“The dude has to be crazy.”
“Maybe.”
“Just tell me this–was he at the party?”
“Of course. He paid for it.”
“Uh-huh,” Cole said. Now he was convinced it was Natalie’s real-estate boyfriend, it had to be.
“My entire crew wants to join the gym–have someone send over membership forms,” Natalie said, getting off the subject because she had faithfully sworn to Don that she would not reveal his name under any circumstances.
“Sure,” Cole said. “Did you happen to mention that it’s gonna cost them a thousand bucks a year?”
“They’ll make their own decisions when they get the forms,” she said, waving at superstar Venus and her husband–the over-a-decade-younger Billy Melina–a star in his own right. The two of them were making their way to a table on the outdoor patio.
“Shit!” Cole exclaimed, sitting up straight. “You know them?”
“Yes, Cole, I know everyone, and they know me–that’s as long as they can put me in context.”
“An’ that means?”
“It means I’m a celebrity journalist on TV,” Natalie said matter-of-factly. “So when I interview them it’s best friends all round. And when they see me somewhere else, they’re not so sure how to place me. It’s all a game.”
“Billy Melina is some sexy-lookin’ stud,” Cole remarked, throwing a lustful stare after the actor. “I wouldn’t mind workin’ his cute butt.”
“Stop droolin’ after the straight ones,” Natalie scolded. “That’s always been your problem.”
“Could be he’s in the closet,” Cole mused.
“He’s married to Venus,” Natalie observed dryly. “I hardly think so.”
“You never know,” Cole replied, refusing to be shot down. “How many times I gotta tell you it’s always the ones you never suspect.”
“God help us!” Natalie sighed. “When are you ever going to find the right man?”
“When are you?” he countered. “You go through ’em as fast as I do.”
“Maybe tomorrow, maybe never,” she answered vaguely. “I’m in no hurry.”
“So it runs in the family,” he said. “We’re just gonna havta keep lookin’.”
“Well quit looking in Billy Melina’s direction,” she said tartly. “I’m telling you, Billy is straighter than a ruler.”
“Yeah, sure,” Cole mocked.
“Freako!” Natalie exclaimed.
“Takes one—”
“To know one!” she said, finishing the sentence for him.
They both burst out laughing.
Cameron awoke feeling great after ten hours’ sleep. Wow! Hangover completely gone.
She lay in bed for a moment going over the events of the last couple of days. It was all so exciting, the total realization of her dreams. Paradise actually existed! How cool was that?
Yoko and Lennon sprawled on the bed beside her, farting and snoring in their usual fashion.
“Up!” she commanded. “Jump to it!”
Both dogs leaped off the bed and immediately began barking.
“Calm down, guys,” she ordered. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”
Singing to herself she took a shower, threw on her work-out clothes, fixed a healthy breakfast, ran the dogs around the block, dropped them off at Mr Wasabi’s, and set off for Don’s.
True to his promise he was up, dressed and ready. “I even made the coffee,” he said, adding a sly–“Thought you might need it.”
“Nope. I do not need it,” she said cheerfully, heading for the stairs and the gym. “Today I feel great.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“And thanks for your very nice comment on Natalie’s show. Much appreciated.”
“It worked,” he said, following her up the stairs. “Everyone’s bugging me for the number so they can check the place out.”
“That’s amazing.”
“You’re an instant success, kiddo.”
“Thanks to your support, and Natalie of course. That woman is such a dynamo.”
“Yes, she is. Did I tell you I’m doing an interview with her?”
“Is she guesting on your show?”
“No,” he said, keeping it casual. “I’m giving her an exclusive.”
“I thought you told me you never did interviews.”
“I don’t, but Natalie asked me, and since she’s been trying to get me for years, I finally caved.”
“I didn’t realize you were so close.”
“We’re not, but I’ve always thought that out of the crowd of entertainment interviewers, she’s one of the best. Besides, she cornered me at the party, I couldn’t say no.”
“Of course you’ll mention Paradise?”
“Man!” he said, laughing. “What am I–your your P.R. whore?”
“If you like,” she said, giggling.
“What I like is seeing you in such a happy mood.”
“Okay,” she said briskly. “You–on the treadmill, no more time to waste.”
“And then–just when the sun is shining–out comes her bossy side,” he said, breaking a smile.
“I’m not bossy,” she objected, “simply organized.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he teased.
“By the way, I’m giving up house calls and asking everyone to switch to the gym.”
“Except me,” he said confidently, stepping onto the treadmill.
“Well…”
“I’m your exception, right?” he said, flashing another one of his devastating smiles. “After all, I’m the guy who rescued you the other night. Without me taking care of you, you’d be sprawled on the floor singing ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ with your dress around your waist.”
“I would so not,” she said, her cheeks flushing.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“I remember enough, thank you.”
“Bet you don’t,” he said, provoking her.
“Can we drop it?” she begged, cringing at some of the memories.
“Fine. As long as you don’t forget our deal.”
“Deal?”
“C’mon, Miz Paradise, don’t give me that,” he scolded. “Tonight. Our date. I’m picking you up at eight.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“In that case I promise to stay sober.”
“Hey–” he said, with an irresistible grin. “And I was hoping for a repeat performance!”
“Shut up,” she said, leaning over and switching the speed on the treadmill to the highest.
“Jeez, Cam,” he said, as the treadmill took off and he attempted to keep up, almost falling off. “What are you trying to do–kill me?”
Now it was her turn to smile. “Maybe.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“We should throw a dinner party,” Lucy suggested, entering their large comfortable kitchen where Phil was sitting at the table finishing his breakfast. “We never entertain at the house, I think it would be a nice thing to do.”
“What’s the occasion?” Phil inquired, putting down Variety, his daily read.
“No particular occasion,” she said, casually shrugging. “I just thought we might enjoy a few laughs.”
Phil regarded his beautiful former movie-star wife with a jaundiced eye. Since when was Lucy into entertaining at the house? Perfect little dinner parties were not her thing, she left those kind of events to her friend, Mandy. “How many people?” he asked. “And even more important–what’ll it cost me?”
“You’re so bloody loaded, darling, does it really matter?”
“I’m loaded ’cause I know how to keep an eye on my fuckin’ money,” he growled.
Fuck you! squawked the parrot, picking up on the F word. Fuck you!
Phil chuckled. “God! I love that bird.”
“I know you do,” Lucy said calmly. “And so do the kids. Their playmates’ mothers–not so much.”
Phil was pleased that he and his wife a
ppeared to be having a civilized conversation. For the last few months she’d done nothing but bug him about resurrecting her stupid career. Thank God she seemed to be over such nonsense.
“Okay,” he said, downing the rest of his coffee. “We’re having a party. Go ahead and arrange it.”
“I will,” she said, secretly delighted, for she had a big surprise in store.
Phil took off for his study–located in his special tree house overlooking their pool. He would stay locked away for the rest of the day, refusing to be disturbed under any circumstances. Nothing came between Phil and his scripts.
Lucy was used to his ways; at least when he was writing he wasn’t out screwing around.
After throwing a cover over the parrot’s cage, and shooing the dogs out of the kitchen, she phoned Marlon.
His machine picked up, so she left him a message. “Marlon. It’s Lucy. Loved the pages I read today. Do you think you can finish very soon? I’ve decided to throw a launch party for our script, so keep working.”
“Great news,” Ryan announced, catching Mandy in her enormous dressing room where she was busy trying to choose a pair of sneakers from her extensive collection. “I’ve found a house for Evie and the boys.”
“Thank God!” she gasped, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by unopened shoe boxes. “I don’t think I could take one more day of them running riot around here.”
“They haven’t been exactly running riot, Mandy,” Ryan pointed out, irritated that she would say such a thing. “They’ve been pretty well behaved considering they were uprooted from their home.”
“Whatever,” she answered vaguely.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes,” she said, settling on a pair of brand new Chanel sneakers. “Mary Ellen’s picking me up, we’re taking a proper look at that new place.”
“What new place?”
“Paradise.”
Paradise! Was she kidding him? Why was she going back there?
“Kind of a dumb name, don’t you think?” Mandy continued. “And that girl who runs it doesn’t seem too bright. Do you think Don’s banging her?”
“No,” he said shortly, overcome with all kinds of mixed emotions. How dare Mandy call Cameron dumb, that’s the last thing she was.
“Poor Mary Ellen,” Mandy sighed. “She’s under the impression Don is the one. Should I tell her he’s nothing but a bad boy womanizer who can’t keep it in his pants?”
“And what would you have to gain by telling her that?” Ryan asked, waiting to hear his wife’s agenda, because she always had one. “Besides, Phil’s the one who can’t keep it zipped, not Don.”
“You never know,” Mandy mused. “Mary Ellen could come in useful at one of my events–after all, she is a star. I know it’s only on TV, but according to all the magazine coverage she gets, she’s very popular. Maybe you should put her in one of your movies.”
I want a divorce. The words screamed in his head. I want out. I can’t do this anymore.
But now he had to wait until Evie and the boys were settled in their new home. God! There was always something.
After that, he promised himself he’d go for it–there was only so much more of Mandy he could take.
Miss Dunn, Hamilton’s most trusted L.A. assistant, approached Anya who was laying out beside the pool. Like most of Hamilton’s employees, Miss Dunn had worked for him for almost twenty years. Thin, with scraggly brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and slightly crossed eyes, she harbored an unrequited crush on her overbearing boss. Originally he’d imported her from New York. Hamilton did not want any L.A. glamour babes working for him. Business was business, and he liked the women who worked for him to be plain and dedicated. Miss Dunn fit the bill.
“Yes?” Anya said, languidly raising herself up on one elbow.
“Mr Hamilton asked me to give you these,” Miss Dunn said, trying to avoid staring at the young woman’s slender body–the body that was giving her boss so much pleasure.
“What are they?” Anya asked, shading her pale blue eyes from the sun.
“Charge cards,” Miss Dunn said. “Neiman Marcus, Saks, Barney’s. Mr Heckerling thought you should have them. And your new black American Express card.”
“Okay,” Anya said, sinking back down. “Put them on the table.”
How ungrateful, Miss Dunn thought to herself. At least she could have said thank you.
“Mr Heckerling asked me to tell you that he took the helicopter to Santa Barbara,” Miss Dunn continued. “He’ll be back at six p.m. in time for dinner.”
Anya sat up all the way. If Hamilton was out of town for the day it might be the perfect opportunity for her to contact Ryan Richards.
“Can you get me Mr Richards’s business phone number,” she said.
“Perhaps you mean Mr Heckerling’s daughter’s number?”
“No,” Anya said abruptly. “Ryan Richards’s.”
“As you wish,” Miss Dunn said, tight-lipped, wondering why Mrs Heckerling would want to contact Mr Heckerling’s son-in-law.
Reaching for a flimsy top to put over her barely there bikini, Anya said–“I’ll walk up to the house with you.”
“Very well,” Miss Dunn said. She could never understand why her boss had to marry these women. Why couldn’t he simply sleep with them and be done with it? Marriage was such a big commitment, and he always managed to choose the wrong woman. This one was no exception; she was also young enough to be his grand-daughter, which Miss Dunn found somewhat disgusting. That very morning she and Madge, his loyal Scottish housekeeper, had discussed the situation over tea in the kitchen.
“He marries them to make his friends jealous,” Madge had confided, as if she had inside information. “He wants them to envy him.”
“Perhaps they won’t sleep with him unless he puts a ring on their finger,” Miss Dunn had suggested.
Madge had let forth a hearty guffaw. “In this day and age? Nonsense!”
Anya followed Miss Dunn into Hamilton’s all-leather book-lined study, then through to the ante-room where she worked within calling distance of her boss. Going straight to her computer, Miss Dunn printed out Ryan’s details, then handed the sheet of paper to Anya, who took it and went upstairs.
As soon as her boss’s new wife left, Miss Dunn made a notation in the detailed list of the day’s happenings she always handed to Mr Heckerling before she went home. He was a man who liked to know everything, especially when it came to the activities of his wives.
“Don’t faint,” Lucy said over the phone. “But we’re throwing a dinner party at our house.”
“Excuse me?” Mandy said, quite surprised. “You’re actually inviting people to your home? This is a first.”
“I know, I know,” Lucy agreed. “We’re kind of lax on the entertaining at home front. But what with the kids and the dogs and Phil’s crazy parrot who won’t stop screaming Fuck you! it’s not exactly easy.”
“But you’re definitely doing it?”
“We are. And I thought you could tell me what caterer I’m supposed to use.”
“Oh Lucy, Lucy, you’re such a babe in Hollywood,” Mandy sighed. “So ignorant about how things are done.”
“Is that an insult?”
“Of course,” Mandy said gaily. “Can’t you tell? But only in a very loving way.”
“How about lunch tomorrow?” Lucy suggested. “Come armed with a list of things I have to do to make it all work.”
“I suppose…”
“Chow’s? One o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
Anya stared at the piece of paper with Ryan’s phone numbers. Home. Office. Cell. Which should she choose?
Certainly not home. Mandy was an alarming and pushy woman she wanted nothing to do with.
Office? Maybe.
Or cell? Probably her best bet.
Tentatively she reached for the phone.
ANYA
Taking it slowly was the best way to reel Seth Ca
rpenter in. Anya knew it was the only way.
The mid-afternoon back rubs soon became a regular occurrence. Seth began coming home almost every day, and Anya was there, looking after his baby, fixing him a sandwich, ministering to his every need–well, almost–because he was riddled with guilt that every time she gave him the shoulder massage with her breasts pressed firmly against his back, he got hard.
She pretended not to notice, and when she was finished massaging his shoulders, he rushed into the bathroom as if he had to go.
One day he said, “It’s best if you don’t mention to Mrs Carpenter that I come home so much.” A nervous laugh. “She’ll think I’m slacking off.”
Or jacking off, Anya thought. TV was teaching her so many quaint American expressions.
Back at the hostel, Ella was still pestering her about getting together and putting on a sex show for money. “I got this dude lined up,” Ella insisted. “He’ll pay us fifty bucks each. Whaddya think?”
“No,” Anya replied primly.
Fifty bucks indeed! She was in America now. The stakes were much higher.
After six weeks of playing with Seth, acting naive and innocent and caring, he finally cracked.
She’d known it was coming because the morning fights with his wife had escalated; their arguments were continuous.
“Anya,” he said, after a particularly vigorous neck rub. “We’ve got to stop doing this.”
“Doing what, Mr Carpenter?” she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent.
He stood up, faced her and began speaking. “I’m…I’m developing feelings for you, and that’s not right.”
“Feelings, Mr Carpenter?”
“Oh God,” he groaned. “You’re so young.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Yes, but you’ve led a sheltered life, I can see it in your face. You’re innocent, sweet…” He trailed off.
“I’ve had a boyfriend,” she murmured, hoping that the baby wouldn’t awaken, because this was the moment she’d been working toward.
“A boyfriend?” he said, startled. “You never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”
Married Lovers Page 24
