Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  The man stared at her, his dark, brooding eyes alive with lust.

  Slowly, standing at the foot of the bed, the woman began taking off her clothes. First she unbuttoned her tight jacket, button by button, taking her time. Underneath she had on a skimpy black bra—the kind usually favored by Las Vegas showgirls. Her breasts swelled from the confines of the lacy garment.

  “Nice,” the man said.

  Next the woman unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Almost naked except for a Frederick’s of Hollywood garter belt with the black stockings and high heels, she was a magnificent specimen.

  The man’s erection was straining at his underwear, but the woman still took her time as she knelt provocatively on the bed, crawling toward him like a predatory panther.

  “You got a name?” the man asked, his voice thick with desire.

  “Names don’t matter,” the woman replied.

  The man reached forward, pulling her down on top of him. The woman raised her body, her warm skin grazing his. Then she put her hands into his underwear and slowly peeled them down.

  The man was harder than she’d imagined. So hard that when he entered her she experienced a sharp combination of pleasure and pain.

  The woman gasped, throwing her arms above her head and moaning with an overwhelming passion.

  The man placed his hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he ordered. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  “I’m not home,” the woman reminded him, pushing his hand away.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” the man said, flipping her so that he was on top. “This is home. This is definitely home, an’ it’s so fuckin’ good to be back.”

  Yes, Lola thought, happy in the arms of her much-missed lover. It certainly is.

  • • •

  Five days was all Linc could take at the Malibu retreat, then he walked out and took a cab home.

  “What happened?” Shelby asked, taken by surprise.

  “Absolutely nothing, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. “I did everything they asked me to. Went to all the meetings, made my own bed, and all that crap. Then today I talked to one of the counselors, and he told me to get the hell out, that I didn’t need to be there.”

  “He sent you home?” she said, not sure whether to believe him or not.

  “Yeah, the guy said I didn’t have a problem. Check it out.”

  “I’m not checking up on you, Linc.”

  “So don’t. It’s your choice,” he said, kissing her again. “Didja miss me?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I missed you a lot.”

  “You too, baby. You too.”

  “Are you sure you’re—”

  “Hey,” he said, interrupting her. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re taking all the booze out of the bar, locking it in a closet, and throwing away the key. How’s that?”

  “Yes, Linc,” she said obediently.

  “You wanna know why?”

  “Yes.”

  “ ’Cause I ain’t drinkin’.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “For you, my lovely wife, it’s a promise,” he said, embracing her again.

  Relief overwhelmed her. This was a new Linc. Obviously the five days away had done him some good.

  “I do love you,” she murmured, feeling safe and secure in his arms.

  “I know you do, sweetheart, and I love you too,” he said, tipping her face back so he could gaze into her eyes. “Here’s the deal. I love you more than anything in the world, so if it’s a question of you or booze, guess what I’m choosing?”

  “Me, I hope,” she said, smiling softly.

  “You got it.”

  Five minutes later he was on the phone in his study talking to his agent, discussing his upcoming movie, the clothes, the schedule, and everything else connected with it.

  Shelby wanted to tell him what was going on with her career, so as soon as he was finished, she perched on the edge of his desk and started talking. “I’ve been offered several new projects,” she told him. “Two I’m taking seriously. One begins shooting almost immediately, and the other wouldn’t begin for another six months.”

  “What are they?”

  “The one that starts immediately involves nudity.”

  Christ! Did she honestly think he was allowing her to be naked in a movie again? How would she like it if he was on-screen bare-assed naked?

  “You’ve done it once, that’s enough,” he said, remaining calm like it was no big deal. “Trust me on this, Shelby.”

  “I agree,” she said. “Although it’s an excellent script and a lot of money.”

  “I make a lot of money,” he said forcefully, surprised she was pushing it. “Which means you don’t have to. What else?”

  “There’s kind of a James Bond-type film. The only problem is that it takes place on various locations, and I wouldn’t want to be away from you.”

  “I start shooting in a week, so I’ll be finished by that time. I could come with you—be your location groupie,” he grinned. “How about that?”

  “I’ve always wanted my own personal groupie.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her again, “here I am.”

  Later, when Shelby was busy in the kitchen cooking dinner—something she still enjoyed doing in spite of their large staff—he made his way upstairs, locked himself in his dressing room, located his stash, laid out a couple of lines, and took a few quick, satisfying snorts of cocaine.

  The magic powder made him feel powerful and full of strength. Who needed booze? Not him. Jesus! He could do anything he wanted.

  Things were going to work out just fine, and Shelby would never know the difference.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  18

  Lola felt that finally everything was going her way, in spite of her continuing troubles with her family. Elliott Finerman was obviously a first-rate producer; he’d hired an experienced director with an impressive track record, an award-winning cinematographer who she knew would make her look fabulous, and best of all, he’d signed Linc Blackwood.

  She had a strong suspicion that New York State of Mind was about to be a breakthrough movie for her. She’d always had a desire to play comedy—smart comedy, not slapstick. New York State of Mind could be it.

  Most exciting, Tony Alvarez was back on the scene. Well, not exactly back; they’d had a few secret assignations where they role-played—one of their favorite things to do. She’d not actually gone public with the news that they were together again. She sensed it wasn’t wise until Matt was total history, plus she had no desire to put up with the flak she was bound to get from all the people around her, especially Faye, for she knew that her long-suffering publicist would complain bitterly.

  Tony went along with the secrecy; he got off on intrigue. She’d pick up the phone, tell him where to meet her, and he’d be there. It was an exciting game, one where she got to play dress-up with an array of wigs and many different outfits. Whatever her disguise, she always managed to make herself unrecognizable to the general public. It added to the spice. And Tony was still as spicy as ever. Hot and horny and sexy and dark. Everything about him turned her on.

  She’d spent the morning haranguing Otto Landstrom over the phone. “Listen, Otto, I’m leaving for New York tomorrow to start my movie. And I want my Bentley back. How many times do I have to tell you— when Matt left the house he took my Bentley. Surely you saw him do it? Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I wasn’t standing on the doorstep watching his every move,” Otto said dryly.

  “It’s my car,” she said petulantly, “and I want it back.”

  “Did you buy it while you were married?”

  “Yes, Otto, with my money.”

  “Then it could be construed as community property, in which case he’s entitled to use it.”

  “He signed the fucking agreement, Otto,” she retaliated, fast losing patience. “Get my car back.”

  �
�I’ll do my best.”

  “And another thing, he took my luggage.”

  “Let’s not get petty here.”

  “It’s my new set of Vuitton luggage and I want that back too.”

  “Lola—”

  “You know he only did it to piss me off.”

  “You can hardly blame him, can you?”

  “Whose side are you on, Otto?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Good luck with the movie, dear.”

  She hated it when Otto called her “dear,” it sounded so patronizing. Note to self—think about hiring new lawyer.

  She was happy to be leaving. Selma had come by, pleading with her to make the peace with Mama.

  “No,” she’d said, refusing to weaken. “I’ve had it with the way the family thinks they can walk all over me. I buy them a house, give them money. Nothing seems to mean anything. And as for Isabelle, she’s a tattling bitch.”

  “Please, Lucia,” Selma had pleaded. “Talk with Mama before you go. We live in a dangerous world; it’s not right to keep bad blood between you.”

  “I’ll call her from New York,” she’d finally agreed, impatient for Selma to leave.

  She had one last assignation with Tony before she left, and half of the fun was the preparation.

  The struggling starlet and the powerful film director. One of their favorites. Tony liked it because he got to play himself. She liked it because it was total fantasy.

  She went to her closet and chose a Marilyn Monroe blond wig, pedal pushers, and a Second Skin tee shirt. Then she added huge Jackie O. sunglasses, borrowed her maid’s old car, and drove to Tony’s office.

  Tony’s receptionist was a cow, Eurasian and exotic looking. Lola was sure he’d screwed her, but he would never confess to it. Unrecognizable, she told the cow she had a reading with Mr. Alvarez, and the cow made her wait five minutes before buzzing him and sending her through.

  Tony was sitting behind his desk, legs propped up, smoking an herbal cigarette. He glanced up when she entered.

  “Did you get the sides?” he snapped.

  “Yes, Mr. Alvarez,” she answered, suitably subservient.

  “Can you act?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “It might help.”

  “I can do . . . other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “If it’ll get me the part . . . “

  “Can you suck cock?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard. Can you suck my cock?” He stood up and unzipped his pants. “Down on your knees,” he ordered. “Let’s see how much talent you got.”

  She didn’t need asking twice.

  • • •

  True friends were hard to come by, so when Jonas came to her aid, Cat genuinely appreciated his help, even though he was going against his boss by advising her.

  He’d recommended two lawyers and she’d gone to see them both, finally choosing Leo Napoli, a thirty-five-year-old bald gay man, ambitious and razor sharp.

  After looking over her contracts, Leo shook his head in amazement. “Who advised you to sign these?” he asked.

  “My husband.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Yeah,” she said, running her hand through her short blond hair. “I know, I’m young. But that’s another story.”

  Leo shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You were dealing with Merrill Zandack and you didn’t get professional advice,” he said. “That’s crazy.”

  After studying the contracts he explained that she’d signed away all rights to Caught. “There’s not even a clause giving you final script approval,” he informed her. “If Merrill Zandack decides he wants to use only your name and title and bring in other writers, he’s free to do so. And he has an option for your next script.”

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You lost out on this one. But one thing I promise you—we’ll win on the next.”

  “What do you mean I’ve lost out on this one?” she said, dismayed. “Merrill promised I could direct.”

  “And maybe he’ll keep his promise. Who knows? We’ll arrange a meeting with Mr. Zandack, let him know you’re represented now.”

  The next day she and Leo sat down with Merrill in his office. Puffing on his usual cigar, Merrill laid it out. He announced that he’d hired a line producer and put Caught on a fast track. He also informed them that he was on the point of signing a famous actress, and if the actress agreed to Cat directing, then she had the gig.

  “It’s all about the bottom line,” he said to Leo. “You know it’s to Cat’s advantage if this film is big.”

  “You had her sign away all her rights,” Leo pointed out. “That’s not fair.”

  This sent Merrill off into a choking fit of sarcastic laughter. “Fair? Are you in this business?”

  “We’re screwed,” Leo told her when they got back to his office. “Let’s hope that whoever this actress is he’s talking with agrees to you directing.”

  “Speaking of getting screwed,” Cat ventured, prowling restlessly around his office. “Do you deal with divorces?”

  “Divorce is one of my specialties.”

  “Really?” she said, flopping into a chair. “I thought L.A. lawyers spread it around the firm so they can charge double fees.”

  “No,” Leo said, with a quick smile. “I specialize in contracts, negotiations, and divorce.”

  “Great! You’re my kind of lawyer.”

  “Who is this guy you’re married to? Is he in the business?”

  “Kind of. He’s Australian.”

  “Not Russell Crowe, I hope.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “I can assure you he’s no Russell Crowe. And since I haven’t mentioned this to anyone yet, including Jonas, I’d prefer you didn’t say anything.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Thanks.”

  Leo took out a yellow legal pad and picked up his pen. “Let’s get some details. I need his name and profession.”

  “Jump Jagger, he’s a rock ’n’ roller.”

  “Any relation to—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “Everyone asks that. I wish.”

  “Did you sign a prenuptial?”

  “Of course not. I was seventeen when I got married.”

  “Does he have money?”

  “I don’t want anything from him.”

  “How about the reverse?”

  “Jump would never ask me for a dime.”

  “Divorce puts a new slant on things. People change.”

  “Not Jump.”

  “Why are you seeking a divorce?”

  “It’s a major cliché.”

  “You still have to tell me.”

  So she did, the whole sad story.

  Leo listened intently, and when she was finished he assured her that he would be able to take care of everything.

  She left his office feeling more positive about things.

  That night she and Jonas went to dinner at Orso’s on Third Street. They sat outside in the garden.

  “What’s going on?” Jonas asked as soon as they’d ordered. “You haven’t been your usual obnoxious self since you got back.”

  “Did Leo say anything to you?” she asked, sipping a glass of red wine.

  “No, was he supposed to?”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Here’s the deal. Only please— do not laugh at me.”

  “You didn’t laugh at me when I fell off my skis,” he reminded her.

  “Actually I did,” she admitted.

  “As long as you didn’t take my photo.”

  “Does that mean you won’t laugh at me?”

  “No, I’ll respect whatever you have to tell me.”

  “Well, it’s um . . . it’s like, y’know . . .”

  “C’mon, Cat, give it up. Did you catch him with another girl?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I warned you not to surprise him.”

  “
It’s worse than that,” she said miserably. “I got to his hotel room and he wasn’t there, so I slid into bed all ready to do the whole jumping-out-of-bed-naked thing. Finally he came in, was thrilled to see me, and we had this, uh . . . well, I don’t have to tell you what happened next.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “All I can say is it was great, then we went to sleep, and the next thing I know there’s some skanky unclothed bitch climbing all over him. He admitted he’d been with her earlier, told me he was drunk and she was an old girlfriend.”

  “Jesus, Cat, I’m sorry.”

  “Wonderful story, isn’t it?” she said ruefully. “The kind of stuff you read about.”

  “Or write about,” he interjected.

  “Y’know,” she mused, “my father always told me all men are dogs; so did my mother.” She gave a regretful laugh. “That’s about the only thing my parents taught me.”

  “Have you heard from him since?”

  “He keeps on calling. I don’t answer his calls.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him, see what he has to say.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she exploded. “Aren’t you listening to me? The asshole cheated on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sex is the most intimate act between two people,” she said, narrowing her green eyes at the thought of Jump with another woman. “And the jerk blew it.”

  “I guess he did.”

  “I’m nineteen, Jonas,” she said earnestly. “Not some forty-year-old housewife with six kids who depends on the old man to bring home the bacon. Believe me, Jump is history, I’m divorcing him.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Y’know, I was looking forward to coming to L.A. I wanted you to meet Jump. And I was planning on setting you up with one of my girlfriends.”

  “So you think I need fixing up?” he said, looking perplexed.

  “I never see you with anybody.” A beat. “Is there someone special?”

  “I’m too busy.”

  “You must have some kind of sex life,” she persisted, determined to find out.

  “So now that you’ve revealed everything to me, I’m supposed to reveal everything to you—is that the way this goes?”