Lovers & Players (19 page)

W
hy did crises always happen on weekends? Lady Jane Bentley was unable to reach her lawyer, who happened to be on a three-day fishing trip to the Bahamas. She needed to speak to him but, in the meantime, she decided it was best to carry on as if nothing had happened. It was not unusual for Red to experience fits of unreasonable rage, but this time his rage was directed at her, and she did not appreciate it. The fact that he’d demanded she ‘get out’ was shocking. Oh, yes, over the years they’d been together they’d had fights over inconsequential things, but never anything like this.

She soon realized it would be prudent to put her time to good use. Since their initial morning blow-out she had not seen Red. According to his precious housekeeper, Diahann–and what kind of a name was
that
for a housekeeper?–he had left the house saying he would not be back until late.

Lady Jane suspected he’d gone to his so-called secret apartment–the one he hadn’t realized she knew about–where he was probably entertaining the whores he’d come into contact with at Max’s bachelor party.

She had a good mind to call Max, confront him. But then she thought, why do that? Max wasn’t responsible for his father’s vile behaviour.

Instead she began a systematic search of Red’s private office, going through his desk drawers, opening every file, checking out his e-mails, inspecting every letter and document. There was a copying machine in his assistant’s room, and since his assistant was never there on weekends, she made a copy of anything she thought might be useful. At one point Diahann entered the room and had the audacity to ask what she was doing.

‘Excuse me?’ Lady Jane said, giving the woman an imperious look. She’d always hated Red’s housekeeper, the sleazy black woman who didn’t even
look
like a housekeeper, more like a gone-to-seed showgirl. ‘Are you actually asking
me
what I’m doing in here?’

‘You’re at Mr Diamond’s private computer,’ Diahann pointed out, crossing her arms. ‘Mr Diamond does not allow anyone to use it.’

‘Do you
realize
who you’re talking to?’ Lady Jane said, amazed at the woman’s nerve.

‘Yes, I realize, Lady Bentley,’ Diahann replied, holding her ground. ‘But Mr Diamond has told me many times that nobody is to come in here.’

‘I am working under
his
instructions,’ Lady Jane said, furious at this interruption. ‘Therefore I suggest you take it up with him if you have any problems. And if you
dare
to question me again, I will make
sure
you are fired.’

Diahann gave her an insolent stare and left the room.

Lady Jane decided that if she remained in residence, she would definitely make sure Red got rid of the woman, although she’d tried in the past and had no luck.

Red Diamond liked to hang onto his servants. He actually imagined that by keeping people in his employ a long time it ensured their loyalty.

Lady Jane knew it to be exactly the opposite.

As soon as Chris had finished with Jonathan Goode, he took a cab to the airport, not bothering to check out of his hotel because he’d be back the next day.

On the way to Kennedy he spoke to Andy, his young African-American assistant, who was usually very reliable. ‘I’m flying in,’ he said curtly. ‘On my way to the airport now.’

‘There’s no point in you coming to L.A.,’ Andy argued. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your house is a no-go area.’

‘What’re you
talking
about?’

‘The city has it red-tagged as a possible slide down the hill.’

‘Son-of-a-bitch!’
Chris said tersely. ‘Did you find my safe?’

‘They won’t let anyone near the house.’

‘Andy,’ he said, in a voice that meant he would accept no argument, ‘I want you to go back there,
break
in and get my goddamn safe. That’s if you value your job.’

‘You don’t understand what’s going on here,’ Andy said, attempting to explain. ‘It’s non-stop torrential rain, huge storms, and people are being swept away. In Conchita houses were buried under the mudslide. Many people lost their lives.’

‘C’
mon
,’ Chris said, refusing to believe it was as bad as Andy was making out. ‘This is L.A. we’re talking about.’

‘I know,’ Andy said miserably, ‘and it’s a disaster.’

‘I’m flying in anyway. Have a car and driver at the airport, and meet me at my house.’

‘You’re not listening to me, Chris. There’s no house to meet you at.’

‘Get in your fucking car, go to my fucking house and stay there,’ Chris said, losing it.

He managed to get a United flight out. Unfortunately there were no seats left in first class, so he had to make do. He complained bitterly to anyone who cared to listen.

Jeez!
he thought,
I’m turning into my father’s son. Screaming at my assistant to break into a house that’s been red-tagged. Bitching about not being in first class. What happened to me?

Then he remembered Jonathan and his problem. It was a whole lot bigger than his. Jonathan’s entire career was at stake, and what was he going to do about
that?

He’d told Jonathan not to worry, that it was taken care of. ‘I
am
worried,’ Jonathan had replied, throwing him an I-trust-you-implicitly look. ‘Nobody knows about this except you, Chris. I’m depending on you.’

What was he supposed to do? Pay the guy off?

Yes, that was usually the answer. Jonathan had said he would pay as much as he had to–anything to shut the journalist up.

Chris nodded. In his experience most people could be bought. It all depended on the price.

Toying with her meal, Amy couldn’t help noticing that Max definitely had something on his mind. This was no big deal, because she did too. Valiantly she tried to make conversation, but Max kept on staring off into space as if his thoughts were elsewhere. She hoped and prayed he hadn’t found out about her one wild night.

The waiter cleared their dishes and asked if they wanted coffee and the dessert menu.

Amy shook her head. Max requested the check.

‘Are you
sure
you’re ready for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night?’ Amy asked, determined to get him talking before they left.

‘I’m ready,’ he said curtly. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

She sighed and picked up her glass of wine. ‘You saw Mariska today, didn’t you?’

He nodded. ‘How did you know?’

‘She always puts you in a bad mood.’

‘You think so?’

‘It’s true, Max. You’re much happier when you deliver Lulu to her nanny and you don’t have to see your ex.’

‘Problem is, Mariska’s always there,’ he said, grimacing. ‘There’s no avoiding her. She gets her kicks torturing me.’

‘Something else is bothering you,’ Amy said, leaning across the table. ‘I wish you’d tell me what it is.’

‘Business problems,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Nothing I can’t solve.’

‘It’s
helpful
to share, Max. After all, we
are
getting married soon.’

‘Yes, sweetheart, and I for one can’t wait,’ he said, as the waiter brought the check. ‘You do know how much I love you, don’t you?’ he said, throwing down his black American Express card.

No, she didn’t. It would be nice if he told her more often. And why had he so readily accepted her no-sex-before-marriage rule?

Then there was the biggest question of all–what had made her sleep with a total stranger? How could she
ever
explain that?

Max signed the bill and stood up.

Dinner was apparently over.

The plane ride to L.A. was non-stop bumpy all the way. By the time Chris arrived he realized he might have made a mistake. He’d told Andy to have a car and driver at the airport. The car was waiting, and so was the rain: it was still pouring down in windswept torrents. Andy was right–L.A. was one big mess.

The driver insisted on telling him bad-weather stories all the way down the freeway.

Chris sat in the back wishing the goddamn driver would shut the fuck up: he needed to concentrate on everything he had to take care of. First there was Jonathan–a big priority. Then Birdy and
her
problems. His house–exactly how damaged was it? And, of course, Roth Giagante and the money he owed.

When he reached his home, he had to give Andy credit, because even though it was pitch black and late, the young man was sitting in his SUV waiting patiently for him. Now
that
was loyalty.

Chris got out of the car, ran over and tapped on Andy’s window. ‘Did you get my safe out?’ he yelled, over the pounding rain.

Andy rolled down his window and handed him a flashlight. ‘Take a look, Chris,’ he shouted. ‘Your house is buried under a ton of mud. I can’t get anywhere near the front door, can’t even
see
it.’

Chris took the flashlight and walked over. Things were far worse than he’d imagined. There
was
no house, just a giant mountain of mud, and large signs red-tagging his property.

‘What arrangements have you made about getting it cleaned up?’ he yelled, thinking that once they got rid of the mud, his house would emerge pristine and undamaged.

Yeah, sure.

‘Can’t do anything until the rain stops,’ Andy replied, trying to shelter them with an umbrella. ‘Then they’ll be able to bring in heavy dredging equipment and get to work.’

‘Fuck!’ Chris said, getting thoroughly wet, his shoes sinking into the soggy ground. ‘I came home to
this
.’

‘I
did
warn you,’ Andy pointed out. Then, anxious to please, he added, ‘I’ll deal with it, Chris. I’ll do everything I can.’

‘Fuck!’ Chris repeated, shaking his head as rain soaked through his clothes. ‘This is a fucking
joke
.’

After dinner, Max took Amy home, pecked her on the cheek and that was that. Another unsatisfying evening with a man she wasn’t sure she still loved.

Upstairs in her apartment she wandered from room to room, restless and confused. Was she doing the right thing? Could she go through with it?
Was
Max the perfect man for her?

Oh, sure, it was easy for Tina to tell her he was–but Tina wasn’t marrying him,
she
was, and she couldn’t get her night with S. Lucas out of her head. His handsome face kept floating in front of her, his mesmerizing blue eyes, his muscular body and the way he’d held her in his arms…

She wondered if
he
was thinking about
her.

Probably not. It was likely he was one of those guys who slept with lots of women, and never gave them a second thought. How sad was
that?.

And yet, even if it was true, she
still
couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And, even worse, she didn’t want to.

By the time Chris checked into the Four Seasons it was past midnight. He’d instructed Andy to book him out on an early-morning flight to New York, so after a good night’s sleep he’d be on his way back.

After ordering a bowl of hot soup and a medium rare steak from Room Service, he picked up the phone and finally reached Roth Giagante in Vegas.

‘Where are you?’ Roth asked gruffly.

‘Back in L.A.’ he said, not about to take any shit. ‘My house has been destroyed.’

‘Didn’t do it,’ Roth dead-panned.

‘That’s not funny,’ Chris snapped.

‘You get what you ask for,’ Roth said, adding a casual, ‘How’d you like your New York gift?’

‘She was very accommodating,’ Chris replied, thinking how much he couldn’t stand this man. ‘
Especially
when she took off with my gold Rolex. Was that part of the plan, or are you too cheap to pay her the going rate?’

Roth laughed. It wasn’t a friendly sound. ‘I’m expecting you here tomorrow with my money.’

‘Your money happens to be in my safe, and right now my safe is buried under a mudslide somewhere in my house. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.’

‘You
shitting
me?’ Roth growled.

‘Send one of your goons to check my story. Go ahead–maybe
they
can dig it out.’

‘Does this mean you’re not coming tomorrow?’

‘No, Roth,’ Chris said, clenching his jaw. ‘You’ll get your goddamn money next week. Right now I’m involved with more pressing problems–like nowhere to live, everything I own is destroyed, and I gotta fly back to New York for a meeting. As I said, you’ll have to wait. And, oh, yeah, don’t bother sending me anymore visitors.’

‘Quit givin’ me orders, you dumb prick.’

‘
You
’re the dumb prick,’ Chris answered, beyond caring. ‘I’m offering you a chance to host Birdy Marvel’s wedding at your hotel, which would mean millions of dollars worth of free world-wide publicity, and you’re not even entertaining the idea. If you were
smart
you’d speak to your PR people and listen to what
they
have to say. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to get back to me. Then I’m calling Peter Morton at the Hard Rock. He’s a smart guy,
he’ll
get it. And don’t worry, you’ll get your fucking money!’ He slammed the phone down. Man, it felt good!

Naturally he couldn’t sleep. How could he? His house was wrecked with everything he owned in it, and how could he stop himself thinking about all the things he’d lost? It was making him feel sick. His house was a symbol of everything he’d achieved. Now it was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.