And so on and so forth.
Halfway through he got bored and put the diary down. Then he began picking out specific dates. Her birthday. Christmas. Easter. Valentine’s Day. Every entry was all about what she ate and what movies she’d seen.
He shoved the diary back into the box along with her other mementos and went to the 1974 box. The usual stuff, plus another diary, this time a yellow one. He unlocked it and read the same kind of thing.
There was nothing here. Why had he thought there might be? She’d been this little high school girl, living in a small town like thousands of other girls across America. Only Lissa was different, she’d run away from home and became a star.
Just as he was about to put the yellow diary down, he noticed that every so often there was a page entry with nothing but a red exclamation point. Obviously it was some sort of code.
He checked through the diary to see if there was any way of deciphering what it meant. On the back page, written out quite a few times was, I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!—and next to each I hate her! was a red exclamation point.
Gregg couldn’t figure it out.
He reached for another box and took out her diary for that year. The same thing. The entries were all about food, movies, and school, and every so often another red exclamation point. In the back of the diary, once again, there was a list of I hate hers with red exclamation points next to the words.
He counted the number of days where the red exclamation points appeared. Over the year there were thirty. And the I hate hers were written out exactly thirty times.
Who was her? And what did it mean?
He decided he’d better run it by Belinda. Right now she was the brains in the family. He was merely the talent, in every way.
•
“I CAN GET YOU a ticket if you’re sure you want to go,” Nicci said, finding Lynda in the laundry room.
“I certainly do,” Lynda replied, folding sheets. “And you should come with me.”
“I can’t,” Nicci said, wondering how the maid would react to Lynda redoing the laundry. “It’s my bachelorette party, and my friend’s having a celebration for me.”
“Celebration of what?” Lynda snapped.
“My marrying your son.”
“Bachelorette party,” Lynda snorted. “I would think you’d have better ways to spend your time. Brian wanted to throw a bachelor night for Evan, and he refused. I told him it was archaic. You should be thanking me, dear. Nasty strippers thrusting their goods in your intended’s face—disgusting!”
“We don’t do anything like that,” Nicci said innocently. “We go out to dinner—all us girls—and y’know, quietly exchange thoughts.”
“That sounds more like it,” Lynda said, holding up a pillowcase to make sure it was clean enough.
“Anyway,” Nicci said. “I talked to my mom, and she’ll arrange a ticket for you. So if you want to go, I’ll call the travel agent and—”
“No need,” Lynda interrupted. “I have my own travel person who deals with my mileage. Just tell me how I collect my ticket when I get there. After all,” she said pointedly. “It’s lonely for me sitting here in an empty house. And I’ll be back in time to greet Evan when he arrives home on Sunday.”
Nicci gave a sigh of relief. Thank God, she thought. Alone at last, and not a moment too soon.
“When will you go?” she ventured.
“In the morning, I suppose,” Lynda said.
“Or how about tonight?” Nicci suggested. “Then you could get a cab to take you on a tour of Vegas. Have you been there before?”
“Evan and I were there together,” Lynda said. “Some convention to do with theater owners. Evan was treated wonderfully. It was when he was engaged to that awful girl. She came too.”
“What did you say her name was?” Nicci asked casually.
“Julia something or other,” Lynda sneered. “Common as dirt, came from nowhere.”
Not only was Evan’s mother an unbearable, bossy, interfering woman—she was also a snob.
Fortunately she chose to take an afternoon flight. Nicci offered to drive her to the airport, but she preferred to go by cab.
As soon as she was gone, Nicci raced into the kitchen and promptly rearranged all the pots and pans that Lynda had carefully reorganized, then she put Shaggy on the stereo as loud as possible, jumped into the swimming pool naked, and swam twenty lengths. After that she felt a lot better.
Next she started trying to figure out what to wear for her party. Something wild, because it was bound to be that kind of night.
She tried to reach Evan, but his phone was off.
She thought about calling Brian, then asked herself, did she really have any reason to?
Yes. He was the only one who understood about Lynda and what the woman was putting her through.
He answered on the second ring.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“In bed with a gorgeous redhead,” he said.
“No you’re not.”
“Why d’you doubt me?”
“Got a feeling.”
“How are you, kiddo?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gimme the scam. Didja kill her?”
“I’ve sent her to Vegas to see my mom’s show,” Nicci said, giggling.
“How’d you manage that? Didja put a magic rocket up her ass?”
“I wish!” They both laughed. “I can’t reach Evan,” Nicci said. “Where is he?” There was a silence. “Oh what?” she said. “He’s screwing the script girl again—Julia? Is that it?”
“What’re you talking about?” Brian said, obviously not getting the joke.
“What’re you so uptight about?”
“I’m not.”
“Are you flying back with Evan on Sunday?”
“I was thinking of hopping a plane tonight.” A beat. “You doin’ anything later?”
“I’m planning on an early night.”
“Can I stop by?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause.”
“ ’Cause what?”
“ ’Cause . . . I dunno.” A double beat, then she relented and said, “I suppose . . . if you want to.”
“It’ll probably be late.”
“Like how late?” she said, her heart starting to pound at the thought of seeing Brian again.
“Eight or nine. Is that too late?”
“No more raves?” she said warningly.
“Don’t do that anymore. You were my last fling.”
“I was?”
“We could go to dinner though. I know a cozy little lobster place at the beach.”
“One of your make-out spots?”
“Could be. Wanna try it?”
“Only if we take your car.”
“Did you get yours fixed yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll pay if the insurance doesn’t.”
“What a sport!”
“See you later, babe.”
What are you doing? she thought the moment she hung up. What the hell are you doing? You’re getting married—to his brother—and now you’re going to dinner with him?
This was insane.
And yet, for some crazy reason, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.
•
“I WISH YOU’D think about coming with us,” Taylor urged. “There’s room on the plane. I’ve already asked James.”
“Yes,” Montana said. “But have you asked Larry?”
“It’s not his decision, it’s yours,” Taylor said. “And anyway, there’s no animosity between the two of you, is there?”
“I’ve got a suspicion I always made Larry a little nervous.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you, Taylor—you’re married to him.”
“If you’ve never seen Lissa’s show, it’s a must,” Taylor said enthusiastically. “She’s sensational on
stage.”
“She’s sensational in the flesh too,” Montana said, with a smile.
Taylor shook her head. “Uh-huh—Lissa doesn’t swing both ways.”
“Do you?” Montana asked, looking at her boldly.
“Uh . . . I . . . no,” Taylor replied, quite taken aback, although she had experimented way back in college.
“Just f-ing with you,” Montana said, laughing at Taylor’s discomfort. “You do know it’s very fashionable today.”
“And you do know that I’m married to Larry Singer.”
“All the more reason.”
“Think about coming,” Taylor said. “We could go gambling, shopping, have a sauna and facial—it would be a really relaxing weekend for you.”
“I’ll think about it,” Montana promised. “When are you off?”
“Tomorrow,” Taylor said. “And we’re flying back Sunday morning, so it’ll be twenty-four hours of pure relaxation. What more could you ask for?”
Montana smiled. “I can think of a few things.”
•
EVAN AND BRIAN ran into each other at the entrance of the small hotel where the crew and cast were staying in Utah. Brian had a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Evan asked.
“Huh?” Brian said.
“It looks like you’re going somewhere,” Evan said.
“Back to L.A.,” Brian said. “You can handle everything here.”
“We didn’t discuss this,” Evan said.
“Got some scenes I need to work on,” Brian said. “Can’t concentrate here—too much going on.”
“You’re going back to L.A. so you can party,” Evan said accusingly.
“Speaking of partying,” Brian said, putting his bag down. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“What?”
“Remember when you warned me to stay away from Abbey?”
“Yes.”
“So now I get it. You didn’t want me anywhere near her ’cause you had plans.”
“What’re you talking about?” Evan said, stony faced.
“Hey—bro, it’s one thing when I fuck around, ’cause I’m not planning on gettin’ married.”
“You’re full of it,” Evan said. “You always have been, and you always will be.”
“You should’ve seen Abbey’s face yesterday when I told her you were engaged. Man, she didn’t like it at all. You gotta learn to be more up front.”
“You know what you are—you’re a fucking asshole!” Evan yelled.
And before anyone could stop them, right there in front of the small hotel, they were at each other’s throats.
•
IN LATE AFTERNOON, Michael and Chuck held a security meeting with the guards from the hotel and went over everything.
“Lissa Roman received a death-threat letter shortly before leaving L.A.,” Michael informed them. “We don’t think it’s anything serious, however, we can’t take any chances.”
The head of security at the hotel was an ex-FBI agent. He assured Michael that everything was under control. “When she’s onstage, there will not be a second when someone’s eyes aren’t on her,” the man said.
“That’ll be me,” Michael said. “And I’m glad to hear that everyone else will be watching too.”
He went back to rehearsal to see if Lissa was finished for the day.
She was sitting in a chair, clad in a toweling robe, drinking Evian from the bottle.
“Tired?” he said.
“Delightfully exhausted,” she replied.
“We should get you back to your suite so you can have a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.”
“I’ll see,” she murmured.
“You’ll see what?”
“I’ll see what I want to do later.”
Fabio and a couple of the dancers accompanied them back to the suite.
“You can go,” Lissa said to Michael as they reached her room. “I’m in good hands.”
“I’ll be next door. Buzz if you need me.”
“I will.”
“You’re in for the night then, huh?”
“I think so. And if I’m not, you’ll be the last to know.”
“That’s not funny, Lissa,” he said sternly. “Don’t forget about the letter.”
“Oh, please,” she said dismissively. “Do you know how many of those I’ve had? Hundreds in my time.” “Hundreds, huh? And you’re still here. Amazing what they can’t do to you.”
“I’m indestructible,” she joked. “Didn’t you know?”
He was seeing a whole new side of her. She obviously loved performing; it definitely made her more relaxed and easygoing.
He went to his room, which, although smaller than hers, was certainly luxurious. It featured a king-size bed, panoramic view, marble bathroom, and a minibar stocked with everything imaginable.
Great. He had temptation staring him in the face. The good thing was he hadn’t been tempted in ten years, and he wasn’t about to yield now.
He noticed the red light blinking on his phone. He picked it up and listened to his messages. One from Quincy, hoping that everything was progressing smoothly. Then a sexy female voice, “Hi, Mr. Scorsinni—Michael. This is Cindy. You might remember me from the plane. I was wondering if you’d like to see Las Vegas. I could show you the sights. So . . . I’ll call you later.”
He remembered the blonde from the plane—tall and sexy. Perhaps she was exactly what he needed.
•
BACK IN L.A., Taylor simulated the sounds of lovemaking. Only she wasn’t making love to a man, she was naked under a thin sheet, and Sonja Lucerne’s hands were all over her. Watching was a full crew.
Taylor was totally turned on. Montana had assured her that when the scene was cut together, you wouldn’t see anything she might regret later. “You’ve got to let yourself go,” Montana assured her. “I can promise you won’t be sorry.”
Sonja obviously trusted Montana implicitly, so Taylor decided she would too.
Sonja’s hands were gentle and insistent at the same time. The way they caressed Taylor’s breasts was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Feather touches, but oh so effective. The scene required her to have an orgasm. As far as she was concerned, there was no acting involved.
Montana and the crew were suitably appreciative, rewarding them with a round of applause as soon as Montana called “Cut.”
Taylor sat up, her cheeks glowing, her skin tingling with pleasure. It was then she noticed Larry standing near Montana, an angry look on his face. Oh God, why hadn’t he told her he was coming today? She would have put him off, told him to visit on another day. This was ridiculous, knowing Larry, he’d be absolutely furious. Why the hell hadn’t anyone warned her he was present?
The wardrobe woman came toward her with a robe. She slid into it and belted it tightly.
“That’s a wrap for today, everyone,” Montana called. “Thanks again.”
Taylor attempted to compose herself. She knew she must look flushed, and she also knew that Larry would probably recognize the signs of sexual excitement written all over her face.
“Honey,” she said, rushing over to him. “You should’ve told me you were coming.”
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said, his expression grim.
“You certainly did that,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Come on, let’s go to my trailer.”
His expression was getting more uptight by the second. And why not? He’d just seen her making love to a woman, and seemingly enjoying it a lot.
He followed her into her trailer. Once they were inside and the door was closed, he said, “Taylor—do you understand what that looked like out there?”
“I know exactly what it looked like, darling,” she said, attempting to placate him. “However, Montana has assured me that she edits in such a way that you don’t really see anything. It’s all subliminal.”
“Are you crazy?” he said, his voice risin
g. “Do you have any idea what they can do with that footage if it gets out? And how about the outtakes and the footage she doesn’t use? You’re screwed, Taylor. You should never have allowed yourself to be put in that position.”
“Too late now,” she said. “I’ve already done it. That was the final love scene.”
“You bet it was the final love scene,” he said angrily. “How stupid can you get?”
“You seem to forget that I was just performing, playing a part, Larry, a perfectly legitimate acting role.”
“Your naïveté amazes me,” he said. “You’ve been in this business long enough to know better.”
“Why are you so upset?” she asked, finally losing it. “Does seeing two women in bed together make you feel threatened?”
He stared at her as if she’d hit him. Then he turned and marched out of the trailer.
Larry had never walked out on her before.
Oh God, maybe she’d gone too far. She dressed quickly, ran to her car and instructed her driver to get her home as fast as possible.
•
“I CAN’T figure anything out,” Gregg said.
“What is there to figure out?” Belinda asked.
“Lissa’s old diaries—they’re all about movies, boys, and food.”
“Sounds typical,” Belinda said.
“Yeah, but there’re also these red exclamation points all over the place. I know it means something.”
“She’s probably marking the dates of her period,” Belinda said. “Girls do that.”
“Thirty or more times a year?”
“Maybe she was getting laid,” Belinda said, chuckling. “I used to have secret signals like that. Every time I sucked a boy’s dick I’d put a star in my diary. Something my mom wouldn’t understand if she ever read it.”
“She didn’t like sex that much when we were married, why would she do it all the time when she was a teenager?”
“Girls will be girls,” Belinda sighed. “You want me to read the diaries?”
“Yeah. Patrick says I gotta come up with something juicy if I wanna score the big bucks.”
“I’ll take a look. In the meantime, when are you picking out your birthday present?”
“Tomorrow. Where did you find that woman?”
“Barneys always gives me a personal shopper to work with. Deidra’s new. I like dealing with new people, they’re easier to work with.”
Hollywood Wives--The New Generation Page 31