Rock Star (52 page)

‘Nova, dear, when a man is in your company
everything
is a treat. You are truly the most gracious hostess of all. I cannot begin to tell you how much Mary and I appreciate this evening.’

‘It’s nothing, Jack,’ she murmured modestly. ‘I adore entertaining. And doing something for you is always a pleasure.’

Gazing into her eyes he said a very sincere, ‘Thank you Nova, Thank you so very much. You’ll never regret the support you’ve given us.’

*    *    *

Restlessly pacing around her tastefully appointed guest suite, dreading the fact that soon she was going to have to confront Marcus Citroen, Rafealla decided to talk to Bobby, because tonight was the perfect opportunity, and why should she allow him to blank her out of his life? Once they’d been close friends – was that friendship supposed to end because of his unfortunate accident?

‘Trudie,’ she said, ‘I’m going to see Bobby Mondella.’

‘Right now?’ Trudie asked, doubtfully. ‘Well, I guess if you’re dressed and ready to go on, we can stand at the side of the stage.’

‘I don’t mean watch him perform. I want to visit him now.’

‘That’s not a good idea at all,’ Trudie said firmly, wondering what this was all about. ‘Bobby is on first, and I’m sure he’ll be getting ready even as we speak.’

‘What room is he in?’

‘Uh . . . seriously, Rafealla. The guests are eating dinner.
You
should be getting dressed, and Bobby is probably already on his way down there.’

‘What room is he in?’ she repeated stubbornly.

Trudie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. This isn’t a hotel, there are no numbers on the doors. And there’s enough doors to house three families!’

‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right back.’

‘Rafealla—’ Trudie wailed.

‘Five minutes. I promise.’

Stepping into the hall she looked around. There were several doors, obviously all leading into guest suites like hers. She knocked on the first one, and a masculine voice called, ‘Come in.’

Tentatively she did so.

Lounging on a couch, flicking the channels on a large-screen TV, was Kris Phoenix.

A silent moment while their eyes met. Oh, no! She hadn’t seen him since that memorable night in his limousine ten years ago. Oh, no! For a moment she almost panicked.

‘Hi,’ she mumbled, feeling like a stupid fan.

‘Hello, luv,’ he said, without a flicker of ever having met her before. ‘Nice of you to come by an’ say hello. I like your music, you’re doin’ all right, girl. Keep it goin’.’

*    *    *

‘Ooooh, Tom. I thought I’d never find you,’ Vicki cooed softly, creeping up behind him in the security control room. ‘I should’ve guessed you’d be here.’

‘Where else would I be?’ he asked, a trifle pompously, indicating the bank of TV monitors surrounding him. ‘I get to see every single thing from this seat.’

‘So you do,’ she said in an admiring tone. ‘What a clever system. Did
you
set it up?’

‘It’s all based on my suggestions,’ he boasted, turning to ogle her cleavage in the partly unbuttoned uniform. She’d been cosying up to him for a while now – it was obvious she couldn’t resist him.

He felt Mr Stiffy stir in his pants. Mavis, his wife of twenty-five years, had named it Mr Stiffy on their honeymoon. Unfortunately, over the years, it had not exactly lived up to its name, but this red-hot, not-so-little number certainly had its full attention.

‘
I
think you’re brilliant,’ she sighed, wondering to herself if she wasn’t going just the tiniest bit too far.

‘You do?’

‘
Oooh
, sugar-pie, I do!’

He was just about to get up and grab her, when the door opened and one of his guards walked in.

‘What is it, Sturgon?’ Tom snapped, caught at the pass.

The guard was no idiot. He took one look at Vicki, hovering in the corner, and another look at Tom, red-faced and ready for action, and quickly said, ‘Just reporting in, boss. No problems. Everybody’s in position.’

‘Good, good,’ Tom blustered. ‘Get back to checkpoint one an’ stay there.’

‘Don’t you need me to man the screens with you?’

‘It’s not necessary. I’ll contact you later.’

Sturgon favoured Vicki with a long, lustful leer. He wouldn’t mind a crack at her himself. Some people had all the luck. ‘Okay, boss,’ he said, with a smart-aleck salute. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Tom grunted. He didn’t like the way Sturgon eyeballed Vicki. She deserved more respect than that.

*    *    *

Standing at the side of the stage, Bobby smelled money. It was all around him. Along with the light outdoor breeze there was a subtle mix of heady perfumes and expensive aftershaves. Above that, the rich aroma of two-hundred-dollar cigars filled the air.

Sara had one hand firmly on his arm. ‘How do you feel?’ she whispered anxiously.

It was the fourth time she’d asked him. ‘Will you quit,’ he muttered angrily. ‘You’re really starting to piss me off. Get lost. Go watch the show someplace else.’

‘Bobby . . .’

He could hear the hurt in her voice and didn’t care. The main thing was to get this show over and done with. Sara by his side would only bug him.

‘I said get lost,’ he repeated harshly. ‘I need to be left alone right now.’

‘Sure,’ she said, hurt and angry at the same time. ‘I’ll go and enjoy the party.’

‘Do that.’

‘I will,’ she replied defiantly. Not that he gave a damn. Since she’d left him alone earlier he’d been in a foul mood. It was confusing being with Bobby. One minute she was his lover, the next merely an employee. What did he
really
feel about her? Did he care at all? Sometimes she doubted it.

One of the musicians had already been elected to escort him on stage, so there was no reason for her to hang around. Norton St John had invited her to join the press table and she decided she would. With a firm step she left Bobby standing alone.

Rafealla wanted to laugh. Kris Phoenix had known who she was all right. New hot recording star – Rafealla. And that’s
all
he’d known.

Ha! She must have
really
left a lasting impression that night so long ago in London. He’d had no idea they’d ever met, let alone made love together – if that was the right way to describe their one-time encounter.

It was funny really – since achieving fame she’d been nervous about running into him, quite sure he would remember the silly little girl he’d taken advantage of and make fun of her.

No such attitude. Just a friendly grin and words of encouragement.

Wouldn’t it blow his mind if he knew the truth!

Backing out of his room, she hurriedly returned to Trudie, who urged her to get changed as they had to make their way down to the performance area. Slowly she put on the simple black dress she’d chosen to wear. It made her crazy, because she couldn’t help thinking about Marcus taking it off her later. Why had she ever agreed to go to bed with such a vile man?

They’d cut a deal, hadn’t they? And he’d kept his side of the bargain. He’d made her famous, and after Luiz’s betrayal that’s all she’d wanted. Fame. Because her one big desire was to get back at Luiz – and fame was the only way to do it. Luiz had always been so ambitious. America was his dream – he’d talked about it all the time.

Now
she
had it and
he
didn’t. Too bad. She knew he must be wishing he’d stayed with her.

Smoothing the black dress over her slim body, she decided it was perfect for tonight. Thinking about Luiz still upset her. He’d hurt her badly – devastated her, in fact. But one thing she was sure of. No more love entanglements. Sleeping with Marcus Citroen was better than falling in love any day.

*    *    *

Maxwell Sicily walked away from the open-air dinner with authority, carrying a full tray.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ A burly guard stopped him at one of the exit points.

Maxwell indicated his badge and the tray. ‘A snack for Kris Phoenix. I’m taking it over to the guest house.’

‘You got authority?’

‘Yeah,’ Maxwell said sarcastically. ‘The chef stopped everything and wrote me a note. Jeez! You guys take this crap seriously, don’t you?’

With an angry wave the guard passed him through.

Security. Forget it. These guys knew nothing. Fortunately for him.

*    *    *

Kris dressed for his appearance in white pants, Reeboks, a black tee-shirt and pink Armani jacket. With his longish hair spiked and streaked, intense ice-blue eyes, athletic body and deep suntan – he looked exactly like the rock superstar dream.

Okay, so he was thirty-eight years old. Big deal. He still had it. The old bones hadn’t given up on him yet. Kris Phoenix was the
hottest.

Norton St John arrived to escort him to the stage. He’d sent Cybil off with Hawkins again. Let her enjoy the evening – it was better than having her hanging around driving him nuts.

*    *    *

‘Have you seen George Smith anywhere?’ Pudgy Chloe grabbed hold of a passing waiter.

‘Who?’ he asked, balancing a tray of coffee cups.

‘George Smith,’ Chloe repeated impatiently. ‘He’s a waiter, about your height, dark haired an’ good looking.’

‘We’re all good lookin’,’ he smirked.

‘Yeah, well, he’s
really
handsome,’ retorted Chloe irritably. If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.’

The waiter peered at her identification badge – Chloe Bragg – Supervisor – Lilliane’s. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’m only temporary. D’you think you can use your influence an’ get me on permanent?’

‘Find George Smith for me, an’ we’ll see.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll keep my eyes open.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, stationing herself at the high-traffic area between the kitchen and the dining area. Waiters and busboys were buzzing back and forth, but no sign of George Smith, damn him.

Chloe was deeply disappointed.

*    *    *

Much to his disgust the highway patrol cop gave Speed a ticket. Racing along the Pacific Coast Highway he growled to himself, sounding like a Dobermann pinscher. He was late. It didn’t matter. He’d make it. He always did.

The Concert

Saturday, July 11, 1987

And so it began.

Bobby Mondella took the stage with confidence. Fuck it. He wasn’t going to let the fact that he couldn’t see stand in his way. Once he was out there, in position, he went for it, falling into the rhythm of a live performance as if he’d never been away.

The audience were receptive, rising to their feet to welcome him back.

Nova was out there watching him, and for once it didn’t matter. He’d faced his past, and that’s all she was now – his past.

*    *    *

Maxwell Sicily rode the golf cart to the guest house. There was one black guard roaming around outside, the same guard he’d seen when he’d delivered Bobby Mondella’s food earlier.

‘Here we go again,’ Maxwell said, with a friendly wave. ‘What’s happening down there?’ the guard asked, wishing he was part of the real action.

‘Bobby Mondella is just about to go on.’

‘Yeah? Really?’

It’s a shame you’re missing it.’

The guard pulled a disgusted face. ‘Tell me about it. My wife’ll kill me. She thinks I’m gonna come home with a full report.’

‘Sneak down and take a look,’ Maxwell encouraged ‘Nobody’ll miss you.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ the guard said longingly.

‘Do it! Who’s to know?’

The guard laughed. ‘Tom. Our chief. He checks us out every twenty minutes.’

Maxwell nodded knowingly, hoisted his tray, and said, ‘I’d love to help you, but I’ve got work to do. I’m supposed to clean this place up while they’re performing.’

‘Good luck.’

Maxwell entered the guest house. It was deserted, just as he’d known it would be. The stars and their entourages were all down at the dinner.

Placing the tray in the kitchen, he hurried upstairs. Vicki had told him exactly which guest suite would be unoccupied. He found it, opened the closet, and located his holdall pushed out of sight in the back. From it he took a rolled black garbage bag, a cache of tools, and a small snub-nosed revolver, just in case.

Prepared, he hurried downstairs and slipped out of the kitchen door. Then he sprinted across a vast lawn until he reached the far side of the main house. Entry was no problem – earlier Vicki had fixed the catch on the sliding glass windows to Marcus Citroen’s study.

Letting himself in, he stood quietly for a moment, taking stock. The room was exactly as Vicki had described it, which meant safe number one was located behind the Matisse hanging tastefully in the centre of the wall. He would take care of that one on the way out. Right now his mind was on the real money. Nova Citroen’s bedroom safe.

The applause was deafening. It swept over Bobby like sweet nectar as he was led off stage. Performing live had been a challenge hanging over his head. Could he do it? Yeah, man, he could do it.

For a moment the deadly heat of revenge left him and he was free. ‘Sara?’ he called out, but she wasn’t around – he’d sent her away.

‘You were wonderful!’ a female voice breathed.

He reached out. ‘Who’s this?’

She took his hand. ‘Rafealla. Remember me? Your friend from Rio.’

‘Oh, Jesus! Raffi. This is great!’

‘
You
were great.’

They hugged.

I’m mad at you,’ she scolded.

‘Hey – baby – don’t be mad – you gotta understand what happened. Things were out of my control. I—’

‘Rafealla.’ Hands were pulling at her. ‘You’re on.’

‘Bobby, don’t go away,’ she commanded sternly. ‘We’ll talk. We’ll catch up.’

‘I ain’t movin’ from here, babe. You can depend on that.’

Kissing him, she whispered, ‘Welcome back, superstar. I
do
love you.’

He gave her a little push. ‘Kill ’em, baby, go give ’em hell!’

*    *    *

Vicki had her timing down pat. She knew exactly when to distract Tom. She knew exactly how. When Vicki Foxe exposed her two greatest assets, grown men crumbled, and Tom was no exception.