American Star

by Jackie Collins

  An' you let him sin with you." Her voice rose. "You gonna burn in

  hell. Oh, yes, you are.

  "He's not my father," Cyndra screamed angrily.

  "He be your daddy for sure, girl. When you got rid of that baby you

  murdered your own brother. You killed Luke, too, didn't you?" She

  leaped up. "You killed Luke, you little whore!"

  Nick grabbed Cyndra's arm again and physically dragged her out of the

  room. She was sobbing hysterically. He pulled her down the stairs and

  into the street.

  "What's she talking about?" Cyndra yelled. "Nick, help me, tell me

  what she's saying? What's she trying to do to me?"

  "Can't you see she's crazy. God knows what happened here."

  "I have to see Harlan."

  "Okay, okay-we'll find" "When?" she demanded.

  "Now," he replied, pushing her into the car.

  They drove to Oakley Street, parked the Cadillac and sat in it and

  waited. After a while Nick left her in the car and went into a nearby

  bar to find out what the action was.

  "You can get anything you want on Oakley Street," the bartender told

  him. "Only ya gotta watch out-it can look like a girl, it can talk

  like a girl, but you're likely to find a big old surprise swingin'

  between its legs."

  "Transvestites, sweetie," crooned a fat woman sitting at the bar

  downing a vodka. "This street is crawling with them. Now, why don't

  you sit down with me, buy me a drink and I'll tell you everything you

  ever wanted to know."

  "Thanks. Another time," he said, hurrying back to the car. Cyndra had

  been crying.

  "You don't wanna take any notice of Aretha Mae," he said, trying to

  comfort her.

  Her voice was shaky. "She said Benjamin Browning was my father.

  Do you know what that means?"

  "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

  "Oh, yes, she does. She's telling the truth. I'm sure of it."

  "Hey," he said flippantly. "Look on the bright side-if Benjamin's your

  father you can claim half his money when he drops."

  "Be serious, Nick. You don't seem to understand. When I was sixteen

  Benjamin raped me, and my mother did nothing. He made me pregnant, and

  I had to have an abortion. You remember when you came to live at the

  trailer? I was in Kansas-getting rid of my own father's baby."

  Nick decided this trip was a horrible mistake. They'd have been better

  off leaving Bosewell in their past, where it belonged.

  By dusk the transvestites began to hit the street in full drag.

  Several of them cruised past the car in pairs, bending down to peer in

  the window.

  "We're looking for Harlan," Cyndra said, talking to them in a friendly

  voice. "Do you know him?"

  "What's wrong with me?" lisped a beefy six-footer in a long blond wig

  and transparent white minidress.

  "You're lovely," Nick said. "But we want Harlan."

  "If the bitch puts in an appearance I'll send her over," the man said,

  patting his wig.

  "I've got a big feeling we're not gonna like this," Nick said.

  ù "He's still my brother," Cyndra said fiercely. "And if Aretha Mae's

  telling the truth-you're not."

  He was hurt. "Hey, Cyndra, we'll always be brother and sister. It

  doesn't matter who your father is.

  "I know, I know," she nodded, sorry for what she'd said.

  They sat in the car for a long while, watching the parade of drag

  queens.

  "How will we recognize him?" she asked. "What if he's all dressed

  up?

  We left a little boy behind-now he's a man."

  "I hate to point this out," Nick said. "But black faces aren't exactly

  heavy on the street."

  "You're right."

  Around nine o'clock Cyndra thought she spotted him.

  "Are you sure?" Nick said, peering into the darkness.

  "I don't know, but like you said, black faces aren't exactly common.

  "Okay, whyn't I go see." He got out of the car and approached what

  appeared to be a black woman in a scarlet dress, feather boa and long

  black wig. "Harlan?" he said, edging close so as to get a better

  look.

  "Don't you mean Harletta?" the creature shrieked.

  "Harlan, it's me-it's Nick."

  The creature put a finger to its chin. "Do I know you? Have I had

  you?"

  "Harlan, for Christ's sake, it's Nick. Cyndra's in the car. Come talk

  to us.

  The creature backed further into the shadows. "Harletta never goes

  anywhere unless she's paid handsomely."

  He fumbled in his pocket and produced several bills, which he shoved at

  the creature. "Get in the goddamn car!"

  "Oooh!" Harlan shrieked. "I love it when you talk rough."

  And so that's how they found Harlan. A drugged-out street hustler.

  An embittered young man who'd had no chance to be anything else.

  They took him back to their hotel and talked to him for hours, but he

  showed no desire to change his life. He laughed at them.

  "Come back to L.A. with us," Cyndra pleaded, practically in tears.

  "My friends are here," Harlan replied, roaming restlessly around the

  hotel suite.

  "Your friends are on the street," Nick pointed out. "Hookers and

  hustlers. What kind of friends are those?"

  "At least they're here when I need them," Harlan sniffed, suddenly

  pulling off his wig and throwing it petulantly across the room. "You

  two ran off an' left me. You don't know what it was like after you'd

  gone. There was no money, no place to live. Aretha Mae had to take

  charity from that Benjamin Browning pig."

  "Did he touch you? Did he do anything to you?" Cyndra asked.

  "What do you think?" Harlan replied, his grotesquely painted lips

  twisting contemptuously.

  "I'll kill that bastard one of these days," Cyndra said, staring

  blankly ahead. "I'll blow his fucking head off."

  "Calm down," Nick said.

  "He deserves it."

  "Oh, yes," Harlan agreed. "An' I'll watch. Front-row seats, please,"

  he added archly.

  They couldn't persuade Harlan to leave with them. But he did accept

  some money and reluctantly promised to keep in touch. Not that either

  of them believed him. "We'll be lucky if we ever see him again," Nick

  said.

  Finally they got in the red Cadillac and made the long drive home to

  Los Angeles.

  The moment he arrived back Nick sold the car.

  "I don't understand you," Annie complained. "Why would you do that?

  You've dreamed about owning a Cadillac all your life."

  "There's a lotta things you don't understand about me, Annie," he

  said.

  "Maybe we should try spending more time together," she suggested.

  Wasn't it enough they were living together? What did she want from

  him?

  He went out that night by himself and called Carlysle from a phone

  booth. "Are you with your mother?" he asked.

  "She's out of town," Carlysle replied. "Why? Want to party?"

  "Yes."

  "Come on over.

  When he arrived at her house he found she was not alone. There was

  another girl there, an exotic Indonesian model. The three of them

  ended up in the Jacuzzi playing games he'd never play
ed in school.

  He lost himself in a round of hedonistic pleasures. He needed the

  release. By the time he left Carlysle's house he felt better.

  The next day Meena informed him they'd gotten him out of his contract

  for the movie with the woman producer and arranged a deal for him to

  star in Life-a big-budget movie about a young killer and his father.

  "This is an excellent break, Nick," Meena said briskly. "Top director,

  first-class production. And here's the best news-I've doubled your

  money.

  He wasn't as elated as he should have been. He had Lauren on his mind

  and somehow or other he knew he had to see her.

  He went home and told Annie that he had to go to New York for two or

  three days.

  "Can I come with you?" she asked hopefully.

  "No. It's business." He kissed her on the cheek. "See you in a

  couple of days."

  At the airport he wrote out a check for six thousand dollars and sent

  it to Dave. It was all the money he had in his account. But he was

  lucky, there was more coming in.

  He made the evening flight. Soon he would get to see Lauren, one way

  or another. He didn't know what he'd say to her. He only knew that he

  had to resolve the situation. And the sooner the better.

  auren was filled with guilt because she'd slept with Lorenzo. It had

  only happened once-the last night she was in Rome-and she had no

  excuse. The experience was memorable-which made her all the guiltier

  because she would have preferred to forget it.

  Maybe I take after my father, she thought miserably. Why should I feel

  guilty-he obviously never did.

  Upon their return to America, Lorenzo behaved like a perfect

  gentleman.

  She told him she regretted it had happened, it would never happen

  again, and would he please never refer to it.

  "I respect your wishes," he'd said. "But when you get rid of your

  husband, I will be waiting."

  Oliver suspected nothing. "How was your trip?" he asked.

  "I wish you'd been with me," she said.

  "Next time," he promised. "In fact, I was thinking that in the summer

  we might cruise the Riviera on a yacht."

  "That would be nice, Oliver. Can you get the time away?"

  "I'll make time."

  She'd already done the photographs for the Marcella girl campaign, and

  now it was time to shoot the commercial. Digging down into her past

  she drew on her acting experience, relaxed and had fun in front of the

  camera. It was quite an elaborate commercial and took a week to

  shoot.

  Lorenzo visited the set every day, still behaving like a perfect

  gentleman. He did nothing more than flirt with his eyes-but, oh, those

  Italian eyes! She remembered their one night together in Rome and her

  body screamed out for more. It was only her mind that kept her from

  doing anything about it.

  You're a married woman, Lauren.

  You don't have to keep reminding me.

  She enjoyed making the commercial, being the center of attention.

  It made her feel special-like she really mattered in the scheme of

  things.

  Now that Oliver possessed her he paid less and less attention to her.

  Work, as usual, came first.

  She decided that if he could put work first, so could she. Over lunch

  with Samm she told her that if any other good modeling jobs came along

  she was prepared to do them.

  "I thought you weren't interested in modeling," Samm remarked, sipping

  a glass of white wine.

  She picked at a salad. "I've changed my mind."

  "You won't be able to represent other products, but you can certainly

  do photographic work," Samm said thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can

  get you.

  "Get me the cover of Vogue," Lauren said with a persuasive smile.

  "You know you can do anything."

  Samm waved to a fashion editor, leaned back and also smiled. "My, my,

  aren't we getting ambitious."

  "Why not? It's about time."

  "By the way," Samm said. "Did you hear about Jimmy Cassady?"

  "What about him?" Lauren asked coolly. As far as she was concerned he

  was ancient history-even hearing his name failed to bother her.

  "He emerged from the closet."

  "Huh?"

  "Gay, my sweet. Positively festive in fact!"

  So there was the answer to that little mystery.

  Most weekends she spent with Pia, Howard and the baby. Sometimes they

  stayed in town, other times they drove to Oliver's large estate in the

  Hamptons, where he spent most of his time in his study on the

  phone-relaxing was not for him.

  Sunbathing on the beach one day Pia said, "Do you realize you have

  three homes now? The apartment in New York, the house in the Bahamas

  and this house."

  "They're Oliver's homes," Lauren said, enjoying the hot sun. "I never

  chose any of them."

  "If you feel that way you should sell them and buy something else.

  Be nice to start fresh, wouldn't it?"

  Lauren reached for the suntan oil. "I'm sure Oliver would let me do

  exactly what I like. He probably wouldn't even notice."

  "Hmm," Pia said. "Do I detect a note of dissatisfaction?"

  She rubbed the greasy oil over her legs. "You detect a note of I've

  married a man who never stops working."

  "Ah," Pia said wisely. "That's why you have three houses."

  "Very quick."

  Pia looked thoughtful. "I think Howard's following in Oliver's

  footsteps," she said pensively. "He didn't come home last night until

  nine o'clock. Maybe he's got a mistress."

  "Howard?" Lauren started to laugh. "I can't imagine Howard with a

  mistress."

  "Why?" Pia said, quite affronted. "Don't you think he's sexy?"

  "To you he's sexy-to other women he's your husband."

  "Sometimes I wish we'd kept the business," Pia said wistfully. "I love

  Rosemarie and looking after her, but playing mommy is not my life."

  "Get a job," Lauren suggested, lying back.

  "I don't want to go that far. Being my own boss is one thing, but

  working for somebody else-no, that's not for me. Unless you'd like me

  -as your personal assistant-I'd be very efficient."

  "I'm not busy enough for an assistant," Lauren murmured, closing her

  eyes.

  "You will be. Wait until the ads start appearing. And Samm tells me

  you want to start doing other work."

  "I wouldn't mind."

  "Nature's turned to acting, you know."

  ù "Really?"

  "Yes, she's living with this producer guy and he's put her in his

  movie. She's the new discovery on the block."

  "That'll make her happy."

  "And I read in one of the columns that Emerson Burn gets back from his

  world tour this week."

  "You're a regular little gossipmonger."

  Pia sighed enviously. "You certainly have some interesting ex's.

  And when you came to work at Samm's we all thought you were so

  quiet."

  "Emerson's not an ex.

  "Is Nick Angel?" Pia asked curiously. "You never speak about him.

  He sure was anxious to talk to you, though."

  "I went out with Nick in high school," she said casually, like it meant

  nothing
.

  "Wow! High school-was he gorgeous then?"

  "Yes," she said very quietly. "He was."

  As soon as Nick arrived in New York he called Help Unlimited. The

  operator told him the number was no longer in service.

  "Shit!" he said, slamming down the phone. He thought for a moment,

  then called Carlysle in L.A. "Oh, boy!" she exclaimed. "That was some

  good time! I didn't realize you were so adventurous."

  "Yeah, well, that makes two of us."

  "Can you come over now? My friend's still here."