Hollywood Wives--The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  “Isn’t this something?” she said, walking to the edge. “I’m telling you, when they build hotels in Las Vegas, they don’t play around.”

  “It’s certainly different from where I come from,” he said.

  “What do you think?” she murmured, turning to him.

  He could smell her perfume, and it was driving him insane. He had to summon every inch of willpower he possessed not to kiss her. “I think we should go to dinner,” he said.

  •

  WALTER BURNS was a granite-faced man in his late sixties. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a full head of silver hair, manicured nails, and a wary expression. When he spoke, his voice was so soft and raspy that most people had to lean closer to hear him. His wife, Evelyn, was the definitive Barbie-doll type—a top-heavy bleached blonde who wore figure-revealing clothes, flashy jewelry, and hooker shoes. She was pushing forty, but dressed twenty.

  Walter had left his same-age-as-himself first wife in order to pursue Evelyn, who had once been a famous showgirl. They’d been married for ten years and had no children.

  It had been Evelyn’s idea to find out if Lissa Roman would be prepared to do a one-night show to celebrate the opening of the Desert Millennium Princess. The new Vegas hotel was a giant amongst a bevy of shining giants that had been erected over the last ten years, including the Mirage, the Rio, the Bellagio, and the Hard Rock.

  Walter Burns’ business ventures were spread across America. He owned casino/hotels in several states, but this was his first foray into the Vegas area. He had a couple of investment partners, but he was the main man. His tenth wedding anniversary to Evelyn was coming up, and his present to her was getting Lissa Roman to appear for one night. Quite a present, considering it was costing him three million dollars. Although to a man such as Walter Burns, three million dollars was like three hundred dollars to anyone else.

  Evelyn had dressed for dinner in a low-cut, sequined cocktail dress, cut down to the rise of her butt in the back. Huge sapphire-and-diamond earrings adorned her ears to match the sapphires and diamonds on her fingers and wrists.

  “I’m so excited,” she confided to her husband as they set off to meet Lissa. She had a slight Brooklyn accent, a sweet personality, and adored her multibillionaire husband, who regularly popped Viagra to keep his thirty-years-younger wife happy. “This is the best present ever!”

  •

  LISSA HAD NO IDEA she was a present as she traveled down in the elevator with Michael beside her. She’d decided to enjoy herself, forget about Gregg, and throw herself into her show. She certainly had no intention of getting involved with Michael Scorsinni. He lived in a fantasy world if he thought she was even entertaining the idea.

  “This is like a mini-vacation for me,” she remarked as the elevator made its descent. “It seems I’m always working.”

  “This is work,” he pointed out. “You’re rehearsing tomorrow, then you’ve got your show on Saturday.”

  “It’s hardly the same. I’m not locked in the recording studio, or making a video. I’m not even on location. This is my idea of freedom, and I like it. Tomorrow will be fun. I have a great group of dancers, and I love working with them. You’ve never seen my show, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You’ll be surprised.”

  “You couldn’t surprise me, Lissa.”

  “I couldn’t?” she asked, an amused expression in her blue eyes.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Hmm . . . we’ll have to see.”

  He laughed. One thing he was sure of, being in her company was never dull.

  •

  WALTER AND EVELYN BURNS turned out to be a surprisingly entertaining couple. Walter was gruff and full of interesting stories, while Evelyn played his perfect foil—the dumb blonde who knew how to play it. She worshiped Lissa, and showed it by gazing at her adoringly most of the night. She even offered to give her the sapphire-and-diamond ring off her finger.

  Lissa politely declined.

  “My wife’s your biggest fan,” Walter announced, when Evelyn tottered off on her four-and-a-half-inch heels to visit the ladies’ room.

  “I’m flattered,” Lissa said.

  “Yeah,” Walter rasped. “It’s why we were so anxious to get you to open the hotel for us. And let me say, I’m damn grateful you agreed, otherwise my life would’ve been crap.”

  “I wasn’t aware of the back story,” Lissa said, smiling. “I’m glad I said yes.”

  “Your show’s all sold out,” Walter offered.

  “Good,” Lissa said. “That means you’ll make money.”

  “Not with what we’re paying you, my dear,” he said with a snakelike smile.

  Michael kept quiet during dinner. He didn’t think it appropriate to join in, although Lissa insisted on trying to include him.

  After dinner, Walter wondered if they wanted to gamble.

  “You must,” Evelyn insisted. “I’ll teach you to play craps. Walter says I’m a natural!”

  “We let her win,” Walter said, straight faced. “Keeps her happy.”

  “How dare you!” Evelyn squealed. “It’s a skill. And if there’s one thing I have, honeybun, it’s skill.”

  A photographer appeared shortly after they’d finished, and Walter respectfully asked Lissa if she’d mind posing for a few pictures with Evelyn.

  “Not at all,” Lissa said.

  Michael had noticed how easy and calm she was with people. There was certainly an extremely kind side to her character; she wasn’t like some of the other stars he’d dealt with, most of whom were extremely difficult.

  “I’ll pass on the gambling tonight,” Lissa said. “Maybe after the show tomorrow you’ll teach me how to do it.”

  “Oh, honey, my pleasure,” Evelyn said, still starstruck. “And since you were admiring my shoes earlier—I’m having several pairs sent to your room tomorrow. What’s your size?”

  “Oh no, please don’t,” Lissa said.

  “Honey, when you want something in our hotel, you can bet your sweet ass you’ll get it.”

  “My wife speaks the truth,” Walter said. “Anything you want, anything at all, call me.”

  On their way back upstairs Lissa said, “You were very quiet tonight.”

  “I wasn’t quiet,” Michael answered. “I was watching out for you.”

  “You could’ve been more friendly toward them.”

  “I’m not your date, Lissa,” he pointed out.

  “I know that,” she said.

  “What did you want me to do?” he asked, exasperated. “Make conversation? Those aren’t my friends, I have nothing in common with them. The guy’s a billionaire for crissakes—you think he has anything to say to me?”

  “Oh, Michael,” she sighed. “You’re too sensitive.”

  “Never been called that before.”

  “By the way,” she said, her eyes bright. “You keep insinuating that I wanted you to stay the other night because we were probably going to indulge in some crazy one-night stand. Well, let me tell you, that’s not what I had in mind at all. I needed a friend, and if you think there was anything else going on, you’re very much mistaken.”

  “I’m glad you cleared that up,” he said as they reached the door of the penthouse suite.

  “Good night, Michael,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning at eight.”

  He waited for her to ask him in. She didn’t.

  Hey, maybe he was imagining this whole thing.

  Feeling somewhat dejected, he returned to his room.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  * * *

  FRIDAY MORNING, Eric Vernon was on the alert. Only one more day and he still had much to do. He went over his checklist, making sure he’d forgotten nothing. Most important were his getaway plans once he had the ransom money. Everything was in place—passport, driver’s license, Social Security card, two new credit cards taken out under his new name. Several thousand dollars in traveler’s checks—money le
ft over from his San Diego bank heist—an airline ticket to the Bahamas, bookings for several different flights.

  Yes, he could say good-bye to Eric Vernon in seconds. All he had to do was stop being him.

  “We’ll meet at the park,” Eric said over the phone to Arliss.

  “What?” the skinny man replied.

  “The park.”

  “What park?” Arliss asked.

  “Near the school. You know where I mean.”

  “Can’t we meet at the bar?” Arliss whined.

  “I don’t care for the way Sam watches us.”

  “Sam don’t watch us,” Arliss said.

  “Yes, he does,” Eric said.

  “The park seems an odd place t’meet.”

  “Not so odd if we do it at four in the afternoon. Make sure the others are there. Tomorrow’s the day, and remember—no screwups.”

  •

  SEEING THE GROUP in daylight was certainly a shock. Eric knew they were a seedy-looking bunch, but he hadn’t realized quite how bad they were.

  There stood Arliss the weasel, with his thin, pointed face and straggly hair. Big Mark, a huge bear of a man with an unbalanced craziness reflected in his beady eyes. Little Joe, short and fat and quite stupid. Davey the Animal, snorting and wheezing, his ferret face cunning and greedy.

  “We’ll get together at noon tomorrow,” Eric announced. “At the building. Davey, you’ll bring the car. Joe, you’ll have the chloroform. Mark, you’ll bring yourself.”

  “The guys an’ me was talkin’,” Arliss ventured.

  “You were?” Eric said.

  “We think we should be gettin’ somethin’ up front,” Arliss said boldly, while the other three nodded their agreement.

  “Will you explain to me how I can give you something up front before I get the ransom?” Eric said, his cold eyes daring them to argue.

  “A grand each,” Big Mark said. “Good-faith money.”

  Eric turned on him. “You dumb fucks,” he said, his tone icy. “How do you expect me to give you money I don’t have?”

  “How’d we know ya don’t have it?” Davey wheezed.

  “Yeah,” Little Joe agreed, his eyes popping.

  “I’m walking away,” Eric said.

  “What?” Arliss whined.

  “Walking,” Eric said, making a calculated move to pull them back in line.

  “Where to?” Little Joe asked.

  “Away from all of you.”

  “What about the job?” Arliss asked.

  “Fuck the job,” Eric said. “And fuck you too.”

  He started to walk away. The four men conferred, and within seconds Arliss came running after him. “All right, no hard feelings, we’ll wait for our money.”

  Until hell freezes over, Eric thought.

  And he turned around and rejoined the four misfits.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  * * *

  WATCHING LISSA REHEARSE was a revelation. Michael knew she was talented, but he’d had no idea the kind of dynamic stage presence she possessed. Her show lasted an hour and fifteen minutes, and she sang and danced her way through everything, from wild dance numbers to torchy ballads—all with different changes of outfits and punishing dance routines.

  She rehearsed in sweats in the morning, broke for lunch, and after lunch she did a full sound check and dress rehearsal.

  Sitting in the theater watching her, Michael was more than impressed. She was an amazing woman who deserved everything she had, because she sure as hell worked hard for it.

  The day was hectic. There were so many people running here and there, so many egos, and Lissa was at the center of it all.

  Chuck came over and sat beside him for a while. “She’s somethin’, huh?”

  “She sure is,” Michael said. “You’ve been with her for how many years?”

  “Five,” Chuck said.

  “What was the husband like?” Michael asked, trying to keep it casual.

  “One look at the dude an’ I got a bead on his game,” Chuck replied. “He treated her badly. Lotta screamin’ goin’ on most of the time. Dunno why she took it as long as she did.”

  The words “comfort zone” sprang to mind. Michael had seen a shrink for a short time after he’d gotten shot in New York. The woman had explained something to him that he’d found very interesting. “People always revert to their comfort zone,” she’d told him. “If you were raised by a violent mother or father, then somehow it seems quite normal to you if your partner treats you badly, because that’s your comfort zone.”

  It made a lot of sense. He started wondering about Lissa’s childhood and why she hadn’t said much. Not that she owed him any explanations.

  A buffet lunch was set up on long trestle tables. Lissa sat amongst her dancers, backup singers, and various other people connected with her show.

  Michael walked over to Chuck. “I’ve arranged a meeting with hotel security,” he said. “I’d like you to be there.”

  “Sure,” Chuck said. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch. The press’ll be crawlin’ all over her, she’s got her friends comin’ in from L.A., the fans go freakin’ crazy, an’ she’s gonna be strung out about the show.”

  Later in the afternoon, Lissa sat in her dressing room while Fabio experimented with various hair styles.

  “I told you, when I do the third number I can’t have those extensions falling in my eyes,” she said patiently. “It’s too much hair, Fabio.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Fabio assured her, dancing around her chair. “My golden lady has to outdazzle Las Vegas!”

  Her cell phone rang and she answered it. “Yes?”

  “Mom?”

  It was Nicci. “What’s up, sweetie?” she asked.

  “You won’t believe this one,” Nicci said, sounding breathless.

  “Try me.”

  “I had dinner last night with Antonio and his new wife.”

  “You did?”

  “Antonio still looks amazing.”

  “What’s his wife like?”

  “Old-fashioned glam in a kind of European way.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well . . .” Nicci said. “She’s much older than him, and oh yeah—she was wearing a diamond the size of Cuba. I suppose she’s sort of beautiful.”

  “So far all I get is old and rich.”

  “No,” Nicci said, giggling. “She seems nice too.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lissa said, remembering how completely infatuated she’d once been with Antonio. That was when they were both young and carefree. Running off to Vegas and getting married had seemed such a romantic thing to do at the time.

  “They’ve chartered a plane and they’re coming to see your show,” Nicci announced.

  “There’re no more tickets,” Lissa said. “It’s a sellout.”

  “He has his own tickets,” Nicci said. “His own car and driver, and a solid-gold Rolex.”

  “Seems Antonio finally got everything he wanted.”

  “Anyway, he is my dad, so can he please get a backstage pass and have her meet you?”

  “Nicci . . .”

  “Please, Mom. For me.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lissa said, relenting. “Where will they be staying?”

  “At your hotel.”

  “Tell you what,” Lissa said, kind of intrigued at the thought of seeing Antonio again. “There’s a party after the show—I’ll make sure they get an invitation.”

  “You’re so cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And another thing . . .”

  “What now?”

  “Evan’s mom is driving me completely nutto. The woman’s obsessed.”

  “With what?”

  “Her son, of course.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I know, it’s such a bummer. So I was like thinking—she wants to see your show, and if I put her on a plane, could she get a ticket and an invitation to the party too?”

  “Charming,” Lissa sa
id. “Sticking me with her.”

  “Well, you are gonna be kind of related.”

  “I’m not sure there’re any tickets left, and I’ll be too busy to entertain her.”

  “This is a dire emergency!”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “It’ll save me from like totally freaking,” Nicci said gratefully.

  “As long as I can do that,” Lissa said dryly, thinking that Nicci was definitely inclined to exaggerate.

  “How’s rehearsal?”

  “Easy. You know I love performing live.”

  “Okay, Mom. Thanks. I’ll speak to you later.”

  Pleased, Lissa put down the phone. It seemed that since Gregg’s departure, she and Nicci were definitely growing closer.

  •

  BELINDA LIKED MORNING SEX. Gregg didn’t.

  Belinda liked sex in the shower. Gregg didn’t.

  Friday morning, Gregg serviced her in the shower and waited for her to leave for work.

  Once she’d gone, he jumped back into bed, clicked on the TV, and watched a western movie. It wasn’t until Patrick phoned to find out if he’d gotten the boxes yet that he remembered.

  “Yeah, yeah, I was just going through them,” he said. “Haven’t come across anything juicy yet, but you’ll be the first to know.”

  He hung up on Patrick and reluctantly made his way into the master bathroom. There they were, piled high—Lissa’s private boxes.

  He opened the first one, marked 1975, a year before she left home. She would’ve been fifteen.

  The box was filled with mementos—cards, old pens, a coin or two, and photos. He picked up a photograph of Lissa standing with a skinny boy outside a small house. She was a beauty even at fifteen.

  Then he noticed the diary. It was one of those pink girly diaries, with a tiny lock and a miniature key hanging off the side. He picked it up, opened it, and started to read. She had a girlish, scrawly handwriting that was difficult to decipher.

  January the 1st: Got a cold. Ate lukewarm soup.

  January the 2nd: Bumped into Skeet. He’s a creep.

  January the 3rd: Horrible chicken for dinner. Ugh!

  Went to movies with Jenna. Saw Jaws. Scary!