No fucking way.
It was all surreal. Two years of total togetherness and now this.
Her mother had always warned her that men were not to be trusted. Could it be that her much-married mother was right?
She felt like such a fool. Why had she thought Jump was different? Why had she trusted him?
He must be pretty stupid, too, because he’d actually admitted it, confirmed he’d screwed someone else–and that was it for Cat. Jackass!
Fortunately she didn’t have to go back to their New York loft and all the memories. She had an apartment waiting for her in L.A., and Jump was not part of it. She’d settle into her new place, and when she felt like it, she’d fly to New York, pack up all her things, and that would be it.
One divorce coming up.
Chapter Sixteen
First thing the next morning, Lola phoned Otto to check on his progress regarding the Matt situation.
‘He’s out, gone, packed up and left,’ Otto assured her.
Lola clutched the phone to her ear. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I personally escorted him off the premises.’
‘What happened? Tell me everything.’
‘I informed him that we had to have an urgent meeting, then I went over to the house and laid it out.’
‘You told him about the extra money he was getting on top of the pre-nup if he signs a paper agreeing not to sell his story?’
‘Yes, Lola.’
‘Was he upset?’
‘I would say so. He doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong between the two of you.’
‘Did he ask why I had you do it?’
‘It’s done. He’s out of the house. I’m having the locks changed now.’
‘Why? Do you think he’ll come back?’
‘No, I think he’ll go away, but eventually he wants to see you to find out what went wrong.’
‘No way,’ she said vehemently. ‘I’ll be cordial if I bump into him, but I don’t care to see him.’
‘Fine.’
‘Thank you, Otto, I appreciate it.’
‘I’m glad, Lola, because it wasn’t easy.’
‘Well, I guess the only easy part is the enormous bill you send me every month,’ she said succinctly.
Before Otto could reply, she hung up the phone feeling deliciously free. Now she could go home with no worries. And yet she wouldn’t mind staying at the spa for a couple of extra days. It was relaxing and she was enjoying being pampered and waited on by all the various beauticians in residence, people who were totally dedicated to caring for their perfection-hungry clients.
Besides, it was a treat for Isabelle and, much as her sister got on her nerves, Lola did love her, and it was fun to see her so caught up in it all. Isabelle was in heaven, for not only had she befriended Serena Lake, she’d also managed to strike up a conversation with the TV star Petra Flynn.
Lola stayed well away from that one. It was okay to be friendly with a fellow movie star, but Petra was TV, and Lola considered that beneath her.
She went downstairs for her scheduled seaweed wrap, meeting up with Isabelle in the treatment room. They lay naked on beds side by side as their bodies were brushed with a thick gooey liquid, then wrapped in filmy, leaf-like sheets.
‘I feel like a seaweed tamale.’ Isabelle giggled. ‘This is so bad!’
‘Enjoy it,’ Lola said, wriggling her toes.
‘Oh, I am!’ Isabelle exclaimed. ‘By the way, what happened to your pubes? You’ve hardly got any left. It looks loco.’
‘I had a Brazilian wax,’ Lola answered casually. ‘You should try it. Your bush is almost as big as the hair on your head.’
‘That’s so rude!’ Isabelle said, blushing.
‘But true,’ Lola insisted.
‘Armando likes it that way.’
‘He does?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Isabelle boasted. ‘Armando is a real man, he enjoys a real woman.’
Hmm, Lola thought, nothing like sneaking in a quick jab against me. ‘I’m sure he does,’ she said cheerfully. ‘That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it. Surprise him. It’s a definite turn-on.’
‘You think?’ Isabelle said, quite tempted to do something bold and daring.
‘I’m sure they do it here. Say yes and I’ll treat you.’
‘Well…’ Isabelle said hesitantly.
‘Do it!’ Lola insisted. ‘Live dangerously for once.’
‘Okay,’ Isabelle said, secretly pleased. Why not? She, too, could look like a movie star.
Shelby attempted to wake Linc half an hour before they were due to depart from the hotel. Even though she was shaking him hard, he was difficult to rouse.
‘Get up,’ she said, continuing to shake his shoulder. ‘We have to leave for the airport.’
Fortunately there was nothing in the morning papers about her troubled husband. She was dying to question him, find out where he’d been. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
‘Aw, Jesus!’ he groaned, surfacing slowly. ‘My head’s killing me. I can’t get on a fucking plane like this. I’m sick, sweetie, really sick.’
She had no sympathy for him. ‘I packed your stuff,’ she said coldly. ‘I left out the sweatsuit you always travel in.’
‘Gee, thanks, honey,’ he said, reaching out for her.
She moved away. Obviously he’d put the USA Today piece to rest, and was in a better frame of mind toward her. It didn’t make any difference, she was still mad.
He got up and went noisily into the bathroom. Soon she heard the shower running.
Did he honestly think she was going to excuse his behaviour as usual? Was that the way this was supposed to go?
No. She was too angry. This time he had to learn a lesson and check himself into rehab.
He emerged from the bathroom, a towel knotted casually around his waist. ‘I still feel like shit,’ he complained, in case she hadn’t got it the first time.
‘Take a couple of aspirin,’ she suggested.
‘That’s very sympathetic.’
She gave him a long, cool look. ‘Since when did you imagine I was sympathetic to a hangover?’
‘Oh, Christ,’ he said, yawning. ‘Here we go.’
She decided that ignoring him was better than getting into another fight, so she finished packing, then called down to the concierge to send up a bell boy to collect their luggage.
Outside the hotel there were quite a few photographers waiting, plus a gathering of fans.
Linc put his arm round her, smiling his movie-star smile for the cameras, his bloodshot eyes safely hidden behind extra-dark glasses.
The crowd was delighted. Shelby Cheney and Linc Blackwood. A movie-star couple sent to thrill.
The fans waved and cheered enthusiastically as the driver and doorman loaded their suitcases into the car.
They rode to the airport in silence. Half-way there Linc fell asleep, snoring the rest of the way. When they arrived there were more photographers waiting, and several airport personnel ready to whisk them to the VIP lounge.
Once there, Linc settled into a comfortable chair.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Shelby said.
‘Where you going, sweetie?’ he asked, like a small kid about to be abandoned by his mother.
‘I want to buy magazines and a book to read on the plane.’
‘You’re going to read?’ he said in his best little-boy-lost voice. ‘You’re not planning on cuddling up with your husband?’
Here came the turn-around. I need you, I want you, I love you, you’re everything to me. Linc Blackwood could go from being mean and nasty to the most needy man in the world. Only this time she wasn’t falling for it. This time she was too disappointed in him to care.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked politely.
‘C’mon, sweetheart,’ he said, almost pleading. ‘Quit with the cold treatment. You know I can’t help the way I am.’
‘That’s just it, Linc, you can.’
‘No, sweetie,’ he protested, reaching for her hand. ‘I’m weak that way. You know why.’
Damn. He was playing the vulnerable card. Sober and sorry, Linc was extremely difficult to resist.
Matt Seel had never suffered from a shortage of girls. Ever since he was a teenage jock they’d always been available to him. And not dogs, pretty ones, because he was tall and blond and athletic. A professional tennis player with a big cock and a ready smile. Women were never a problem. In fact, he usually couldn’t get rid of them.
Then he met Lola Sanchez and everything changed. She was so different. A sexy and exotic temptress who had the ability to transport him to another world. In bed she was an angel and a devil. She had tricks he’d never known existed. She was perfectly capable of taking him to heaven and back again. Before long he’d fallen deeply in lust.
So when her lawyer turned up at the house and informed him he had to get out, he simply couldn’t believe it. ‘Lola’s doing this to me?’ he said, completely shocked.
‘Miss Sanchez is being very generous,’ Otto Landstrom informed him. ‘Not only is she living up to the pre-nuptial you signed, but she also wants to give you a bonus cheque, contingent on you not selling your story.’
‘She’s dumping me?’ Matt exclaimed. He’d never been dumped by a girl in his life. Tall, blond and athletic meant always doing the dumping himself. ‘I gave up everything for Lola,’ he said. ‘I gave up my tennis career. No pre-nup will cover that.’
‘Let’s not forget that you signed in all good faith,’ Otto said smoothly. ‘The pre-nuptial will hold up in any court you care to take it to. If you’re difficult, you can forget about the extra bonus. However, if you co-operate, you’ll get the money and Lola’s friendship. I’m sure that’s worth something.’
‘When is she coming back?’
‘It doesn’t matter when, she wants you out today.’
This was a further shock.
‘Be out in two hours,’ Otto said, waving a cheque in front of Matt’s face, ‘and this is yours, but only if you sign right here.’ He proffered a letter of intent.
Matt realized that the only smart thing to do was to go along with the programme, even though he knew he should run it by a lawyer. But he didn’t have one at the present time and, anyway, what was he supposed to do? Turn down a very generous settlement? Plus Lola had a fiery temper: it wouldn’t be wise to piss her off.
‘Why is she doing this to me?’ he asked.
Otto shrugged. ‘Lola’s a movie star, she does what she wants.’
That made sense. Lola always did what she wanted. She’d never treated him as an equal, or worried about his opinion. Unlike her mother and sisters, who were always sweet to him.
He went upstairs and packed his belongings. He used her best suitcases, the new set of Louis Vuitton she’d got for free.
Screw her! She wanted him out. What a cold piece of work she’d turned out to be.
He returned downstairs, accepted the cheque, signed the letter, and took off in Lola’s new Bentley.
One of these days Lola would get what she deserved, and he wouldn’t be sorry.
The apartment Cat had rented in L.A. was light and spacious, located in a high-rise building overlooking the city. Sparsely furnished, it was all she needed for a six-month stay in L.A. The moment she arrived she missed the New York loft she shared with Jump, and she especially missed all her stuff. She felt secure having her possessions around her–books, manuscripts, CDs, DVDs and favourite paintings she’d picked up at street markets. A bare apartment with nothing personal was not going to work for her.
She was putting on a brave face, although on the inside she was breaking up. Life without Jump would be a challenge. He’d saved her from herself, got her off drugs and straightened her out. Since that time they’d done everything together, and now she was alone. There was no way she cared to drift back into her bad old ways simply because she was by herself. Going through her L.A. phone book she was dismayed to realize that most of her friends who resided in the City of Angels were pals from her drug days. Reconnecting with them could turn out to be fatal. Not that she was contemplating returning to her old ways: she was wise enough to realize that temptation was always dangerous.
Nobody to call. Nothing to do. Hire a freaking lawyer, that’s what she should do.
She called the Zandack office and asked for Merrill. He was still in London. Then she requested Jonas. He was in London with the boss. Naturally.
It was all too depressing, alone in L.A. with nothing to do and no one to call. She sent out for pizza, switched on the small TV, and fell asleep watching a mindless reality show about ten pathetic women vying for the love of some stupid, preening jerk.
Getting dragged into the drama of Petra Flynn’s upcoming divorce was inevitable. Once Isabelle was on the case there was no stopping her. After befriending Serena, she went after Petra big-time. Now here they were–a cosy quartet. Soon Petra, Serena, Isabelle and Lola were taking every meal together, setting out on long hikes and monopolizing the jazzercize class.
Lola wasn’t sure how it had happened, although she had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Since she’d become a star, girlfriends were a thing of the past. She was too busy, and the women she came in contact with lived in another reality. Now, here were these two famous women she could relate to. And they were fun to be around–even though Serena was moping about her lost lover, and Petra was livid about her abusive soon-to-be ex.
On their last night at the spa, after a couple of bottles of red wine–smuggled in by one of Petra’s handlers–Lola finally let loose and revealed all. ‘Guess what?’ she announced. ‘While I’m here, I had my lawyer tell my husband to get out.’
‘Get out of what?’ Isabelle asked, still an innocent in the ways of movie stars–even after three days of concentrated boot camp.
‘You did?’ Petra said, getting it immediately. She was an impossibly doll-like twenty-five year old, with amazing implants, scads of white-blonde curls and a pouty face. She ruled late-night TV with her sexy hit series where she played a female billionaire who fought crime–usually undercover in the skimpiest of outfits.
‘Yup,’ Lola said. ‘Just like that. It was easy. My lawyer took care of it.’
‘Who’s your lawyer?’ Serena enquired.
‘Is he cute?’ Petra asked. ‘I only like dealing with cute lawyers since I seem to spend half my time with them.’
Lola would hardly describe Otto as cute, although his bald, polished head was quite intriguing.
‘Take care of what?’ Isabelle asked, still not getting it.
‘She’s divorcing him, silly,’ said Petra, pouring herself another glass of wine.
‘Yes,’ Serena said. ‘And apparently she’s doing it the easy way.’
‘You’re divorcing Matt?’ Isabelle said, totally shocked. ‘Why?’
‘It was inevitable,’ Lola said. ‘He’s boring!’ And then she dissolved into a fit of wine-induced giggles.
‘Boring’s not good,’ Serena said, wrinkling her cute girl-next-door freckled nose.
‘Boring sucks!’ Petra agreed, her huge implants almost bursting out of her skimpy white tank top. ‘I can take anything but boring.’
‘Richard wasn’t boring.’ Serena sighed, naming her English bad-boy lover who’d dumped her.
‘Nor was Andy,’ Petra said, naming her violent, soon-to-be ex, football-star husband.
‘And neither was Tony,’ Lola said, naming her cocaine-addicted ex-lover. ‘So I’ve made a decision–I’m getting him back.’
‘Lucia!’ Isabelle exclaimed. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘No, dear sis, I’m finally sane, and I want my Tony back.’
‘Tony Alvarez is a hottie,’ Serena remarked.
‘Tony Alvarez?’ Petra said. ‘The director guy?’
‘That’s him,’ Lola said proudly.
‘Baby, go for it!’ Petra encouraged her. ‘That man is gorgeous. Why’d you ever leave h
im?’
‘Don’t you read the tabloids?’ Isabelle snapped.
‘Only about myself,’ Petra retorted.
‘Tony Alvarez is a drug addict,’ Isabelle said flatly.
‘Who isn’t?’ Petra responded. ‘I can’t get through the day without a couple of Vicodin and a shot of vodka.’
‘God! Lucia!’ Isabelle cried, rapidly sobering up. ‘What will Mama say?’
‘It’s my deal,’ Lola answered boldly, full of smooth red wine. ‘Nobody’s business but mine.’
‘I bet Tony’s a wild man in the sack,’ Petra said, eyes gleaming.
‘Richard was a wild man,’ Serena said wistfully. ‘I’ve never experienced anyone like him.’
‘Big dick?’ Petra asked matter-of-factly.
Serena blushed. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Why not, honey?’ Petra said, admiring her gold fake nails. ‘They talk about us.’
‘He went back to his girlfriend in England,’ Serena said miserably. ‘I hate him! He used me.’
‘You can get him back if you really want him,’ Lola offered. ‘Men are easy.’
‘For you,’ Serena said.
‘For any woman with half a brain and great boobs,’ Petra said, fluffing out her white-blonde curls.
‘I don’t have great boobs,’ Serena wailed.
‘Then buy ’em,’ Petra said. ‘I did. And in case anyone’s interested, my Andy is a solid eight and a half inches, and I’m walking away from that ’cause he’s a no-good battering bastard, and I’ve had it.’
Both Lola and Serena applauded. Isabelle didn’t. She was too shell-shocked by her sister’s announcement and the direction this conversation was taking. Isabelle considered herself a worldly woman, but discussing the size of a man’s member was plain dirty. Although she couldn’t help making a quick mental note to bring a ruler to bed. Armando would definitely be a winner!
Much to Shelby’s surprise, Linc agreed to go into rehab. ‘I don’t need to,’ he said resignedly, ‘and the rags’ll make a meal of it, but if that’s what’ll make you happy…’
Shelby was relieved. Since they got back to L.A. her cold and unforgiving attitude towards him had obviously had the required effect.
Hollywood Divorces • Hollywood Wives: The New Generation Page 59
