Married Lovers (27 page)

S
omehow Ryan got through lunch, going out of his way not to ask Don any questions. It infuriated him that his best friend had the attitude of a strutting peacock, he was so pleased with himself it was sickening. And of course, Don could not resist mentioning his latest conquest. “I’ll be bringing Cameron to your dinner,” he informed Phil. “So be warned–keep your sweaty hands to yourself. She’s not the kind of woman who appreciates getting groped.”

“Who’s Cameron?” Phil boomed.

“Someone I’m kind of getting involved with,” Don allowed, a sly smile creeping across his face.

Ryan experienced a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach.
How
involved? Was Cameron just another one of Don’s conquests? Or was this time the real thing?

“What happened to TV Girl?” Phil asked, busily attacking a formidable steak and a side order of French fries.

“TV Girl is not for me,” Don said, dismissing Mary Ellen with a casual shrug.

“And this new one is?” Phil wanted to know.

“Could be,” Don replied, his smile widening. “Ryan’s met her. Cameron’s a peach, right, Ryan?”

Ryan grunted; he was not about to encourage this
burgeoning affair. The truth was, he was hoping it would go away as quickly as possible.

“Y’see, he’s in like too,” Don said, laughing. “But seriously, Phil, this one’s special, you’ll see.”

“You fucked her?” Phil asked in his usual crass way.

“For crissake,” Don said, shaking his head. “If I had, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”

“Never stopped you before,” Phil observed.

“Jesus Christ! You are such a horny old dog.”

“It takes one to know one,” Phil said, happily chewing on a succulent piece of steak.

“You’ll have to get rid of the children and the animals for the night,” Mandy decided, all bossy and in control. “You can bundle them off to your mother’s.”

“My mother is living in Palm Springs with a twenty-six-year-old out-of-work landscaper,” Lucy said dryly. “I doubt if she’d be interested in babysitting.”

“Really?” Mandy said, surprised. “You never told me.”

“You never asked,” Lucy retorted. “Besides, why would I even mention the woman after she wrote that tell-all book about me filled with nothing but disgusting lies.”

“Wasn’t that years ago?” Mandy said, vaguely remembering a scandalous book about the very famous Lucy Lyons that had caused a mild sensation at the time. “Before you married Phil?”

“Ten years,” Lucy stated, trying to control the feelings of anger and hurt that swept over her whenever she recalled her mother’s betrayal. “I was at the height of my career, so the bitch couldn’t help herself from cashing in.”

“Mothers!” Mandy sighed. “I never had one–merely a series of step-mothers, each one more annoying than the last.”

“Maybe you lucked out,” Lucy said bitterly. “Mine is not exactly a day at the beach–more nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Well then,” Mandy said, bored with the subject of mothers, “have you got a neighbor who’ll take the kids?”

“Can’t I just tell Nanny to make sure they stay in their rooms?”

“Absolutely not,” Mandy said, her voice firm. “Kids are disruptive, they’ll come running in and start annoying everyone. Besides, the staff hate tripping over kids, it ruins their entertaining flow.”

Lucy couldn’t help wondering how Mandy knew all this, considering she had no children of her own. “I can ask Nanny to take them to her aunt’s house,” Lucy said. “That’ll work.”

“
And
the animals,” Mandy reminded. “Oh yes, and you should get in a proper cleaning crew to spiff up your house.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the thing to do since you haven’t entertained in I don’t know how long. I can’t remember the last time you had people over.”

“That would be because we haven’t entertained at home since the night of our wedding,” Lucy revealed. “Phil was too cheap to throw the reception elsewhere.”

“Oh my
God!
” Mandy exclaimed. “Has it been that long?”

“Time goes quickly when you’re having fun,” Lucy said with a dry chuckle.

“I was sleeping with that sexy German chef my father loathed,” Mandy recalled, eyes gleaming at the memory. “I hadn’t even met Ryan–was he there?”

“Ryan was away on a location shoot, but Don was very much present with his first wife–the the ballet dancer. You remember her?”

“How could I forget?” Mandy said. “All the guys were drooling over
that
one. She had exceptionally long legs and her party trick was doing the splits. What a show-off!”

“You must admit she was quite a stunner. Don was a very happy camper.”

“Not for long,” Mandy said quickly.

“You’re absolutely right,” Lucy said, as it all came flooding back. “Didn’t he divorce her a year later after he caught her cheating with their building contractor?”

“Oh yes!” Mandy squealed. “Who could forget
that
.”

“Don was beyond furious,” Lucy said.

“I’m sure it didn’t do much for his ego, although he soon bounced back,” Mandy said. “But then our Don always does. Anyway,” she added, through with reminiscing, “the kids must go,
and
the animals. Work it out.”

“I’ll try,” Lucy said unsurely. “Although Phil will not appreciate losing his parrot for the night; he’s crazy about that damn bird.”

“The one you told me screams
fuck you
all the time?”

“That’s the one,” Lucy said grimly.

“If it was in my house I’d shoot the little bugger,” Mandy said, tapping her freshly manicured nails on the table.

“If I did that, Phil would shoot
me
,” Lucy replied.

“Ah, but think of all the publicity if he did,” Mandy said with a sly chuckle. “You’d be right back in the headlines.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” Lucy said tartly. “I do believe there are better ways of getting there.”

“Mary Ellen’s coming for coffee,” Mandy announced. “After lunch we’re going to try and check out that new fitness place again–
Paradise
. Why don’t you come with?”

“I might do that,” Lucy said thoughtfully. Yes, if she was to resume her career she’d better be in fantastic shape.

Joining a gym was definitely top of her list of things to do.

“Hey,” Don said, speaking on the phone in his car.

“Hey,” Cameron responded, taking a quick peek at her watch. It was almost three and Don was finally calling.

It infuriated her that she was fast becoming the kind of girl who waited for a man to call her, instead of picking up the phone herself and calling him. They’d had great sex. He’d run out of her house early in the morning. He should’ve called before this.

“How are you today?” he asked.

“Really good,” she answered caustically. “Considering I just got served with a writ from Mister Fake Tan.”

“Who’s Mister Fake Tan?” he asked, sounding faintly amused.

“The asshole I used to rent space from. He’s suing ’cause he claims we’re taking business away from him.”

“Did you sign an employment agreement with this guy?”

“No. I told you,” she said impatiently. “I merely rented space in his gym and paid commission.”

“Then it’s no problem,” Don said smoothly. “I’ll have my killer lawyer deal with it.”

She knew she should say–
No, I’ll deal with it myself
. But Don’s killer lawyer sounded like a far better option.

“Okay,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like too much of a weakling.

“I’ll send a messenger to pick up the relevant papers.”

“Are you sure?”

“For you anything,” he said gallantly, then after a quick beat–“Did you get my flowers?”

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “Oh yes, and I also saw the tabloids.”

“Ignore ’em,” he said casually, as if they didn’t matter. “It’s all total crap. They never get anything right.”

“But what about Mary Ellen?” Cameron said. “I feel bad for her.”

“Not your problem.”

“I know, but shouldn’t you phone her?”

“For what?”

“To explain.”

“Yeah, I’ll give her a call,” he said, with no intention of doing
so. He hadn’t forced Mary Ellen into his bed, she’d come willingly. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they shared no chemistry, and furthermore he’d sent her an expensive orchid plant as a consolation prize. “Are we on for dinner tonight?” he asked, abruptly getting off the subject of Mary Ellen.

“I don’t know,” Cameron answered tentatively. “Are we?”

“It’s your call.”

Why was it her call? Shouldn’t he be saying–
I must see you–last night was amazing?

Yes, he should.

“It’s been pretty hectic here today,” she said, keeping it casual. “I sense an early night in my future.”

“You do, huh?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all, but I was thinking that maybe this weekend we’d take your dogs and mine and veg out at my Malibu house. Does that work for you?”

Yes, it definitely worked for her.

“Sounds great,” she said.

“Anyway, I’ll see you in the a.m. We’ll make a plan. Try to watch my show tonight, Don Rickles is on, it’ll be a riot. Rickles is still the funniest guy around.”

“If I’m awake.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of TiVo?”

“Don’t have one.”

She clicked off her phone feeling strangely disappointed. What had she expected? He was Don Verona, he wasn’t just another guy.

Tomorrow morning she decided to send Reno to work out with him. Don probably wouldn’t like it, but if she was going to continue seeing him, that’s the way it had to be.

Well…at least she had the weekend to look forward to. Maybe he’d open up then, be a little warmer and more loving.

Loving? Is that what you want?

Absolutely not.

I warned you not to get involved.

Oh, screw off!

Back at the studio Don contemplated his conversation with Cameron. She’d sounded a tiny bit cool, hardly as into him as he would’ve expected after last night. Determined not to have her back away, he’d played it cool himself, not coming on too strong. Although after one night of exceptional sex and tantalizing company he was almost on the verge of asking her to move in with him.

How insane was
that?
He was Don Verona, for crissakes, not some love-sick jerk with a hard-on and a crush.

And yet…he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she was in bed…everything about her was a turn-on.

Making him wait had only heightened his attraction toward her. He was hooked in a very big way. And he liked it.

Or did he?

Jesus! She was confusing the hell out of him, messing with his concentration. And that he didn’t need.

Jerry ambled into his office smelling of cigars and garlic–a bad mix.

“We’re gonna have a great show tonight,” Jerry offered. “Everyone around here gets excited when Rickles puts in an appearance.”

“I know,” Don said, nodding. “Smart move giving him all three segments. We’ll both have a blast.”

“No dumb starlets flashing their panties–or lack of ’em–tonight,” Jerry said with a hearty chuckle. “Disappointed?”

“Are you kidding me?” Don replied. “That ditzy blonde last night sent her stylist to my dressing room with a card on which
she’d written her private number and a scrawled message–
Call me–let’s continue our interview all the way to my bedroom
.”

“Didja call her?” Jerry asked, eyes bugging.

“Jerry,” Don said patiently, “I’m seeing someone. And even if I wasn’t, desperate actresses with fake tits are not my style.”

“So who’re you seeing?” Jerry inquired, his interest perked.

“Nobody you know,” Don replied, not ready to share.

“If you read the tabloids, you’d know,” Jill Khoner announced, entering the office with the proposed questions for the Rickles interview.

“I’ve read the tabloids,” Jerry said. “It’s neither of those two.”

“How do you know?” Jill asked, handing Don a sheaf of papers.

“’Cause they’re both getting kiss-off flowers.”

“Jesus!” Don said. “Go ahead and discuss my love life. Feel free.”

Jill laughed. “And what exactly
were
you doing with our dyke friend?”

For a moment he was lost for words, and that wasn’t like him. But Jill was totally out of line, so what the hell–he went for it.

“Cameron is not gay,” he said forcibly. “And even if she was, I don’t like you using the word ‘dyke’ as if it’s something to be ashamed of.”

“Sorry!” Jill said, exchanging a startled look with Jerry. “I didn’t realize—”

“
What
didn’t you realize?” Don said, fixing her with a steely look.

Jill knew exactly when to shut up.

M
ary Ellen arrived at
Mr Chow
trailed by a ferocious pack of paparazzi who were immediately barred entry. Bitching and complaining, they were forced to gather outside while Mary Ellen ran into the restaurant to join Mandy and Lucy.

She appeared stressed, although it was obvious she had made an effort to look her best in a short white Donna Karan dress and a light blue Richard Tyler jacket. Her eyes were hidden beneath enormous Dolce & Gabanna black-out shades, and she kept on squeezing her hands together in an agitated fashion.

“What’s the matter?” Mandy asked, as Mary Ellen sat down at their table.

“Your friend, Don Verona,” Mary Ellen hissed. “He’s another cheating low-life sonofabitch! I hate him!”

“Oh God! What’s he done now?” Mandy inquired, always anxious to get the details.

“Well,” Mary Ellen said, still agitated, “I thought we had something good going on, but apparently
he
thought otherwise.”

“That’s Don for you,” Mandy said, acting as if she knew him better than anyone.

Digging into her oversized Prada purse, Mary Ellen produced a page torn from
Truth and Fact
and proceeded to read out the headline. “
LADIES’ MAN–DON VERONA–STILL
DOUBLE DIPPING.
” She threw down the offending page in disgust. “Double dipping! How does that make
me
look?”

“Not great,” Lucy said sympathetically.

“Damn right!” Mary Ellen snapped, completely out of the girl-next-door mode. “Don Verona is a lying creep. And so is that bitch–Cameron Shitface Lying CUNT!”

“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel,” Lucy murmured.

“She feels like crap,” Mandy said, picking up the torn page and reading more. “And quite frankly I don’t blame her, do you?”

“I thought he was the one,” Mary Ellen said sadly, a lone tear emerging from her black shades and snaking its way down her cheek. “Now he does this to me.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Mandy asked, mentally ready to take down even more details.

“Of course she slept with him,” Lucy said scornfully. “Who wouldn’t? The man is a hunk.”

“Is he as expert in bed as everyone says?” Mandy asked. She’d been dying to get the real inside on Don’s bedroom prowess for years, and now was the perfect opportunity.

“Yes,” Mary Ellen muttered. “Although I gave him head for fifteen minutes and he didn’t reciprocate.”

“Not acceptable,” Mandy said.

“Ha!” Lucy exclaimed, quickly joining in. “You should sleep with Phil–that’s
all
he wants to do.”

This was news to Mandy, who would now regard Phil with new eyes. Men who
really
enjoyed going down on a woman were not thick on the ground. Ever since her first fake pregnancy Ryan had not gone down on her once. It wasn’t that she cared, sex was hardly her favorite activity, although when she put her mind to it she could be an enthusiastic participant. At fifteen she’d perfected the art of giving a great blow-job, just so boys would really like her.

It had worked–she’d landed Ryan, hadn’t she?

“I think I’ll become a lesbian,” Mary Ellen mused. “That’ll
really
give the rags something to gossip about.”

“Interesting choice,” Lucy mused. “Have you
seen
how beautiful the actresses are on Showtime’s
The L Word
?”

“She was only joking,” Mandy said, throwing Lucy a look. “Weren’t you, dear?”

“If we’re going to drop by that new fitness place we’d better get moving,” Lucy said, glancing at her watch. “I have to meet a writer at four.”

“What writer?” Mandy asked.

“A young guy I hired,” Lucy answered vaguely, wondering if Marlon would try to kiss her again. She hadn’t minded that much when he’d made his first attempt. It was quite refreshing to be desired by someone other than her husband, and Marlon
did
desire her–oh yes, big time.

“I can’t go to that gym,” Mary Ellen said, spitting her anger. “It’s where
that woman
works.”

“What woman?” Lucy asked, not making the connection.

“The one who’s throwing herself all over Don,” Mary Ellen said, her voice rising. “The
bitch
who pretended to me that she was just his trainer.”

“Maybe that’s all she is,” Lucy offered.

“Sure,” Mary Ellen responded, a spiteful twist to her mouth. “She’s training his cock to head straight for her lying cunt!”

“Mrs Heckerling is on the line,” Kara said, buzzing Ryan in his office where he was in the middle of a meeting with his line producer.

“Give me a minute, Keith,” he said. “I’ve got to take this.”

Keith ducked out of the room and Ryan picked up the phone.

He really didn’t have to take the call at all, but he was anxious to hear what Anya had to say seven years later.

“We should meet,” Anya said, her voice low and secretive.

“Why’s that?” he responded.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Hamilton is flying to Japan next Saturday. I can see you then. Is there a place we can meet that is discreet?”

Discreet? Ryan thought. In L.A.? A mogul’s young wife and the mogul’s son-in-law. Nothing discreet about that. TMZ and Perez Hilton would lap it up.

He considered their options.

A hotel room?

No! No! No!

A motel somewhere like Culver City?

Even worse!

A bar?

Forget about it.

Then it came to him. A friend’s house. Somewhere completely private.

Don’s house
.

In a perverse way, Ryan felt that Don owed him.

When Cameron left
Paradise
with Cole, she was not expecting an onslaught of photographers. They rushed her, merrily flashing away while shouting out a laundry list of questions.

Are you and Don Verona an item?

Have you known him long?

When are you seeing him again?

How do you feel about Mary Ellen?

Are you two rivals?

She held onto Cole’s arm. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “I’m nobody. Why are they doing this?”

“I guess you’re somebody now,” he said, not as put out as she would have expected.

“I’m making a run for my car,” she informed him.

“Good luck,” he said. “Try not to freak. I’ll check in with you
later.” Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed for his motorcycle.

She made it to her Mustang, still trailed by photographers. The attention was horrendous. She wasn’t used to it and she didn’t like it–in fact, she hated it. If going out with Don Verona led to this, she wanted no part of it.

When she reached her house there were two men and a small truck blocking the entrance to her garage. She honked her horn, and one of the men meandered over to her open window.

“You’re blocking my way,” she pointed out.

“Are you Miz Paradise?” he asked.

Oh Christ! Not another writ.

“Who wants to know?” she said, staring at him suspiciously.

“We have a delivery for Miz Cameron Paradise.”

“What delivery?” she asked, frowning.

“A TiVo and TV,” the man said. “Compliments of Mr Verona. If you let us into your house, we’ll set everything up.”

An hour later she was staring at a brand new flat screen high def TV and a complicated TiVo that she had no idea how to work.

Was this a reward for sleeping with Don Verona? Great! Did he send every one of his conquests a new TV?

The whole thing was surreal. She didn’t want his gifts, she would have preferred a more intimate phone call. But apparently that was not about to happen, so a TV and TiVo it was, whether she wanted them or not.

While Cameron was trying to figure out why Don had sent her a TV, Don himself was preparing to be interviewed by Natalie de Barge. He was not happy about it, but since he’d given Natalie his word there was no backing out.

Fanny, the P.R. for his show, was puzzled. “You can’t stand being interviewed,” she reminded him. “Why are you doing it?”

“I made a promise,” he said off-handedly. “Besides, Natalie de Barge is controllable; she won’t ask me anything I don’t care to answer.”

“
She’s
not in control,” Fanny muttered ominously. “Her producer is. You know that.”

But nobody argued with Don when he’d made up his mind to do something, so Fanny went along with him to the studio where Natalie shot her hugely successful daily celebrity gossip-fest.

Natalie greeted Don with a hug and a whispered, “How about our investment taking off so fast? You must have the magic touch.”

“I’ve been told that a time or two,” he drawled.

“Hmmm…” Natalie said, smiling flirtatiously. “That’s something I’ll get to wonder about all day.”

“What?”

“Your magic touch.”

“Yeah?” Don said, smiling back at her.

“Do you need makeup?” she asked. “The girls in the makeup room are creaming to meet you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, never wear it.”

“Not even on your show?”

“Nope.”

“Most guys on TV require more makeup than Marie Osmond,” Natalie joked. “I should’ve guessed that you ride barebacked.”

“That too,” Don said, grinning.

“Let’s get on with this,” Fanny interjected in her best bossy publicist voice. “Mr Verona has an extremely full schedule.”

“I’m sure he does,” Natalie murmured, thinking how much she couldn’t stand publicists. They were always interfering, shoving in their two cents’ opinions while attempting to control their clients. There were a few competent ones around, but Natalie did not consider Fanny to be one of them. Over the years they’d
experienced several run-ins. However, Natalie decided, Fanny was not about to win this one, especially as Don had promised her this interview.

“If you’re ready, Don, we can go straight through to the studio,” she said, linking her arm through his, successfully shutting out Fanny, who silently fumed as she was relegated to walking behind them. “You can watch in the Green Room,” Natalie threw over her shoulder.

“That’s all right,” Fanny answered, clenching her teeth. “I prefer to be on the set.”

“Is that okay with you, Don?” Natalie asked.

“Sure,” he said, anxious to get the ordeal over of answering questions as opposed to asking them.

“It’s fine, Fanny,” Natalie said off-handedly. “You can be on the set.”

Black bitch
, Fanny thought.

Dried-up white hag!
Natalie thought.

The interview went smoothly enough until Natalie decided to get personal. Well,
she
didn’t actually decide, her producer did, telling her through the earpiece stuck in her right ear that since the story of Don and two women was splashed all over the tabloids, it was her duty as a competent journalist to ask him about it.

He’d just finished telling an amusing antidote about Warren Beatty and Justin Timberlake who’d appeared together on his show, when Natalie launched in with questions about his love life.
How come two divorces? Who are you seeing now? Are the stories the tabloids print true? What is going on between you and Mary Ellen Evans? Are the two of you still dating? And why does she have such bad luck with men?

Inwardly annoyed that she’d crossed the boundaries he’d set, Don deflected most of her questions with tact and charm. But when it came to Mary Ellen he was at a loss for words. She was one conquest he never should have made.

Finally it was over, and he left abruptly, listening to Fanny crow about how she’d warned him he shouldn’t have appeared on such a gossip-fueled show.

Too late now,
he thought wryly.

Depending on how Natalie cut the segment, he’d end up looking like an uncaring son of a bitch, or a player who was only interested in the game.

It was a no-win situation.

On his way home, Ryan stopped by Evie’s to see how she and the boys were settling in.

“They’re in heaven!” Evie informed him. “A swimming pool
and
a basketball court, it’s too much.”

“Next week you’re seeing a lawyer,” he said sternly.
And so am I
, he thought.

Evie gave a half-hearted nod. She’d finally come to the conclusion that Ryan was right and that she had to sever all ties with Marty and start afresh, but it wasn’t easy.

The boys were delighted to see their uncle. He played hoops with them for a while before heading home, deciding that tonight could be the night he confronted Mandy.

But no, once again it was not to be. She had six girlfriends over and an Indian guru who was teaching them the meaning of life.

The meaning of life, indeed! Mandy had no clue–she simply got a high from following trends, and the current trend was spirituality.

The women were chanting. Several of them looked exactly alike with their long straight blonde hair, glowing complexions, and unlined faces. Their uniform seemed to be True Religion jeans, a James Perse white T-shirt and a Birkin pastel leather bag by their side.

Hollywood wives. The younger generation.

Ryan went straight upstairs and called Don. He was anxious to get the whole Anya meeting over and done with.

Don didn’t answer.

Ryan imagined that Don was off somewhere with Cameron. Maybe in bed with Cameron…maybe making love to Cameron…

Dammit! He hardly knew the girl and he was hooked. Hopelessly, helplessly, hooked.