“This design lives up to the importance of this incredible waterfront location and fuses together the vision of the Los Angeles Dobermans with the landscape of the beach and the input we've heard over the past several months from stakeholders, community leaders andâ”
Camille slapped her hand on the desk. The smack reverberated off the paneled walls and caused everyone in the room to jump. “Enough of the dog-and-pony show, boys. Let's get to the bottom line. She wants $120 million for the land. How much will that cost?” she said, pointing to the rendering.
Scott yielded the floor to Ben and returned quietly to his seat.
“Approximately $1.6 billion. This latest design increases the overall footprint of the event center, includes market rate housing, expands open space, and builds an expansive new waterfront plaza for the public toâ”
Camille stood abruptly from the table. “I've heard enough,” she said looking at Scott. “Start negotiating with Vandercliff first thing tomorrow. Tell her Camille Hardaway wants Doberman Stadium built on her property. Offer her $80 million and if she refuses tell her we'll take it by eminent domain.”
Scott looked up and said, “But, Mrs. Mayor, there are no grounds for eminent domain with this project.”
Camille snapped her head in Scott's direction. “Did I ask your opinion?” she replied sharply.
The other men at the table looked relieved they were not involved in the exchange and avoided eye contact with the mayor and Scott.
“No, Mrs. Mayor,” Scott replied cautiously. “You did not, butâ”
“No buts,” she snapped. “I want Dober Stadium located on that site. If you don't think you can make it happen, let me know now, and I'll replace you with someone who can.”
“Mrs. Mayor,” Tony said, unfazed by her display of force and dominance over the others in the room. “There is one other obstacle that won't be as easy to get over.”
“And what is that?” she asked coldly.
“John Spalding, planning commission chair. He's made it his mission to ensure no new stadium is ever built. He has rejected all designs and locations we've floated by the commission. He feels it's a waste of tax dollars and the money should be used to build affordable housing for teachers and first responders.”
“Fuck teachers,” Camille said angrily. “We've already built thousands of units of subsidized housing all over the goddamn city. Isn't that enough?”
“He doesn't think it is,” Tony replied calmly. “He's said privately he believes you're using this as a stepping-stone to the governor's mansion.”
Camille walked to her desk and sat down. “We're done here. You leave Spalding to me,” she said coldly. “Please see yourselves out.”
The four men silently retrieved papers and exited the office as Camille launched into a heated exchange on the telephone with her next victim of the day.
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The smell of chlorine filled the yard as Gideon Truman completed his usual 6 a.m. swim. Danny St. John sat nearby at a patio table reading the morning paper, taking leisurely sips of coffee and a eating a warm croissant.
“Your coffee is getting cold,” Danny called out.
“One more lap,” came Gideon's breathy reply as the water splashed over his shoulders.
Gideon's Hollywood hillside home had an unobstructed view of downtown Los Angeles. The forty-five-foot high letters of the iconic HOLLYWOOD sign looked down onto his yard from a hill in the distance. The city lay at their feet like an intricately woven carpet and the peak of the tower at city hall was just visible between the high-rises, hotels, and condominiums.
The two men lived together in the house since Danny's former lover, Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland, was murdered by his wife Samantha. The devastating loss of Hezekiah, followed by the mysterious death of Samantha, created a bond between Gideon and Danny bound by love and tragedy.
They liked nothing more than being in each other's company. They traveled together on Gideon's assignments to exotic parts of the world. They dined at the finest restaurants, attended the A-list parties and ordered takeout from their favorite Chinese takeaway on Sunset Boulevard every Thursday night. They enjoyed the many perks of Gideon's celebrity status together, but the most enjoyable time was when they were alone in the house on the hill and safe in each other's arms. They were soul mates and no verse or brimstone-spewing televangelist could tell them otherwise.
At thirty-one, Danny was more handsome than he had been on any day prior in his life. To Gideon, he was the prototype on which God based the design for the most beautiful man since Adam. His tender brown eyes, delicately chiseled face, and chestnut skin made Gideon sigh with pleasure every time he saw him and each time was as precious as the first.
Gideon finally emerged from the pool. His skin glistened in the morning sun as remnants of the water trickled down his muscular frame onto the terra-cotta tile. He wore black Speedos on a body needing no camouflage or modesty. At forty-five, Gideon had the physique of a man half his age. The distinguished hint of grey at each temple was the only clue he wasn't twenty-five.
“Mayor Hardaway is all over the front page,” Danny said laying the newspaper on the table and pouring Gideon coffee from a carafe. “How was her State of the City address last night?”
“She was amazing.” Gideon said as he toweled himself dry. “I hate to say it, but for some reason she reminds me of Samantha Cleaveland.”
Danny gripped the carafe tighter when Gideon said those words. He could almost hear the
whoosh
of a bullet rushing past his headâthe same sound he heard on the night Samantha tried to kill him.
Danny wiped the sound from his mind and continued filling the cup. “How so?” he asked guardedly.
“As you can see, she's just as beautiful,” he said pointing to her photograph on the front page of the newspaper. “She's smart. I read somewhere her IQ is in the top 2 percentile of the world, and she's powerful, but I can't shake the feeling there's something else.”
“Ruthless?” Danny asked.
“I'm sure. Everyone has to sell their soul when they reach a certain level in politics. But that's not it.”
“Evil?”
“Why do you say that?” Gideon asked curiously.
“I'll be honest with you. I get the same chill when I see her on television as I did when I saw Samantha. There
is
something evil about her.”
Gideon sat with the towel draped over one shoulder. He paused for a moment to consider Danny's disturbing opinion. “I thought it was just me,” he finally said. “I agree, there is something evil lurking behind those beautiful eyes, and I want to know what it is.”
Danny looked silently into the distance. He saw Parker, his scruffy grey cat, patrolling the perimeter of the yard searching for his next furry victim.
Gideon felt Danny's concern. He reached across the table, took his hand, and said, “Don't worry. It's not the same, Danny. I don't think the mayor is a cold-blooded killer like Samantha.”
“You don't know that.”
“You're right, I don't, but I can't imagine anyone more evil than Samantha,” Gideon said, taking his first sip of the now lukewarm coffee.
“Let someone else investigate her. Why is it your responsibility to expose her secrets?” Danny asked, almost pleading.
“I can't pass this one up. There's talk about a possible run for governor. I asked last night, but she was evasive. Promised I would be the first reporter to know if she decides to run. I want in on the ground floor of that story. The first black governor of California and the first woman. If there are skeletons, I want to be the one to find them.”
Danny saw firsthand how unrelenting Gideon became when he worked on an important story. He watched Gideon doggedly pursue Samantha Cleaveland until he backed her into a corner, and it almost cost both their lives. Fortunately, someone killed Samantha before she had the opportunity to kill them.
“I know I won't be able to talk you out of this, so I'm not going to try. Just please be careful. I love you, and I don't want to lose you,” Danny said softly.
“You're never going to lose me,” Gideon said assuredly. “We may be paranoid about Camille, but considering all we went through with Samantha, it's understandable.”
“Maybe,” Danny said pausing. “But all the same, I wish you would speak to Hattie first.”
“Hattie?” Gideon said. “Why Hattie?”
“Because if Camille Hardaway is up to something, Hattie will be the first to know about it,” Danny said firmly. “And if she's as bad as Samantha, you're going to need Hattie on your side.”
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“I'm not going to run, and that is final!” Jean-Luc Fantoché shouted. “What concern is it of yours? I love you and provide for you. Nothing more should matter. The rest you need not trouble yourself with.”
“It does trouble me,” Juliette countered passionately.
“I have bought your family's freedom. Is that not enough to satisfy you?” he asked angrily.
“No, it is not enough,” she snapped. “Have you forgotten, many of my friends are still slaves? An entire race of humans are owned by other human beings in this country. Their lives are not their own. Does it not trouble you? Is your spirit not tormented in the knowledge that people are at this very moment laboring in fields of tobacco, cotton, and sugar under the cruel hand of an overseer?
“You understand the plight of the Negro,” she continued pleadingly. “You are a caring and kind man. As governor, you can help to put an end to the inhumanity that has plagued this state and this country for far too long. For those reasons alone, it does indeed concern me.”
Fantoché stung from the impact of her words. “Yes, it does trouble me,” he said remorsefully. “But don't you understand? I cannot win. Thaddeus Barrière has declared his candidacy. He is by far more qualified and better known throughout the state than I. Public humiliation would surely follow if I dared enter my name beside such a formidable opponent.”
“Thaddeus Barrière will not win,” Juliette said definitively.
“That is nonsense,” he replied dismissively. “You know not of what you speak, ma belle ange. He will be the next governor.”
Juliette turned her back to Fantoché and walked to the fireplace with the single black candle at the center of the mantelpiece in her sights. “He will not win,” she repeated resolutely. “There are powerful forces in this country who will see him dead before allowing him to set one foot in the governor's mansion.”
“Dead?” he scoffed. “Why? Who are these forces of whom you speak?”
Juliette reached for a box of wooden matches resting on the hearth. “The forces I speak of prefer to remain in the shadows. But trust my words. They have decided Thaddeus Barrière will never be governor of Louisiana. He has made his position clear on the topic of slavery and stated he will never support the emancipation of slaves.”
Fantoché studied her back intently. “These do not sound like the kind of men you should be consorting with,” he said with concern. “The world of politics is no place for a woman of your delicate beauty.”
Juliette ignored his words and struck the match. The sulfurous flare enveloped her in a burst of light.
“Juliette,” he continued, “I implore you to distance yourself from these men.”
“I cannot do that,” she replied calmly.
“Les roues ont été mis en mouvement.
It is too late.”
“Too late for what?” he asked anxiously.
Juliette extended her arm and lit the black candle. The wick crackled briefly, then settled into a slow, lingering burn. When she turned to face him, the tension in her demeanor had vanished. She looked at him with adoring eyes and said, “Do you love me as deeply as you say?”
Fantoché was relieved the intensity in her voice had dissipated and was replaced with irresistible sensuality accentuated by the glow of the candle. “I have no words to express the depth of my love for you,” he said rushing to her. “I love you more than any man has ever loved a woman. You are the reason I exist.”
Juliette stopped him at arm's length. “Then you will do as I say,” she said calmly. “If not, I will leave this house at this very moment, taking with me only the clothes on my back and never trouble you again.”
Fantoché looked at her questioningly. “You can't mean that.”
His words hung between them. Juliette only responded with the cold stare of jade eyes.
A wave of panic rose from his boots and quickly filled his entire body. “Do not do this to me, Juliette. You know I cannot live without you. Why do you torture me with such cruel threats?”
Again, there was no response.
Fantoché felt his knees weaken. He feared they would collapse under the immense weight he felt pressing down on him. His breath became short and losing consciousness became almost inevitable. His stomach threatened to spew the meal of escargot, foie gras, and sole meunière Juliette's servants had just served them. But for him, dying in a pool of vomit at the feet of Juliette Dupree would be preferable to facing the prospect of living without her.
“I will take my life if you leave me,” he said with a depth of sincerity only at the dispose of a truly desperate man.