“Would I do that?” he replied.
“Yes, you would,” she answered feverishly. “You hate Daddy, you always have.”
“I do not hate him.”
“Then why won’t you work for him?” she demanded.
This conversation was a constant in their marriage; so much for talking about what was really on his mind.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” he said evenly, attempting to remain calm. “I make independent movies, not box-office pieces of money-grabbing crap!”
“I can’t believe you said that!” Mandy exclaimed, her face reddening. “How dare you!”
“For crissakes, cut it out, Mandy,” he said, finally losing patience.
“Don’t you tell me what to do.”
By the time they reached the restaurant they were not speaking.
“Why the fuck do we have to drive all the way out to Geoffrey’s?” Phil demanded as he and Lucy sat in his Range Rover stuck in the major traffic jam on P.C.H.
“It was Mandy’s suggestion,” Lucy said.
“Of course it was,” Phil grumbled. “Mandy suggests and we all go along like little sheep. That woman is something else.”
“It’s their dinner,” Lucy said. “So they get to choose.”
“Mandy’s problem is she thinks she’s her father,” Phil snorted. “Doesn’t she get it that Hamilton is the one with the balls and the power. Mandy better wake up and smell the fact that she’s simply the daughter of.”
“Oh, c’mon, Phil,” Lucy chided. “Just ’cause you never got to fuck her.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, outraged. “There’s no way I’d screw Mandy. For a start she’s too fuckin’ short. I like my women tall.”
“You like your women any height, shape or size,” Lucy said dryly. “They can be a midget for all you care.”
“Why do you come out with crap like that?” Phil said, refusing to acknowledge the truth.
“Like what, Phil? Surely you’re aware that your reputation stretches way before you.”
“Shit!” he roared, honking his horn at the car in front. “What the fuck are these morons waiting for?”
“For the traffic to move,” Lucy said patiently. Pulling down the visor, she peered in the lighted mirror inspecting her flawless complexion. Botox was the greatest invention ever, not a line on her porcelain skin. And she was younger than most of the comeback kids out there. Demi Moore was over forty when she played her return role in Charlie’s Angels. Michelle Pfeiffer was fifty-something and she’d starred in several major movies recently. And Sharon Stone was almost fifty when she made Basic Instinct 2. Not to mention Madonna and a host of other older actresses still going strong.
Lucy decided she was a mere youngster compared to all those other women.
Yes, she thought to herself, tonight I’m going to start things in motion. Tonight I’m resurrecting my career.
Dinner with Ryan and Mandy was the perfect opportunity.
Don drove like a maniac, one hand on the steering wheel of his black Ferrari–chosen for the night from his six cars–the other groping for a cigarette or a mint or his iPhone. Don was always in motion.
His date, a famous “girl next door” TV star, gripped the side of her seat in a panic. This was their first date and she didn’t want to spoil it by asking him to slow down.
Ignoring the backed-up traffic on P.C.H., he zipped down the middle lane–totally illegal.
“Who are we having dinner with?” Famous “girl next door” TV star asked, desperate to take her mind off his insane driving. Her name was Mary Ellen Evans, and she’d recently suffered through a very public and humiliating divorce when her movie-star husband had taken off with his gorgeous co-star. The public were firmly on Mary Ellen’s side; they would be very happy to see her out on a date with Don Verona–who, since his last divorce, was considered as eligible as George Clooney, and equally as attractive.
“Friends of mine,” Don said casually. “You’ll like ’em.”
He’d met Mary Ellen when she’d appeared on his show the previous week. Having a late-night talk show was a fertile ground for meeting women; many beautiful actresses passed through his studio enabling him to pick and choose. Although some of them were unavailable, most of them were only too delighted when he asked them out.
“Will I know your friends?” Mary Ellen inquired, asserting herself. She was so sick of the tabloid headlines about how lost and lonely she was. It was about time she got out and about.
“Maybe,” Don said. “But I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Okay,” Mary Ellen said, wondering if perhaps they were meeting up with Tom and Katie, or could it be the famous Beckhams? Don Verona knew everyone.
Don threw her a quizzical look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment which terrified her even more. “You’re into surprises, aren’t you?” he inquired.
“Absolutely,” she said, tossing back her sleek bobbed golden hair, and contemplating whether they would sleep together later. She was ready. A revenge fuck was exactly what she needed after the way her husband had publicly humiliated her. Don Verona was the perfect choice.
“Actually,” Don said, “it’s Phil and Lucy Standard, and Mandy and Ryan Richards.”
“Oh,” Mary Ellen said. “I was in one of Ryan’s movies.”
“Yeah? Was it a good experience?”
“I think he’s great,” Mary Ellen gushed, remembering the major crush she’d harbored. “It was my very first job, a tiny role, and Ryan was so caring and helpful. Everyone on the set adored him. I haven’t seen him since–this is exciting.”
“Hey–should be a fun evening.”
“I’m also a big fan of Phil Standard’s work,” she added, quite pleased with the way things were turning out. “He’s surely one of the most talented screenwriters around.”
“Phil’s a character,” Don said. “He’ll probably try to feel you up under the table, so you’d better be prepared.”
“Really?” Mary Ellen said, eyes widening.
“Just keep your knees firmly together and you’ll be okay.”
Mary Ellen threw him a look. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Any time,” he said, reaching for a cigarette.
Oh damn, he smokes, Mary Ellen thought. Who smokes in L.A.? It’s so unhealthy, and if I sleep with him my hair will smell and so will my clothes. Damn! Damn! Damn!
“The smoke doesn’t bother you, does it?” Don asked.
“Not at all,” Mary Ellen replied.
Don Verona was a hot date. She had no intention of ruining it.
Chapter Seven
Hamilton J. Heckerling was big and brash. Loud-mouthed and overbearing. Married five times. A patron of the arts and from all reports a total sonofabitch. Whenever Hamilton entered a room, everyone knew it, especially Ryan, who always tried to avoid him if possible. It wasn’t that he was intimidated by his father-in-law, he just didn’t like him very much. A lot of people felt the same way. Not that it bothered Hamilton. He was a man who walked his own path full of confidence, and anyone who disliked him–well, his philosophy was fuck ’em. He simply didn’t care.
Hamilton inspected the six round dining tables set up in his New York apartment a penthouse located in Donald Trump’s most prestigious building. Hamilton was finicky about entertaining, everything had to be exactly right. He’d learned the art of giving perfect dinner parties from his second wife, Marlee, Mandy’s mother, a socialite who now lived outside Cape Town with a black game ranger she’d met on safari in South Africa. Mandy was two at the time, so Hamilton had informed the child that her mother was dead, and he’d paid Marlee a fortune never to return to America. It made things simpler that way.
Marlee was his dirty little secret. And that’s the way she would remain.
“Florence!” Hamilton yelled for his housekeeper, and the woman came running. Sternly he informed her that one of the wine glasses had a smudge on the rim.
Florenc
e couldn’t see it, but she attended to the offending glass anyway. Whatever Hamilton J. Heckerling wanted, he got.
Hamilton waited until she placed the glass back on the table, then he was satisfied.
Tonight was a special night. Tonight he was announcing his engagement to the sixth and next Mrs Heckerling.
He marched around the room one last time before retiring to his bedroom to prepare for the occasion. Hamilton was fastidious about personal grooming, and his valet awaited his presence, along with all the accoutrements of the well-groomed man.
Hamilton was well aware that when news of his engagement broke tomorrow, Mandy would be upset that she wasn’t present. She’d try to berate him over the phone–calls he wouldn’t take; she’d attempt to bombard him with e-mails that he wouldn’t read.
Ah…Mandy…sometimes she acted more like a nagging wife than his only child. She was spoiled and capricious, but in his own way he loved her all the same. If only she could learn to stay out of his personal life things would be so much easier between them. Who he dated or slept with or indeed married, was his business and his alone. When Mandy learned that, they’d experience a vastly improved relationship.
He wondered how Mandy would react to Pola–his new wife-to-be. At twenty-something Pola was a whole lot younger than his daughter, and when Mandy found out, he knew that the information would not go down well.
But who was she to criticize? She’d had her pick of all the men in Hollywood, and what man had she chosen? Some loser independent film-maker who wasn’t interested in going mainstream, didn’t want to come work for him, and insisted on making meaningful movies instead of a shitload of money.
Ryan Richards. He couldn’t even knock Mandy up so that it stuck. The man had weak sperm, that was the problem. No grandchildren for Hamilton J. Heckerling.
Hamilton fervently wished that Mandy would do herself a favor and divorce the loser.
At least he’d made sure there was a pre-nuptial in place–drawn up by the most litigious lawyer in town. Pre-nuptials were God’s gift to rich people. Only fools would consider marrying without one.
In Hamilton’s experience women always signed the agreement–even though they demurred at first. Show them enough cash benefits, allow them to keep any gifts he might buy them–and they signed their money-grabbing little hearts away. Men too, although when Ryan had signed he’d asked for nothing, hadn’t even checked it out with his own lawyer, which proved he was stupid.
Hamilton thought about his five ex-wives for a moment. Five beauties who’d ended up boring the shit out of him.
Perhaps Pola would be different.
Perhaps she’d be the one who lasted.
A man could hope, couldn’t he?
Mandy was on her second martini when she received the text from Lolly. She jumped up from the table. “I’m visiting the little girls’ room,” she said, hoping that the other two women would not come with her. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to Lucy, who seemed in a particularly aggressive state, and as for Mary Ellen, she was an actress, and Mandy couldn’t stand actresses, they were all so dull. The poor dears harbored nothing but thoughts about themselves–their acting classes, their Pilates lessons, their diets, their yoga, their strength training, their psychics, their perfect little bodies, their designer gowns chosen for special events, and their borrowed jewelry. Borrowed jewelry indeed!! How crass was that! Besides, Mary Ellen was pathetic, a girl whose husband had dumped her. Since when was Don into another man’s castoff?
Fortunately neither Lucy nor Mary Ellen seemed inclined to go with her, so Mandy trotted off on her own.
She immediately locked herself in a stall and read the text.
DINNER STILL IN PROGRESS. YOUR FATHER ANNOUNCED YET ANOTHER ENGAGEMENT! POOR YOU. APPARENTLY THIS ONE’S A BABY.
Mandy had to read it twice before she could absorb the full impact of the information. Crap! she thought. The old fool has gone and gotten himself engaged to some woman he’s only been seeing for a month or so. It’s totally ridiculous. There is no controlling this man.
Once more she attempted to call him on her cell. Once more his voicemail picked up.
Was he avoiding her?
Probably. That would be just like him, afraid of hearing the truth. And she was the only person who could get away with telling him the truth; everyone else around him was too scared.
It was imperative that she got hold of him. God, she’d be lucky if there was any money left at all by the time he got through marrying all these women. This one would be bride number six!
Of course, she had her Trust Fund to keep her warm, the bulk of which she inherited when she was thirty-five. She’d already inherited a chunk, and spent it happily on herself. Why not? She was entitled.
For a moment she thought about Ryan and their conversation in the car. What was he going on about? It occurred to her that maybe she should spend some money on him, buy him something extravagant. His birthday was coming up soon, and perhaps it might be a good idea to plan a party to celebrate.
Yes, that was it, she’d put together a surprise party, and he could stop all this nonsense about couples counseling because no way was she getting into that. As far as she was concerned their marriage was perfectly fine, and if Ryan thought otherwise, that was his problem.
But he had sounded restless in the car, especially when he’d started on about their sex life or lack thereof. She decided that if he was very lucky she’d give him a blow-job on the way home, oral sex always shut him up. But then she started thinking about how it would look if they were stopped by the police. She could just imagine the headline in Variety.
HAMILTON J. HECKERLING’S DAUGHTER CAUGHT GIVING ORAL SEX TO INDIE PRODUCER IN CAR.
Ha! Not so clever.
She re-read Lolly’s text before returning to their table, where Don was at the end of a long involved story about the time Drew Barrymore guested on his show the week after she flashed David Letterman, and then proceeded to do the same to him.
“I never was a guy for sloppy seconds,” he mused, finishing the story.
Ha! Mandy thought. Then what are you doing with Mary Ellen Evans?
Everyone laughed. Mary Ellen quite politely, although she didn’t think it was a particularly funny story. She wondered if he’d talked about her after she’d guested on his show. She always attempted to do the best she could on talk shows. She was flirtatious and amusing and tried to wear something sexy–or at least “girl next door” sexy. She hated that label almost as much as she hated doing TV interviews, but at least it had gotten her access to Don, and he was quite a score. Unattached and not gay. Drop dead handsome with a stellar career. What better way to get back at her ex?
“I have an announcement,” Lucy said, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Something I don’t know about?” Phil asked, nursing his third Scotch.
“You don’t know everything about me, dear,” Lucy said with a wink. “Even though you think you do.”
“Christ almighty!” Phil groaned. “Wives!”
“Anybody interested in hearing my announcement?” Lucy said, slurring her words ever so slightly.
“I am,” Mary Ellen piped up. She was quite in awe of the beautiful Lucy, whom she’d grown up admiring in many movies, although she would never say that to Lucy, because actresses did not like to be reminded of their age.
“In that case, I’ll go ahead,” Lucy said, then, pausing for effect she added a breathless–“Guess what, everyone?”
“I thought you had an announcement,” Phil grumbled. “Spit it out, this is not a fucking guessing game.”
“I’ve decided to make a comeback,” Lucy said grandly, ignoring him.
“From what?” Phil snorted.
“A career comeback,” Lucy said, shooting him a daggered look.
“Oh,” Mandy said, surprised that Lucy hadn’t confided in her. “That’s interesting, isn’t it, Ryan?”
Ryan muttered something under his breath. He’d ba
rely spoken all evening, even though he knew this was making Mandy mad, and somehow he didn’t care.
“Do you have a project in mind?” Mandy asked.
“Yes,” Lucy said enthusiastically. “I have an original idea for a movie, and I’ve put together an outline.” She paused for a moment before turning to Ryan. “I know it’s something you’ll be interested in,” she said. “And Phil,” she added, including her husband, “you’ll love it.”
Phil made a face like he couldn’t believe his wife was coming out with such crap.
“So,” Lucy continued, “I suggest the three of us get together for a business meeting as soon as everyone’s schedule permits.”
“Are you shitting me?” Phil said, bushy eyebrows shooting up.
Lucy narrowed her eyes and gave him a cold look. “I’m signing with a new agent,” she said. “He’ll be representing me. I’m giving you first shot at this exciting project.”
“Y’know,” Phil mused, glancing around the table, “sometimes I think I married a girl from the backwoods who knows nothing about how things work in this town–not a former movie star.”
“There’s no such thing as a former movie star,” Lucy said pointedly. “You’re either a star or you’re not. It doesn’t matter whether I’m working, I still get all the attention I can handle. And the fans still love me.”
“Jesus Christ!” Phil muttered. “I don’t believe this shit. Why is she embarrassing me like this?”
“I think it would be a treat to see you back on the screen,” Mary Ellen said, taking up the slack before a nasty fight erupted.
“Thank you, dear,” Lucy said, wishing the TV star would butt out. Mary Ellen was too young and too pretty, and surely she knew that Don preferred hookers?
“My father just got engaged again,” Mandy said, immediately taking the focus off Lucy, who was not pleased to relinquish the spotlight.
“Who to this time?” Don asked.
Mandy shrugged as if she couldn’t care less, although inside she was seething. “Some woman he’s been seeing for all of five minutes.”
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