Double Lucky (88 page)

Lennie smiled. His smile was one of the things she loved most about him. It crinkled his eyes—ocean green, paler than Max's brilliant emerald. And she loved his mouth, and his longish dirty-blond hair. But most of all she loved his warmth, his talent as a filmmaker, and his soul. They truly were soul mates.

“Who are you tonight?” he asked, throwing down his bag.

Lucky gave an enigmatic smile. “Whoever you want me to be.”

“You know exactly who I want you to be,” he said, moving purposefully toward her.

“Tell me,” she whispered as he reached her and began peeling down the spaghetti-thin straps of her dress.

“My wife,” he muttered, crushing her to him so tightly that she could barely breathe. “My life, my love, my everything.”

*   *   *

“You
gotta
come with us,” Cookie pleaded over the phone to Max. “Frankie's
insistin
' that we go see my dad's concert. There's no way I can do it without you.”

“Ace is here,” Max stated, sitting on the edge of the couch in her usual suite, trying to figure out what to do about Ace.

“What's up with that?” Cookie said, sounding surprised. “Thought you weren't inviting him.”

“Well, he's here, and I promised we'd hang out by ourselves.”

“No freakin' way,” Cookie wailed. “I need help, an' Harry's goin' to some shitty gig with his Mexican pal.”

“Paco,” Max said patiently. “The dude's name is Paco.”

“Oh, get you—Miss all Politically Correct.”

“Where's your dad's concert?”

“At the Cavendish. Can you freakin' believe it? An' Frankie has to find out about it.
Then
he tells me he's always wanted to meet him.”

“That's Frankie—the original star fucker.”

“He's so not,” Cookie argued.

“Then why's he so desperate to get together with your old man?”

“How would I know?” Cookie said irritably. “Maybe he's into that retro soul shit.”

“Really?” Max said unbelievingly.

“Yes,
really
. You gonna do this for me or not?”

“I suppose so,” Max said, kind of relieved in a way, because spending the night alone with Ace could've been majorly awkward, considering the circumstances of what had recently taken place between her and Billy.

“You're a star!” Cookie exclaimed. “Can you have Danny score us tickets, an' meet us by the elevator in half an hour? Oh, an' turn your cell on. I was tryin' forever to reach you until I thought of callin' your actual room.”

Max hung up and dug in her purse for her cell, which she'd forgotten to take off plane mode. Just as she was about to turn it back on, Ace emerged from the bedroom. He'd taken a shower and put on his usual outfit of jeans and a denim work shirt. He looked hot, but not as hot as Billy.

What was she going to do? He obviously expected to stay in her suite, but as far as she was concerned, everything was different now.

“Here's the thing,” she said, waves of guilt washing over her. “I totally forgot. Cookie's dad has a show at the Cavendish, and I promised to go. Sorry—can't bail.”

Ace shook his head as if he didn't quite believe her. “That's a drag,” he said, scratching his chin.

“I know,” she apologized, realizing that she was acting like such a phony. “But what can I do?”

“You could say you're busy,” he suggested.

“Can't do that,” she said, jumping up.

“Why not?”

“'Cause I just can't, that's why,” she said stubbornly. “Cookie's my friend. Gotta help her out.”

“There goes our one night alone together.”

“Yeah, bummer,” she said, trying desperately to sound as if she cared. “Only since I didn't know you were coming, I made plans. Big deal.”

“You an' your plans,” he said, throwing her a look.

“Gotta go get changed,” she said quickly. “We're leaving soon.”

“You're expecting me to come too?”

“Well, yeah. Unless you wanna sit around here on your own.”

“No thanks.”

“I'll be right out,” she said, heading for the bedroom.

Dammit! Ace knew her pretty well; did he sense that things were different? That she'd changed? That she'd given it up to someone else?

Oh man! She hoped not.

But she couldn't worry about it now. Later would do.

*   *   *

By the time Bobby got back to the hotel, Denver had closed her laptop and was preparing for the romantic evening Bobby had promised her. Just the two of them, no distractions. She was looking forward to it, because maybe it was time to have The Talk, figure out where they were headed. He'd spoken about buying a house in L.A. for them to move into together. Was it the right time to say yes? Had they reached that stage in their relationship?

It was an exciting and scary thought, especially as he still hadn't met her family.

And yet … they were so close, and she knew that she loved him, so why wait?

Or was she mistaking love for lust?

They certainly hit it off in the bedroom. The sex was incredible.
He
was incredible.

Stop holding back
, she told herself.
You do love him, and it's time to let go and trust that he loves you too. So go for it.

Yes. Tonight was the night. No more insecurities.

When Bobby arrived back, she ran over to greet him, threw her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear, “Guess what? I really missed you.”

“You did?” he responded. “Thought you didn't need babysitting.”

“I don't. Only that doesn't mean I didn't miss you.
And
, I can't wait for dinner—where are you taking me?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “About our romantic dinner for two…”

“What about it?”

“It's, uh … kinda turned into dinner for four.”

“You're kidding?”

“Sorry, babe, but M.J. really needs us, and there's no way I can let him down.”

“Seriously?” she said, disappointed.

“M.J. has a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“I didn't tell you before 'cause I figured he and Cassie would work it out, but it's big.”

“Didn't they just get married?”

“Almost a year ago, and here's the deal—she's pregnant and wants to get an abortion, but M.J.'s against it all the way.”

Bobby then proceeded to tell her the full story about M.J. and the girl he'd knocked up in high school.

Denver listened in silence, then finally said, “I don't see how having dinner with us is going to help their situation.”

“It's a support thing,” Bobby explained. “He's trying to tell Cassie that if she gets rid of the baby, their marriage is over.”

“That's pretty harsh.”

“Maybe, but it's the way he feels.”

“And is the way
he
feels the only thing that matters?”

“No, but—”

“How old is Cassie?” Denver interrupted.

“I dunno. Maybe a year or so older than Max.”

“Maybe
that's
the reason she isn't ready to have a baby now. It's frightening for her. She's so young—and having a baby is a huge responsibility.”

“I understand. But M.J. is entitled to feel the way he does.”

“Of course he is. But surely he's prepared to listen to what
she
wants. Her needs are just as important as his.”

“Like I told you, sweetheart, M.J. had a life-changing experience that turned him against abortion. He doesn't believe in it.”

“Do you?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she didn't know as much about Bobby as she thought she did.

He shrugged. “Dunno,” he answered carefully, because it struck him as a loaded question. “Never really thought about it. Unless you find yourself in that situation, it's difficult to say.”

“Interesting,” Denver said, giving him a long hard look.

“Interesting how?” he said, knowing they were venturing onto dangerous ground.

“Well, I'm assuming you believe in a woman's right to choose?”

“Huh?”

“You heard.”

“Look,” he said, sensing a fight looming if they continued with this line of conversation. “They're taking a trip right after Max's party. Hopefully they'll work it out.”

“You think?” she said, a tad sarcastic. “A trip'll solve everything, right?”

“Who knows?” he said, deciding it was definitely time to change the subject. “What I
do
know is that I'm having to stay in Vegas to keep an eye on things.”

“Well, I can't stay. You know I have to get back.”

“I wasn't expecting you to, sweetheart. I'll be putting you on a plane to L.A., and we'll speak every day. It's only for a week.”

Denver nodded. It looked like The Talk would have to wait, along with their romantic dinner for two.

Suddenly she wasn't so sure about anything anymore.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“What've you done to your hair?” Max gasped when they all met by the elevator.

Self-consciously, Cookie reached up and patted her newfound curls. “Felt like a change,” she mumbled.

“It's, like, a way big change,” Max exclaimed, thinking how weird it was seeing Cookie without her trademark dreadlocks.

“My idea,” Frankie boasted.

“I bet,” Max retorted, flashing him a look.

“What? You don't like?” Frankie said, a touch aggressively.

“It's … different,” Max said as the elevator arrived and they all piled in.

Danny had booked them a limo, even though the Cavendish was within walking distance.

Now it was Ace's turn to look at Max, as if to say,
A limo on top of everything else
.
What a joke.
But they all got in, and five minutes later they were there.

The Cavendish was nowhere near as luxurious or glamorous as The Keys. But its two owners, Renee Falcon Esposito and Susie Rae Young, made sure the hotel was a fun alternative. When Lucky built The Keys there'd been bad blood between them—at least on Renee's part. Renee had imagined The Keys was her competition, but it had turned out to be quite the opposite. Being located next to such a magnificent new hotel complex had revitalized the Cavendish, and business was booming. Renee and Susie adored Lucky, and would do anything for her. Lucky often came to their hotel and hung out, especially since they'd adopted a five-year-old Vietnamese orphan who was the light of their lives.

When Danny had called to get front-row seats for Max and her friends to attend the sold-out Gerald M. concert, Renee was happy to oblige, although why she was supposed to do it when one of Max's friends was Gerald M.'s daughter, she wasn't quite sure.

Gerald M. was quite a draw with middle America. The ladies were all agog—he represented old-fashioned sexy. Quite a few of them stashed an extra pair of panties in their purse, for when the opportunity arose they planned on tossing them onto the stage in the hope of attracting his attention, at least for a second or two.

Max and her group arrived at the theater in the hotel with minutes to spare. They were led to their seats by an enthusiastic attendant, also a big Gerald M. fan.

“I want to go backstage after,” Frankie said to Cookie as they took their seats. “He does know we're here, doesn't he?”

“Uh … yeah,” Cookie lied. She was hoping that by the time the concert was over and if they took their time getting backstage, her dad would've taken off to the airport and the private plane he always had waiting. She was not thrilled about the prospect of Gerald M. meeting Frankie. Not that her dad would object to her having an older boyfriend, but she knew it was quite possible the two of them would bond—smoke a joint together, snort a little coke. And that thought horrified her.

Once they were settled in their seats, Ace reached for Max's hand. She held his reluctantly, still struggling about what to do. Should she tell him about her and Billy? Or just carry on as if nothing had changed?

It was a dilemma she couldn't quite work out. Eventually she would, because it wasn't as if Billy was still in the picture, and Ace
was
a major hunk.

However, Lucky had always taught her to be honest. Tell the truth. Accept the consequences.

What to do? It was a difficult decision.

“Who's this dude Cookie's hooked up with?” Ace asked in a low, disapproving voice. “I've seen him somewhere before.”

“He's an … uh … ex-friend of Bobby's,” Max replied. “You probably ran into him at the opening of The Keys. He used to go out with Annabelle Maestro.”

“Who?”

“It's not important.”

“I'm not getting a good vibe from him,” Ace said.

“You're not?”

“He's got that rich dude sleaze factor goin' on. Not to mention that he's too old for her.”

“Whatever.” Max sighed. “You know Cookie. It won't last.”

“After the concert we're taking off on our own, yes?”

Saved by the announcer, who planted himself center stage and instructed everyone to turn off their cell phones, which reminded Max that she had yet to turn hers on since the plane ride.

Then, to thunderous applause and plenty of screaming fans, Gerald M. sauntered onstage, resplendent in tight purple leather pants and a blowsy white shirt unbuttoned to his waist, diamond medallions vying for space on his exposed chest. More Tom Jones than Usher, he immediately launched into a medley of his many hits—albeit most of them a decade or two old.

The mostly female audience erupted into hysterical sighs of joy as they leapt to their feet. Soon the panties would start flying.