Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  Wrapping herself in one of Tony’s luxurious cashmere robes, she leaned forward, carefully examining her face in the mirror. Fortunately, she was blessed with perfect olive skin, and this morning she was positively glowing. Who needed diamonds when she had Tony?

  Thankfully she’d inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s zest for living. Poor Isabelle and Selma had not; they were both quite ordinary looking. She was the star of the family, although it helped that she was surrounded by experts who helped her look the best she could.

  Piling her hair on top of her head, she stuck a pin in it, then returned to the bedroom.

  “Tony,” she murmured, leaning over him, her full breasts grazing his chest. “Time to get up, it’s way past noon.”

  “Oh, baby, baby,” he muttered, throwing out his arms. His chest was covered in a smattering of fine black hair. She would’ve hated it if he shaved his chest like so many Hollywood actors; she loved the way a thin line of hair headed straight down his stomach, making a steady line toward his crotch, where it curled around the stem of his magnificent cock.

  “Tony,” she murmured again, fluttering her fingers lightly across his stomach. “Lola desires your company, so please quit snoring in my face.”

  He opened one eye and squinted at her. “Who snores, baby? Not me.” He opened his other eye. “How ya doin’?”

  “Sensational, thank you,” she replied, teasing his lips with her tongue.

  He undid the tie on her robe. It fell open. He reached in and began squeezing her nipples with his fingertips. “Gotta say I missed this,” he said, continuing to caress her.

  She began stroking his cock, which immediately sprang to attention. “And I missed this,” she said in a low, throaty voice.

  “Nice,” he said, thrusting himself toward her. “We both got somethin’ we missed.”

  She shrugged off her robe.

  “Where’s your diamond, babe?” he asked.

  “I left it on the bedside table.”

  “Put it on,” he ordered.

  “Now?”

  “Yeah now.”

  She picked up the exquisite diamond, fastening the thin chain around her neck. The diamond hung between her breasts like a talisman.

  “Wanna fuck you, babe,” Tony said, pulling her down next to him. “You and your great big diamond.”

  She spread her legs, welcoming him into the place he truly belonged.

  Tony Alvarez was her addiction, and she’d never stopped loving him.

  • • •

  It was a crisp, sunny New York morning. Freddy Krane was in town, so Linc decided to take him on a jog around Central Park. Freddy bitched and moaned, but went along with the program when Linc insisted it was good for him. “ ’S long as we make it to the deli an’ have a good brunch,” Freddy said, huffing and puffing as he lagged along behind Linc. “Don’t forget I’m on L.A. time. My stomach’s screamin’.”

  “All you think about is your goddamn stomach,” Linc remarked, jogging at a steady pace. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to lose a few pounds. You got a gut like a pregnant cow.”

  It was impossible to insult Freddy, he was impervious. “Listen to Mr. Fit,” Freddy chortled. “You gotta stay in shape, I don’t.”

  “Dead right if I’m doing your next movie,” Linc agreed.

  “Bet your ass,” Freddy said, swatting a fly from his face. “The studio was screamin’ for Vin Diesel. I told ’em to go fuck ’emselves. This script is yours.”

  Freddy had flown in the night before to meet with Linc and talk about the film he wanted him to sign on for. Although it was another big action adventure, Linc figured that after the romantic comedy it would be a wise move to return to the action genre.

  He hadn’t had a chance to mention Freddy’s movie to Shelby, although he was sure they could work it so that they’d be able to spend time on each other’s location. After all, work was work, and she’d chosen to do another movie rather than stay with him in New York. He conveniently forgot that he’d persuaded her to do so.

  Freddy insisted that they go to the Carnegie Deli for brunch.

  “Can’t go there,” Linc objected. “I’ll get hassled for autographs an’ shit.”

  “You got security,” Freddy pointed out. “This is New York, nobody gives a crap about you.”

  “Thanks. Did you happen to see the paparazzi hanging out the fuckin’ trees?”

  “What they gonna say about you?” Freddy said. “That you’re a fag ’cause you’re out joggin’ with me?”

  Linc laughed. “That’d make a change.”

  “Have your guys meet us at the deli,” Freddy suggested, leaning against a tree, totally out of shape.

  Linc signaled one of his security team. “I’ll see you at the Carnegie Deli, I’m going in Mr. Krane’s car.”

  Freddy’s car and driver were waiting at the entrance to the park. The two men got in the car and the driver took off.

  “How was Cannes?” Freddy inquired, lighting a cigarette. “Same old rat fuck?”

  “I got my usual shitty reviews.”

  “Throw ’em in the crapper. I never had a decent review, an’ I’m the richest goddamn producer in Hollywood.”

  “Yeah, you and Arnold Kopelson.”

  “Arnie’s the greatest. But I make the best action films,” Freddy boasted.

  The Carnegie Deli was crowded. Freddy pushed to the head of the line. When the hostess saw Linc, she immediately made room, seating them at a corner table. Freddy summoned a waitress and ordered eggs, smoked salmon, lean corned beef, bagels, and cream cheese for the two of them.

  “No surprise you got a gut,” Linc remarked. “Whatever happened to fruit and yogurt?”

  “Screw the healthy crap,” Freddy scoffed. “My cholesterol’s rising—but who gives a shit?”

  “You should look after yourself,” Linc lectured. “You’re no kid.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Freddy said, not listening. “We’ll have dinner tonight, you’ll meet my new girl.”

  “Christ, Freddy,” Linc groaned. “Not another would-be actress.”

  “You did okay, an’ you married an actress,” Freddy pointed out, attacking a large onion bagel.

  “Shelby’s different.”

  “You always were one lucky sonofabitch,” Freddy said, slathering on the cream cheese.

  “You can say that again.”

  An energetic, tanned man approached their table. Freddy jumped up and they exchanged high fives.

  “Kenny—m’boy!” Freddy greeted. “How’re they hangin’?”

  “No complaints,” Kenny replied with a big smile.

  Freddy turned to Linc. “This guy knows everyone in New York,” he enthused. “And he manages t’ keep a sharp eye on my portfolio. Made me a bundle last year. Kenny Rickel, meet Linc Blackwood.”

  “A pleasure,” Kenny said, slipping his card in Linc’s direction. “Anything you want while you’re in town— call. I’m a big fan.”

  “I’ll do that,” Linc said, pocketing Kenny’s card.

  Kenny drifted off, joining a table crowded with several New York models.

  “The dude’s a player,” Freddy said, sitting down and piling even more cream cheese on his bagel. “Jeez!” he added, waxing nostalgic. “Remember our single days?”

  “You rarely had a single day,” Linc reminded. “You skipped from one wife to the next.”

  “Fuckin’ alimony whores,” Freddy grumbled. “Those bitches are worse than the 1RS.”

  “Who’s this one tonight?” Linc asked.

  “One of those supermodel types—she’s lookin’ to break into movies.”

  “Ambitious. The worst kind.”

  “You’ll like her, she’s a far-out broad. An’ talkin’ of broads—how ya doin’ with La Sanchez? She as hot as everyone says?”

  “She’s a number all right.”

  “I bet she is,” Freddy said, busily stirring three lumps of sugar into his creamy coffee. “Saw her on Letterman the other
night. Y’know, there’s somethin’ about her that’s kinda familiar.”

  “Sure there is,” Linc said, drinking his coffee black. “She’s been in—what—five movies in the last four years?”

  “I’m wonderin’ if she was an extra on one of my movies,” Freddy said, slurping his coffee. “It’s like I know her from before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before she was a star, schmuck.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Linc said sarcastically. “You discovered her. According to you, everyone from Meg Ryan to Julia Roberts was your discovery.”

  “It probably was me, I got the eye,” Freddy said, watching two tall blondes who were standing by the counter.

  “You’ve got an eye all right,” Linc said, swiveling his head to check out the blondes. “New York women, stylish, right?”

  Freddy rubbed his hands together. “Forget about style,” he said with a raucous chuckle. “Gimme a hot L.A. body any day. Fake tits an’ a cocksuckin’ mouth. That’s my style!”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  22

  Working with Nick Logan turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He was on time, knew all his lines, looked almost handsome once the makeup and hairdressing department had shaved off his beard and cleaned him up, and best of all he was a terrific actor.

  Cat had dealt with a raggle-taggle band of amateurs on her previous movie; now, working with professionals was a major kick. Her cinematographer was a thoughtful and extremely helpful collaborator who advised her, but not in a superior way, which made her feel that she was getting the best out of him and still implementing her own ideas.

  There was so much to think about, so much to do. As the director, everyone came to her for decisions. It was a huge responsibility, but one she felt she was capable of taking on. She even had her own assistant, Kodi, a cute Chinese girl who was probably older than her and did everything she asked, which was kind of cool.

  Fortunately Jonas was there for her, watching her back, making sure it all went smoothly. Even Merrill visited the set on the first day of shooting to wish everyone luck. He was his usual powerful presence, puffing on a huge cigar, trailed by a temporary assistant—a skinny man with bright red hair, handpicked by Jonas.

  On the second day of principal photography Cat’s lawyer called her on the set. “I know you’re in the middle of a thousand things,” Leo said. “Only I thought you should know that I’ve had a response from your husband. He doesn’t want a divorce, refuses to hire a lawyer, insists that he talk to you, and says this can all be worked out when he gets back.”

  “That’s crap, Leo,” she said angrily, cradling her cell phone. “He doesn’t get it. There’s no way I’m putting up with him screwing around on me.”

  “I hear you,” Leo said. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Please do,” she said, clicking off her phone.

  Like she didn’t have enough to deal with, and Jump was not a priority.

  “What’s up?” Nick Logan asked, sidling over, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “Boyfriend problems?”

  “Were you listening to my conversation?” she demanded.

  “Half the set heard it,” he said, squinting at her with sleepy amber eyes. “You were fuckin’ yelling.”

  “I was not,” she responded indignantly.

  “If you say so.”

  “And I don’t have a boyfriend,” she added. “If you must know, I have a husband.”

  “Nasty.”

  “What?”

  “Husbands who dick around,” Nick said, flicking ash on the ground. “ ’Specially on a knockout babe who looks like you.”

  “Don’t hit on me, Nick,” she said, fixing him with a steely glare. “I’m not into it.”

  “Then you’d better let me know when you are, an’ maybe we’ll do somethin’ ’bout it.”

  Before she could reply he drifted off, conferring with the script supervisor, who definitely had a crush on him.

  God, he was annoying! Although his cocky attitude didn’t seem to stop every woman on the set from developing a crush on him.

  Cat couldn’t care less, as long as he did good work; that was all that mattered. She had no eyes for getting involved, and certainly not with an actor.

  • • •

  Shelby continued to see Pete, reasoning to herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. And even though she was well aware that her husband would hardly approve of her spending time with an old boyfriend, what Linc didn’t know wouldn’t irritate him.

  On the other hand, Pete was a good friend, and it wasn’t as if she’d ever slept with him. During the time they were together they’d indulged in a few steamy necking sessions, never taking it all the way, which was kind of juvenile, considering the amount of women Linc had slept with in his past.

  The truth was that she enjoyed Pete’s company. He didn’t drink or smoke, he simply got on with things in a down-home kind of way. He reminded her of normal life—the way it was before she’d moved to Hollywood and married a famous movie star with a drinking problem.

  She drove to Pete’s gym in Santa Monica, found a parking meter, and left her car on the street.

  The gym was massive, with huge windows overlooking the ocean, and all the latest equipment. It was full of toned, hard bodies working nonstop to make them even fitter. “I feel so out of shape,” she said ruefully, looking around.

  “You’re not,” Pete responded, once again obviously delighted to see her. “You’re very toned and, uh . . . very beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, wishing he wouldn’t go there. She wasn’t seeking compliments, merely friendship.

  “I’ll give you the tour,” he said.

  “I’d like that,” she said, following him around as he showed her the steam room, lap pool, and massage rooms.

  “Gotta say I’m looking forward to seeing you in Rapture,” he remarked. “I hear your performance is quite something.”

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly shy. “You must’ve heard about the nude scene.”

  “The word’s around.”

  “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to shoot? I begged the director for a closed set, yet people managed to sneak in anyway.”

  “That’s the way it goes.”

  “At one point there were men actually hanging off the rafters. It was most disconcerting.”

  “And I bet you handled it like you handle everything—with your usual style.”

  “I try,” she said modestly.

  After the tour they sat down in his cluttered office, where he offered her a bottle of Evian, picked up the script, and began going over the stunts he thought she might be up to attempting. “The car stunt’s a breeze,” he assured her. “You can handle it, no problem.”

  “I can?” she asked unsurely.

  “You bet,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I already spoke to Cat about it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, it’s important, Shelby, ’cause sometimes the audience spots it when a stunt double takes over.”

  “Not in your movies they don’t.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Have you ever doubled for Linc?”

  “Sure did. There was no way you could tell us apart on the screen.”

  “You’re not as tall as him.”

  “We fake it with shoes, hairpieces, whatever.”

  “Show me the movie and I’ll guess who’s who.”

  “I have a DVD of it,” he said. “Hey—wanna come by my place later an’ take a look?”

  “No, Pete,” she said quickly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?” he said, challenging her. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

  He gave her a long look. “Is there a reason for that?”

  “Well . . . ,” she began, wishing he hadn’t asked. “I . . . uh . . . haven’t mentioned to Linc that we bumped into each other.”<
br />
  “You haven’t, huh? How come?”

  “I’m sure you remember that Linc can be quite jealous.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” A long silent beat. “Y’know, Shelby, I thought by this time he would’ve gotten you prégnant. I always imagined you with a couple of kids. You’d be a sensational mother.”

  “We, uh . . . we’ve discussed having children,” she said. Then she stopped abruptly. “You know what, Pete?” she said, brushing back her long hair. “Talking about this is too personal.”

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t’ve gone there. It’s none of my business, right?”

  She nodded, suddenly feeling disloyal to her husband. “I’ve got to go,” she said, getting up. “Thanks for the tour.”

  “Anytime,” he said, throwing her a quizzical look. “Don’t forget, I’m always here for you.”

  • • •

  Lola did not return to her hotel until Sunday evening, having spent the most glorious weekend with Tony. In her heart she could not imagine why she had ever left him. Tony Alvarez understood her better than any man ever had. They were soul mates, destined to be together.

  Big Jay escorted her up to her suite, where there were a ton of messages waiting for her. She had not bothered to turn her cell phone on all weekend, therefore she’d been unreachable.

  Naturally she’d seen the papers, TONY AND LOLA—TOGETHER AGAIN! With huge front-page pictures in the Post and the Daily News.

  She was thrilled to see how fantastic they looked together. The story inside was not such a thrill: “Lola and Tony Alvarez a couple again? Where does that leave Lola’s husband, Matt Seel? Sitting in California by himself? Or maybe Lola and Tony are just friends. . . .”

  Damn! There was no doubt that Matt would see this and be hurt. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him; it was just that he was so damn boring, she’d had to get away or go crazy. Besides, she’d known Tony much longer than she’d known Matt, so her soon-to-be-ex shouldn’t feel dissed that she’d decided to go back to her original love.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and clicked on the TV while listening to her voice mail.