Hollywood Wives--The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  She stared up at the flashing lights. “Like I’m a fraud who’s getting away with a scam.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “It’s easy.”

  “And you’ve been a star for how long?”

  “Too many years,” she sighed, as they entered the hotel.

  “Time to play wife again,” Michael said, taking her hand in his.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped, as they made their way through the crowded casino. “You see that guy sitting at the blackjack table? The handsome one with the woman loaded in jewels.”

  Michael glanced over. “What about him?” he said.

  “That’s Antonio. He and I used to be married. He’s Nicci’s father.”

  •

  “I SHOULD be getting home,” Nicci said. “Big night tomorrow.”

  “I offered bro a bachelor night,” Brian said, clicking his fingers for the check. “Got turned down flat.”

  “You see,” she said triumphantly. “He’s totally faithful to me.”

  “Keep on believing that, babe, and I’ve got a lovely piece of real estate for you in Iceland.”

  She stared at him, sensing bad vibes. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  “It seems that maybe you are.”

  “You’ve got chocolate on your chin.”

  “I do?”

  “Here.” He leaned across the table and wiped her chin with his napkin.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Let’s go,” he said abruptly. “Before I’m forced to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, like you could,” she said scornfully.

  “I think I could.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “You’re easy.”

  “I am so not.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Suck it up, Brian.”

  “Oooh, baby, you sure know how t’turn a guy on.”

  •

  “I’M HAVING the best time,” Lissa said, skirting the table where Antonio was busy playing blackjack.

  “Lissa,” Michael said warningly. “Be careful, he’s likely to recognize you.”

  “My best friend wouldn’t recognize me,” she said, edging closer to the table where Antonio and his wife were sitting. “Hmm . . . that must be the woman he married. She’s older than him, much older. He still looks great though, doesn’t he?”

  “I got no clue what he looked like before.”

  “He has that kind of sexy European thing going,” she mused. “He’ll never grow old, not Antonio. Besides, he’s only a few years older than me. Actually, he’s about your age. Let’s see now,” she said, giving Michael a quick once-over. “Who looks the best?”

  “C’mon, Lissa,” he said, wishing she’d get off the exhusband kick. “It’s past midnight.”

  “I don’t feel like going upstairs. I’m not tired.”

  “You’re on your way,” he threatened. “Even if I have to carry you.”

  “Promises, promises,” she murmured.

  “Do you realize what you’ve got going on tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You keep on reminding me.”

  “Which is a good thing.”

  “No, it’s not, I want to hang out and people-watch.”

  “Why?” he said, unable to control a twinge of jealousy. “You still got a thing for your ex?”

  “Are you crazy?” she said, laughing. “Antonio was twenty years ago.”

  “Twenty years, huh? And you haven’t seen him in all that time?”

  “No, after I divorced him he went back to Europe. Our only contact was Nicci. She split her time between the two of us.”

  “Upstairs, Lissa.”

  She mock saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  “You really do look funny,” he couldn’t help saying.

  “Are you sure cute isn’t the word you’re searching for?”

  “That too.”

  They made it to the service elevator and up to her suite without anyone knowing.

  “Come in and have a drink,” she said at the door.

  “Why are you always asking me if I want a drink, when you know I don’t drink?” he said, perplexed.

  “Habit. Anyway, you’re never tempted, are you?”

  “I think I’ve told you before, willpower of steel.”

  “Yes,” she said flirtatiously. “I noticed.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. There was something about her that he found irresistible. Especially in the wig and the glasses, when all she had going for her was a sensational body and an abundance of charm. “I’d better check out your room,” he said, following her into the huge suite.

  She took off her granny glasses and removed the short wig, shaking out her platinum hair. “Wow! That feels better.”

  He walked around, checking out the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and powder room. “You’re all safe and sound,” he said. “And remember, I’m right next door.”

  “Yes, Michael,” she said, her blue eyes watching him.

  “And I’m a real light sleeper,” he added.

  “So am I,” she said.

  “Well . . . uh . . . I’ll say good night,” he said, moving closer without even realizing he was doing so.

  “I guess you should,” she murmured, taking a step toward him.

  And as if it was meant to be, they fell into a kiss, neither of them aware of who made the first move.

  Lissa experienced a rush of excitement. Her heart began beating incredibly fast. She had not intended this to happen, but now that it had, she was not about to stop it.

  Michael felt as if he were coming home. He couldn’t get over the warmth of her soft lips drawing him in, making him feel welcome and alive.

  She touched his cheeks with her hands, and he experienced a desire so strong and powerful that all the warnings he’d given himself meant nothing, and he knew he had to have this woman. It didn’t matter that she was rich and famous. It didn’t matter that he had a pregnant girlfriend back in L.A. and that there wasn’t a chance in hell of this working out. Nothing mattered except the two of them being together.

  “Michael,” she murmured his name very softly. “Michael . . .”

  He caressed her breasts through her denim shirt, then feverishly began unbuttoning the shirt as she thrust her body toward him.

  Her hand snaked down to the hardness between his legs.

  “Don’t!” he said sharply, worried that he’d blow it and come like a thirteen-year-old getting his rocks off for the first time.

  She understood and left him alone, concentrating on kissing him with such intensity and yearning that he could barely breathe.

  After a few minutes he unhooked her bra, releasing her breasts, marveling at how perfect they were, touching them, stroking her satiny skin, bending his head to suck on her erect nipples.

  “You are so . . . goddamn . . . beautiful,” he muttered, picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom.

  He had a thirst for her that nothing could quench. Her craving for him was equally intense.

  And before long they were making slow, sensuous love, falling into each other’s rhythms, transporting themselves to a place where only the two of them existed.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  * * *

  RIDING TO THE AIRPORT in Claude’s Rolls-Royce, James kept his conversation clipped and to the point, an indication of his extreme displeasure at Claude’s behavior.

  “What is the matter with you?” Claude finally burst out. “You’re actin’ like a prima donna with a stick up her ass.”

  “You should know all about sticks up people’s asses,” James muttered.

  “Cut it out,” Claude said warningly. “So I stayed at the beach house, big deal.”

  “You stayed at the beach house with that Latin slut,” James hissed. “And what really annoys me is that you did not even have the courtesy to invite me to watch.”

  “You’re so English,” Clau
de said in a put-down voice. “What kick is there in cheating if you’re sitting there watching?”

  “We used to do everything and everybody together,” James reminded him with a toss of his head. “Now I see you wish to fly solo.”

  “Christ!” Claude exclaimed. “You’re turning into a jealous queen.”

  “Me, jealous?” James said imperiously. “I beg to differ. Let us not forget, dear Claude, that I am twenty-one years your junior. Therefore, if anyone should be jealous, that someone should be you.”

  “Oh, stick it up your crack,” Claude said, just as the Rolls pulled into the private airport.

  “It’s a damn good job you have your own plane,” James said huffily.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Claude said. “Love me, love my plane.”

  Since Larry was a stickler for being on time, he and Taylor were already aboard. Everyone exchanged the appropriate number of kisses.

  “I hate Vegas. I don’t know why we’re doing this,” Larry muttered to his wife.

  “For Lissa,” Taylor answered calmly. “She’s one of my best friends. And you know you like her.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

  He’d been in a bad mood ever since he’d visited the set and caught her in a heated love scene with Sonja Lucerne. When she’d arrived home that night, he’d been pacing around the house in an agitated state. “I meant what I said, Taylor,” he’d informed her. “You shouldn’t allow yourself to be put in that position. Your actions affect both of us.”

  She was through with listening to his complaints. “Y’know, Larry, cast me in one of your movies if you don’t want me appearing in anything else.”

  “Isn’t it enough that I’m getting your film off the ground?”

  “It might have been two years ago,” she’d retorted. “You’ve certainly taken your time helping me.”

  “That’s not true,” he’d objected.

  “Yes, Larry, it is.”

  The next morning they were still hardly speaking. They got in the limo and sat in silence. What Taylor didn’t know was that when she’d asked Larry to go back upstairs to pick up her jewelry pouch, which she’d left in her dressing room, he’d inadvertently come across Oliver Rock’s check, made out to her and dated days before he’d introduced them. Something was going on, and this weekend Larry was determined to find out what that something was.

  “Nice plane,” Taylor said to Claude, admiring the upholstered leopard skin seats and black lacquer furniture.

  “I recently had it redecorated,” Claude said. “Unfortunately, it’s too rock ’n’ roll for James.”

  “Actually I find the decor perfectly tasteless,” James said in his best I-am-a-snob voice. “However, what does my opinion matter?”

  “The next plane I buy, you get to decorate,” Claude said magnanimously. “How’s that?”

  “Thank you so much,” James said haughtily. “You’re so generous.”

  Claude looked at his watch. “Where’re Norio and Kyndra?”

  “Surely you don’t expect Kyndra to arrive on time?” James snapped.

  “I had my assistant tell her we were leaving an hour earlier than she told everyone else. They should be here any time now.”

  True to form, five minutes later, Kyndra—thinking she was an hour late—swept onto the plane, looking extremely glamorous in an all-white outfit. “Oh my God!” she wailed. “Dramas! Dramas! How do I manage? Because I’m me, that’s how. I’m forced to do everything myself!”

  Norio was right behind her. “The diva overslept,” he said dryly. “Sorry, guys.”

  “Who are we waiting for now?” Claude wanted to know.

  “Seth and Stella,” Taylor said. “They’re usually on time.”

  Claude took another look at his watch. “The pilot has clearance, I’d like to get moving.”

  “I’ll call her,” Taylor said, taking out her cell phone.

  Stella picked up, sounding panicky. “Yes? Yes? What?”

  “Where are you?” Taylor asked. “We’re all waiting.”

  “I’m giving birth!” Stella screeched. “We’re at the hospital now. Oh . . . my . . . God! What an experience!”

  “She’s giving birth,” Taylor announced to everyone.

  “I didn’t even know she was pregnant,” Claude said.

  “She’s not,” Taylor said. “It’s complicated. Her eggs, Seth’s sperm, mix them up in a blender, shoot ’em into a surrogate, and there you have it.”

  “Does that mean they’re not coming?” Claude said.

  “Let me ask. Okay, Stella, sweetie, calm down,” Taylor said, speaking into the phone. “Are you flying to Vegas with us?”

  “I can’t run out on my twins the moment they’re born. Or can I? It’s not as if I have to feed them or anything. I guess the surrogate looks after them for a few weeks, right?”

  “How do I know, Stella, I’ve never had a baby.”

  “I’m sure it’s all taken care of. And I wouldn’t want to let Lissa down.”

  “So you are coming?”

  “Yes, only we’ll never make the plane, unless you can wait an hour?”

  “Sorry,” Taylor said. “Claude’s anxious to go now.”

  “Does that mean we’ll have to fly commercial?” Stella wailed.

  “ ’Fraid so.”

  “Damn!”

  “They’re coming later,” Taylor said, clicking off her phone.

  Claude picked up the intercom and spoke to his pilot. “We’re ready. Let’s go.”

  •

  ACROSS TOWN, Gregg sat with Belinda and Patrick in Belinda’s overdecorated living room.

  “Reckon I can get you fifty grand for this story,” Patrick said.

  “That’s good,” Belinda said.

  “Not good enough,” Gregg interjected.

  “Waddaya mean—not good enough?” Patrick questioned. “You gotta remember the high-price days are way over.”

  “The stuff I’ve come up with is worth at least a hundred,” Gregg said, deciding that he didn’t like Patrick, and he certainly didn’t trust him.

  “A hundred grand?” Patrick exclaimed, in shock. “Who’re you shittin’?”

  “Go back to the people who make the money decisions and see what they have to say,” Gregg said, playing it close. “In the meantime I’ll shop around.”

  “You don’t wanna do that,” Patrick said quickly.

  “Then I’d appreciate a decision by this evening,” Gregg replied. “Otherwise I’ll start shopping.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Patrick said disgustedly. “I’m the one put you up to this.”

  “Then come up with a hundred grand and the story’s yours,” Gregg said smoothly. “That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

  He caught Belinda’s eye. She gave him an imperceptible nod, as much as to say, “You’re doing the right thing.”

  Gregg wondered if she expected to share the money with him. If so, she was in for a big disappointment. He wasn’t sharing one dollar, even though it was Belinda who’d discovered the notebook filled with Lissa’s heartfelt confession.

  And what had she confessed?

  The sins of her parents.

  Belinda had unearthed a small black notebook with a large red exclamation point on the front. It was filled with what appeared to be a short story about a girl. Only it was quite obvious the girl was Lissa.

  The story started off:

  I am fifteen years old and I hate my parents. I hate them because they are cruel and unloving. Ever since I was eight years old they have touched me, both of them, my mom especially. At night they come to my bedroom, and she touches me all the time, then she makes my dad come and help her. I hate her! I hate her! I hate her! One of these days I would like to kill her. But before I do, I must get away, because if I don’t go, I will kill both of them. I’d like to do that. I’d like to see them suffer as I have. My innocence was ripped away from me when I was eight. Now I’m fifteen, and I’m leaving soon. If I do
n’t go, I will kill myself, or I will kill them.

  When Gregg had first read it he was shocked, and it took a lot to shock Gregg Lynch. Then it all began to make sense. So that’s why Lissa was so fucking selfobsessed and needy; she’d been abused as a kid. Well, tough shit, nobody had it easy.

  Belinda had summoned Patrick, who’d immediately come running over. “This’ll up the ante,” Patrick had said, rubbing his hands in glee.

  Now they were haggling over money.

  Gregg stood up, indicating the meeting was over.

  Patrick reluctantly took off, promising to phone before the end of the day.

  “They’ll pay,” Gregg said when he’d left.

  “You think so?” Belinda said, not quite so confident.

  “I know so.”

  •

  WAKING UP with Michael beside her was exciting and exhilarating. Lissa rested on one elbow and stared at him. He was a beautiful man, not only good-looking, but kind and caring and a sensational lover. She touched his face, gently stroking the faint stubble around his chin. Then she fingered the scar on his chest, a souvenir of his days as a New York detective.

  He stirred in his sleep. She removed her hand, not wishing to disturb him. It was only 6:00 A.M., and he’d had a hard night.

  A smile played around her lips. Something magical had taken place last night, a true connection of two people reaching out and finding each other. It wasn’t simply sex or a one-night stand. It was something extraordinarily special, something to be nurtured.

  And how did she go about nurturing a man like Michael Scorsinni? He wasn’t an actor or a performer. He didn’t want anything from her professionally. He was his own person. Strong, independent, not the kind of man who would enjoy basking in her limelight. For his own reasons, Michael would not want that at all.

  She lay there worrying about how she was going to act when he awoke. It was crucial that she didn’t make him nervous. And how not to do that when she had her big show coming up, and all the attention would be on her? Sometimes it wasn’t easy being famous.

  She ran her fingers lightly over his chest. He stirred again, and this time began to wake up.

  “Good morning,” she said softly.

  “Good morning, you,” he said, opening his eyes. “Am I dreaming?” he added, which was a good sign.

  “No,” she said happily. “And guess what? We weren’t even drunk. Well, you wouldn’t be, would you? But all I drank last night was Evian, so we don’t have that excuse.”