Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  “No, be your usual silent self. Dunno why, but I like you that way.”

  “You like me, huh?” he said, pleased.

  “You’re my friend,” she answered warmly.

  “We’ll always be friends, only let’s not act too friendly in front of Merrill, otherwise he’s likely to can my ass.”

  “Never. The old pervert couldn’t possibly manage without you.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. He totally depends on you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Let’s order,” he said, picking up a menu. “Are you hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “At least you never lose your appetite.”

  “For food.”

  He decided to let that one go.

  • • •

  Shelby drove Linc to the airport with the thought that she would soon be joining him on the New York location. She was unable to go with him because of the L.A. press junket for Rapture and an upcoming charity lunch in L.A. where she was being honored for her work raising money for various cancer charities.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be here for it,” she said wistfully, driving down La Cienega because she refused to drive on freeways.

  “So am I,” he agreed. “My wife being honored is quite something. Did you ever think that would happen when you came over here as a struggling English actress?”

  “I never struggled, Linc,” she said, smiling. “I came here to make a movie, liked it, and stayed.”

  “Then I saw you at Marty’s party, and that was it— you and I were destined to be together.”

  “Destined?” she said, still smiling. “That’s very dramatic, coming from you.”

  “And true.”

  “Pete wasn’t too happy,” she remarked, remembering her last conversation with her onetime boyfriend, whom she’d left for Linc.

  “Who gives a fuck about Pete?” Linc said sharply. “I can never figure out what you were doing with him in the first place.”

  “Pete’s a nice guy. He was one of the first people I met in L.A.”

  “Nice guy, my ass!”

  “Linc—”

  “You’re lucky you never fucked him, ’cause if you had, I wouldn’t have gone near you.”

  “Charming,” she said, pulling up at a red light. “You and the double standard go hand in hand.”

  “I’m tellin’ you the way it is.”

  “You slept with dozens of hot little starlets,” she said accusingly, “and I went near you.”

  “That’s ’cause you couldn’t resist me,” he said with a knowing grin. “Played it smart, didn’t I? Knew it wouldn’t take long before you fell in love with me.”

  “No,” she corrected, “you fell in love with me.”

  “Yeah, I fell in love with your beautiful tits.”

  “Don’t be so crude.”

  “Jesus, Shelby, sometimes you sound like your mother.”

  “And sometimes you don’t remind me of my father,” she chided. “My father is a gentleman, and you’re not.”

  “Hey, this is the new me, remember? No drinking.”

  “Let’s not get carried away, Linc. It’s only been a few days.”

  “You gotta have faith, sweetheart.”

  “I do. Now—important question—are you sure you’ll be all right in New York without me?”

  “It won’t be easy,” he teased.

  “I’ll be joining you in a week.”

  “And I’ll miss you every minute of every day,” he promised, leaning toward her and nuzzling her neck. “What do you think of that?”

  “I think I love you,” she murmured, attempting to concentrate on her driving.

  “Guess you must,” he said, basking in her love. “You cook me dinner, drive me to the airport. Meanwhile we’ve got a ton of people working for us, so how come you feel you gotta do everything?”

  “It’s the English in me.”

  “That’s what I like,” he said, moving even closer and sliding his arm around her shoulders. “The English in you. That’s what I really like—getting inside you.”

  “Linc!” she gasped, almost rear-ending a Cadillac. “I’m trying to drive.”

  She dropped him off at the private section of the airport.

  “You’re not coming in?” he asked.

  “You know I hate goodbyes.”

  “Love you,” he said, kissing her on the lips. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “You do that, Mr. Blackwood. Fly safely.”

  At home there was an urgent message waiting from her agent. She phoned him back. “Yes, Ed, what’s so important?”

  “Did you make a verbal agreement with Merrill Zandack?”

  “What kind of verbal agreement?”

  “He says you agreed to star in Caught.”

  “I certainly didn’t.”

  “I presume you’ve read the script?”

  “Yes, he gave it to me in Cannes. I liked it a lot, but I wasn’t sure I was right for it.”

  “Are you interested?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Word is it’s a hot property. The girl who wrote it directed Wild Child. They’ve got it on a fast track, and Zandack is offering a ton of money.”

  “Linc says I don’t need money.”

  “And that would be because . . . ?”

  “He’s got plenty.”

  “Yeah, well, Linc’s got his career to look after, and you should look after yours. If the deal is right, it’s a six-week shoot in L.A., starting in ten days.”

  “I’m only here for a week, then I’m supposed to be joining Linc in New York.”

  “This might be something you should do, Shelby. Zandack has the touch. Last year he had three movies nominated, and if this script is as good as he says it is . . .”

  “Let me read it again.”

  “We’ll both read it and talk tomorrow. Zandack needs an immediate answer.”

  “Fine,” she said, clicking off the phone. “I’ll get right on it.”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  19

  Movie crews loved Lola. She’d learned early on that playing the diva did not go down well, so she always made sure to make herself known to all the key people on the set and act in an approachable fashion.

  On the first day of location shooting in New York, she arrived in a car loaded down with boxes of chocolate cookies, New York State of Mind tee shirts, and baseball caps for the crew. Usually the producers gave out presents at the end of a shoot, but Lola had found it was to her advantage if she arrived with gifts on the first day.

  Elliott Finerman was there to greet her. Since he’d given in and hired Linc Blackwood, she was overly nice to him, before moving on to the film’s cinematographer—Dudley Wayne, a seasoned veteran. Dudley was the most important man to her; he was the one who would make her look out of this world.

  “Darling,” she said, enveloping him in a big hug. “All I ask is that you cover up my bags.”

  “I don’t see any bags,” Dudley said, peering at her with a professional eye.

  “You will after I’ve been in New York a few days.” She laughed, bringing him in on the joke.

  “You have perfect skin, Lola,” he said, quite sincerely. “I’m sure the camera loves you.”

  “And you’ll make sure it loves me even more, won’t you, Dudley?” she said in her sexiest voice.

  “I’ll do my best,” Dudley replied, mesmerized.

  Watching her, Elliott marveled at her seductive skills. This girl would fuck a snake if it could do something for her in return. Actresses! They were all the same. Phony as a game of three-card monte.

  The director, Fitch Conn, was a big, gangly blond man in his thirties. He’d directed several successful movies and was all over Lola immediately. They’d had a couple of meetings in L.A. and he was already enamored. He was on her side, exactly the way she wanted it.

  The first day�
��s shooting took place outside, on a street downtown in the Village. Linc was not around. Lola was pleased because it gave her time to bond with the crew. Trailed by Big Jay and her assistant, Jenny, she handed out the cookies, tee shirts, and baseball caps, talking and joking with whoever crossed her path. By the end of the day she’d won everyone over.

  The following morning, when Linc turned up, she was ready. They were shooting more location street scenes, and the excited crowds had to be cordoned off by several burly New York cops, who kept on sidling over and asking for her autograph.

  Lola greeted Linc with a friendly hug. “I’m thrilled you’re making this movie with me,” she purred, establishing that it was her project. “We’ll have so much fun.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, thinking how sexy Lola Sanchez was in her formfitting red dress, emphasizing every delectable curve.

  “Is your lovely wife with you?” Lola asked, glancing around as if she expected to see Shelby.

  “She’s flying in next week,” Linc replied, accepting a mug of coffee from an assistant.

  “Then we must all have dinner,” Lola insisted. “I’ll arrange everything.”

  “Great,” Linc said. “With, uh . . . it’s Matt, right?”

  “Matt isn’t here,” she said, managing to look a tad forlorn.

  “When does he arrive?”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” she said, lowering her voice and leaning close.

  “Sure,” he replied, inhaling a strong whiff of her heady scent.

  “This is not public knowledge yet. But unfortunately we’re getting a divorce.”

  “You and Matt?” Linc said, surprised. “The guy I met in the south of France?”

  She nodded.

  “That was only a few weeks ago; the two of you seemed real tight.”

  “As you well know, Linc,” she said in a sad voice, “illusion is everything.”

  “Jeez! I’m sorry to hear that you’ve split.”

  “Are you?” she said, giving him a long, meaningful look, which he chose to ignore.

  At the lunch break Lola ate outside with her hairdresser, her makeup artist, Jenny, and Faye. They all sat at one of the long trestle tables set up in a parking lot, along with the rest of the crew. Lola knew it was important to show everyone she was a girl of the people, not a stuck-up princess like so many stars.

  Her group surrounded her, making sure that no intruders got anywhere near her. They were a close-knit posse who’d all worked together on her last two films.

  Linc chose to eat in his trailer, which pissed her off. Later that day she questioned him. “Are you a snob?” she asked in a teasing fashion. “I eat with the crew. Where were you?”

  “Here’s the deal,” he answered with an easy grin. “I prefer staying in my trailer, where I can relax, study my lines, make phone calls. When you’ve been in the business as long as I have, you’ll do the same.”

  Translation: Lunch break is getting-high time. In private. He’d already set up his supplier, a real estate guy who dealt on the side and was available to come by the set anytime he called. The coke was flowing freely and he felt no desire to drink. The perfect solution.

  “Shame,” Lola said, licking her glossy lips. “I always think it can be so helpful if co-stars get to know each other.”

  “Right,” Linc replied, fully aware that she was coming on to him. Nothing new about that; most women did. But he wasn’t into responding. He recognized that Lola Sanchez was dangerous territory, and now that he’d given up drinking, and she was getting a divorce, he knew enough to stay away—although he had to admit that she was some hot number. Exactly what he didn’t need. He had Shelby, and he would do nothing to put their relationship in jeopardy.

  • • •

  “How would you feel about me accepting a movie in L.A.?” Shelby asked over the phone.

  “Huh?” Linc said, safely back at the hotel.

  “If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t. It all happened very suddenly.”

  “It’s not the movie we talked about—the one where you take your clothes off again? ’Cause if it is—”

  “No, Linc,” she interrupted. “I promised you I wouldn’t do that.”

  “What is it?”

  “The script Merrill Zandack gave me to read in the south of France. Ed recommends I do it. It’s a completely different role from the woman I played in Rapture.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d be playing an undercover cop.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. I’m an actress, remember?”

  “Hey—sweetie, I’m not gonna stop you. There’s nothing for you to do here except hang around the set while I’m working, and we both know how boring that can be.”

  “True. Although we’d be together at night.”

  “Not really,” he said, stifling a yawn. “We have a shitload of night shoots coming up.”

  “My movie would shoot six weeks in L.A. By the time I’m finished you’ll be home.”

  “Go ahead and say yes. Sounds like you’re into it.”

  “I’ll miss you, though.”

  “I’ll miss you too, but I’ve got a nice hotel setup, my agent’s flying in this week, my publicist’s already here. So I’m surrounded by people.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Hey—if you’re worried about me drinking, I’m not.”

  “Promise?” she said, anxious to believe him.

  “Yeah, I promise. You don’t have to be here to protect me, Shelby.”

  “Then you think I should say yes?”

  “Who’s directing?”

  “Cat Harrison.”

  “You mean the kid?”

  “She’s not such a kid, she’s almost twenty.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s a kid.”

  “Merrill told me if I have doubts I can choose any director I want. But you know what? I had Ed run Wild Child for me again, and I like her work. She’s got an offbeat, quirky style.”

  “Who else is in it?”

  “Nick Logan.”

  “He’s not bad.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay with me not coming there. Although I’ll fly in for the Rapture press junket. Merrill promised I can use his plane.”

  “Listen to my little movie star wife,” Linc said, amused. “ ‘Merrill says I can use his plane.’ Jeez!”

  “People do that for you all the time,” she chided. “Don’t make me feel spoiled.”

  “I’m teasing you. Can’t you take a joke?”

  Shelby hung up feeling pleased. She’d already said yes to the James Bond-type movie that did not start for six months, and Caught would be an interesting interim film.

  Linc was right, there was nothing more depressing than hanging around a set, especially when he was into concentrating on his work and did not appreciate diversions. Basically she’d be sitting in New York doing nothing.

  She called Ed and accepted the movie.

  He was one happy agent.

  • • •

  Talk about an accelerated preproduction schedule. Things were totally crazy. So crazy that Cat did not have time to dwell on her personal problems. According to Leo Napoli, he’d arranged for divorce papers to be sent to Jump in Australia. She was relieved; the sooner her two-year marriage was over the better.

  Merrill had gone ahead and signed Shelby Cheney and Nick Logan to star in Caught. Cat still felt Shelby Cheney was wrong for the role; however, Nick Logan was perfect for the smart-mouthed con man. In his early thirties, Nick had a bad-boy edginess about him, plus he was also a dynamic actor. Currently finishing off a modern-day cowboy movie in Arizona, he was flying in as soon as his film wrapped.

  Cat wished she’d had more to say about the casting of her two stars, but she couldn’t complain; at least she was about to direct her own movie, since apparently neither Shelby nor Nick had voiced any objections.

  Her excitement level was in overdrive. She was getting ready to direct her own
movie with two star actors and an actual budget! How cool was that!

  Merrill had surrounded her with a first-rate team of people—all of whom had worked for him before. She was well aware that he was making sure she wouldn’t screw up. It was aggravating and assuring all at the same time.

  The line producer, Gary, seemed like a great guy. He was energetic, smart, and noncritical. He steered her through production meetings, casting sessions, and location scouts, making her feel secure, even though she knew he probably regarded her as a total amateur.

  Jonas was also there for her, arriving at her apartment every night after work, breaking down the script with her as she bounced ideas off him and discussed the shooting schedule, laying each scene out on index cards.

  In her mind she had a master plan for Caught. She wanted to capture a degree of realism. She wanted her movie to have a gritty edge, with a documentary feel to it.

  “Everyone loves the script,” Jonas assured her. “Usually Merrill brings in one or two other writers. This time he hasn’t mentioned doing that, so it’s quite a compliment.”

  After one particularly creative session with Jonas, Cat requested a private meeting with Merrill, and informed the big man that she would like him to appoint Jonas as an associate producer on Caught.

  At first Merrill laughed at her, then after a lot of persuasion he realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, he’d taught Jonas everything he knew, so why not put him out there? Merrill was also canny enough to realize that it could be useful having Jonas permanently on set to report back.

  “Please don’t mention I asked you to do this,” Cat insisted.

  Merrill agreed, although it didn’t stop him grumbling about losing the best assistant he’d ever had.

  When Jonas got the news he was delighted. He immediately asked Cat if she’d had anything to do with it. “Who me?” she said innocently, not fooling him one bit.

  “I know it’s you,” he said. “Do I thank you now, or later?”

  She was sitting on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by storyboards, notes, and her laptop.

  “Just be there for me,” she said. “That’s thank-you enough.”

  “All the way,” Jonas replied.

  “I’m worried about Shelby Cheney,” Cat said, swigging from a can of 7 UP.