The Bad Always Die Twice (2 page)

Nikki had heard that Thompson Christopher was in the running for a role in a new romantic comedy. Word was, the part could make him a household name if Kate Hudson signed on.

“Thompson, tell Nikki how thrilled we are with the deal,” Edith insisted, finishing off her champagne.

Thompson slipped his arm around Edith’s thick waist. “I’m pleased if Edie’s pleased.” His smile seemed genuine, something Nikki didn’t see all that often in these circles.

“Jessica and I are just happy we were able to make this process as painless as possible.” Nikki glanced at Jessica, who had resumed eyeing the late-night TV guy, and gave her a little nudge. “Aren’t we, Jess?”

“Absolutely,” Jessica gushed, offering a good half of her attention.

“And I know you said you’re not ready to buy yet, Edith,” Nikki continued, “but—”

“Should we decide to buy in L.A., you’ll be the first person I talk to.” Edith handed Thompson her glass and took both of Nikki’s hands in hers. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You were such a blessing when Rex passed. God rest his soul.” She glanced in the direction of her husband’s slightly creepy grinning face looming over the room from the far wall.

“God rest his soul,” Thompson echoed good-naturedly.

Nikki couldn’t help but look at Rex’s portrait, wondering how he felt, gazing down from wherever he was, watching his wife play house with a man young enough to be his son. A man who didn’t seem to understand the difference between a first name and a last.

“If I’d left the sale to that damned lawyer of Rex’s, I’d be packing my bags for a homeless shelter.”

“Edie,” Thompson admonished gently.

“A wolf in Armani wool.” She drew her finger beneath her beau’s chin. “You haven’t been in Hollywood long enough to recognize them yet, but you will. There are packs of them. He was supposed to be here, you know.” She scanned the sea of celebrity cocktail dresses and suits with a trained eye. “What makes me think he’ll be a no-show? It’s just like Alex to insult me like this.”

“Well.” Nikki clasped her hands, ready to make her escape. She’d eaten her weight in seafood and spoken to her hostess. If she hurried, she could be home in her PJs with her TiVo in an hour. “Just let me know if there’s anything else we can do to make the transition easier.”

“You’ve already done so much, dear.” Someone caught Edith’s eye. “Oh, heavens, is that Portia Raleigh? I thought she’d gone to Palm Springs to recover from another facelift. I do hope she was more cautious this time about her choice of plastic surgeons. I must say hello.” She fluttered off, leaving Thompson holding her empty champagne flute.

He watched her go and then returned his attention to Nikki. “I really do appreciate what you’ve done for Edie,” he said.

“You’ve been helpful and you’ve been kind. And having Victoria Bordeaux here tonight as Edie’s guest”—he opened his arms—“I know that was you, too. It’s such an honor and a dream come true for Edie.”

Nikki hesitated; comments like that always made her uncomfortable. Thankfully, Jessica always knew when to throw her a lifeline.

Jessica moved gracefully to the forefront, pumping Thompson’s hand. “We’re just pleased that Rex March’s widow is pleased, Mr. Christopher.”

“Well, thank you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He bowed slightly, which made him appear very old Hollywood, especially in his classic white dinner jacket and black trousers. Nikki liked him better by the second. “I’d better get Edie some more champagne and rescue Ms. Raleigh.” He flashed a handsome grin and pushed through the crowd.

Nikki waited until Thompson was out of earshot before she touched Jessica’s arm. “What’s with the cold shoulder to Edith? She was nice enough to you.”

“No cold shoulder.” Jessica shrugged her golden sculpted shoulders. No matter how hard Nikki worked out at the gym, she’d never have those fabulous shoulders.

“But did you see her nails?” Jessica murmured, leaning closer, cupping her hand to her mouth with her own manicured fingers.

“I know.” Nikki eyed another tray of hors d’oeuvres. Was that beluga caviar? “A little long for a woman her age not working as a cashier in the dollar store.”

“It’s not the length I’m talking about,” Jessica whispered. “Chipped.”

“Chipped?” It wasn’t likely Edith was serving chipped beef. Nikki was still hung up on the hors d’oeuvres.

“Her nail polish. It was chipped. Unacceptable. She needs to fire her manicurist. Well, I’m off.” Jessica kissed the air beside Nikki’s cheek. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Biking in Malibu Canyon. Wanna come?”

“Who’re you going with?”

“Marshall and Rob.”

Jessica frowned. “Taken.”

Nikki chuckled. “So, see you Monday?”

“Tuesday. Monday I’ve got a seminar downtown. Downy wanted
office representation
and he’s footing the bill. But I swear, if it’s Zig Ziglar again, I’ll commit hari-kari right in the conference hall.” She gave a wave. “See you.”

Nikki stood in the sea of beautiful people, watching Jessica make her way to the front foyer. She debated whether or not to track down the beluga, but decided against it, and headed in the same general direction as Jessica. The door. If she was lucky, she’d be out of here before—

Nikki had barely reached the foyer when she heard the familiar whirr and snap of dozens of cameras as the double front doors were thrown open. In this age of digital cameras, the paparazzi no longer flashed and popped. Instead, they sounded like a swarm of clicking insects.

Holy crapoli,
she thought. She would never grow used to it, not as long as she lived. She glanced over her shoulder; there was no way to escape gracefully. The spaces behind her were quickly filling. Even celebrities liked to get a look at a goddess.

A smile immediately lit Nikki’s face. It was the smile her mother had pressed upon her since birth, very possibly in utero. It was a well-practiced smile, intended to conceal any emotion the bearer might be experiencing. In Hollywood, feelings were better suited to psychiatrists’ couches and intimate dinner conversation. One never shared with the public.

Through the crowd, she spotted a familiar face. The driver, dressed immaculately in a black suit and old-school chauffeur’s cap, threw open the rear door of the white Bentley and offered his hand. Slender, gloved fingers slid into his and suddenly the dark night lit up with the sheer effervescence of the incomparable Victoria Bordeaux.

For a moment, Nikki felt trapped. Like a tiny mouse trying to escape a horde of hungry cats. Maybe not a tiny rodent, more like a tall, lanky one. But the crowd moved back, leaving her alone at the door.

Dressed in a gorgeous gold cocktail dress, matching kitten heels and an amazing faux-ermine shrug, Victoria Bordeaux alighted from the Bentley and strode toward her. The screen star may have been in the twilight of her life, but thanks to good genes and sturdy undergarments, she was as beautiful as she had been in her early twenties. Petite and a natural blond, she still had that sweater-girl curvaceous figure that had shot her from a soda fountain stool to stardom all those years ago.

And, still, after all this time, Victoria’s beauty, her poise, took Nikki’s breath away.

The star offered her gloved hand and Nikki took it, leaning down to kiss her very close to her cheek, but not so close as to muss her face powder.

“Really, Nicolette,” Victoria admonished under her breath. “A sweater dress to a cocktail party?”

Nikki couldn’t resist a smile of amusement as she stood to her full height, towering over the older woman. Some things never changed. “Oh, for sweet heaven’s sake, Mother. It’s vintage Chanel!”

Chapter 2

“S
taying in tonight or going out?” Victoria asked, gazing into the mirror. Dressed in a white silk robe, she sat at her rosewood vanity and carefully removed her eye makeup. She’d hosted a charity luncheon that afternoon and had been in full goddess mode, something she no longer did every day.

Nikki, who sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through an old photo album, glanced up at her mother. Even seen this way, as a reflection in the old mirror, her hair in a turban, her face wiped clean of makeup, she was a woman of extraordinary beauty, a truly golden Venus. Nikki may not have been exactly jealous of her mother’s beauty, but she was certainly envious of it. “Staying in.”

“You and Jeremy should go out more.”

It was a familiar topic of conversation, one Nikki didn’t care to delve into this evening. After a long day at work, she just wanted to relax with her dogs and not think, and certainly not argue with her mother. Her relationship with her childhood-friend-turned-lover was complicated, but weren’t all relationships?

Both of Nikki’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniels lounged with her on the floor among throw pillows, and she scratched one of the pups behind the ear. Victoria didn’t allow dogs on the furniture, so Nikki sat on the floor with them. At the end of the day, the dogs craved her attention and she, on some level, craved theirs. It was such simple, uncomplicated love between her and Stanley and Oliver. The only effortless relationship she had.

“What do you think, Stanley?” The dog’s ears perked up at the sound of Nikki’s voice. “Should Jeremy and I go out or should he go to his daughter’s dance recital? Or maybe Grandma should just mind her own beeswax, hmmm?” She scratched under the dog’s chin and he sighed with obvious pleasure.

“I am
not
a grandmother to those canines.” Victoria returned her attention to the mirror. “Stop trying to bait me. I worry about you. You say you and Jeremy are in love, but you rarely see each other more than once a week.”

“His wife died, Mother. An ugly, hair-falling-out, shriveling-to-nothing cancer death. His children need him and I’m not going to foist myself upon them.”

Jealous of the attention Stanley was getting, Oliver inched forward until he rested his muzzle on Nikki’s leg. She stroked his soft, spotted red and white coat. Oliver was a Blenheim. Stanley, a cousin twice removed to Oliver and two years older, was a black, white and tan Tri.

“I understand that perfectly.” Victoria lifted both hands in a conceding pose; for her, every movement was about perfect lighting, angle and balance, even when she wasn’t in front of the camera. Victoria never,
ever
got caught by the paparazzi picking spinach from between her teeth or dragging toilet paper beneath the heel of her alligator-skin pump. Nikki had had the bad fortune of both. “I understand perfectly that children are needy. I raised seven children of my own.”

“You and a revolving door of nannies,” Nikki muttered. She regretted the words the moment they came out of her mouth.

Victoria elegantly turned on the padded bench and looked Nikki directly in the eye. “Did you come here to pick a fight?”

Nikki sighed and stroked Stanley’s head. “No.”

“Good. So spare me the Joan Crawford guilt trip and tell me about your day.”

Nikki smiled. This was one of the reasons she loved her mother so dearly. If there was one person Victoria Bordeaux knew, it was herself. The good and the bad, and she made no excuses for either. “I think I may have sold that place in Brentwood we listed last month.”

The fact that Nikki sold real estate for a living was still a prickly subject, even after ten years, but Victoria’s smile was genuine. “The one down the street from that football player who killed his wife and got off scot-free?”

O.J. Simpson had just been put in his place by Victoria Bordeaux and he didn’t even know it. “O.J. Simpson. And the jury found him innocent. 7.7 million.”

“I suppose you have to split the commission with Jessica.”

“She
is
my partner. And the listing agent gets a cut, but I may have to buy myself that antique Victorian ring I was telling you about, the snake one with the emerald eyes.”

“You must have gotten your taste from your father.” Victoria slipped a cigarette from a pack on her vanity. It didn’t matter who told her the dangers of smoking, or how often, it was a habit she said she’d indulged in for the last fifty-odd years and at her age she didn’t intend to give it up. “Because it certainly wasn’t from me.” She struck a flame from the antique lighter that had not been an antique when it had been given to her by Howard Hughes. White smoke curled around her turbaned head.

Oliver wrinkled his nose and sneezed in protest of the acrid smoke. Nikki stifled a chuckle.

“Please.” Victoria gazed down at the dog. “There are no Oscars for canines. Not even an Emmy,” she sniffed.

Nikki absently studied a photo of herself taken on her fifth birthday. Her mother had somehow wrangled a photo-op with Nikki’s favorite TV personality and thrown her a space-themed party on one of the studio lots. Somewhere, there was a picture of her and Jeremy that day, too. She flipped the page. “Speaking of Oscars, what are we watching this week?”

“
The Little Foxes
or maybe
Johnny Belinda
. I haven’t decided.”

Nikki set the photo album aside and gathered both dogs onto her lap to cuddle them. “
Johnny Belinda
starred Jane Wyman,” she recalled. “You were friends at Paramount, right?”

“She was a little before my time, but I knew her.” Victoria exhaled blue-gray smoke. “A nice enough girl.”

“I can’t believe you knew Ronald Reagan.” Nikki’s phone vibrated next to her in her bag. “He was such a hottie back then. Who could have imagined he would be president one day?”

“I said that the day he was elected.”

Nikki grinned as she fumbled for her BlackBerry. “Let’s have a little respect for the dead, if not for two-term presidents, shall we?” Locating her phone in her Prada shoulder bag, she looked at the screen. Jessica. “Hey,” she said, answering it. “How’d the seminar go? Learn anything—”

“Oh, Jesus, Nikki. You have to come,” Jessica said into her ear in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice.

Stanley licked Nikki’s pant leg where she had spilled bluecheese salad dressing at lunch. “Come where? Stan, stop.” She pushed the dog’s head away. Her linen trousers now had a wet doggy-tongue stain, but at least the oily spot seemed to have disappeared.