Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  “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, while 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 was 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 faithfully promised 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 around 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 a burly security man who guarded the long corridor leading to his stateroom.

  “Your yacht is spectacular,” she said, admiring the oak-paneled 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.”

  • • •

  Grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter, Linc quickly swigged it down before Shelby noticed. Not that she was anywhere in sight, so he considered himself safe. He couldn’t figure out why she objected to his drinking. It wasn’t as if he got falling-down drunk or anything, although he had to admit that there had been times he’d blanked out and couldn’t remember what he’d done. Hey—the bottom line was he could control his drinking. It was no big deal.

  He smelled musky perfume, turned around, and Lola Sanchez was upon him. Good-looking broad—voluptuous and sexy and married. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t interested; Shelby was enough for him. He loved his wife, and from now on he was determined to stay faithful.

  “How nice to see you again, Linc,” Lola purred, behaving in an extremely friendly fashion.

  He responded by checking out her outfit. It was impossible for the delectable Ms. Sanchez to expose one more inch of skin without being arrested. The tits were almost out, the ass was a sight to behold, and the face— well, she had lips a man could kill for, and seductive brown eyes that promised a myriad of sexual delights.

  “Hey, Lola,” he said. “And, uh . . . Matt. How’s it hangin’?”

  “Pretty good,” Matt said, proffering a manly handshake.

  Lola licked her glossy lips before taking a sip of her martini. It infuriated her that Linc still made her edgy after all this time. He was a prick. Superprick. And she couldn’t wait to bring him down for what he’d done to her.

  “Linc,” she said, toying with the emerald nestling in her quite considerable cleavage, “has Elliott Finerman talked to you?”

  “Elliott, Elliott,” he said vaguely. “Oh yeah, I ran into him last night.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “About what?”

  “He, uh . . . mentioned that you’d be on top of his wish list for our upcoming movie.”

  “Then he’d better speak to my agent,” Linc responded, his eyes lingering on her breasts.

  “It’s a romantic comedy,” she continued. “New York State of Mind.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m starring in it.”

  “Too bad,” Linc said lightly. “ ’Cause I always get top billing.”

  “And so you should,” she said, making a mental note to tell Elliott that if she had to, she’d accept second place.

  This was important. Linc deserved to be punished, and she was prepared to do anything to make it happen.

  • • •

  Emerging from her cabin, Cat scanned the hordes of guests, her green eyes searching for Jonas. They’d had fun that afternoon; she’d felt comfortable with him. She did not feel comfortable with the overdressed bunch of party guests busy talking, networking, ass kissing, and generally bullshitting. Hollywood by the sea. This crowd did not appeal to her.

  She thought about Jump and their unsatisfactory phone call. Some conversation. She’d been anxious to hear all about Kris Phoenix and the tour, and she’d also wanted to tell him all her stories about the festival and what a bullying despot Merrill Zandack was. So it was three o’clock in the morning in Australia. Big freaking deal. Since when did Jump go to bed early? He was a night person; they both were. He could be such an asshole! She wouldn’t be phoning him again in a hurry; it was his turn to pick up the phone and call her.

  She spotted Jonas in a corner and hurried over. He was safely back in his black Prada suit, hair slicked back, the perfect executive assistant.

  “Has Merrill stopped screaming at you?” she asked.

  “He gets concerned,” Jonas said, making excuses for his uncouth boss.

  “That doesn’t mean he should talk to you like you’re nothing. Especially in front of people.”

  “It’s part of my job to take anything Mr. Zandack hands out,” Jonas said, refusing to make eye contact.

  “No it’s not.”

  “Yes, Cat, it is.” He hesitated for a moment. “Y’know, I’ve got to work. And you should be circulating, meeting people. Go find Mr. Zandack and stick by his side.”

  “Do I have to?” she groaned.

  “That’s why you’re here,” he reminded her.

  “Okay, I’ll go circulate, but only if you promise we can get together later and trash the party.”

  “If that’s what you want,” he said guardedly.

  “Take notes,” she joked. “It’ll be a blast dissing this group. Did you see Lola Sanchez’s dress? It’s pure stripper city.”

  “You should try wearing a dress sometime.”

  “And look like that?” she said, making a face. “Are you insane?”

  “There’s Merrill,” he said, pointing out his boss. “You’d better go over.”

  “I’m on it. Later, okay?”

  He nodded, although he had no intention of meeting up with her later. He had his job, she had hers. They were miles apart. There was nothing to be gained by palling up with her.

  • • •

  By the time Shelby caught up with Linc, he was drunk. Disappointment flooded over her. Did he have no control? His promises meant nothing.

  He was busy amusing a group with stories about the time he’d met Fidel Castro on a visit to Cuba. Self-deprecating and charming, he kept his audience enthralled. He had not reached the bad stage yet, the stage where he slurred his words, became belligerent and mean, and began grabbing women in a most inappropriate way.

  Fortunately she was just in time to rescue him. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek, at the same time deftly extracting the glass of booze from his hand.

  “Here’s the wife,” Linc announced, grinning broadly at his attentive audience. “Miss Control Freak. Thinks I drink too much. Me? Ain’t that a kick in the head.” And he proceeded to launch into a cheerful rendition of some old Dean Martin song. Then he reached out for a woman in the group and began swinging her around in an exaggerated dance routine.

  Shelby smiled and pretended it was all good fun and that she didn’t care about her husband making a fool of himself.

  But of course, she did. She hated watching Linc fall to pieces.

/>   CHAPTER

  * * *

  12

  A few days after Merrill’s successful party, the Cannes Festival began to wind down, and most of the major players boarded their private planes and left. Merrill gave several people a lift on his jet to London, where he was staying for a week. The group included Cat, Lola, Matt, and Jonas. Merrill’s Russian girlfriend had been left in the south of France, and now he had another statuesque brunette accompanying him. This one spoke English, which did not seem to please Merrill, because every time she opened her mouth he told her to shut up.

  “Where does he find them?” Cat whispered to Jonas as they boarded the plane.

  “They find him,” Jonas replied. “He’s always got a new one.”

  “How convenient.”

  Cat had decided that from London, she was hopping a Quantas flight to Australia for a fast visit. Surprising Jump was a good thing. He’d never been on tour without her, and she had a feeling he was in a resentful mood because she wasn’t with him.

  According to Merrill, the financing for Caught was a done deal. Several foreign distributors had come in, so it was now a go situation. She was excited, although she tried not to show it. Cool was better.

  Halfway to London she was shocked to discover that not only had Merrill offered the lead in Caught to Shelby Cheney, but he was also trying to persuade Lola Sanchez to say yes. And the only reason she discovered this was because perched on Lola’s knee was her script.

  Outraged, she shot out of her seat, cornering Jonas at the back of the plane. “Exactly why is Lola Sanchez reading my script?” she demanded.

  “Because Merrill asked her to,” he explained.

  “She’s totally wrong for it,” Cat fumed.

  “Who’s right? You don’t like Shelby Cheney either, so who do you have in mind?”

  “Angelina Jolie, that’s the actress I want.”

  “Then you’d better tell Merrill.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Merrill was sitting at a round table, magazines spread out before him, puffing on a cigar, filling the cabin with acrid smoke.

  Cat slid into the seat opposite him. She was steaming. How come he’d conveniently forgotten to mention that he’d given her script to Lola Sanchez? Who else did he have in mind that he wasn’t going to tell her about? Gwyneth Paltrow? Nicole Kidman? Madonna!

  Yes, she could understand that he wanted a star, but if that particular star was wrong for the role, then they shouldn’t even be considered. And Lola Sanchez was definitely wrong.

  “Merrill,” she said. “Can we talk casting?”

  “Premature,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his cigar.

  “No, it’s not,” she said stubbornly, determined to be heard. “About Lola Sanchez—”

  “Not now,” he interrupted, blowing smoke in her face. “We’ll talk about it another time.”

  He was the most annoying man in the world. But right now he was her ticket to ride, and this probably wasn’t the right time to make waves.

  • • •

  Lola flicked through the script, her eyes barely registering the words. She wasn’t at all interested in appearing in a movie written by a girl like Cat Harrison. Who cared? Cat was a flash success story. One amateur movie and everyone was doing handstands, including Merrill—who should know better. This kind of project did not intrigue Lola at all. She was more interested in finding a script like Rapture, and a director of Russell Savage’s caliber.

  It wasn’t fair. She never got to work with top directors, and yet she knew she had it in her to do so. Nobody had thought Salma Hayek could pull it off until she’d starred in Frida, and Jennifer Aniston was certainly not taken seriously until she appeared in a small film called The Good Girl. Lola decided that she had to work on Merrill to come up with a project worthy of her talent.

  She was well aware that after New York State of Mind she’d better do something careerwise that made an impact. Shelby Cheney’s reviews were spectacular, and it galled her. She could have played that role; she would have been just as good—if not better.

  She glanced across at Matt, who had obviously decided he would be Merrill Zandack’s new best friend, and was regaling him with tales about the tennis circuit.

  Merrill obviously wasn’t listening. The only reason he was bothering to give Matt the time of day was that the schmuck was married to her.

  Lola knew this. Matt, of course, did not. He thought people liked him because he was a friendly guy. He had no clue that as soon as she announced they were divorcing, he would return to being a nobody. Sure, the tabloids would follow him for a short while, just so they could write about whom he was dating next, then his name would fade from the headlines.

  She tapped her long, manicured red fingernails on the open script balanced on her lap, hoping Elliott Finerman had finally gotten his act together and offered Linc New York State of Mind. Linc’s latest reviews in the trades were abysmal; he should leap at the chance of making something different.

  Faye, sitting in the seat behind her, passed over a copy of USA Today. “Read the interview with Shelby Cheney,” Faye ordered. “Read it and learn how careful you have to be with the press.”

  Oh yes, that’s exactly what she wanted to do, read another story about Shelby Cheney. She was sick of reading about the woman.

  She took the paper anyway. There was a large photograph of Shelby on the front page, and a heading that read: SHELBY CHENEY—MARRIAGE TO LINC BLACKWOOD IS NOT EASY.

  Hmm, Lola thought. This looks interesting.

  And she started reading.

  • • •

  Shelby and Linc sat side by side on an Air France flight to London. Linc was not in a good mood. Shelby was forever carrying on about his drinking, and her constant nagging was beginning to get him down. Why couldn’t she shut the fuck up? It was okay for her—she had a hit movie and glowing reviews, whereas his movie had not been received well, and he’d had to endure the usual shitty reviews in the trades, such as, “Another Linc Blackwood action adventure with not enough action and certainly no adventure in Linc’s performance.”

  Did Shelby really expect him to stay sober after reviews like that? He was on a binge and he knew it. Only he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Fuck! Why should he?

  So they were barely talking, and then he picked up USA Today at the airport, and once they were airborne he began reading Shelby’s interview aloud.

  “Shelby Cheney settled into her seat while every red-blooded man in the restaurant turned to stare at her. What a beauty! ‘I’ve been told my smile lights up the screen,’ Shelby murmured, smiling seductively.” He took a beat. “Christ!” he said, throwing her a disgusted look. “You didn’t actually say this shit?”

  “You know I’d never say anything like that,” she assured him, highly embarrassed. “The journalist said it to me.”

  Linc shot her another look and continued reading aloud.

  “ ‘Everyone thinks Linc can’t act. It’s a shame that he’s so underrated. It really upsets him, especially in view of my big success.’ ”

  “That’s not true,” she wailed. “I told you—he’s putting his words into my mouth.”

  “Quote: ‘And Linc hated Rapture,” Linc said, really getting into it. “ ‘He hated watching me make love to another man, and quite frankly, I’m jealous watching him with all the beautiful young actresses he works with. Our marriage isn’t easy. Although we’re both professionals, we try to do the best we can.’ ”

  He threw the paper down in a fury. “Try to do the best we can, huh, Shelby? Is that what we do?”

  “He’s twisted what he said to me and made it look as if I picked those words,” Shelby repeated miserably, her face flushed.

  “Well, honey, you’d better learn to be a lot smarter than that if you wanna stay in this business,” Linc said in a hard voice, clicking his fingers for the flight attendant. “I’m having a drink and I don’t want to hear any more of your bitc
hing and nagging. Okay?”

  Then he picked up the script Elliott Finerman had sent over and started reading.

  • • •

  It was cold and raining in London, a damp drizzle that refused to quit.

  “My God, it’s freezing,” Lola complained, wrapping her lynx coat around her and shivering as she alighted from the aircraft. “I wish I could stay on Merrill’s plane all the way home.”

  “You can’t,” Matt said, touching his annoying little goatee. “Not unless you’re prepared to spend a few days in London. Hey—if we do that, I’m sure Merrill would give us a ride to L.A.”

  “No way!” she said, frowning. “It’s too cold and miserable here. I need the sun. Besides, British Airways is comfortable enough. They have those seats that turn into beds.”

  “I hope you told the concierge to book us the middle seats so we can sit together.”

  “Faye tried—they were already booked,” she lied, having no desire to spend the next ten hours side by side with Matt. She wanted her privacy so that she could daydream about Tony Alvarez and how great their reunion would be. She also wanted to plan the punishment she would dole out to Linc. After the dismal reviews he’d received for his movie, she was certain he’d be into taking on a different role. Why wouldn’t he want to work with her? She’d been all over him in Cannes; he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her cleavage.

  Yes, in spite of his precious wife he was hot for her already. Lola knew these things.

  Simone, an attractive woman from British Airways, met them at the plane, whisked them into a private car, and sped them over to the British Airways terminal, where she checked them in, then accompanied them upstairs to the first-class lounge.

  Several people came over to ask Lola for her autograph. She obliged, a big movie star smile on her face.

  Lola knew how to put it on better than anyone. Besides, she genuinely loved the attention. The little girl from Silverlake had made it all the way to the top, and the feeling was exhilarating.

  • • •