“That’s too bad, Gregg,” Belinda murmured.
“None of this seems to bother Lissa Roman,” Gregg continued angrily. “Although I hope it bothers her fans. I hope that when they realize the kind of woman she is, they’ll stop buying her music and watching her movies.”
“That’s not a very charitable thing to say, Gregg” Belinda said, not wishing to come across as a bitch.
“You didn’t have to live with her for two years,” Gregg snapped.
And so the interview continued in the same vein.
When they were finished, Gregg leaned across to Belinda, feeling quite pumped up with his own importance. “When does this air?” he asked.
“Next week,” she said, shuffling her notes. “I’ll edit later.”
“You’ll leave in the plug for the CD I’m about to record?” he asked eagerly.
“Well . . .”
He decided she needed some extra attention. “Can I buy you a drink, Belinda?”
“Sure,” she said, slightly flustered. “I guess that’s possible.”
“Anything’s possible, right?”
And she nodded her neat blond head.
•
A WEEK AFTER their disastrous dinner party, Evan left for another location. Fortunately his bad mood had not lasted past that one evening. Since then he’d returned to his normal self, he’d even bought Nicci a present from Tiffany’s, an exquisite diamond butterfly pin with emerald wings. She already had a diamond engagement ring (six carats) which—much to Evan’s annoyance—she wore on a black ribbon, hanging around her neck, claiming that wearing it on her third finger, left hand was too traditional.
“What’s this for?” she’d asked suspiciously when he’d given her the pin.
“For promising to marry me,” he’d said.
How could she have ever experienced any doubts? He was amazing. They were destined to be deliriously happy. One wedding coming up.
Antonio had sent her an e-mail informing her of his arrival. It so happened that on the day he was flying in, Lissa was leaving for Vegas.
Gregg was behaving as badly as everyone had expected, hogging the headlines. He’d even managed to drag Nicci into some of his stories, calling her the poor little neglected daughter.
Poor little neglected daughter indeed! How dare the creep involve her.
She was beyond furious. Gregg Lynch was an untalented piece of crap. Why did her mom have such bad taste in men?
And yet Lissa had taught her well. Ignore the tabloids. Do not answer back. Keep a dignified silence.
Which is exactly what she did, failing to return the many calls she received from the press.
Saffron dropped by, waving a copy of Truth & Fact, a particularly scurrilous rag. “Get an eyeful of this!” she announced, thrusting the magazine at Nicci.
On the front page there was a picture of Ramone Lopez in a shirt opened to the waist, multiple gold chains, and tight black jeans. He was leaning against a wall, leering at the camera. The headline read: MY NIGHT OF BLISS WITH LISSA ROMAN.
“Oh . . . my . . . God!” Nicci gasped, horrified. “I don’t believe it!”
“You don’t believe it,” Saffron snorted, tossing back her dreadlocks. “How do you think I feel? I’m the sucker who brought him into your house.”
“This is unreal!” Nicci said, starting to read the story aloud. “Our eyes met and I knew there was something between us that could never be forgotten. Lissa looked at me and said, ‘You are the man I’ve been searching for.’ Like what planet is this asshole from?”
“Wait till you read the rest of it,” Saffron said, opening the fridge and helping herself to a Sprite. “According to Ramone, they’ve formed a bond for the rest of their lives and she’s starring him in her next video.”
Nicci threw the magazine down in disgust. “I’m sure Mom’s lawyer will have a major party when he sees this crap.”
“And speaking of parties . . .”
“Don’t tell me you’re entertaining?”
“Better than that,” Saffron said with a secretive smile. “Very shortly you are being kidnapped.”
“Huh?”
“Kidnapped, babe,” Saffron crowed. “One spectacular bachelorette night coming up, so be prepared. You’ll be blindfolded, taken out of your house, and you’ll have no idea what is gonna happen. Cool?”
“Wow!” Nicci said, thinking it sounded like a blast. “What’ll I wear?”
“Anything you like. You may not be keeping it on all night.”
“Will I be leaving the state?”
“Maybe,” Saffron said mysteriously.
“You gotta tell me more than that.”
“I don’t gotta do anything,” Saffron said, laughing. “It’s all one big surprise.”
“Fine.”
“How’s Lissa doin’ with all this bad publicity?”
“She’s cool.”
“You goin’ to Vegas to see her show?”
“She doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”
“How come?”
“ ’Cause of all the press,” Nicci explained. “Lissa has always tried to keep me out of the papers.”
“That’s ’cause having a nineteen-year-old daughter makes her feel old.”
“Lissa, old!” Nicci burst out laughing. She’s only forty, Saff, an’ looks unbelievable.”
“I’m tellin’ you—having a grown kid makes ’em nutto,” Saffron insisted. “Kyndra’s the same way, she’d love to keep me under wraps—it pisses her off when I’m in People an’ shit. But I’m an actress, so I need all the publicity I can get.”
“Okay, so back to my special night,” Nicci said, decidedly psyched at the thought of a wild night on the town. “Tell me when, and gimme the guest list.”
“It’s a kidnap, babe,” Saffron said succinctly, revealing nothing. “Everything that happens is a big mystery.”
“As long as you don’t have Ramone strip for me.”
“Girl, believe me—that’s a promise.”
•
GREGG KNEW there was one place he was in complete control, and that was in bed. Nobody had ever accused him of being a dud between the sheets. He’d always been lucky in that respect, and women were so stupid that they always fell for his boyish charm and bullshit lines. All he had to do was turn it on.
Gregg was well aware that he’d better get himself into a new relationship fast, because since Lissa had thrown him out, he’d been forced to move into a crummy hotel due to lack of funds. Lissa had controlled the money. Miss Moneybags’ business manager had doled him out an allowance, which came to an abrupt halt the minute his luggage was shoved out the door. All he had going for him was his Ferrari.
Man, would he like to show the cunt a thing or two. But what he needed now was somewhere to stay—and some money so he could hire himself a sharp lawyer and start figuring out what to do next. Belinda seemed a likely prospect.
“Where do you live?” he asked, as they entered the Polo Lounge.
“I have a house in the Hollywood Hills,” she said.
Sounds promising, he thought.
They sat in the Polo Lounge drinking martinis, and he listened as she poured out her woes. Naturally she had many, considering she was a woman of a certain age who lived and worked in Hollywood. He reckoned that although she looked pretty good—probably on account of major plastic surgery—she had to be at least fifty-two or three.
They talked for two hours. Or rather he allowed her to ramble on. She let it all out, telling him how she’d been married three times and how her last husband—a sometime actor—had run off with the pool man. Then she revealed that her station manager didn’t like her, and on her last job she’d had to change stations because her copresenter would not quit coming on to her. And finally, she complained about what a struggle it was to stay young and fresh looking—a prerequisite for any woman on TV.
He managed to look interested. He managed to throw in a compliment here and there, so that when it c
ame time to leave, she was not averse to him stopping by her house for a drink. And everyone knew what that led to.
By the time he got into her bed, she was frantic. It had obviously been a while. She was a screamer too, and he worked diligently, making her very happy indeed, tending to all her needs, including going down on her for a full twenty minutes, which left a sour taste in his mouth.
It didn’t matter. Gregg knew what worked, and when he was out to achieve something in a hurry, he held nothing back.
Apart from his prowess in bed, there was also the added attraction that he was Lissa Roman’s husband. He was sure that Belinda wouldn’t mind boasting that she’d entertained him in her bed and that she was the replacement for one of the most famous women in the world.
Yes, Gregg wanted more than one night, and he certainly knew how to go about getting it.
Chapter Eighteen
* * *
BRIAN’S FLYING to L.A. for a day,” Evan said over the phone from Utah, their current location.
“So?” Nicci replied. She was in her car on the way to a final fitting for her wedding dress, and she didn’t want to hear about Brian. She had him tucked firmly in the back of her mind.
“He’ll drop by the house to pick up some papers. They’re in the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk.”
“How come Brian’s coming back and you’re not?”
“It’s crazy here. This movie is the most difficult I’ve ever worked on.”
“I thought that when it came to work, you and Brian did everything together.”
“We do, but he’s got to take care of a couple of things in L.A. He’ll only be there one night, so he’ll phone you. Where are you now?”
“In the car.”
“Call me from my desk when you get home, and I’ll tell you exactly what to put in the envelope. Don’t let Brian anywhere near my desk. Hand him the envelope and get him out of there.”
“Yes, sir!”
What was this? A test? Was God testing her to see if she could be a good girl in Brian’s presence? Not that he’d ever indicated he liked her, but they’d shared a joint and a couple of moments across the room at that unmemorable dinner party.
So why was her heart beating so rapidly? And why had she lost all interest in a fitting for her wedding dress?
“I hate dresses,” she muttered to herself. “Dunno why we’re having such a big wedding anyway.”
Because Evan’s mother wants it, that’s why. And what Evan’s mother wants, apparently, Evan’s mother gets.
•
LARRY WAS DRIVING Taylor insane. So was Oliver. It was almost as if they’d formed a conspiracy designed to make her crazy.
First of all, Larry was insistent that the very next week they invite Isaac and Jenny for dinner along with the Rocks.
“Why would you want that other couple?” Taylor complained. “We have nothing in common with them.” “It’s not necessary to have things in common to spend an enjoyable evening,” Larry explained. “Stan Rock seems like an intelligent man. Anyway, I promised I’d have them over, so that’s what we’re doing. He wants to talk to me about his son—thinks this huge sale of the boy’s script might go to his head. After all, the kid’s recently scored himself a million bucks, so Stan has asked me to give him some pointers on how to handle himself.”
“Give who pointers?” Taylor asked, alarmed.
“His son,” Larry said patiently.
“His son,” Taylor repeated dully. “You’re going to meet with his son?”
How had this happened? How had she fallen into such an impossible situation.
The day after Isaac’s party, she called Oliver. He sounded out of it, but at least he picked up his phone.
“Where were you yesterday?” she demanded.
“Uh . . . jeez!” Oliver mumbled. “Guess I was out gettin’ stoned. Sorry—did we have a meeting?”
“I told you I was coming by to discuss my script.”
“Yeah, well, this has all been kinda like one big surprise.”
“It’s a surprise to me too,” she said frostily. “And I had an even bigger surprise last night. We went to a friend of Larry’s for dinner, and guess who I met?”
“Who?”
“I’m sure they’ll call you with the news any minute.” A dramatic pause. “I met your parents.”
There was a dead silence.
“Your parents, Oliver,” she repeated, waiting for his reaction.
“Jesus Christ!” He began laughing hysterically. “You met Molly and Stanley? The original Mr. and Mrs. Suburbia? How the fuck didja meet them?”
“It’s a long story,” she said grimly. “I’m coming over now.”
“Okay, but I got a lunch.”
Her surprise was evident. “You’ve got a lunch?”
“My agent’s fixed it for me to meet some of the other agency dudes. Everyone’s kinda blown away by what’s happenin’. I’m like in shock myself.”
“I’m sure you are, only let’s not forget that you and I have a business deal.”
“No contract, right?”
His words infuriated her. Had he been getting legal advice on the side? “I paid you, Oliver,” she said coldly. “You promised to read my script, make comments, help me with it. Now what are you saying?”
“Like I didn’t realize I’d be selling my screenplay, did I?”
“Obviously not.”
“Don’t sweat it, Tay, I got comments for you.”
“How comforting.”
“An’ if you’re not happy, I’ll give you back your money. ’Course,” he added jauntily. “I gotta get it first, ’cause I spent what you gave me. But now I got big bucks comin’ in—eventually.”
“I sincerely hope you haven’t been wasting my time, Oliver.”
“Neither of us was exactly wasting time,” he said with a lewd chuckle. “We were both gettin’ something we wanted.”
“I’m on my way,” she said, irritated by his cocky attitude. “We’ll talk.”
She’d driven over to his place, and things weren’t the same. Neither of them initiated sex. The million dollars—not to mention his parents—had come between them with a vengeance.
Oliver informed her that the dialogue in her script was tired and old-fashioned.
She informed him he was an arrogant little prick and she wanted her money back.
They parted bad friends.
Several days later, Larry walked into the house accompanied by Oliver. She could not believe her eyes, her stomach did a double flip.
“Hi, Taylor,” Larry said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Decided to come home for lunch. This is Stan Rock’s kid—Oliver, the million-dollar wonder.”
Oliver had the temerity to look her straight in the eye, extend his hand and say, “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Singer.”
It was a good job she was an actress, because how she managed to keep an impassive expression was a miracle, when all she really wanted to do was run screaming from the house.
“We’ll be in my office,” Larry said. “I read Oliver’s script, and it’s quite something. Can you be a sweetheart and have Edna fix us a sandwich?”
Taylor nodded numbly, thinking all the while, This isn’t happening to me, this isn’t happening tome . . .
So now it was obvious that Larry was planning to help Oliver with his script—not that Oliver needed any help, he’d sold his damn script for a shitload of money.
When it came to her script, Larry had no time. But for Oliver Rock, a total stranger, he had plenty of time. This was a ludicrous situation.
She yelled for the housekeeper and told her to see what Mr. Singer and his guest wanted for lunch. Then she marched into her dressing room, picked up the phone, and called Dennis Mann, her agent.
“Remember that cable offer you came to me with a couple of weeks ago?” she said briskly.
“The one Larry made you turn down?” Dennis said.
“He didn’t make me,” she said irritab
ly. “He simply didn’t think playing a lesbian was good for my image.”
“Or his,” Dennis interjected.
“I’ve decided to accept it,” she said, not interested in Dennis’ comments.
“You have?”
“Definitely.”
“I thought you were working on your script.”
“My damn script is taking too long to come together. I need to do something creative. I’ve been out of action long enough.”
“Didn’t Larry get you a deal at Orpheus?”
“Pending script approval. Only I can’t seem to find a writer who’s worth a damn.”
“I recommended Oliver Rock, didn’t I?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You certainly did.”
“Well . . . he just sold an original screenplay for a million big ones. Not bad for a novice.”
“I found him to be useless,” she said coldly.
“Sorry you feel that way.”
“Get me that part, Dennis. Messenger me the contract. I’ll sign today.”
“Good. Because as far as I know they start shooting almost immediately.”
She slammed the phone down. She was mad at Larry. Even more so at Oliver—although he was too stupid to realize who he was screwing with.
Well, let’s see how Larry liked it when she hooked up with some delectable, young actress on the screen. Let’s see his reaction when she was actually kissing a woman in front of the world.
She’d show Larry Singer. And how.
•
LISSA WAS LONELY. With Gregg gone she noticed a big void. Although the last six months had been hell, it was still strange adjusting to not having him around.
The days were taken care of with a vigorous rehearsal schedule and various meetings on new projects. The problem was that at night, unless she made arrangements to see friends, she was by herself in a house large enough for a family of ten.
Of course, Chuck had a room over the garage, Nellie lived in the maid’s quarters, Danny usually stayed late, and the guards were outside. But it wasn’t as if she was hanging with the help.
A few months ago she would’ve been into her computer, visiting chat rooms and various sites. But that was when Gregg was around, and on good days they’d had a laugh doing it together.
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 15
