Married Lovers (25 page)

“And that would be because–?”

“’Cause I don’t get the vibe that you want anything from me. Most people do.”

“What do they want?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, y’know, my money, my fame…oh yeah,” he added with a hollow laugh, “and my body. But
you
got that now.”

“I do?” she said, snuggling close.

“If you want it.”

“I’ll take it on a rental,” she said, nibbling on a duck pancake.

“A rental?”

“That way it’s nothing permanent.”

“Oh, so I guess that means you’re not into anything permanent?”

“Are you?” she responded, tossing it right back at him.

“You’re an odd one, you know that?” he said, giving her a long, penetrating look.

“Odd, how?”

“Mysterious. Not like other women. Do you realize that I don’t know anything about you. Your likes, your dislikes, your dating history. Most women can’t wait to spill all that crap.”

“That’s because I live in the present, not the past,” she said carefully.

“Which suits me just fine,” he said, fixing her with another long look, and deciding that yes–she was indeed the perfect woman.

“H
ow was your visit to that new gym?” Ryan asked, unable to stop himself from going there.

He’d worked late at his office the previous evening, and when he’d arrived home Mandy was out at one of her charity event meetings. Now it was morning, and he was in his bathroom, shaving, and Mandy had wandered in looking as if she was ready to ask him something. What a relief if the words that came out of her mouth were–
I want a divorce
.

He could fantasize, couldn’t he?

“We didn’t go,” Mandy said. “Mary Ellen got called to the studio.”

“It’s probably just as well,” Ryan said, keeping his voice even.

“Why’s that?”

“Gym’s aren’t your thing. You’re more into yoga, aren’t you?”

“I’m into whatever keeps me looking good,” she said, leaning over his shoulder and peering at her reflection in the mirror.

He knew it was his cue to say–
You always look good, honey
. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

He hated that he was filled with such animosity toward his wife; it wasn’t her fault she’d never been able to have his baby.

Jesus! It suddenly occurred to him–was
that
the real reason
his marriage was breaking up? He wanted children and she couldn’t deliver. Although she’d tried, hadn’t she? Two miscarriages and a stillborn baby were tragic enough for anyone.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mandy said, moving away from the mirror.

“What about?” he asked cautiously.

“I was thinking that maybe we should go away for a long weekend, somewhere relaxing before you get all bogged down with your next production.”

“Mandy–” he said, feeling his stomach tighten. “I’ve been thinking too, and—”

Before he could finish the sentence his youngest nephew, Benji, burst into the room.

“Uncle Ryan, Uncle Ryan,” Benji yelled, his words tumbling over each other. “Mom says we’re gonna have a basketball hoop at our new house. That’s so cool, Uncle Ryan. You gotta play. Can you? Can you?”

Mandy threw the little boy a disgusted look. “Have you ever heard of knocking before you enter a room?” she said coldly.

Benji ignored her, or maybe he just didn’t hear her. “When we goin’, Uncle Ryan? When we goin’?” the young boy asked, his longish hair falling in his eyes. “I packed all my stuff.”

“Soon, Benji,” Ryan assured him. “Where’s your mom?”

“Dunno,” Benji mumbled.

“Go find her, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Benji raced off, yelling–“Mom! Mom!”

“Those kids are so rude,” Mandy huffed.

“Benji is five,” Ryan pointed out.

“It’s never too soon to develop manners,” she sniffed.

Then her phone rang, and Benji came racing back with one of his brothers, and before long it was time for Ryan to pile everyone in his car and transport them to the house he’d rented for them, which was only a couple of blocks away on Alpine.

Evie and the boys were thrilled as they toured their new
house, the boys racing from room to room at top speed screaming with excitement. It was a family home with four bedrooms, a swimming pool and a miniature basketball court.

“This has to be costing a fortune!” Evie exclaimed. “How will I ever be able to pay you back?”

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Ryan said, delighted that he could finally do something for his sister.

“As soon as the boys are settled in school I can start working on your next movie, that’s if you’d like me to.”

“You know I’d like you to,” he said, and he meant it.

Evie was a talented set designer, one of the best. She’d met Marty when they were thrown together on a location shoot in Arizona. At least she had three great boys out of the marriage, but that was about it.

Fortunately, since getting served with a Restraining Order, Marty appeared to have vanished. He wasn’t at the Silverlake house, and no one had heard from him. Ryan had plans to put Evie together with a good divorce lawyer as soon as possible.

After Evie and the boys were organized, he took off for his office, where Kara handed him his usual phone sheet.

He scanned it quickly, his eyes lingering on one name in particular. Mrs Heckerling.

What did
she
want?

Well yes, he knew what she wanted, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Besides, she had left a rather terse message saying not to call her–she would call again.

Great! Exactly what he didn’t need. Anya surfacing seven years later married to his father-in-law. It didn’t seem possible. And yet it was.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Famous slogan. Undeniably true.

He couldn’t help wondering how much Hamilton knew about her past. Had she told her husband about Amsterdam and her activities there? He sincerely doubted it.

Kara buzzed him. “Don’t forget your lunch today with Don Verona and Phil Standard,” she reminded him.

“Sure,” he said, hoping that Don would not have something to tell him that he sure as hell didn’t care to hear.

Cameron was just about to sit down with Cole in their office at
Paradise
to go over things, when Katie caught her on the phone.

“Have you seen the freaking tabloids?” Katie shouted, sounding excited.

“No,” Cameron answered, balancing a mug of green tea and a slice of wheat toast. “What’s up?”

“Get your ass out and buy ’em, ’cause you’re all over the place.”

“What
are
you talking about?” Cameron said, taking a bite of toast.

“You. Mary Ellen Evans and Don Verona. There’s a big freaking story.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Cameron stammered, almost choking on her toast.

“They’ve got pictures of Don arriving at
Paradise
with Mary Ellen. Then they’ve got a pic of
you
draped all over him on the way out. He’s helping you into his car and the two of you look very cozy.” Katie paused for breath. “
I
never saw photographers when we left, did you?”

“Oh God!” Cameron groaned. “This sounds really bad.”

“The headline reads
LADIES’ MAN
–
DON VERONA
–
STILL DOUBLE DIPPING
.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know what it means either,” Katie said, “but if I was Mary Ellen I’d be way pissed. The whole story is about how she’s always getting dumped on by guys. You gotta feel sorry for her.”

“Damn!” Cameron exclaimed. “Why would they do this?”

“Anything for a juicy bit of scandal,” Katie said. “And you gotta know that Mary Ellen’s kinda one of the tabloids’ faves. So is Don Verona.”

“Yes, but how can they drag
me
into it?” Cameron said, quite agitated. “I’m not a public person.”

“’Cause you were there,” Katie said, adding a pissed off–“So was I, but they managed to crop me out.”

“I’ll call you later,” Cameron said.

“You’d better.”

“What’s the deal?” Cole inquired as soon as she clicked off her phone. “Sounds dramatic.”

“Apparently I’m in the tabloids,” she explained, shaking her head.

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

“Doing what?” Cole asked as if he didn’t quite believe her.

“According to Katie, being carried out of here by Don.”

“Oh shit! That ain’t fly for business.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, trying to remember her exit from the party. Was it only three days ago? So much seemed to have happened since then.
Paradise
was taking off like a rocket, and last night she’d had sex with Don. Amazing sex, hot sex, different from sex-with-Marlon sex. And no–she was determinedly not thinking about Ryan–he was off her radar.

Last night had been pretty damn great, so great that she’d almost stayed the night at Don’s house. But since she didn’t want it to be too much too soon, she’d finally asked him to drive her home–which he’d done, reluctantly. On the way they’d collected Yoko and Lennon, then sat around talking until three a.m. Somehow or other he’d ended up spending the night in
her
bed, sharing
her
toothbrush in the morning and not leaving until eight. “No work-out today,” he’d said triumphantly, like he was getting away with something.

In her mind she’d already decided that if she was sleeping with
him, she would be sending somebody else to work him out. Maybe Reno or Dorian. She hadn’t told him because she was sure he’d object. But since her motto was never mix business with pleasure, and since Don was now purely pleasure, she had no choice.

“I’ll get Penni to go to the newsstand an’ pick ’em up,” Cole said, bringing her back to the present.

Penni, a skinny sixteen-year-old with enormous eyes and an enthusiastic attitude, was Carlos’s very young niece whom they’d hired as an assistant to take care of all the things nobody else had time to do.

As soon as Cole asked, Penni raced out to pick up the offending tabloids.

Cameron wondered if she should call Don and warn him, then she figured he was probably at the studio, so somebody must have mentioned it to him by now.

Then why hadn’t
he
called
her?

Hmm…maybe Don Verona was into the chase, and now that they’d done the deed…

No!
she told herself firmly.
Don isn’t like that
.

Really? Exactly how well do you know him?

Penni returned with three of the weekly tabloids. Don and Mary Ellen had made the front page of all three–with an assortment of lurid headlines, and a smaller picture of Don with Cameron. She was indeed–to her chagrin–draped all over him.

“How did this happen?” she asked blankly, staring at the pictures.

“You tell me,” Cole replied, being absolutely no help at all.

“You’re supposed to control this kind of crap,” Don steamed to Fanny, his show’s publicist, a weary woman who’d been in the business too long to take anyone’s shit–even Don Verona’s.

Fanny made a hopeless gesture. “
People, Esquire, US
–those kind of publications I can control to a degree, but the tabloids–forget about it.”

She wanted to add–
Stop sleeping with two women at a time and this might not happen
–but she didn’t, because it would only infuriate him further. Besides, Don’s producer, Jerry Mann, was shooting her a warning look.

“I hate the goddamn tabloids,” Don grumbled, continuing his rant. “They slime their way into people’s lives printing a shitload of half-truths, doing their best to fuck everyone up.”

“It’s yesterday’s trash,” Jerry pointed out. “Nobody reads ’em.”

“You mean nobody
admits
to reading them,” Don corrected. “It’s like
Playboy
when guys say they only buy it for the articles and the interviews–when meanwhile they’re jerking off all over Miss Fucking January three times a night.”

“Three times?” Jerry said with a hearty laugh. “That’s impressive!”

“Not me–you putz!” Don said, finally cracking a smile as he recalled that last night with Cameron it had indeed been three times, and every one of them memorable.

“You’re smiling,” Jerry said. “That’s a good sign. Now maybe we can go over tonight’s guests?”

“Sure,” Don said. “But first can someone tell my assistant to send Mary Ellen Evans two dozen roses with a note that says something like
Sorry about the rags, will call soon–Don
.”

“Not roses,” Fanny interjected.

“Why?” Don said, frowning.

“Not roses if you don’t intend to see her again.”

“Excellent point. What then?”

“An orchid plant,” Fanny suggested. “Expensive and appropriate.”

“Okay. Can you arrange it, sweetheart?”

“
Sweetheart?
” Fanny said, her penciled eyebrows shooting up.

“You know I love you,” Don said, turning on full-wattage charm. “So please do this one little thing for me.”

“While I’m taking care of your dirty work–how about the other one?” Fanny asked, unable to resist.

“The other what?”

“The other woman you’re photographed with.”

“Uh…don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of her personally.”

Fanny and Jerry exchanged knowing looks. “Roses!” they both said in unison.

“Get fucked,” Don said, but suddenly he was smiling again.

“See you later,” Fanny said, heading for the door.

“Do me a big one,” Jerry said as soon as Fanny left. “Try not to screw the guests then dump ’em. It makes re-booking them a big problem, and that problem always seems to end up in
my
lap.”

“Who’ve we got tonight?” Don asked, ignoring Jerry’s request. “And if you tell me another of those dumb would-be celebutants, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You’ll be happy,” Jerry said. “Don Rickles.”

“Thank Christ! Finally someone I can talk to!”

“Yeah,” Jerry agreed. “Someone you don’t get to fuck, and that alone makes a refreshing change.”