CHAPTER
53
ALISON SEWELL HAD MORE MONEY than she’d ever dreamed of. Her photographs of Lara Ivory were making her a fortune, especially the more explicit ones. Although she didn’t believe in sharing her newfound wealth, she’d gone to an agent who specialized in selling the more sensational type of photos. He’d cut a deal with one of the monthly men’s magazines, and now she was about to become even richer.
How proud Uncle Cyril would be of her. She regretted his demise and the death of her mother, who’d always said Alison would never do as well as Uncle Cyril. Well, she’d shown both of them. Pity they were not around to enjoy her triumph.
Now that she had Lara Ivory back in her sights, she thirsted for more. Staking out Lara’s house from a distance—because it wouldn’t do to get thrown back in jail—she’d observed there was a new man in residence.
Tramp! Did she have to sleep with everyone?
Alison soon found out who he was. Joey Lorenzo, some small-time actor. He was good-looking. Big deal. Alison hated him too.
She kept far enough away that they couldn’t spot her and took a series of pictures of them coming and going.
While she was waiting for Truth and Fact to run, she discovered that if she climbed a nearby tree she could get a clear shot into Lara’s bedroom. This so excited her that she nearly fell out of the tree, only saving herself by clinging to a protruding branch.
She called her newfound agent. “What if I can get shots of Lara Ivory screwing her boyfriend?”
He promised her a hefty check and a Cadillac. Incredible! Uncle Cyril had never gotten a Cadillac.
The night before Truth and Fact hit the-stands, she almost got the shot. Lara and Joey were in the bedroom, talking; then Lara walked into the bathroom, and Joey pulled off his T-shirt.
Click. Click. This was shaping up nicely.
Joey began flexing his muscles. ClickClickClick.
He walked toward the window. Even better.
He pulled down the shade.
Bastard! How could he do such a thing?
But she’d get ’em, no doubt about that. All she needed was patience.
If there was one thing Alison excelled at, it was waiting around.
CHAPTER
54
EARLY FRIDAY MORNING, PHOTOS OF Lara, taken on the set during the rape scene, were on the front page of Truth and Fact—a particularly down-and-dirty tabloid.
Lara Ivory—skirt up around her waist.
Lara Ivory—topless.
Lara Ivory—lying in the gutter almost totally naked.
Nikki was one of the first to see them, because when she woke up in Aiden’s rumpled bed and checked with her answering machine at home, there were several messages from an angry Richard, yelling and carrying on.
She immediately woke Aiden and asked him to run out and get her a copy of the paper. He pulled on his jeans and obliged.
When he came back and handed her the offending tabloid, she stared at it in horror. For once, Richard’s information was right. Somebody had gotten extremely graphic photographs of Lara.
Aiden inspected the photos over her shoulder. “Hey, we should’ve been paid for these,” he remarked, like they were no big deal. “I don’t show off my ass for free.”
“Lara will freak,” Nikki groaned, dismayed. “I’d better call Mick, find out how this happened.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Aiden said. “The photos are out there now. Look at it as good publicity for the movie.”
“You don’t understand,” Nikki said. “I feel responsible. I should’ve posted guards on the set.”
“Fuck it,” Aiden said. “I never believe anything I read; you shouldn’t either.”
“It’s not a question of believing. The pictures are there for everyone to see,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I have to tell her myself.”
Mrs. Crenshaw answered, informing her that Lara had already left and was on her way to work.
“I’ve got to go,” Nikki said, frantically gathering up her clothes from the floor and quickly dressing.
“I’ll drive you,” Aiden offered.
She nodded. “Can you break speed records? I have to get to her first.”
“We’re on our way,” he said. “I’m gonna give you the second greatest thrill ride of your life!”
• •
“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” Richard Barry said, ushering Madelaine Francis into his bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
“This is quite lovely,” Madelaine said, inspecting every detail.
“They recently refurbished the hotel,” Richard said. “I like hotel living. Takes a lot of the daily responsibility out of life.”
“I thought you were married,” Madelaine remarked, placing her Prada purse on a table.
“Separated,” Richard replied, heading for the phone. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A decaf cappuccino would be nice.”
“Two decaf cappuccinos,” Richard said into the receiver.
Madelaine sat down. There was something vaguely familiar about Richard Barry. She felt as if they’d met before, but she couldn’t remember where or when, which irritated her, because she prided herself on a brilliant memory. Of course, he was a famous director, so maybe he struck her as familiar because she’d seen his photo and read about his movies over the years. Yes, she decided, that was it.
True to his word, he’d made all the arrangements to fly her to L.A. She’d arrived yesterday from New York and was staying at The Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel for three nights. She was well aware that this free trip had something to do with Joey, and was most curious to find out what. Patting her briefcase, she said, “I’ve brought tapes of several young actors whose talent I’m sure you’ll appreciate. And if you care to see any of them in person, I can arrange to fly them out. Shall we view the tapes now?”
“No,” Richard said, wasting no time. “Put them on the table. I’ll take a look with my people later.”
“They’re for you to keep,” Madelaine said. “I had copies made.”
“You’re very organized.”
“I have to be in my business,” she replied, thinking how charming and attractive he was—not what she’d expected at all.
“So,” he said, getting right to it. “Tell me about Joey Lorenzo.”
“What is it you wish to know?” she asked carefully.
Richard fixed her with a purposeful gaze. “Everything,” he said.
For one wild moment she wondered if he was gay, and that’s why he wanted information on Joey.
No. At one time he’d been married to Lara Ivory and was now married to Nikki Barry, the costume designer; he couldn’t possibly be gay. Although you never knew in Hollywood; there were always surprises.
“ ‘Everything’ is a very all-encompassing word,” she said slowly.
“I’ll be truthful with you, Ms. Francis—” he began.
“Please call me Madelaine,” she interrupted.
“Okay, Madelaine, allow me to be frank. I’m looking forward to seeing the tapes of your actors, and I’m sure that sometime in the future we’ll do business together. But right now I have a problem with Joey Lorenzo, and I need information.”
“You do?” she said, wondering if Joey had stolen money from him too. “And what might that problem be?”
“Unfortunately he’s attached himself to my wife,” Richard said, his face grim.
“Oh,” Madelaine said, quite surprised.
“Nobody seems to know anything about him,” Richard continued. “And the truth is, I’m extremely concerned.”
And so you should be, Madelaine thought. Joey Lorenzo is a thieving sonofabitch. “Did he meet Mrs. Barry on a movie?” she asked politely.
“It’s not Nikki he’s with,” Richard answered impatiently. “It’s my ex-wife, Lara Ivory.”
For a moment Madelaine was completely speechless.
Joey with Lara Ivory? Impossible!
Then she thought about it, and suddenly everything made sense. Joey was devastatingly handsome, with charm to spare—not to mention sensational in bed. Women chased him wherever he went. Why wouldn’t Lara Ivory want him?
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she said, shaking her head. “Joey’s quite volatile. You’re right to be apprehensive.”
Richard leaned toward her. “Can I ask you an extremely personal question, Madelaine?”
“I suppose so,” she said, thinking how unfair it was. How could she, Madelaine Francis, compete with one of the most beautiful women in the world? Not that she wanted him back. No way.
Richard’s voice was low and intent. “Did you and Joey have an intimate relationship?”
She felt herself blushing. “Look, Mr. Barry, I realize Joey’s quite a bit younger than me, but . . . sometimes, men who are my age only want twenty-two-year-olds.” A long pause. “Yes,” she admitted, refusing to make any more excuses. “Joey was there, and very responsive. We lived together for a while.”
Right, Richard thought triumphantly. He’s the hustler I imagined he was. Living with an older agent to further his career. Madelaine Francis has to be at least twenty years his senior, and she’s hardly Jane Fonda.
The room-service waiter knocked on the door and delivered two cappuccinos. Richard signed the check.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Barry?” the waiter asked hopefully, really wanting to say, “Will you read my screenplay. I act, too.”
“No,” Richard said curtly.
Reluctantly the waiter left the room. As soon as he was gone, Richard turned back to Madelaine.
“Exactly how long were you and Joey together?” he asked, his voice tense.
She hesitated for a few seconds, then decided that she might as well tell him something; after all she had nothing to lose and everything to gain if she could win Richard Barry’s friendship. “Joey was twenty-four when we first met,” she began, remembering the moment only too well. “He was a young actor trying to make it in New York and not getting very far.” She let out a long, weary sigh. “Believe me, I did plenty for him. Landed him a substantial role in Solid, a movie for which he received fabulous reviews. After that stellar beginning his career was all set to rise. Then he vanished.”
“What do you mean—’vanished’?” Richard asked, his interest aroused.
“He left town,” Madelaine said, sipping her cappuccino. “Nobody heard from him. Nobody knew where he’d gone. Six years later he reappeared, told me he’d had family problems. Like a fool I took him back, and shortly thereafter, I sent him up for the role in The Dreamer, where he obviously met your ex-wife. That’s the last I saw of him.”
Richard drummed his fingers on the edge of his chair. “Where was he for those six years?”
Madelaine shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“What about his fiancée?”
“Fiancée?” she said, frowning. “I know nothing of a fiancée.”
“He told everyone on The Dreamer he was engaged.”
“To whom?”
“A woman called Phillipa?”
“Knowing Joey—my guess is he probably made it up to make himself appear more substantial.”
“He’d do something like that?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Joey would do anything.”
“Didn’t you ever try to find him when he ran off?”
She shrugged. “Not my style, Mr. Barry. I’m hardly a detective.”
“Were you living with him when he made The Dreamer?”
She nodded, her anger building. Dumped twice. It wasn’t fair. Joey Lorenzo was a cheating, no-good bastard, and she hated him for the way he’d played her.
She managed to hold her anger in check, it wouldn’t do to let Richard Barry know how dumb she’d been. “Perhaps, Mr. Barry, you can do me a favor,” she said, fumbling in her purse for a cigarette, desperate for a nicotine fix.
“What would that be?”
“Give me Joey’s address. There’s a business matter I need to discuss with him.”
Richard leaned over and lit her cigarette, noting her trembling hands. He felt sorry for her; she was his age, but everyone knew it was different for men. Men could get away with going out with girls twenty or thirty years younger than they were, and nobody said a word. However, if a woman did it, she was considered a pathetic old desperado.
“He’s living with my ex-wife,” Richard said. “He’s also in the movie she’s shooting—Revenge—a low-budget piece of crap. I’ll give you her number. In fact,” he added, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, “it might be helpful if you told her personally about you and Joey.”
“I can do that,” Madelaine said, filling her lungs with soothing smoke. I’d love to do that.
“Lara knows nothing about him,” Richard continued. “If she did, maybe she’d see things more clearly.”
“Perhaps you’d like to arrange a meeting between us,” Madelaine suggested helpfully. “I’m available.”
Hmm, Richard thought, nothing like a cooperative, vengeful woman. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’m visiting the set this morning. Would you have time to come with me?”
“I’m sure I can make time.”
“Good.”
Madelaine Francis understood exactly what Richard Barry wanted her to do. And, she decided, it would be her pleasure. Her own personal way of getting back at Joey.
CHAPTER
55
LINDEN, LARA’S PUBLICIST, GOT TO her before anyone else, handing her the offending tabloid in the privacy of her trailer. Page one was bad enough, but as she stared at the two-page spread of revealing photographs that followed, she felt sick. Who’d allowed a photographer to capture these most intimate of scenes? Why wasn’t anyone protecting her?
“I don’t believe this!” she said, utterly dismayed. “How can this have happened?”
“Somebody on the set with a hidden camera,” Linden replied. “Mick or Nikki should’ve had everyone on alert. If they’d been aware, this couldn’t’ve been done.”
“It’s simply not fair,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I feel so, so . . . violated.”
“It’s a scene from a movie, Lara,” Linden said, trying to reassure her. “It’s certainly not you.”
“Of course it’s me,” she answered vehemently, eyes flashing danger. “You’d need a magnifying glass to read the small print that says the photos are from a movie.”
“I’ll get into damage control. We’ll put a whole other spin on this story.”
“How do I know they didn’t release these pictures to get publicity for Revenge?” she asked flatly.
“You think Nikki would do that?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she replied, feeling totally betrayed. “Richard was right: he said they were using me. So did Joey.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” Linden said, taking the tabloid out of her hands. “The best thing is to ignore it.”
“Thanks a lot,” she said indignantly. “You try ignoring it if these pictures were of you.”
“I don’t think anyone would pay to see me in the buff,” he deadpanned.
“It’s not funny, Linden.”
“I know, I know. Honestly Lara, I understand how difficult it is for you.”
No, you don’t, she wanted to respond. You have no idea what it’s like to be humiliated this way. Reduced to nothing more than tits and ass.
“Okay,” she said, dismissing him. “Go do damage control.”
He nodded. “I’ll check with you later.”
When he was gone, she sat down, wondering how she was going to explain it to Joey. He was at an all-day photo shoot, so hopefully no one would mention it to him. She’d tell him tonight when she’d calmed down.
Shortly after Linden left, Quinn called, then Nikki arrived. Lara didn’t take a beat. “What in hell happened?” she demanded coldly. “How did these pictures get out?”
“Oh, God!” Nikki groaned. “You saw them.”
“Saw them? I’ve had Quinn on the phone doing his ‘I told you so’ number. Thank God Joey hasn’t seen them yet. He’ll go ballistic when he does. Richard’s on his way over.”
Nikki could barely contain her annoyance. “Why?”
“Because he called and I asked him to come,” Lara answered defiantly. “He cares about what goes on in my life, unlike some people.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nikki apologized. “I don’t know how anybody could’ve gotten those shots.”
“When I agreed to make Revenge, I expected to be protected,” Lara said, her voice an icy blast. “The studios always protect me. Why can’t you?”
“Believe me,” Nikki said earnestly. “It’s not my fault.”
“You’re the producer of Revenge, that makes the responsibility yours.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Nikki said sheepishly.
“Quinn’s furious. He says this could have a very negative effect on my career.”
“I’m sure he’s overreacting.”
“I understand your ambition, Nikki,” Lara continued. “But I didn’t expect I was the one who’d end up getting used.”
“Now you’re being unfair.”
“I’m too angry to be fair,” Lara responded. “I mean, how would you like to be out there in the tabloids—naked for everyone to see? I’ve never done nude photographs in my life, and now I find myself in this position because of your damn movie.”
Richard arrived shortly after, just as Nikki was leaving the trailer. They exchanged abrupt hellos.
He hurried over to Lara, put his arms around her and held her close, breathing in her seductive scent. “Wouldn’t listen to me, would you?” he said, hugging her tightly.
She pulled away with a helpless shrug. “What can I say? You were right.”
“If it had been my set, you can rest assured it would never have happened.”
“I know,” she said ruefully.
“This is what you get when you work with amateurs.”
“I guess so,” she replied, sitting down. “Thanks for coming, Richard. It means a lot to me.”
Thrill Page 35
