Rock Star by Jackie Collins

pleased. ‘Very well. I’ll phone you in an hour.’
    She had an hour’s grace. An hour to unpack, soak in a long hot tub, lie on the bed and chain-smoke while flicking the channels on American television.
    She found herself on MTV. Rafealla, doing what she did best. Looking sultry and moody, her long dark hair a lush curtain framing an exquisite face. Her smoky voice evoking erotic thoughts in all who heard it.
    Rafealla.
    Sophisticated.
    Worldly.
    Knowledgeable.
    Sensual.
    What a phoney! She hadn’t been to bed with anyone for a year.
    Career first.
    Life second.
    Her choice.
    Dear Marcus Citroen, make me a star and I will be yours.
    Well, he had kept his part of the bargain, and now the day of reckoning was here.
    She was surprised she’d managed to keep him waiting so long.
    *    *    *
    The girl behind the desk at the car-hire company studied the papers Speed handed her with a blank stare, as rhythmically her jaw decimated a piece of chewing gum.
    ‘The grey Cadillac limousine,’ Speed repeated patiently. ‘I took it out last Saturday, and the weekend before that.’
    Without saying a word she picked up a pen, scrawled authorization on the hire form, reached for the phone and mumbled, ‘Dan, grey Caddy limo.’ Then she nodded at a side door. ‘Pick it up in the alley. How’re you payin’?’
    He fumbled for cash. She counted it out, handed him his copy of the papers, and automatically mumbled, ‘Have a nice day.’
    ‘I will,’ he replied with a quick wink, knowing she probably thought he looked pretty ritzy in his smart grey chauffeur’s uniform with the jaunty peaked cap.
    Could he help it if women loved him? Even his ex-wife wanted to give him a roll every time he visited her – which, he had to admit, wasn’t often, on account of her residing in Las Vegas, a town he tried to stay away from, because every time he went back there he either got married or gambled away every last cent he possessed.
    Jeeze! Tits and gambling. His two passions.
    A mechanic brought the Cadillac around, and Speed climbed inside. He loved the smell of an expensive car. Once, he’d done a stint as private chauffeur to a rich Pasadena couple. The woman used to arrange for her maid to place a dozen white roses in the car every day. What an aroma! He’d fucked the maid, enjoyed the roses, and left after three months. Legitimate work was boring.
    The Cadillac handled nicely. And so it should. On the two weekends he’d taken it out he’d given it plenty of tender loving care. Under the hood throbbed an engine hot to trot. When Speed tinkered with an engine, miracles happened. It wasn’t that much different from handling a woman. A little delicate finger action; some rubbing and dipping and smearing on of lubricant. Searching for just the right spot to make that sucker purr.
    Speed chuckled to himself. Today was going to be easy. All he had to do was be in the right spot at the right time. And then fly.
    For ten grand he could manage that.
    *    *    *
    The smell of bacon woke him before Sara did, and Bobby Mondella lay on the bed lost in his own private world of darkness. Sometimes he got panic attacks, other times he was quiet and in complete control. Sara helped. She was always there for him, and suddenly he desired her with a force that surprised him.
    He heard her walk into the room with that special step he would recognize anywhere.
    ‘One bacon sandwich, one alarm call comin’ up,’ she said cheerfully.
    ‘Come over here, woman,’ he said, his voice thick with desire.
    She didn’t need asking twice. Sara knew everything Bobby wanted, sometimes before he knew it himself. Placing the tray on a table, she went to him willingly.
    His arms reached up, pulling her onto the bed beside him.
    She lay very still, her heart beating fast with the anticipation of what was to come, for Bobby Mondella was the greatest lover in the world.
    Slowly he began to feel her body through the clothes she wore. Lightly his