Lethal Seduction (45 page)

“No,” Jamie replied, very sure of herself. “Tonight I'm going to fuck Kris Phoenix.” A languid pause. “And then we'll see.”

W
HILE
R
OSARITA WAS IN THE
bathroom, Dexter sat on the side of the bed in their hotel room, trying to work out how he could contact Gem. She had mentioned the restaurant she worked at, and he was desperately straining to remember the name of the place. Finally it came to him. Quick as a flash he picked up the phone, dialed information and got the number. He knew he had at least another ten minutes before Rosarita emerged from her nightly beauty routine. First she took a long, leisurely bath, after which she applied many expensive creams to her face to keep her skin soft and supple, and then it was the turn of the body creams and lotions.

Rosarita was proud of her skin. “It's flawless,” she'd often told him. “Absolutely flawless.”

And so it should be, considering she visited the best and most expensive dermatologist in New York twice a month.

He tried the number. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman who answered. “You have a waitress working there . . . um . . . I'm not quite sure of her surname, but her first name's Gem—do you know who I'm talking about?”

“This line is for bookings only,” the woman replied. “We don't accept personal calls for staff.”

“Is there a special staff line?”

“I suppose I can make an exception,” the woman said, relenting. “Hang on, I think I see Gem.”

He did as she asked, nervously tapping the side of the phone. What if Rosarita emerged early and found him speaking to another woman?
That
would not go down well. He knew his wife, she did not take kindly to competition.

“Hello?” Lilting and lovely, it was her voice all right.

“Hi there,” he said, experiencing a rush of pure pleasure. “This is Dexter Falcon.”

“Dexter?”

“That's me.”

“Where are you?”

“In California,” he replied, feeling ridiculously tongue-tied. “Beverly Hills, actually. I'm uh . . . staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

“Oh,” she murmured, sounding impressed. “That must be
awesome.”

He laughed at her choice of words. “Yeah, it's pretty awesome,” he said. “One day you and—” He stopped abruptly. Couldn't start making plans; he had a pregnant wife in the bathroom.

Why was he calling this girl anyway? It was madness. “I uh . . . just wanted to say hello,” he managed, knowing he sounded awkward but unable to help himself.

“You did?”

At least she seemed pleased to hear from him. “Yeah . . . uh . . . what's your home number?” he asked. She hesitated before giving it to him. He scribbled it on a notepad by the phone, then shoved the piece of paper in his pants pocket. “Maybe I'll call you later,” he said.

“That would be nice,” she said. “How long are you staying in L.A.?”

“Tonight only. Then Vegas for two nights.”

“You're
so
cool,” she said, laughing softly. “One of these days
I'd
like to be able to say something like that.”

One of these days you will,
he thought.
You'll be with me, and we'll be here together and we'll be very happy indeed.

“Okay, so maybe I'll call you later,” he said.

“Where are you staying in Vegas?” she asked. “Somewhere glamorous and exciting?”

Without thinking, he told her, then regretted it. What if she called him?

No. She wouldn't do that.

He put down the phone feeling unusually happy. A beat of ten, and Rosarita emerged from the bathroom. His timing was right on.

“Can you believe your mother trying to ask Tony Curtis for his autograph?” she said, busy rubbing scented hand cream up and down her arms.

“Why shouldn't she?” he said. “Mom's always liked him. It's a thrill for her to be in a place like Spago, seeing movie stars.”

A caustic, “Really?”

“You're jaded.”

“Ha!” Rosarita said.
“Me,
jaded?”

“Yeah, you're too sophisticated.”

“That's
better,” she said, liking the description. “I
am
sophisticated. Perhaps it's one of the reasons you and I don't get along so well. What's the saying? You can take the boy out of the small town, but you can never take the small town out of the boy.”

“I don't get it.”

“Didn't imagine you would,” she said, climbing into bed.

“Think I'll take a shower,” he said.

Hopefully, if he stayed in the bathroom long enough, she'd be asleep by the time he emerged.

•

“Why do we have to go to bed so early?” Varoomba complained, hands on hips.

“Huh?” said Chas. He'd discovered her tweezers lying on the countertop and was busy plucking his eyebrows, staring in the magnifying mirror mounted on the bathroom wall.

She stood behind him in her sexy yellow dress and very high heels, clearly ready to hit the town. “It's early,” she whined. “Not even nine o'clock.”

“We got an early flight tomorra,” he mumbled.

“So what?” she countered. “Can't we at least go down to the Polo Lounge for a drink?”

“You wanna do that?” he said, diligently plucking away.

“Yeah. I mean, the Polo Lounge is like where people go. We could sit there, have a peach brandy and talk.”

“What we gonna talk about?” Chas said, frowning.

“Stuff,” Varoomba said with a petulant pout.

“Didn't I just tell ya, we got an early mornin' flight.”

“You know,” Varoomba said, snaking her arms around his waist from behind. “When we get to Vegas, I'd like you to meet my grams.”

“Your
what?”

“My grandma; the woman who raised me. She's a character.”

Chas made a disgusted face. Who needed to hear
this
shit? As far as he was concerned, Varoomba was there for one purpose only—and that purpose was to please him in the bedroom. Now she was coming up with a goddamn family for crissakes!

“You'll like Grams,” Varoomba said as if meeting the old biddy was a done deal.

“Yeah?” Chas said, putting down the tweezers. “She look like you?”

“You're so
funnee!”
Varoomba squealed. “Course not.”

“Take off your dress, chickie,” he said, reaching for her tits. “An' for God's sake—shut the fuck up.”

•

“Did you notice what Rosarita was eating?” Martha said, winding her hair onto pink foam rollers.

“No, I didn't,” Matt replied, inspecting the contents of the well-stocked minibar, trying to decide what to select.

“She had a steak with sauce on.”

“So?” Matt said, pulling out a can of beer.

“That's not a very healthy meal for a pregnant woman,” Martha said, pursing her lips.

“Martha,” Matt warned. “You'd better keep your mouth shut. Don't forget we're here on a free pass. It's not a good idea to muddy the waters.”

“But Matt—”

“But nothing,” he said loudly. “If you start messing with that girl, we're all in trouble.”

“I don't care,” Martha said stubbornly. “This is our first grandchild. I'm talking to her about her diet.”

Matt glared at his plump wife. “That's right, ruin it for all of us.”

“I won't ruin anything, Matt.”

“Yes you will, you always do.”

•

Down the hall, Dexter lay next to Rosarita until he was sure she was asleep, then he slipped into the bathroom, dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to a pay phone, where he tried the home number Gem had given him. It rang and rang, but there was no answer. Obviously she wasn't home yet.

Damn!

As he was about to return to the elevator, he spotted Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise crossing the lobby. Nicole was elegant and extremely tall, whereas Tom Cruise was shorter than his wife with a huge grin on his face.

Why shouldn't he be smiling?
Dexter thought.
He's got it all—a gorgeous, famous wife, stardom, kids, an Oscar.

Or
did
he have an Oscar? Dexter wasn't quite sure about that, but he did know that Tom Cruise had been nominated. And more than once.

One day that's gonna be me,
he thought.
I'll walk through the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel like a star, with Gem beside me. And that day is not going to be too far off.

“That's
THE GIRLFRIEND
?” Jamie questioned derisively.

“That's her,” Natalie replied. “And she's damn talented. She won an Academy Award.”

“Who cares
what
she won,” Jamie said irritably. “I came here to fuck Kris Phoenix, and
that's
what I'm going to do.”

They were sitting at a front table in the huge ballroom where Kris was due to appear.

“Wow! You certainly are Miss Sure of Yourself,” Natalie said. “But then you always
could
score any guy you wanted.”

“More or less,” Jamie replied confidently. She was drinking vodka martinis—a bad sign—and she was already half drunk.

“Tonight might be a problem,” Madison said, attempting to let her down easy. “Kris seems very enamored with Amber.”

“Oh, I see,” Jamie said, turning on her. “You're on first-name terms with dear little Amber, are you?”

“We kind of met backstage,” Madison admitted. “She's a sweet girl, very young.”

“What am I—an old hag?” Jamie said, narrowing her eyes.

“No, Jamie. Don't take it personally, it's simply that he's
with
someone. They're practically engaged.”

“They're not married,” Jamie said tartly. “So as far as I'm concerned, he's still fair game.”

“This
I gotta see,” Natalie said, shaking her head. “The beautiful Jamie in action. My money's on you, kiddo.”

“Well, mine isn't,” Madison said. “I don't want anything to do with this.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said huffily. “Support me in my time of need. It's good to have friends.”

“Oh, c'
mon,”
Madison said. “He's in a relationship. Do you want to be the one to break it up?”

“Who cares?” Jamie said. “He's a man, isn't he? He deserves everything he gets.”

“What does
that
mean?” Madison said.

“Figure it out,” Jamie replied. “I'll fuck him,
then
I'll tell his girlfriend all about it.”

“Ooh, you've turned into a mean one,” Natalie purred.

“And so would you,” Jamie snapped back.

“Do not turn your heads,” Madison said. “But approaching the table next to us is Mr. Leon Blaine, Billionaire Supreme, with number-one son, Idiot Supreme;
and
idiot son seems to be—believe it or not—with Carrie Hanlon.”

“You
gotta
be kidding,” Natalie said, turning her head immediately.

“Jeez,” Madison groaned. “You're about as cool as a lobster in the pot.”

“There's nothing wrong with looking,” Natalie retorted. “And wow—
she's
looking good.”

“Who?” Jamie asked.

“Carrie Hanlon, that's who.”

“By the way . . .” Madison said. “How come you got such a great table?”

“It's Mr. Mogul's,” Natalie said. “He and baby bro were comin' to the concert. They couldn't make it, so they gave me the table; otherwise we'd be stuck backstage with my crew. Pretty good, huh? Amazing what big bucks get you.”

“Yes,” Madison said dryly. “Especially when the big bucks belong to somebody else.”

•

The manager of the hotel, his wife and one other couple were sitting with the Blaines. To Marika's annoyance, Leon had organized the seating, placing himself next to Carrie, and Marika across the table, where she put on a superior smile and downed her second Pernod on the rocks.

Joel had spotted Madison and was already trying to figure an excuse to make his way over to her table. He really had a thing about her. He considered her different. She wasn't like all the models he dated, and she certainly was nothing like Rosarita. She was the one woman who had it all going for her—beauty, class, intelligence. In fact, all the things he desired in a woman. Only problem was, she didn't seem interested.

“Have you considered my proposition?” Leon said to Carrie in a low voice.

“How serious are you, Leon?” she replied, tossing back her mane of tawny hair while checking out the room.

“I never joke about important things,” he said.

“This is no the place to discuss it,” Carrie answered restlessly. “Your girlfriend is watching us the entire time. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Take no notice of Marika. She does what I say.”

“That's a very chauvinistic attitude.”

“I'm a very chauvinistic man. But you can handle that, can't you?”

“Yes, Leon, I can. Being famous has taught me how to handle anything.”

“Do you enjoy your fame?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she replied.

“Or do you think that perhaps one day it might all be taken away?”

She blinked rapidly several times. “How did you know that?”

“I see it in your eyes.”

She sighed. “This is a strange situation.”

“Is it?” he said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Surely you believe in fate?”

“Yes,” she said tentatively.

“Then allow yourself to go with it.”

“Maybe I will,” she murmured.

“You're not interested in my son, so why
are
you here?” he asked.