One Night Stand

Secrets

"Deal?" Amber smiled and extended her hand. André looked at her hand, the long painted nails and the white palm...like an angel's.

She's no angel, André thought grimly.

"You can't keep playing me forever," he said.

"Can't I?" Amber asked with a wink. "You underestimate me, Mr. Dufort.

"No, I am well aware what you're capable of," André acknowledged with a laugh. "Deal," he extended his arm and shook her hand, holding it for a second longer than necessary, an act which made Amber raise her eyebrows at him.

André mumbled something and hurriedly left. Amber returned to her new apartment and settled down with the script.

Wait for me Sophia, she sent a silent prayer to a God she didn't believe in.

***

In a dark room in a club in Cheapside sat two men along with a heavy black woman - Joyce.

"I swear I don't know anything else!" Joyce screamed hysterically, her voice quivering. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her wrist had a few splotchy red marks on them that looked painfully like cigarette burns.

"You lived with her for four years. Are you telling me she just escaped into the dark?" One of the hooded men asked. His black sweatshirt's hood was pulled low over his face, hiding his face in the shadows. Only two pair of brilliant grey eyes twinkled from within - like an animal's about to prey on you.

His face and chest were covered with scars and tattoos. Each tattoo covered a specific scar - hiding his past. Each scar came from a fight - for name, for money. But all this was a part of his personal life, his black clothes covered them all, never exposing them to public. There was hardly anyone who could describe exactly what he looked like because no one had ever seen him well. Those who did, didn't live to tell the tale. It's said that he only removed his hood to give the person in front a full view of his face when he knew the person wasn't going to go out of the room alive.

The man's name was D.O.

Beside him sat his accomplice who was known as Scar because of the long scar running down his face, through his eyebrows all the way down his chin.

"It was so sudden!" Joyce pleaded, "She just left one fine day, not a single word about it before that morning."

Scar looked at D.O. "She had this planned, Boss."

"I know," D.O. said slowly. His voice was sharp as a razor.

"She's trying to escape," he said aloud, "We can help her with that."

"Boss," Scar said, "I last heard that she's gonna be starring in some movie. The girl's serious about leaving this life behind."

D.O. held up his hand and Scar stiffened, "No one escapes my hands. She knows too much to be let loose."

"Do you want me to get rid of her?" Scar asked.

"No," D.O. said and Joyce could almost see the smirk on his face, "Let's wait until she makes a name. And just when she's at the top of the ladder - at the peak of fame - we'll release her past."

Scar joined D.O. in his cackle.

"Four years," D.O. said thoughtfully, "Four years ago she came crying to me. An 18 year old orphan who had run away from the orphanage. Alone, starving and dirty, struggling model on the verge of anorexia. I took her in, gave her a home, meals and a job. And this is how she repays me, by running away when she knows more than half of our dealing and trade secrets."

Joyce gulped in fear. Oh Amber, what did you do? What did I do?

***

Alan Tucker was a man who was at the top of his profession - a private investigator for hire. He was used to being called by celebrities and tycoons. But he was surprised when André Felix Dufort requested an appointment with him. Most celebrity cases included wives who wanted their husbands tracked to find out if they were having an extramarital affair. But André Dufort couldn't have that problem, could he? He was the ideal man.

"Mr. Tucker," André extended his hand and Alan shook it warmly.

After the initial formalities, negotiations began.

"You understand that this is a private investigation. If it were to get out, there could be severe damage to my image and reputation," André said.

"Of course sir. Discretion is my middle name," Alan assured him.

"I want you to find out everything you can about this woman," André said and handed him a file containing a file photo of Amber White and the paper she had submitted for her auditions. Form the moment André had seen her, he knew Amber White was hiding things - bad things. If she wanted to play dirty, he would too.

"Amber White. She's my co-star in my next film and I would like to find out as much as possible about her before I agree to work alongside her. It's a work related matter," André clarified and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Of course, Sir," Alan said demurely, his face trained by his years of experience to not show a single emotion. On the inside he felt a huge storm brewing. Was THE André Dufort having an affair by any chance? He would find out soon enough.

***

A few weeks later :-

Tring tring. Tring Tring.

The phone in the Dufort Mansion kept ringing incessantly. It was ten in the morning and Dianne was busy getting her face and manicure done.

"Riya, get the phone," she ordered the maid.

"Yes Miss," Riya said and returned with the phone and placed it in the mistress’s hands.

"Is this The Dufort household?" Alan Tucker's voice came crackling through the line.

"Yes?" Dianne asked dispassionately. It was probably one of those numerous sponsors. Irritating bastards.

"Can I speak to Mr. Dufort?" Tucker asked.

"He isn't home. I can relay whatever you want to say," Dianne said and stretched her fingers so that Riya could apply the nail paint better.

"I'm Alan Tucker from Tucker Investigations. I have a full report on the filed person. Please ask him to contact me at my office."

Dianne perked up and slapped the hands of her masseur away. What person?

André hired a private investigator? What for? Did he think she was having an affair? As if she was the unfaithful one!

"He told you to let me know the details," Dianne said tactfully. I'll get it out, whatever it is.

"I'm sorry, I can only discuss the details with the client directly," Alan said.

“I’m his wife, goddamnit!” Dianne said impatiently. “You can tell me whatever you tell him.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Dufort, I’m just following our contract,” Alan said and quickly replaced the phone. For a moment, he stared at the phone in his hands as his mistake dawned upon him.

I shouldn't have, he thought. But nothing can be done now except warn Mr. Dufort. Damn!

***

André looked angrily at the man before him. Conclusion: Alan Tucker was a complete asshole.

"I apologize again, Sir," Alan said as he looked down.

"I didn't pay you to jeopardize my marriage," André shouted. I've done that myself already.

"I didn't know that she wasn't aware of this," Alan said and handed him the thick file he had accumulated, "But I think you'll find some very interesting things in there."

***

Amber shivered in the cold winter air as she turned around to check the empty street behind her for stalkers. For the past few days, she had had this vague feeling of always being followed around. Gonzales had recently called her to let her known that he had decided to pay her a small sum after all. Small for Gonzales that is - for Amber it was HUGE. It was three months of Cheapside rent. Her phone rang and she saw it was André.

Why is he calling this late at night?

She took it.

"Amber?" he asked.

"We're on first name basis now?" Amber asked.

"We're co-actors, aren't we?" André said, "We'll soon be anyway. It's better we put the past behind us."

"What past?" Amber laughed in his face. “We have no past.”

"What do you mean? That night we - ," André was about to protest when he realized she was just messing with him. It infuriated him how she toyed with him and how easily her fell in her trap. But yes, this time it was going to be different. He knew something.

"Can we meet tomorrow?" he asked.

"Oh my, you really are falling for me, aren't you?" Amber laughed. A chime that would keep ringing in his ears for days. André wisely ignored her jab and said, "Cocoa Palace, 9PM."

"Suits me," Amber said.

"It's a date," André said and hung up. Dianne materialized beside him.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"A colleague," André said vaguely.

"Didn't seem so," Dianne eyed her husband thoughtfully. André took a deep breath. Dianne hadn't said a word about the investigation but it was obvious she knew more than she was letting on. She was testing him, testing how much he would reveal.

"Let it go, Dianne. It was nobody important," André said and turned to go.

"Is anybody important to you André?" Dianne asked in a loud voice. "Am I on that list?"

"Dianne..." André turned to face her. She was shivering in rage. He knew the signs well. It was beginning of another tantrum. He sighed and faced his destiny.

***

Despite its name, Cocoa Palace was a small establishment in a corner of Broadway offering complete privacy, perfect for not being spotted. Amber reached there first and took a seat in the booth André had booked for them

How weird. They always took care to meet away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi but if anyone had been told to made assumptions, they undoubtedly would have thought they were having an affair. Why else would a married man and a woman book a suite for the night? Who would believe them it they said that they only used it to talk and have dinner and then went their separate ways?

André came in, determined to see Amber's façade fall. He pinched himself to not focus on Amber wearing a revealing low cut red dress. Her long legs stood bare and her cleavage stood out starkly, her luminous skin glowing in the dim lighting of the booth. The light bounced off her hair and her lips were full and a luscious pink made to make desire pool in any man.

"Why would you even wear something like that here?" André muttered aloud as he took a seat on the sofa opposite her. He felt his hardness come on but kept a straight face. He was here to bring her down that high horse of hers, not to give in to her games.

"Does it bother you?" Amber asked as she leaned forward to grab a glass, her neckline fell even lower and André struggled to keep his eyes away. In the low light, her eyes were overshadowed. What was she thinking? Did she feel anything when she looked at him? Anything at all? Did she know what he came armed with? Was that why she had dressed so? To distract him? He was well aware she knew his weak points. And he knew nothing Amber did was fate, everything was planned, calculated – that uncrossing of her legs, sweeping that hair off her chest – everything.

Amber looked at him expectantly. Her lashes long and dark.

"Are you done twirling me around your finger?" André asked.

"Not until I get what I want," Amber replied taking a sip of champagne.

"What do you want?" André asked.

"What everyone wants. Money," Amber replied.

"And you'll exploit me until then?" André asked as he shifted closer to her. Their knees touch under the table.

"Yes," Amber said as she crossed her long legs.

She's trying to seduce me. Not today Amber, not today, André thought and gulped uncomfortably. She's damn fine at what she does.

"I guess I'm playing this game too," André said, "Turns out I know things about you too."

"What things?" Amber laughed. Her past was covered with layers and layers of lies. No one could ever trace her back to Grisham's orphanage...

"For starters, you're an orphan," André said.

"So are many," Amber said unruffled, "Tell me something I don't know."

"You lied about your parents the last time," André said.

"Does it matter? Tell me something worthwhile," Amber blew lightly on her nails.

Time to up the game.

André leaned close and whispered in her ears, "Why did you run away from the orphanage at 18?"

"To become a model," Amber replied, aware of their proximity. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was her game, she didn’t like not being in control.

"No," André said flatly. "You ran away because you were pregnant."