Lethal Seduction (21 page)

“Did your friend do the condom test?” Kimm asked, sitting down on the couch.

“You know, so much has been going on that I haven't asked.”

“Ask,” Kimm said. “Make sure she does it.”

“Why?” Madison said, smiling. “You need a new client?”

Kimm half smiled back, she had very large white teeth—not a cap amongst them. “I never solicit new clients,” she said. “They come to me on recommendations. Isn't that how
you
found me?”

“Yes,” Madison said, wishing she felt more alert. She hated not being able to sleep, it fuddled her brain. “Now . . . uh . . .
can we get down to business?” she said. “You kind of unnerved me on the phone last night. Why did you say I'm not going to like what I hear?”

“Because I didn't want what I have to tell you to come as a shock,” Kimm said. “Better prepared than not.”

“Prepared for
what?”
Madison asked, perplexed.

Kimm studied her gravely. “I don't know you very well, although I
do
observe you to be a most together person. And observation is my business.”

“Thanks,” Madison said, not feeling at all together.

“So,” Kimm continued. “Do I sugarcoat it, or do I give it to you straight?”

“Straight,” Madison replied.
Straight before I scream!

“I thought so,” Kimm said, getting up and walking across the room. “I've read some of your interviews. I always think it's a good idea to know something about the person I'm working for.”

Get on with it!
Madison's inner voice screamed.

“You're very insightful when it comes to other people,” Kimm continued. “Only you never investigated your own life.”

“Didn't know I had to,” Madison said flippantly, although inside her stomach was busy doing flip-flops.

“What
do
you know about your father?” Kimm asked, giving her a long, steady look.

“That's a weird question.”

“It might be weird, but it's quite basic.”

“I suppose.”

“So?”

“Michael is a wonderful man,” she said slowly. “And a terrific father.”

“What's his profession?”

“His profession?” Madison said, puzzled by this line of questioning. “Well . . . he's actually retired, did that when he moved to Connecticut a few years ago. I know you're probably thinking he's too young to retire, but that was the whole point, he decided to enjoy himself while he was still young enough. You see, he and Stella—they like to travel, visit Europe, explore;
they're always going somewhere. Or at least they were. I guess Stella isn't going anywhere anymore.”

“You're not telling me what your father's profession was.”

“Investments.”

“Sounds vague.”

“He made a lot of money.”

“I'm sure.”

“Lived extremely well. Still does.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“What are you getting at?” Madison asked, exasperated. “Spit it out, Kimm, you're making me nervous.”

Kimm was silent for a moment before speaking. “Your father was a hit man for the mob,” she said at last.

“Whaaat?”
The word fell out of Madison's mouth like a painful cry for help. “That's . . . that's impossible.”

“Not impossible. A fact,” Kimm stated, her expression stoic.

Madison felt as if she were in the middle of some bizarre nightmare.
Wake up. Please wake up,
her inner voice urged.

No go, baby, this is actually happening.

“Why would you even say something like that?” she managed at last. “It's . . . it's ludicrous, unthinkable and totally untrue.”

“I'm afraid it's not,” Kimm replied, annoyingly calm and assured. “Your father's real name is Vincenzio Michael Castellino. He changed it legally to Michael Castelli after the trial.”

“What
trial?”

“The trial where he was accused of murdering your mother.” A long, ominous pause. “And, oh yes, her name wasn't Gloria, he lied to you about that too. It was Beth.” A short pause. “I'm sorry to be the bearer of such devastating news, but unfortunately, this is the truth, and . . . I have the evidence to prove it.”

“I
GOTTA SURPRISE FOR EVERYONE
,” Chas announced.

Oh, no,
Rosarita thought.
Chas and his surprises. What is he about to come up with now?

She was in a good mood because this was the Cockrangers' farewell dinner.

Farewell, Matt.

Farewell, Martha.

And as soon as they were out of sight, farewell, Dex.

Chas had chosen to give them a dinner party at his house, where Varoomba, recently ensconced, was playing hostess.

What a joke,
Rosarita thought.
How come he's allowed this big bimbo to move in with him? There's nothing more pathetic than an old guy with a young dingbat. Especially a dummy like Varoomba with zonkers bigger than footballs.

Chas had also invited Venice, Eddie, and their two horrible little brats. Rosarita was less than pleased as she observed the action. Aunt material she was not.

When Martha wasn't playing flirty eyes with Chas, she was busy fussing over Venice's kids. Matt, as usual, started drooling every time he managed to sneak a glimpse of Varoomba's voluptuous cleavage, and Dex seemed to be in a slump, which he'd
been in ever since he'd gotten the official news of his show being canceled.

It had not, Rosarita observed, affected his sexual prowess. What with her sessions with Joel a couple of times a week, and Dex every night, she was beginning to wonder if she had too much of a good thing going. There was only so much sex a girl could take.

“What's your surprise, Daddy?” Venice asked, all goo-goo eyed and sugary as candy floss.

“For you,” he said magnanimously, “it's a trip to Hawaii with the kids, all expenses covered.”

Rosarita's face fell. How dare he waste her inheritance in such a fashion! Venice didn't deserve shit. Certainly not a fabulous vacation.

“An' for you,” he said, turning to Rosarita, “it's a trip to Vegas, 'cause I know how ya love it there.”

“Vegas?” she said blankly.

“Yeah, Vegas. I got us all tickets for the big fight. Whaddya think of
that?”

What did she think of that? Not a lot.

“An'—here's the kicker,” Chas continued. “I'm throwin' in two ringside seats for Martha and Matt, 'cause Martha told me she's never bin to Vegas. An' if ya ain't seen Vegas, ya ain't lived.”

Martha clapped her hands together in ecstasy. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “I'm
so
excited.”

Rosarita was dumbfounded. What the
hell
was going on? One minute she was telling Chas she wanted Dex knocked off, and the next he was inviting the whole gang to Vegas,
including
Dex and his stupid parents. She could happily
strangle
him.

Matt cleared his throat. “I can't thank you enough,” he said. “This is quite something.”

“Don't wantcha worryin' 'bout a thing,” Chas said. “I know you're leavin' tomorra, an' the fight don't take place for a while yet, so I'll be sendin' you plane tickets, an' we'll all meet up in Vegas.”

For once Rosarita was totally speechless. She glanced at Dex to see how he was taking the news. He seemed oblivious, in his usual blue funk, damn him!

Hovering on the sidelines, Varoomba didn't say a word. She'd learned that when in Chas' company, it was best to stay quiet, especially when his two daughters were around. Venice was okay, but the other one was a bitch on roller skates, and Varoomba made sure to steer clear.

“So . . . whaddya think?” Chas said, beaming at the assorted company, getting off on playing big man on campus.

“Hawaii sounds dreamy,” Venice breathed. “I've always wanted to go there.”

“Thanks, Chas,” Eddie said, brownnosing as usual. “We could all do with a vacation.”

“What about me?” Varoomba wanted to say, but she prudently kept quiet—not anxious to piss Chas off. If he
did
plan to take her to Vegas, it was probably best not to mention that she'd worked there at one time. In fact, her grandmother, who used to be queen of the Strip, still lived there.

Rosarita couldn't wait to get her father alone. Oh boy, was she going to give him a piece of her mind.

On the way home in the car, she sulked, while Martha yammered on about what a fabulous evening they'd had and how fantastic it was that they were all going to be meeting up in Vegas.

“You
won't be able to come,” Rosarita said, shooting Dex a moody look.

“Why not?” he said.

“You'll be working.”

“No, I won't,” he said. “This is my last week on the show, after Friday I'll be free to go wherever I want.”

“Oh, well then,” she said sarcastically, “I guess a nice little trip to Vegas is just what you need. Why
work?
Why not stand around
gambling
all day?”

“You're so goddamn negative. Why don't you shut the fuck up,” Dexter said, surprising everyone with his unexpected outburst.

“Are you
swearing
at me in front of your parents?” Rosarita responded furiously.

“Yes, dear,” Martha interjected, glaring at her son. “It's not nice to use bad language. I thought I taught you that when you were a boy.”

“Yes, Dex, it's not nice,” Rosarita mocked.

“You know,” Martha said, oblivious to her son's bad mood. “When Dickie was nine, he came home from school one day chanting the ‘S' word. I had to wash his mouth out with soap.”

“Did you, now?” Rosarita said, enjoying every moment of Dex's obvious embarrassment.

“We're all tired,” Matt said with a hearty yawn. “It's been a hectic two weeks.”

“Actually, you mean
three
weeks,” Rosarita pointed out, silently adding that she'd counted every minute of every day, so she should know.

•

The next morning, as soon as she awoke, Rosarita was on the phone to Chas. “What are you
thinking?”
she screeched.

“Huh?” Chas mumbled. “Wassamatter?”

“I'm coming over to see you.” And before he could think of a way to stop her, she slammed the phone down.

Twenty minutes later she was at his house. Ignoring Varoomba, who was hovering in the front hall, looking especially top heavy in a pink negligee, she swept into the library.

A few minutes later a reluctant Chas put in an appearance. He knew he was due for an ear-bashing, and he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. When Rosarita was on a roll there was no stopping her.

“What is
wrong
with you?” Rosarita shouted, walking over and slamming the library door shut. “I
told
you how I feel about Dex. How dare you invite him and his stupid parents to Vegas. I don't get it. You know what I asked you to do, and since you refused, I'll be forced to make other arrangements.”

“Shut your mouth with that bullshit crap,” Chas said,
scowling. “Do what everyone else does when they wanna divorce. Wait it out.”

“I'm not giving him half of everything,” she yelled. “You bought
me
the Mercedes. The wedding presents are
mine.
The apartment is
mine.
He's getting
nothing!”

“It's only money,” Chas said.

“Only money,” she said ominously. “What happened to
you?
You used to be able to take care of things,
now
look at you, you're turning into a senile old man.”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Chas repeated angrily, red in the face. “Dexter's folks are decent people, an' even though he's a dumb actor, he seems to be an okay guy. An' more important—God help the poor bastard—he
loves
you. Where're you gonna find
that?
Most guys are assholes, an' you know it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What
you're
saying is that
you
think I should sacrifice my chance of happiness and stay with Dex.”

“You could do worse.”

“And I could do better. And let me tell you . . .” A triumphant pause. “I have.”

“Yeah?” he said, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I wasn't going to tell you, Daddy, but I've been seeing somebody.”

“Dexter know about this?”

“Of course not,” she said, rolling her eyes at his stupidity.
“That's
why I've got to get rid of him. Can't have him getting in my way, can I?”

“Who're you seein'?”

“I'm sure you've heard of Leon Blaine.”

Chas' mouth twitched. “You screwin' that old fuck?”

“No,” she said scornfully. “Not
him.
His son, Joel. He's crazy about me.”

“Joel Blaine is crazy 'bout you?” Chas repeated, now certain his elder daughter was delusional.

“Don't sound so surprised, Daddy,” she said, slightly put out that he obviously didn't believe her. “Men go wild for me, and since I have an opportunity to be with Leon Blaine's son,
I
think I should take it, and not be hindered in my quest to do so.”

“You . . . you're something else,” Chas said, shaking his head in wonderment.

“I'm not letting Joel Blaine slip out of my sight,” she said stubbornly. “I have to do something fast.”

“You're talkin' crazy,” Chas said, scratching his chin. “Crazier every day.”