Now the thrill was gone. She had no desire to converse with strangers in cyberspace. Too weird.
James tried to persuade her to get back on the party circuit, but she refused. She’d never enjoyed lavish Hollywood parties and events at the best of times, and now—thanks to Gregg and his big mouth—going out in public would be an ordeal.
As soon as the news was out that she was available, the herd of perennial Hollywood bachelors—a motley crew of aging playboys, upstart agents, big-time actors, and all-out rich jerks—sprang into action, calling nonstop. Lissa couldn’t be less interested.
Nicci dropped by a couple of times and commiserated about what a piece of crap Gregg was. Lissa was pleased that her daughter took the time to be supportive, especially since Nicci was busy organizing her wedding.
Lissa decided that once Vegas was behind her, she would spend more time helping Nicci. It was not too late to have a really good mother/daughter relationship, although the truth was they were more like sisters.
Quincy came to see her. He hobbled in on crutches, a big, fat smile on his face. “So, did I leave you in good hands or what?” he demanded.
“You certainly did,” she answered, adding an offhand, “Where is Michael?”
“Around. Anythin’ you need, all you gotta do is call.”
“Just like the song, huh?”
“And the two new guards, they’re okay?”
“I hardly see them—they’re busy patrolling the grounds, but Chuck’s pleased to have the extra help. Three photogra-phers tried to jump the wall yesterday. They soon put a stop to that.”
“Yeah, they’re good guys. Off-duty cops are always the best.”
“So . . . will Michael be dropping by any time soon?” she asked casually.
“Do you need him?”
“I should talk to him, shouldn’t I?”
“I’ll have him call you.”
“How’s your leg doing?”
“I’m gettin’ around.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
He pulled a face. “My old lady’s drivin’ me. Man,” he complained, “Amber’s the worst damn driver to ever hit the road.”
Lissa laughed softly. “Where is she now?”
“Outside in the car. Waitin’ to torture me some more on the drive home.”
“Why don’t you bring her in?”
“Got a rule,” he said. “Never mix things up.”
“In that case, I’m coming out to meet her.”
“Aw jeez,” Quincy exclaimed. “She’ll have a heart attack. Thinks you’re the bomb.”
“Then let’s go,” Lissa said, smiling.
She strolled outside the house with Quincy, surprising Amber, who was sitting behind the wheel of their car reading People magazine.
“Hi,” Lissa said, leaning in the window. “I wanted to meet the woman who snagged the great Quincy.”
“Oh my God!” Amber exclaimed, completely flustered.
“You have a great husband,” Lissa continued. “He’s done a lot of good work for me.”
“I like him,” Amber said, beaming proudly.
“Thanks for lending him to me,” Lissa said. “I’m giving him back to you in one piece.”
“Did you sign his cast?” Amber asked.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Yes, you were supposed to,” Amber said, glaring accusingly at her husband. “I told the fool to get your signature.”
Lissa grinned, she immediately liked Quincy’s feisty wife. “Not too late,” she said.
Danny, hovering behind her, produced a pen. Lissa bent down and put her signature on Quincy’s cast.
“They’re never gonna believe this at the hospital,” Quincy crowed. “When they take this motha off, they’re gonna havta frame it.”
Everyone laughed.
“Nice meetin’ you, Miz Roman,” Amber said, still slightly in awe.
“Next time we’ll do lunch,” Lissa said. “And you can tell me all of Quincy’s deep, dark secrets.”
“Ha!” Amber snorted. “Like he has secrets!”
“Come on, baby,” Quincy said, maneuvering himself into the passenger seat. “Be nice.”
“You’re prettier than you are in the movies,” Amber said to Lissa admiringly. “Is it okay if I tell you that?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s go,” Quincy said, anxious to leave before Amber embarrassed him.
“ ’Bye,” Lissa called, waving, as their car took off down the long, winding driveway.
She waited until they were out of sight, then she walked back into the house. Her thoughts turned to Michael Scorsinni, and she wondered why he hadn’t come with his partner. Was he working on a new case? Following some other cheating husband?
She was entitled to know, wasn’t she? After all, she was a client, therefore, he should have come too.
And then she realized with a shiver of surprise, that she actually missed him. A man she hardly knew. A man it would certainly be folly to get involved with.
She shook her head. Silly thoughts.
Or were they?
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE,” Taylor said, as she and Larry sat at the breakfast table on their patio, where they had a magnificent view of the Santa Monica mountains and the ocean.
“What kind of a mistake would that be?” Larry answered, eating his oatmeal.
“This Oliver Rock person—why are you taking such an interest in him? It’s not like he’s a relative or anything.”
“That’s true,” Larry said, taking a sip of hot water and lemon, his preferred morning beverage.
“Anyway,” Taylor continued. “I thought you never read other people’s material. You get sent scripts all the time, and you always have Edie send them back unread. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times.”
“Isaac has known Oliver’s parents forever,” Larry explained. “And this kid needs guidance.”
“He doesn’t look like he needs any guidance to me,” Taylor snapped. “He looks like a real smart-ass. And he’s not a kid, he’s a grown man.”
“You’re always so critical of people,” Larry remarked, moving on to a plate of sliced papaya, apple, and banana.
Taylor stared at her genius husband. He ate exactly the same breakfast every day; it drove her a little bit nuts. Why did he always have to be so precise?
“I’m merely being honest,” she said sharply.
“That’s your prerogative,” he responded.
“Anyway,” she said, deciding to upset him, “I’ve got my own news.”
“You have?”
She picked up her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and took a sip. “Remember that movie I discussed with you a few weeks ago, the one for cable?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve decided to do it.”
That stopped him halfway to a slice of papaya. “You what?”
“I’m taking the part, Larry. It doesn’t suit me sitting around doing nothing.”
“You’re not doing nothing. You’re still developing your script.”
“Yes, but it’s not right yet, and I have to keep myself busy until it is. I need to get my creative juices flowing.”
“But, darling—”
“You go to the studio every day,” she said, interrupting him. “It’s fine for you, you’re a very busy man. I’m an actress, and I want to work.”
“Where is all this coming from?” Larry said, frowning. “I thought you were perfectly happy.”
“I find it extremely frustrating not being creatively involved,” she said restlessly. “So I’ve accepted the role. We start filming immediately.”
He took off his glasses and placed them on the table next to his neatly folded copies of The New York Times, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, and the trades. “Shouldn’t I read the script?” he said.
“No, Larry,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not written by some young writer who’
s craving your advice.”
He began tapping his fingers on the table, a sure sign that he was disturbed. “Can I ask who the director is?”
“A woman.”
“I suppose that’s understandable,” he said peevishly. “After all, it is a gay movie.”
“Now, now, Larry,” she chided, quite enjoying her moment of triumph. “That’s not a very politically correct thing to say, is it? And for your information, it’s not a gay movie, it’s a touching story of love between two women.”
“I’m surprised you’ve made this decision without consulting me first.”
“Why would I bother you?” she said guilelessly. “You’re busy with your movie.” A heartfelt sigh. “It’s such a shame there isn’t a role for me in your film, although I’m sure you’ll find something for Isaac as usual.”
Larry was silent for a moment. “Is everything all right between us, Taylor?” he asked tentatively.
“Of course.”
“You’re sure?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she countered.
“I know you’re angry that I haven’t done more to get your movie made, but sweetheart, you have no idea what a cutthroat business this is.”
“Larry,” she said impatiently. “I’ve been a working actress in this town for years. I’ve made ten movies and countless TV shows. You might not remember most of them, but before you, I never stopped working.”
“I know,” he said. “However, we’re talking about a production where real money is involved. Yes, I admit that I have been dragging my feet when it comes to your project, and that’s only because it would hurt me to see you fail.”
“Why would you think I’d fail?” she asked coldly.
“Anyway,” he said, quick to move on. “I did set something up at Orpheus, now all you have to do is deliver a script they like.”
“I’ve submitted three scripts to them, Larry,” she said caustically. “And what do you know? They don’t like any of them.”
“I can understand your frustration.”
“Can you?” she said, her eyes flashing. “Can you really?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Then give me a role in your fucking movie.
But he didn’t say a word.
When she’d finished ruining Larry’s day, she decided to deal with Oliver. Unannounced, she drove over to his beach-front apartment.
He was home. Kid Rock blaring on the stereo. The smell of pot in the air.
Oliver was dancing around the place shirtless, wearing only a gold stud earring and a pair of torn Hawaiian shorts, a residue of white powder decorating his nostrils.
The bedroom door was open, and Taylor glimpsed a naked girl lying on the mattress, gazing blankly at the ceiling.
“Sorry,” Taylor said icily, directing her words at Oliver. “Didn’t realize you were entertaining.”
“Hey—shit, wasshappenin’, man?” he said, blinking rapidly.
He was stoned. Taylor wished she was stoned. Not that she was into drugs anymore, she’d only indulged in the old days when she was young and foolish. Now she was the wife of an upstanding member of the community and couldn’t do that sort of thing.
“I came for my money,” she said. “I’m sure you don’t want a bad reputation in this town now that you’re mixing in the big leagues, so I figured it would be in your best interests to pay me back.”
“Jeez,” he mumbled. “You’re a hard one.”
“A hard one, huh?” She lowered her voice so the girl couldn’t possibly hear. “You come walking into my house with my husband. What kind of respect does that show for my feelings?”
“He called me,” Oliver said indignantly. “What am I gonna do—turn down a meeting with Larry Singer?”
“He’s my husband, Oliver,” she said furiously. “Don’t you get it? You’re fucking his wife.”
“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?” he whined. “That’d ruin everything.”
“You know what,” she said disgustedly. “You really are a pathetic little prick. I can’t imagine what I ever saw in you. Write me a check and I’ll get out of this dump you call home.”
“You sure you want your money back?”
“Since you couldn’t do anything with my tired, old-fashioned script, I’d definitely like my money back, and I’d like it now. Otherwise, I will tell Larry about you and me, and we’ll see how helpful he is to you then.”
“Shit, Tay,” he mumbled, rubbing the tip of his nose.
“Knowing Larry,” she continued, quite enjoying herself, “he’d put a stop to your career altogether. And Larry can do that, he’s an extremely powerful man.”
“Okay, okay,” Oliver muttered, scratching his head. He grabbed his checkbook and scribbled her a check. She plucked it from his hand.
“Ollie—you comin’ back to bed?” the girl called from the other room.
“Yeah, babe, hang on a minute.”
“How old is she—fourteen?” Taylor said icily.
“No,” Oliver gave a twisted smile. “Fifteen. Cute, isn’t she?”
“Fuck you!”
And with that, Taylor stormed out of his apartment.
•
AFTER SPENDING another lonely night, and thinking things over, Lissa called Michael on his cell phone. Even though Quincy had been to see her the day before, she still had this nagging feeling that she should talk to him, after all, he was the one who’d been dealing with her case.
He answered immediately.
“Hi,” she said, friendly yet cool. “This is Lissa Roman.”
“Hey,” he said, sounding pleased. “How’re you doing?”
“Okay. And you?”
“The same.” A beat. “Any problems, Lissa?”
“No. Gregg’s gone, I’m here, the guards are outside. Everything’s under control.”
“That’s good,” he said warmly.
“I was uh . . . thinking that we should discuss a couple of things.”
“Go ahead.”
“Remember you asked me if Gregg had a gun? Well, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I seem to remember he has.”
“That’s not good.”
“He told me he didn’t have a permit, so I kind of forgot.”
“You know, Lissa, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this on the phone.”
“You’re right,” she said quickly.
“I could drop by.”
“I’m about to leave for another rehearsal, but I’ll be home tonight. Is that any good for you?”
“Yeah, I think it is.”
“Should I have Nellie fix you something to eat? Do you like pasta?”
“I’m Italian, what do you think?”
“Nellie’s German, but I’m sure she can handle pasta.”
“What time?”
“Seven-thirty?”
“See you then.”
She put down the phone, a smile on her face. It seemed so stupid because she hardly knew him, yet she’d actually missed seeing him.
It’s only business, she told herself sternly. I need to make sure he realizes I still need protection.
A few minutes before she left the house, James called. “I refuse to take no for an answer,” he said firmly. “We’re going to the Davis’ tonight, whether you like it or not.”
“I already told you, James, I’m not in the mood to socialize.”
“I know, but I spoke to Barbara D. and she’s such a darling and she insists that you come.”
“I already have . . . other arrangements.”
“You do? What?”
“I’m seeing Nicci,” she lied.
“That’s nice.” He hesitated for a moment. “I should warn you, there’s a show on TV tonight that my contacts tell me is not very flattering. Perhaps your lawyer should tape it.”
“What show is that?”
“A piece of garbage called The Real News.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You could say it’s Hard Copy on
speed.”
She sighed. “I suppose Gregg’s on it.”
“You know Gregg—any chance to shine.”
“Why can’t he go away quietly?”
“Because, my sweets, he always prayed for stardom, and now he’s got his five minutes.”
“I thought it was fifteen . . . ?”
“This is the new millennium. He only gets five.”
“What does he say?”
“Talks about you, of course. Why else would anyone put him on TV?”
“I’ll watch it.”
“Not by yourself, princess. View it with Nicci.”
“Thanks, James, I’ll do that. And if I don’t speak to you later, I’ll call you in the morning.”
•
NICCI AND SAFFRON CRUISED into Fred Segal on Melrose, their favorite shopping spot. As they walked around inspecting all the new clothes, Nicci kept checking her cell phone messages.
“Why do you keep on doing that?” Saffron asked. “I mean, you speak to Evan like seven times a day. So what’s the deal, girl?”
“I am getting married, you know,” Nicci reminded her.
“I know,” Saffron replied, tossing back her dreadlocks. “Only it’s not him you’re checking on.”
“What do you mean?” Nicci said innocently, pulling a pair of studded leather pants off the rack.
“C’mon, you know you can’t keep secrets.”
“No secrets,” Nicci said, holding the pants up for further inspection.
“Yeah?” Saffron said, giving her a knowing look.
Nicci was dying to confide in someone—only if she did, wouldn’t that be incredibly disloyal to Evan?
“It’s nothing,” she said vaguely. “Evan’s brother is flying in from the location, and I’m supposed to give him some papers. If I miss him, it’ll piss Evan off.”
“Hmm . . .” Saffron said with a wicked grin. “The babe brother?”
Nicci shot her a surprised look. “You think Brian’s a babe?”
“Oh yeah, the dude is smokin’. Didja get an eyeful of that ass? Man! Gives tight a whole new meaning.”
“Brian’s a major player,” Nicci said, startled that Saffron had noticed. “He sleeps with anyone.”
“Somethin’ wrong with that?” Saffron joked. “Maybe I should date him.”
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 16
