Hollywood Divorces • Hollywood Wives: The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  ‘And that’s all you gotta do,’ Quincy added warningly.

  ‘What’re you getting at?’

  ‘Mister Casanova.’

  ‘Bullshit, Q.’

  Carol was in the kitchen with Amber, the hum of their conversation drifting into the living room as the two women chatted about their daily lives. The children were upstairs in bed.

  ‘My wife’s cookin’ you my favourite meatloaf,’ Quincy announced, ‘along with sweet potatoes, collard greens an’ black-eyed peas. You’re a lucky man to be invited to sample her fine cookin’.’

  ‘And you’re a lucky man to have married a woman who’ll put up with you.’

  ‘Put up with me!’ Quincy roared. ‘I treat her like a queen. An’ while we’re on the subject of women, how come you’re not thinkin’ ’bout settlin’ down? Carol seems real nice.’

  Michael rubbed his chin, stood up and began pacing. ‘I’m not looking to get involved after Kennedy,’ he said.

  ‘Kennedy was several years ago,’ Quincy pointed out. ‘Never did understand why you two split.’

  ‘She was no more into a relationship than I was,’ Michael said restlessly, remembering his feisty ex-girlfriend with a touch of nostalgia. ‘We had a great couple of years together, then we both decided it was time to move on.’

  ‘Y’know what your problem is?’ Quincy said, swigging beer from the bottle.

  ‘What?’ Michael said, hardly interested in Quincy’s take on his problems.

  ‘It’s all about that crap with Rita and the kid. You gotta let it go.’

  ‘Don’t call Bella the kid,’ Michael said sharply.

  ‘Face it, you’re her uncle, not her daddy,’ Quincy continued, ‘an’ that’s not such a bad thing.’

  ‘I’d like to see what you’d do if the same thing had happened to you.’

  ‘Hey, I’d friggin’ kill,’ Quincy said, swigging more beer. ‘But you gotta leave it behind. You dealt with gettin’ shot, you can deal with the Bella thing. Carol can help, it’s obvious the woman cares for you. How about makin’ this one a keeper?’

  ‘How about butting out?’

  Dinner was so good that Michael ate himself to a standstill, then he immediately wished he hadn’t. No wonder Quincy was so out of shape, Amber’s cooking was a heart-attack on a plate.

  ‘Y’see?’ Quincy said, leaning back and patting his stomach happily. ‘This is marriage.’

  Amber giggled, ‘Throw in some shoppin’ an’ you got it, honey.’

  ‘Now we’ll watch the game on TV an’ sample my wife’s sweet pumpkin pie,’ Quincy said, winking at Michael. ‘With a lotta sex later.’

  Amber rolled her eyes.

  ‘That’s what I’m always telling Michael,’ Carol said, joining in enthusiastically. ‘A good relationship only takes two people.’

  ‘Keep on tellin’ him,’ Quincy said. ‘He’ll get it one of these days.’

  Carol laughed. ‘My turn to cook next. Shall we fix a night now?’

  ‘No,’ Michael said quickly. ‘Next week is out. This case I’m working on is taking up a lot of time.’

  ‘Work, work, work,’ Quincy said, patting Amber’s fine behind.

  ‘You can talk,’ Michael said. ‘Considering you dumped everything on me this week.’

  ‘Hey—’ Quincy began.

  ‘Now, now,’ Amber interrupted. ‘No fighting amongst the boys.’ She smiled at Carol in a conspiratorial way. ‘These two are like a couple of bad-assed brothers. You should’ve seen ’em in the old days. I had to pry ’em apart.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Michael said. ‘It was you an’ Quince that I had to separate. And it looks like you’re still at it.’

  ‘Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,’ Quincy joked.

  It seemed only natural when they left the Robbins house that Carol came home with him.

  Michael had his speech ready. He’d give it to her when the time was right. So what was wrong with waiting a few more weeks?

  Who knew? Maybe Quincy was onto something, maybe she was a keeper.

  Prowling the bars, an angry gleam in his eyes, Gregg Lynch was furious that a nothing piece of ass like Deidra had spoken to him the way she had. How dare she think that a girl who worked in a department store could tell him how to run his life? He was married to Lissa Roman, for crissakes. Did she honestly believe that he’d divorce his wife for her? What kind of a dumb cunt was she?

  Women were all the same. Rich, famous and beautiful, or passably attractive with a great pair of tits, they were all the same. Mangy, nagging cunts. He didn’t like any of them. They were there for the fucking, that’s all they were good for.

  And paying the bills, he thought. Although lately, Miss Moneybags, Lissa Roman, was getting a little tight around the edges. The last time he’d asked for a hundred thousand to put into the market, she’d demurred, saying that her business manager had invested all her available cash, and that he’d have to wait. That really pissed him off. He didn’t believe her. He was her husband, she should give him whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

  He was especially annoyed at Deidra because tomorrow was a big day for him. He was working with a new producer, a young up-and-coming guy he was paying to record a couple of his songs. Tonight he’d wanted to relax, get it on with Deidra, go home, have a good night’s sleep, and be out of the house early. Now he was screwing himself over by prowling bars and getting wasted. And it was all Deidra’s fault.

  By midnight he was sitting in a strip club on Sunset Boulevard, flicking twenty-dollar bills at an energetic girl with silicone boobs and sinewy thighs. She rode the shiny pole like it was her long-lost lover, and after a while, Gregg decided he wanted to fuck her.

  That is, until the manager sidled over and said, ‘Mr Roman, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to our club. Come in any time–the check’s on us.’

  He was furious that he’d been recognized. Even more furious that the prick had called him Mr Roman. Wouldn’t do to get caught by the tabloids, Lissa would be pissed. She had a bug up her ass about her precious reputation. ‘Name’s Lynch,’ he growled. ‘Gregg fucking Lynch. Got it, asshole?’

  The manager did not appreciate being called an asshole. ‘Sorry, Mr Lynch,’ he said tightly. ‘I know you as Mr Roman.’

  ‘Whaddaya mean, you know me as Mr Roman?’ Gregg said, scowling. ‘My wife is Roman, I’m Lynch.’

  ‘Maybe you should cool it with the drinking,’ the manager suggested. ‘Are you driving?’

  ‘What the fuck does it matter to you?’

  ‘State law. We can be held responsible if you have an accident. I’ll arrange a taxi to take you home.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Gregg said. And he stumbled out of the club muttering to himself.

  By the time he arrived home he was in a state. He staggered into the master bedroom, and there she was–queen of videos, princess of movies, little Miss Sex Bomb–asleep in their bed, looking more beautiful than ever.

  Most broads when they removed their makeup looked like death took a holiday. Not Lissa Roman. No. She was always fucking gorgeous. A prime piece of ass, and she was all his.

  He was so drunk that he wasn’t aware of what he was doing as in a fit of spite he dragged her out of bed by her hair.

  She awoke, screaming.

  ‘’S your husband,’ he slurred. ‘Remember me?’

  ‘My God, Gregg,’ she exclaimed, cringing away from him. ‘You scared me.’

  ‘Did I now?’

  She could smell the booze wafting off him. ‘You’re drunk,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘That okay with you?’ he said sarcastically. ‘I got the Queen’s permission?’

  She stared at him for a moment, wondering what to do.

  Tomorrow’s Friday. Tomorrow he’ll be out of my life forever. Tonight’s the last time I have to face him.

  ‘Why don’t I go downstairs and make you some coffee?’ she said soothingly.

  ‘You wanna make me coffee?’ he sneered. ‘Why doncha call s
omebody t’ do it? ’Cause you sure as shit never lift a finger.’

  ‘Gregg, I’ve been rehearsing all day, I’m exhausted,’ she said quickly. ‘Perhaps it’s a good idea if I sleep in the guest room.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a good idea if I sleep in the guest room,’ he said, mimicking her voice. ‘Fuck you! I’ll tell you where you’re gonna sleep–right here next to your husband.’ And he started unzipping his pants.

  She had no intention of enduring another rape. Oh, no! Enough was enough. She glanced at the phone. One buzz and Chuck would come bounding upstairs.

  She reached for it.

  ‘No fuckin’ way!’ Gregg said, wrestling the phone out of her hand.

  ‘I’m calling Chuck,’ she said, speaking fast. ‘He’ll make you coffee. You’re recording tomorrow. Surely you want to be in good shape for that?’

  ‘Whadda you care?’ he said belligerently. ‘I’m fucking bored with you. Bored living in this house, I hate it. I hate you.’

  ‘You’re drunk. Sleep it off.’

  ‘Don’ wanna do that,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Wanna fuck my wife.’

  And he began pawing her.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she warned, backing away.

  ‘Don’ touch you?’ he repeated, and grabbing hold of her, he ripped the front of her nightgown, exposing her breasts. ‘How’s that for not touching you?’ he said, with a maniacal laugh. ‘How’s that, bitch?’

  She continued to back away. He came after her. He was easier to avoid than last time because he was so drunk and unsteady on his feet. As he tried to grab her again, she kneed him hard in the balls. He staggered a bit, but kept on coming. Then, just as she was about to run from the room, he grabbed her leg, toppling her to the floor.

  ‘How does it feel?’ he crowed, standing over her and unzipping his fly. ‘How does it feel t’ be down, bitch?’

  She managed to get to her feet and once more tried to make it to the door.

  He came after her again.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she yelled. ‘Don’t ever touch me again.’

  ‘You’re my fuckin’ property,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll touch you whenever I goddamn want to.’

  And then he lifted his arm and hit her across the cheek.

  Somehow she managed to flee from the room, her heart thumping. She made it into the guest bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  He was too drunk and confused to follow. With a loud guttural groan, he fell across the bed, still clothed, and passed out.

  Friday morning, Nicci awoke early. She lay in bed for a moment staring at the stark white ceiling, thinking about everything. Saffron was right, her wedding was creeping closer every day, so the sooner she filled Lissa in about Antonio coming to L.A. the better. No good putting it off any longer.

  Propping herself up on one elbow, she watched Evan sleeping beside her. Yes, she decided, he’d make a great husband. He was smart and interesting and crazy about her. They’d even discussed having kids. What more could she ask for?

  You’re only nineteen, her inner voice whispered. And you’re marrying a man who wants a wife, kids, and a settled life. He’ll be having an amazing time making his movies on location, while you’ll be stuck at home taking care of a bunch of screaming brats.

  No way, she told herself sternly. I love him. Marriage to Evan will be cool. If there’s one thing I need it’s some stability in my life–considering I’ve never had any.

  The previous night they’d celebrated his home-coming by making love. Evan was not as experimental as she would have liked, he was more into pleasing her, which was nice, but did not exactly lead to wild, uninhibited sex.

  I’m nineteen, she thought. I want wild uninhibited sex. Not that she hadn’t experienced it already, but it hadn’t been with Evan.

  Surely the fun and excitement and getting crazy wasn’t all over?

  She slid out of bed without disturbing him and hurried into the all limestone and chrome bathroom. Stripping off her T-shirt, she stood under the shower and decided that she’d skip her kickboxing class and visit her mom instead.

  Saffron was right, the least she could do was warn her about Antonio’s impending visit. It was only fair.

  Lissa slept fitfully. By six a.m. she was up. She took one look in the bathroom mirror and realized she was in trouble. Her left eye was swollen and bruised. The bastard had given her a black eye.

  She had no intention of leaving the safety of the guest room until he’d left, so she listened at the door until she heard him go down the stairs. Once she was sure he’d gone, she unlocked the door and hurried into her bedroom, immediately calling Michael.

  ‘He’s on his way out,’ she whispered into the phone. ‘Can you get here as soon as possible?’

  ‘I’ll be right over,’ Michael said.

  ‘Please. It’s important that he never comes back.’

  ‘I get it, Lissa.’

  Gregg was on his way out as Nicci drove up to the house. She realized for the hundredth time that she couldn’t stand him. He had cowlick hair, a permanent tan and big muscles. Why did her mom always go for looks? Didn’t personality count too?

  ‘Hi, Gregg,’ she said, jumping out of her car, hoping that he wouldn’t try to make conversation. He had an ‘I’m stripping you naked’ way of looking at her that was not at all welcome. ‘Is Mom up?’

  He cast an appraising eye over her. ‘Lookin’ foxy, Nicci,’ he said, licking his dry lips. ‘Shouldn’t walk around like that. One of these days somebody’s gonna take advantage of you.’

  ‘And it sure as hell ain’t gonna be my stepdad, is it?’ she said sharply, wishing she’d worn something more substantial than low-rider shorts and a stomach-baring tank.

  Christ! He had a hangover from hell, and now he had to listen to this little cunt’s smart mouth. Things were going to have to change around here. He deserved some respect, and Lissa better make sure he got it. ‘Your loss, baby,’ he said, getting into his Ferrari, a wedding gift from Lissa.

  Turning her back, Nicci entered the house, encountering Nellie, Lissa’s long-time housekeeper. Nellie, a stout, capable woman who originally came from Germany, lived to take care of her famous boss.

  ‘Mom around?’ Nicci asked.

  ‘In her bedroom,’ Nellie replied, adding a stern, ‘Knock before you enter.’

  Nicci headed for the master suite and barged right in.

  Lissa was sitting in the darkness on the side of the bed speaking on the phone. The drapes were drawn tightly shut and she was still in her robe. As soon as she saw Nicci, she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Nice greeting,’ Nicci remarked, plucking a handful of grapes from a dish on the bedside table. ‘Your own daughter, and that’s all I get?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ Lissa said, slightly flustered. ‘Usually you call when you’re coming over.’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Nicci said, perching on the end of the bed. ‘Didn’t want to get into it over the phone.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘I thought this would be a good time.’

  ‘Well, it’s not,’ Lissa said, thinking that her daughter’s timing couldn’t be worse. ‘You’ll have to wait outside while I finish this call.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Nicci said, getting up and slouching out of the room. She always slouched when in the company of her mother. Lissa was so freaking amazing, that she made Nicci feel totally insignificant in the looks department.

  Shutting the door behind her, she stood outside and attempted to listen. Hmm…very interesting, she thought. Gregg’s on his way out, and Mom’s on the phone. Maybe she’s getting it on with another guy. Damn those big heavy doors! She couldn’t hear a word.

  Wandering into the kitchen, she opened the fridge, removed a carton of orange juice, and swigged from the carton.

  ‘Your mommy wouldn’t like that,’ Nellie scolded, busily polishing the granite counter.

 
; ‘I’m not Mommy’s little girl anymore,’ Nicci reminded her.

  ‘No, but you certainly act like it,’ Nellie muttered disapprovingly. ‘And you’re too damn skinny. You need to put some flesh on those bones.’

  ‘God! Why do I feel like I’m still living at home?’ Nicci complained, pushing back her long bangs. ‘Now I know why I left.’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to drop by for a decent meal once in a while,’ Nellie nagged.

  ‘I eat like a pig,’ Nicci said. ‘Can’t help it if my metabolism keeps me this way. Anyway, Nellie, only you think I’m too thin.’

  After a few minutes Lissa emerged from her bedroom. She was now dressed in a white silk shirt, casual pants and Nikes, her platinum hair piled on top of her head, opaque black wraparound sunglasses covering her eyes.

  ‘Whassup?’ Nicci demanded. ‘You’re like so mysterious this morning. And how come you’re wearing shades in the house?’

  ‘Let’s go sit in the den,’ Lissa said, her face serious.

  Nicci followed her mother into the den and flopped into a chair.

  Lissa shut the door. ‘Here’s the situation,’ she said tensely. ‘And this information is for you only.’

  ‘I thought I was the one who came here to tell you something,’ Nicci said, wondering what was up.

  ‘I’m throwing Gregg out,’ Lissa said, sighing deeply.

  ‘Nooo?’

  ‘The locks are being changed, his things will be packed up. By the time he gets back this evening, everything will be taken care of.’

  ‘No shit!’ Nicci exclaimed. ‘You only married him two years ago. What’s the deal?’

  ‘As we both know,’ Lissa said, brushing back a loose strand of platinum hair, ‘my history with men is not exactly stellar. Unfortunately, once again I found out things I refuse to put up with. I can’t take another confrontation, so this is the clean and easy way of getting rid of him.’

  ‘I never liked him,’ Nicci remarked. ‘Thought he was a lech.’

  ‘Nor did any of my friends,’ Lissa admitted.

  ‘Well, gee, this is a surprise,’ Nicci said. ‘And now I’ve got another one to lay on you.’

  ‘You’re pregnant,’ Lissa said quickly, the thought flying into her head.