Hollywood Wives--The New Generation by Jackie Collins
“Michael, you sit in here with me,” she commanded.
For someone who wanted a business relationship, she was certainly giving him preferential treatment.
Chuck threw him a look and went into the rear cabin with Fabio and Danny.
“You look tired,” she remarked, fastening her seat belt.
“I’ve had a rough couple of days,” he said, sitting in the seat next to her and buckling up.
“Chasing more cheating husbands?”
“Everything’s fallen on my shoulders since Quincy can’t do too much on account of his leg. Apart from that, I’ve uh . . . got kind of a personal problem.”
“Join the club,” she said, as one of the flight attendants approached, a tall, leggy blonde.
“Can I get you anything, Miz Roman?” the girl asked.
“Evian, please.”
“Certainly, Miz Roman,” she said, before turning to Michael and giving him a long, flirtatious look. “Mr. Scorsinni? How about you?”
“I’ll have Evian too.”
“We’ll be taking off in approximately five minutes,” she said, giving him another flirtatious look. “I’m Cindy. Anything you need, feel free to buzz me.”
Lissa leaned back and closed her eyes.
Michael wondered why he’d told her that he had a personal problem. He wasn’t about to reveal what it was, so why even mention it?
He couldn’t help staring at her. She was so beautiful—even looking at her was dangerous.
Stay away, a little voice screamed in his head.
But he knew that staying away was getting more and more difficult each time he saw her.
•
“HI.”
“Who’s this?” Nicci asked suspiciously.
“Who do you think it is? Your partner in crime.”
“Brian?” she said tentatively.
“Yeah.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“To advise you that Evan didn’t say zip about the fiancée thing.”
“We had a raging fight on the phone,” she said, keeping her voice low because Lynda was lurking somewhere. “Your mom’s here, and she’s every bit as bad as you warned me she was.”
Brian began to laugh. “Hate to say I told you so.”
“Why are you laughing?” Nicci said indignantly. “It’s not even remotely funny. She’s been here twenty-four hours and she’s already driving me insane, and Evan won’t be back until Sunday. Oh, yeah, and apparently she’s like talking to him on the phone all the time, mostly to complain about me.”
“That figures.”
“What can I do?”
“Tough it out, babe.”
“You don’t understand. She’s impossible, Brian.”
“I do understand. She’s my mother.”
“She talks about Evan endlessly. So sometimes, to piss her off, I bring up your name, and she like doesn’t even give a rat’s ass. Says you can look after yourself.”
“That’s ’cause she knows I won’t put up with her shit, so she’s let go of me. The bad news is she’s still got Evan jumping hoops.”
“What can I do about it?”
“Marry the guy, then the three of you can live happily ever after. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Screw you, Brian.”
“When?”
“Ha, ha. Not funny.”
“So what else is up?”
“I’m beginning to have doubts.”
“Yeah?”
“Right now things seem so kind of like strange. And every time I speak to Evan, we get into a major fight. I suppose when he gets back on Sunday, everything will be all right.” A beat. “It’s nice of you to call, Brian.”
“I gotta make a confession.”
“Yes?”
“You an’ I—we didn’t do anything.”
“About what?”
“We didn’t have sex, Nic.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I might’ve been wasted, but here’s the thing—I can take all the shit going, an’ it doesn’t affect me. So uh . . . apart from the fact that I dented your car—and I do remember that—we didn’t do anything.”
“Then how come we ended up in your bed with no clothes on?”
“We were just about to get down to it, when you passed out on me. So, good guy that I am—or stupid, whichever way you wanna look at it—I carried you in to bed, crawled in beside you, and fell asleep.”
“Oh, my God! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
“I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or not.”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “I’m confused.”
“Sounds like it,” he said.
She attempted to gather her thoughts. This was a good thing . . . wasn’t it? No sex with Brian. No guilty feelings. Yes, it was a good thing.
“Uh, Brian . . .” she ventured.
“Yes.”
“When you get back, can we sit down and talk? I think I need help.”
“I told you before, Nic. You’re nineteen, if you’re not sure about the marriage thing, don’t do it.”
“How can I back out now? The wedding plans are all in place, your mother’s here, my father just flew in, and Saturday night Saffron’s throwing me a bachelorette night. Wild times, here I come!”
“Then you’d better make sure you enjoy it, babe. ’Cause come Sunday, your wild times are way over.”
•
GREGG PARKED HIS CAR a block from his former residence and waited. When he saw the pool man’s truck driving up the winding street, he got out of his car and waved for him to stop. “Hey, Lou,” he yelled. “Pull over.”
The pool man, a tall, blondish ex-surfer with bloodshot eyes, stopped his truck and squinted. “Mr. Roman?” he said.
It had always infuriated Gregg that the idiot called him Mr. Roman, but he wasn’t about to get into that now. “Yeah, yeah—how’re you doing?”
“Can’t complain, Mr. Roman.”
“I’m taking a ride with you up to the house,” Gregg said. “Picking up some of my stuff from the storage room.”
“You don’t wanna drive your car?”
The man was a moron who’d burned his brains out in his youth. Which was good, because he obviously didn’t read the papers or watch TV.
“Naw, it’s easier to put it in your truck and bring it back to my car,” he said, jumping into the truck.
Now all he had to do was get through the front gate. With any luck, Chuck would have gone to Vegas with Lissa, and there’d be a new guard at the gate who wouldn’t know him.
The truck drove through with no trouble. Lou circumvented the house and parked in the back by the pool. Gregg jumped out and headed for the storage room, which was not within sight of the house, another plus.
The room was unlocked. Things were definitely going his way today.
He entered the overcrowded storage room, which smelled musty and damp. There were old suitcases, miscellaneous junk, boxes and boxes of stuff piled high. He remembered saying to Lissa once, “Why the hell do you keep all this crap?” That had been in the early days. They’d been making love out by the pool, and she’d gone into the storage room to see if she could find an old Polaroid camera. They’d thought it would be fun to take some pictures.
He’d followed her into the stuffy, little room, and that’s when he’d asked her what she kept in there.
“My life,” she’d said, turning to him. “From when I was ten years old.”
“That’s a lot of boxes, babe.”
“Yes,” she’d agreed. “One day I’ll go through them.”
Each box had a date scrawled on it in heavy felt-tip pen. Gregg tried to count back in his head. Lissa was forty, which meant that when she ran away from home at sixteen, it would’ve been around 1977. He decided to play it safe and took the boxes marked ’75, ’76, and ’77.
He carried the boxes to
It was easy. And nobody said a word when they drove out.
•
“I SET UP a dinner with Oliver Rock,” Larry said. “I thought it would be a good idea for us all to get together before the meeting at the studio.”
“You could have checked with me,” Taylor said, feeling incredibly guilty, because it was one thing having Oliver work on her script, and quite another sitting down to dinner with him and her husband.
“I tried, you were working and your phone was off.”
“Where are we going?”
“Spago at seven-thirty. Can you be ready?”
“I’ll go get dressed,” she said, hurrying upstairs, still feeling guilty. This was a dangerous road she was traveling, and she knew it. Sleeping with Oliver Rock had not been a good idea. As enjoyable as it was, it had to stop, because she knew without a doubt, that if she continued doing so, it would lead to big trouble.
She’d experienced another great day at the studio. Recently she’d begun to realize that the one big mistake she’d made in her marriage to Larry was giving up her career. Now that she was acting again, she felt so much more fulfilled. And if her project came off, everything would be perfect.
The only bad thing was her affair with Oliver Rock. And how bad could that be? Larry would never find out. She wasn’t about to tell him, and Oliver certainly wouldn’t.
By seven-fifteen, they were on their way to the restaurant. Larry was driving and full of conversation. “I read through the script myself today,” he said. “And I have a few suggestions for Oliver. You and I should definitely sit down and discuss it this weekend. You’re not working, are you?”
“No,” she said. “I only have another few days on the film, then it’s over.”
“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” he ventured.
“I never should have given up my career, Larry,” she said fervently. “I love acting.”
“I can tell.”
“Going to lunches, and working on all those charity events with a bunch of women who have nothing else to do except bitch about each other doesn’t do it for me. All that is so boring.”
“It’s my fault,” he said, nodding to himself. “I should have realized you needed more.”
“Well, as I suggested,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We can always work together. We’ll be doing it on my project, and then, if you do decide to cast me in one of your films, there’d be no separations. And we both know that if there’s one thing that’s bad for a marriage, it’s separations. Especially in this town.”
“We’ve never been apart,” Larry said confidently. “And we have a great marriage.”
“That’s probably why. Togetherness is what’s important. You see all these divorces taking place. Usually it’s because one person’s off on location, and their partner’s not with them. I want to be here for you all the time, Larry, but I also want to act. I have to be true to myself, don’t I?”
“Yes, my darling,” he said. “I understand.”
When they walked into the restaurant, Taylor was shocked to see that Oliver had brought a date, a young, pale girl with lank yellow hair, a blank expression, and a nipple ring—quite evident through her almost seethrough silky top.
Taylor wondered if it was the same girl she’d spotted lying naked on his mattress the day she’d surprised him. And if it was, would the girl remember seeing her?
Oh God, how stupid could this guy get?
“Mrs. Singer,” Oliver said, playing his part properly. “Nice to see you again.”
“Please call me Taylor,” she said, shooting Larry a look as much as to say, Why has he brought his girlfriend with him?
“I will,” Oliver said. “This is Kimberly.”
“Hi, Kimberly, dear,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly old.
Larry didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss as they settled into a booth and ordered the famous Spago smoked-salmon pizza.
“We’re happy you’re on board, Oliver,” Larry said. “This could turn out to be an exciting project. As you know, Taylor’s been trying to get it going for some time, but the writers she chose to work with have been too . . . what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Cautious?” Oliver suggested.
“Yes, that’s it, cautious. The script has to have more edge.”
“A dash of Tarantino,” Oliver said.
“Let’s not go that far,” Larry said. “We don’t want violence.”
“Of course,” Oliver agreed, not about to argue with the great Larry Singer.
“I’m planning to direct,” Taylor said, asserting herself. She did not appreciate them discussing her script as if she wasn’t there.
“Have you directed before?” Oliver asked.
As if the little prick didn’t already know. “No,” she said, giving him a dirty look.
“Could be a mistake,” Oliver said.
She felt her cheeks flush with anger. “What?” she said tightly.
“I know what Oliver means,” Larry interjected, oblivious to his wife’s mounting fury. “Playing the lead and directing on your first outing—it’s too much responsibility. Plus it’ll make it a lot tougher for the studio to commit.”
“Yeah,” Oliver said, playing kiss-up. “You’re right, Larry.”
Taylor could not believe that the two of them seemed to be in cahoots. Was this fair?
“Wait a minute,” she said curtly. “This is my project, and I plan to direct and star.”
“Yes, honey, I know,” Larry answered soothingly. “Only wouldn’t it be safer if you concentrated on acting this time out? Especially as I’m coming on as executive producer. I’ll hire a director I know I can control, and that way you’ll be in on everything.”
“How ’bout me?” Oliver said with a cheeky grin. “I’m dying to direct.”
“I don’t think so,” Taylor said, her tone icy.
“Let’s not get into that now,” Larry said, adjusting his glasses, which had an annoying habit of sliding down his nose. “First we get the script right, then we decide on a director.” He leaned forward, full of enthusiasm. When Larry committed to a project he was one hundred percent involved. “Now,” he said, “here are some of my ideas.”
•
THE ONLY POSITIVE about having Lynda Richter in the house was that Nicci had managed to find out the truth about Evan and his previous fiancée. Yes, he’d been engaged to a script girl from one of their movies, just as Brian had said.
“So what went wrong?” Nicci asked Lynda, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“She was after his money,” Lynda said. “I could tell it the moment I set eyes on her. She moved into the house and changed things, which as you can imagine, did not please me. She actually sold a piece of furniture I’d bought, and Evan never saw the money.”
“You mean she lived here?” Nicci said, startled. “In this house?”
“For six months. It wasn’t until I came out here that I was able to show him what she was up to.”
“How long were they together?”
“Over a year. Surely Evan told you?”
“Oh, yes,” Nicci said quickly. “But, you know Evan, he doesn’t like talking about personal stuff.”
“My Evan,” Lynda said fondly. “He was always a sensitive boy.”
Nicci decided this was even worse than she’d thought. Not only had Evan not mentioned the girl, but they’d been together for over a year, and she’d lived in his house for six months. The same house Nicci was in now.
She couldn’t believe that he’d kept it a secret. She was confused and angry and couldn’t wait to confront him in person.
In the meantime, what was she supposed to do about his mom? Lynda apparently didn’t know anyone in L.A. All she wanted to do was hang around the house changing everything and annoying the help.
“Uh, listen,” Nicci said. “My dad’s in town, an
“Where are we going?” Lynda asked.
“Sorry?”
“Where are we going?” Lynda repeated. “Somewhere nice?”
Nicci frowned. “Uh . . . you can’t come with us,” she explained. “I haven’t seen my dad in two years, so I need to spend time with him by myself.”
“Oh,” Lynda said frostily. “I see. You’re leaving me alone here, are you?”
“We’ll do something together tomorrow,” Nicci promised.
“If you’re sure you can spare the time,” Lynda said caustically.
I spared the time last night, Nicci thought. Took you to Hamburger Hamlet, and you nagged your way through two hamburgers and a giant slice of chocolate cake. I’m certainly not subjecting Antonio to that kind of torture.
“Of course I can,” Nicci said sweetly.
And she couldn’t wait to leave the house.
Chapter Thirty-two
* * *
A FLEET of limos was waiting at the airport to greet Lissa and her entourage when they arrived in Vegas.
“You’ll come in the car with me, Michael,” she said, as they got off the plane.
Four white stretch limos were lined up, all emblazoned with the name of the hotel in gold along the side. Michael climbed in the first one with Lissa. The interior was carpeted with white rugs, and the seats were upholstered in white-and-gold leather.
A pretty girl in a Desert Millennium Princess hotel uniform immediately offered them champagne and caviar.
“Too early in the morning for me,” Lissa said, smiling slightly.
“Me too,” Michael said, feeling uncomfortable, like some kind of consort. But then, on the other hand, he had to remember he was working. This gig was strictly work, and he shouldn’t take it any other way.
The silence that had existed between them on the plane lasted all the way to the hotel. Michael was damned if he was going to break it, and Lissa didn’t say a word.
Rick Maneloni, the hotel’s manager, waited to greet her at a private entrance. Rick Maneloni was Mister Slick, all dressed up in a shiny blue suit, with brown, moussed hair, and heavy matching eyebrows. He wore a lot of macho gold jewelry and carried a small silver phone.