Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  Faye was first, naturally. “What the hell do you think you’re up to?” her bossy publicist rasped. “And why didn’t you tell me first, so that I could maintain some degree of control? I’ll be back on Monday; we’ll have to deal with it then.”

  Oh good, she couldn’t wait.

  The second call was from her highly expensive attorney, Otto Landstrom. “Not a smart move, Lola,” Otto said in his disapproving-father voice. “We should talk as soon as possible. You’re putting ammunition into the hands of the enemy.”

  What did that mean?

  The third message was from Selma. “Mama’s about to have a heart attack,” her sister wailed. “You’d better call me back immediately.”

  And so on and so on, with many other messages from friends and relatives, all putting in their ten cents’ worth.

  Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Didn’t anyone understand? No bad publicity was about to frighten her off. Tony Alvarez was her man, and this time she was staying with him, come what may.

  She loved Tony. She loved him passionately. And no bad publicity would ever split them up again.

  • • •

  Freddy Krane’s idea of a good time was staying up all night. Since Freddy was also into doing coke, Linc decided it wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Freddy’s latest supermodel girlfriend, Allegra, joined in the fun too. She was a six-foot-tall beauty who hailed from Australia, with a strong accent that could cut glass. She talked a lot, assuring them that when she finally broke into movies, she would make Nicole Kidman look like a Girl Scout.

  “Been a supermodel for five years,” she announced. “Been on the cover of Sports Illustrated twice. I’m like huge in the modeling world.”

  Linc and Freddy didn’t care what she was as long as she joined them in their habit.

  Linc had a feeling that he shouldn’t be indulging in front of some strange model with a loud mouth, but then he thought, What the hell? He was in New York, far away from Shelby, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  The three of them started off having dinner at Coco Pazzo, where Linc bumped into several acquaintances. After dinner they stopped by a few clubs, all of which Allegra was extremely familiar with. She sailed past the door people with a disdainful flip of her hand, and headed straight to the VIP room where she downed apple martinis as if they were lemonade.

  “I’m out every night,” she boasted. “Staying up late never affects me. I’m what they call a natural beauty.”

  Yes, and modest too, Linc thought.

  “I’m gonna put her in my next movie,” Freddy announced, winking at Linc behind her back. “Is it my fault if she ends up on the cuttin’ room floor?”

  At around 3 A.M. Linc decided he was tired and ready to go home. Freddy cornered him, informing him that Allegra would not be averse to a threesome.

  “Sorry,” Linc said, remembering that he had an early call. “Not my scene.”

  Freddy jeered that he was getting old.

  Maybe he was. He was forty-something, not exactly a kid anymore. Besides, he was looking forward to seeing Shelby on the weekend.

  There was nothing wrong with missing one’s wife.

  • • •

  After a restless night’s sleep, Lola reported for work accompanied by Big Jay and Jenny. They were shooting a scene on location at the Central Park Zoo and the paparazzi were in full evidence. She hid in her trailer until she was called, then with Big Jay by her side, protecting her, she headed for the set.

  Linc Blackwood was already there. She’d been so caught up with Tony all weekend that she’d forgotten about Linc and her plan. The moment she saw him it all came rushing back. Staring at him from a distance, she realized that she could never have babies with Tony, the love of her life. She could never have a little girl that looked like her, or a little boy that looked like Tony, and it was all because of Linc Blackwood. He’d treated her like she was less than nothing, used her, got her pregnant, and dumped her all in one night. What a piece of shit he was.

  Now, staring at him, she was more determined than ever to smash his dreams the way he’d smashed hers.

  So . . . what was she waiting for? Let the games begin.

  Clad in a beige cashmere Valentino coat and a wide-brimmed hat, she casually waved at him.

  “Hey,” he said, strolling toward her. “You’re all over the front pages.”

  “I know,” she answered demurely. “I’ve been a very bad girl, haven’t I?”

  “Bad girl suits you,” he said with a half smile.

  “You think?”

  “You’re glowing.”

  “I am?”

  “Oh yes.”

  They exchanged a long look before Lola quickly changed the subject. “Is your wife here yet?” she asked, as if she cared.

  “Flying in this weekend.”

  “I bet you’re looking forward to seeing her.”

  “Sure am.”

  A wistful sigh. “It must be nice to be happily married.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “Matt and I, we had so many plans . . .”

  “What happened?”

  She lowered her eyes. “I can’t talk about it, Linc. It’s too upsetting.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Tony’s an old friend,” she explained. “He’s helping me get through it.”

  Yeah, Linc thought. I can see that.

  “Y’know,” Lola said, “I was hoping we could run some lines later.”

  “Is there a particular scene you have in mind?”

  “The dialogue in the party scene doesn’t work for me.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No. I was thinking we could go over it, make some changes.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “Well,” she said coyly, “I realize we can’t be seen out to dinner together; it would drive the paparazzi insane.”

  “Wouldn’t think you were free for dinner anyway, what with Tony consoling you and all.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am free. Tony had to fly to New Orleans on a location scout. He won’t be back until the weekend, which means I’m all alone in the big city.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Would it be a mistake for us to be seen out together?” she said, wide-eyed. “After all, it’s not as if there’s anything going on between us.”

  “The gossip rags would go nuts,” Linc said. “And I’m sure Shelby wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  “Scared of wifey?” she asked, lightly mocking him.

  “Me?” he said, raising a cynical eyebrow.

  “Yes, you,” she said, flirting.

  “Just trying to be smart, Lola. Let’s not forget we’re making a movie, not having an affair.” Now it was his turn to mock her. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking otherwise, would we?”

  ‘I don’t have time for an affair, do you?” she said, licking her lips in a suggestive way.

  “It would be kinda difficult to fit it into our busy schedules,” he said, grinning at her obvious come-on.

  Man, Lola Sanchez was definitely a piece of work. Flirting with her was a kick, but there was no way he had any intention of taking it further.

  • • •

  Rapture was opening across America the following week and Shelby was on edge about it. Suddenly she was about to be exposed to the world, and it was a scary prospect.

  The next day was the L.A. press junket, which meant major maintenance. She spent the afternoon at the hair salon having her hair done, getting a manicure and pedicure. The studio had already sent designers to her house with a selection of clothes she could choose from, so later she selected a simple white Galanos dress and gold jewelry from Van Cleef & Arpels.

  Early the next morning, Kara, the studio publicist for Rapture, arrived to pick her up and escort her to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where the junket was taking place. “It’ll be a long day,” Kara warned. She was a Southern girl with crinkly red hair down to her waist and
funky tinted glasses. Rumor had it that she was sleeping with Beck Carson.

  “I can take it,” Shelby said, getting into the limo parked in her driveway. “The only problem is forgetting what I’ve said to one journalist, and wondering if I’ve already said it to another.”

  Kara gave a high-pitched laugh. “I’ll try to prompt you. They’ve each got four minutes, unless it’s E.T., Extra! or Access. They get six minutes—more if they send Mary Hart. You’ll break for lunch at twelve for an hour, then after makeup and hair touch-ups, we’re back in the room. The morning’s all print. The afternoon’s all TV.”

  “Wonderful,” Shelby sighed, not relishing the thought of a day locked up with probing journalists. “Where are the others?”

  “Russell’s in the next room. Beck’s on his way.”

  “Do I get to see them?”

  “I’ll put in a request that everyone break for lunch at the same time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ll be great,” Kara said, adjusting her glasses, which kept on falling off the bridge of her nose. “You’ve done it a thousand times before.”

  “Not exactly a thousand,” Shelby said modestly. “However, I’ll do my best.”

  And she did, answering numerous questions, dodging difficult ones, avoiding the comparisons to Monster’s Ball, flattering other actresses, talking about her director and co-star, being very careful not to say one negative word about Linc.

  At the lunch break she got together with Russell and Beck. The three of them sat around swapping war stories about the various members of the press.

  “Watch out for the guy from Chicago,” Russell warned. “He’s out for a kill. You’ll recognize the rug, the twitch, and the bad breath.”

  “And don’t forget the sexy little number from Vegas,” Beck said, joining in. “She managed to slip me her phone number two times.”

  “Can’t wait!” Shelby murmured. “Do you think I’ll get lucky too?”

  “Only if you cut your hair and lower your voice,” Beck joked.

  She loved hanging out with them. Making Rapture had been an intense experience, one she’d never forget. Both men were true professionals and a pleasure to work with. If only every movie could be as enjoyable.

  By the end of the day she was all talked out. She phoned Linc at his hotel and got his voice mail. She left a message that she was going to bed and would call him in the morning, then she took a long hot bath before settling down for the night.

  Just as she was drifting off to sleep, her private line rang. Thinking it was Linc, she reached for the phone and murmured, “I know. You don’t want me falling asleep until you’ve told me how much you love me.”

  “How did you know?”

  It was Pete’s voice.

  “Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “I thought it was Linc.”

  “Sorry if I’m a big disappointment.”

  “No . . . uh . . . it’s just that . . . when did I give you this number?”

  “You wrote it down for me. Remember?”

  Yes. She remembered writing down her phone number. And by mistake she’d obviously given him her private line.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked. “It’s only eight, I thought you might want to grab a burger after your press thing today.”

  “Actually I’m in bed.”

  “Did you eat?”

  The truth was that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. Her housekeeper had left a fully stocked fridge, but she hadn’t felt like eating alone. Now Pete was on the phone, and what was she supposed to do?

  Linc was in New York, Pete was her friend, and she was hungry.

  “What d’you think?” Pete asked, pushing for an answer. “Burger or no burger?”

  A big, fat, juicy hamburger with a side order of greasy french fries. Yes!

  And tomorrow she’d tell Linc.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  23

  Nick Logan was an outrageous flirt. Every woman on the set had fallen under his bad-boy spell— every woman except Cat and Shelby. So naturally they were the two he had to pursue and conquer. Nick had a thing about sleeping with every woman he could. His success rate was extremely high.

  Jonas hated the sight of the randy actor, although he was forced to admit that Nick Logan was a dynamic presence on-screen, and the dailies were excellent. Merrill was delighted with the way everything was going. He sent Cat early morning memos with his comments after he’d viewed the dailies. She found herself looking forward to his notes; they were to the point and insightful. As crass and overbearing as Merrill was, he definitely had an eye for detail.

  The movie was progressing well. Her personal life was not. Somehow Jump had gotten hold of her new cell phone number and was bombarding her with calls begging her forgiveness. She hung up on him every time, but he kept on trying.

  Shelby, who’d started work on the movie, was sympathetic. “Keep on changing your number until he gives up,” she suggested, as they stood by the Kraft service setup, enjoying a mug of coffee and a short break.

  “Why should I?” Cat said defiantly. “Why can’t he accept the fact that it’s over?”

  “Perhaps he needs closure,” Shelby said gently.

  “Screw closure!” Cat snapped. “He should’ve thought about that when he was banging his old girlfriend.”

  “What’re you two gossiping about?” Nick inquired, sneaking up behind them.

  “Women don’t gossip,” Shelby said crisply. “That’s a male thing.”

  Nick furrowed his thick eyebrows. “What?”

  “I agree,” Cat said, reaching for an apple. “Men are the biggest gossips of all.”

  “Bull,” Nick said.

  “True,” Cat said.

  “You two live in a fuckin’ dream world,” Nick countered, perplexed because his particular brand of charm didn’t seem to be working on either of them.

  “How many times a day do you use the F-word?” Shelby asked.

  “Not as fuckin’ many as Colin fuckin’ Farrell,” he retorted.

  “Goodbye,” Cat said. “I’ll see you on the set.”

  Nick watched her walk away. “Hot stuff,” he remarked. “Perfect ass.”

  Shelby shook her head disapprovingly.

  “What? Nick said. “It’s fuckin’ true.”

  Later that day Jump turned up on the set. Cat was shocked; she’d thought he was safely in Australia, still on tour. Now here he was with his long hair tied back in a ponytail, his many tattoos, and a determined expression.

  She was in the middle of working on a scene between Nick and Shelby, and she was not about to stop. Jonas ran interference, persuading Jump to wait in a chair way back from the action.

  “Tell her I’m stayin’ here until she’s ready to talk t’ me,” Jump insisted. “Okay, mate?”

  “I’ll do that,” Jonas said, wondering what she’d ever seen in this tall, scruffy-looking, would-be rock star.

  • • •

  “Last chance,” Lola said.

  “Last chance at what?” Linc responded.

  “Well, since wifey is obviously out and about,” Lola said, waving a People magazine in front of his face, “I don’t see anything wrong with us having dinner and going over the script. I’ll bring my publicist, you bring yours. We’ll make it a cozy foursome.”

  “What’s that crack about my wife?” Linc asked.

  “You haven’t seen it?”

  “Seen what?” he asked impatiently.

  “Mrs. Linc Blackwood and mystery man lunching at Jerry’s Deli in the Valley. Seems to me they were caught off guard.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Lola handed him the magazine, folded back to the Star Tracks page. There was a photograph of Shelby, hair tied back in a ponytail, big sunglasses, slacks, and a shirt. She was not looking at the camera; apparently she was not even aware there was a camera pointed in her direction. She was glancing up at the man with her, a man who had a protec
tive hand on her arm as they exited the deli.

  Linc stared at the photograph in disbelief. The man was Pete. “Fuck!” he snarled.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Lola inquired.

  “What?

  “I was simply . . . commenting. Who is the mystery man?”

  “Nobody,” he said, inwardly fuming.

  “Well,” Lola drawled succinctly, “For nobody, he sure ain’t bad looking.”

  Linc didn’t say a word. He turned his back and abruptly walked away.

  Lola gave a small triumphant smile. Obviously the photograph had not pleased Mr. Blackwood. Obviously Mrs. Blackwood was playing her own little game. This was working out even better than she’d planned.

  Jenny approached, cell phone in hand. “It’s your sister again.”

  “Oh Lord,” Lola said, rolling her eyes, “What did you tell her this time?”

  “That you’re busy working. It’s her third call today. She insists on speaking to you.”

  “Why can’t they leave me alone?” Lola grumbled, taking the phone. “What’s up, Sis?” she asked, not in the mood for a lecture, which she had no doubt was forthcoming.

  “What’s up?” shouted a frustrated Selma. “Don’t you answer your messages? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Mama’s about to have a cow.”

  “Why’s she having a cow?”

  “Why do you think? You and Tony Alvarez, of course.”

  “Listen, Selma,” Lola said firmly, “it’s time everyone realized that I make my own choices.”

  “Not if Mama has her way.”

  “Tony’s a great guy,” Lola insisted. “And I wish you’d all stop criticizing him.”

  “Tony’s a drug addict. He’s always in the newspapers getting arrested for possession and stuff like that.”

  “Selma, please don’t speak about things you know nothing about. Tony’s on probation, he was arrested once. It wasn’t as if he was even using himself; he was holding a small amount of cocaine for a friend.”

  “All drug addicts say that.”

  “What’re you—an expert?”

  “Mama says—”

  “Shut up, Selma. I don’t have to explain anything to anyone.”

  “What about poor Matt?”

  “What about him?”