Lethal Seduction (39 page)

“How exciting,” she breathed. “Unfortunately I never have time to watch TV 'cause I'm always at work. Back home I was a checker at the local supermarket.”

“Not you?”

“Yes, me,” she said with an endearing smile.

“Lucky customers.”

“Thanks,” she said, lowering her eyes. Then, “I've been saving for three years to come to New York,” she revealed. “Ever since I was sixteen.”

“Shut up over there,” Finian yelled harshly. “What are you morons paying for? To watch? Or to listen? Go to the movies if you want to
watch
me. If you wish to listen and learn, then
do so
for crissakes! It's bad enough teaching a bunch of amateurs like you, but if you're planning on talking throughout my class, I simply refuse to continue.”

Dexter was shocked at how rude Finian was. He was also shocked that Annie would send him to a class that was quite obviously for beginners. He was no beginner, he'd been on
Dark Days
for a year, making him an experienced actor. Anyone who knew anything at all about the business realized that performing on a soap was a crash course in gaining experience. Every day
there were pages and pages of dialogue to memorize, and he'd excelled at being word perfect, able to function at the speed of light. Damn Annie! This eight-week course was costing him fifteen hundred dollars, which seemed exorbitant.

“Sorry,” Gem murmured under her breath. “It's my fault he's cross.”

Dexter couldn't stop looking at her. She was so pretty. And so innocent. “Don't worry,” he whispered back. “Bullies never bother me.”

Finian spent the rest of the hour-long class putting people down. He'd summon a student to the front, instruct them to read a scene, then, when they were finished, proceed to pull their performance to pieces. While he was at it he also managed to trash the entire cast of
The Fight Club,
proclaiming that Edward Norton was dull, Helena Bonham Carter was far too dramatic and Brad Pitt was an overrated sexy dud.

Jesus, this is one bitter guy,
Dexter thought.
Got a strong hunch this is not the place to be. Better call Annie and tell her.

He could see Gem was completely in awe of Finian, and he was sorry she'd wasted her hard-earned money.
He
could afford it.
She
certainly couldn't.

When the class was dismissed, they walked out together. “How about grabbing a coffee?” he suggested.

She nodded. “Okay,” she said softly.

“Good,” he said, ridiculously pleased that she'd accepted.

“I feel so insignificant,” she said with a sigh, as they left the building. “Insignificant and totally inadequate. I'm sure he hates all of us.”

“No he doesn't,” Dexter assured her. “He's a frustrated actor who never made it to the top, so now he's taking it out on us. It's his way of hitting back.”

“How can somebody like that teach acting?”

“Beats me,” he said and shrugged.

“And I was so looking forward to his class.”

“Maybe he'll improve.”

“I hope so.” She tilted her chin. “How long have
you
been an actor, Dexter?”

“Not that long,” he admitted. “I was a model before—the Mortimer Marcel boy.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Jeez, that sounds terrible, doesn't it?”

“Not at all.”

“I did most of Marcel's ad campaigns. Had a billboard in Times Square.”

“You did?” she said, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. “How fantastic.”

In the entire time he'd been married to Rosarita, she'd never looked at him the way Gem did.

Suddenly he was jolted back to reality with a vengeance. What was he
doing?
His wife was pregnant, and here he was having thoughts about this girl. It was all wrong, he had to stop immediately.

“Uh, listen Gem—about that coffee,” he said. “I just remembered, I've uh . . . got an appointment.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed. “That's all right, I understand.”

“So I'll see you next week in class?”

“Yes,” she said, gazing at him expectantly.

He knew she was waiting for him to ask for her number, but he didn't, couldn't. “You'd better watch out,” he said. “This city can be brutal.”

“I know,” she said, nodding determinedly. “But at least I've got a job waitressing.”

“Where?”

“At a restaurant in Tribeca. So . . . as long as I'm making survival money, I can keep chasing my dream.”

A girl with a dream.

How refreshing.

•

All packed for the upcoming trip to Vegas, Varoomba called her grandmother. It took several attempts before she reached her, Renee being a very busy woman indeed, running a highly successful phone sex service. Although Renee had raised Varoomba
after her mom died of a drug overdose, she was hardly the nurturing grandmother type.

“Hi,” Varoomba said.

“Who's this?” Renee answered suspiciously.

“It's me, Grams. Surely you recognize my voice?”

“Oh,
you,”
Renee said grumpily.

“I'm on my way to Vegas, Grams, an' I was kinda thinkin' that it might be a good thing if you could like dress down and come meet me and my boyfriend,” Varoomba said hopefully.

“What boyfriend is this?”

“He's a keeper, an' I'm hopin' he'll marry me.” A wild giggle. “Who knows—perhaps we'll get t'do it while we're there.”

“An' where do I come in?” Renee asked.

“Chas is into family. It'd be nice for him to know I got one of my own—that I'm not just another dumb stripper.”

“You mean he loves you for your family?” Renee jeered. “Not your big tits?”

“Grams! Please!”

“All right, all right. Phone me when you get here. An' bring money, 'cause you ain't sent nothin' for months.”

“I will, Grams, I promise. Only one thing—when you meet us, you can't be drunk.”

“Ha!” Renee said. “What makes you think I'm still drinkin'?”

Oh,
Varoomba thought,
perhaps it's 'cause ever since I was a kid I've never seen you without a drink in your hand.

“This is important to me, Grams,” she said, almost pleading. “It could mean a lot of money for us both—this one's rich.”

“Finally
the girl gets smart.”

“We're flyin' in for the big fight. I'll call you as soon as we check in.”

Varoomba had a plan, one that she'd decided was the way to get to Chas. It was quite obvious he was a man who honored family—what with his two daughters always coming over. And it was also apparent that he genuinely loved the one with the kids, so if only her grandma would cooperate, behave herself
and, most of all, stay sober, Renee would definitely make a good impression.

Varoomba knew it was about time she settled down, and right now Mrs. Chas Vincent sounded pretty damn good to her.

•

“Hi, honey,” Dexter said, giving Rosarita a perfunctory peck on the cheek.

“Hi, honey,” she responded, mirroring his tone. Wouldn't do to cause any waves right now.

“Get all your shopping done?” he asked.

“I certainly did. Bought two great outfits. Am I gonna look hot!”

Dexter managed a weak smile, although he didn't think it was appropriate for a mother-to-be to choose sexy outfits. Gem would never do that.

“How was the acting thingie?” Rosarita said, examining her perfect French manicure.

“Okay,” he answered carefully.
Better than okay. I met the girl of my dreams. And I can't stop thinking about her.

“Just okay?” she said, stifling a yawn. “Didn't he tell you that you were the second coming of Harrison Ford?”

“ 'Fraid not.”

“Shame,” she said, a slight mocking tone in her voice. “Maybe you should show him some of your tapes, let him see you in action.”

Sometimes Dexter couldn't help wondering why Rosarita went out of her way to be so bitchy. There was always a put-down in everything she said.

He turned away and thought about Gem. That's exactly what she was—a gem, a beauty, the girl he
should
have married.

How did he know?

He just did.

Several months ago, Rosarita had requested a divorce, and he'd said no. Too late now. Like an idiot he'd followed his dad's advice and knocked her up. Now there was no way he'd ever ask
her to get rid of their baby. As his mother would say, “You've made your bed, Dick Cockranger, now you've got to lie in it for eternity.”

“Want to go out for dinner tonight?” he suggested, having no desire to sit around the apartment thinking about what might have been.

“Good idea,” Rosarita answered, having no desire to sit around the apartment thinking about what might have been.

Dexter flexed his muscles and kept thinking of Gem. “What time do we leave tomorrow?” he asked.

“Chas is picking us up around nine.”

“You're
sure
you want to go?” he said, hoping she might change her mind.

She fixed him with a long, penetrating look. “Wouldn't miss it, Dex. This trip will be unforgettable. And
that's
a promise.”

•

A
NTONIO
“T
HE
P
ANTHER
” L
OPEZ
had greased-back, dark hair, a cocky grin, several prominent gold teeth and an attitude of complete confidence.

“The champ ain't got no chance wit' me,” he said, sitting with Madison on a bench at his training camp, his manager and handlers hovering nearby.

“Why's that?” she asked, studying his sharply chiseled face, thick bull neck and muscled shoulders, mentally preparing the way she would describe him in the article she would write.

“ 'Cause I'm gonna kick his sorry ass like it ain't never bin kicked before,” Antonio boasted.

“Really?”

“Ya got it.”

“Childhood dream to be champion?”

He screwed up his face. “Never had no freakin' childhood.”

“How come?”

“My old man didn't think I needed one.”

“Why?”

“ 'Cause he kept me workin' wit' him.”

“And he was . . .?”

“A freakin' handyman to rich assholes in Mexico City.”

“You didn't enjoy working with your dad?”

“I was freakin'
ten
for crissakes.”

“Tough life, huh?”

“That's how I learned t'kick any mothafucker's ass.”

“Tonio,” said his manager—a fat, middle-aged man in a crumpled suit—hurriedly stepping nearer. “Take it easy. This is a nice lady from a classy magazine.”

“Fuck nice!” Antonio said fiercely. “Bein' nice never got me nothin' but dog shit!”

“Tonio!” his manager pleaded, sweat dripping from his brow. “Calm. Relaxed. Save the anger for tomorrow night.”

Antonio gave a crafty grin, stood up and stretched. He wore striped green shorts, a loose tank top and silver running shoes. Around his neck there were several gold chains, two of them had diamond-studded medallions hanging from them. “She don't mind,” he said. “She be cool. Right, lady?”

“Right,” Madison agreed, glancing around to see if Jake had arrived. It was about time he got there, because he was missing out on some good shots. Besides, even though she'd decided to have nothing more to do with him, she was still waiting to see what he had to say.

Better concentrate on Antonio,
she thought.
Better not let my mind wander.

She had a strong suspicion that if Antonio
did
win the title, he'd soon become impossible to deal with. He was a true character—the man who would be champ. There was no doubt that the fame and attention would go to his head and explode. The time to get to him was now,
before
the explosion.

She'd arrived in Vegas late the previous night, taken a cab from the airport to her hotel and fallen straight into bed, ready for an early-morning interview at The Panther's training camp.

Jamie was on her mind. After Kimm's departure, they'd sat up all night talking. “What am I going to
do?”
Jamie had wailed over and over. “What
the hell
am I going to do?”

“Confront him,” Madison had suggested. “Go home and tell him that you know everything. Then give him a chance to explain.”

“Explain
what?”
Jamie had yelled angrily. “That he's fucking a
guy?”

“Show him the photos.”

“He'll only deny it.”

“But you have all the proof you could ever need.”

“I can't take a confrontation. All I want is out.”

“C'mon, Jamie, you still have to face him.”

“Why?”

“Because you share a life together. An apartment. Possessions. Everything. You must go home and make him realize it's over—if you're absolutely sure that's what you want.”

“No,” Jamie had said sarcastically. “I'm
longing
to continue sharing my husband with a man.” And then she'd burst into tears. “Fuck him! I hate the prick! I
never
want to see him again.”

She'd stayed the night at Madison's, and when Peter had called looking for her, they'd let the answering machine pick up. Madison had taken off for the airport the next morning, leaving Jamie in her apartment.

“You gonna bet on me tonight?” Antonio inquired, intruding on her thoughts. “ 'Cause if you do, you better bet big.”

“I don't bet.”