Beautiful Disaster (4 page)

From: Max

My sister’s in a coma. If she dies, so do you.

2:31 am 4/09/06

M
ax had never been so serious about anything in his life. If Shoshanna didn’t pull through, then he stood ready to kill Vlad Singer.

The little bastard was famous for his chemistry skills in creating new and potent club drugs. Seeing the punk chatting up Sho at Tar Beach had filled Max with a worst-case fear. And right now he was living it.

Nobody had seen or heard from the MIT lab rat since Shoshanna collapsed. Max was calling everyone he knew—and even those that he didn’t—following up on any lead, no matter how vague, desperately trying to locate him. Vlad was the only son of a bitch who knew the name and chemistry of the drug that had Sho fighting for her life.

Max sat in the hospital, a tight grip on his Sidekick II. He was practically willing the device to vibrate. Deep down, he yearned for a connection. Shit.
Any
voice would do right now. That included his father’s.

Max hated waiting.
For anything
. It sucked. Especially for a guy who spent his entire life making other people wait. But there was a first time for everything. So this must be karma kicking Max Biaggi Jr. in the ass.

His Sidekick II rumbled. He glanced down to see
DANTE CALLING
on the screen. God, it seemed like their stupid argument at Tar Beach had happened weeks ago, yet it was only a few hours old. “Hey, man.” Max’s voice quivered.

“Dude, I just heard what went down. Where are you?”

“NYU Medical Center. Sho’s in a coma.”

Dante breathed a sigh of tempered relief. “Jesus, the cop said she OD’d. I thought she was dead.”

Max choked up, rolling his body inward to control the convulsive sobs.

“Dude, she’s going to pull out of this,” Dante assured him. “Sho’s a tough little girl.”

“It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let her come to New York with me.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, man. You’re not to blame.”

Max heard the voice of his mother hiss inside his mind.

Where were you when your sister was doing drugs? Chasing some slut?

“I should’ve had that shitdick thrown out when I first saw him. I knew Vlad Singer was trouble. I
knew
it!”

“Sho’s probably still alive because you
didn’t
throw him out,” Dante countered. “Think about it, man. She would’ve followed his ass straight out the door just to prove a point. He would’ve given her the same drugs, too. Only that punk probably would’ve freaked and just left her somewhere. But you were there, dude. You knew what to do. You saved her life.”

Max allowed the words of support to sink in. It felt so good to hear them. After a few beats of silence, he finally spoke. “For now maybe.”

“Mark my words. It won’t be long before Sho’s talking so much shit that you’ll wish she was back in a coma.”

Max laughed a little. “Thanks, man. I needed this. You know, for a maid’s kid, you’re not so bad.”

Dante chuckled. “And as far as trust-fund twats go, I’ve met worse dudes than you.”

Max cracked a smile. “This conversation is beginning to sound gay.”

“Then let’s just get it over with,” Dante teased. “If you say ‘I love you’ first, I’ll say it back.”

“We’re in New York,” Max cracked. “Not on Broke-back Mountain. Hey, is Vanity with you?” A memory flashed. “Hold up—didn’t you send me a text about trying to find her?”

Dante hesitated. “She’s MIA right now. But as soon as I connect with her, we’ll come to the hospital. Don’t worry about it. You just hang in there.”

Max started to reply, then stopped once he saw Dr. Elizabeth Tang walking toward him. “Okay, man,” he murmured distantly, hanging up.

“Your sister’s condition has improved,” Dr. Tang announced crisply and without preamble. “She’s out of the coma and in recovery now.”

Max’s heart soared. Overcome with emotion, he closed his eyes, as if to seal in the most critical moment of his life so far.
Sho was okay
.

“I’ve seen cases like this before,” Dr. Tang went on. “There’s not much hope that the toxicology screen will tell us anything about the actual substance and dosage that caused her to end up here.” She paused a beat to level a harsh look. “Club drugs are insidious that way.”

“I don’t know what she took,” Max said, feeling judged and under attack. “If I did, don’t you think I’d come clean? She’s my sister.”

“And you’re lucky to be using the present tense when you talk about her,” Dr. Tang admonished.

“What’s your problem with me?” Max asked hotly. “I realize how serious this is, but I’m not responsible for it.”

Dr. Tang stared back impassively. “Maybe I’ve just seen too many cases like this—young and smart rich kids playing Russian roulette with drugs they know nothing about. A trip to the emergency room should be a final warning, but for most of you, it’s nothing more than an interruption of the party.”

“Don’t hold it in, Doc. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I think I just did,” Dr. Tang shot back. “The plot for teenagers like you is pretty easy to follow.” One beat. “Sort of like your father’s dumb movies. I hope you approach this as a wake-up call.” She started to walk away.

“When can I see her?” Max called out.

Dr. Tang halted. “We’re getting her started on fluids for an electrolyte imbalance. It won’t be much longer. One of the nurses will let you know when it’s time.” And then she was gone.

Max stood there, replaying the exchange, wondering if the bitch doctor might be right. At the end of the day, would he treat this as a real life lesson…or just another dodged bullet?

Pippa sat on the Boeing 737 as it made the descent into Miami, trying to think of just one man in her life who hadn’t—eventually—revealed himself to be a lying, cheating shitbag.

Drummond Keith, her very own father, with his closeted homosexuality, drug addictions, and incompetent business dealings hardly qualified as an exception.

The same could be said for Hugh Somerset, father of Annabelle, her best mate back in London. On a weekend sleepover, Pippa once caught him peeking at her while she bathed. And even after she screamed upon discovering him, the bloody perv didn’t stop polishing his knob. Vile!

Tonight she could add Max Biaggi to the list. And Vinnie Rossetti, too. The manager of Cheetah cozied up to her at the club, calling her his “favorite girl” and his “golden pussy.” Then he turned around and pimped her out on a rape date like some street hooker. Low-rent mobster pig!

Pippa stewed in a minicauldron of hurt and rage.
Men
. They thought they could just use her for their own selfish needs. But now maybe it was Pippa’s turn to use
them
.

Throughout her life, men had conditioned Pippa to think of herself in second-class terms. She had waited around for any sign that her daddy loved her. She had kept the dirty secret of her best friend’s father. She had followed Vinnie’s instructions to the letter, aiming to please, coveting the favorite-girl slot. And she had allowed Max Biaggi to fool her into thinking that tonight was something more than it was.

But it was time for a new order. Why be used when she could be the user? Why be the victim when she could be the victor? A plan began to percolate in her mind. It would take balls of steel to pull off, but she had them. Tonight a man had fucked with Pippa Keith for the last time. And she was going to make Max Biaggi pay the symbolic price for every bastard who had ever wronged her.

He slumped in the leather chair opposite her, avoiding eye contact, knocking back another hard drink, looking generally pissed off.

Pippa studied him intently. Bit by bit, she could feel her heart calcify as she put the ugly facts together.

She had built him up as this larger-than-life, perfect creature—an iconic big-screen action hero, a misunderstood father, a truly amazing man. And yet the whole time she was nothing more than a whore to him.

The pathetic fantasy had been constructed in her wounded little-girl mind. He was the prince. She was the princess. He would save her from the burning castle, marry her, and together they would live out the ultimate Hollywood dream. But the cold reality was that even a kiss on the lips was out of the question. That’s how much he disrespected her.

Pippa’s mind raced with the dark revenge fantasy, summing it up, sorting it out. Max Biaggi probably expected her to slink away like a stupid, weak-willed disposable slut, the kind of girl so beaten down emotionally and spiritually that she believed her only real value was her body. Too bad the bastard was about to be
very
disappointed.

“I want a trust fund,” Pippa announced. Her tone was defiant and matter-of-fact.

“Oh yeah? Well, I want an Oscar. Good luck to both of us.” Max Biaggi sneered, draining the last swallow of dark liquor from his crystal highballer. He poured another.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He didn’t bother to look in her direction.

Pippa reflected on Max Junior and all of his flashy material possessions, not to mention the eight-figure nest egg that would help secure any future that he chose to seek out. “As I understand it, your son’s trust stands at fifty-one-point-two million.”

Max Biaggi glanced up, alarmed by her intimate knowledge of the family numbers.

Pippa challenged him with her gaze. “I’m only asking for a fraction of that…say…one million.”

He raised his glass, giving her a fuck-you grin. “Sure, baby, sure. I’ll put a check in the mail.”

The superjet’s wheels touched down on the tarmac, and Pippa waited for the plane to glide to a smooth stop before unfastening her seat belt and leaning forward to deliver the hammer blow. “Underestimating how serious I am could be very hazardous to your image. It might even impact future career earnings. So all things considered, I’d say you’re getting off pretty cheap.” She stood up.

Max Biaggi lurched to his feet, grabbed her upper arm, and squeezed so tight that she cried out in agony. “Do you actually think you can blackmail me, bitch?”

Pippa twisted out of his grasp and beamed back a look of daring comeuppance. “Don’t be so negative. Approach it as a business arrangement—my confidentiality for your generosity.”

“You’ll be lucky to get a ride back to the club.”

Pippa iced him down with a bring-it-on glare. She wasn’t afraid anymore. If anything, he would be wise to fear her now. And her body language communicated this loud and clear. “I don’t mind walking. Besides, it’ll make a damn good story when I sit down for an interview with Diane Sawyer.”

Max Biaggi narrowed his eyes, silently sizing her up.

Pippa gave him a smug look. “Or maybe it’ll be Oprah. She loves victims. And when I sink my teeth into a role, I can play it to the hilt. Ask your son. He was there when I brought the house down in
Sweet Charity
.”

“I’m not going to let some teenage whore extort me!”

“Careful, dear,” Pippa trilled in a singsong voice. “This isn’t a negotiation. It’s an offer. And if you reject it, the next deal on the table might be for two million.”

Max Biaggi’s face turned red with fury, and his dark eyes practically bulged from their sockets.

The flight attendant who’d been banished to the service cabin upon takeoff emerged to assist them with de-planing.

“This must be so frustrating for a bloke like you,” Pippa whispered teasingly. “Such an expensive piece of ass. And you didn’t even get the chance to enjoy it.” She slipped past him, acknowledging the attendant and breathing in the gorgeous Miami night/morning as she carefully negotiated the stairs in her nosebleed Manolos.

The same white limousine and driver were waiting on the runway.

Max Biaggi came bounding down and intercepted her on the last step. “Do you really think you can take me on?” He was mere inches from her face, doing his best menacing rich-man act.

“You had a plan for how things would go tonight, but you’re still horny and about to be a million dollars poorer. I’m not only taking you on, Mr. Movie Star, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”

“You’ve already done it,” Pippa replied. “That’s why you’re going to pay me the million.” One beat. “Not a single word of this to Vinnie. As far as he’s concerned, I’m still of legal age, and you had a great time.” She started for the limousine, then stopped and spun around. “I’m going home to take time- and date-stamped photographs of my bruises, and then I’m going to write in my journal about everything you said and did to me so that detail and nuance is on my side. Have your lawyer draw up a contract formalizing our agreement. I’ll be hiring my own attorney to protect my interests and manage the trust.”

Max Biaggi’s lips parted in surprise. The impression lingered that the mind of a teenage girl with a fake ID wasn’t supposed to work with such ball-crunching shrewdness.

“By the way,” Pippa added, “I don’t think the limo is big enough for both of us. Have the driver take me to my car at the club. He can come back for you later.” With that, she slipped into the cabin and waited to be whisked away from the private airstrip.

She thought about Vinnie on the drive to Cheetah. He was so working class, possessing all the sophistication of an ape, a total chav for sure. But unlike Max Biaggi, who feared negative media headlines like paranoid schizophrenics feared alien abductions, Vinnie Rossetti fancied himself a Gold Coast Tony Soprano. Basically,
nothing
scared the goomba. He was tough guy personified.

For weeks, rumors had been swirling among dancers at the club about Ashley, Vinnie’s former number one stage girl who had left him to strip at Scores. She openly recruited other Cheetah girls to do the same until she ended up in the hospital with beating injuries so brutal that she would be lucky to ever dance again. The official story was an attempted carjacking, but everybody knew that Vinnie had arranged the attack.

Pippa knew the smart way to handle Vinnie. And that was very carefully. If he ever discovered that she was underage and jeopardizing the doors to the club staying open…well, God, she didn’t even want to ponder the outcome.

Suddenly, Pippa felt a knot of emotion in her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. She longed to reach out for someone. Instantly, Max popped into mind. Her darling Max. So comforting in his funny, naughty way. Pippa experienced a stab of sadness as she came to grips with the fact that nothing would ever be the same between them.