“…Police were called to Manhattan hot spot, Deuces, after several shots were fired. Authorities discovered the body of a fifty-something unidentified white male in the nightclub. The club’s owner, reported underworld crime boss, Paul Mazzarini, has since been arrested for murder. One of the club-goers, supermodel, Kitty McClarren, was captured by paparazzi exiting the club. Authorities have not stated what role, if any, McClarren played in the crime.”
Kitty’s eyes grew large as pizza pans as she watched the video footage from the previous evening; she appeared nervous, with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. At least I look good, she thought, while admiring her bouncy locks on TV. But how embarrassing! Getting mixed up in such a violent, unsavory incident wasn’t exactly high on her list of things to do. She had always prided herself on being one of the few supermodels who had managed to avoid scandal, yet there she was, on Channel 7 news, in connection with murder. Such an awful way to start the day.
She took a taxi home and cleaned herself up.
Kitty answered her Smartphone.
“Kitty!” The voice on the other line, though female, was gravelly and deep.
“Hi, Clarissa,” Kitty said to her agent. “What’s new?”
“I just saw you on the news,” barked Clarissa. “What the fuck is all this about?”
Kitty sighed. “It’s not really as big a deal as you think, Clarissa.”
“Well, maybe not to you, but the VP of Trixie just called me. He saw you on the news and is none too happy.” Trixie was a national makeup line catering to teenage girls; Kitty had been their spokesmodel since the summer.
“Clarissa, chill, will you? Listen, I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know what happened, I just–”
“Don’t associate with trash, Kitty. Just don’t. Trixie is a multi-million dollar contract and I don’t want anything mucking it up. Shit, my other line is ringing, gotta go.”
Kitty rolled her eyes. What a buzz kill, that Clarissa. A text came through just as she set her phone down.
Hey, it’s Bobby. So sorry about last night. Let me take you out to dinner and make it up to you. Hakkasan at 8 PM?
Kitty smiled and texted back: It’s on.
“Thanks for making it on such short notice,” Bobby grinned. He looked her up and down and nodded appreciatively. “Aren’t you a dish. Per usual.”
“Why, thank you,” cooed Kitty. She draped her napkin across her lap. “But if I had any sense at all, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because you’re trouble, that’s why. I know it and you know it.”
“Then why did you bother coming if I’m so bad for you?”
“You know girls are attracted to a little mystery. And I guess I’m a attracted to trouble.”
“You’ve got a wild streak in you. One of the many things I like about you.” Bobby sipped his extra dry martini. “You try to bury it but it’s pretty obvious. So about last night…look, I can’t go into it, but my sincerest apologies for dragging you into that mess.”
“What happened? I heard on the news that Paul Mazzarini was arrested for murder,” Kitty said.
“Yeah, Pauly’s in some trouble, but like I said, it’s nothing I can discuss. Can’t talk about any of it, I only brought it up to say I’m sorry and hope you give me another shot.”
“Yeah, well, here we are. Second shot.”
“Second shot,” repeated Bobby. He stared at Kitty with such intensity, she could feel herself once again blushing.
This boy has me a mess! She anxiously slugged her Perrier Jouet.
Two hours later, they found themselves at Bobby’s Upper East Side high rise. Feeling warm and frisky from the champagne, Kitty didn’t resist his advances. In no time, they found themselves in bed.
“That was incredible,” Kitty breathed afterward.
“You’re incredible.” Bobby lightly ran his hands against her naked flesh. “I wish I could see you again tomorrow.”
“Who says you can’t?” Kitty said. “I have a shoot at noon but I’m free at night.”
“Gotta go out of town tomorrow, unfortunately,” he said. “Business.”
“Too bad. What kind of business?”
Bobby’s serious expression made Kitty decide not to press the subject. And she felt far too euphoric to bother with details.
“I’m gonna have to miss the birthday celebration my mother is throwing, which kills me,” continued Bobby, “but I have no choice. Gotta get out of town. Not sure when I’ll be back but I definitely want to see you again soon–real soon. Kitty…”
“You’re different…you’re special, you know that? I can trust you. I knew that immediately.”
“You can definitely trust me.” She added with a smile, “Can I trust you?”
“Hey, who do you think you’re talking to? Of course you can trust me.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, what is it?”
Bobby grabbed a manila envelope off the nightstand. “I need you to drop this off for me.”
“I can’t go into details, it’s confidential. No hard feelings if you don’t want to but I could use your help. Can you drop this off with a friend of mine tomorrow? Upper West Side.”
Kitty stared at the over-stuffed envelope and carefully considered the question.