Thrill

by Jackie Collins

  He wondered what Lara was doing now. She must have arrived home and found he was not there. He knew she’d be upset.

  Why was he treating her this way? She was so good to him, she didn’t deserve it.

  Insurance. To make sure she stayed interested.

  He got up and left, not even glancing at the sumptuous redhead with giant knockers who was doing unbelievable things to a steel-backed chair.

  He sat in Lara’s car for a moment before taking out the matchbook with Tina’s number scribbled on the flap. Disgusted with himself, he threw it into the gutter.

  Why sabotage something perfect?

  • •

  Sitting in the back of her limo on the ride to her house, Lara attempted to calm down. Not only had she gone through the ordeal of the rape scene, but when the memories came flooding back, she’d felt a deep sense of sadness and desperation. Over the years she’d become adept at shutting out the nightmares, closing down the moment her mind went in a bad direction—a trick she’d learned to protect herself. Today it hadn’t worked.

  Enough! a voice screamed in her head. Enough! I’m not thinking about any more of this today.

  She inspected her arms, both badly bruised from the mauling Aiden had given her. Maybe Joey was right. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to appear in Revenge. Still . . . it was completely unfair of him to get mad at her.

  The dogs greeted her when she arrived home, racing out of the house, barking and wagging their tails, jumping to lick her face, delighted to see her. She fussed with them for a minute, thinking that you never had to worry about animals; they always loved you, no matter what.

  Mrs. Crenshaw came to the front door. “Everything all right, Miss Lara?”

  “Yes, thanks, Mrs. C.”

  “Will you be eating home tonight?”

  “Yes. I’d like dinner served in the bedroom on trays. Is Mr. Joey upstairs?”

  “No, he’s not home yet.”

  “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Did he call?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  She was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of emptiness. Why wasn’t Joey here to say he was sorry for the way he’d behaved, and to tell her he loved her? She had no desire to spend the evening alone; she needed him beside her.

  More than a little disturbed, she went upstairs into her bathroom and ran a tub, slowly pouring bubble bath under the running taps. Then she lit scented candles and put a Sade CD on the player. “Smooth Operator” serenaded her as she pinned her hair on top of her head and slid into the tub, allowing the warm water to soothe her aching body.

  It had been some day.

  • •

  When Nikki walked into the house she found three irate messages from Richard on the answering machine, each one more angry than the last. The gist of his fury was that he’d heard how graphic the rape scene was, and how could she and her amateur director have put Lara through such an ordeal.

  It was like he didn’t get it. They weren’t together, she was contemplating divorce, yet he acted as if this was merely a temporary separation and he could still tell her what to do.

  She wasn’t in the mood to call him back. In fact, until the movie was finished, she didn’t care to do anything about him at all. Yes, it was lonely in the house without him around, but it was better than putting up with a man who couldn’t stay faithful.

  She was anxious to see the dailies. Her job now was to protect Lara in the editing room, where she planned on looking over Mick’s shoulder the entire time.

  The phone rang. She reached for it.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Richard yelled, causing her to hold the phone away from her ear. “Are you trying to ruin Lara’s career?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she responded heatedly. “She’ll get nominated for this role.”

  “You’re full of shit, Nikki. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t talk down to me,” she answered coldly. “You remind me of Sheldon.”

  “Oh, I see. Every time I say something you don’t like, I remind you of your ex.”

  “I don’t appreciate being told what to do. I make my own decisions.”

  “Yes, you do. Decision number one: ruin Lara Ivory’s career.”

  “Why do you keep on saying that?”

  “Because it’s all over town that she’s flashing her snatch in your crummy little movie.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t think there wasn’t some spy on the set with a hidden camera?” he taunted. “The pictures will be front page of the tabloids next week. You think it’ll do my movie any good? My beautiful, gentle romance, and let’s take a look at Lara Ivory with her snatch in the air.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “For chrissake, Nikki, wise up. This is Hollywood in the nineties, there are spies everywhere. Jesus Christ! Lara’s supposed to be your friend. Why are you doing this to her?”

  “I’m trying to make a movie, Richard. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

  “You’re so naive,” he said, completely disgusted. “I was under the impression you knew what you were doing, but it turns out you’re nothing but an amateur.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “Then don’t.” And he slammed the phone down, which infuriated her even more.

  Déjà vu, she thought. The older man talking down to me. Exactly like Sheldon.

  Why did I marry two old guys anyway?

  Sheldon always said I was searching for Daddy—at least he made one correct call.

  She was just about to phone Lara, when the doorbell buzzed. Could it be Richard in person, all set to berate her some more?

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  “Aiden.”

  She flung open the door, and Aiden Sean ambled in, looking gaunt and worn and quite attractive in a grungy rock-star sort of way. Kind of like a younger Mick Jagger morphed with Tommy Lee.

  “Y’know,” he said irately, rubbing his unshaved chin. “I was in that scene today, too.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for Aiden and his complaints. ‘Huh?” she said vaguely.

  His bleak eyes scanned her face. “Everybody’s all over Lara like she’s the president’s wife. I’m what makes that scene real. I give it the power. Don’t I get any credit?”

  Actors! She’d forgotten to praise him and he was pissed. “You were great, Aiden,” she murmured soothingly. “You make the perfect rapist.”

  He laughed dryly. “Thanks.”

  “What’s that smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “Me,” he said, utterly unfazed. “Haven’t had time to go home. Thought I’d use your shower.”

  She frowned. Boy, he sure was different. “You drove all the way to Malibu to use my shower?”

  “No, I drove all this way to see you.”

  A moment of silence while she tried to figure out if this was his way of flirting. “Was that so I could tell you how great your performance was?” she asked lightly.

  “I wanted to see you—is that allowed?” he said, fixing her with his burned-out eyes. She fell into them and found herself admitting to herself that, yes, she was attracted to him, even though she’d been trying to bury her feelings.

  “Uh, Aiden,” she said, thrown by the realization. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but uh . . . I’m married.”

  “Separated,” he said, still pinning her with his mesmerizing gaze. “It’s all over the set.”

  “I guess nothing’s private when you’re making a movie,” she said ruefully.

  “Nothing,” he said, yawning and stretching. “I worked hard today, now I feel like a piece of shit. Can I use your shower or not?”

  His behavior was bizarre, and she knew she should say no, but she wasn’t in the mood to throw him out. She was in the mood for excitement and adventure, two things he seemed to offer. “One shower and you’ll go home?” she questioned.

  A thin smile. “Why
n’t you be a good girl and fix us a drink while I’m in there.”

  “Why don’t you be a good boy and fix us a drink when you get out.”

  He laughed, peeling off his work shirt. “Lead me to the bathroom, Nikki. I can’t even stand my own stink anymore.”

  She knew that whatever happened next was inevitable.

  • •

  Richard Barry paced furiously around his hotel suite. How come he always ended up in a hotel, while his wives stayed put in the house that he’d paid for? He should never have married Nikki, she was too headstrong—and full of her own importance now that she considered herself a “producer.” As far as he was concerned, she couldn’t produce shit. It was his fault for encouraging her, he should have known she wouldn’t be able to cut it.

  He should have stayed married to Lara. Getting divorced from her was the biggest mistake of his life. Now she was wasting her time with Joey Lorenzo, clearly a first-degree loser. And he, Richard Barry, was sitting alone in a hotel room.

  Thinking of Joey reminded him of a phone call he had to make. He fumbled in his pocket for a piece of paper with the number written on it, picked up the phone and dialed.

  A woman answered.

  “Ms. Francis? This is Richard Barry,” he said smoothly. “I’m sorry to bother you at home. I believe my assistant alerted you I’d be calling.”

  “It’s no bother, Mr. Barry,” Madelaine Francis replied, wondering what this was about. “In fact, it’s an honor to speak with you. How can I help?”

  He cleared his throat. “I understand you were the agent for Joey Lorenzo on The Dreamer.”

  “That’s right.” A slight pause. “Of course, I’m not responsible for anything he did after that, because he left my agency.”

  Richard sensed tension in her voice and knew exactly what to say next. “Actors . . .” he said understandingly. “One little break and they dump everyone who helped them get there. I’ve seen it happen a thousand times.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Madelaine said, her tone bitter. “Ah, well, that’s the way it goes,” Richard said sympathetically. “So . . . Ms. Francis . . . what exactly can you tell me about Joey Lorenzo?”

  “Are you interested in using him in one of your films?” Madelaine asked. “Because I have other people I can recommend. In fact, I have tapes of several very talented young actors I’d appreciate your viewing.”

  “Joey’s working in L.A. at the moment,” Richard remarked.

  “I didn’t know that,” Madelaine replied, realizing that she mustn’t sound too interested, even though she was anxious to know where the little shit had run off to this time. “What’s he working on?” she asked casually.

  “A low-budget movie. Nothing important.”

  “I see.”

  “I have a suggestion, Ms. Francis,” Richard said briskly. “I’ll pay for you to come out to the Coast. Bring the tapes of your actors, and we’ll sit down and discuss everything. I have several projects in development, I’m sure I can use a couple of your clients.”

  “I . . . I’d like that,” she said, still trying to figure out why Richard Barry was so interested in Joey Lorenzo.

  “The sooner the better,” Richard continued. “One of my assistants will make the arrangements. My casting people are excellent, but occasionally I enjoy meeting with agents, especially New York agents who have a knowledge of all the new young talent.”

  “That’s nice to hear, Mr. Barry. Not many directors in your position feel that way.”

  “I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Francis.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Barry.”

  He put the phone down and nodded to himself. It was about time he concentrated on finding out more about Mr. Lorenzo.

  Mexico City welcomed me with open arms—this murdering, drug-addicted, dumb American. I slept on the plane with the help of half a bottle of vodka and a couple of joints. The whole thing was surreal. A fucking slow-motion trip of disaster. I kept on seeing Hadley’s face, her look of surprise when the gun went off. Had anyone seen me at the house? Were there any witnesses? Was I going to get caught?

  The first thing I did was change my name again. Then I took a job at a gas station in a small town outside of the city. I rented a room and proceeded to dry out. Cold turkey. For once I was by myself. No woman to hold my hand and pay my bills. I wanted it that way. I wanted my life back.

  After a couple of months I began to feel like a human being. I was punishing myself for what I’d done. No drugs. No booze. No sex. Working a dumb shit job. Sleeping when I wasn’t working.

  It was my punishment.

  It cleared my head.

  I was twenty-eight years old and a total fucking failure.

  I met a woman. An American tourist searching for adventure. We traveled to Acapulco together. I paid my own way. She missed her husband. It was two weeks of nothing much.

  After that I went back to being on my own. And it was then that I started to take stock of my life, my sad and sorry life. And I vowed that everything was going to change. Everything.

  When I finally returned to L.A. I planned on being a totally different person.

  CHAPTER

  49

  “HI,” JOEY SAID, SLOUCHING INTO the bedroom.

  Lara was sitting up in bed, watching The Larry Sanders Show on HBO, hair piled on top of her head, face devoid of makeup.

  “God, you look beautiful!” he said, flopping down beside her. She ignored him as he edged nearer. “You pissed at me, honey?” he asked.

  “Can you wait until this program is over?” she said coolly, her eyes following the actors on TV.

  Oh, she was giving him a hard time. Well, she was entitled. “Sure,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand. “I can do anythin’ you want.”

  She allowed her hand to be limp in his, determined not to forgive him too fast.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said with a deep sigh. “I got crazy. Couldn’t help myself.”

  “I really appreciated your walking out,” she said accusingly.

  “Didn’t mean to.”

  “Whether you meant to or not, that’s exactly what you did.” ’

  “Guess sorry doesn’t cut it.”

  “You knew how difficult the rape scene was for me. How could you act like that?”

  “Cause I couldn’t stand seein’ you with those assholes crawlin’ all over you,” he muttered. “I warned you I shouldn’t be there; it was you that insisted.”

  “So now it’s my fault?”

  “In a way.”

  “You’re funny,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, I’m the funny guy who doesn’t wanna see you hurt. Is that so bad?”

  “You didn’t have to take it out on me.”

  “Jeez! How many times do I havta say I’m sorry?”

  “It’s Nikki you should be apologizing to.”

  Christ! Now Nikki! Wasn’t it enough that he was back? That he hadn’t fucked up her head by screwing around on her?

  “Your so-called friend is way too possessive of you,” he said. “Did you know the reason she split with Richard is ’cause he’s pissed you’re in her movie?”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Hey—I’m fillin’ you in on the set gossip. Believe what you like.” He rolled toward her, his tone drawing her in. “C’mon, baby, let’s not fight. You’ve been on my mind all evening.”

  “I have?” she asked, unable to stay mad at him for long.

  “It’s the truth.”

  She gave a deep sigh, there seemed no point in fighting. I’m glad you came home,” she said softly.

  “So am I,” he said, taking the remote from her hand and clicking off the TV.

  “I was watching that . . .” she objected, none too strenuously.

  “Y’know,” he said, stroking her hair. “While I was hinkin’ about you, I came up with a great idea.”

  “You did?”

  “Yup.”

  She snuggled closer
to him. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Dunno,” he said, teasing her. “Haven’t decided.”

  “Well, while you’re deciding, shall I get Mrs. C to bring up dinner?”

  “Sounds good t’ me.”

  • •

  Aiden emerged from the shower and padded into the kitchen with only a thin bath sheet knotted around his narrow waist.

  Nikki gave a low, mocking whistle. “Sexeee!” She was trying to play this real cool because she wasn’t sure how she felt. And what kind of nerve did this guy have anyway, parading naked around her house?

  “Where’s my drink?” he asked, perfectly at home.

  “Aiden,” she said. “A joke is a joke, but can you please put your clothes on and go home.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “They stink. Thought you could throw ’em in the wash.”

  Oh God, how had she gotten involved in this?

  “You’re too much,” she said, shaking her head.

  Ice-gray eyes met hers. “Not the first time I’ve bin told that.”

  She stared back at him. He was so thin that she could make out the outline of his ribs, and on his left shoulder he had a snake tattoo wending its way down his upper arm. Something drew her to it . . . she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch.

  Wrong move. Or maybe the right one. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her forcefully toward him, pressing his lips down on hers.

  She kissed him back. What the hell . . . If it was okay for Richard . . .

  Aiden was extremely passionate, hardly giving her a moment to think. So unlike Richard, who moved at a leisurely pace, an older man’s pace.

  “First time I saw your lips I couldn’t wait to suck ’em,” Aiden said, breathing all over her. “Fuckable lips . . . fuckable you . . .”

  His hands were everywhere. Under her sweater, up her skirt, sneaking around the elastic of her panties. Long, inquisitive fingers exploring new territory.

  “Slow down,” she gasped.

  “Fuck slowing down,” he responded. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since that first lunch.” And then he began kissing her again, his tongue jamming deep into her mouth.