Hollywood Wives--The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  Taylor nodded, her eyes gleaming. This was not the kind of conversation she was used to and she loved it. Female power—both women exuded it. She felt privileged to be in their company.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  * * *

  ON TUESDAY MORNING, Nicci couldn’t open her eyes. She could barely breathe, let alone anything else. Gradually, she surfaced, only to find that she was surfacing in an unfamiliar bed.

  With a supreme effort she forced herself to wake up. Oh God! she thought in a panic. I am naked, I am in a strange bed, and there is a man sleeping next to me.

  Her head hurt so much she didn’t even dare to look to see who it was. But then she recognized the shaggy beach-blond hair and knew it was Brian.

  What the hell had she done?

  She rolled out of bed, realizing that this must be his apartment. It was spacious and untidy, with a panoramic view of the city.

  She searched around for her clothes and spotted them scattered all over the floor.

  Grabbing her jeans, she wriggled into them. Then she found her top and put it on.

  Memories began flooding back, including Brian’s revelations about Evan and his fiancée.

  Oh great! Evan had a former fiancée, and that information had made her jump into bed with his brother. What kind of girl was she?

  So Evan had kept something from her. It wasn’t that bad; it wasn’t like he’d murdered someone. Brian was much worse; he’d gotten her drunk and stoned, then taken advantage of her.

  God, how she hated him! He’d done it to get back at his brother. What a scumbag.

  She stared at the object of her fury, still asleep, or passed out—one or the other. Goddamn it, he’d ruined her life. Now she’d have to look at him forever and remember that she’d slept with him.

  Or had she? She couldn’t remember. Although her clothes strewn all over the floor should give her a clue.

  She shoved his shoulder. “Brian,” she said excitedly. “Wake up!”

  “What?” he mumbled, flinging his arms out, almost hitting her in the face.

  “Don’t you have a plane to catch?” she said.

  “Fuck!” he muttered, reaching for his watch on the bedside table. “Guess I blew that.” Bleary-eyed, he focused on her. “Christ, Nic—what’re you doing here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” she said grimly. “How did we get here? And why did I wake up in your bed?”

  “You woke up in my bed?” he said, struggling to sit up. “Jeez!” A big grin spread across his face. “I must be more irresistible than I thought.”

  “Brian—that’s not funny,” she said, standing beside the bed, glaring at him accusingly. “I don’t remember anything. What did you do—slip something in my drink?”

  “Yeah, like I’d do that,” he said, pushing his long, shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Jesus, Nic, I don’t remember anything either.”

  “Did we uh . . . do anything or didn’t we?” she demanded.

  “How would I know?” he said, yawning.

  Dilemma. Neither of them could remember

  “Well,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think we did. In fact, I’m sure we didn’t.”

  “S’long as you’re sure,” he mumbled.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m sure. We simply got carried away at the rave, came back here, and passed out.” She shot him another accusing look. “I don’t know why you took me there in the first place.”

  “To have a blast,” he said, yawning again.

  “It might’ve been a blast last night, but I feel like total crap, and I wanna go home. Is my car downstairs?”

  “How would I know?”

  “This is your apartment.”

  “True.”

  “You’re not being very helpful. And you haven’t even picked up Evan’s papers,” she said, beginning to panic again. “For God’s sake, Brian, you’d better get it together. I’ve got a wedding to plan, your mom’s arriving any minute, Evan’s been lying to me, and now this.”

  “Keep it down, you’re hurting my head,” he muttered, stumbling out of bed. “Let’s figure this out. Your car must be downstairs, ’cause that’s what we were in.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I’ll throw on some clothes, we’ll go back to your place, pick up Evan’s papers, then I’ll get the next plane outta here. After that we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “Right,” she agreed, unable to take her eyes off his rather impressive naked body. “Now perhaps you can put your pants on.”

  He ignored her request and padded into the bathroom.

  “You’d better not tell Evan I filled you in on him being engaged before,” he yelled out. “ ’Cause he’ll be major pissed, an’ I’ve gotta work with the asshole.”

  “I have to mention it,” she shouted back. “Why should I keep it a secret?”

  “Then get Lynda to tell you. Mommie Dearest has the biggest mouth going.”

  “How do I achieve that?”

  “Say somebody told you, not me,” he said, emerging from the bathroom in a pair of striped boxers. “She’ll tell you, an’ then y’can take it up with him.”

  “Any other secrets you’d like to share with me about my future husband?” she said, wishing this would all turn out to be nothing more than a bad dream.

  “You’ll find out,” he said, pulling on a pair of crumpled pants.

  And then she remembered kissing him and how good it had been.

  Maybe they had taken it to the next level. After all, they’d both woken up naked . . .

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  “C’mon,” she said impatiently. “Let’s do this. I have a wedding to organize.”

  •

  “WELL?” Quincy asked, the moment Michael walked into the office.

  “Well, what?” Michael responded bad-temperedly. He was in no mood to be questioned.

  “What went on last night?”

  “Nothing,” Michael said, sipping from a mug of hot, strong coffee.

  “Nothin’, huh?” Quincy said disbelievingly. “You had a meetin’ with Lissa Roman, an’ nothin’ went on.”

  “Oh yeah, that,” Michael said casually. “It went well.”

  “What went well?” Quincy said, exasperated.

  “The meeting.”

  “You gonna tell me what happened or not?” Quincy demanded.

  “Nothing happened, Q,” Michael said, like it was no big deal. “I met with the woman, we discussed what to do about her husband’s gun, and uh . . . that was that.”

  “That was that, huh?” Quincy said, not believing him for a moment.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure nothin’ happened I should know about?”

  “Talking about things you should know about,” Michael said, placing his coffee mug on Quincy’s desk. “Your wife called me last night.”

  “Amber called you? About what?”

  “About me not getting involved with Lissa Roman.”

  “Aw, jeez,” Quincy groaned. “There she goes again.”

  “What’s with this shit, Q? I never said I had anything going with the woman, an’ now I’ve got your wife on my case. I don’t fucking appreciate it.”

  “Sorry about that,” Quincy said abashedly. “You know Amber, she gets carried away.”

  “Goddamn it, Q—”

  “She likes Carol,” Quincy interrupted. “Thinks the two of you make a perfect couple.”

  “Oh good,” Michael said sarcastically. “I got your wife’s approval. Maybe she’d like to spend more time with Carol.”

  “She is. We’re havin’ dinner there tonight. I’ve been reminded twenty times, so you’d better not forget.”

  “Why would I forget?” Michael said.

  Quincy shrugged. “Amber said I should remind you.”

  “For crissakes, I’ll be there. Okay?” he said, reaching for a cigarette, indulging himself in a habit he was trying to break.

  “Wha
t’s happenin’ with you an’ her anyway?” Quincy persisted.

  “I dunno,” Michael said, inhaling deeply. “I’m not looking for anything permanent. Carol’s nice enough, and that’s about it.”

  “She looks sexy to me.”

  “The cleaning lady looks sexy to you.”

  “Amber would love to hear that,” Quincy said, roaring with laughter. “She’s got a real bad jealous streak.”

  “If she keeps up the shit she’s giving me, maybe I’ll tell her what a pussy chaser you really are.”

  “No, man,” Quincy begged. “You do that an’ my sorry ass won’t be worth shit.”

  “So get her to stay the fuck outta my business. Okay, Q?”

  “I’ll try, but nobody ever said bein’ married is easy.”

  •

  “I WANT TO SUE HIM,” Lissa said calmly, sitting in her lawyer’s Century City office, quite composed.

  “Sue him for what?” her lawyer replied.

  “Defamation of character. I want to sue him, the television station, and that blonde who introduces the show.”

  “Lissa, I thought you wanted Gregg to go away quietly. Isn’t that our objective?”

  “No,” she said sharply. “I’m fed up with being maligned. It’s time to get in his face like he did in mine. How dare he say those things about me. I have a daughter to think about, a reputation, and I have my fans. I will not allow him to get away with saying those things about me.”

  “You’re serious about suing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never seen you so determined.”

  “You probably haven’t, but I’m not all sweetness and light. I can be a bitch too.”

  “I noticed.”

  “So find out where he is and sue the sonofabitch. Okay?”

  After she was finished with her lawyer, she dropped by her dress designer’s showroom and had the final fittings for her Vegas clothes. The Desert Millennium Princess hotel was sending a plane for her on Thursday, two days before her appearance. That way she could rehearse with the band and her dancers and get acclimatized. Since they were paying her so much money, her one-night show was a very big deal, and she wanted to be totally prepared.

  Claude was flying everyone in on Saturday on his plane. So far the group included James, Larry and Taylor, Kyndra and Norio, and Stella and Seth. All her best friends.

  In one way she was nervous about her upcoming performance, and in another, she was looking forward to it. Performing on stage was where she felt most at home, more so than being in front of a movie camera or in the recording studio. She got the greatest thrill from the surge of adoration the audience gave her. Live applause wrapped her in love.

  Since Kyndra couldn’t make lunch, she called James, and he happily agreed to meet her at Le Dôme. They sat at a corner table studying menus.

  “Did you see it?” James said, as soon as they’d ordered.

  “Yes, I saw it,” she replied evenly. “And I’m suing him. I’ve already met with my lawyer.”

  “On what grounds can you sue?”

  “Defamation of character. Seems like a pretty good lawsuit to me.”

  The waiter brought James a martini and Evian for her. “You’re taking it well,” James remarked.

  “I’m angry, not upset. If Gregg thinks I’m about to fade away and play the hard-done-by little superstar who doesn’t care to ruin her public image, he’s very much mistaken.”

  “Good for you,” James said, sipping his martini.

  “I’m trying to handle everything,” she explained. “And I can, as long as I get Gregg out of my life forever.”

  “Nobody can blame you for that.”

  “And remind me never to get involved with another man ever again,” she added forcefully, thinking of the strong attraction she felt for Michael. “You’re all as bad as each other.”

  “Kindly do not put me in that category,” James said tartly. “I’m gay, remember?”

  “Gay guys have their trip too.”

  “As if you would know.”

  “I’m your best friend, aren’t I? How many times have you shared outrageous stories about you and Claude?”

  “Too many,” James said regretfully. “And do not forget your promise to never repeat them.”

  “I’m perfectly happy on my own,” Lissa said. “No more involvements. No more falling in love with a handsome face and a hard body.”

  “And let us not forget a delicious dick,” James murmured reverently.

  “You always go for the dick, don’t you?” she said with the trace of a smile.

  “I thought that was you, dear,” James observed. “Surely I’m not mistaken?”

  “Very amusing.”

  “Do I sense that you’re interested in someone?” he ventured. “The moment you say that you’re not, is the moment I know that you are.”

  She managed to look suitably surprised. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you so well, Lissa,” he said fondly. “Are you sure there’s not a little something you’d like to reveal to me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Shame!”

  “Your imagination is far too active, James. You need to get a hobby.”

  “Ah . . .” he crowed triumphantly. “So there is someone?”

  “Will you quit.”

  The waiter brought their order. Grilled swordfish for James and a chopped salad for Lissa.

  “Who is he?” James persisted, picking up his fork. “Anyone I know?”

  She thought about Michael for a moment. He’d run out on her again, that’s twice he’d done that. Maybe she was nothing more than business to him. How sad.

  It wasn’t good for her ego. She was Lissa Roman, superstar. She could probably have any man she wanted. Except the one she wanted, which was Michael.

  So you do want him?

  No I don’t.

  Yes you do.

  After lunch, Chuck drove her home. The usual paparazzi were milling around outside the gates of her house. TV cameras were also present, a result of Gregg’s new surge of publicity.

  “Miz Roman, do you have any comments on your husband’s interview last night?” yelled one of the TV reporters, running up to her car.

  She ignored him, staring stoically ahead as Chuck drove through the heavy iron gates.

  Nellie greeted her with a cup of green tea, while Danny bounced forward with a long list of phone messages.

  She checked the list, searching for Michael’s name. It wasn’t there.

  She took her tea and went upstairs to her bedroom. On the center of her bed was an envelope with her name on it. The name was not written—it was made up of individual letters cut from a magazine: LiSsA. She opened it. The message was clear. You will Die In VeGas bitch.

  It was not the first time she had received a threatening letter, although usually they didn’t reach her bedroom. She called down to Nellie on the intercom. “There’s a letter on my bed. Can you find out how it got there?”

  Nellie called back five minutes later. “Sorry, Miz Lissa, the new maid found it out by the front gate this morning and thought it was important. I’ve told her that in future she should give everything to Danny and not bother you.”

  At least the maniac hadn’t gotten into the house. Maybe it was Gregg, trying to scare her. This was exactly the kind of stupid stunt he’d pull.

  She immediately called the Robbins/Scorsinni office and asked for Michael. He was out, so she spoke to Quincy. “I received a death-threat letter,” she said, remaining surprisingly calm. “So I need one of you to come to Vegas with me. Of course I have Chuck, and there’ll be plenty of security at the hotel. However, I’ll feel better if you or Michael are with me.”

  “What kind of letter?” Quincy asked.

  “It’s probably a hoax, or Gregg playing games. I’ll messenger it over so you can take a look.”

  “Lissa,” Quincy said apologetically. “You know I got this broken leg thing goin’ on, othe
rwise I’d be there.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot.” A beat. “Michael will do, send him. We leave Thursday morning. If he comes to my house promptly at ten, he can drive to the airport with us.”

  “It’s done, Lissa, he’ll be there.”

  •

  TO NICCI’S HORROR, when they got downstairs, she discovered a huge dent in the front of her BMW. “How did this happen?” she wailed, circling her car.

  “Who the fuck knows?” Brian mumbled, groping for his sunglasses.

  “Were we so out of it that we had an accident and didn’t realize?” she demanded, turning on him. “We could’ve killed someone.”

  “You were driving,” he said accusingly.

  “No I wasn’t,” she argued. “You insisted, remember?”

  “C’mon, Nic, get in the car and let’s get this over with. I gotta get back to the location before my brother drives everyone insane with his nagging.”

  She slid into the driver’s seat. He didn’t argue; he was too hungover. So was she, although it hardly seemed to matter.

  They drove to Evan’s house slumped in their individual hangovers. As soon as they got there, Nicci ran inside and fetched the envelope containing Evan’s papers. By the time she got back, Brian was sitting in his Porsche, which had been parked outside the house all night.

  She handed him the envelope. “There you go,” she said. “Remember—not a word to Evan about any of this.”

  “Maybe there’s nothing to tell,” Brian said, peering over the top of his sunglasses. “The way I see it, we got back to my place an’ passed out. I think if we’d had sex, one of us would remember. I’ve never had a girl say she doesn’t.”

  “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” she said, wishing he wasn’t so damn attractive.

  “Somebody’s got to,” he said, grinning.

  “Oh suck it up, Brian. You’re a total flake.”

  He started his car, revving the engine. “I’ll give your love to Evan.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said, going back into the house.

  As soon as she was sure he’d gone, she took a shower, standing there for fifteen minutes, letting the cold water rain down on her body. When she got out, she wrapped herself in Evan’s big toweling bathrobe, took two aspirins, drank a bottle of water, and collapsed onto the bed. Then she called Saffron.