Deadly Embrace (36 page)

"I am?" Max said, sounding surprised.

"Yes," Tina said. " 'Cause you can take a bath
and
watch TV
at the same time."

"Maybe I'll take a bath with you," Max said slyly.

"Don't be disgusting," she snapped.

"Did you notice the mirrors on the ceiling above the bed?" Max
asked, giving Michael a quick nudge. "Guess I missed that."

"Take a look. Sexy, if you ask me." It seemed that lately, Max
found everything sexy. He was definitely experiencing the married-man
itch.

"Tomorrow I'll score tickets for Elvis," Michael said. "If you
take me to see Elvis, I'll love you forever!" Tina swooned.

"How about
me
?" Max asked.

"Oh,
you
. You're my husband, I'll always love
you
."

"Tonight I thought we'd have dinner at the hotel," Michael
decided. "We can see the show, then take a look around."

"I don't
want
to have dinner
here
," Tina said
petulantly. "Can't we go to the Sands, or the Desert Inn, or the
Magiriano? My girlfriend stayed at the Magiriano, and
she
says
it's the best. Apparently there's an amazing show."

"Whatever you want. I'll arrange it." Tina nodded
enthusiastically.

"Two nights in Vegas an' you'll be screamin' to go home," Michael
said, laughing at Tina's genuine excitement.

"As long as I get to hit the tables," Max said. "You'd better
remember what happened last time," Michael reminded him.

"That was a long time ago," Max said cockily. "I know what I'm
doin' now."

"He's got a hundred dollars to play with, and that's
it
,"
Tina said in true wifely fashion.

"Yes, honey," Max said, the five hundred dollars he'd managed to
smuggle from home itching to leave his pocket.

Before they went upstairs, Tina decided she should play the slots.
She hit a lucky streak, and after forty-five minutes and two
jackpots, she came away with fifteen hundred dollars.

"Oh ... my ...
God
!" she exclaimed. "This is the most
fabulous place on earth! I wish we could come here every
weekend."

"Well, we can't," Max said, surly because he'd already blown a
hundred. "Lend me some of your money—I wanna play."

"No, it's mine. You go play with your hundred dollars."

"Selfish," he muttered.

"I'm
not
," she countered. "I won it, and I'm spending it on
the kids."

"Yeah, that's right—spoil 'em "

"You two gonna fight?" Michael said. "I thought we came here to
relax."

"We
did
," Tina said, shooting Max a baleful look.

"Okay," Michael said. "So I'll make reservations for dinner and
the show at the Magiriano. We should leave here in an hour. Maybe you
wanna go upstairs an' shower."

"Why?" Max joked. "Do I smell?"

"Get
outta
here," Michael responded.

Tina and Max took the elevator to their room, still arguing, while
Michael made his way to the main show room. There was nobody around,
so he went backstage. A stage manager informed him the girls hadn't
checked in yet.

"I was, uh ... looking for Dani. Is she still working here?"

"We don't have a Dani," the stage manager said.

"How about Angela?"

"We got two Angelas."

"What time do they usually come in?"

"You a relative?"

"Yes."

"The girls are here by five."

"Thanks," he said, hoping that one of the Angelas could fill him
in on Dani.

Why was he looking for her anyway? No reason. Anything to pass the
time.

* * *

The first Angela was not the Angela he'd had in mind, nor the
second—a faded brunette who tried to persuade him to come back
after the show, promising she'd show him the sights.

"Sorry," he said.

"So am I!" she said, with a jaunty wink. Is that all women
saw—his good looks? When he was younger and hoping to get laid
every five minutes, it had worked for him. Now, at almost
thirty—with everything he'd experienced, one-night stands were
a thing of the past. He craved love and companionship, a woman who
excited him and kept him alert. A woman like Beth. Only problem:
women like Beth did not exist. When Tina arrived downstairs she was
all dressed up for her big night out in Vegas: short, black cocktail
dress, three-inch heels, rhinestone jewelry, and teased hair.

"How about my wife?" Max boasted. "Ain't she some-thin'?"

"She sure is," Michael agreed.

"And I am escorted by the two handsomest men in Vegas," Tina said,
preening as they made their way through the casino to the front of
the hotel, where they took a cab to the Magiriano.

Tina loved the Magiriano. She stopped to admire the dancing
fountains and the caged cockatoos, while Max tried to sit down at one
of the blackjack tables on their way through the casino to the
Krystle Room.

"No!" said Tina, dragging him off his seat. "
After
the
show, not before."

Michael palmed a twenty to the maitre d' so they would be assured
a front table.

"I'm so happy!" Tina squealed. "This is my dream!"

Michael nodded. It was nice that someone still had dreams.

"Goddamnit!" the young girl screamed. "Some moron stepped on my
fuckin' train!"

The girl was nineteen years old, six feet tall, and spectacular.
Her name was Penelope and she had a mouth on her. She was Gemini's
replacement and worked next to Dani. The only problem was—
nobody could replace Gemini.

Dani had been back at work for a year. She needed to keep herself
occupied, and nothing did that better than two shows a night at the
Magiriano, where she was considered a veteran.

Twenty-six and a veteran. That was Vegas for you. No history.

"Calm down, dear," said Eric, the assistant stage manager. He was
a sweet gay guy, who always looked out for Dani. "You're upsetting
everyone with your uncouth language."

"Uncouth?" exclaimed Penelope. "Listen to you, faggo. You must've
heard four-letter words before?"

Penelope was a total pain. Engaged to a young mafioso type, she
thought everyone should kiss her fine young ass.

Dani had tried to keep the feelings between them neutral. It
simply wasn't possible. She missed Gemini. She thought about her
every day. The night before her wedding, Gemini had indeed gone to
see Moralis. Why she'd done so in view of their history together,
nobody could quite figure out. She'd gone to his hotel room, where
he'd been his usual violent self, locking her in the room, attacking
her, raping her, and finally, in a fit of fury, throwing acid in her
face. After that terrible act, he'd kept her a prisoner in the room
for three days in excruciating pain, until eventually a maid got
suspicious and called the police.

By the time the police got there, it was too late. Gemini died on
her way to the hospital.

Morgan was a broken man. He blamed Dani for allowing Gemini to
leave the ranch that night, even though it was clearly not her
fault.

Moralis was arrested and locked in a cell overnight. Somehow or
other he managed to hang himself.

Over the following months Dean attempted to comfort Dani. It was
no good, she was inconsolable. "I can't marry you, Dean," she'd
finally told him. "I bring people bad luck. First Emily. Now Gemini.
I cannot do it to you."

He stayed by her side for a long time, desperately trying to
persuade her to change her mind. It was no good, she was adamant.
Eventually she told him she couldn't see him anymore, and he returned
to Houston. Three months later she heard he'd married someone
else.

She didn't care, relationships were not for her—not even
friendships—so Penelope behaving like a complete diva did not
bother her.

Occasionally Dean phoned, even though he was now a married man.
"How are you doing?" he would ask.

"Fine," she would answer.

"We'll always be friends, won't we, Dani?"

"As long as your wife doesn't mind."

She was glad Dean had found somebody who seemed to be good for
him—a nice Southern girl with money of her own.

A few days after Moralis killed himself, his millionaire father,
Esai, had flown in from Colombia to collect his grandson and take him
home. Dani desperately tried to persuade him to allow Nando to stay
in Vegas. "Mr. Sanchez," she'd pleaded, "Nando is better off staying
with us. He doesn't
know
you. My son loves him like a brother,
he'll be very happy living here."

"I think not," Esai had said, cold as ice. And that was his final
answer.

Nando leaving town deeply upset Vincent. He missed his best
friend, and although he was only nine years old, he chose to be a
loner—refusing to make any more close friends. He excelled at
school, getting A's in most of his classes. He also shone at
sports.

Dani and he were as close as a mother and son could be. The two of
them went to movies, rode bikes, and sometimes they took a boat out
on Lake Mead, while other times they drove into the desert and spent
the day exploring.

"Will ya look at my fuckin' train," Penelope screamed again. "It's
ruined!"

"It's not ruined, dear," Eric said, fussing with her elaborate
train. "It's perfectly fine. You'll go onstage and do a
fantastic
show."

"Screw off, you little faggot," she said rudely.

"Don't talk to Eric like that," Dani intervened.

"Are
you
telling
me
how to behave?" Penelope
demanded, giving her an imperious look.

Dani shrugged. "Somebody should."

"Who the
hell
do you think you are?" Penelope ranted. "My
boyfriend could
buy
this hotel if he wanted to. Then I'd have
your
ass fired."

"Go ahead," Dani said. "I don't care."

"Stuck-up
bitch
!" Penelope spat.

"
She's
the bitch," Eric whispered in Dani's ear.

Sometimes onstage Penelope attempted to sabotage her. It was all
very subtle, but Dani knew exactly what Penelope was doing. After
getting tripped up several times, she decided to play Penelope at her
own game. One night she flung out her arm and knocked Penelope's
headdress flying. The following night she did the same thing. The
sabotage soon stopped.

Penelope received plenty of attention. Men loved her, but not as
much as they loved Dani. She had a very loyal fan following,
especially when the conventions came to town—the same groups of
men returning twice or three times a year, and always coming to see
her in the show.

Shortly after she returned to work, the company director had
called her into his office and said, "Dani, the time has come for you
to go topless."

"You know I won't do that," she'd answered.

"It'll be very tasteful," he'd assured her. "You'll wear the same
lavish costumes, make the same extravagant entrances, except you'll
show your breasts. Is that such a terrible way to make twice your
salary?"

"I... I don't know," she'd said hesitantly.

"What've you got to lose, my dear? You're famous as it is in
Vegas. You're one of the most beautiful showgirls in town. So cash in
and make the big bucks while you can."

"Isn't it kind of sleazy?"

"Not anymore. All the big hotels are taking their best girls
topless. We're an expensive, classy show. We have to keep up with the
competition."

"I'll think about it," she'd sighed.

She'd thought about it for a couple of weeks, and then decided she
had nothing to lose. The costumes were expensive and gorgeous, and
she knew they'd present her in a stylish way. Plus, there was no man
around to get upset and jealous, and as the company manager assured
her, the nudity would be brief and tasteful.

The lure of making twice her salary finally convinced her. She was
putting everything she earned away for Vincent's education, and the
extra money would be an enormous help. Being a single mother was not
easy, so ... if showing her breasts would double her savings, why
not?

When she informed the company manager her answer was yes, he was
delighted. "You're gonna kill 'em, Dani," he'd said. "They'll be
flocking to see you."

And that was the truth.

Her loyal fans were also delighted; they even started an official
fan club.

She enjoyed her two separate lives. Life one: Mother of Vincent,
going to PTA meetings, swim meets, and Little League baseball. No
makeup, no fancy clothes, just another mom who baked cookies on Open
School Day. Life two: Dani Castle. Famous showgirl. Glamorous,
gorgeous, a lurer of men, all of whom she rejected.

Which life did she prefer? There was no choice—she'd choose
being Vincent's mom anyday. If it wasn't for the money, she'd give up
all the glamour in a second.

Earlier that night, between shows, a man had appeared in the
dressing room she shared with Penelope, and handed her his card. He
was a representative of
Playpen—
aglossy magazine for
men.

"I've heard plenty about you," he'd said. "And we'd love to
photograph you for the magazine."

"I'm not interested."

"You should be. We pay a lot of money, and only deal with the top
photographers. You show it onstage, why not show it in our
magazine?"

She'd taken his card and said she'd think about it. Her standard
answer.

Perhaps that was why Penelope was in such a bad mood—because
he had not approached
her
.

Eric was fussing around, trying to fix Penelope's train. "For
God's
sake
!" Penelope kept on complaining. "You're as clumsy
as a hog!"

Their intro music started, and Eric thankfully backed away. "Heads
up, tits out, have a good show," he said.

"Not if
you
have anything to do with it," Penelope sniped,
grabbing a handful of ice to liven up her nipples.