She picked up the phone again and called Paulette on her cell, since it was a crapshoot these days to determine which coast Paulette was on.
“How are you, and where the hell are you?” she asked.
“On cloud nine,” Paulette enthused.
“Now, which area code is that?” Reese asked, chuckling. She assumed that Paulette must have just gotten laid by her mysterious new boyfriend.
“It’s the one with lots of zeros!” Paulette answered with a sly smirk.
“Do you mean Os, as in orgasms?”
“No, honey, I mean the zeros behind the comma.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Reese asked.
“My grandmother’s will was read last week, and let’s just say that I’m in the money!” she sang. “Yesssss!” Paulette was having a party with herself to celebrate her tremendous windfall. In the days since the reading of her grandmother’s will, she had gotten a head start on being rich by running up all her available credit, and generally spending money as though she were Donald Trump.
“That’s great,” Reese said, though she was thinking that it would be even greater if it were happening to her. Anyone in her family could keel over, and she’d be lucky if they left enough money to be buried.
“Yeah, girl, I finally got mine.”
“So, Paulette,” Reese joked in a TV-game-show-host voice, “you just won millions; where are you going?”
“I can tell you it ain’t Disneyland!” Paulette laughed. “I’m headed up Madison Avenue.”
“Let’s hope after I divorce Chris that I’ll be right alongside you.”
After their brief chat, Reese hung up feeling anxious. Her thoughts were racing. What if she did end up poor? Don’t panic, she told herself. Maybe Kira had spent the night in Chris’s hotel room, and that was why she wasn’t answering her phone. She decided to call Chris and see what the hell was going on.
“Hi, babe.” She smiled at the thought of Chris answering the phone all nervous because he had another woman in his bed. Reese hoped, for her friend’s sake, that her husband performed better with her than he did at home. Having sex with Chris was like riding a treadmill: It took you nowhere.
“Oh, hey.” He sounded strange, not his usual relaxed self.
Gotcha, she thought. “Are you okay?” she asked. Now she felt sure that Kira was lying next to him buck naked.
“Yeah.”
“You sound like something’s wrong. What’s up?” She leaned back on the bed, settling in for the final act.
He took a deep breath and said, “We need to talk.”
Interesting, she thought. Maybe he was feeling so guilty that he had to confess. “I’m listening.”
“Not now. I’ll be home in the morning. We’ll talk then.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” She hung up the phone, wanting to jump for joy; her freshly painted toenails were all that prevented her from doing so. He’d never sounded this serious before, so her plan must have worked like a charm—and not a minute too soon.
After last night with Shaun—false fire alarm notwithstanding—she was more anxious than ever to kick Chris aside and keep it moving. Shaun was magical, possessing skills that ordinary men could barely imagine, doing the most amazing things to her body. She was getting warm, wet, and flushed just thinking about how thoroughly he sexed her; Chris had never come close to giving her that kind of satisfaction, and now that she had a taste of it she was nowhere near ready to stop. She needed to be free to savor it completely without the annoyance of sneaking around hotels and taking the risk of getting caught. So now was the perfect time to dump Chris, something she had no compunction whatsoever about doing.
The next morning when Chris came home, Reese still had not been able to speak to Kira to confirm that the dirty deed had in fact been done, but given his tone she was pretty confident that her friend had pulled it off. And knowing Kira, she probably left town on a jaunt with one of her many male friends.
She heard his key in the door of their three-floor town house, and hurried down to meet him. “Hi, babe. How was your trip?” When she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him she immediately felt a chill. The team had been beaten badly on the road, ending their chance at the finals, so he was probably just in a sour mood, on top of being remorseful at having cheated on her.
“Very interesting, actually.” He sat his bag down at the foot of the palatial winding staircase, and kept going until he reached the den.
Reese followed him, perplexed. “Are you okay?” she asked feigning worry and concern for him.
“Not really.” He sat on the leather club chair and crossed his long legs, one over the other.
Reese wanted to jump for joy. She was sure that he was feeling guilty about his rendezvous and wanted to come clean, but he needn’t bother, since she was leaving him no matter what.
“What’s wrong, baby?” She was prepared to play the hurt, betrayed spouse to the hilt. She already had her tears on tap.
“I should be asking you that question.” He crossed his arms.
She observed him more closely, taking note of the coolness that she had mistaken for guilt. “I don’t understand.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry and pressed a couple of buttons. “A picture is worth a thousand words, so why don’t I save us both a few?” He handed her the device, smirked, and watched her expression change from confusion to shock to anger.
Reese had been perplexed when she took the phone from Chris, still wondering what it had to do with him and Kira. Why would he show her a picture of himself caught in the act? It made no sense—until she took a good look at the image on the LCD. It wasn’t the picture she expected; instead it was a picture of her and Shaun standing outside of the Four Seasons Hotel after the fire alarm sounded, with his arm wrapped protectively around her. Her torn blouse was sloppily tied at the waist, her makeup was badly smeared—on her face and his—and her hair was a disheveled wreck. She was mortified, and there was no denying what had happened between them last night, when she’d told Chris that she was turning in early with a headache. But she had to try to defend herself. She was not going down without a fight.
“Baby, it’s not what it looks like,” she pleaded. By now the color had drained from her face, but Chris’s was flushed with anger.
“It looks pretty clear to me,” he said, standing up angrily. “You’ve been fucking around with some nigger!” he yelled. “I should have listened to my mother. She knew right away that you were nothing but a gold-diggin’ slut!” He shook his head. “I gave you everything, and you still couldn’t keep your fuckin’ legs closed.”
“It’s not like that.” Tears from fear, not remorse, streamed down her face, taking traces of her mascara and eyeliner along the trail.
“You’re just a cheap, lying bitch.” He walked up to her, using his full height to add to the intimidation.
Desperately she reached for him, instinctively wanting to use her body to assuage the dicey situation, trying to physically hold on to him. If she could just hug him, arouse him, and get him into bed, maybe they could get beyond this. Maybe she could explain that she was lonely because he was always on the road. That’s it, blame it on him! “No, baby, listen. I didn’t do it. I promise. It’s all a big mistake.” Her denial sounded weak, even to her.
He grabbed her hands from his shoulders and dropped them coldly. Chris looked at Reese as though she were the lowest form of life on the planet. “Reese, don’t insult me with more of your lies. Trust me; I know exactly what’s up. It’s time for you to get the hell outta here.” When she stood frozen in place, he bent down into her face. “Now!”
“Chris, please—”
“Don’t waste your breath or my time. I want you out of here tonight. So go upstairs, pack your shit, and get the fuck out.”
Her head was spinning. R
eese was not at all prepared for this. “But where will we go?”
“What do you mean, ‘we’? You’re not taking my son anywhere. Not tonight or ever.”
This scenario was her worst nightmare come true—to be kicked out of the comforts of her $11-million home without her only real asset: her child. She retorted, “What are you gonna do, take him on the road? As much as you travel, you can’t possibly take care of him!”
He laughed in her face. “And you can? You’re a sorry excuse for a mother, Reese. The only thing you do for Rowe is arrange for other people to take care of him. But don’t worry—not that you ever do. My mother’s on the way over, and she’ll take care of her grandson.”
“You can’t do this to me. You can’t take my child,” she begged. She had to hold on to something.
Chris grabbed her forearm and led her to the stairs. “Go get your shit and get out. Now!”
At this point Reese was crying uncontrollably as her world came crashing down at her feet. All of her plans had gone terribly wrong, and she was so terrified that she never considered what had really happened with Kira last night. “B-b-but where will I go?” she pleaded again.
Chis looked at her and snorted his disdain. “To quote Rhett Butler, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’”
THIRTEEN
Paulette rolled off of Max. She’d just finished riding him cowgirl style, her favorite position: on top. She’d been waiting patiently to celebrate her newfound wealth with him before heading back to L.A., and what better way than a frisky romp between the sheets?
“You were wonderful,” she lied. The truth of the matter was that Max was a subpar lover, at best. The problem with Max was his looks. He’d always been told how handsome he was, and therefore was convinced that his mere presence did the trick. He had no idea how to please a woman, so a girl had to work hard to achieve an orgasm with him, which wasn’t a problem at all for Paulette; she loved his dirty drawers. At least, it was Paulette’s version of love; Max represented everything that she had been denied, and the fact that Lauren had him made him even more desirable.
She reached over to the nightstand for their two glasses of champagne. “Here’s to a brilliant mission, masterfully executed!” They raised their flutes to toast, careful not to spill any champagne on the just purchased Pratesi sheets in Paulette’s brand-new trendy loft apartment in SoHo. It was one of the many spoils from their victory. Already Paulette had maxed out every credit card she had and rapidly applied for new ones, while also leveraging her company assets to access even more credit for her loft, a place in Beverly Hills, and a shiny late model Mercedes.
Six months earlier, when it was obvious that Nana was going downhill fast, she and Max had hatched the plan to change her grandmother’s will, fake the signature, and split the money. It had come off without a hitch. Since Max was the attorney for the estate, thanks to Mildred, his doting mother-in-law, it was a seamless operation. “The look on Aunt Mildred’s face was priceless.” Paulette threw her head back and laughed heartily, clearly a very happy woman.
“I’m just glad it’s over.” Max reached for a cigarette, something he never did in public or at home, lit it, puffed a few times, then lay back on the pillow to enjoy the nicotine rush.
“I’m glad it’s over, too,” Paulette said, snuggling closer to him. “’Cause now you can finally leave her.” First she’d gotten Lauren’s money, and now she’d get her man.
Max glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but decided not to comment.
When seconds ticked by and he still hadn’t responded, Paulette did what Paulette did best: She took the direct route. “You are leaving her, right?”
Max took the cigarette from between his lips and turned to face her. “Now, Paulette, I never said that I was leaving Lauren. What we have is great, but leaving my home is another matter altogether.” He had no idea why Paulette would think he’d leave his trophy wife for a loudmouthed publicist, even if she was a rich one now. He simply went along with the plan to sock away some money of his own. He hated knowing that all of his wealth was tied to Lauren. Now he had his own nest egg. But this didn’t mean that he was done with Lauren; her family had another purpose to serve: launching his political career.
She slammed the champagne flute down and sat upright in bed. “You may not have said it, but you damn well insinuated it.”
He sat up, too. “What are you talking about?”
“You said that you were only in the marriage for the money, which I now have,” she said smugly. “And let’s not forget I gave you half. So why would you stay with her? That bitch can’t even give you a baby!” Paulette was not above hitting below the belt.
Max got up from the bed and began gathering his things. “I’m not having this conversation.” Carrying on an affair and concocting some financial shenanigans for profit were one thing, but having a real relationship with Paulette was quite another. He did have an image to uphold, and someone like Paulette, money or not, just didn’t fit it.
“Don’t you walk out on me.” She jumped up out of the bed naked, with her melon-sized boobs bouncing like buoys. “I just gave you millions of dollars, not to mention the best sex I’m sure you ever get, especially if it’s coming from Lauren, and you’re just gonna walk out?” She planted her hands on her wide hips.
The stress leading up to their heist had led Paulette down the familiar road of binge eating, and making off with the money and thus being able to afford fancy restaurants only added more pounds to her burgeoning weight problem.
“Listen, Paulette, there is no reason we have to have this conversation now. I didn’t say that I’d never leave Lauren, just not now. It wouldn’t look good; in fact, it would look pretty suspicious if all of a sudden we ended up together after the reading of the will.” When he saw that his desperate logic was working, he pressed ahead. “We have to wait. It’s for the best.”
She visibly calmed down, unable to deny the truth in what he said. “Okay.” She pouted. “We’ll wait a few months, and then I want you all to myself.” She walked up and hugged him tight.
“Let’s just play this thing by ear, okay? You got what you want, so enjoy it.” He gestured around at the grand loft.
Not exactly, she thought. Her grandmother’s money was only the beginning of her ambitions; now she needed the man to go with the status, and Max was the perfect specimen. It didn’t hurt that he also belonged to her cousin.
Max dressed in a hurry. “I do have to go; I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, kissing her forehead. He had to give some serious thought to how best to extricate himself from this gold digger’s clutches. Or, more accurately, from between her legs.
Like many guys, he’d heard rumors about the elusive snapping pussy, and the rare woman who held that mythical power between her legs. Paulette was the best sex he’d ever had; she had the power to put a death grip on a man’s dick, and since he wasn’t the best-endowed man, it was rare that he ever achieved a truly snug fit. It was hard to walk away from such great sex, but blazing orgasms or not, it was definitely time that he did.
She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, wondering if he really thought that he could just walk away after all they’d been through. There wasn’t a chance in hell. In fact, if he tried to, she could threaten to reveal how he’d altered the will, which would ruin his reputation and his career. Besides, he could never prove that she had anything to do with it. She sighed. Men could be so naive; who did he think he was fucking with, anyway?
She was about to walk back up the stairs to pack for the red-eye to L.A. when there was a knock at the door. He must have come to his senses, she thought. Smiling, she tugged the bedsheet a little tighter around her chest and opened the door. “Oh, Max, I knew…” The words caught in her throat. It wasn’t Max at the door; instead it was Reese, looking uncharacteristically thrown together, but more important, she was weari
ng a shocked look that soon transformed into a cat-that-ate-the-canary expression.
It didn’t take Reese long to deduce the implications of what she’d just seen, nor the fact that she’d certainly be able to use it to her own advantage.
“Max, huh?” She walked past Paulette into the loft, leaving three suitcases outside the door. “I thought I saw him coming out of the building. You sneaky little girl, you.” Though she was still reeling from her own drama, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the one playing out in Paulette’s apartment.
“Reese, what are you doing here?” Paulette demanded. This was the last thing she needed.
Reese looked her up and down, shrewdly taking in the fact that she was covered in only a sheet and her hair was a frightful mess. “I might ask you the exact same thing.”
FOURTEEN
After arriving in L.A. the next day, Paulette wasted no time hitting Rodeo Drive with a vengeance. After her spree she walked back to the new bungalow that she and Gillian had moved into, both arms loaded down with shopping bags. When she saw that Gillian wasn’t wearing her usual long face she asked, “What’s up? Did you just win the lottery?”
“No.”
“Why the sexy outfit?”
“Nothing special, just going out.” After her first “official” date with Brandon a few weeks before, and many phone conversations since, she’d realized that he wasn’t such a bad guy. He was courteous, charming, and generally a nice man. And best of all, he didn’t try to hit on her. So, tonight they were going to an exclusive cocktail party given by one of the biggest producers in the business.
“Oh?” Paulette said. “And may I ask with whom?”
Gillian started to lie, but thought better of it. L.A., regardless of its sprawling size, was really a very small town. “Brandon Russell,” she finally said.
Paulette’s expression froze on her pudgy face. “When did you start dating him?”
Gold Diggers Page 11