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Thrill

Page 14

by Jackie Collins


  “Oh,” said Summer. And suddenly she was glad it wasn’t her up there, with a lot of horny old men eyeballing her body.

  Tina drove her back to town in her red sports car, dropping her outside Century City. “Call you later,” she said. “Maybe we’ll do something.”

  Summer nodded. She knew that whatever they got up to, it would certainly be more fun than Chicago.

  CHAPTER

  19

  “SO, HERE WE ARE,” JOEY said. “and me feelin’ like I’ve kidnapped the golden princess.”

  Lara regarded him seriously. “What does that mean?”

  “Did you see Cassie’s face when you said you were takin’ off for lunch?”

  “She’s . . . protective.”

  “Gotta feelin’ everyone’s talkin’ about us.”

  “Why would they? I mean, my God, if two people can’t have lunch together . . .”

  “Hey, I’m with you.”

  “Anyway, you’re right,” she said, sipping a glass of water. She’d changed out of her film clothes into faded jeans and a baggy white T-shirt. She still looked sensational. “I couldn’t face another of the caterer’s chicken à la king dishes. A burger is exactly right.”

  Joey had a million surefire lines he could use, but he abandoned all of them. She was too good to listen to his bullshit. “C’mon, Lara,” he said, fixing her with his penetrating eyes. “Tell me somethin’ about you I’m not gonna read in a magazine. I’ve told you about my love life, so it’s only fair.”

  She laughed easily. “I don’t have a love life.”

  “Cut me a break,” he said disbelievingly.

  “Well . . . I did. I was with someone for a year . . . we broke up six months ago.” She sighed deeply. “It’s not easy being with me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Whenever I go to a movie premiere or an opening, photographers jump all over me. The man I’m with is merely the escort who’ll make the tabloids because he’s new in my life. It does nothing for a man’s ego. How would you like it?”

  “Hey—my ego’s pretty secure.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “So I noticed.”

  He grinned back. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been watching you on the set—all these women flocking around you. You’re not famous yet, but it’s definitely in your future. How will you handle it then?”

  “Same as I do now.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said, her eyes clouding over for a moment. “Everything changes when you’re famous. You find yourself surrounded by people who’ll do anything for you.”

  “You’re wrong, Lara. People will do anything for you ’cause you’re nice.”

  “How can you say that?” she said, staring at him. “You hardly know me.”

  “I’ve been doing nothin’ but watchin’ you for the last three days.”

  “That’s because you had to,” she said lightly. “Stuck forever in the background of our scene.”

  “I do know,” he said, his voice sincere, “that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Genes,” she murmured, laughing uncomfortably. “It’s all on account of my . . . parents.”

  “You don’t like compliments, do you?”

  “They embarrass me.”

  “Why?”

  “How do I know?” she said, biting into her hamburger and wondering for the twentieth time what she was doing with him. He was taken. She was free. Not a good mix.

  “Whaddya do every night?” he asked, watching her eat.

  “Oh, throw wild parties, hang out on the beach,” she said flippantly. “And you?”

  “Sit in my hotel room.”

  “And speak to your fiancée?”

  “She’s too busy,” he said, dismissing the fictional Phillipa as quickly as possible. “Always workin’—never stops.”

  “And you accept that?”

  “I dunno,” he said. “As a matter of fact . . .” he hesitated. “Naw, I’m not burdenin’ you with my problems.”

  “Go ahead, burden me. I’ve a few of my own I can discuss.”

  He laughed. “Yeah—sure. Tell me and I’ll sell ’em to the tabloids.”

  “I bet you would.”

  “Anythin’ to make a buck.” They grinned at each other. “It’s funny,” he said, suddenly serious. “How many people do you meet where you get to feel an instant connection? Y’know, a kinda brother-sister thing.”

  “I could be your big sister,” she said good-naturedly.

  “Hey, don’t get carried away. You’re only two years older than me.”

  “I feel like I’m playing hooky from school,” she confessed. “I never leave the set when I’m working. This is fun.”

  “Like I said, they’re probably all talking about us.”

  “Little do they know how innocent it is.”

  “Maybe we should give them somethin’ to talk about,” he said casually.

  “Like what?” she asked, equally casual.

  “Like how about I take you to dinner tonight?” he said, leaning across the table. “There’s this little fish restaurant I discovered.”

  She took a long, deep breath. “Uh . . . Joey, I should warn you, if we’re spotted anywhere in public, there’s likely to be paparazzi leaping out the bushes. Lunch is one thing, but I’ve a strong hunch Phillipa wouldn’t appreciate seeing photographs in all the tabloids of us dining out.”

  “She’s not jealous,” he said flatly. She doesn’t even exist.

  “I would be,” she said quietly.

  “No,” he said. “I can’t see you being jealous.”

  “You’d be surprised. I can be a bitch.”

  “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “Not you.”

  And then his dark eyes met hers again, and she felt an intense connection that made her very nervous indeed. “Uh . . . we should be getting back,” she said, glancing at her watch.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I gotta rehearse with Kyle and the stunt coordinator. Should be interesting.”

  She stood up. “I’m sure Kyle will make it very interesting. Just remember—everyone’s on your side.”

  They walked outside to her car and driver.

  Joey opened the door, and she slid onto the backseat. “Dinner?” he asked. “We doin’ it or not?”

  She felt a flutter in her stomach. This was absolutely ridiculous . . . and yet . . . why not? “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Let’s live dangerously.”

  He nodded as if he’d known she’d agree. “Pick you up at seven.”

  • •

  Lara sat in the makeup trailer, having her lips touched up. For some unknown reason she couldn’t stop thinking about Joey—his dark, brooding eyes; long hair; sensational smile.

  “Hmm . . .” Roxy remarked, busy with a pot of pale lip gloss and a thin brush. “He’s quite a hunk.”

  “Who?” Lara asked, snapping back to reality.

  “The pope,” Roxy answered good-humoredly. “Who do you think? Joey Lorenzo, of course.”

  “Oh yes, Joey. He seems like a nice enough guy,” Lara said, keeping her tone noncommittal.

  “Ha!” Roxy exclaimed. “And how was your lunch?”

  “Actually, Roxy,” Lara said sweetly, “it’s none of your business.”

  Roxy knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  • •

  Joey was working with the stunt coordinator when Kyle finally put in an appearance, striding over to the stuntman, once again failing to acknowledge Joey’s presence. “Give me the moves,” Kyle said curtly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Screw you, Joey thought. You and your phony hairpiece and phony smile. Big fucking movie star. Who gives a shit?

  The stuntman began explaining the way the scene should go—telling Kyle exactly how to throw a punch without actually striking Joey.

  “I know, I know,” Kyle said impatiently, cracking his knuckles. “Done it a thousand times.”

  In re
hearsals all went well, but as soon as Miles called for a take, Kyle hauled off, hitting Joey for real, landing a crunching blow to his jaw.

  It was so unexpected that Joey fell like a stone.

  He was professional enough to stay down until Miles yelled, “Cut!” When he got up he was ready to kill.

  Miles stepped between them and said to Kyle, “What the hell happened here?”

  “Guess my hand must’ve slipped,” Kyle said, a sneer in his voice. “Better do it again.”

  Miles edged Kyle to one side. “Stop the punch when you’re supposed to,” he ordered tersely.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kyle said, as if he gave a shit.

  There was silence on the set as they shot the scene again. This time Kyle behaved himself and pulled his punch.

  “Okay, once more,” Miles shouted, still not satisfied.

  Roxy nudged Yoko. “Watch him coldcock the poor bastard,” she whispered.

  “Settle down everybody,” yelled the first A.D.

  Kyle hit Joey so hard that Joey thought the sonofabitch had broken his jaw, and although it dredged up a lot of bad memories, he managed to stay down until Miles shouted, “Cut! Print it, that’s a take!”

  As soon as Joey knew the camera had stopped rolling, he was on his feet, chasing after Kyle, spinning him around, hauling back and punching him on the chin.

  For a moment, Kyle couldn’t believe he was under attack. Then he responded with a left hook of his own, and before anyone could stop them, the two actors were embroiled in a serious fistfight.

  “Told you!” Roxy said.

  Several of the crew stepped in to separate them, but not before Joey had managed to bloody Kyle’s nose.

  “You fucking prick!” Kyle screamed, eyes bulging, hairpiece slipping. “I’ll make sure you never work again, you dumb fucking asshole!”

  Rubbing his knuckles, Joey walked away.

  Lara came after him as he left the set.

  “The jerk asked for it,” he muttered.

  “You were provoked,” she said. “Everyone saw what happened.”

  “Yeah, but I should’ve taken it out on him later,” he said, furious at himself for losing control. “Not here, in front of everyone.”

  “Joey, he deserved it.”

  “That’s what I like about you,” he said ruefully. “You always support the underdog.”

  She placed her hand lightly on his arm. “I’d hardly call you an underdog.”

  He looked at her intently. “We still havin’ dinner tonight?”

  “Of course,” she said, clear green eyes gazing into his. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  And he knew that it wasn’t long before he’d make her his.

  CHAPTER

  20

  THE INCIDENT HAD HAPPENED ON a hot June night. Alison Sewell was not in the best of moods. Her mother was infuriating her with her constant whining and complaining—so much so, that Alison had paid a neighbor’s kid, a fourteen-year-old freak who needed money for her heroin habit, to stay with Mother while Alison was out. The teenager had green hair and a ring through her nose and God knew where else. This did not sit well with Mother, who told Alison she’d sooner be dead than subjected to this kind of company.

  Okay with me, Alison thought. Then perhaps I can get some sleep around here.

  She’d taken off at six to land a good position outside the Directors’ Guild for a screening Lara Ivory was due to attend. Alison obtained celebrity attendees lists from an acquaintance. Of course she had to pay him, but nothing in life was free, including the new hiking shoes she’d recently purchased that were squeezing her feet, making her even more bad tempered.

  She stood at the back, wondering who Lara’s escort would be tonight. According to Hard Copy, Alison’s favorite TV show, Lara had gotten rid of that Lee Randolph creep—he was history. So now she was free again. Alison hoped Lara didn’t start dating just anybody. If she made bad choices, Alison would be forced to warn her, ’cause Alison knew plenty about all of them. She knew who cheated on their wives; who was in the closet; who liked transvestites; who was into hookers.

  So much for Hollywood’s so-called macho men—a bunch of perverts with dicks.

  The reason Lara had dumped Lee was probably because she’d taken heed of all the warnings Alison had written her. Sometimes she’d sent her three or four letters a day, just to make sure Lara knew that Alison Sewell was on her side, rooting for her. She’d been thinking that now Lee Randolph was gone, she might resume her visits to Lara’s house. Only today she’d written her a long letter, telling her idol they could now spend plenty of time together, since the loser was history. The loser being Mr. Lee Randolph himself, who, if Alison had had her way, would have gotten a bullet in his brain, because it was his fault she wasn’t living in Lara’s house and hanging out like real girlfriends did.

  And when that happened—bye-bye Mother, you can whine yourself to death all by yourself, ’cause your little Alison has moved on to bigger and better.

  “Here comes the Hun,” she heard one of the other photographers say as she elbowed her way to the front. “Must be our lucky night.”

  “Fuck your mother in the butt,” she muttered, shouldering her way to a good position, right behind the rope that separated the photographers from the stars.

  “Something stinks around here,” one of the guys said, directing his rude comment at her.

  “Yeah, your breath when you talk,” she snapped back.

  Personal hygiene had never been a big priority with Alison. She took a bath every couple of weeks, when the smell got so bad even she couldn’t stand it.

  “LARA! LARA! LARA!” The cry of the crowds swelled like a mantra of adulation. Alison stood to attention as Lara swept into view, wearing a green strapless dress that matched her startling eyes.

  As soon as she saw what Lara was wearing, Alison scowled. The dress was too low cut for her liking. Lara wasn’t some raunchy starlet, desperate to show off the goods to get attention. She was Lara Ivory, the queen of Hollywood.

  Somebody wasn’t advising her right, and this made Alison mad.

  “Take a look at the tits on Lara tonight,” one of the photographers remarked. “Wouldn’t mind suckin’ on those juicy little cuties.”

  Alison turned on him. “Shut your filthy mouth,” she hissed.

  “Get lost, freako,” he muttered.

  Her temper flared, and she kicked him in the calf.

  “Crazy cunt!” he yelled, hopping on one leg. “I’ll fuckin’ sue your fat ass.”

  Lara glanced over, her attention attracted by the commotion.

  She wants me to be with her, Alison thought. Not trapped back here with these uncouth pigs.

  Without really thinking about it, she lunged forward, ducked under the rope, raced over to Lara and embraced her.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion after that. Lara’s publicist leaped forward, trying to shove Alison away. But she was too quick for him. She swung her right arm, hitting him hard across the face.

  A woman moved in, attempting to pull her off Lara. Alison whacked her too.

  Lara was completely stunned.

  “I’ve come to save you,” Alison reassured her. “I’m the only one who cares. I am your savior.”

  Before she could say or do anything else, two burly security guards descended on her, grabbing her under the arms, hauling her away from Lara. A cop rushed over, and Alison managed to kick him in the groin, even though the security guards had a firm grip on her.

  Then she was struggling with all three of them, until she was hurled into the back of a police van. But not before she’d managed to kick and scratch and attack as many people as she could.

  Alison Sewell was a very angry woman indeed.

  CHAPTER

  21

  THE FISH RESTAURANT BY THE beach was candlelit and romantic. Lara couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time just talking—casual stuff, gossip about people on the set and their idiosyncrasies; more se
rious talk about acting. Since she and Joey were not involved in a relationship, there was none of that intense where-are-we-going stuff. Instead they discussed movies, books, TV shows—it was delightfully relaxing, and yet, while she was speaking, her inner voice was sending out all kinds of messages.

  He’s gorgeous. You like him. He’s funny. He’s sexy. Even better, he’s nice. What are you planning to do about it?

  Nothing, she told herself sternly. Because, most of all, he’s taken.

  “Kyle’s threatening to sue me,” Joey said, not sounding too upset. “I told him to contact my lawyer—I could use the publicity.”

  They both laughed. She sipped her wine and wondered when he was going to make a move. If he did, she’d have to say no—much as she didn’t want to.

  The waiter brought over the dessert menu.

  “Not for me,” she said, shaking her head regretfully. “Can’t do it.”

  “Tonight you’re indulging yourself,” Joey said, taking charge.

  “I am?” she said wryly.

  “You am.”

  At his insistence, she ordered chocolate cake, while he went for pecan pie. They shared each other’s desserts, savoring every decadent bite.

  “I’m outta here tomorrow,” Joey said, gulping down a cappuccino. “There’s nothin’ else for me to do.”

  She pushed a piece of chocolate cake around her plate with a fork. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Back to New York.”

  She knew it wasn’t her business, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do you and Phillipa share an apartment?”

  “Right now we do,” he lied.

  “That’s good,” she said, nodding. “It’s always best to get to know someone before you marry them.”

  “You an’ Richard live together before you made it legal?”

  “No. We should have.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Richard turned out to be a very complex and needy man. Now that he’s married to my friend Nikki—you met her at the party the other night—he’s calmed down a lot.”

  “Let me see . . . needy . . . needy . . . What exactly did he need? Other women?”

  “You’re very perceptive,” she said, her beautiful face serious. “I caught him several times before it finally occurred to me that he had no intention of stopping.”

 

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