Lovers & Players (5 page)

Mama visited once a week on Sunday, her day off. Sometimes Liberty felt that Aretha was her mom, and her real mom was just a distant relative, someone she didn’t know that well. Aretha was nurturing and caring, showering both girls with equal amounts of love.

Now, seven years after leaving, she found herself stuck in her mama’s cramped apartment with a sprained ankle and a burned arm.

Great! She could just imagine the lectures she would have to endure for the next few days.

It simply wasn’t fair.

Surely it was time she scored a break?

A
fter settling into Sam’s apartment, Jett started making calls. After a three-year absence he wasn’t planning on spending his first night back in New York hanging out by himself, especially with the thought of seeing Red early in the morning looming over him. Dear old Dad. What a trip
he
was.

In a way Jett was wary of a face-to-face. On the other hand, what the fuck? He was no longer a snivelling little kid lurking in the background, waiting for his father to beat the shit out of him. Screw Red Diamond. He could handle anything the old man dished out.

Checking out his Palm, he avoided calling any of his former pals who, at the time he’d left, had been heavily into the drug scene. This didn’t leave him with many options, but after a couple of calls he connected with Beverly, a striking make-up artist originally from Guiana. Beverly was an ex-girlfriend of Sam’s, and she’d been in on his intervention.

‘How’re you
doin
’?’ she asked, sounding as if she might really care.

‘Not too bad,’ he replied. ‘Thanks to you and Sam and a few others who gave a fast crap whether I lived or died.’

‘Hey, you were
such
a screw-up we
needed
to get you outta here.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ He groaned, not anxious to revisit old memories. There were too many, and they were too embarrassing.

‘Okay, okay,’ Beverly said, laughing. ‘I won’t go there.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Anyway, word is you’re doin’ fine in Italy, so it all worked out.’

‘Yeah, mainly ’cause of you,’ he said gratefully, for it was Beverly who had arranged the introduction to the Italian modelling agency who’d signed him.

‘It was your time to catch a break, an’ I’m psyched it happened for you,’ Beverly said warmly.

‘I guess this means I owe you, so I was thinking that maybe I can buy you dinner tonight. Like an old-friends kinda deal.’

‘Me and my new guy?’

‘There’s a new guy?’

‘Honey, there’s
always
a guy. An’ you’ll like him.’

‘I will?’

‘Would I stick us with a dud?’ she said playfully.

‘It’s happened,’ he countered.

‘How would
you
know?’ she said, laughing again. ‘You were always so outta it…’

‘Hey, Bev, I might’ve been stoned, but there’s certain things a person never forgets.’

‘Okay, okay,’ she admitted, ‘there could’ve bin a couple of short-term losers.’

‘A
couple
?’ he exclaimed, snorting with laughter.

‘Thanks, Jett,’ she said, mock-serious. ‘But I gotta tell you–this one’s a keeper.’

‘Bring him. Where d’you wanna go?’

‘How about Il Cantinori, eight thirty?’ she suggested. ‘Remember Il Cantinori?’

‘Sure,’ he said ruefully. ‘I only hope they don’t remember me. I gotta sneaking suspicion I wrecked the place one night.’

‘You did. But Frank, the owner, is a cool guy, so don’t sweat it. Besides, you’re with me,’ Beverly said confidently, adding casually, ‘Anyway, that was then, this is now–an’ you’re a changed person. Right, baby?’

‘You’d better believe it.’

He clicked off his cell and thought about calling Max or Chris. Then he decided, why do that? He’d barely heard from either of them since their father’s seventy-fifth birthday celebration four years ago when he’d
really
been out of his mind and embarrassed everyone with his behaviour. Shit! Falling into a three-tier cake with an under-age Puerto Rican hooker he’d picked up on the street was truly not the way to go. Especially with his pants off.

Thinking back, he considered it quite funny, although he would bet money his family didn’t. They were probably
still
talking about his bad behaviour.

Well, they’d be shocked tomorrow when the new, sober, semi-successful-in-a-career-they-wouldn’t-approve-of Jett showed up.

Yeah. He was certainly going to surprise everyone.

Max wondered if being summoned to his father’s house had anything to do with his upcoming wedding. Probably not. He’d done the proper thing and sent Red and Lady Jane Bentley an invitation. So far he had received no response. He wasn’t surprised: it was just like Red to be rude–the old man had no manners. Of course Red
would
come, but because of who he was he didn’t feel it necessary to reply.

Red Diamond was a much-married lecherous snake who’d managed to get rid of each of his wives as soon as he was ready to move on. Max often wondered about the demise of his own mother, Rachel. She’d given birth to him, and apparently died of heart failure six months later in her sleep. A perfectly healthy woman, twenty-six years of age. Max wasn’t sure he believed it. A vibrant young woman with no health problems. How had something like that happened?

Sometimes, late at night, the thought crossed Max’s mind that maybe Red was in some way responsible. But then he always dismissed it as impossible. Red couldn’t possibly be
that
bad.

Or could he?

After Rachel’s death, Red had married another beauty, Olivia, and she’d given birth to Chris. The new marriage hadn’t stopped him screwing around, for when it came to sex, Red was insatiable, preying on any woman he could. Eventually he’d divorced Olivia and married Jett’s mother, Edie, whom he’d managed to turn into a raging alcoholic.

Quite frankly, Max didn’t give a damn if Red showed up at his wedding or not. Why should he allow Amy to be contaminated? His bride-to-be had yet to meet the snake–what a treat
she
had waiting for her.

Nancy Scott-Simon was outraged at Red Diamond’s lack of manners. ‘How am I supposed to seat your father and Lady Jane?’ she’d demanded, glaring at her soon-to-be son-in-law. ‘And what about the rehearsal dinner? Will your father be giving one since
I
am handling the wedding?’

‘No rehearsal dinner,’ Max had said at first. But Nancy was having none of it, so to keep the peace he’d arranged to give it himself. He was taking over a room at the Waldorf Astoria, and a hundred and fifty people were attending on Sunday night. He had
not
invited Red or Lady Jane, deeming it unnecessary.

Tomorrow night was his bachelor party. There was nothing he looked forward to less.

Birdy Marvel was pretty in a trashy, vacuous way. Petite and stacked, she was only just eighteen, and an idol to the entire teenage female population. Her records sold in the millions, and her fans faithfully followed everything she did. There was an elite group of young girl singers–Britney, Hilary, Lindsay, and the Olsen twins, but right now Birdy Marvel was top of the heap.

When Birdy was sixteen, Chris had guided her through the process of becoming emancipated from her parents. Young as she was, Birdy could be a sharp number: she’d been singing and dancing since she was eight, and felt–quite rightly–that her parents were frittering away her millions on themselves.

Chris had won her the freedom she desired, and along the way he’d negotiated ten per cent of her future earnings.

Birdy had helped make him rich, and he’d helped her career soar.

Problem was, rich didn’t last when he blew most of his money at the gaming tables in Vegas.

Birdy had her own problems. She was a little coke freak who loved to party and get down and dirty. She coupled those dangerous habits with a knack for always picking the wrong men. Birdy had an eye for bad boys who treated her like crap. Her current companion was Rocky, a biker she’d picked up on the beach in Santa Monica. Recently she’d given him the title of tour executive, and insisted that he was paid a generous salary.

Coke supplier might have been a better title.

Rocky went everywhere she did. With his shaved head, black leather outfits, chains, and muscled arms, tattooed from his fingers to his massive shoulders, he was quite a menacing figure. The tabloids were having a blast with this one: there were new outrageous headlines every week. Birdy didn’t seem to mind the headlines calling her everything from a white-trash princess to a teenage tramp. ‘Any publicity is good publicity,’ she warbled, quoting her brain-dead PR, who also happened to be her second cousin.

Birdy greeted Chris at the party in a stoned state. For an eighteen-year-old she sure looked rough, in spite of a dressed-to-thrill outfit of micro-mini, red leather bustier that concealed little, major midriff action with a diamond navel piercing, and short white go-go boots. Her hair was in its usual tousled state, lips sticky with pink gloss, eyes rimmed with jet black kohl, and she was chewing gum–another of her addictions. He noticed that she’d added a couple of new tattoos. A small dove on her left shoulder, and a skull and crossbones on her exposed hip-bone.

Chris always had to remind himself that she was only eighteen, and would grow out of this rebellious stage. He tried to protect her as best he could, but as her lawyer he could only do so much.

‘Chris!’ she yelled, running over and hugging him. ‘I’m totally psyched you made it! Wasn’t the show, like,
amazing
?’

‘Amazing,’ he agreed.

‘Like, what a wild audience, huh? Totally out there.’

‘Dynamite.’

‘I’m
so
happy you’re here,’ she cooed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard. ‘There’s something we gotta talk about.’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah, but it’s personal stuff,’ she said, edging closer. ‘Which means we gotta hang somewhere private.’

No chance of that since, as usual, Birdy Marvel was the centre of attention. Several photographers were busy catching her every move, while Rocky hovered nearby, eyeing Chris suspiciously. He didn’t like Chris. The feeling was mutual.

‘Where are you staying?’ Chris asked his young client.

‘Trump International. Oh, yeah, an’ I’m thinking of buying a condo in the Time Warner building. Wouldn’t
that
be like the
coolest
? The views are to
die
for!’

Yeah
, Chris thought.
I’m sure Rocky would love it
. ‘I’ll try to come by sometime tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. ‘That way you can tell me what’s going on without an audience.’

‘That’d be totally awesome.’ Then, lowering her voice, she added, ‘Not a word to Rocky. Like, call me on my cell an’ we’ll fix a time.’

‘Trouble in Bikerland?’ he asked, hoping she was about to dump the overgrown biker.

‘No, silly!’ She giggled, rubbing the tip of her snub nose with a stubby finger. ‘Rocky is like
totally
the most awesome dude on the planet.’

‘
I
believe you,’ Chris said drily. ‘Thousands wouldn’t.’

‘Don’t be so mean,’ she said, giggling again. ‘He’s a real hottie.’

‘We’ll catch up tomorrow,’ Chris said, not wishing to get into a discussion about how hot Rocky was.

‘Promise?’ she said, fidgeting like an anxious little kid.

‘Absolutely.’

He already had his day planned. The meeting with Red in the morning. Lunch with a client. A couple more meetings. Dinner with another client. Then on Saturday morning he’d catch an early flight back to L.A. And on Sunday, Vegas.

It was all work. He could handle it.

W
ith her wedding only a week away, Amy’s co-workers at Courtenelli had decided she needed one wild night out on the town. She’d tried to put them off, but they were having none of it. ‘You’re getting
married
,’ Yolanda, a big-bosomed Latina brunette, informed her. ‘We have to
celebrate
.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Dana, a curvaceous redhead with a sexy overbite. ‘You can’t get hitched without a bachelorette night. It’s tradition.’

‘And don’t think,’ Yolanda interrupted, ‘that your intended is not going to have himself a bachelor night. An’ those things get
wild
. Strippers, hookers, all
kinda
slutlings.’

‘Slutlings?’ Amy said, frowning. ‘What are
they
?’

‘Girls from hell!’ Dana joked. ‘An engaged woman’s worst nightmare!’

‘You guys are so cynical,’ Amy said, shaking her head. ‘Believe me, Max is not like that.’

‘Oh,
sure
,’ Yolanda and Dana chorused together, both rolling their eyes. ‘He’s a
man
, isn’t he? He’s got a
dick
, hasn’t he?’

At that moment Sofia Courtenelli appeared. In the overcrowded field of fashion, Sofia Courtenelli was a star. Chic and no-nonsense, she was in her early fifties, well preserved, with pale copper hair worn in a severe bob, skilfully applied dramatic eye make-up and a permanent St. Tropez tan. Although Sofia was a hard worker, she still managed to spend most weekends either in the South of France or the Hamptons, depending on the season. Sofia was a party animal.

‘Amy!’ she said imperiously, snapping her fingers, showing off silver nail polish and an assortment of diamond rings. ‘Follow me.’

‘Yes, Miz Courtenelli,’ Amy said, trailing her boss into Sofia’s luxuriously appointed office.

‘Sit down,’ Sofia commanded, waving her towards an over-stuffed gold-lacquered chair with leopard-print upholstery and ornate carved legs.

Amy sat, wondering what was on the agenda. She didn’t usually get a one-on-one with her glamorous and somewhat intimidating boss.

‘Is true you getting married?’ Sofia said, in her low-down, slightly accented voice. Amy nodded. ‘To Max Diamond?’

‘That’s right,’ Amy agreed, wondering what was coming next.

‘Hmm…’ Sofia murmured, picking up a silver Cartier pen and tapping it impatiently on her Roman marble desk-top. ‘He is quite the catch, no?’

Amy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she mumbled a quick ‘Thank you.’

‘Is good,’ Sofia said, nodding to herself.

‘Uh…yes.’

‘Maybe I come to the wedding,’ Sofia added casually, as if it had only just occurred to her.

Oh, crap, they hadn’t sent her an invitation, even though Nancy had wanted to. Amy had thought having her boss there would be too nerve-racking. Now she had no choice. ‘Uh…we’d love you to come,’ she lied, quick as a flash.

‘
Bene
,’ Sofia said, twirling a trio of thin diamond bracelets on her tanned and slightly scrawny wrist. ‘I bring Carlo.’

Everyone knew about Sofia’s toy-boys. She had a line-up she paraded to various events, and Carlo was currently her number-one pick. Lean and lizard-like, twenty-two-year-old Carlo was a raging bisexual. Apparently this didn’t bother Sofia, as it was rumoured she was into girls as well as toy-boys, so why
would
it matter?

‘That’s great,’ Amy said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Oh, God, her mother was going to kill her: this would definitely screw up Nancy’s extremely well-thought-out seating arrangements.

‘And who make your dress?’ Sofia inquired, her mild tone hiding a sudden flash of annoyance as she realized it obviously wasn’t the House of Courtenelli.

‘Uh…Valentino,’ Amy muttered. ‘My mother—’

‘No need to explain,’ Sofia said, holding up an authoritative diamond beringed hand. ‘Although–how you say?–press-wise, is bad thing you not ask
me
.’

‘My mother—’ Amy began.

Sofia cut her off again. ‘
Prego
, dear,’ she said dismissively, indicating the door. ‘We speak enough.’

Amy slunk out. Of course, Sofia Courtenelli was right. She
should
’ve invited her to the wedding,
and
asked her to design the dress, instead of listening to her mother, who’d
insisted
on Valentino, a close personal friend.

Too late now.

Amy hoped this little breach of etiquette hadn’t put her job in jeopardy. Even though she was getting married, she planned on continuing to work. She and Max had not discussed it, but she saw no reason for him to object.

Later that day she had lunch with Tina, her best friend from college. Tina, a petite brunette, was happily pregnant with the enviable glow that many pregnant women project. Married for two years to Brad, a commodities dealer, Tina was excited about her baby, due in a couple of weeks.

The two of them went to downtown Cipriani, where Amy told Tina about her uncomfortable meeting with Sofia Courtenelli, before seguing onto the offer she’d received of a bachelorette party from her co-workers, and how she really didn’t want one.

‘Yes!’ Tina said, thumping the table with her fist. ‘It’s a
fabulous
idea. You
need
to cut loose–you’re way too uptight.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

Amy wrinkled her nose. ‘
Thanks
.’

‘Come
on
, Amy, get real, you’re marrying a man you haven’t even
slept
with. How weird is
that
?’

‘Shout a little louder,’ Amy said, glancing around the restaurant. ‘The person at the corner table didn’t hear you.’

‘Listen to me,’ Tina said, lowering her voice. ‘What if Max is a dud in bed? You wouldn’t even
know
.’

‘Yes, I would,’ Amy answered stubbornly. ‘I
certainly
would.’

‘How?’ Tina persisted, leaning her elbows on the table and staring at her best friend.

‘I might be the last virgin in Manhattan, but I’ve had my experiences.’

‘Neckin’ ain’t fuckin’,’ Tina said succinctly, putting on a loud Brooklyn accent.

‘You are
so
crass,’ Amy said, once more darting her eyes around the restaurant to see who’d overheard
that
little gem.

‘You have
no
idea how crass I can be,’ Tina said, breaking into laughter.

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ Amy retorted, nibbling on a breadstick. ‘We were college room-mates, remember?’

‘How could I ever forget? That first year you were a total pain.’

‘So were you.’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ Tina objected, shaking her head. ‘I was merely trying to figure you out. You were
so
introverted. It wasn’t until you told me about the kidnapping thing—’

‘Don’t!’ Amy interrupted. ‘I confided that in strict confidence, and I never want to talk about it again.’

‘You should’ve seen a therapist,’ Tina said. ‘I don’t understand your mother…’

‘That’s okay’ Amy said dryly. ‘Nobody does, including me.’

‘Look, here’s the deal,’ Tina said, tapping her fingers on the table. ‘I adore my husband–Brad’s the best. But I have to tell you, there are times I kind of wish I’d experimented more before getting married. Y’ know, put myself out there and gone wild.’

‘Really?’ Amy said, surprised. ‘But you and Brad are such a fantastic couple. You never fight, you’re always in sync, you—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tina interrupted, feigning a yawn. ‘We’re perfect, and I would
never
cheat on Brad. However,’ she added pointedly, ‘
you
’ve still got a window of opportunity, and in view of your sexual history–or non-history–it’s kind of important you don’t rush into marriage with absolutely
no
experience. So…my advice is that you should put yourself out there and have a quick fling. As long as you’re careful, you’ve got nothing to lose.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Amy said, frowning. ‘It would be—’

‘It’s not as if I’m suggesting a relationship,’ Tina said, interrupting again. ‘More like, y’ know, a sexy one-nighter.’

‘Tina! You’re out of control!’

‘C’mon, sweetie,’ Tina cajoled. ‘If you don’t do something wild now, you’ll
never
know, and that would be sad.’

‘What if I don’t
want
to know?’ Amy said, trying to convince herself how wrong Tina was. ‘What if I’m perfectly happy with the way things are?’

‘The least you can do is think about it,’ Tina said, teasingly adding, ‘Who knows? You might even enjoy it.’

On her way back to the office Amy couldn’t help thinking over Tina’s outlandish suggestions. A quick fling. A sexy one-nighter. It
so
wasn’t her. And yet…

The next day her friends at work were all over her about the bachelorette party. Finally she’d agreed, just to shut them up.

Tonight was the night.

In a way she was dreading it.

On the other hand–why
not
have some fun? Like Tina said, she might even enjoy it.