It wasn’t as if she had a choice. The annoying thing was that Isabelle always managed to get her own way. She always had.
• • •
“Mr. Blackwood, it’s a pleasure to welcome you back, sir,” said the doorman at the Ritz Club.
“Nice to be back,” Linc said, slipping the man a hefty tip.
He’d joined the club when he’d first come to London with Shelby several years ago. Gambling was a passion he’d picked up in Vegas. Gambling in London was more civilized, especially when the croupiers were mostly pretty girls in low-cut dresses, although none of them were any competition for his wife, or Lola Sanchez for that matter.
He’d been thinking about Lola, and the movie he was about to say yes to. There was something about Ms. Sanchez. She had an animal sexuality that was quite intriguing. And if Shelby was so intent on giving him a hard time, there was nothing wrong if he cared to take it further.
He was fucking married, not dead.
• • •
Cat was asleep when she heard the key in the door. She’d always been a light sleeper. Jump, on the other hand, slept through anything; it would take a major earthquake to wake him.
She wondered if it was a burglar breaking in, and lay very still, waiting to see what would happen next.
The door opened, and somebody entered the room. She heard the rustle of clothes, and the next thing the weight of a body flopped down on Jump’s side of the bed.
“Sorry about earlier, hon,” said a female voice with a strong Australian accent. “You were right as usual. I was wrong. We shouldn’t let a stupid fight get in the way of another fab fuck. An’ this time I’ve got something special for you. Wakey, wakey.”
Cat hit the light switch.
Straddling Jump’s sleeping body was a bubblehead brunette, quite pretty in a zaftig kind of way, and totally naked apart from a wicked-looking piercing in her left nipple.
“Who the hell are you?” the girl shrieked, glaring at Cat in shock and horror.
“I’m his wife,” Cat said. “Which means I belong here. So, here’s the real question of the night—who the fuck are you?”
CHAPTER
* * *
15
Against her better judgment, Lola accompanied Isabelle to the dining room—a high-ceilinged, airy space overlooking a huge Olympic-size pool and exquisite gardens filled with jacaranda trees and lush walls of bougainvillea.
She had to admit that the surroundings were more than tranquil, or at least they would be if Isabelle would only shut up.
“You don’t understand what a break this is for me,” Isabelle said. “You try taking care of two boys under six. My kids drive me loco. I get no sleep, then I have to work. Now Armando is home, hangin’ around the house all day—gettin’ in my way. It’s a zoo.”
“You have help,” Lola pointed out, remembering that Mama had asked her to pay for a woman who cooked and cleaned several days a week.
“Not as much as I need,” Isabelle said resentfully. “You don’t realize how lucky you are, Lucia. You have a big mansion with people runnin’ to do everything you want, while you lie back eatin’ chocolates an’ watchin’ TV.”
“The reason I have a big house,” Lola explained, “is because I worked extremely hard to afford it.”
“Acting’s not work,’ Isabelle snorted derisively. “Acting is play. A bunch of people kissin’ your fat ass. I’d give anything for that.” She laughed. “ ’Course, my ass is fatter than yours, but if I had nothin’ to do, like you, I’d be in better shape. Mind you,” she added with a self-satisfied smirk, “Armando has no complaints.”
Lola attempted to tune out. She wondered if Otto had ousted Matt by now. She hoped so, because two days of listening to Isabelle was bound to drive her totally nuts.
It occurred to her that she should have asked Claudine to accompany her. However, Mama would’ve asked too many questions, and before long she would’ve gotten her daughter to reveal that a reunion with Tony Alvarez was in her future. Then Mama would’ve started contributing her opinion—“You can’t do it,” she’d say. “Why would you want to be with a drug addict like that?”
The trouble with family was that they felt they could say anything—and usually did.
Across the room Lola spied Serena Lake, a petite brunette with big blue eyes and a tentative girl-next-door smile. They vaguely knew each other, but Lola was hardly in the mood to socialize. However, once Isabelle saw her, it was all over. Isabelle nudged her sister. “Do you know her?” she asked in a reverent whisper. Lola shook her head. “You go to all the same premieres an’ parties,” Isabelle insisted. “You must know her.”
“I kind of do,” Lola admitted. “We’re not friends, though.”
“I should go over and tell her you’re here,” Isabelle said. “She looks awfully lonely sitting by herself.”
“No!” Lola said.
“Why not?” Isabelle argued. “I’d give anything to meet her, then I can get an autograph for my boys.”
“Your boys are too young to know who she is.”
“Yes,” Isabelle said—never at a loss for words. “But when they grow up they’ll know.”
“Do me a favor,” Lola said, sipping mango juice. “Leave her alone. She’s come here to relax, like me.”
“She’s so pretty,” Isabelle said, craning her neck to get a better look.
“Do you think so?” Lola said. “I don’t.”
“Well, she’s not sexy like us,” Isabelle said, placing herself in the same league as her sister. “She’s got that all-American kinda sweet thing. Some men go for that.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Gotta go to the little girls’ room,” Isabelle announced, jumping up.
Lola picked at her salad and thought about Tony. Almost engaged indeed! What utter crap. The man was scared, frightened of the passion they’d once shared. He was wary of getting burned again, and she couldn’t blame him.
On her way back from the ladies’ room, Isabelle stopped at Serena Lake’s table. Lola saw this from across the room and inwardly groaned. What was her pushy sister up to now?
Within minutes Isabelle came running back to the table, beaming. “Serena has promised to sign pictures for the boys,” she said proudly. “An’ I told her you’d be happy to get together while you’re here.”
“You did what?” Lola said, frowning.
“She’s by herself.”
“I told you I didn’t want to socialize. Serena’s not a friend, she’s an acquaintance.”
“Please, Lucia,” Isabelle begged. “Do it for me.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You’ve changed,” Isabelle said accusingly. “You’ve forgotten how you used to come over to my house, an’ I’d cook you your favorite spicy chicken, an’ we’d talk about clothes an’ boys an’ stuff. Now you’re Miss Big Fancy Star, an’ everythin’ I do is wrong.”
“That’s not true.”
“When you were workin’ as a waitress, my God— nothin’ was too much trouble. I remember the time you saw Linc Blackwood at a party when you were datin’ that disc jockey guy. You were so excited. Bet you wish you’d got his autograph.”
“I do not.”
“I’m your older sister, Lucia, an’ don’t you forget it.”
“How can I forget it when you’re always reminding me?”
Isabelle was determined. “Serena Lake needs us,” she said dramatically. “And I need to meet her.”
“I am not getting into Serena Lake’s business, and neither are you,” Lola responded. “What did you say to her, anyway?”
“Told her we were willing to help her in any way we could.”
“I don’t fucking believe you!”
“Nice language, Lucia. It’s a good thing Mama’s not here.”
“Stop calling me Lucia. I’ve been Lola for the last five years.”
“Lola’s a stupid name,” Isabelle said, tossing back her frizzy red hair. “You’ll alwa
ys be Lucia to me.”
“Hello.”
They both glanced up in tandem; they’d been so intent on arguing that neither of them had noticed Serena Lake approaching their table.
“Oh . . . hi,” Lola said, taken by surprise. “How are you?”
“Okay, I guess,” Serena answered wanly. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Um, no,” Lola managed.
“Oh yes, please do sit down,” Isabelle said, turning into an awestruck fan with manners. “My sister and I are here for you. You must have suffered terribly. Those supermarket rags are nasty. How do you put up with all the horrible things they say about you? As an ordinary person, my sympathies are with you.”
“Thanks,” Serena said, sitting down.
There goes my peace and solitude, Lola thought. Better get on the phone to Otto. I’m never going to make it here for two days.
• • •
Shelby began experiencing pangs of regret around 3:00 A.M., when she couldn’t sleep and Linc had not yet returned to the hotel. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he making a fool of himself?
She should’ve stayed around to protect him. The London press were notorious, and that’s all she needed, lurid stories about Linc getting drunk and out of control in the morning papers. Her parents would appreciate that.
She sat up in bed, switched on the light, and called down to the concierge, requesting to be put through to the Ritz Club.
“Certainly, ma’am,” said the concierge.
She waited impatiently until someone at the club answered. “This is Mrs. Blackwood,” she said. “I believe my husband might be there.”
“Mr. Blackwood left a couple of hours ago,” said the receptionist.
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure, madam.”
Damn! Where could he be? The bar in the hotel was probably closed by this time, so it was no good looking for him there.
She had no idea what to do. Trust Linc to mess with her mind as usual.
• • •
“It’s not what it looks like,” Jump yelled—after he’d shoved the bubble brunette out of the room, clothes and all.
Man, he must think I’m pretty naive to believe that old chestnut, Cat thought, glaring at him. Not what it looks like, indeed. Some naked bird crawling all over him.
“Then what is it?” she asked, pulling on her jeans.
“Some skank groupie who thought she was about t’ get lucky.”
“Yeah?” Cat said, throwing on her tee shirt. “And since she had the key to your room, she must’ve been pretty secure in that knowledge.”
“Hey, babe—”
“Hey, babe, what?” she said furiously. “We’ve been married two years and you’re screwing around on me. This ain’t gonna fly, not with me.”
“I told you—it’s not what it looks like,” he said sulkily.
She shook her head in wonderment. “I believed in you, Jump. Thought you were different. Guess I was wrong. There’s an old expression my dad taught me— ‘A standing prick has no conscience.’ Hey—why don’t you write a song about that?”
“Aw jeez, Cat, so what if I did screw her? It doesn’t mean shit.”
“Are you telling me that you did?”
“I got birds throwing themselves at me all the time. I might’ve been out of it one night. It coulda happened. Who remembers?”
“Who fucking remembers?” she said, outraged.
“I got no clue why she came waltzing in here.”
“You know what?” Cat said, grabbing her bag. “I’m out of here.”
“Don’t do that,” he groaned.
“I can do what the fuck I want.”
“It was a one-off; she’s a slag.”
“How do I know she wasn’t lying next to you the other night when I called?”
“She wasn’t.”
“Oh, really? I’m glad you’re so sure.”
“Look,” he said. “I’ll be straight with you. She happens t’ be an old girlfriend I was with way before I met you. We hooked up earlier tonight an’ it kinda happened. I told her I was married an’ slagged her off. That’s why she came here.”
“Conveniently with a key.”
“She must’ve pinched it.”
“You know what, Jump?”
“What?”
“I can’t stay with somebody I don’t trust, and I don’t trust you.”
“Didn’t we just fuck? Wasn’t it mind-blowing?”
“Yeah,” she retorted, green eyes blazing with fury. “It totally blows my mind imagining where your dick was before you stuck it into me.”
“You can’t leave, not over this.”
“Watch me. It’s over. Sayonara. Goodbye. S’long.”
“Some skank groupie breaks into my room an’ you’re telling me it’s over?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. If you can’t keep your dick in your pants, then unfortunately, you can’t keep me.”
And with those words she said goodbye to her marriage.
• • •
Serena Lake was not shy about revealing the sordid details of her extramarital affair to Lola and Isabelle. She told them all about her long-suffering husband, Ward, and the English bad-boy movie star she’d had the best sex ever with. How devastated she was when Richard had left her, and how she now wanted to get back together with Ward for the sake of their two small children.
Isabelle was in heaven. She was actually sitting in a luxurious spa with her sister, who didn’t really matter, and the big movie star Serena Lake, listening to Serena Lake reveal her innermost thoughts. It was simply too incredible.
“I’m so adrift,” Serena said, flapping her hands in a helpless fashion. “And the tabloids are no help; every week they print another vile story about me.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” Isabelle agreed. “It must be awful.”
“Why don’t you sue?” Lola asked, knowing full well what a tricky and expensive road that was.
“My lawyer advised me not to.”
“The tabloids stink,” Isabelle said vehemently. “My sister’s right there alongside you. A different story every week.”
“Yes,” Serena said, turning to Lola. “I’ve read about you and Tony Alvarez. He’s an amazing director. I’d give anything to work with him one day.”
You should only know how amazing he is, Lola thought. The man is a human sex machine.
“What will you do next about gettin’ back with your husband?” Isabelle asked, loath to get off the perils of Serena.
“Who knows?” Serena said, shrugging. “Ward has promised we can meet, talk things through. He has custody of the children right now, which is so unfair.”
“I understand about the kids,” Isabelle interjected. “I have two boys, and if I couldn’t be with them I’d be lost. Fortunately, my Armando never looks at other women, and I never look at other men, although I’ve had plenty of opportunities. Oh yes, plenty.”
“You see, I’m the one who left the family home,” Serena explained. “That makes a big difference in the eyes of the law.”
“Surely your lawyer can do something about that?” Lola asked.
“Not with the way the tabloids are carrying on,” Serena said. “Every week they give my husband all kinds of new ammunition against me.”
“You mean it’s true what they say in the tabloids?” Isabelle said, completely enthralled.
“There’s always a germ of truth,” Serena admitted. “They sniff out a story, then they elaborate.”
“Last week they printed that I travel around with fifteen assistants and six bodyguards,” Lola sniffed. “Do you see anybody here? I’m with my sister and one bodyguard, who doubles as my driver. I’m a perfectly normal person when I’m not in front of a camera.”
“You’re not normal,” Isabelle argued. “Sometimes you have two bodyguards when you go out. Surely you remember the day we went shopping on Rodeo Drive and you got mobbed, and we had to call the police?”
“There’s nothing wrong with using bodyguards occasionally,” Lola said defensively. “It’s for my protection. There’s too many obsessive fans out there. I know you don’t understand, Isabelle, but people do get obsessed with me. I receive thousands of fan letters a week.”
“I was stalked once,” Serena mused, joining in. “The man was under the impression that we were married. He wrote me hundreds of threatening letters, sent disgusting e-mails, then he killed himself.”
“That’s terrible!” Isabelle exclaimed.
“Yes, especially as he did it outside my house,” Serena added.
“How did he do it?” Isabelle asked, bug-eyed with curiosity.
“He set himself on fire.”
“Oh my Lord!” Isabelle shrieked.
“I know it’s early,” Lola said, yawning, “but I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“You go on up,” Isabelle said, still enthralled with all the stories. “I’ll stay here and keep Serena company.”
“That’s okay,” Serena said. “I should be getting to bed myself. It’s been nice talking to you two. Isabelle, you’re so kind. And Lola, I’m glad we’ve had this chance to get together. Whenever we see each other it’s always kiss-kiss and ‘What a great dress.’ There’s never time for anything meaningful.”
Lola nodded. She hadn’t expected to like Serena, and she did. It was a pleasant surprise.
Later, back in her sister’s room, Isabelle couldn’t stop talking. She was filled with excitement. “Wait till the girls hear about this,” she announced.
“What girls?” Lola asked, diligently removing her makeup.
“My girlfriends.”
“You shouldn’t repeat anything you’ve heard here today,” Lola warned in a stern voice. “Serena was telling us things in confidence.”
“I won’t repeat everything.”
“You shouldn’t repeat anything.”
“If I wanted to,” Isabelle said slyly, “I could call up the tabloids and make myself five hundred dollars. They pay cash, you know.”
Interesting that Isabelle knew the going price. Lola couldn’t help wondering if that’s where some of the stories about her had come from.
Would her sister really do such a thing? Hmm . . . she wouldn’t put it past her.
Hollywood Divorces Page 15
