they could squeeze past. Recognizing pocket change when he saw it, he quickly drew on his cigarette and flipped it into the gutter.

  "Yo!" he called. Kenzie and Hannes stopped and turned around.

  He sidled over and included them under his umbrella. It muted the roar of the downpour to a steady, muffled drumbeat. "I take it you folks're lookin' for a cab?"

  Hannes nodded. "Yes."

  The driver's toothpick waggled. His face was expressionless as he squinted slowly over at Fifth Avenue to gauge the downtown traffic. He looked back at Hannes. "Fifth's usually crawlin' with so many cabs, you stick your arm out, a whole fleet of 'em'll aim right at you like a school o' hungry sharks. But that's when it's nice out. Right now, Fifth looks like it's filled with nothin' but off-duties and occupieds, but what can you expect in this kinda weather? 'Fraid you'll have a tough time findin' one tonight."

  "He's right, you know," Kenzie murmured from long experience.

  The driver waggled his toothpick some more. "Where you folks headed?"

  "First Avenue and Thirty-seventh," Hannes answered.

  The man nodded. "Tell you what. My boss won't be ready to leave for a while yet. Fifteen bucks'll get you home in style."

  Hannes didn't hesitate. Reaching for his wallet, he forked over a twenty. "Keep the change," he said.

  "Hey, mister, you're all right! Thanks!"

  The driver palmed the bill as deftly as a seasoned maitre d'. He popped open the rear door and held it.

  "Hop on in, folks," he invited. "Enjoy the ride."

  Kenzie crawled in first, sinking into a deep, L-shaped leather banquette. A moment later, Hannes plopped himself down beside her.

  "Nice, huh?" she said, glancing around the interior.

  It was decorated like a yacht. All buttery leather and burled elm, with gold accents, mood lighting, and dual everything—TVs, VCRs, cellular phones, faxes.

  Kenzie stretched her legs straight out in front of her. "Can you believe this? There's enough legroom to do sit-ups!" Sighing blissfully, she crossed her arms behind her head. "Ah, for the lifestyle of the rich and famous!" she murmured. "A girl could get used to this. Yes, indeed ..."

  The partition separating passengers from driver slid soundlessly down.

  "You'll find a built-in bar between the TVs," the chauffeur called out. He was backing the big car slowly out of its berth and expertly swinging it around in a tight reverse turn. "There's booze, ice, the works. Help yourselves. Drinks're on the house."

  The partition slid back up.

  Hannes looked at Kenzie. "Would you care for something?"

  She hesitated, then shook her head. "I'd better not. I already drank more than my limit."

  Hannes decided to check out the bar anyway. Sure e
nough, the cabinet was custom fitted with padded, molded slots containing cut-crystal glasses and matching decanters topped with silver pouring spouts. A compartment below it held a mini-refrigerator and a freezer filled with cubed ice.

  Kenzie watched as he fixed himself a Scotch rocks.

  "Oh, hell's bells!" she declared, deciding there was nothing to be gained from abstinence. "I'll have a vodka and tonic—but I suggest you go real light on the booze. One drink too many, and everything starts spinning." With a sly little smile, she added, "The last thing I want is to spend the night with my arms wrapped around a toilet."

  He laughed. "Yes, I'd much rather they were wrapped around me—so I think you'd best prepare yourself for the weakest drink in the world."

  She watched as he tonged ice cubes into a glass, added a splash of vodka, a precut sliver of lime, and a heavy dose of Schweppes. Finally he gave the drink a brisk stir with a glass swizzle stick.

  "For you."

  He proffered the Baccarat highball with both hands, like a priestly offering.

  She accepted it in the same solemn, ritualistic manner, holding it in both hands, and took a tentative sip, all the while looking at him over the rim with wide amber eyes.

  "Yummy," she murmured, giving a deep, pleasurable sigh. "Sheer perfection."

  Slowly she ran the moist pink tip of her tongue across her upper lip, her face taking on an unmistakably playful cast.

  "Tell me, Hans. Are you as good at everything as you are at mixing drinks?"

  He stared intently at her. "What do you think?"

  She looked thoughtful and took another sip of her drink and swallowed, all the while holding his gaze.

  "I think I'll have to reserve judgment until after the experience."

  "A consummation devoutly seeking to be fulfilled," he murmured, scooting closer against her and making soft caresses.

  Even as the limousine pulled out onto Fifth Avenue, merging smoothly with the swift downtown traffic as though with a school of vermillion-tailed fish, Kenzie and Hannes were already at it, letting their hands and lips do the talking as hidden stereo speakers emitted soft, early Streisand—just what the doctor ordered to enhance the strong sexual chemistry crackling in the air.