The Movie (19 page)

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The effect was certainly magnificent, Sam thought wryly. Jeez, they had probably scented the air above the whole of Beverly Hills this evening. And provided it with a free new-age soundtrack. Talk about stress-reduction - Isabelle had wreathed their entire gardens with miles upon miles of the most delicate Japanese bells, strung on invisible silk threads, so that the slightest breeze provoked a gorgeous whispering music. He knew Isabelle would have liked to hire a few peacocks to strut around the grounds, but Elizabeth Martin had done that for one of her bashes in New York a few years back, and Isabelle would as soon call in McDonald’s for her catering as imitate Elizabeth.

Sam grimaced. Maybe it was his biggest failing ih their marriage, that he would never make as much as Alex Martin, the oil billionaire, and thus never enable Isabelle to throw the kind ofpa-y she would really enjoy. His budget didn’t stretch to flying their guests to a tropical island for some end-of-hop beachcombing. Nonetheless, Isabelle considered Elizabeth her only rival, so peacocks were out. Instead she had, despite his misgivings, brought in sixteen tiger cubs which were tethered to different pillars and sculptures on very short leashes, their collars studded with diamonds. Insurance was costing him a fortune, and although the little bastards were semi-sedated, Sam didn’t trust beasts that grew up to prey on human flesh. He had enough of those at work,

‘Excuse me, sir,’ gasped a waiter, staggering past him with a bowl of beluga so heavy it made Sam’s wallet ache just thinking about it.

These parties were important to lfis position in town, vitally important. Every year he added another stack of favours in his credit ledger by granting invites to actors and directors whose wives were desperate to attend. Isabelle had worked hard at making herselfa social force in the city, whatever the hell that meant. It gave him a nice feeling o.f male superiority not to know exactly. All these charity

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committees and thousand-dollars-a-plate dinners. Hospital boards and museum benefactor lists. All total bullshit, but that was the way things worked. The wives wanted to join the right committee, they had to be on the right side of Isabelle, And that gave him more pull with their husbands, it let SKI punch above its weight. You never knew when that might be important. In’ their recent lean patch, Sam

was uncomfortably aware, it had been vital.

Well, that was all over now.

Sam fiddled with his tux in the scented air. Maybe it was

a good thing that Isabelle was so obsessive about this party. Everybody would be here to congratulate him on his latest big score-Artemis Studios presenting See the Lights, a Fred Florescu production, starring Zach Mason and loxana

‘

Felix. Screenplay by Megan whatsemame. A great, big, fat,

Sam Kendrick International package deal.

Kendrick smiled to himself. He was back in the game.

Megan twisted in front of her new mirror. Was this OK? She couldn’t believe she’d spent this much money on one dless. Two hundred dollars! A month’s rent back at the Venice apartment. And she still wasn’t sure it looked right.

It was another long number in black. When you weren’t sure, black was the only choice, you didn’t have altema rives, but this was a bit more formal than her old ‘good’ gown that David had heaped such scorn on. It came right down to the floor for a start, hiding her still plump legs, and then gathered in gently at the waist before flaring up with an inbuilt push-up bra to give her some semblance of a decent cleavage. In San Francisco, Megan had always been faintly proud of her breasts-a good 3 ˘C cup - and lory or whoever had always seemed impressed. Here in Los Angeles, home of Woman as Art Form, Megan felt flat chested as well as dumpy.

Still, this dress went some way to remedying that. It wasn’t silk or satin-she’d asked the price of a few designer

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silk numbers and nearly passed out at the reply-but it was made of a decent brushed cotton, it was bias-cut and it moved with a swing. Megan had purchased a pair of silk heels to match it, tD’ing not to glance down at the amount she was signing for. They had made her feet look so hot, slimming her ankles and throwing a whole new gait into the way she walked.

She’d put on new L’Or6al make-up, sweeping blusher under the chin and cheekbones to give her face more definition and dabbing white eyeshadow underneath the brow as Declan had taught her. It was supposed to make you look more alive. There was no jewellery, of course, but perhaps they’d all assume she was aiming for the simple, sophisticated look, Megan thought hopefully.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mahogany frame. Not bad. No true Angeleno beauty of course, but not bad, zll the same. She’d lost six pounds since leaving Mr Chicken, and though she was still overweight, most of the excess fat was hidden under the forgiving sweep of her skirt. The heels almost made her look tall, and her hair, which had been set at a beauty parlour earlier in the day, fell in loose, soft curls to her shoulders. She looked young and pretty. Feminine.

Megan tapped one silken heel to the pounding bass of ‘Frozen Gold’, Dark Angel’s anthem from West of the Moon. The track was a kind of talisman for her. It had been the first rock song she’d heard and liked. But somehow the movement seemed ridiculous. Dark Angel or Pantera or whoever, you listened to them in jeans and a T-shirt, not silk heels and a black evening gown. IfDec and Trey and the others could see me now, she thought, they’d all howl with laughter and then they’d say I’d sold out. Swapped my soul for a quarter of a million. Look at me! Back home, would I ever have given a damn what a bunch of suits thought of how I looked?

The thought hovered for a while, then she dismissed it.

ISI

She was going to meet Zach Mason at this party. So this

couldn’t be selling out, because Zach would never do that. The door buzzer shrilled. David!

Suddenly as nervous as a virgin, Megan went to open

the door.

tkoxana Felix took all of five minutes to prepare for Isabelle Kendrick’s party. She had selected her look the day she arrived: strappy silver Manolo Blahnik heels, bright red lipstick, to contrast peffecdy with her pale skin and raven hair, and the simple cream shift dress that Alessandro Eco had used for the wedding gown in his Chicago collection. No jewels. No make-up, either; that was a particular

, arrogance, to show that she had skin so flawless she didn’t even need foundation. Down her back, her long jet-black hair flowed freely, shining and full of body like some ad for the world’s most expensive shampoo.

She was travelling to the party in Jordan Goldman’s limousine and she had no doubt that even sexy little Jordan wuld be sick with envy when she caught sight of her. She looked even more breathtaking than usual. If that were possible.

‘You look great,’ Paul said automatically, coming out of

the bathroom with one hand on his bow tie.

‘Do I?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Do I really?’

Her partner named, surprised by the nervous tension in

her voice. Her normal response was ‘So do you.’ Which was fine by him; why waste time on flowery compliments and checking each other out? They already lived together.

Eleanor was pirouetting in front of the mirror like a nervous teenager. Actually, she did look great. It was a new dress, a floating, romantic number in dusty pink chiffon, with a scoop-collar neckline dusted over with tiny r.osebuds in scarlet satin. Her ice-blonde hair was swept

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upwards in an elegant French style, and drop diamond earrings glittered at her cheeks, a matching necklace sparkling exquisitely against her delicate collarbone. Pink satin shoes he could only just see peeped out from under the hem of her gown, and her make-up was subtle and understated.

‘Yes. You look’ - he searched rustily for some poetic word - ‘ravishing.’

‘You don’t think I look too young? Mutton dressed as lamb?’ Eleanor asked, anxiously.

Paul Halfin glanced at her. What was getting into her tonight? This was his wife-to-be, the queenly president of Artemis. Not to mention one of the most impeccable dressers in the city. Jumpy nerves were simply not her style.

‘You’re only thirty-eight, for God’s sake, Eleanor. You’re a young woman.’

Not as young as Jordan Goldman, Eleanor thought. ‘You look lovely, dear. leally.’

‘Thanks, Paul,’ said Eleanor, and she wondered why his compliments made her feel so guilty.

Tom Goldman shifted on his bed to get a better look at what his wife was doing. Her tongue had ceased licking his balls for a second, but he didn’t care. One pleasure was replaced by another as he watched her, eyes shut fight kneeling in front of him, slip her right hand across the downy mass of curls in between her supple thighs, rubbing her fingers backwards and forwards over herself, the knuckles suddenly glistening in .their soft bedroom light, slick with her own moisture. Hiscock throbbed in response. Jordan always knew how to do such hidden, wicked things, it made him harder than a baseball bat. Opening one eye to check his reaction,Jordan grabbed his dick in her free left hand and started to tease him, opening and closing her fingers in a fluttering movement, then sliding up and down him with perfect rhythm, playing

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with herself, knowing he was watching her, mesmerized. A bead of pearly liquid dewed the tip of Tom’s straining cock and he moaned, the normal signal, so she finished herself off in front of him with two deep circular thrusts, knelt forward and took him in her mouth, as deeply as she could, sucking him hard, strongly, not allowing the pace of the pressure to slip. Tom’s last conscious thought was to thank God for one woman who understood that if he’d reached a certain point he wanted to come, not to be taken back down and then brought up again or whatever.., it was never as strong if you did it like that… Oh, God…

His back arching as though in agony, Tom Goldman lifted himselfhalfoffthe bed, thrust into his wife’s throat, and came. ‘ Jordan waited barely a second and then spat him out,

turning her face aside. She reached fastidiously for a box of tissues she kept next to the bed and wiped her mouth, grimacing with distaste. Goldman watched as she went to the bathroom, reaching for the mouthwash, his hard-on shrinking almost as quickly as it had arrived. Somehow, after sex, he always felt older. More disgusting. As though she was a hooker, or he was a dirty old man, not her lawfully wedded husband.

Mentally Goldman chided himself as he reached for his shirt and pants. He should say making love, not having sex. After all, their child might be conceived on any one of these encounters.

He tried to ignore the fact that at the moment of climax it had been Eleanor Marshall’s face he had imagined. And not that. of his gorgeous wife.

Jordan emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready to go in a tailored Yves Saint-Laurent pantsuit, a neat Chanel purse swinging from her left shoulder.

‘Come on, honey, let’s go. I promised R.oxana we’d pick her up at half-eight.’

‘So we’ll be ten minutes late.’ She looked cute in those

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silk pants; they hugged her ass. Tom reached for her. ‘Once more, for luck.’

She swatted his hand away as though it were an irritating fly. ‘Tom! We can’t be late. You know loxana, she won’t wait, she’ll just call a limo service. And I want to arrive with her. It will be such a coup. You know? Because she promised to get me some sponsorship from Vogue for the next gun-control party! Isn’t that wonderful? And we did go to school together…’

Goldman listened to her chatter on, his mind already

elsewhere, desire totally evaporated.

‘Tom, are you listening to me?’

‘Sure, honey, sure.’ This was an important party; they had a movie at SKI now. And Isabelle’s parties were always important. He didn’t want to row with his wife tonight.

Besides which, if he was lucky, he’d get to talk to Eleanor alone.

Suddenly, Tom Goldman couldn’t wait. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, smoothing his jacket down.

Eight o’clock exactly and everything was in place. Not a servant, not a leaf out of place, not a ripple on any one of their four hundred Irish linen tablecloths could be seen to mark the cyclone of activity Sam had wimessedjust half an hour before. My God, it’s like a military operation, Sam thought. In fact scrap that. No military operation was ever that efficient these days, not with that fat asshole Clinton in charge. At any rate, their house had been transformed in just a few hours into Isabelle’s persgnal Arabian Nights fantasy. It was perfumed, it was belled and it was wreathed in flowers and glittering with gems, like some doe-eyed houri in a pasha’s harem. For a second, Kendrick imagined loxana Felix like that, robed in see-through silk, her long black hair caught in a diaphanous veil, chained to a jewelled collar at the foot of his couch. He felt his groin grow warm and heavy with blood at the thought, desire

tugging at his crotch with sharp little fingers. Yeah, on another planet that would be nice, he thought. A doubly pleasant way to take his revenge. Jesus, that bitch was running rings around him! First the little game with the Ptk. Then she has Isabelle nagging at him on her behalf, and Isabelle was not an easy woman to ignore. Then somehow, and he was still trying figure out exactly how, she gets Tom Goldman to push her at Artemis. Then she issues this bullshit release to the press before she’s been cast, and Eleanor Mrshall is eating him, Samuel Jacob Ken drick, for her low-fat lunch. Then somehow, despite all the above, she manages to get herself cast! The woman was unbelievable. And he had sworn blind to Eleanor that he was personally gonna put a rocket up her ass.

‘ What a joke. He’d called every half-hour yesterday, and she’d simply refused to take his calls. ‘Sam, I’m so sorry, I’m busy right now.’ Tmjust in the shower.’ ‘I’ll call you right back.’ Then she’d switched on the machine.

Even now, a whole day later, his blood was still boiling. Well, he knew she was coming tonight. With his wife’s latest protegee, Jordan Goldman. And that would mean she couldn’t run from him forever.