Double Lucky (21 page)

*   *   *

The paparazzi were lying in wait outside Billy's house.

Don't they have anything better to do?
Venus thought, ducking her head and driving past. She didn't want them to see her in the Phaeton, it was her secret getaway car, and if they saw her in it, her clever ruse would be over.

She called Billy on her cell. “What shall I do?” she wailed.

Oh, great! She'd gone from needy girlfriend to helpless one. Dammit! If she didn't get it together soon, she'd be forced to slit her wrists.

“Uh … drive home, I'll come pick you up,” Billy suggested. “Or maybe we should hang out at your place.”

She didn't want him at her house. If he was there, he could leave whenever he felt like it, and that gave
him
the power position. Today that position was going to be strictly hers.

“Not to worry,” she said. “I know exactly what to do. See you soon.”

Hitting the gas pedal, she raced down the hill and along Sunset until she reached the Beverly Hills Hotel, where she gave her car to the parking valet and asked him to call her a cab. The parking valet, a would-be actor, was in awe. Especially when she slipped him a fifty-dollar tip.

Ten minutes later she was paying off the cabdriver outside Billy's house, while the assembled paparazzi launched into a photo-taking frenzy. They were not shy about yelling out questions:

“How come you're in a cab?”

“When are you and Billy getting married?”

“Any babies in your future?”

“Over here, Venus, gimme that dazzling smile.”

Ignoring them, and a gaggle of girl fans hovering near the bushes, she rang the doorbell. Billy had never offered to give her a key, and since she hardly ever came to his house, she'd never asked for one.

On the other hand, he had the code to get into
her
house, so maybe she
should
have a key.

Billy came to the door himself, causing the girl fans to dissolve into moans and shrieks of ecstatic joy, and the paparazzi to blind everyone with their continuous flashbulbs.

Billy grabbed her by the arm, yanking her inside, slamming the door behind them.

“Jesus, Billy, isn't it time you put up gates?” she said, trying to catch her breath. “It's a circus out there.”

“You think I should?” Billy asked, managing to sound as if he'd just ambled into Hollywood straight off the farm.

“Of course you should. And not for my sake. You're famous. You need protection. What if one of those crazy fans had a gun?”

“Oh, c'
mon
, don't go gettin' all dramatic on me.”

“I suppose you've never heard of Rebecca Schaeffer or John Lennon?”

“Who's Rebecca Schaeffer?”

“It doesn't matter, Billy,” she sighed. “What does matter is that it's essential you get security gates put up around your house. Why don't you have what's-his-name arrange it?”

He knew exactly who she meant by “what's-his-name.” Kev. She had a thing about Kev. Early on in their relationship she'd pronounced that Kev was a hanger-on and incompetent. She was always trying to persuade him to hire a “real assistant.”

Well, too bad. Apart from being his gofer, Kev was his best friend from way back. Besides, the underlying reason she wanted Kev gone was that she considered him a bad influence.

“I'll think about it,” he mumbled, trailing her into his living room, hoping he'd remembered to hide Kev's latest stash of porno tapes that he insisted on bringing over.

She zeroed in on his coffee table, picking up photos of girls in various stages of undress. “Who are these?” she asked.

“Fans,” he said sheepishly. “They send me this crap all the time.”

“To your house?”

“Some. Or the studio forwards them over.”

“Are you telling me you don't have anyone organizing your fan club?”

Man, she was in a pissy mood, bossy too. “Uh … when I'm on a movie the production office hires someone to take care of it,” he said.

“Billy, we've got to get you organized. This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said lamely.

“So,” she said, moving a pile of newspapers and magazines out of the way before sitting down on the couch. “Where's your housekeeper today?”

“Jeez, Venus, relax, we're here by ourselves. We don't need a bunch of people looking after us, do we?”

Realizing she was being picky, she shut up. If he wanted to live in a state of disarray, it was his problem.

“Actually you're right,” she said, performing a catlike stretch. “It's kind of nice not having anyone around except us.”

“You see?” he said triumphantly. “No one to spy on us, check out what we're doing. We can walk around naked if we feel like it.”

“Or swim naked in the pool,” she said, glancing out the full-length glass doors to the inviting pool. “I haven't done that since I bought my first house.”

He immediately flashed onto the girl who'd given him crabs. She'd been naked in his pool. Oh shit! Did the little buggers swim?

His crotch itched at the memory. He scratched himself vigorously, silently cursing.

“What's the matter?” Venus asked.

Should he tell her? Well, at least he'd better make up a cover story in case he'd infected her.

“Got a slight problem,” he said sheepishly.

“What problem?”

“One of the stuntmen on the movie had crabs.
My
stunt double, believe it or not. Wardrobe got our pants mixed up, and since I was going commando—”

“No!”

“Sorry, babe. I only just found out. Hope I haven't passed them on to you. I've got the cream to treat 'em…”

“I don't believe this!”

“Yeah. I know. I could kill the son of a bitch.”

“So
that's
why you've been in such a strange mood.”

Whew! He was off the hook. All she was worried about was his mood.

“Uh … yeah … guess so.”

“You should've told me before.”

“I should've?”

“Well, yes. It's unfortunate, but these things happen.”

“They do?”

“Oh Billy, you're such a baby,” she said affectionately.

If he'd had a hard-on, it would've deflated on the spot.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

After spending time with Francesca and assuring her that everything was on track to bring down the Keys and the Santangelo family once and for all, Anthony realized there was nothing for him to do in Miami. Sure, he had Emmanuelle, and he had his kids, but he'd been neglecting business, and since the crux of his business operations was in Mexico City he decided he should get back.

He instructed The Grill to have the plane ready. “We're going to Mexico City,” he informed him.

The Grill nodded, a man of few words, always ready to move at a moment's notice.

Anthony had promised to take Emmanuelle out to dinner, but he didn't bother informing her that he would not be doing so. Emmanuelle getting all dressed up and sitting around waiting for him gave him a sense of extreme power and control. Women needed to be controlled at all times, and any man who didn't realize that was a foolish man indeed.

The thing with Tasmin had disturbed him, and even though it was Tasmin's own fault, Renee's reaction had put a damper on his weekend. Fuck Renee Falcon. How dare she criticize him. It wasn't as if he'd experienced a rush of adrenaline knowing that he'd accidentally killed a woman. Now, if Tasmin had been a man …

He called Renee on his way to the airport.

“Everything taken care of?” he said roughly.

“What do
you
think?” she replied, sounding distant and cold.

Lesbian
bitch!
When she'd dealt with the Vegas business it was time to set her straight and let her know who was boss.

Give a woman too much power and it always came back to bite you in the ass.

*   *   *

Sometimes Irma felt as if she was living in a prison—a luxurious, magnificent prison, but a prison all the same. Oh yes, the house was grand, the grounds lush and green, there were servants to do anything she wished.

She had everything anyone could possibly ask for, and yet there were guards at the gates.

Anthony had informed her that he employed the guards to protect them from kidnappers and robbers. But she knew the real truth. Her husband was a drug dealer—and as such he had to surround himself with all the protection he could pay for.

When she'd first met Anthony, he'd told her he was in the import/export business, and that's what she'd always tried to convince herself was the truth. But she'd always known it wasn't so. Anthony was a major dealer, that was a plain and simple fact. She'd met several of the men he did business with when he'd taken her to Colombia to attend a drug lord's daughter's wedding. And she'd witnessed many meetings at the house, and mysterious helicopter arrivals late at night.

Now that Luis had made her feel desirable and confident again, thoughts of leaving Anthony were constantly on her mind. She could not communicate this to Luis, but what did it matter? She wasn't planning on running off with him, although sometimes she daydreamed it might be possible.

Every night she tossed restlessly in bed, her mind racing in many different directions, thinking about what to do. She had a lot of burning questions. Since she had no money of her own, no bank account, no savings, how would she survive without Anthony to support her? Anthony had never allowed her to have her own checking account; he gave her a fistful of charge cards and cash whenever she asked. His office in Mexico City paid all the bills.

She had her clothes and jewelry, but what about her children? Could she simply abandon them?

It really didn't make any difference because she wasn't allowed to see them anyway, not unless Anthony said so.

I need a lawyer
, she thought.
And not a Mexican lawyer who will automatically be on Anthony's side
—
an American lawyer. I have to get away from this place I am imprisoned in. My life is seeping away and I am kept here like a caged animal.

She wondered what Anthony would do if she asked him for a divorce.

Silly question—she knew exactly what he'd do. He'd go berserk, he'd start screaming the way he screamed at his grandmother, he'd refuse to believe that she wanted to leave him. Anthony had a very high opinion of himself, especially sexually. Not that he'd touched her in almost a year, but he still regarded himself as King Stud.

Being Mrs. Anthony Bonar was a huge burden to carry around, and the time had come to shed that burden.

Luis was the perfect lover for her. He was young and available, and conveniently he was allowed on the property at all times, since he was one of the estate's gardeners. Who would ever suspect him? Who would ever guess that she had personal knowledge of the rippling muscles beneath his workshirt, that he was built like an Adonis, that his kisses were so sweet and tender? Who would ever suspect that she would fall in lust with this man?

Most of the staff had Saturday off, unless Anthony was in residence. Only Marta, the cook, remained, and she was half deaf anyway. As usual the guards were stationed at the front of the house with the dogs, and the old gardener never came in on weekends—there was only Luis.

Irma glanced out the window, making sure he was there, before taking a leisurely bath, then putting on a simple white dress. She felt like being virginal today. Virginal, so Luis could rip the dress from her body. She knew that once her bedroom door was locked, the lowly gardener turned into a sensuous animal, and frankly she couldn't wait.

After putting on the white dress, she dabbed perfume behind her ears, between her breasts, and on her thighs. Then she hurried downstairs, making a detour through the kitchen.

Marta was sitting in front of the kitchen TV engrossed in a dramatic Spanish telenovella with the sound turned up.

“Marta,” Irma said, startling the woman. “I won't be needing anything else today. I'm on a diet, so no dinner for me. You can go home now.”

“
Gracias, señora
,” Marta said, quickly standing up and gathering her purse before Señora Bonar changed her mind.

“Enjoy your weekend,” Irma said, walking outside into the garden.

Luis spotted her and quickly looked away. He never indicated anything intimate between them; it was only in the privacy of her bedroom that he became this erotic and sensual creature.

“Luis,” she said, approaching him in a formal manner. “I'd like you to come look at my houseplants.”

She kept up this charade because she never knew who might be watching them. There were many cameras on the property, so it was possible they could be observed without them knowing.

“
Sí, señora
,” Luis said, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

“I'll see you in the house,” she said.

He didn't understand the words she was speaking, but he did understand exactly what she meant.

She turned and headed back toward the house.

He waited a few minutes, then casually made his own way across the lawn and into the big house.

Luis always got a thrill entering the cool tiled hallway with the massive chandeliers hanging from the fifty-foot ceiling. It was such a magnificent mansion, so different from the squalid two-bedroom house he lived in with his sickly mother, three argumentative sisters, and pregnant wife. Obviously Señora Bonar was unaware that he had a wife, and he was not about to tell her. Not that he could, since he didn't speak her language.

He climbed the marble staircase two steps at a time. How fortunate was he? He had a job, a frustrated American woman who wanted sex every day, and a wife at home who would shortly give birth to his first son.