Thrill

by Jackie Collins

  She smiled contentedly. “Whatever you say, Joey.”

  • •

  Summer met Tina at an outdoor restaurant on Sunset Plaza Drive. Tina was sitting with an attractive older woman who Summer reckoned was about the same age as her mother.

  “Meet Darlene,” Tina said, introducing them. “Darlene’s cool. She organizes things.”

  “Hi, Summer,” Darlene said with a pleasant smile. Her hair was dark blond and upswept, and her teeth, white and even. She was expensively dressed in Chanel, and real diamonds glittered on her ears and fingers.

  “Hi,” Summer responded, quite impressed with this woman’s obvious sophistication.

  “Sit down, dear,” Darlene said.

  She sat in a chair next to Tina, noticing Darlene’s perfect manicure and blood-red inch-long nails.

  “Well, Summer,” Darlene said, “I understand you might be interested in working for me.”

  Summer glanced at Tina, who nodded reassuringly. “It’s what we talked about,” Tina reminded her. “Y’know—the movie-star thing.”

  “Oh,” Summer said. “Uh . . . yes.”

  “It so happens,” Darlene said smoothly, “that there’s an extremely handsome young movie star who’d love to meet you.”

  Talk about things moving fast! “There is?”

  “Are you interested?”

  She had absolutely nothing to lose, and money and freedom to gain. “Sure,” she said quickly.

  Darlene licked her generous lips. “How does five hundred dollars in cash sound to you?”

  Summer couldn’t believe this was happening to her. “Uh . . . amazing,” she managed.

  “Just one thing,” Darlene said. “You’re not a virgin, are you? You do know how to look after yourself?”

  No, I am not a virgin on account of the fact that my dear daddy has been screwing me since I was ten.

  “Yes, I know how to look after myself,” she said, thinking that a condom and a joint would get her through any tricky situation.

  “Tomorrow night,” Darlene said, getting up from the table. “I’ll set it up. Tina will give you the details.” She nodded approvingly at Tina. “You were right, dear. Summer’s quite lovely.” And with that she walked over to a chauffeured Mercedes waiting curbside, got inside, and the car slid off.

  “Wow!” Summer exclaimed. “Who is she?”

  “Isn’t she great?” Tina said admiringly. “I want to be her one day. You should see her house!”

  “Where did you meet her?” Summer asked, swiping a slice of pizza from Tina’s plate.

  “Around,” Tina said vaguely. “I was doing a modeling job, and one of the other models introduced us. Darlene’s primo. I’ve made tons of money with her. You can too, only whatever you do, don’t tell her you’re only fifteen. I said you’re seventeen. Remember that.”

  “I know” Summer said. What kind of idiot did Tina take her for?

  “And keep this to yourself,” Tina warned. “No telling Jed or any of the others. This is our secret.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  “Knew I could trust you.”

  And Summer beckoned the waiter and ordered a whole pizza for herself, because soon she was going to be rich.

  CHAPTER

  39

  RICHARD SNAPPED HIS FINGERS AT the wine waiter and requested a bottle of chardonnay.

  “I’m not drinking,” Lara said, already wishing she hadn’t agreed to lunch with him.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he said persuasively. “For old times’ sake.”

  “Old times’ sake?” she said, irritated. “I thought the purpose of this lunch was that you wanted to talk to me about Joey.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves while we’re doing it,” he said smoothly, turning on the charm. “A glass of wine with your ex-husband—is that such a terrible thing?”

  “I have to be truthful with you, Richard,” she said, glancing across the room. “I’d be a lot more comfortable if Nikki were here.”

  “How can you say that?” he complained, giving her a hurt look. “I was married to you for crissake. It’s not as if we’re having a secret assignation.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said, gazing blankly around the restaurant. So far she’d had a busy day. She’d taped several TV interviews for Australia, followed by an hour with a reporter from Premier magazine. And now lunch with Richard. Later she’d agreed to do even more print interviews at her publicist’s office—something she hated, even though she’d done so many of them it was like being on automatic pilot.

  She was half tempted to excuse herself from the table, go to the phone and cancel, but she realized she’d be letting everyone down, and publicity was important, especially as she had three upcoming movies to promote.

  The truth was she had no desire to spend a couple more precious hours sitting in her publicist’s office when she could be with Joey.

  Ah, Joey . . . Was she thinking about him too much? Was she getting in too deep, too fast?

  Who knew? Who cared? She was content for the first time in ages, and that’s all that mattered.

  “Are you happy?” Richard asked, as if delving into her thoughts.

  “Very,” she replied firmly. “Joey’s allowing me the freedom to be myself. ’ ’

  He stared at her, wondering how he could ever have let this woman go. “That’s an interesting statement,” he said. “What exactly does it mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” she said vaguely. “Shedding my inhibitions, becoming totally free.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Sexually?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “since we’re being so truthful, that was one of the reasons I found myself seeking out other women.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, frowning.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, afraid he’d exceeded her tolerance level. “But, sweetheart, you have to admit you were never exactly adventurous in the bedroom. There are times a man needs more . . . spice.”

  She glared at him, her green eyes suddenly cold. What gave her ex-husband the right to talk to her this way? If their sex life had been so lousy, it certainly wasn’t her fault—she hadn’t been the one out there screwing around. “Richard,” she said, her tone cool. “I may not have been as adventurous as you might have liked, but did you ever consider that you seemed to prefer watching TV?”

  Now it was his turn to do a slow burn. This was the second time he’d been told he preferred television to sex. First Nikki. Now Lara. Shit! He’d had more sex than they’d had hot dinners. “If you want to get into reasons—” he began.

  “I don’t,” she interrupted, realizing the smart thing would be to make a move before they became embroiled in a real fight. “This lunch was a mistake,” she continued, standing up. “In fact, I’m leaving while we’re still talking.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said, standing too.

  “You tricked me into coming so you could talk about our past. You know what, Richard? I think you’re jealous because I’ve found somebody I’m in synch with.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” he objected.

  “Joey’s young and good-looking,” she said heatedly. “We’re having a great time together, and it’s sticking in your gut. So don’t start telling me I was a dud in the bedroom. Let me tell you something: when a woman’s not good in bed, it’s because the man doesn’t inspire her. So . . . no more cozy little lunches for two. Let’s stay friends and out of each other’s business, okay, Richard?”

  And before he had a chance to reply, she was on her way to the door.

  She stood outside trying to compose herself. How dare he criticize her performance in bed. Joey certainly had no complaints.

  A hovering photographer began taking shots, which always made her nervous. As soon as the valet brought her car, she took off, realizing that she now had an hour to waste before going to
her publicist’s office. Not enough time to go home, so, after driving over the hill, she stopped at Neiman Marcus and indulged in some mindless shopping.

  The attention she received from customers and sales-people alike was stifling—one of the drawbacks of having a famous face. She smiled politely and signed a few autographs before reclaiming her car and arriving at her publicist’s office early, startling several assistants who couldn’t do enough for her.

  Linden, her publicist, a handsome black man in his early forties, was delighted to see her. “How’s my favorite client?” he asked, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “Tired,” she replied, suppressing a yawn.

  “You sure don’t look it,” he said cheerfully.

  Linden was a former stuntman who’d lost an arm in a stunt gone wrong on one of Lara’s early movies. She’d helped him make the best of a bad situation by investing in the publicity firm he put together, and becoming his first client. Now, six years later, he was extremely successful and well liked in the business. He often told her he owed it all to her. She laughed, and refused to take credit.

  “You’re always so sweet, Linden,” she said.

  “I try to please my clients at all times,” he replied with a smile.

  “You certainly do that.”

  Linden settled her in a private office, and she called home. Mrs. Crenshaw informed her Joey was out.

  She didn’t want him to be out. She wanted to talk to him, tell him she missed him and couldn’t wait to be in his arms.

  Last night he’d made love to her in the games room-bent her over the pool table, lifted her skirt and taken her just like that. It had been incredibly erotic.

  Joey was never predictable sexually. Sometimes he made her feel like a whore, and sometimes like the perfect lady. The combination was dangerously addictive.

  Merely thinking about him caused a shudder of excitement.

  She smiled. Joey always put a smile on her face, and that’s exactly the way she liked it.

  • •

  “Thanks for seein’ me, I appreciate it,” Joey said.

  As if I had a choice, Quinn Lattimore thought sourly, running a hand through his dyed hair as he regarded Joey with suspicious eyes and asked too many questions.

  Joey kept it vague as Quinn pressed for more information. “I’m startin’ fresh,” he explained.

  I bet you are, Quinn thought, trying to figure out what was going on with Lara lately. First she’d insisted on making this cheapo movie, Revenge. Now she’d gotten her boyfriend a part in it, and the capper was she expected him, Quinn Lattimore, to represent this unknown actor, even though she knew he was obsessively fussy about the people he took on, turning down good-looking actors every day. And Joey Lorenzo was a cagey one, refusing to reveal anything about his past, including what agent had represented him in New York. Quinn found this highly suspect.

  He sat back, checking Joey out. He had to admit that the young man was extremely handsome, but who knew if he had talent?

  “You’ll need to get some new head shots,” he said, tapping his stubby fingers on the desk. “I suggest you go to Greg Gorman—he’s the best photographer around for men. Not cheap, but definitely worth the investment.”

  “How much is not cheap?” Joey asked casually.

  “Have Lara call him,” Quinn said. “Greg loves her. Maybe she can cut you a deal.”

  Who doesn’t love Lara, Joey thought. “Listen, Mr. Lattimore,” he said slowly. “You should know I’m very fond of Lara.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Quinn said.

  “I’m plannin’ on lookin’ after her,” Joey added, staring at him intently.

  “Does she need looking after?” Quinn asked, raising a cynical eyebrow.

  “I believe so,” Joey said, wondering how much commission this fat cat had made out of her. “Sometimes people are inclined to take advantage of a woman on her own—’specially a famous woman.”

  “I advised her not to do Revenge,” Quinn said pompously. “I insisted she take a well-deserved break, but you know Lara—she’s stubborn—wouldn’t listen.”

  “She’s pushin’ herself too hard,” Joey said. “If I’d been with her I wouldn’t have allowed her to do it. It’s too tough a role. Plus it goes against her image big time.”

  Quinn decided it might be prudent to get Joey on his side. Better to be friends with the man who was in bed with his most successful client; being enemies could be trouble. “Joey,” he said, warming up considerably, “I’ll get you what I can for Revenge, only I should warn you—they have a nonexistent budget.”

  “Yeah,” Joey said, standing up. “Lara mentioned that.”

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

  Joey nodded. At least Quinn was a straight shooter. “I’ll look into those head shots you mentioned.”

  “The sooner the better,” Quinn said.

  Joey left the office on Sunset Boulevard and walked around the corner to Lara’s car. A group of musicians were unloading their equipment outside a rock club. An outstandingly pretty girl in a skimpy outfit sat on one of the speakers, casually filing her nails. She glanced up as Joey passed, smiling invitingly. “Hi,” she said.

  “How ya doin’?” he responded, hardly noticing her.

  “Wouldn’t mind a coffee,” she said, all stoned eyes and exposed pink flesh.

  Once he would have taken her up on her invitation, but now he had no intention of doing so. He’d finally discovered the woman he’d been searching for all his life, and no way was he messing it up.

  • •

  Nikki sat behind her desk, trying to get her head straight. Richard was behaving like a horse’s ass, and she didn’t know what to do. He was a big success, he had his own movie coming out—French Summer, which was going to garner nothing but great reviews and mega-attention—and yet he seemed to be jealous of her modest film. It didn’t make sense. Again last night they’d barely spoken. Truth was he resented Lara appearing in Revenge. Well, too bad, Nikki hadn’t forced her to say yes. Lara was free to make her own choices, including Joey—whom Richard hated.

  It startled Nikki that he was so concerned. She wanted to remind him that Lara was his ex-wife, and it was about time he let go.

  A production assistant stopped by with a stack of memos. Nikki riffled through them, placed them on her desk, then picked up the phone and called Sheldon in Chicago, a task she’d been putting off.

  “How are you, Nikki?” Sheldon asked in that supercilious tone she remembered so well and loathed so much.

  “Fine,” she replied, waiting to see if he mentioned Summer first. He didn’t. “Nice vacation?” she asked, merely being polite.

  “Pleasant,” he replied.

  A short silence. Nikki broke it. “Uh . . . Sheldon,” she said, plunging in. “I’m calling to discuss Summer.”

  “What about her?”

  “She wants to go to school in L.A.”

  “Why?” he asked sharply.

  “She likes it here.”

  “I certainly hope you haven’t been allowing her to run riot,” he said sternly.

  “You know your daughter; she’s hardly the easiest girl in the world to keep tabs on. Besides, she told me you never gave her a curfew.”

  “Surely you didn’t fall for that?”

  How she hated speaking to Sheldon, it brought back every bad memory from her past. “So—what do you think?” she asked breezily. “Is it a good idea or not?”

  There was a long silence while Sheldon thought it over. “Are you available to spend plenty of time with her?” he asked at last.

  “Actually, right now I’m producing a movie,” she said, wondering how he’d take that piece of news.

  He snorted derisively. “You’re producing?”

  “Is that so strange?” she said, immediately defensive.

  “What experience do you have?”

  “Enough, thank you.”

  “No,” he said, abruptly. “It’s not a g
ood idea. I want her home as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll tell her how you feel.”

  “Do that.”

  “She’ll be disappointed.”

  “I don’t particularly care.”

  No. Of course he didn’t. Sheldon was as cold as a dead shark, with about as much personality.

  “Okay,” Nikki said slowly. “Maybe when the time comes for her to go to college, we can consider her moving here then. She could attend UCLA or USC, both excellent choices.”

  “That decision is mine, Nikki.”

  “No,” she said heatedly. “It’s mine, too. We’re both her parents.”

  “You gave up that right when you left her with me.”

  Fuck you, Sheldon. Who do you think you’re talking to? The naive little girl you married? I’m a big girl now. I can stand up for myself.

  “If you remember,” Nikki said, her voice a flat monotone. “You insisted she stay with you. And you made her feel so guilty that she told me that’s what she wanted.”

  A cold laugh. “Ah . . . Nikki, Nikki, you always were adept at making excuses.”

  The old familiar anger began to overwhelm her. “How’s your child bride?” she asked bitchily.

  “That’s right,” he said calmly. “Try and get at me that way.” A brief pause. “The truth is, my dear, it won’t work. I’ve told you before—you’re damaged, you need help.”

  “Oh, screw you!” she shouted, suddenly snapping. “You’re still an asshole!” And she slammed down the phone, furious she’d allowed him to goad her.

  Now she was stuck with the job of telling Summer she couldn’t stay. Of course, if she was truthful, she knew it was for the best, considering she had neither the time nor the inclination to watch over her daughter. Summer was better off with her father—even if he was major prick of the year.

  For a brief moment she was tempted to call him back and tell him that. Sheldon, with his shock of thick, white hair of which he was so proud; his smug expression; his perfectly capped teeth. And his small dick.

  She couldn’t help a vindictive smile when she recalled his tiny member. Sheldon was a big man everywhere except in the one place it really mattered. A psychiatrist with a small-dick problem. Not the perfect combination. It forever angered him, which is why he went for young, inexperienced girls who had nothing to compare it with.