JOEY LORENZO BURST INTO MADELAINE Francis’ Madison Avenue office as if he had every right to be there, even though he didn’t have an appointment and hadn’t seen her in six years.
An angry secretary chased after him, her ample hips encased in a too-short miniskirt.
“What the hell is going on—” Madelaine began to say. Then her bleak eyes, hidden beneath tinted prescription glasses, recognized Joey, and she quickly waved her secretary away. “It’s all right, Stella,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’ll handle this.”
“But, Miss Francis,” Stella said, full of outrage, “he told me to”—she hesitated for a moment, two bright red blobs coloring her chubby cheeks—“the F word off.”
“Thank you, Stella,” Madelaine said, dismissing her. “You’re excused.”
Still glaring at Joey, Stella backed out of the well-appointed office, while he threw himself into an expensive leather chair opposite Madelaine’s large antique desk, draping his long, jean-clad legs over the arm.
“I’m back,” he said, with an insolent grin.
“So I see,” said Madelaine, shifting uncomfortably, wondering what wrong deed she’d committed to have Joey Lorenzo reappear in her well-ordered life.
Six years ago they’d been living together—the forty-eight-year-old agent and the twenty-four-year-old actor. Ari unlikely combination, but for eight months it had worked. Then one night she’d arrived home to find Joey gone, along with seven thousand dollars in cash she’d kept in her safe.
Now she was fifty-four and he was thirty and the bastard was back.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice a tight coil of buried anger.
“You’re pissed, aren’t you?” Joey said, nonchalantly, as if he’d merely popped out for cigarettes and a beer. “Really pissed.”
“Yes, Joey, I am,” she said, removing her tortoiseshell glasses and staring at him bitterly. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Guess you must have wondered what happened to me,” he mumbled.
“Yes, I wondered—about you and about my money.”
“Oh, yeah, your money,” he said, groping in the pocket of his weathered leather jacket and producing a packet of hundred-dollar bills neatly held by a rubber band. “Here’s three thou. I’ll get the rest to you in a coupla weeks.”
She couldn’t believe he was returning her money. It wasn’t all of it, but three thousand dollars was a start, and more than she’d ever expected to see again. She continued staring at him. Six years had done him nothing but favors—he was more handsome than ever. His hair, thick and black, touched the back of his collar—too long, but it didn’t matter. His body was nicely muscled, and she could detect a washboard stomach. He had grown into a man, with knowing black eyes, full, sensual lips and a smile that would melt stronger women than she. She remembered that smile. She also remembered his cock, even though she tried not to. Perfect. Like the rest of him.
Shame he was a thieving sonofabitch.
“What do you want?” she repeated, keeping her voice on the hard side, knowing time had not been as good to her as it had to him. Her reddish hair was flecked with gray. Lines and wrinkles abounded. And she’d put on fifteen pounds of disgusting fat.
“Here’s the thing,” Joey said, fixing her with his intense eyes, seeing right through her. “Before I took off, you’d gotten me two movie roles.”
“That’s right,” she said coldly. “Your career was just about to happen. You ran out on that, too.”
“Somethin’ went down that was outta my control,” he said restlessly.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for an explanation. “I don’t care, Joey,” she said, shuffling a stack of papers on her messy desk. “If you return the rest of my money, we’ll leave it at that.” She paused a moment, remembering the first time he’d walked into her office—a cocky kid from the Midwest, with way too much attitude. She’d seen the potential and decided to help him. There’d followed eight months of craziness and great sex. Eight months she’d never forget.
“I didn’t go to the police,” she said slowly, “even though it’s what I should’ve done.”
He nodded, his face sincere, the faint stubble on his chin adding to his sexy look. “Y’know, Maddy,” he said, “I wouldn’t’ve taken your cash unless it was an emergency.”
She was silent. How many times could she ask him what he wanted from her now? Obviously it wasn’t money.
He broke the silence, placing his hands on her desk. Long, artistic fingers, pianist’s fingers. She noticed his nails were manicured, which surprised her, considering Joey had always favored the macho look. “I need to get back into the business,” he said. “An’ you’re the person can do it for me.”
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Here’s what I’d like,” he continued. “Another movie. Not TV. I’m not into TV. Fuck that ER shit. I gotta be back on the big screen.”
Well, nobody ever said he didn’t have nerve, Madelaine thought. But surely he didn’t expect her to resurrect a career he’d run out on?
“Joey,” she said, deliberately pacing her words, watching his face as she spoke. “You blew your career, such as it was. You had your shot and you ran.”
“No fuckin’ way!” he shouted, banging his fist on her desk, his dark eyes clouding over. “Don’t you get it? If you did it for me once, you can do it again.”
She felt a moment of pure satisfaction. “I have a reputation to uphold,” Madelaine said. “And I am not about to ruin it by sending you up for anything.”
“That’s bullshit,” he muttered.
“You’re unreliable,” she continued, quite enjoying putting him down. “And worse than that—you’re a thief. No, Joey,” she continued, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I can’t recommend you to anyone, so do yourself a big favor and get out.”
She waited for his anger to deepen, remembering his sometimes violent temper. But this time she wasn’t frightened. Besides, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her in her office.
Instead of more anger, he went the other way. Little boy lost. So handsome and alone. She’d never been able to resist that, and he knew it. Joey could turn it on like nobody else.
“Okay, I get it,” he said, pushing his hand through his thick hair. “I’m like yesterday’s news. Nobody’ll hire me. Guess I may as well go back to drivin’ a cab.” He got up and went to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Can I buy you dinner? Try to explain what happened. I owe you that.” His intense eyes tracked her from across the room. “Can I, Maddy?”
She was well aware that, if she accepted, she’d look like a pathetic old fool . . .
It didn’t matter, because there was no way she could resist.
• •
Joey knew exactly what he was doing, every move thought out way ahead. Dinner at a small Italian restaurant; a bottle of house red wine—three quarters of it drunk by Madelaine, who didn’t realize he wasn’t keeping up. Intimate conversation, mostly about how much he’d missed her, and how great he thought she looked.
Lies, lies, but what did she care? By the time they took a cab back to her apartment on Sixty-sixth Street, she was feeling sexy and womanly and very horny. Joey had fed her some story about a sick aunt in Montana and a family business he’d had to single-handedly save. She didn’t believe him, but so what? He was paying her more attention than anyone had shown her in six years, and she desperately wanted him to make love to her.
Joey didn’t disappoint. His lovemaking was even better than she remembered. Prolonged foreplay; leisurely oral sex; and then long, steady penetration until she cried out in a torrent of ecstasy.
She didn’t feel over fifty and fifteen pounds overweight. Joey made her feel like a beautiful, desirable woman.
He stayed overnight, making love to her again in the morning, his hard body pressing her flesh in the most incredibly exciting way. She knew she was hooked again. One night of lust made up for six years of anger.
“Why didn’t you call me? At least let me know where you were?” she asked plaintively, her fingers trailing up and down his smoothly muscled back.
“I’m here now,” he responded. “Isn’t it enough that I came back?” And his lips pressed down on hers, weakening her crumbling resistance until it ceased to exist.
Two days later he moved back in. A few days after that she asked him to drop by her office.
“I’m sending you up for a small role you could be right for,” she told him. “If you get it, that’ll be a start in the right direction.”
“You’re the best, Maddy,” he said, smiling the irresistible Joey smile.
And she knew she was probably being used, but somehow—once again—it didn’t matter.