Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (11 page)

The double date had brought them to San Juan earlier that afternoon. The limo delivered him, Tammy, Chris and Alison to a posh hotel in the Condado district, which boasted multiple bars and a large casino that were busy even in the daytime. They were wined and dined, then escorted upstairs for makeup and wardrobe. Vlad’s limbs and eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the stylists’ conversation. One of the women cracked her gum as she spoke. He was jolted awake as someone pinched his upper arm. “Hey, did you hear me?”

“Huh? What?” A bright light shone down, momentarily blinding him.

Gum-crack girl gave an annoyed sigh. “I
said
, Cody’s on his way up to talk to you.”

“He’s in San Juan? He didn’t come with us.”

“They flew in from the resort yesterday to shoot some promos.” She packed up her makeup case, then went to the desk and scribbled something on a small pad of paper. She tore it off and handed it to Vlad. It was her name and phone number. “Give him this. If he wants some action tonight, I’m free. Same goes for you.” She left with a wink and a smile. “I’m always up for a three-way.”

Just like home.

When the stylists were gone, Vlad gazed in the mirror. He looked swarthy and threatening. Subtle shadows around his eyes added to the dark effect. His white shirt, like all the clothes he wore on camera, fit tight and showed plenty of skin. He touched the bare place below his throat where his crucifix usually lay. The necklace had not passed production approval. Concerns about tan lines, they had said. More likely, it didn’t fit his image as the show villain. At least, that is what he suspected his role here was. Several times, they had told him to try to sound more Russian. He didn’t doubt the interview in which he had stupidly mentioned his mom’s murder would appear in an upcoming episode.

Again, he wondered why the hell he had signed on for this.

Two hundred and fifty grand and a new life, that’s why.

DeWylde arrived a few minutes later. Vlad didn’t like him, and sensed the feeling was mutual. Maybe the host didn’t like Russians in general. He wouldn’t be the first person Vlad had met who felt that way. Or, he’d connected Vlad to Uncle Ivan, who coached deWylde’s ex-skating partner and her Russian husband, the guy who’d punched him out on live TV.

The
Last Fling
host’s gaze took in the king-size bed, zebra-striped furniture, stocked mini-bar and big screen TV. “This is the life, isn’t it? Deluxe accommodations, beautiful women ready to cater to your every whim. Everything you could want to live like a king.” From his pocket, he drew out a tiny glass vial of white powder and wagged it back and forth in the air.

“No thank you,” Vlad said, coldly.

“Really? I’d pegged you as a connoisseur.” He took a seat on the leather couch and placed the vial on the table. “I’ll leave it out in case you change your mind.”

Vlad suppressed a shudder. The International Review’s tour managers had used drugs to keep the performers dependent. “I won’t.”

He shrugged and returned the vial to his pocket. “I suppose you do have to keep your nose clean. You wouldn’t want Senator Miller’s wife to regret her assistance.”

The name caused Vlad to blink in surprise.

Cody chuckled. “Didn’t think we knew about that, did you? Our research is thorough, my man, very thorough. In reality TV, we like to know who we’re in bed with, so to speak. That way, when the plot stalls, we can always toss in a little raw meat to liven things up. By the way, how is dear Uncle Ivan?”

Fuck. Just hearing deWylde say his uncle’s name made him feel violated. “We haven’t talked in seven years. I don’t even know where he is.”

“We do. Think he’d want to guest star in an upcoming episode? A surprise reunion with his prodigal nephew?” Vlad’s stomach churned, though he kept a poker face. DeWylde grinned. “Well, as long as you’re willing to help us make good TV, we won’t have to resort to anything...unpleasant.”

Vlad was more willing than ever. “What do you want from me?”

“So glad you asked. You do know that you’re the front-runner in this horse race. Though the Aussie is a contender, you’re way ahead of the delivery man/soccer player crowd. That gives you leverage, Vlad the Bad. Tonight, your job is to get Tammy talking about her sister.”

“What about her?”

“The night Tammy came to The Male Room, it was to celebrate lil’ sis’s engagement to a guy Tammy had dated for three years. Definitely a tough break for our girl, and she’s still not over it. Chris was waiting in the wings ready to clean up the mess, but like any rebound guy he still isn’t sure where he stands. As you can see, it’s a sensitive topic for everyone concerned.”

“Then why would they want to talk about it?”

“They won’t. But you will.”

With Cody’s marching orders ringing in his ears, Vlad took the elevator down to meet the woman he must simultaneously embarrass and seduce. Tammy waited in the lobby, along with a camera crew. She had on a short pink dress with lace edging the plunging neckline, and stiletto heels. The baby-doll style might have worked in the bedroom, but not as date attire for a big woman with generous ink. But he was here to create mayhem, not judge fashion. He kissed Tammy’s cheek. “Hey there, sexy lady.”

“Hey there yourself, Vlad the Bad.”

He presented the large flower the production people had given him in the elevator. Tammy dipped her nose in the fluffy bloom, and then tucked it behind her ear. A stylist rushed to secure it. A few moments later, Chris arrived with Alison Michaels. Alison also wore a clingy, revealing dress, but looked much better in hers.

She clung to Chris’s arm, openly sizing up Tammy. Tammy’s body stiffened and a pinch appeared between her thin-plucked brows. Apparently deciding she had little competition, Alison’s pretty lips curved into a camera-ready smirk.

Conscious of the cameras, and the palpable tension, Vlad moved closer and nuzzled Tammy’s neck. “Baby, you look so hot, I could skip dinner and go back upstairs and have you.”

Chris glared. “Watch your mouth around my lady, asshole.”

Vlad responded with a mocking grin. “Sure she’s your lady?”

The big guy balled a fist. “What did you say?”

Tammy rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Chris. Give it a rest.”

“Forget them,” Alison said, taking Chris’s hand. “This could be your lucky night.”

Their first stop was the hotel casino, where they played rounds of blackjack and roulette as cameras rolled. He and Tammy were lucky at the tables. Remarkably lucky. Chris and Alison had to content themselves with a fifty-dollar payout from a penny slot machine, which seemed to make his bad mood worse. Then the limo whisked them to a seaside dock where they boarded a sleek yacht for a private dinner cruise.

On the top deck was a table for four. Chris pulled a chair out for Alison. Tammy frowned and whispered to Vlad. “He never does that for me.” Taking the obvious hint, Vlad pulled out Tammy’s chair. A girl in a slinky black dress wheeled a cart holding a selection of rums up to the table. Tammy’s face lit up. “They brought my favorite drink, too. This night couldn’t get any better.”

Chris crossed his beefy arms across his Harley-Davidson of San Antonio T-shirt, looking furious and sad at the same time. Vlad wondered how Tammy had convinced him to come on
Last Fling
. It must have been her idea, and he took no pleasure adding to the poor guy’s torment. But a lot of money—and ensuring Uncle Ivan was kept out of this freak show—were on the line.
Sorry, dude
. Vlad licked the ice cream cone tattooed on Tammy’s upper arm. Her skin was salty and bitter from sweat and scented lotion. “I can think of some ways.”

The rum girl smiled. “We have lemon, mango, orange and coconut. Plus our Legendary Reserve, infused with raspberries and black sapote.”

“Black sapote?” Tammy said. “Is that like the tequila with the worm that makes you see visions?”

The girl laughed. “No, senorita. Black sapote is a fruit. No visions. It is hard rum, but sweet and smooth.”

“Mmm.” Tammy moved closer and traced a rhinestone-studded fingernail in the open collar of Vlad’s shirt. “That’s just how I like it. Hard, sweet and smooth.”

The first round led to three. Chris matched him drink for drink, then had another to win the challenge. Dinner came and went, unremarkable food that only served to absorb some of the alcohol. Chris and Tammy bickered; Alison kept up the femme fatale act. Vlad knew he had to drop the sister-bomb eventually, but there seemed to be ample drama without it.

His thoughts drifted to Hannah, wherever she was tonight. He hoped it was a beautiful place and she was having a better time than anyone on Team Red was having.

The red-and-gold sunset over San Juan and the caress of the balmy breeze evoked an involuntary shiver. He had performed at private parties on yachts and private islands while with the International Review, but the circumstances always tainted the beauty of the place. At least with
Last Fling
there was an end in sight. Not so with the International Review. Which was why when the senator’s wife offered to help him leave, he had accepted without thinking twice. He’d done what he’d had to do that night, and many nights since. If only he could turn back time to when he was a confused ex-skater, trying to find his way. He should have listened to his uncle and chosen the honorable path, rather than the lucrative one. He loathed to think what Uncle would call the path Vlad was walking now.

After dinner and shots of dessert liqueur, Tammy was quite drunk. Alison linked her arm through Chris’s elbow and propped her chin on his shoulder. “I want to go dancing.”

Tammy snorted. “He can’t dance to save his ass.”

Chris stuck out his lower lip. “Maybe not with you.” He turned to Alison. “We can go wherever you want, baby.”

She offered a devious smile. “I know just the place.”

The limo delivered them to a nightclub that was still quiet, as it was not yet midnight. Even so, the burly bouncer pointed to Alison, Vlad and Tammy. “You, you and you.” He smirked at Chris’s T-shirt, denim shorts and shit-kicker boots. “But not you. This is a nice club, not a motorcycle shop.”

“Ain’t a goddamn thing wrong with how I look, asshole. You got no right to tell me I can’t come in here.”

The bouncer crossed his arms and cocked his head at a sign posted by the door. “Management has the right to refuse entry.”

“Fuck this.” Chris grabbed Alison’s arm and she stumbled, trying to keep her balance.

Vlad reached out to steady her before she tripped on her towering high heels. He glared at Chris. “Watch it, man. You’ll hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” Tammy muttered, as they climbed back into the limo.

On a wild ride through narrow, winding streets, Chris and Tammy’s cold war exploded into open hostility. He and Alison sat opposite one another, silent witnesses to the drama unfolding. Then with a sudden stop that almost sent them tumbling off the seats the limo pulled up in front of a brightly lit tavern.

The place was a dive, with pool tables and graffiti on the walls. Under other circumstances, Vlad might have liked it but tonight, it seemed to have been handpicked as the setting for a drunken brawl. There was no band, just a juke and a worn patch of tile where people were dancing. Some of them looked familiar. Crewmembers from the show. Coincidence...or not?

At the bar, Tammy was quickly served a margarita large enough for four. When Chris eyed it, she sneered. “Get your own.”

There was an open table at the edge of the dance floor. How convenient. This entire scene was obviously rigged, and Vlad felt like a test subject in some twisted social experiment. Across the table, Alison met his eye. There was an anxious pinch to her brow. The femme fatale act was gone.

Tammy cast a longing look at the dance floor. “I wanna dance.”

Chris snorted. “Since when? You never wanna dance with me.”

“That’s ’cause you can’t dance for shit. Not like Vlad.” She scooted closer. “He’s the best dancer at The Male Room.”

Vlad realized he had not yet lobbed the bomb Cody assigned. Not that it was needed, the night was a shitstorm already, but he didn’t care to test deWylde’s threats to contact Ivan. He doubted it would get much worse. “And you were the hottest lady. You and your sister. Maybe sometime...you can introduce me?” He grinned seductively.

Tammy stared into her half-empty glass. He saw a lump rise and fall in her throat. “She’s married.”

“Her husband’s a lucky man.”

“He’s an asshole.” Tammy’s lip trembled.

“She used to date him, ’til she caught him fucking her sister,” Chris offered.

“She started it,” Tammy shot back, then stopped and shrugged. “Who cares? I’m over it.”

“Liar,” Chris muttered.

“Fuck you!” Tammy grasped the stem of her margarita glass, and Vlad caught her wrist before she could lob it at Chris. Sticky slush spilled over his hand.

“Forget him, baby. Let’s dance.”

A rollicking salsa tune blasted from the juke as he led her out onto the dance floor. She didn’t know how to salsa and was too drunk to follow his lead, so he gave up and let her slump against him, grinding her hips into his. After two songs, they returned to the table to find Alison alone. Tammy stumbled into her chair. “Where’s Chris? Off taking a leak?”

“I don’t know,” Alison said. “He’s been gone for a while.”

Tammy took another drink, spilling margarita down the front of her dress. “He’ll be back.”

But an hour later he wasn’t, and Tammy was close to tears. “He didn’t want to do this show, but I made him! What if he’s gone? What if he fell in the ocean and drowned? I love him!”

“Let’s go back to the hotel, so you can tell him all that,” Vlad said. He felt the camera filming over his shoulder, as Alison waved off a PA about to deliver another jumbo margarita.

“But what if he’s not there? What if I never see him again?”

“You will. We’ll help you find him.” Vlad took her arm and tried to coax Tammy to her feet.

Just then, a girl from the crew appeared tableside. It was Lisa, the gum-cracking stylist. She wagged her finger. “Hey, Vlad, come dance with me?”

“No thanks.”

“Aw, come on.” She grabbed his arm, and tugged. “Vlaaaad. You know you want to.”