[Chapter 16: The Temptation of the Pop Queen]
Although he was exhausted, Orlando lifted his spirits once he heard that this was related to the promotion of his single.
Frank drove him to Madonna's luxurious townhouse on the Upper West Side. When they reached the building, Orlando looked up at the bright lights and the beautiful, historic St. George-style house.
"Wow, this place looks huge and gorgeous. You can tell it's insanely expensive," he said.
Frank replied, "Of course. This house is worth twenty million dollars. On Manhattan, very few homes beat this."
Twenty million dollars...
Orlando was silent.
Holy shit.
No wonder she is the pop queen. So rich!
They got out of the car. Frank went ahead to do the talking. After a few words over walkie-talkie, a pair of burly bodyguards opened the door, pressed down the lapels of their suits in a polite gesture, and ushered them in.
They had real presence, and they looked reassuringly secure.
Orlando noticed the black holsters at their waists beneath the jackets. When he had the chance, whether for style or safety, he told himself, he would do the same.
---
After entering Madonna's townhouse, her current manager was waiting for Orlando and Frank in the ground-floor reception area. Frank exchanged a few words with him. The manager -- Max -- smiled and motioned for Orlando to go up.
"Ms. Ciccone's already waiting for you," he said. "Go up and follow her lead. This was agreed to because Mr. Morris and Mr. Stein pushed for this publicity."
Orlando nodded and climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor.
---
Madonna wasn't in the second-floor parlor. It was almost four o'clock, but a few servants were still tidying up. It looked like a small party had been held there not long before.
A maid approached and spoke softly, "She's waiting for you on the third floor, sir."
Orlando had to continue up. He thought if he had known she was up there, he would never have taken the stairs -- the house had a private elevator.
He finally reached the third floor. The stairwell opened into a small sitting room. Wide corridors ran to either side, leading in both directions. The floor above was otherwise empty.
Was he supposed to check each room? What a diva move, Orlando thought, annoyed.
Just as he was about to grumble, a voice floated from the far end of the west corridor, "Mr. Keller? I'm over here, come on."
He followed the voice all the way down. A door on the right at the end of the hall stood open. The voice had come from there.
---
When Orlando stepped in, he saw a woman facing the mirror, leaning forward as if removing makeup.
The problem was -- she wore nothing on her upper body, only a thong. When she noticed him, she didn't bother to cover up. Instead she turned, lifted one corner of her mouth, and gave Orlando a tantalizing smile.
"Hi, boy, you're here," she said.
Orlando felt his blood rush to his lower head.
This was the period when Madonna wore big blonde waves. That figure, that face -- it was impossible to stay unaffected.
"Oh? Sorry, I was in the middle of taking off makeup and changing and forgot to put clothes on," Madonna said with a smug smile when she saw his reaction. "I'll put something on."
She grabbed a silk nightgown from the bedside table and draped it over her shoulders. Although she fastened the sash quickly, Orlando thought she would have been better off staying naked. The nightgown was so thin and sheer that under the room light it was the same as nothing -- teasingly revealing; even more tempting than being just naked.
"Come here, boy. Before work, let's talk," she said.
"What... what would we talk about..." Orlando's voice was hoarse as he fought the urge to throw himself onto the mattress and do exactly what his mind was imagining.
"You've been on fire lately. My manager told me -- you saw him downstairs, Max," she continued. "Max said your Old Town Road was possibly the biggest rival to my new single, Vogue."
Orlando took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. Madonna had sprayed perfume in the room -- a particular scent that made his imagination run wild.
"I didn't mean to suppress you..." he started.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," she said, stepping closer and breathing in his ear. "Wanna try? It's just us here -- my people are all working for me. No one would know..."
Motherfucker. Of course Madonna came on like this. Wild and direct. Fortunately he had his telepathy.
Orlando shook his head hard to snap himself out of the images. His mental net picked up exactly what was going on: she was seducing him. Not because she was just newly single and curious, but because -- she knew Daisy.
She was jealous of Daisy Cuomo -- her origin, education, and social standing. After Seymour had hinted that Orlando was Daisy Cuomo's secret lover, Madonna had taken the chance. She wanted, at least a little bit, to poach Daisy's man, and that was why she was so blatant.
Orlando exhaled and forced down the desire. "Sorry... Frank said Mr. Morris had me come here for work. What do I do next?"
He changed the subject fast.
Madonna seemed surprised. She hadn't expected her obviousness to be resisted. She had even used the kind of perfume that made men think about sex.
"Work? Okay. Work is obviously more important," she said, taking a step back and smiling. She sashayed to the bed, picked up another outfit, and slipped it on so she looked less exposed. Only a pair of pale, long legs remained fully visible.
"See that balcony?" she asked, pointing to a terrace on the east side of the room. It was maybe a hundred square feet, with a small table and chairs.
"We'll sit there, have something to drink, and chat. Warner arranged some reporters and a couple of paparazzi who follow me. They'll photograph you coming into my room and later catch us chatting and drinking on the balcony late at night.
Before dawn, you'll leave my place in plain sight.
Then when morning came, photos of our 'late-night rendezvous' and headlines like 'Madonna Flirts with a Hot New Star' would explode all over the media."
*****
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