“I don’t date celebrities.”
“Who do you date?”
“You know what–I’ll make the coffee,” she said, deciding to put an end to a conversation that was becoming far too personal and going nowhere. “Go put on your work-out clothes and we’ll get in half an hour of weight training.”
“And so she changes the subject,” he drawled.
“Go!” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock-saluting.
He couldn’t help smiling as he made his way into his dressing room and grabbed trackpants and a T-shirt. This one was so different from the women he was used to. She was beautiful–but they all were. She had a great body–but they all did. Cameron had something else going for her; she struck him as not only stunningly beautiful, but honest, self-confident and unimpressed with his fame. Very refreshing. And best of all she was not prepared to succumb to his considerable charms, and that was most unusual.
But she didn’t want to go out with him, and he had to find out why. It was in his nature to get to the bottom of things. It wasn’t as if he was some crazy pervert she’d met on the Internet or picked up in a club. He was Don Verona, and most women creamed at the thought of any interaction with him.
So what was wrong with her?
By the time he got back to the kitchen the coffee was bubbling in the pot and she was busy chopping fruit.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You can’t work out on an empty stomach,” she said crisply. “It’s not the right way to start the day.”
“I never eat in the mornings.”
“You do now,” she said, pushing back a lock of blonde hair that kept on drifting into her very appealing green eyes. “It’ll give you more energy.”
“Are you always this bossy?” he asked, picking up a slice of mango with his fingers.
“Only when I need to be.”
“And that would be now?”
“Seems to be the case,” she said, handing him a slice of banana.
“Who are you?” he said, wondering for a moment if one of his friends had sent her to mess with his head. That would be their idea of a joke. Not too funny.
“Your new trainer,” she answered briskly. “I don’t know what kind of excuses the last one let you get away with, but things they are a-changing!”
“They are?”
“Oh, yes.”
And once more their eyes met, and once more Cameron silently warned herself to be careful. This guy was a player, and she wasn’t about to fall for his game. No. She had far more important things on her mind, and Don Verona could turn out to be an unwelcome distraction.
Keep on remembering that, she warned herself. No involvements. Work first.
And yet…Gregg was almost a distant memory, and she’d had no one to share things with. No man to hold her at night. Marlon didn’t count. And…
No! No! No! a stern voice screamed in her head. It ain’t gonna happen. No way. No how.
End of story.
ANYA
Anya soon realized that with Sergei gone, she had nobody to depend on but herself. Sergei had treated her with kindness, but it seemed kindness didn’t pay, because Sergei was dead, and with Olga’s connections, the woman was never accused of the crime.
The morning after the shooting, Olga had Igor bring her upstairs to the bedroom she occupied on the top floor of the house. Anya had spent the night huddled in a locked closet where Igor had deposited her after Sergei was shot. She’d hardly slept at all and when Igor came to fetch her, she was painfully aware that she smelled, her hair was matted and her clothes grimy.
“What’s your name?” Olga barked.
“Anya,” she replied, quite startled by the luxury of Olga’s bedroom. There was an enormous bed, long satin drapes hanging from the windows, and a big white furry rug on the floor. Anya had never seen such luxury.
“How old are you?” Olga asked, rubbing her hands together in anticipation of the money this morsel of a girl would bring in.
“Fifteen,” Anya whispered.
“Fifteen an’ not a virgin,” Olga muttered. “But you can pretend, can’t you?”
Anya nodded, although she really didn’t understand what the woman was getting at.
“Take your clothes off,” Olga ordered.
Anya stiffened.
“Don’t be shy,” Olga said. “I’ve seen it all before.”
Timidly Anya slipped off her dress. Sergei had never thought to buy her underwear, so she stood in front of the intimidating woman and Igor–who skulked by the door.
Standing there, naked and shivering, a feeling of hopelessness overcame her.
“Not bad,” Olga said, reaching for a porcelain mug filled with sweet black tea. “Nothing that a bath and a delousing can’t take care of.”
At that precise moment Anya made a promise to herself that one day she would be treated as a human being and not a piece of meat. One day she would take her revenge on all these people.
In her heart she knew that day would come.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ve decided to throw a surprise birthday party for Ryan,” Mandy informed Lucy as they sat at an outside table at The Ivy.
“And I’m thinking of divorcing Phil,” Lucy responded, adjusting her Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses, wondering if she was being observed by sneaky paparazzi hiding in the black SUV parked across the street.
“Oh my God! What’s he done now?” Mandy exclaimed, thinking that she should actually be saying–who’s he doing now? Because Phil Standard’s sexual activities were general knowledge. He was a bad bad boy, but lovable all the same.
“He’s refusing to cooperate on my career comeback,” Lucy said petulantly. “Phil can be a jealous prick when it suits him. He doesn’t relish the idea of me attracting any more attention than I already have.”
“Phil, jealous?” Mandy said, not quite believing it, for Phil always seemed so easygoing.
“Oh yes,” Lucy said, filled with the unfairness of it all. “If Phil had his way I’d be permanently knocked up and stuck in the kitchen cooking him three meals a day. He doesn’t get that I’m a movie star, for God’s sake.”
“I’m sure he is very proud of you,” Mandy murmured.
But Lucy wasn’t listening, she was on a roll. “I took time off to have his kids, and now that I plan on resuming my career, the selfish jerk is being about as helpful as a boil on the tip of his dick! Asshole!”
“How are the children?”
“Fine. They’re with their nanny. I don’t know what I’d do without her, she’s a gem.”
Mandy wasn’t that interested, she had her own problems, but she made a few more sympathetic noises anyway.
After Lucy had finished complaining Mandy repeated her desire to throw Ryan a surprise party. “Upstairs at Mr Chow,” she said. “Only twenty people. And do not tell Phil, because he’ll blab to Ryan, and that’ll spoil the surprise.”
“How am I supposed to get him there if I can’t tell him?” Lucy asked, biting into a crab cake.
“Say it’s dinner with Don, that’ll do it,” Mandy said, nodding to herself. “I’ll call Don and warn him; he’s a lot more capable of keeping a secret.”
“He’s screwing his assistant, you know,” Lucy revealed.
“Who, Don?” Mandy asked, quite surprised.
“No, Phil,” Lucy said scornfully. “Fucking around is in his genes, or so he tells me–like that makes it okay.” She paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes. “Now, if I did it, he’d go berserk. That’s why he doesn’t want me going back to work; he thinks I’ll be exposed to all kinds of temptation.”
“How ridiculous,” Mandy said, pushing her grilled vegetable salad around the plate.
“I know,” Lucy agreed. “It’s not as if I’m about to walk on the set and fuck George Clooney.” She took a long beat, grinned and added–“Although…”
They both giggled at the thought.
“Have you ever che
ated on Phil?” Mandy asked curiously.
Lucy paused for a moment before answering. Mandy was a notorious gossip and anything she told her would be repeated all over town, so although she was mad at Phil, she wasn’t about to castrate him by blabbing to Mandy about the tennis pro and the masseur she’d had brief but satisfying flings with. She’d managed to keep her extra-curricular activities firmly under wraps, and that’s the way it would stay.
“No,” she said at last. “Have you ever cheated on Ryan?”
“Of course not!” Mandy responded, blushing slightly. “I would never do that to him.”
“Do you think he cheats on you?”
“Who, Ryan?” Mandy pealed with laughter. “He wouldn’t dare. I’d cut off his balls and use them for earrings!”
“Ryan’s a very attractive man,” Lucy mused. “And you know what the women are like in this town…especially when they’re on the loose. Predatory bitches.”
“Oh, I know,” Mandy said, nodding her head in agreement. “But Ryan’s not a cheater.”
“You’d be shocked if I told you the names of some of the women who’ve set their sights on Phil,” Lucy continued. “Fortunately he just fucks them and moves on. Bastard!”
“Tell me names,” Mandy said, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “They’re safe with me.”
“Can’t do that,” Lucy said, pursing her lips.
“I don’t know how you’ve taken it all these years,” Mandy said, slightly aggrieved that Lucy wouldn’t reveal anyone’s identity. “Don’t you sometimes have to conquer the urge to kill him?”
“Ten years of marriage, and probably five hundred women,” Lucy sighed, tossing back her sweep of long dark hair. “I suppose I must love the cheating sonofabitch, so what can I do?”
“You can divorce him, just like you said.”
“I said I was thinking of it,” Lucy frowned. Telling anything at all to Mandy Heckerling was a big mistake. Mandy lived for juicy information so she could pass it on to her coterie of so-called girlfriends.
Sometimes Lucy wondered why she was friendly with her. But if one lived in Los Angeles Mandy was a social necessity; the woman had a hand in everything, therefore it wasn’t wise to get on her bad side.
Funny how everyone referred to her as Mandy Heckerling and not Mandy Richards. She never wanted anyone to forget that she was Hamilton J. Heckerling’s daughter. And nobody ever did.
Ryan deserved better, he was such a sweetheart. Of all the men in the business, Ryan was certainly the nicest, and not in a boring way. Ryan was undeniably attractive, smart, fun and very sexy–although he didn’t seem to know it like Don Verona. He was also an extremely accomplished film-maker. Lucy would give anything to work with him, and she’d hoped that he would feel the same way. But no, judging from his non-reaction to her news of a comeback, it was not to be. However, she was not prepared to give up. She was determined to get Ryan to take a look at her story outline. Maybe he’d love it so much he’d want to produce it.
“Well,” Mandy said wisely, “thinking about it is the first step. If you did decide to go ahead, what lawyer would you use?”
“I wasn’t serious,” Lucy said, managing to steer Mandy off the subject and back to Ryan’s surprise party.
Truth was that she had no intention of divorcing her cheating bastard of a husband. She’d put in ten years’ hard time, and one of these days she planned on reaping all the benefits.
Every morning Don sat down in his office at the studio and met with his production team and his chief writers. First they dissected the previous night’s show, then they went over the upcoming show. Don had a big input on which guests were booked. He kept a list of favorite guests–celebrities who could appear on his show any time they wanted. His list included everyone from Tina Fey to Don Rickles, Jimmy Woods and Dennis Miller. All brilliant guests who knew exactly what they were supposed to do. He also favored edgy political commentators, writers, and sharp comedians. However, his segment producers and bookers were always pushing major movie stars and gorgeous minor actresses or models.
Usually they compromised, and the show ended up being an interesting mix, although as a host Don got bored easily and sometimes his behavior pissed publicists off when they believed one of their more important clients had been insulted.
Don didn’t care, he did his thing and the eager public couldn’t get enough of his wry sense of humor. Young actors and actresses with an overblown sense of their own importance were his biggest annoyance. Especially when the female celebrity on his show considered herself God’s Gift and went into what he referred to as a “flirting frenzy.” Some of the women put on an exhibition not to be believed. Skimpy backless dresses, minuscule skirts, no panties, see-through tops, erect nipples. He was so used to it that they simply had no effect on him. Mary Ellen was the first one he’d dated in a long time.
One date was all it had taken for him to realize that Mary Ellen was too needy for him. After their dinner at Geoffrey’s he’d driven her home. She’d asked him in for a drink, but he’d declined and not called her again. She’d waited a week before texting him with an invitation to the opening of a low-budget movie she was in. Feeling sorry for her, he’d said yes. Now it was tonight and he was kicking himself. Why had he agreed to go, that was the question.
If it was Cameron…well, that would be a date to look forward to.
But no, the lovely and reclusive Cameron was playing hardball, turning up at his house every day at seven a.m. looking incredible, forcing him to sweat his way through a vigorous work-out, then turning him down every time he asked her out.
Don was not used to turn-downs. Cameron Paradise was a first, and he didn’t like it.
Although…she was a challenge. And if there was one thing Don excelled at, it was meeting challenges.
Cameron Paradise would come around. They always did.
Catching Don on his cell, Mandy filled him in about the surprise party she was planning.
Don didn’t know what to say. He was sure that the last thing Ryan needed was a surprise party, but it wasn’t up to him, so he assured Mandy he’d be there.
“Who are you bringing?” she wanted to know.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On how I feel that night, Mandy,” he said, irritated. She was such a pushy woman.
“You could come alone,” she suggested. “It isn’t necessary for you to always be seen with one of your transient dates.”
What a bitch! “My assistant will let you know,” he said, abruptly clicking off his cell.
Who the fuck did she think she was, talking to him like that? Transient dates indeed!
The sooner Ryan dumped her, the better.
Mary Ellen wore a low-cut pink dress and extremely high stilettos. She had great legs and an admirable body, but Don did not find her at all sexy.
He picked her up at her Brentwood house in his silver Lamborghini, and drove her to the Academy Theater on Wilshire, where the screening of her movie was taking place. It was her first starring role in a theatrical movie and she was excited. On TV she was a big star, movies were a whole other thing and she was desperate to make the jump from TV to the big screen.
The legitimate photographers and hovering paparazzi went wild when the two of them entered the theater. They were a dream duo. Flashbulb frenzy took place, while Don gritted his teeth and wished he were somewhere else. The whole red-carpet scene had never appealed to him. It brought back bad memories of his second wife, Sacha, a luscious French movie star who’d reveled in the spotlight. After the divorce she’d moved back to Paris and now lived with a starving artist. No alimony relief there.
“I’m heading inside, I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” he whispered to Mary Ellen.
“Please don’t,” she whispered back, clutching onto his arm, slightly panic-stricken. “I can’t do this alone.”
So he was stuck as the flashbulbs continued to flash, microphones were thrust in his face, and que
stions were yelled at them.
Are you two an item?
How long have you been seeing each other?
When’s the engagement?
When’s the wedding?
Is Mary Ellen pregnant?
When’s the divorce?
Nobody actually said When’s the divorce? But Don knew that they wanted to.
Shit! What had he gotten himself into?
Suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and there was Ryan, grinning at his discomfort.
“Come on, you two,” Ryan said, rescuing them both. “Let’s go take our seats or we’ll miss the beginning of the movie.”
“Thank God!” Don said as they headed upstairs. “I forgot what a nightmare these things can be. What are you doing here anyway?”
“The director’s a friend,” Ryan replied. “And by the way, Mary Ellen, he raves about your performance. Says you have a very special quality.”
“Thank you,” she said modestly, quite aglow from all the attention.
“Where’s Mandy?” Don asked as they took their seats.
“Attending one of her charity gigs. We’re meeting at Spago later, care to join us?”
“Love to,” Don said, relieved. He’d had enough alone time with Mary Ellen–she simply wasn’t his type.
Not that he had a type, but whatever it was, she wasn’t it.
The next morning the newspapers, TV gossip journalists and Internet blogs heralded the big new romance. Don Verona and Mary Ellen Evans. The famously attractive talk-show host and the famously jilted-by-her-movie-star-husband girl next door.
The ladies of The View decided the two of them were a perfect combination. Jillian, Steve and Dorothy dished about them on Good Day L.A. Even Regis and Kelly gave the supposed new couple a few minutes.
Don wasn’t pleased, but he had no one to blame but himself. He should have known better than going to a movie première with a well-known and much-loved TV star.
Mandy was on the phone first thing. “I assume you’ll be bringing Mary Ellen to the party,” she said. “I’m ordering extremely expensive place cards with gold calligraphy, so I’m double checking.”
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