Hollywood Divorces / Hollywood Wives: The New Generation (9 page)

‘Yeah, talk about a laugh a minute,’ Evan said caustically. ‘All Brian does is bitch, get stoned and complain about everything.’

‘Then maybe you
shouldn’t
be working together.’

‘We’ve had this discussion, Nicci,’ Evan said, tightening his seat-belt as she gunned the accelerator and took off again. ‘Whatever it is we have, it works. Can’t argue with
that.
’

She was silent for a moment, thinking about the fact that they
were
brothers, twins, and it would be impossible to separate them unless that’s what they both wanted.

‘Was this trip difficult?’ she asked.

‘It’s always difficult,’ he said. ‘Brian and I fight about everything.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, but what comes out on the screen is special, and believe me, that’s the bottom line.’

‘Hmm…’ she said, overtaking a Mercedes on the turn into the freeway. ‘Maybe we should invite him over to the house for dinner with one of his many girlfriends.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’

Yes, why would I want to do that
? ‘’Cause he’s about to be my brother-in-law
and
your best man,’ she said, hitting the freeway at full speed.

‘I was forced into that by my mother,’ Evan grumbled. ‘When Mom wants something…’

‘Oh, right, your mother,’ Nicci said, sliding over to the fast lane. ‘She’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve got everything organized for our wedding.’

‘That’s great,’ Evan said, looking genuinely pleased. ‘I knew you could do it.’

‘The woman at the venue is getting it all together for me. She’s like totally into details.’

‘Mom’ll be very happy. Did I tell you she’ll be here soon?’

‘She’s not staying with us, is she?’ Nicci questioned, so alarmed that she almost veered out of her lane in front of a fast-moving Cadillac.

‘She
always
stays with me when she comes to L.A.,’ Evan said patiently. ‘There’s no way I’d allow her to check into a hotel.’

The thought of having Evan’s overbearing mother staying in the house with them was quite terrifying.

‘Now that I’m living with you, won’t it be awkward?’ she said, thinking,
Oh, God! How will I deal with this
?

‘What’s awkward about it?’ Evan said casually. ‘Mom loves you.’

No, she doesn’t. She’s putting up with me because I’m marrying one of her precious sons. And you don’t get it, ’cause
when it comes to your mom, you think the sun shines out her big, interfering ass.

‘By the way,’ Evan added. ‘She’s looking forward to meeting Lissa, so set something up.’

Crap
! Nicci thought.
Lissa and the mother-in-law from hell. That’s gonna be a laugh a minute.
‘Anyway,’ she said, quickly reverting to her dinner-party idea, ‘I think I’ll ask Brian over tomorrow night.’

‘Why?’ Evan said, frowning. ‘He’ll probably turn up with some brain-dead bimbo.’

‘Who cares?’ Nicci said, crossing lanes, barely glancing in her rear-view mirror. ‘It’ll give me a chance to get to know him.’

‘If you’re serious, put together a group. There’s no way I can take Brian on his own.’

‘Like who did you have in mind?’

‘Is Saffron seeing anyone?’

‘Well…she’s met some new stud, and there’s a gay guy she hangs with. Maybe I’ll tell her to bring him.’

‘That’ll go down well with Brian,’ Evan said with a short, brittle laugh. ‘He’s homophobic, you know.’

‘Brian’
s homophobic?’ she said, totally startled by this new information. ‘In
this
town? In
his
business?’

‘You got it.’

‘How do you know?’ she said, cutting off a truck as she exited the freeway.

‘I’m his brother, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she said, almost rear-ending a small van.

‘Jesus, Nicci,’ Evan said, clutching onto the dashboard, ‘has anyone ever told you that you drive like a maniac?’

‘All the time,’ she said, with a quick smile.

‘Maniac or not, I missed you,’ he said, patting her on the knee. ‘And I love you.’

‘You too,’ she responded automatically.

How nice it was to find a man who could actually
express his emotions. She couldn’t imagine Brian being able to do that.

‘I know, I’m irresistible, aren’t I?’ Evan said, with a big, goofy grin.

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ she answered, grinning back. ‘There’s love and then there’s irresistible.
You
come somewhere in the middle.’

Evan laughed. ‘It’s good to be home,’ he said.

And Nicci sped off along Sunset, still thinking about Brian.

T
he first thing Lissa did when she opened her eyes on Thursday was check to see if Gregg was home.

Yes, he was there, asleep on the far side of their California King custom-made bed.

She gazed across at him for a moment, remembering how in the early days of their romance she’d loved watching him sleep. He always slept naked, but now she couldn’t stomach the sight of his hairy balls and limp cock.

She experienced a brief Lorena Bobbitt moment before throwing a sheet over him. Then she hurried into her bathroom and put on her yoga clothes. Her private instructor was arriving soon, and after an hour of uplifting yoga, she planned on spending the rest of the day rehearsing for her upcoming Vegas show.

Last night she’d realized it was about time she started concentrating on work again. Gregg had been slowing her down, filling her with self-doubt. Now she had to get herself together, remember who she was and what she’d achieved.

Over the last six months Gregg had taken great pleasure in constantly calling her stupid and dumb, while picking on everything from her clothes to her choice of scripts and songs.

Too bad for him she was so resilient, a true survivor.

When Gregg was history there’d be no more men coming into her life, spending her hard-earned money and telling her what to do. She wanted to enjoy more time with her friends and Nicci. Lately she’d been lamenting that they weren’t as close as they should be. Nicci was getting married soon, and it certainly wasn’t too late to become more involved.

Once Gregg was gone, she had big plans.

Somehow or other Carol ended up spending the night. Michael hadn’t intended for her to stay, but one thing led to another and before he could think about it she was in his bed.

He made love to her automatically. As far as he was concerned there was no passion left in their relationship, the sex was a series of going-through-the-motions moves, and he was pissed at himself for not ending it sooner.

The sad truth was that if he finished with Carol, he’d be alone again, and sometimes spending time with the wrong person was better than being alone. He also realized that if they broke up, he’d probably start with somebody new, leading to the same old dance.

Rita, his deceased wife, had ruined his trust in women. Rita had lied to him from day one, going so far as to pretend that the baby she was pregnant with when they got married was his. For five years he’d thought he had a daughter, until one day he’d found out the real truth. Bella was not his daughter, Bella was the child of his low-life brother, Sal. And when Rita moved to L.A. she’d decided to send Bella back to New York to live with Sal and his wife. Only nobody had told him. He’d found out by accident–well, more like he’d paid for the information from a stripper pal of Rita’s who’d been desperate for money. As soon as he’d found out, he’d flown straight to his brother’s house in New York where he’d beaten the crap out of Sal and had
the story confirmed. It had been the worst day of his life.

‘I wish I didn’t have to work today,’ Carol said wistfully, as she stood in his small kitchen cooking bacon, eggs and sausage for breakfast. ‘Maybe on Saturday we can drive to Santa Barbara for lunch. Can we, Michael?’

‘I’ll be working this weekend,’ he answered, wishing she wasn’t so needy.

‘All weekend?’ she said, making a disappointed face.

‘Looks like it.’

‘How come?’

‘High-profile client. Needs plenty of attention.’

‘Who?’

‘You know our policy, Carol. No names.’

‘Oh, come
on
, you can tell me.’

‘Fraid not.’

She was about to say something, thought better of it, and went back to pouring him more coffee.

Smart girl, Carol. Knew when
not
to push it.

By the time Taylor arrived at Oliver’s it was past noon. She’d planned on a morning visit, but it was not to be, too much stuff going on that she had to deal with. She was on the board of several charities and–because of her position–they were always asking her to do something. ‘Can you get us Ricky Martin to perform at an upcoming event honouring Tom Hanks?’ ‘How about a signed script from Steven Spielberg for our auction?’ ‘Would Larry be willing to donate a walk-on role in his next movie?’ Stupid requests. But she was who she was, and occasionally she was able to oblige.

Sometimes in the morning she joined Lissa and her private yoga instructor. Today she didn’t have time because a facial, manicure and pedicure were definitely more important. Not to mention a Brazilian bikini wax.

When she finally arrived at Oliver’s, he was on his
cellphone pacing up and down in front of his beach-view window, speaking animatedly. He waved her away when she attempted to hug him, which kind of pissed her off. He should be kissing her ass, because not only did they have great sex, but she was paying him to work on her script.

It looked like he’d been entertaining, there were empty bottles of beer everywhere, several overflowing ashtrays, and empty pizza boxes piled high.

She watched him as he talked on the cellphone. He was clad in a torn USC T-shirt and dirty khaki shorts. His outfit didn’t matter, he still looked hot.

Idly she wondered how risky it would be to check into Shutters At The Beach and spend some quality time together. Not to mention clean sheets and a working shower.

Too risky. Much too risky.

This morning, before leaving for the studio, Larry had asked what her plans were for the day.

She’d answered him vaguely.

‘No more visiting writers in bad neighbourhoods,’ he’d admonished sternly. ‘In future have them come to the house. You can use my office.’

‘Thanks, sweetie,’ she’d said, imagining herself naked in her loving husband’s office, making crazed, passionate love to a horny, out-of-work screenwriter.

Now here she was at Oliver’s, impatiently waiting for him to get off the phone.

‘It’s, uh…like friggin’ unreal,’ Oliver said into the phone. ‘I’ll be there pronto.’

‘Be where?’ Taylor asked, as soon as he clicked off.

‘You’re not gonna friggin’
believe
this,’ he said excitedly.

‘What?’

‘My agent sold my spec road-trip script for a million friggin’ bucks!’

Concentration was everything. At least her parents had taught her
one
useful lesson.
Work hard and don’t expect thanks.
Well, yes, she worked hard all right, but she got
plenty
of thanks. Her fans loved her. They adored her. They
never
let her down. Unlike her parents, who had no idea of the success she’d achieved.

Or maybe they did, and had no desire to contact her. It made her angry and sad when she thought about them, so she tried not to do so.

Lissa easily outpaced her dancers at rehearsal: she had enough stamina to keep going all day without a break.

‘You’re the bomb, honey,’ her sleek black female choreographer informed her admiringly. ‘Dunno how you do it.’

Hard work. That’s all it takes.

She kept going until six, then lingered at the rehearsal studio going over stuff with her publicist. Max had all kinds of television and magazine interviews lined up for her. She said yes to some, nixed others.

She knew she should inform Max about her impending break-up, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to mention it. Another divorce made her feel like such a loser, and yet she knew that wasn’t true. Gregg was the loser, not her.

When she finally arrived home, there was a message from Gregg saying he’d be working late again. She was relieved. If only she’d known, she could have arranged to have him thrown out sooner.

Tomorrow was the big day, and with any luck she’d never have to see him again.

Taylor was in a dazed state of confusion. She was in her car, driving home, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Oliver,
her
writer,
her
lover, was about to get paid one million dollars for a spec script. While she, Taylor Singer, married to
the
Lawrence Singer, was still struggling after two years to get her lousy movie made.

And she wasn’t too happy about Oliver’s attitude either. He’d hustled her out of his house as if she had the goddamn clap!

‘What about
my
script?’ she’d asked, as he’d shoved her towards the door. ‘Have you even looked at it?’

‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ he’d said. ‘I gotta get over to my agent’s.’

Graciously she hadn’t pursued it. Not that he’d given her much choice.

A fuck would’ve been nice. A celebratory fuck.

Maybe tomorrow.

She phoned Larry from the car.

‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘Shopping,’ she replied.

‘I’m putting Edie on–give her the name and address of those people who helped you yesterday.’

‘What people?’ she asked, totally blanking on her lies.

‘The neighbours.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said quickly. ‘The neighbours…I uh…didn’t get their exact address. And you know–I’m not sure of their name.’ A pause. ‘Why do you need to know anyway?’

‘Because I thought we should send them a gift basket, or champagne. Something to let them know we appreciate what they did.’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I’ll find out and let Edie know.’

‘Speak to her now, give her the name of the writer you were on your way to see. She’ll get the information.’

‘I’ll deal with it myself,’ Taylor said quickly. ‘I’d like it to seem more personal.’

‘Don’t forget.’

‘I won’t.’

She clicked off the phone. Larry was always so worried about other people. He had his precious personal assistant, Edie, who’d been with him forever, do everything. Send
flowers. Write notes. Buy gifts. God forbid someone didn’t get a proper thank-you.

Taylor drove her car directly to Neiman’s and indulged herself with two hours of ferocious shopping to calm herself down. Everyone was getting what they wanted.

When was it
her
turn?

Deidra Baker was fed up with working for a living. She had a plan, and that plan was to snag herself a rich man. She didn’t care what he looked like or how old he was: as long as he had big bucks he would do.

Deidra was twenty-five, not a beauty, but an attractive, if somewhat short, brunette, with long hair and a compact body. Her best asset, unfortunately for her, had to be kept under wraps. Deidra had quite phenomenal nipples. They were huge and dark brown, and when aroused, startlingly erect. Men flipped over her nipples, but she had yet to find the man who’d flip out enough to pay her rent so she could give up her job and start enjoying herself like the affluent women she waited on at Barneys, where she was a salesgirl. It was better than her previous job, which was working at a children’s clothing store in the valley.

Crossing over the hill had been the best move she’d ever made. At least she got to meet people now. Rich people. Rich
men.

At night she hung out at the latest clubs, always on the look-out for a man who could take her places. Sitting at the bar she made connections, although never the right ones, merely guys who were looking to get laid and nothing else.

Then one day along came Gregg Lynch. Deidra recognized him immediately when he wandered into the store to check out cashmere sweaters. Mr Lissa Roman. Husband of the superstar.

Deidra was smart, she didn’t let on she knew who he
was. After some banter back and forth, he came on to her. She responded. Why not?

He took her out for coffee a couple of times, and before long they were sleeping together.

Gregg discovered her nipples with a vengeance, toying with them for hours on end. He truly got off on them–most men did.

Deidra didn’t mind, for she was under the impression that she’d finally found her ticket to the big time.

Only one problem. He
was
married.

It took him weeks before he told her who he was. When he did, she acted all surprised, especially when he revealed the identity of his wife.

Because she didn’t throw a fit, he started to feel very comfortable with her, and soon he was complaining about his famous wife non-stop. According to him, Lissa Roman was a cold, unloving bitch with the biggest ego in the world, and his most fervent complaint was that she refused to help him with his career.

Deidra had listened to a few of his songs, immediately understanding why Lissa couldn’t help him. The man had no talent except in bed.

Of course she didn’t tell him that. She told him he was the most gifted, fabulous, hot, sexy man she’d ever slept with. And he had the biggest, most admirable cock she’d ever seen. And his wife was an idiot because she did not appreciate him.

Gregg believed every word–he was a man, wasn’t he?

After a while it occurred to Deidra she was not getting anything out of the affair except a litany of complaints about Lissa Roman. Gregg was not offering to pay her rent. Gregg was not buying her presents. Gregg was not mentioning that he would divorce his wife–thereby ending up with big alimony. He wasn’t even taking her out to dinner, claiming it was too risky for them to be seen together in public.

All they were doing was hanging out in her tiny apartment indulging in endless sex. Which wasn’t a bad thing because Gregg
was
quite a cocksman. On the other hand, Deidra had to think about her future, and if Gregg wasn’t prepared to come up with a plan that suited both of them
and
some big bucks, she’d better start looking elsewhere. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger, and Hollywood was chock-a-block with beautiful babes, a new batch arriving every day.

Deidra decided she’d better make a stand, so when Gregg arrived at her apartment on Thursday night, she was ready.

He entered, complaining. Nothing new about
that.

Deidra listened for a while, stifling a yawn because it had been a long day–even though she’d had the pleasure of admiring Brad Pitt from afar when he’d come into the store with his wife, Jennifer Aniston. How lucky could one girl get? A hit TV series
and
Brad Pitt. It didn’t seem fair.