‘Not another black-tie event?’ he groaned. ‘I’ve attended enough of those to last me a lifetime. This is Award Show City. No more. I’m over it.’
‘This invite is something different,’ Enid said. ‘I’ll show you when you get back. Now it’s your turn to run along.’
‘And she talks to me as if I’m twelve,’ Cliff said, shaking his head again.
‘And sometimes he acts as if he is,’ Enid retorted.
‘I might be forced to fire you when I return,’ he threatened, reaching for a shirt and putting it on. ‘You have no respect.’
‘Later,
‘Fuckin’ A!’ And with another wide grin, Cliff exited his trailer.
Chapter Five
Luca Perez stretched out on a striped lounger wearing a barely there powder-blue Speedo, his well-toned thirty-year-old body oiled to perfection, not an inch of flesh spared. On the table next to him stood a tall glass containing a Mojito. Next to his drink was a Lalique dish filled with ripe red cherries, a pile of the latest entertainment magazines, his iPhone, his platinum diamond-encrusted Chanel watch, and several crucifixes attached to thin leather straps.
Luca, his eyes covered by Dolce & Gabbana shades, was almost asleep, but not quite. He enjoyed lying there in a half-drowsy state, allowing his mind to run riot. Nothing to disturb him. No one to bother him. Just a lazy day of doing nothing except perfecting his tan. And what a beautiful day it was, with hazy sunshine, a light breeze. He’d recently returned from a demanding world tour, so life at his Miami mansion was good.
Tomorrow, his significant other, Jeromy Milton-Gold, would return from London, which meant goodbye peace and quiet. Jeromy was a social animal. He always wanted to go out and be seen at leather bars and gay clubs — something Luca preferred not to do, even though they’d met at a notorious rubber fetish club in London two years ago. Meeting Jeromy had changed Luca’s life. Before Jeromy he’d been firmly closeted, living a secret gay life lest his legions of female fans found out, for Luca was a huge Latin heartthrob, a singer women worshipped and adored.
And he was married. And he had a son.
At the time.
He still had a son, Luca junior, who was now nine years old. But he was no longer married to the larger- than-life Latin superstar — Suga — the woman who’d discovered him as a teenager, nurtured his talent, married him, had his baby, and made him the star he was today.
Suga was twenty years older than Luca, yet still a voluptuous beauty with a huge following in South America. She’d accepted the fact that her husband was gay with humour and understanding. Divorce — no problem. ‘Ah, but Suga had you at your best,’ she’d joked. ‘Go do what makes you happy, Luca. My heart goes with you.’
Suga was an amazing woman, and to Luca’s delight they’d remained close friends, sharing custody of their handsome young son, who’d inherited the best of both his parents.
So, against the advice of everyone else — his agents, managers, record producers and label bosses — Luca had made the leap into gaydom. If Ricky Martin could do it and survive, why couldn’t he?
And survive he did. His fans were fiercely loyal; they adored him. Gay or straight, it didn’t matter to them. He was Luca Perez. He was their god. Now he was their gay god.
Still, Luca didn’t wish to flaunt his coming out. No threesomes or kinky goings-on in public, although once in a while he allowed Jeromy to throw a wild party at the mansion — no cameras allowed.
Jeromy Milton-Gold was not the partner people would expect Luca to choose. Jeromy was a tall, slim, very English Old Etonian, with patrician features, floppy brown hair, and a somewhat snobbish attitude. At forty-two he was twelve years older than his sun-kissed, blond-haired, buff-bodied, famous boyfriend. They made an incongruous couple; however, it seemed to work for them.
The envelope addressed to Luca Perez and Jeromy Milton-Gold looked like it contained something interesting, for it was of excellent quality, with intricate embossed gold calligraphy, and most of all it appeared tasteful and expensive.
Sitting at his David Armstrong Jones desk in his London showroom adjacent to Sloane Square, Jeromy Milton-Gold pried open the envelope with a silver letter-opener and extracted the enclosed invitation.
He read it carefully. Twice.
A satisfied smile crossed his face. This was one invitation they were
He slid open the centre drawer of his desk, carefully placed the invitation back in its envelope, and put it next to his passport. Tomorrow he would show it to Luca and insist that they accept.
Sometimes Luca could be stubborn, only this time Jeromy refused to take no for an answer. This time it was a done deal.
Chapter Six
The politician and his lovely wife were invited everywhere — they were one of the most popular couples in the city. He, so honest-looking and upstanding with his regular features, well-cut brown hair and an ‘I will do everything I can for my people’ attitude. She, both delicate and strong at the same time, slender, with shoulder- length honey-coppery hair, a beautiful face, and widely spaced warm brown eyes.
Her name was Sierra Kathleen Snow. His name was Hammond Patterson junior, although — much to his father’s chagrin — shortly after getting into politics he’d dropped the junior. ‘It doesn’t sound right,’ he’d muttered.
‘I’ll tell you what sounds right,’ his father had raged. ‘Using the family name and the family reputation.
Hammond Patterson junior wasn’t so sure. His father had been a Congressman for many years, and that was not the role Hammond was planning to play. Instead, after college he’d gone straight to law school, then pursued a career as an attorney, and in time he’d parlayed that career into becoming — at thirty-six — one of the youngest Senators in the house.
Representing New York as the junior Senator, he was full of ambition. He had high hopes that eventually he would become Governor of the State, then after that, possibly make a run for the White House.
Why not? He had all the right credentials. And most of all he had supreme confidence.
Hammond was an extremely driven man. Nothing was about to stop him.
Sierra, on the other hand, possessed a warmth and candour that attracted men and women alike. She was smart and compassionate with a generous soul. As far as Hammond was concerned she was the perfect political wife, an asset to have by his side at all times, which is exactly why he’d picked her.
Recently Hammond’s climb to the top had come across an unexpected stumbling block. And that stumbling block was the disturbing realization that he’d fathered a daughter in his younger years. Apparently he’d gotten some girl pregnant, and that girl had gone ahead and given birth to a daughter named Radical.
Radical had arrived at his office one day, fifteen years old and determined to meet her father.
Hammond was furious and shocked. When the girl finally got in to see him and announced that she was his daughter, he didn’t believe her. This couldn’t be happening to him. It was impossible.
