Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [114]
‘Then you must be going to the party tomorrow night,’ Annabelle ventured.
‘What party?’ Armand asked, thinking that he would invite her back to his villa to see if he could get her to interact with the paid prostitutes. Now that might be worth watching.
‘Lucky’s daughter, Max, is turning eighteen. There’s a big blowout at The Keys,’ Annabelle said. ‘Since I told my boyfriend to take a hike, I could go with you. I know the Santangelos – I’m sure they’d be delighted to see me. Bobby and I went to high school together.’
‘Who is Bobby?’
‘Lucky’s son – he runs the club Mood in The Keys. We’re tight. Maybe we should stop by for a drink.’
Tight. What did that mean? This girl spoke a language he didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want to. However, since she knew the Santangelo family, she could turn out to be useful after all.
‘What do you think?’ Annabelle asked, tilting her head to one side.
‘I think we should go to my villa first. Spend some private time.’
Annabelle considered his offer. She didn’t want sex – followed by no phone call. Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all.
On the other hand, Armand was one of the most eligible bachelors in New York, and perhaps the timing was right to give him another chance. What did she have to lose?
‘One drink,’ she said brightly. ‘Then onto Mood. Is that a plan?’
Armand nodded.
Why did God give women the ability to speak? Why couldn’t they just keep their stupid mouths shut?
* * *
Once Peggy captured her prize – Gino’s sneezed-in napkin – she was anxious to end the dinner and get back to her suite.
But Paige was having none of it. She was enjoying Peggy’s company, and suggested they move onto The Cavendish club for a nightcap.
‘I’m a little past nightclubs,’ Peggy demurred.
‘If I can do it, so can you,’ Gino wheezed. ‘I’m two hundred years old, hon. You’re a spring chicken.’
For a moment Peggy was tempted to remind him of their one-night fling all those years ago. But good sense prevailed and she said nothing.
‘You see what I have to put up with?’ Paige said with a complacent smile. ‘The man is tireless. He hardly ever sleeps.’
‘What? I should sleep my friggin’ life away?’ Gino interrupted. ‘When I go, it won’t be quietly in the night, it’ll be in the middle of a fuckin’ party.’
Paige shook her head. ‘Energy to burn,’ she said. ‘If we could bottle it we’d make a fortune.’
For a split second Peggy flashed onto a memory of Gino making love to her. Energy to burn, indeed. He’d been an insatiable lover. Other men had paled in comparison, especially King Emir, who after a while had suffered from premature ejaculation – something that didn’t seem to bother him because he was a King, so who would dare to criticize?
‘I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt,’ Peggy said, removing her powder compact from her purse and checking out her appearance.
‘Not bad for an old broad,’ Gino said with a lecherous chuckle.
‘I thought I was a spring chicken,’ Peggy retorted. And for one quick moment she thought she spied a hint of recognition in his dark all-knowing elderly eyes.
* * *
Carlos, the chief concierge at The Cavendish, a well-put-together Latin man, personally escorted Luscious and Seducta to Armand Jordan’s villa. The two women smelled of cheap perfume, musty sweat, cigarettes and booze. Hardly a winning combination.
Carlos was surprised to observe such low-rent women. Surely a man such as Armand Jordan expected better than these two?
Luscious pranced around the living room on her cheap six-inch red hooker heels, a cigarette dangling from her over-plumped lips. Her legs were bare, and on her left calf was the tattoo of a body-builder winking at no one in particular.
‘Where’s the . . . uh . . . mister?’ she asked.
‘He’ll be here shortly,’ Carlos replied, deciding it would not be wise to leave them alone in the villa. They looked like the type of women who – if left to their own devices – would steal anything that was not locked down. ‘And this is a no smoking room,’ he added. ‘So if you’d refrain—’