“Wait,” he called.
“I can’t. Den’s waiting for me in the car.”
Den?
Lucas watched her until she disappeared into the parking lot.
Her boss, Dennis Hamilton.
A voice that might be Bobby W’s, a voice he was ashamed to acknowledge, whispered to him, “He’s probably a slob. Please let him be a slob.”
THIRTY
Rochelle
“Damn it, Blond, I’m desperate.” Rochelle gulped her water bottle, shivering as the air teased the sweat from her flesh.
“Then, that’s another reason.” He held his ground, intent in his tiny white trunks, unconcerned with the attention he was attracting. Most of the women at the club, more than usual for a Saturday morning, had found excuses to amble by and check him out at closer range. “Desperation is the worst reason for getting involved with the toys.”
“What was your reason?”
“Competition.” He pulled a shirt over his head. His sprayed hair emerged unscathed.
“My point exactly. Don’t tell me you weren’t desperate.”
“You got me on that one.” He opened his own bottle of water. “I knew I’d only be doing it for a certain period of time.”
“My situation’s exactly the same.” She made herself speak slowly, as he did, forcing the agitation to remain beneath the surface.
“You’re in good shape. If anything, you’re too thin.”
“Have you looked at my ass?”
“Of course. You think I’m dead? I never miss an opportunity to look at your ass.” His soft-spoken drawl failed to calm her as it usually did.
“Then, tell me the truth.” She turned her back on the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“Most of that’s the fabric of your pants.” He pinched her butt. “You could maybe tighten it a little more, but you can do that with the lunges.”
“I don’t have time for lunges. The spokesmodel’s going to be named any day now. My husband—” She couldn’t put those fears into words, not even to Blond Elvis. “You said you could get toys.”
He nodded. “Lasix injections are the fastest way. You can lose ten, fifteen pounds like that. It’s a diuretic used for congestive heart failure. There are side effects, though. Your legs will cramp up.”
“I don’t care about frigging side effects. What is it, Blond? What do you want from me?”
“A reporter tracked me down,” he said. “Her name’s Rikki Fitzpatrick. She was here when you called.”
“So?”
“I can’t afford to get dragged into some scandal. I can tell she’s not the type to back off. Cute as hell, but a real bulldog.”
“All she cares about is what happened to Julie Larimore.”
His expression lost some of its tenseness. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Shel.”
“You think I’m so stupid that I’d take chances with my own body?” Her voice was steady now, the pleading and the fear buried in the iciness of the bitch voice. “You want me to be fat? You want to look at a client of yours and know, in your heart, she’s a lard ass?”
“You’re not fat, and you’re not stupid. I know you respect your body. It’s not that.”
