“Why?”
“ ’Cause she’s English and too beautiful to play my cop.”
“She’s also an excellent actress,” Jonas pointed out.
“I know, but—”
“Maybe you should take another look at Rapture he suggested. “Her American accent is right on. I’ll arrange a screening.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident. She’ll probably hate me anyway.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I dunno,” she said miserably.
“Come on,” Jonas said, cheering her up. “Where’s the cocky, I-can-do-anything Cat we all know?”
“She’s on hiatus.”
“Bring her back.”
“Maybe she’s not available. Maybe she’s scared.”
“Not Cat.”
He didn’t tell her about Merrill’s backup plans; it would only make her more nervous.
A few nights later, when they were once again sitting around in her apartment working on the story-boards while eating pizza and drinking wine, Cat started talking about her drug-addicted past. She had no idea why she suddenly decided to confide in him. She simply felt like unburdening herself, and Jonas was an excellent listener. “I don’t ever want to go back to doing that,” she said with an exaggerated shudder. “But I have this recurring dream that being a druggie is like being an alcoholic, and since an alcoholic is always an alcoholic, I guess I’ll always be a druggie.”
“Not the same thing,” Jonas said, watching her carefully. “They call people alcoholics because the temptation is always there. If they have one drink they know it’s over.”
“You think drugs are different?” she said, thinking that he was obviously naive. “I bet you’ve never even smoked a joint.”
“We’re talking about you, Cat, not me.”
“Oh yeah, me,” she said ruefully. “The girl who was dabbling in heroin, doing crack.” She sighed. “What a moron!”
“Do you miss it?”
“Come on! I look back in horror.”
“Then there’s no way you’ll do it again. You’re too smart.”
“Jump saved me, y’know,” she mused. “Without his help . . .”
“You’ve got to stop thinking that way,” Jonas said, irritated that she still considered her cheating husband some kind of savior. “You were an easily influenced kid. Now you’re a big-time writer and director, which gives you every reason to stay straight.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I must say, Jonas, that you’ve got this knack of calming me down. You’re like the big brother I never had.”
“Glad to oblige,” he said, realizing that he was becoming far too attached to this crazy, talented girl, and since she regarded him as nothing more than big-brother fodder, it was time to distance himself. Although distancing himself was almost impossible now that he was officially working on the movie. He was grateful for the opportunity to show what he could do—it was something he’d been working toward—and if everything worked out it could only lead to bigger and better.
A celebration was in order, so shortly before principal photography was due to begin, he informed Cat he was taking her out for dinner.
“No, no, no,” she said, panicking. “I have to work all night. I’m kind of freaked. I won’t be talkable to for the next six weeks, then after that I’ll be locked in the editing room.”
“That’s why you’re coming out,” Jonas said firmly. “I’m getting you while I can.”
“Aren’t you listening?” she wailed. “It’s impossible for me to go anywhere.”
“Too bad.”
She shot him a look. “Since when did you get so forceful?”
“Since you became a prima donna,” he responded.
He took her to L’Orangerie, a fashionable French restaurant on La Cienega, and although the restaurant was very elegant, they both felt out of place amongst all the well-dressed, affluent people and the fancy French food.
“Man!” Cat groaned, as the maître d’ seated them. “The waiters are staring at me as if I’m from Mars.”
“You could’ve worn a dress,” Jonas suggested, although he was getting quite used to her uniform of low-rider jeans, combat boots, and skimpy tanks. It didn’t matter what she wore; she was so striking looking that she could’ve gotten away with an old sack and bare feet, and still be the most beautiful woman in the room.
“Ugh! Dresses are not for me, thank you,” she said with a mock shudder.
“Why? I’d go shopping with you.”
“No way,” she said, frowning. “I hate shopping. It’s a total waste of time. Besides, you do enough for me.”
Before he could reply, a waiter appeared at their table and offered them menus.
“Can we split?” Cat asked after the first course, eggs mixed with caviar. “I’d sooner grab a Fatburger, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if you’re buying,” he said, signaling for the check.
“Hmm . . . ,” she said. “Think I can manage that. I’ll add it to the budget. Merrill will never notice.”
“You know, Cat,” he said, smiling, “when I start producing my own films, I’m hiring you to write and direct every one.”
“You’d better hurry,” she said with a big, wide grin. “ ’Cause soon you won’t be able to afford me.”
• • •
“I got your Bentley back,” Otto informed Lola, speaking from his car phone in L.A.
“You did?” Lola said, pleased. “How about my luggage?”
“Do not expect miracles,” Otto said, turning onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “It wasn’t easy. I gave him your SUV in exchange. I imagine that’s all right with you.”
“I suppose so,” she grumbled.
“How’s the movie going?”
“We’ve been on location, shooting street scenes. It’s freezing.”
“The weather is beautiful here. I’m on my way to Malibu to meet with a client.”
“Stop it, Otto,” she groaned. “You know I miss L.A.”
“Well, you’ll have a nice new Bentley to drive when you get back. I had it detailed for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, certain that he’d add another grand to her exorbitant monthly bill. It wasn’t easy being a single woman and watching over her money. What she needed was a man to check up on him.
She’d been shooting in New York for almost a week, and she’d hardly seen Linc at all. The majority of their scenes together were interiors, although very soon they’d start shooting on a soundstage in Tribeca, and then she could start working on him.
The New York papers were busy stalking her. Everywhere she went there were paparazzi lurking, waiting to see who she was with and what she was up to. The gossip columns carried daily items about the absence of Matt. Faye answered all their questions with a terse statement announcing that all was well with Lola Sanchez’s marriage; her husband, Matt, had business in California and would be joining her soon.
Then Tony called. “I’m flying in,” he announced. “Gotta check out the club scene for my next movie.”
“But Tony—” she began, not quite sure that she was ready to go public with their relationship.
“You with me or not?” he said tersely. “Remember—no more hiding, babe. We’re out in the open, or nothin’. Right?”
“Right, Tony.”
“You gotta forget about playin’ games, Lola. This time I want it real.”
Tony was an I-want kind of guy. It was one of the things she found so sexy about him.
“When will you be here?” she asked breathlessly.
“Friday night. We’ll turn that town out.”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” she said, already planning her outfit. It had to be something sensational; Tony was into high style and flash. A lethal combination.
“I’ll call you.”
“Yes, Tony.”
Ah . . . the two of them together again; she could only imagine the furor it would cause. Paparazzi heaven!
; She decided against telling Faye. Why look for trouble? Faye could read it on the front pages along with everyone else.
Lola Sanchez and Tony Alvarez. The hottest couple in America.
Mama Sanchez would throw a fit.
Too bad. Like the TV show said—one life to live. And Lola was about to live it all the way.
CHAPTER
* * *
20
“Pete? What a surprise!”
“Shelby. How are you?”
They bumped into each other outside the soundstage in Culver City where Shelby was soon to start shooting Cat’s movie. She was on her way to her car, having recently completed her second round of costume fittings.
“It’s so nice to see you,” she exclaimed, smiling warmly at her onetime boyfriend—the man she’d left to marry Linc. “What are you doing here?”
“Stunt coordinator on Caught,’ Pete said, shifting uncomfortably.
“You mean we’re working on the same film?”
“Looks like it.”
She couldn’t help noticing how cool he seemed toward her. It was no surprise; they hadn’t spoken since she’d married Linc. She’d called him a day or so before the ceremony and told him she was about to take the step. He’d been livid. “How can you do this?” he’d said. “We were a couple. You know I wanted to marry you.”
“It just . . . happened,” she’d explained, knowing how lame she sounded.
“Linc’s a no-good sonofabitch,” he’d said. “I warned him to stay away from you. But oh no—he couldn’t keep it in his pants, could he? Not our Linc.”
That conversation had taken place four years ago. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Pete since. Now here he was, standing in front of her, a rugged-looking man in well-worn blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a denim shirt, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw.
“It’s lovely to see you, Pete,” she said, genuinely meaning it.
His voice was rough. “Where’s Linc?”
“On location in New York.”
“So I guess the two of you are living happily ever after?”
“I hope so.”
“I hope so,” he repeated. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“Look,” she said awkwardly, “I do feel I owe you an explanation.”
“Time passes,” he said, shrugging as if he didn’t give a damn. “I’ve forgotten about it. We had a thing going and you moved on, that’s all.”
“Can we have lunch?” she asked impulsively. “For old times’ sake.”
“Would Linc allow you to have lunch with me?”
“I don’t need his permission,” she said, brushing back her long hair.
“That’s nice to know,” he said, softening slightly.
“Since we’ll be working together, I think it’s an excellent idea, don’t you?”
“If you say so,” he said, flashing a rueful smile. “You always were able to talk me into anything.”
She smiled. “I’m talking you into it, am I?”
“How about Jerry’s Deli in the Valley?” he suggested. “Or is that too out of the way for you now that you live in Beverly Hills?”
“One o’clock tomorrow?” she said, ignoring his veiled crack.
“I’ll be there.”
Driving over to Merrill’s office, she decided it was best not to mention to Linc that she was lunching with her old boyfriend. He wouldn’t understand, and yet she felt she owed Pete more of an explanation. Besides, Linc was so busy on New York State of Mind that they’d barely had time to talk.
Over the last few days she’d had a couple of meetings with Cat Harrison. She liked her a lot. The girl was young, but she was also smart and seemed to know exactly the way she wanted things done. They’d gone over the role of the undercover cop at length, both coming up with ideas about the character. Fortunately their ideas seemed to jell.
Merrill greeted her effusively. As soon as she’d signed on for the movie he’d sent her three dozen purple roses, a case of Cristal, and a pound of caviar. He was obviously pleased to welcome her aboard.
“Cat and I can definitely work together. I like her a lot,” Shelby said, settling on his couch.
“That’s my kinda news,” Merrill said, staring at the English actress. She was such a classy beauty, with her flawless skin, wide-set hazel eyes, and thick raven hair. It was a great tribute to her acting skills that he was sure she could bring Cat’s edgy cop to life on the screen.
He contemplated unzipping and giving her a thrill. Then he thought, why risk another turndown?
Besides, without popping a couple of Viagra, he couldn’t get it up anymore.
Merrill Zandack was finally realizing that it didn’t have to be a necessary rite of passage for the actresses he worked with to service him. There’d be exceptions, of course, but Shelby Cheney was not one of them.
• • •
“You’re cute,” Nick Logan remarked.
“Excuse me?” Cat responded.
“I wasn’t expecting cute,” Nick said, squinting at her.
“And I wasn’t expecting asshole compliments in my face.”
Nick Logan laughed. He was a skinny thirty-one-year-old with unruly dark hair, a scruffy beard, sleepy eyes, and eyelashes longer than any girl’s. “Didn’t mean to insult you,” he said, digging at his teeth with a raggedy toothpick.
“Didn’t take it as an insult,” she responded. “Merely stupid.”
“I’ve never worked with a girl director before,” he ventured.
“You must mean woman,’ she responded.
“You’re a girl,” he said, grinning insolently. “I know a girl when I see one.”
“Like how long do I have to listen to this crap?” she snapped.
“And she’s got a mouth too. I get off on that.”
“You know what, Nick,” she said, deciding to cut it short. “Let’s get something straight. This is my movie. I wrote it, I’m directing it, you’re starring in it. Now I know you’ve been successful for a few years and I haven’t, but since this is my project, can we keep a little respect going here?”
“Cute with a mouth—even better.”
Nick Logan was obviously a major smart-ass, which fortunately would work very well for the role of the con man in her movie.
Jonas loathed him on sight. “He’s one of those playboy actors,” he said. “The kind that hangs out with his posse at bars every night, picking up girls and getting drunk.”
“As long as he doesn’t do playboy acting in front of the camera,” Cat retorted, “then I’m down with it.”
“He’s planning on flirting with you,” Jonas said irritably. “That’s the way he’ll try to railroad you into doing things his way.”
“Men always flirt with me,” Cat answered flippantly. “Got a hunch it’s the diamond in my navel; turns ’em on big time.”
“Very funny,” Jonas said, quite unamused, and scared of his growing feelings for this girl.
“Like I have time to flirt,” she retorted. “Besides, aren’t you forgetting I’m in the middle of a divorce? Who needs flirting?”
“Yeah, right,” Jonas said, unconvinced. She’d caught her husband with another girl. It was only human nature that she’d want to get back at him. And what better way than screwing some smart-mouthed, cocky movie star?
“So make sure I don’t flirt, will you please?” she added, although she had to admit that she did find Nick Logan quite attractive in a bad-boy kind of way.
“What am I, your keeper now?” Jonas snapped.
“Isn’t that why Merrill put you on the movie, to watch over me?” she said, wondering what kind of bug he had up his ass.
“No,” Jonas said. “We both know the reason Merrill put me on the movie is because you asked him to.”
“That’s what you think.”
“That’s what I know.”
As their start date drew nearer, Cat was feeling less tense. Hitting it off with Shelby Cheney had helped considerably. The actress
was totally down-to-earth and nice. Even better, she seemed to know instinctively what Cat expected of her. Plus, as Jonas had pointed out, her American accent was impeccable.
“I keep on annoying American actresses,” Shelby had confided. “They all think they should be playing my parts, but when you get someone like Renee Zellwegger as Bridget Jones—a classic English heroine— it’s only fair that I play American roles, don’t you think?”
Cat had nodded her agreement. Now she was wondering how Shelby and Nick would match up. They were both so different, yet her gut instinct told her they would have great chemistry together.
They’d better, because soon it would be movie time, and she was finally ready.
• • •
Tony Alvarez hit New York like a wild tornado. He was handsome, flashy, full of zest—a purveyor of sexy excitement everywhere he went. He took over the biggest penthouse suite at the Four Seasons in New York and called Lola immediately.
“Tonight, ten o’clock,” he said, lolling in his suite, enjoying a manicure and a pedicure. “I’ll come get you.”
“Can’t wait,” she replied, shivering with anticipation. She’d already chosen the dress she would wear—a Versace number that left little to the imagination. Over it she planned on throwing a white mink coat she’d rushed out and purchased at Bergdorf.
Faye had flown back to L.A. for the weekend. Was she going to get a shock when she saw the Monday morning papers!
It so happened Tony arrived in New York on the day Lola was due to shoot her first bedroom scene with Linc. Fitch was wandering around the set, most concerned that everything went well. Lola assured him that he wouldn’t be disappointed. “I’m a love scene veteran,” she informed the panicky director. “Leave everything to me.”
Later that day, Linc walked onto the set wearing a white toweling bathrobe. He was surrounded by his entourage.
Lola, lounging in her chair, was also in a bathrobe. Underneath she wore a brief thong with flesh-colored pasties covering her nipples. She was not shy about getting almost naked on-screen—the key word was “almost”; never let them see everything. Why take away the mystery?
“What you got on under there, Linc?” she asked teasingly.
Hollywood Divorces Page 20
