Hollywood Divorces • Hollywood Wives: The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  ‘How’ll we get back?’

  ‘I thought maybe we’d swim.’

  ‘And he has a sense of humour,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘You were under the impression I didn’t?’

  ‘Well…I am getting to know you better. You’re not as uptight as I thought.’

  ‘Uptight?’

  ‘Don’t sound surprised. You’re so into your work, it’s frightening.’

  ‘And that’s a bad thing?’

  ‘All work and no play…’ she said flirtatiously.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Five more minutes,’ she pleaded, rolling on to her stomach and, to his discomfort, unclipping her bikini top. ‘I’m having such an amazing time.’

  ‘You can sunbathe on the yacht,’ he pointed out, trying not to stare.

  ‘No, I can’t. The crew are everywhere, and I don’t fancy the idea of Zandack leering at me with a hidden camera. I bet he has them stashed all over the place.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Face it, Jonas. He’s a dirty old man. And old perverts get off on hidden cameras. By the way,’ she added casually, ‘does he proposition all his actresses too?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Cause you know everything he does.’

  ‘Not everything,’ he said, marvelling that this girl possessed such an extraordinary talent for movie-making. Where did it come from? Today she was just a kid having fun.

  ‘C’mon,’ she said persuasively. ‘We’re friends now. You can tell me.’

  ‘Nothing to tell,’ he said. ‘And if there was–I’d be loyal to my boss.’

  ‘Loyal, my ass.’ She snorted. ‘You think he’d be loyal to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could’ve warned me about him,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Why would I do that? You might have liked it.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ she said sarcastically. ‘There’s nothing I like better than sucking—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ he interrupted, hurriedly holding up his hand.

  She giggled. ‘You’re a prude.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Can we please go now?’

  ‘If you insist,’ she said, sitting up and fastening her top.

  He attempted to avert his eyes, an impossible feat.

  ‘Tell me about tonight,’ she said, reaching for her shirt. ‘Who’ll be there I should play nice to?’

  ‘You don’t have to be nice to anybody,’ he assured her. ‘Your talent speaks for itself.’

  ‘Jonas,’ she said, wriggling her long legs into her shorts. ‘That’s the coolest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

  Granting an interview for Vanity Fair was a treacherous path indeed. Faye had already negotiated the cover, so Lola felt confident that the photographs would be fantastic since Vanity Fair only employed the best. She was hoping the photographer would be Annie Leibovitz or Greg Gorman, both of whom she’d worked with before. However, she was nervous about the interview, especially as for once Faye had been unable to secure copy approval.

  Thankfully the interviewer was male–she always enjoyed a better rapport with men. Sometimes women were jealous of her, even though she did nothing to promote their feelings of inadequacy–in fact, she went out of her way to be extra nice to them.

  She walked into the interview, attitude in place. Gorgeous, yet humble. Sexy, yet approachable. A girl who’d made it from nothing and now appreciated every minute of her phenomenal success.

  The interviewer, an older man of stature, put her at ease immediately, and then they were off.

  As usual, Faye had warned her that she was not to talk about Tony. ‘What if he brings him up?’ she’d said. ‘I have to say something.’

  ‘You’ll say what I told you before,’ Faye had answered sternly. ‘And remember, you are now a married woman so it would not be appropriate for you to discuss another man.’

  ‘I know,’ Lola had argued, ‘but by the time the magazine hits the stands I might not be a married woman.’

  ‘Nobody knows that, do they, dear?’

  ‘Surely the magazine will be pissed if I talk lovingly about Matt, then dump him? They won’t have time to change their copy.’

  ‘Go ahead and pretend that you’re happily married,’ Faye had insisted, refusing to change course. ‘We’ll deal with the divorce when it comes.’

  So that was exactly what she did. She talked about her past movies, her future career plans, Matt, and the things they enjoyed doing together. ‘We like sending out for pizza and watching videos,’ she found herself saying. ‘The simple things are best. Family, close friends. Our favourite evenings are spent staying at home.’

  Thankfully, it was over after an hour and a half.

  ‘God!’ she complained in the car driving back to the hotel. ‘It’s so tough. I have to keep a smile on my face, listen to everything he says, ask him about his family and appear to be interested. The truth is if I saw him on the street tomorrow, I wouldn’t even remember his name.’

  ‘Why do you feel you have to put on this persona for journalists?’ Faye asked. ‘Why not be yourself?’

  ‘You try it, Faye,’ she said irritably. ‘It isn’t easy. They come in with a preconceived idea of who I am and what they intend to write. Because I’m sexy and successful, they immediately think I’m going to be a diva or a bitch. It takes mucho energy and concentration to change their minds.’

  ‘You do a good job, Lola.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Try and get some rest before the party tonight.’

  ‘I plan to.’

  ‘And since I won’t be there, make sure that you and Matt do not fight in public. There will be photographers everywhere.’

  ‘Yes, Faye, I promise, Faye,’ Lola chanted, fed up with hearing the same old thing.

  She ran into a couple of producers and an important director on her way up to her suite. It was always good to be seen in the right places.

  She entered the suite on a high, from which she rapidly came down when she was greeted by the sight of Matt lying on a massage table in the middle of the living room wearing nothing but a towel. The masseuse, clad in an electric blue halter top and crotch-hugging shorts, looked more like a hooker than a professional.

  ‘Oh,’ Lola said sarcastically. ‘I do hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘Naw, that’s okay,’ Matt said, not getting it as usual. ‘Nadine’s easing the tension in my back.’

  Lola checked out his towel, and noticed that he had an impressive hard-on.

  ‘I’ll be in the bedroom, I need my privacy,’ she said, seriously pissed that he had some strange woman in their suite. For all he knew the woman could be a spy for the tabloids, and he was lying there with a hard-on. It simply wasn’t cool. Plus her stylist, makeup and hair people would be arriving soon for touch-ups, and she wanted to be free to wander around in her robe. Matt was an albatross hanging around her neck. She would be so much happier when he was out of her way.

  Deciding to take a shower, she marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Standing under the stream of warm water washing away her cares, she began to relax.

  Naturally, after a few moments she started thinking about Tony and whether she should call him one more time. She couldn’t blame him for being mad, his macho pride was hurt. If the situation were reversed she would be livid, and probably never speak to him again. Perhaps he needed more persuading that they should get back together.

  Tony Alvarez. She thought about his long black curly hair, dark sexy eyes, low-down dirty laugh, and the way he touched her in all the right places.

  Yes. Tony Alvarez. He was the man.

  And she wanted him back.

  The moment Shelby entered their suite, Linc was all over her, barely giving her a chance to catch her breath. ‘You look beautiful. I missed you so much. C’mere, sweetheart, I love you,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘Lemme see your ring. It sparkles like your eyes.’


  He smelled of mouthwash, a bad sign. And he was extremely loving–even more so than usual. She wanted to ask him if he’d been drinking, but she knew he’d get furious and deny it, so what was the point?

  He almost carried her into the bedroom. The bed was strewn with rose petals, and a bottle of champagne stood in an ice bucket close by.

  ‘It’s not our anniversary,’ she said, quite startled. ‘What is all this?’

  ‘It’s for you, baby. I’m showing you how much I love you.’

  ‘Then let’s not open the champagne.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked, sounding hurt. ‘I told you, I’m not drinking any more. Hey, one lousy glass of champagne never hurt anyone. Right, sweetie?’

  ‘You never stop at one glass, Linc.’

  ‘Don’t nag, Shel, I promise I’ll behave,’ he said, starting to kiss her.

  She couldn’t resist him. Ever since the first time they’d met he’d always had a certain effect on her. Physically he was the most exciting man she’d ever slept with. Not that there had been many–only two before Linc.

  He pushed her down on the bed. ‘When did you get time to do all this?’ she gasped, overwhelmed by the heady smell of the rose petals and Linc’s relentless touch.

  ‘I have my ways,’ he said mysteriously, his practised hands moving up and down her body.

  ‘I like your ways,’ she said, shivering.

  ‘You do?’ he said, releasing the clip on her bra.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

  ‘And you like this?’ he continued, fondling her bare breasts.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’

  ‘Y’know, sweetie, I’ve been thinking,’ he said, stopping for a moment and propping himself up on one elbow.

  ‘About what?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I think it’s about time you quit taking the pill.’

  She didn’t dare tell him that she’d stopped three months ago. He was so paranoid about her getting pregnant that he usually pulled out before he reached orgasm.

  ‘Are you telling me something that you know I want to hear?’ she asked softly.

  ‘I’m telling you you’re the most beautiful, sweetest woman I’ve ever met,’ he said, caressing her nipples with his fingertips.

  Did this mean he was actually ready to make a baby?

  Yes, she was sure it did.

  A feeling of euphoria swept over her. This was the Linc she loved, the man she’d married. And now he was telling her that she could have his baby.

  She put all thoughts and doubts out of her mind, lay back and totally surrendered to the moment.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘It’s about time you got your lazy, good-for-shit fuckin’ dumb ass back here,’ Merrill screamed at Jonas as soon as they returned to the yacht.

  Cat was shocked; she’d never seen Merrill like this–red in the face, eyes bulging, sweaty double chins quivering like jelly. Since she was used to standing up to bullies–her father was a classic example–she was not at all intimidated. ‘Quit with the screaming,’ she said, staring defiantly at the angry mogul. ‘You were the one who made him spend the day with me. And we’ve had a very nice time, thank you, in case you’re interested.’

  ‘He’s got work to do,’ Merrill yelled. ‘Fuckin’ work. We’re throwing a goddamn party in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Whatever you need, Mr Zandack,’ said Jonas, quick to fall back into loyal-assistant mode.

  ‘I need you to get your useless ass in gear,’ shouted Merrill.

  Cat headed downstairs to her cabin. She didn’t care to watch Jonas being humiliated in front of everyone. Today she’d discovered that he was a nice guy and he didn’t deserve to be treated like shit.

  Once in her cabin she picked up the phone and finally got through to Jump in Australia. ‘I’ve been desperate to speak to you,’ she said, totally psyched to hear his voice. ‘What’s going on? You’re never in your room.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ he mumbled, ‘an’ it’s the middle of the freakin’ night.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. How’s it going?’

  ‘Rock ’n’ roll, babe,’ he said, giving an audible yawn. ‘What can I tell you?’

  ‘Merrill’s behaving like a pig. I can’t wait to fill you in on all the horror stories when I see you. The best news is that I’m definitely getting my movie financed.’

  ‘S’good.’

  ‘So, tell me everything about the tour. What’s Kris Phoenix like?’

  ‘He’s a cool dude, big star.’ Another loud yawn.

  ‘You sound out of it.’

  ‘You’d be freakin’ out of it if you were woken up in the middle of the night,’ he grumbled.

  ‘You could’ve called me.’

  ‘Gettin’ through to a boat is a hassle.’

  ‘What’re you talking about?’ she said, frowning. ‘It’s a boat, not the freaking moon.’

  ‘You tryin’ to pick a fight with me?’ he said belligerently. ‘Is that why you called?’

  ‘No, Jump,’ she answered patiently. ‘I called to tell you that I miss you. Don’t you miss me?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  He was in one of his obnoxious moods, probably zoned out on weed. He was a big stoner, joints for breakfast, lunch and dinner. ‘I think you should call me when you’re conscious,’ she said, determined not to lose her cool.

  ‘Whatever,’ he mumbled.

  She slammed down the phone. What kind of a bug did he have up his ass?

  She grabbed her iPod, lay down on the bed, put on her Bose headphones and began listening to Eminem at full volume. Playing loud music always made her feel better.

  Donatella Versace had designed Lola a drop-dead, in-your-face, cut-down-to-the-crack-in-her-butt and plunging-in-the-front gown. There was not much material involved, but what there was, in slinky white silk cut on the bias, showed up every inch of her spectacular body. Her olive skin gleamed, her chestnut hair was wild and curly, swirling around her shoulders, diamond starburst earrings adorned her ears, and an emerald bullet hung round her neck, nestling between her breasts. She knew she looked hot.

  When she left the hotel on Matt’s arm, the photographers confirmed it by causing a small riot, all of them struggling and pushing to get the best shot. Matt was happy to pose beside her, the proud husband, determined to score a career of his own.

  Merrill Zandack’s people had organized an army of small boats to take the guests out to his yacht, which was moored majestically in the bay like a solitary shimmering summer jewel.

  ‘How will I get on a boat in these heels?’ Lola worried, pointing at her Manolos.

  ‘Take ’em off,’ Matt suggested, adding a gallant ‘I’ll carry you.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘I’d do anything for you, you’re my wife,’ he said, thinking of the photo opportunities.

  She hated it when he was nice: it gave her an attack of the guilts. And Matt had been nice when she’d first met him. Nice and sexy and well endowed. Now he was just plain boring.

  Fortunately the sea was as smooth as glass, making the ride to the yacht fast and easy. Several crewmen tripped over each other to help her aboard. She realized as she climbed on that she was giving everyone a fine view of her ass. Let ’em have a cheap thrill, she didn’t care.

  The yacht was festooned with fairy-lights and exotic flowers; a Brazilian group played seductive background music; uniformed crew members were everywhere, plus good-looking, hot young waiters in tight white jeans and T-shirts with The Zandack emblazoned on the front in red lettering.

  Lola plucked a glass of champagne from a tray and basked in the attention coming her way.

  Merrill greeted her with a sloppy wet kiss on both cheeks. She wished people wouldn’t do that, it ruined her makeup.

  Sharon Stone wafted by–the woman seemed to be everywhere. And then Lola spotted Linc Blackwood and Shelby Cheney, who, according to the buzz, was the actress of the moment.

  Lola felt a
shiver of resentment. Why couldn’t she score a role like Shelby in Rapture? Why couldn’t she work with an Oscar-winning director like Russell Savage?

  She glanced around, seeing if she could spot Elliott Finerman. He’d better have made an offer to Linc, because if he hadn’t she would be seriously angry. Elliott needed her to get his movie made. Surely he realized that without her he had no movie.

  ‘There’s Linc Blackwood,’ she said to Matt. ‘Let’s go say hello.’

  ‘Sure,’ Matt responded obligingly, and they headed in Linc’s direction.

  Shelby was surrounded by well-wishers all telling her how great her performance was in Rapture. She listened appreciatively, but all she really wanted to do was hold on to her husband. When he wanted to be, Linc was so attentive and full of love, and now that he’d promised they could try for a baby, she felt blissful. It had been such a relief to hear him say those words.

  She wondered if she was pregnant already. He’d made love to her in such a beautiful fashion. The moment they made a baby she wanted it to be the result of a special night of love exactly like tonight.

  Soon they were separated. She didn’t mind because Linc had promised faithfully he wouldn’t drink.

  Merrill Zandack greeted her effusively, hanging on to her arm. ‘Magnificent!’ he enthused. ‘An Oscar-worthy performance, my dear.’ Then he started talking about the script written by his young protégée. ‘I want you to read it,’ he said. ‘It’s a perfect role for you.’

  ‘I’ll read it, Merrill,’ she said agreeably.

  ‘Good, good. We should work together. Can’t imagine why we haven’t.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Come,’ he said, throwing his arm round her shoulders. ‘I’ll show you around.’

  ‘I’m sure Linc would want to join us.’

  ‘He’ll see it later. Come with me,’ Merrill insisted, leading her past the burly security man who guarded the long corridor leading to his stateroom.

  ‘Your yacht is spectacular,’ she said, admiring the oak-panelled walls lined with framed posters of his many films. ‘How long have you owned it?’

  ‘Too long,’ he said. ‘Wait until you see the new one I’m building. It’s twice the size.’