At the door a woman gave the two of them releases to sign, explaining it was being taped for television. Jacqui signed her name on the sheet without bothering to read it. This wasn't the first time she'd had to sign a release at a party--some cable station or another always seemed to be taping something in the Hamptons. Rupert did the same and gave her his hand as they entered the party.
It was wild. Massive. This was partying on a grand scale. Hundreds of sweaty guests danced under a throbbing laser light show. A two-story-high ice sculpture of a vodka bottle melted in the middle of the fountain. The swimming pool had been turned into a massive grotto. Cocktail waitresses in corsets and tiny boy- shorts handed out free packs of cigarettes.
"Wow," Jacqui said. "Where's Sting?"
"Sting?" Rupert laughed. "I told you D.J.--oh never mind. Let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?"
Roaming camera crews dressed in CHICKS GO CRAZY! hats and logo T-shirts cajoled guests to flash their ta-tas to the cameras. Wait a second. Jacqui had seen these videos advertised on E! once when she was watching that disgusting pig Howard Stone, or whatever his name was.
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"What about you?" a bearded, potbellied man asked Jacqui.
"No, no thanks." She smiled, feeling uncomfortable. It wasn't quite the star-studded event Rupert had led her to believe she was attending. Where were all the big names? Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz? Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Catrall? Or at the very least, Tara Reid and Paris Hilton? It wasn't an elegant A-list bash. In fact, most of the guests were cheesy guys in shiny shirts and polyester pants, and most of the women were overly tanned, silicone enhanced, and wearing cheap spandex dresses.
"Uh, I think I'll just get a drink," she said.
"Good idea," Rupert agreed, licking his lips.
Rupert kept refilling her glass even when it wasn't empty, so she wasn't even sure how many drinks she had. In her growing anxiety Jacqui drank a lot more than she had intended. The piercing light of a filming camera suddenly flashed onto Jacqui. She squinted to see several hefty bodyguards and camera crews standing at the doorway.
The twenty-eight-year-old topless-video entrepreneur who was throwing the party took a bullhorn. "It's that time of the night, ladies and gentlemen. Any woman who isn't naked in five minutes better leave now."
"What?" Jacqui said.
Rupert grinned. "Oh c'mon. It's no big deal. Everyone knows these parties always end this way."
"I didn't!"
"Hey, you signed the waiver at the door. Cmon, let's have a little
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fun," Rupert said, reaching over to pull down the straps of her shirt. "Wait! Wait!" Jacqui said, pushing his hand away.
Rupert scowled. "What's the matter?" he asked. "I show you a good time, I take you to dinner and the Maidstone, and this is how you thank me? C'mon, I just want to have a little fun," he said, keeping his hand on her breast with a little too much force.
"Of course we're going to have fun," Jacqui said, her mind racing. "I just need to go to the bathroom and take care of a few things." She winked, her heart pounding.
All around them women were stripping down and shaking their breasts for the cameras. It wasn't a fun, careless goof like Mara and Ryan skinny-dipping in the pool. This was business. This was frightening. This was not what she bargained for when she said she'd like to see Sting play a private concert.
"I'll wait right here," Rupert drawled.
Jacqui stood unsteadily on her feet. "I'll be right back," she promised.
It was four in the morning and she was in the middle of nowhere. She didn't have money for a cab, and she didn't even know where she would call for one. No one at the party would take her home.
She found a phone in the hallway and dialed the first number that came to mind.
"Luca! It's me--I really need your help!"
"Who is this?" a sleepy female voice demanded. "Who's calling?" "It's Jacqui. Can I talk to Luca?"
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"He's sleeping right now. What's this about?" the suspicious voice asked.
No use. Jacqui dialed another number.