Hollywood Divorces

by Jackie Collins

  “Mama had him over for dinner the other night.”

  “Why?”

  “She felt sorry for him.”

  “I do not want Mama entertaining my soon-to-be-ex-husband,” Lola said furiously.

  “She likes Matt.”

  “She might like him, but she’d better understand that he’s not part of our family anymore.”

  “The way you’re speaking, it seems you’re not either.”

  “Oh God, now you’re beginning to sound like the rest of them.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Please call Mama.”

  “I guess none of you realize that I’m on the set working, and that making phone calls is most inconvenient.”

  “Lucia—”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do it now.”

  “It’s your mother,” Selma chided.

  “I’m doing it,” she said, clicking off the phone and handing it to Jenny. “Get me my mom.”

  Claudine sounded cold, “What you doing with your life, girl?” she demanded, “Didn’t I teach you anything? You go back with this man who’s bad news. Your father knows it, I know it, we all know it. Everyone except you.”

  “Mama, chill. I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, daughter, you chill,” Claudine responded. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “I knew what I was doing when I bought you the house, didn’t I?” Lola snapped.

  “Lucia,” Claudine said sternly, “if you throw this house in my face one more time, we’ll move out and you can come live in it. Do you understand?”

  She sighed. Movie star or not, there was no arguing with Claudine. “Yes, Mama.”

  • • •

  Linc took the People magazine and studied it. It really was Shelby with Pete. Yes, Pete, his old enemy. Well, not exactly enemy, but rival for her affections. Not even rival, because when he’d come into her life and stolen her away from Pete, it was not a problem. Now here she was, cool as can be, walking out of a deli with the prick. Jesus Christ! Women were not to be trusted.

  He marched to his trailer. Norm, his publicist, materialized, falling into step beside him.

  “Get lost, Norm,” he grunted.

  “I need to talk to you about the Newsweek story,” Norm ventured.

  “Not now,” he said, slamming his way into the trailer, locking the door, and opening the closet.

  Stashed in the inside pocket of his jacket were a couple of glassine packets of cocaine. He opened one, tipping the seductive white powder onto the countertop. Then he arranged it into several neat lines, and snorted them one by one.

  His anger level was so elevated that the drug did not have the desired effect.

  What he needed was a drink.

  Shelby was due to arrive in New York the following afternoon. Should he call her now and have it out with her on the phone? Or should he wait until he could do it face-to-face?

  Yes, he’d wait. Women lied over the phone. Women could be such devious bitches.

  His throat was parched. The coke was definitely not giving him his usual high.

  Fuck! How could Shelby do this to him?

  He left his trailer and searched out Norm. “Why is there no booze in my trailer?” he demanded.

  “Mrs. Blackwood said that—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what Mrs. Blackwood said. Go buy a couple of bottles of scotch and vodka.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want,” he said belligerently. “And in future listen to me, not my wife.”

  “I’ll do that,” Norm said, gritting his teeth.

  “By the way, how come Lola Sanchez gets to show me fucking People magazine?” Linc griped. “What were you doing—sleeping, on the job?”

  Norm visibly blanched. He hated it when Mr. Macho Movie Star was in one of his foul moods. “Have they written something you don’t like about yourself in People?” he asked nervously.

  “It isn’t about me, it’s about Shelby.”

  “I’m not her P.R.”

  “Isn’t it your job to stop shit from appearing?”

  “How can I stop something I don’t know about?”

  “Buy the fucking magazine, then come see me,” Linc said, heading back to the set.

  Lola was waiting to shoot the next scene. She was clad in a peach-colored peignoir with dramatic cleavage. “I’m so sorry,” she said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “What makes you think I’m upset?” he answered evenly. After all, he was an actor—he could play the game when he had to. “Hey,” he added. “How about us going over the script this evening?”

  “Fine with me,” she purred. “Tony doesn’t get back until tomorrow.”

  “Then tonight’s the night, huh?” he said, giving her the full-on macho sexy look.

  Lola met his gaze. “Yes, Linc,” she murmured, noticing a slight residue of white powder under his nose. “Tonight is the night.” She reached up and gently brushed the powder away.

  “What’re you doing?” he said, taking a step back.

  “You had a little . . . makeup there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “By the way, forget about the publicists, it’ll be you and me. Nobody else.”

  “What about the paparazzi?”

  “Fuck ’em.”

  • • •

  Shelby was busy. Not only was she working on Caught, she was also continuing to do press for Rapture and dealing with the accelerated interest in her career. Her agent was on the phone constantly.

  “It’s all happening, Shelby,” Ed said. “When you get back from New York I’ll come to the set; we’ll have lunch and discuss everything.”

  “I’m back Monday,” she said, “in time for work on Tuesday.”

  “Your schedule’s about to get even busier.”

  “That’s impossible!” she joked.

  “Are the press reps at the studio sending you all the reviews?”

  “I’m scared to read them.”

  “Don’t be,” Ed assured her. “They’re sensational. When’s the premiere again?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Do you need an escort, or is Linc flying in?”

  “He can’t, he’s on call every day.”

  “Can I take you?”

  “That would be perfect, Ed.”

  She’d worked all day and now she was packing, ready for an early morning flight on Merrill’s plane. She was longing to see Linc; separations were not good for any marriage, especially now, when Linc had given up drinking and probably needed her support, although he did still seem to be enjoying making his movie, which was a relief.

  Shelby knew that all the attention she was getting could be hard for him to take. It was only to be expected, especially since Linc might view her enormous success as a threat to his masculinity. Brenda had warned her to tread cautiously around him. “As you know, Linc suffers from low self-esteem,” Brenda had said. “Your job is to build him up, make sure he knows how much you love and admire him. Always keep in mind that he’s a man first, a movie star second.”

  “I always put Linc first,” she’d replied.

  Shelby had a strong hunch that ever since Brenda had counseled Linc a couple of times, the therapist had developed a secret crush on him.

  “Then double your efforts,” Brenda had said. “You have to remember that he’s in an extremely fragile state at the moment. He’s stopped drinking, he’s making a new career move. He needs you to be supportive and there for him.”

  Shelby understood what Brenda was saying, but she also thought, What about me? When am I the one who gets support and love? Linc never gave much thought to her needs.

  That was the difference between Linc and Pete, Pete always seemed to put her first.

  She’d still not mentioned to Linc that she’d seen her old boyfriend. She’d decided that the b
est way to handle it was to tell him in a casual way. “Guess who’s working on my movie?” she’d say. And perhaps she wouldn’t add that they’d gone out to lunch or shared a late night hamburger. After all, what could she possibly gain by doing so? Only Linc’s jealous wrath—and when he was angry, watch out. He could be incredibly vitriolic and possessive. She dreaded his outbursts.

  Later that evening her private line rang. She did not pick up, deciding she would do so only if it was Linc. It wasn’t. It was Pete again.

  “I’m calling to wish you a safe trip to New York,” he said, as she listened in on her answering machine. “While you’re gone, I’ll be working out your car stunt. You’ll be great, no need to be anxious.” A beat, then: “I’ll miss you, Shelby. So . . . If you feel like calling, you’ve got my cell number. I’ll see you next week.”

  She sighed, realizing that much as she liked being with Pete, it would be like waving a red flag in Linc’s face if she continued hanging out with him.

  No more Pete. She was starting to enjoy his company far too much.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  24

  “Why are you stalking me?” Cat demanded, hands on hips, green eyes blazing.

  “I’m not stalking you,” Jump responded with a sulky scowl. “You’re my freakin’ wife.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re supposed to be on tour in Australia; now you show up in L.A., creeping around the set while I’m trying to work.”

  “You’re finished for the day, aren’t you?”

  “A director never finishes,” she said grandly. “I’ve got dailies to view, notes to go over, decisions to make for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, an’ you gotta eat too. Let’s go to your place, order Chinese, an’ talk.”

  “You’re not getting it, are you?” she said, staring at him in exasperation. “There’s nothing to talk about. 1 caught you screwing around on me. We’re oven”

  “You’re such, a wanker,” he said, fidgeting with one of his gold stud earrings, “I dipped it in another bird. Big freakin’ deal. I was stoned, didn’t know what I was doing. You gonna keep punishin’ me for that?”

  “This is no punishment, Jump,” she said, wishing he’d get lost. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. It’s as simple as that.”

  “After everything we’ve been through together?”

  “What exactly have we been through?”

  “If it wasn’t for me,” he said accusingly, “you’d be sitting in some New York pisshole stoned outta your skull with a bunch, of losers.”

  “Oh,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Is that what you think I’d be doing?”

  “You were a major druggie, Cat. The only reason you gave it up was ’cause I forced you to.”

  “Are you saying that if you hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t’ve accomplished anything?”

  “That’s the road you were heading down, darlin’.”

  “Go away,” she said wearily. “Talk to my lawyer.”

  “Quit with the lawyer, crap,” he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm. “You an’ me gotta work this out together.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she shouted, struggling to free herself.

  They were standing outside her trailer. Most people had gone home, except for Nick Logan, who came bopping along at just the wrong moment. “Having trouble?” Nick asked, sizing Jump up.

  “No,” she said, glaring at Jump, who immediately let go of her;

  “Yell if you need anythin’,” Nick said, still eyeballing Jump, “I’ll be in my trailer for another hour. Got lines to learn.”

  “Who the fuck is that?” Jump growled.

  “None of your business,” Cat responded.

  “Jesus, you’ve turned into a tough little cunt.”

  “Oh very nice, the C-word.”

  “You’re exactly like your freakin’ mother.”

  “You don’t even know my mother,” she responded scornfully.

  “Nor do you,” he shot back.

  “Get lost, cheater.”

  “I will. I’m at the Sunset Marquis. When you stop with the divorce rubbish, gimme a call.” He strode off.

  “Don’t wait by the phone,” she yelled after him.

  A few minutes after Jump left, Nick emerged from his trailer. “Want me to have him whacked?” he inquired, all business.

  “Excuse me?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I can arrange it, you know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I got connections.”

  “Really?” she said, disbelievingly.

  “Yeah. Last year I did a mafia movie, an’ the dudes with the broken noses promised me a favor, which I aim to collect.”

  “You’re nuts,” she said, shaking her head.

  “That’s what everyone says,’ he said, squinting at her. “Personally I think it works for me.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “You’re liking what you see on the screen, aren’t you?” he said, fishing in his pants pocket for a cigarette.

  “You smoke too much,” she admonished.

  “An’ you don’t get enough sex,” he responded, lighting up.

  “Good night,” she said, heading toward the parking lot.

  “You seein’ dailies?” he asked, loping along behind her.

  “I am.”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then thought, Why not? After all, he’d rescued her from what could’ve been a nasty physical fight with. Jump. “1 suppose so,” she said.

  “I’ll ride with you,” he said, dragging on his cigarette.

  “I thought you had lines to learn.”

  “They’ll wait.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she said tartly. “Our movie should be your priority.”

  “I’m a fast study,” he said, winking at her.

  “That’s encouraging.”

  They reached her red Mustang.

  “Nice wheels,” he said admiringly.

  “Rented.”

  “I should warn you, I’m a backseat driver,” he responded, “So maybe I should drive.”

  “Too bad. 1 give direction, I’m not good at taking it.”

  “Okay, blondie,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat, “Since this is our first date. 111 let you drive.”

  “You’ll let me?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sure,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Ain’t life grand?”

  • • •

  Back at his hotel, Linc was acting like a caged animal, pacing up and down, muttering under his breath. He was furious, and his pride was hurt. Of all the people for Shelby to be photographed with, she’d had to pick on that asshole Pete. How would it look to his buddies? They all knew what a pussy hound Pete was, and Shelby was his wife for crissakes.

  He swooped on the phone, called room service, and ordered a couple of bottles of scotch. Then, since Shelby was arriving tomorrow, he thought better of it, instructed them to hold the order and send up half a bottle instead, and plenty of ice.

  When the booze arrived, he filled a glass and gulped it down without so much as blinking.

  It was as if he had a hollow leg; first the coke had had no effect, now the same with the booze.

  Maybe sex was what he needed. Maybe if he jammed it into Lola Sanchez he wouldn’t feel so bad about Shelby and her indiscretion that made him look like a fool. Fuck her! Miss Sweet and Innocent. His proper English lady wife. And there she was on-screen with her tits hanging out, and now she was stepping out with an old boyfriend. Christ! What next?

  It occurred to him that the anger he was feeling was not all about the dumb photo in People. His anger went deeper than that. Truth was, he was furious about Shelby taking it all off on-screen. A fury he’d kept under wraps until now. He was married to her. She was not some little hooker happy to flash the world. Her behavior on and off the screen was so fucking disrespectful.

  He made a quick decision and called Lola at her hotel.
“I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” he said.

  “What a gentleman,” she admonished, “I suppose my bodyguard will have to escort me.”

  “Hey—I was gonna take a shower, that’s all.” Her silence indicated she was pissed, “Never mind,” he said, “I’ll come by your hotel.”

  “What restaurant are we going to?”

  “Mario’s,”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s a small Italian place in the Village.”

  “Somewhere we won’t be seen?” she said lightly.

  “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice rising, because he was in no mood to put up with her shit, “I don’t give a rat’s ass if we’re seen or not,”

  “Hmm . . . ,” she said knowingly. “I get it. Your wife’s in People with a good-looking guy, so now you want to get back at her,”

  “What’s with the good-looking-guy crap?” he said, steaming. “The asshole’s a stuntman; he looks like shit.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

  “That’s fine,” she said, loving that he was so aggravated. “We can talk about me instead.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “What happened to your shower?”

  “How about I take it with you later?”

  She put down the phone, “How about you’ve got no chance,” she murmured, laughing to herself.

  • • •

  Linc got his usual big welcome at Mario’s, a small family restaurant he’d been going to for years. Mama Mario adored him; he was one of her favorite customers.

  “Ah, Signor Linc—so handsome,’ Mama Mario crooned. “Why you no marry one a my daughters? I tell you many times.” She took a look at Lola, then turned back to Linc with an accusing expression, “Where’s your bella wife?”

  “This is Signorina Sanchez,” Linc said. “We’re making a movie together.”

  Mama Mario made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat before reluctantly leading them to a corner table.

  A waiter came rushing over with menus. “Mi scusi,” Mama Mario said, “I go see other customers. Buon appetito.”

  “So,” Linc said, ordering a double scotch on the rocks. “What’s the deal with you and Tony Alvarez?” “I told you before,’ Lola said, sticking to Evian. “He’s helping me get over Matt.”