One afternoon as Jennifer was leaving the courthouse, she noticed a large, black, chauffeured Cadillac limousine at the curb. As she started to walk past it, Michael Moretti stepped out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Close up, there was an electric vitality to the man that was almost overpowering.
“Get out of my way,” Jennifer said. Her face was flushed and angry, and she was even more beautiful than Michael Moretti had remembered.
“Hey,” he laughed, “cool down. All I want to do is talk to you. All you have to do is listen. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“You’ll never have enough money.”
She started to move past him. Michael Moretti put a conciliatory hand on her arm. Just touching her increased his excitement.
He turned on all of his charm. “Be reasonable. You won’t know what you’re turning down until you hear what I have to say. Ten minutes. That’s all I want. I’ll drop you off at your office. We can talk on the way.”
Jennifer studied him a moment and said, “I’ll go with you on one condition. I want the answer to a question.”
Michael nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Whose idea was it to frame me with the dead canary?”
He answered without hesitation. “Mine.”
So now she knew. And she could have killed him. Grimly she stepped into the limousine and Michael Moretti moved in beside her. Jennifer noted that he gave the driver the address of her office building without asking.
As the limousine drove off, Michael Moretti said, “I’m glad about all the great things that are happening to you.”
Jennifer did not bother to reply.
“I really mean that.”
“You haven’t told me what it is you want.”
“I want to make you rich.”
“Thanks. I’m rich enough.” Her voice was filled with the contempt she felt toward him.
Michael Moretti’s face flushed. “I’m trying to do you a favor and you keep fighting me.”
Jennifer turned to look at him. “I don’t want any favors from you.”
He made his voice conciliatory. “Okay. Maybe I’m trying to make up a little for what I did to you. Look, I can send you a lot of clients. Important clients. Big money. You have no idea—”
Jennifer interrupted. “Mr. Moretti, do us both a favor. Don’t say another word.”
“But I can—”
“I don’t want to represent you or any of your friends.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I represented one of you, from then on you’d own me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Michael protested. “My friends are in legitimate businesses. I mean banks, insurance companies—”
“Save your breath. My services aren’t available to the Mafia.”
“Who said anything about the Mafia?”
“Call it whatever you like. No one owns me but me. I intend to keep it that way.”
The limousine stopped for a red light.
Jennifer said, “This is close enough. Thank you for the lift.” She opened the door and stepped out.
Michael said, “When can I see you again?”
“Not ever, Mr. Moretti.”
Michael watched her walk away.
My God, he thought, that’s a woman! He suddenly became aware that he had an erection and smiled, because he knew that one way or another, he was going to have her.
23
It was the end of October, two weeks before the election, and the senatorial race was in full swing. Adam was running against the incumbent Senator John Trowbridge, a veteran politician, and the experts agreed it was going to be a close battle.
Jennifer sat at home one night, watching Adam and his opponent in a television debate. Mary Beth had been right. A divorce now could easily have wrecked Adam’s growing chances for victory.
When Jennifer walked into the office after a long business lunch, there was an urgent message for her to call Rick Arlen.
“He’s called three times in the last half-hour,” Cynthia said.
Rick Arlen was a rock star who had, almost overnight, become the hottest singer in the world. Jennifer had heard about the enormous incomes of rock stars, but until she got involved with Rick Arlen’s affairs, she had had no idea what that really meant. From records, personal appearances, merchandising and now motion pictures, Rick Arlen’s income was more than fifteen million dollars a year. Rick was twenty-five years old, an Alabama farm boy who had been born with a gold mine in his throat.
“Get him for me,” Jennifer said.
Five minutes later he was on the line. “Hey, man, I’ve been tryin’ to reach you for hours.”
“Sorry, Rick. I was in a meeting.”
“Problem. Gotta see you.”
“Can you come in to the office this afternoon?”
“I don’t think so. I’m in Monte Carlo, doin’ a benefit for Grace