“You writing?”
“I’ll probably jot down a couple of heartbreak songs. Although, I have to say, my heart is not broken. Saying good-bye to Gregg was a big relief.”
“We all warned you.”
“Don’t remind me,” Lissa said tersely. “In future I’ll learn to listen.”
“Okay, hon, I’ll see you at our party. Oh, an’ Saffron’s bringing some friends, including Nicci.”
“They’re not sitting with us, are they?”
“Don’t sweat it, they’ll be at the kiddies table. Neither of us will have to put up with their juvenile-delinquent behavior.”
“Nicci’s no longer a juvenile delinquent,” Lissa said. “Ever since she got engaged she’s a changed girl. Did you know that she actually threw a dinner party the other night?”
“No shit?”
“Yes. Saffron was there with some desperate Puerto Rican guy who was of the opinion he should star in my next video. Where does she find them?”
“Unfortunately, desperate guys are Saffron’s specialty,” Kyndra said with a throaty laugh. “I gave up trying to control that child ever since she had a baby with the deadbeat basketball player. Right now she’s goin’ through a crisis—can’t seem to make up her mind whether she wants to be a singer, an actress, a movie star, or a mom. I’ve tried telling her that she can’t do all of them at the same time.”
“Some people manage it.”
“Yeah, honey—only you.”
“Thanks for calling, Kyndra. I promise I’ll try to make it to your party.”
“You’d better, or you’ll have Norio to answer to. You know he adores you.”
“It’s mutual,” Lissa said, thinking how much she loved both of them. She’d met Kyndra and Norio when she first came to L.A. Kyndra was already a singing star, and Norio had scored her a gig singing backup on one of Kyndra’s recordings. They’d both been really good to her before she was anyone, and the three of them had remained friends ever since.
As soon as she put down the phone, she buzzed Chuck at the front gate. “Are the paparazzi still out there?” she asked.
“There’s a few scattered around,” Chuck replied.
“I’m expecting Mr. Scorsinni for a meeting. When he arrives, make sure he’s not bothered.”
“You got it, Miz Roman.”
“Thanks, Chuck.” She glanced at her watch. “He’ll be arriving soon.”
She wandered into the kitchen, where Nellie was busy preparing a large dish of lasagna.
“So you can cook Italian?” she said affectionately. “I’m impressed.”
“I can cook anything,” Nellie boasted, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I never doubted it.”
“Miz Lissa looks very pretty tonight,” Nellie said knowingly. “Someone nice coming over?”
“It’s only a business meeting,” Lissa said quickly.
“Shall I serve dinner at the dining table?”
“No, let’s keep it low key. Trays in the den, and put some of those small votive candles on the trays, they always look pretty.”
She left the kitchen and went into the den, thinking about what music he might like. He was Italian, so maybe he’d go for the old-fashioned sounds of Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett, or would he be into something more classical, such as Bocelli? She decided to play it neutral and put on a selection of Sting, Van Morrison, and the Gipsy Kings.
Michael arrived on time. She heard the buzzer ring and shivered slightly. This was silly. Why was she so excited about seeing him? Could it be because he was good looking?
No. Absolutely not. There were hundreds of handsome men in Hollywood, and most of them usually turned out to be boringly self-obsessed, or actors.
There was something special about Michael—he didn’t treat her like a star, he treated her like a real person. It had been a long time since anybody had done that.
•
ON THE DRIVE OVER to Lissa’s house, Michael experienced a crazy urge to bring her flowers. He passed a man selling roses at the side of the street and stopped himself from pulling over and buying some.
Sanity prevailed. How stupid would he look, arriving with a bunch of roses when she probably had flowers coming out her ears? She was Lissa Roman, for crissakes. In her world he was a nobody, so why was he building this up into something it wasn’t. Although deep down he knew that if he wanted it to be something, it could, because Michael had always experienced great success with women.
He had no intention of getting involved with someone who was capable of breaking his balls. Lissa Roman couldn’t help it, she was a star, and stars broke a man’s balls just by looking at them.
He began laughing to himself. That didn’t sound right. No way would Lissa Roman be looking at his balls tonight.
He’d worn black—black pants, a black turtleneck, black leather jacket, he’d even put on shades. It’s my Hollywood look, he told himself.
Yeah right, Mr. Hollywood—I don’t think.
He waved at Chuck, who opened the big gates for him. A couple of paparazzi sprang forward and tried to take his picture, but he was up the driveway before they managed to.
He was still annoyed about Amber calling him. Screw Quincy for telling her what he was doing. It was nobody’s business except his. Quincy had a big mouth, and it was about time they had a serious talk.
Meanwhile, he was visiting Lissa Roman, and he felt pretty high. Even Amber’s lecture over the phone couldn’t spoil it for him.
Just remember, he told himself sternly, this is purely business. Lissa Roman is a client. Nothing more, nothing less.
Chapter Twenty-two
* * *
NICCI MADE UP her mind to stay home for a change. After all, she was getting married soon and had much to do. She decided it would be nice to wander around the house by herself before Evan’s mother arrived and ruined everything. Hopefully, Evan would be back from location soon after Lynda Richter presented herself, although his movie seemed to be running way over schedule.
She’d bought a new mud-pack facial treatment at Fred Segal, and after taking a leisurely swim, she put on an old ’N Sync T-shirt and applied the messy mud pack to her face.
Man, do I look like a clown, she thought, mugging at herself in the mirror. Thank goodness Evan’s away. If he saw me like this . . .
She’d asked Saffron if she wanted to come over, but Saffron had a date with another hot stud. Obviously Ramone hadn’t been enough of a deterrent.
Alone in the house, she was intent on enjoying herself. She put on a Limp Bizkit CD and danced crazily around the living room.
When the doorbell rang she didn’t think much of it. “Who’s there?” she called out.
“Delivery,” a male voice said. “Need a signature.” “Okay,” she said, throwing open the door. Standing there was Brian.
“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t realize it was Halloween!”
“I’m auditioning for a role in the next Survivor,” she said, hardly taking a beat, although inside she was totally humiliated that he’d caught her in such a state. “Uh . . . how come you didn’t call?”
“My brother wants his papers, so here I am. Gotta fly back early tomorrow.”
“You were supposed to be here yesterday.”
“What did you say to my girlfriend?” he asked, entering the house. “You pissed her off.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend,” she retorted.
“Let’s put it this way,” he said, heading for the bar. “I did have one this morning, now I don’t.”
“She must have been a temp, ’cause every time I see you, you’re with a different girl.”
“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Variety’s the spice of my libido.”
“Help yourself to a drink,” she said sarcastically as he picked up a bottle of vodka. “I’ll be right back.”
She raced into the bathroom and hurriedly rinsed her face, wiping off the dried mud with a towel.
I look like a
freak, she thought miserably. This is so dense. How could I have gotten caught like this?
Brian was drinking straight from the vodka bottle when she returned.
“We do have glasses,” she said caustically.
“How about grass?” he asked.
“Why?” she said.
“Why?” he repeated. “ ’Cause I thought I’d call the cops an’ have the place raided. Whaddaya think?”
“I think you’re like nuts.”
“Gimme a joint for crissakes. Thanks to you, I had a drag-out fight with my girlfriend.”
“I keep reminding you, Brian, you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, taking another swig of vodka. “Well, let me tell you—this one was Miss January last year, and believe me, you don’t want Miss January walking out when you’re feeling horny. And I am feeling horny, ’cause I can’t get anywhere near our star on the movie. Somebody’s banging her, and it sure as hell ain’t me.”
“Sorry to hear about your sexual problems,” Nicci said sarcastically.
“I’m sure, ’cause you and my bro never have any, right?”
“Evan’s very romantic,” she said, jumping to Evan’s defense.
“No shit?” Brian said disbelievingly. “That’s not what his last fiancée said.”
“Evan’s never been engaged before me.”
“Apparently big bro doesn’t tell you everything.”
“What’re you talking about?” she asked, frowning.
“Let’s go get somethin’ to eat, an’ I’ll fill you in.”
“Now?” she said, pushing back her long bangs.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” he said. “ ’Cause I’m freakin’ starving.”
“Well . . .” She wasn’t sure whether to accept his halfhearted invitation or not. “Okay,” she said at last. “I suppose I could eat something.”
“How about a joint before we go?”
“Isn’t the vodka enough?”
“Jesus Christ! You sound like my freakin’ brother.”
She went into the bedroom, got a joint from her bedside drawer, lit up, inhaled deeply, reentered the living room, and handed it to him.
“You’ll have to wait while I go get dressed.”
“No!” he said in mock dismay. “And I thought I was taking you like that. It’d be like dragging around a scraggly little sister.”
“You’re such an asshole, Brian,” she said crossly. “I don’t think I want to go to dinner with you.”
“Yes you do,” he said, grinning again. “I’m the irresistible brother. Remember?”
Oh God, and he had a giant ego too!
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, deciding that this was an opportunity she couldn’t turn down. Now she’d be able to see for herself what a pain in the butt he really was, and then she could stop fantasizing about him once and for all.
She hurried into her closet, grabbed her Dolce & Gabbana jeans, cowboy boots, a red tank, and her motorcycle jacket. She dressed quickly, then brushed her hair and applied a fast makeup.
Brian was standing out on the patio, gazing at the view when she returned. He still had the bottle of vodka in one hand and the joint in the other.
“You certainly get off on enjoying yourself, don’t you?” she said.
“Hey, what else is important?” he replied, taking a deep drag.
They walked outside.
“Whose car shall we take?” she asked.
“Yours,” Brian said, walking around to the driver’s seat of her BMW.
“If we’re taking mine, I’m driving,” she said.
“Oh no, baby,” he answered, shaking his head. “You’re not with Evan now. When you’re with me—I’m the one in the driver’s seat.”
•
“You LOOK GOOD,” Lissa said, answering the door herself.
“Hey,” Michael said, smiling. “Compliments from the boss. I’m flattered.”
“I’m not your boss,” she said, smiling back. “Simply one of your many clients, right?”
“Our most important client.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie?”
“Maybe.”
“Not me,” he said, following her into the den.
“So here we are,” she said, thinking how nice it was to see him.
“You’re looking good yourself, Lissa,” he said, wishing he had bought her flowers. It would’ve been a friendly gesture—nothing to be misconstrued.
“Now that my black eye has kind of faded,” she murmured.
“I can see that.”
She walked toward the bar. “Can I offer you a—no, I can’t, can I?”
“I do drink,” he said, impressed that she’d remembered. “Water, orange juice, soda, or maybe you’ve got a nonalcohol beer?”
“I doubt it,” she said, opening the small fridge behind the bar. “I could send Chuck out to get some.”
“Don’t bother. I gotta stop drinking it anyway, don’t want to end up with a big beer gut.”
“Oh yes,” she teased. “I can just imagine you with a big beer gut. Sort of like a white Quincy!”
“Ouch! That’s mean.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” she said quickly. “I love Quincy, he’s like a big, cuddly bear.”
“Q’s the best guy I know. A true stand-up.”
“How’s orange juice?”
“Healthy.”
She smiled, poured him a glass, and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said, watching her as she opened a bottle of Evian for herself.
“By the way,” she said. “There’s a TV program on tonight I should see. Something called The Real News. Have you heard of it?”
“Yeah, crap TV at its worst,” he said, leaning on the bar. “Why do you have to watch it?”
“Apparently Gregg’s making an appearance.”
“He is?”
“I’ve alerted my lawyer. Anything he says about me can be held against him, and I assure you, I am not anxious to pay him alimony.”
“Didn’t he sign one of those prenuptial deals?”
“Fortunately, he did, only because my lawyer insisted.”
“You must have a smart lawyer.”
“I do,” she said, thinking how good he looked dressed all in black. “Only can you imagine how difficult it is when you’re just about to get married to suddenly have to say, ‘Oh, by the way, can you please sign this prenup.’ Not exactly the most romantic words in the world.”
“How’d he take it?” Michael asked.
“Badly. Got very uptight. Then, when he saw that my business people meant it, he backed off and finally signed.”
“Here’s my take,” Michael said thoughtfully. “If two people are getting married, why would one of them object to signing something that only comes into being if they get divorced? Hey, I’d sign a piece of paper saying I didn’t want anything from anybody, but that’s just me.”
“You’re an original, Michael,” she said, smiling warmly. “Especially in this town.”
“Right,” he said ruefully. “I’m the one with the murdered wife and the alcoholic past. Oh, yeah, and I haven’t told you about how I got shot when I was a cop in New York. You’ve got that sorry story to come.”
“I like your stories,” she said quietly.
“I’m glad somebody does,” he said with a wry grin.
“I thought we’d eat in here,” she said. “After all, this is a casual business meeting, right?”
“Nothing else,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Well,” she said, walking out from behind the bar. “Let’s go in the kitchen and I’ll introduce you to my cook, Nellie. She’s making lasagna. Whatever it’s like, please smile and say it’s great. Nellie’s very sensitive to criticism.”
“I can understand that.”
“And . . . if you’re very good, maybe she’ll fix you a milkshake before dinner.”
“Lasagna and a milk
shake,” he said, shaking his head. “How lucky can one guy get?”
•
BELINDA BARROW was starting to think that she might have made a mistake. Moving Gregg Lynch in had seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, he was separated from Lissa Roman, he was a singer/ songwriter, not bad looking, and could be potential husband material—especially if he scored plenty of alimony from his famous wife.
Now she was discovering that he might be nothing more than an angry drunk, although she had to admit he was an energetic performer in bed.
As usual, she discovered him in the bar. “Y’know, you’ll ruin your looks if you keep on drinking the way you do,” she remarked.
“Are you talking to me?” Gregg said, looking at her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, I am,” Belinda said. “It’s for your own good.”
“It is, huh?” he said, pouring himself a shot of vodka.
“You want to be a star, Gregg, and over the next few weeks you’ll probably get a lot more exposure, so I suggest you control your drinking for a while.”
“What is it with you women?” he said belligerently. “If you want me to stay here, you’d better cool it with the nagging.”
She bit back a sharp retort. She’d been around too long to take abuse from a man. On the other hand, there were not a lot of available men in Hollywood. The single ones were either burned-out perverts or totally gay. She decided she’d give Gregg a chance; after all, they’d only been together a short while.
“Just a suggestion,” she said, keeping it light. “Doesn’t make any difference to me. I’ll make sure the bar is stocked up and you can go ahead and lose your looks. Only when you do, that’s the time I’ll say good-bye.”
“You bitch!” he said disbelievingly.
“No name-calling,” she said curtly. “You may have gotten away with it with your wife, but you can’t move into my house and call me names. Now, do we have something going here, Gregg? Or are you intent on playing the bitter, disillusioned husband?”
He realized the alternative. Another hotel. Another set of bills to pay with money he didn’t have. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Dunno what comes over me. I’m so bummed out by this whole thing.”
“I can imagine.”
“I don’t think so.”
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 18
