“So tell me again,” she answered calmly.
“A friend of mine is interested in me scoring his movie. He’s running a rough cut.”
Gregg’s lies were a joke. Up until now she’d accepted them because she hadn’t wanted to face up to the truth of another failed marriage.
“Would this be the same friend who tells you you’re the best lover in the world and have the most beautiful cock?” she wanted to ask. But she didn’t, she remained silent, remembering her promise to Michael that she wouldn’t initiate a fight. “Okay,” she said, keeping it light. “I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t feel like going to James and Claude’s by herself, and she certainly had no desire to sit through a movie. But it sure beat the alternative, which would be watching Gregg get ready for a rendezvous with his latest girlfriend. That she knew she couldn’t stand.
•
“YOU’RE DISTRACTED,” Carol said, busily loading the dishwasher. “What’s up?”
“Huh?” Michael answered. They had recently finished an early steak dinner—which she’d cooked—and now they were contemplating catching a movie.
“Distracted,” Carol repeated. “Not here with me.”
Michael had a strong suspicion it was time for the speech. You’re too good for me. I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ll find someone better.
Sooner than anticipated, but he had a feeling that if he allowed Carol to get any closer, she’d be hard to shake.
Not that there was anything wrong with her. She was thirty-two, an attractive redhead with a pleasing personality and a good body. She was successful at her real estate job, not too bitter about failing as an actress, an excellent cook, and very fond of him.
Too fond. He knew that any second she was about to come out with the L word, and he had to avoid that at all costs. No thankyouverymuch. The L word smacked of commitment, and Michael Scorsinni was a loner. That’s the way he liked it, and that’s the way it had to stay.
“I’m not distracted,” he said vaguely. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” Carol asked, as she finished loading the dishwasher.
“About what movie we should see,” he replied, annoyed that she was attempting to invade his private thoughts.
“Oh,” she said mockingly. “Such concentration.”
He couldn’t stand it when she tried to be cute. Carol was definitely beginning to grate.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing the new Mel Gibson movie,” he said, wondering why he always allowed himself to get caught in a trap.
“It doesn’t open until Friday,” she said, taking off her apron.
“Clint Eastwood’s got a new one,” he suggested.
“Too violent for me.”
“Hey—you choose,” he said, thinking that’s what she was doing anyway.
“Julia Roberts, of course,” she said with an irritating smile. “The critics claim her latest is a woman’s film, but you can sleep if you get bored.”
He shot her a look. “Big of you.”
“I’ll call the theater, see what time it starts,” she said, leaving the room.
Why did she have to call? Why couldn’t she look up the time in the paper like everyone else?
All night long he’d been thinking about Lissa Roman, wondering what was going on at her house. Was she doing okay? Should he phone and check?
No. That wouldn’t be cool. What if the husband answered? He had a bad feeling about Gregg Lynch. The guy was a jerk. How could any sane man cheat on Lissa? She was so talented and beautiful, and on top of her beauty, she seemed genuinely nice. A rare combination. Michael had come across a few movie stars in his line of work, and as far as he could tell, they were all neurotic wrecks who looked better on the screen than off.
Carol came back in, a sweater knotted loosely across her shoulders. “We’d better get a move on,” she said briskly. “It starts in ten minutes.”
So now he had to sit through a woman’s movie. Great. But it was probably easier than giving Carol the break-up speech. He had to prepare himself for that. It took time and courage, and he wasn’t quite ready.
•
CLAUDE ST. LUCIA’S MANSION in Hancock Park was lavish in the old Hollywood style. There was an enormous entry hall, an old-fashioned sweeping limestone staircase, and several entertaining rooms all filled with an overabundance of French Baroque furniture.
Dinner at James and Claude’s always included a mix of interesting and gifted people, most of whom were regulars who dropped by once a week to have dinner and see the latest movie before it hit the theaters.
Lissa knew almost everyone. She circulated, trying her best to look as if she was having an enjoyable time. Mel Gibson’s agent, the always charming Ed Limato, was there. Lissa often wished he was her agent, because he was the best, but so far she’d remained loyal to Craig Lloyd, the agent who’d negotiated her first big deal. She also spotted Anne and Arnold Kopelson—the superstar producing team. And across the room was the statuesque actress, Anjelica Huston, one of Hollywood’s finest, with her imposing husband, the famed sculptor Robert Graham.
James was the only one who sensed she wasn’t her usual self. “Something wrong?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.
Now was not the time to tell him; he’d find out soon enough. “Everything’s fine, James,” she said lightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Where’s Gregg?” he asked, peering at her knowingly.
Out fucking his new girlfriend.
“Uh . . . collaborating on the score for a movie.”
“Isn’t that good news. Makes a pleasant change to hear he’s working.”
“Don’t be bitchy.”
“Why not?” James said archly. “Surely you know it’s my thing?”
“And he’s proud of it too,” said Charlie Dollar, joining in. Charlie was a permanently stoned, award-winning movie star, with droopy eyelids and a lopsided grin. Charlie had been hitting on Lissa for years, but so far she’d resisted his fifty-something charms.
“I got a movie for you an’ me t’do together, kiddo,” Charlie said with a sly wink. “An updated version of Last Tango. You an’ me, babe, add a pound or two of butter, an’ it’s got mega hit written all over it.”
“Think I’ll pass, Charlie.”
Another sly wink. “You’re makin’ a big mistake.”
“I don’t think so,” James said, hustling her away from Charlie’s lecherous leer.
Somehow she got through the evening, and when she arrived home she was relieved to find that Gregg was still out.
Only one more day and night, she thought. / can do it. And I will.
•
EARLY THURSDAY, Nicci sped out to the airport in her BMW to meet Evan. She was excited about seeing him. Even more excited about seeing Brian—although her attraction to him remained her deep, dark secret, a secret she wouldn’t admit to anyone.
She watched the private jet land, and when the brothers alighted, trailed by Teena, she raced across the tarmac, arms outstretched.
Evan grabbed her in a bear hug and twirled her around. He genuinely loved her, she knew that. At least she was sure of something.
Brian, walking behind, nodded in her direction. “Hey,” he said abruptly.
“Hey, Brian,” she said, matching his mood. “Need a ride?”
“Nope, I got one,” he said, striding ahead of them, allowing her an excellent view of his tight butt in faded Levi’s.
She observed that his ride was a short-haired blonde in a Mustang convertible.
“Hmm . . .” she said to Evan as they got in her car. “Where does he find them? I’ve like never seen him with the same one twice.”
“Who cares?” Evan said, throwing his carry-on bag onto the backseat. “As long as he doesn’t get them from the set.”
“I’m so totally psyched you’re back!” she exclaimed, trying to forget about Brian, although every time she was in his company he got her ad
renaline pumping in a most unsettling way. “I hate it when you’re away.”
“You should’ve come with me,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“Not when you’re working.”
“Why’s that?”
“Brian wouldn’t like it,” she said, brushing her long bangs out of her eyes.
He threw her a quizzical look. “Since when do we care what Brian likes?”
I care, she thought. Because even though I love you, I’ve got this stupid little crush on your brother, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sorry, Evan, I’ll get over it.
Eventually.
•
LYING IN BED in her Pacific Palisades fifteen-million-dollar mansion, Taylor was in a reflective mood. Being Mrs. Lawrence Singer was an easy job on account of everyone kissed her ass big time.
Taylor knew why, and she also knew what would happen if she stopped being Mrs. Singer. She would be out with a capital O. Persona non grata. Hollywood ranks would close, and that would be that.
There is nothing colder than the ex-Hollywood wife of a famous, powerful man. Unless that ex-wife creates her own particular brand of heat, she is useless to all her former best friends.
Oh yes, Taylor knew there would be exceptions. Lissa for one. Lissa had known her when she was a working actress, before she hooked up with Larry, and in spite of her own enormous fame, Lissa had always been a loyal friend.
Stella, of course, would take off like a getaway car racing away from a heist. No way would Stella hang with someone who wasn’t in the upper echelons of the Hollywood hierarchy.
James would be ambiguous. He wouldn’t go out of his way to see her, and yet if they bumped into each other, he wouldn’t ignore her.
Kyndra could go either way. There was no anticipating anything Kyndra did.
Not that Taylor was thinking of ending her marriage. On the contrary, her marriage was the only secure thing she had. Plain fact of life—Larry adored her and would do anything she asked.
Well . . . almost anything. He wouldn’t put her in one of his movies—claimed it would smack of nepotism. He wouldn’t offer to direct her movie. He wouldn’t even executive produce. When it came to all things careerwise, Larry stood firm.
Damn him for that. All she needed was a little help.
Okay, so he’d gotten her a deal at Orpheus pending script approval, but he could’ve done more. He should’ve done more.
That’s why I’m having an affair, she rationalized. To punish him for not doing more.
Last night she’d watched him being honored again. She’d watched them all bow and scrape and hang on to his every word.
In the limo, on the way home, she’d closed the smoked-glass partition, shutting off their regular driver, and given Larry the blow job of his life.
Nobody gave a better blow job than Taylor. If they were giving out master’s degrees for blow jobs, she’d be top of the class.
She’d reduced Lawrence Singer—man of the moment—to a quivering wreck as her tongue and mouth teased him into an earth-shattering orgasm, made all the more exciting because they were in the car and the driver probably suspected what was going on.
When it came to sex, Taylor was in control. She had all the power in that department, and Larry was her willing slave.
Her thoughts turned to Oliver Rock. Falling asleep at his place yesterday had been quite dangerous. And the annoying thing was that they hadn’t even gotten around to discussing her script, which was supposed to be the reason she was there.
Today would be different. Work first, play second. And to make sure she didn’t fall asleep, she’d take her small Cartier alarm clock with her.
Oliver Rock.
She couldn’t get enough.
•
SOMETIMES NICCI WONDERED if Brian even knew she existed. His attitude at the airport had been typical, a cool “Hey,” and that was it. He never said more than a few words to her.
Was that the attraction? Could it be that he piqued her interest because he was so cool?
Usually men came on to her big time. But not Brian. Oh, no. And it was really weird—he obviously loved women since he was always with a different one.
So what the hell was wrong with her?
“Brian doesn’t like me,” she announced in the car on their drive back to the house.
“Why would you say that?” Evan asked, popping a breath mint.
“He never says anything to me,” she complained.
“He never says anything to me either.”
“That’s nuts,” she said, shuddering the BMW to a sudden halt at a stop sign. “You two work together.”
“Yeah, talk about a laugh a minute,” Evan said caustically. “All Brian does is bitch, get stoned, and complain about everything.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be working together.”
“We’ve had this discussion, Nicci,” Evan said, tightening his seat belt as she floored the accelerator and took off again. “Whatever it is we have, it works. Can’t argue with that.”
She was silent for a moment, thinking about the fact that they were brothers, twins, and it would be impossible to separate them unless that’s what they both wanted.
“Was this trip difficult?” she asked.
“It’s always difficult,” he said. “Brian and I fight about everything.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, but what comes out on the screen is special, and believe me, that’s the bottom line.”
“Hmm . . .” she said, overtaking a Mercedes on the turn into the freeway. “Maybe we should invite him over to the house for dinner with one of his many girlfriends.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
Yes, why would I want to do that? “ ’Cause he’s about to be my brother-in-law and your best man,” she said, hitting the freeway at full speed.
“I was forced into that by my mother,” Evan grumbled. “When Mom wants something . . .”
“Oh right, your mother,” Nicci said, sliding over to the fast lane. “She’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve got everything organized for our wedding.”
“That’s great,” Evan said, looking genuinely pleased. “I knew you could do it.”
“The woman at the venue is getting it all together for me. She’s like totally into details.”
“Mom’ll be very happy. Did I tell you she’ll be here soon?”
“She’s not staying with us, is she?” Nicci questioned, so alarmed that she almost veered out of her lane in front of a fast-moving Cadillac.
“She always stays with me when she comes to L.A.,” Evan said patiently. “There’s no way I’d allow her to check into a hotel.”
The thought of having Evan’s overbearing mother staying in the house with them was quite terrifying.
“Now that I’m living with you, won’t it be awkward?” she said, thinking—Oh God! How will I deal with this?
“What’s awkward about it?” Evan said casually. “Mom loves you.”
No, she doesn’t. She’s putting up with me because I’m marrying one of her precious sons. And you don’t get it, ’cause when it comes to your mom, you think the sun shines out her big, interfering ass.
“By the way,” Evan added, “she’s looking forward to meeting Lissa, so set something up.”
Crap! Nicci thought. Lissa and the mother-in-law from hell. That’s gonna be a laugh a minute.
“Anyway,” Nicci said, quickly reverting to her dinner-party idea. “I think I’ll ask Brian over tomorrow night.”
“Why?” Evan said, frowning. “He’ll probably turn up with some brain-dead bimbo.”
“Who cares?” Nicci said, crossing lanes, barely glancing in her rearview mirror. “It’ll give me a chance to get to know him.”
“If you’re serious, put together a group. There’s no way I can take Brian on his own.”
“Like who did you have in mind?”
“Is Saffron seeing anyone?”
“Well . . . she’s met som
e new stud, and there’s a gay guy she hangs with. Maybe I’ll tell her to bring him.”
“That’ll go down well with Brian,” Evan said with a short, brittle laugh. “He’s homophobic, you know.”
“Brian’s homophobic?” she said, totally startled by this new information. “In this town? In his business?”
“You got it.”
“How do you know?” she said, cutting off a truck as she exited the freeway.
“I’m his brother, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, almost rear-ending a small van.
“Jesus, Nicci,” Evan said, clutching onto the dashboard. “Has anyone ever told you that you drive like a maniac?”
“All the time,” she said with a quick smile.
“Maniac or not, I missed you,” he said, patting her on the knee. “And I love you.”
“You too,” she responded automatically.
How nice it was to find a man who could actually express his emotions. She couldn’t imagine Brian being able to do that.
“I know—I’m irresistible, aren’t I?” Evan said, with a big goofy grin.
“Let’s not get carried away,” she answered, grinning back. “There’s love and then there’s irresistible. You come somewhere in the middle.”
Evan laughed. “It’s good to be home,” he said.
And Nicci sped off along Sunset, still thinking about Brian.
Chapter Ten
* * *
THE FIRST THING Lissa did when she opened her eyes on Thursday was check to see if Gregg was home.
Yes, he was there, asleep on the far side of their California King custom-made bed.
She gazed across at him for a moment, remembering how in the early days of their romance she’d loved watching him sleep. He always slept naked, but now she couldn’t stomach the sight of his hairy balls and limp cock.
She experienced a brief Lorena Bobbitt moment before throwing a sheet over him. Then she hurried into her bathroom and put on her yoga clothes. Her private instructor was arriving soon, and after an hour of uplifting yoga, she planned on spending the rest of the day rehearsing for her upcoming Vegas show.
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