Hollywood Divorces • Hollywood Wives: The New Generation

by Jackie Collins

  And, job done, he left her stewing.

  Lissa lunched with the reporter from the L.A. Times, delicately dodging all the questions she didn’t care to answer. The man gazed at her adoringly, and she knew it would be a puff piece–which was all right with her, because after Gregg’s character assassination she could do with some positive publicity.

  Later she informed Max that she was not prepared to do any more sit-down interviews for at least a few months.

  ‘Your choice, babe,’ Max said. ‘The Times was important. And you’ll do the electronic media in Vegas.’

  ‘If I have to,’ she said reluctantly.

  While Lissa was at lunch with the reporter, Danny received a phone call from Gregg Lynch. He was most surprised.

  ‘Danny,’ Gregg said, sounding overly friendly, ‘how’ve you been?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ Danny replied in his best guarded voice, quite perturbed at having to speak to the bad husband, although he’d always harboured a secret crush on Gregg, and had been quite dismayed by the break-up and subsequent betrayals.

  ‘Listen, Danny,’ Gregg said, ‘you and I always got along well, didn’t we?’

  ‘Uh…I…I suppose so,’ Danny stammered, not quite sure where this was leading.

  ‘I wasn’t even given a chance to say goodbye to anyone,’ Gregg complained. ‘And you were always nice to me, Danny. I never had any complaints–although Lissa did her share of bitching about you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Danny said, his face reddening at the thought of his princess saying anything negative about him.

  ‘So I was thinking,’ Gregg continued, ‘there’s no reason why I can’t come to the house to collect some of my things that were left behind in the rush to throw me out.’

  ‘There’s security at the house, Mr Lynch,’ Danny said quickly. ‘I’m afraid you’re not allowed here.’

  ‘Isn’t that unreasonable? And probably not legal. I am still her husband.’

  ‘I only work here, Mr Lynch,’ Danny said. ‘I don’t make the decisions.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t think of making it uncomfortable for you, Danny.’

  ‘What is it that you wanted to get?’ Danny sighed, feeling sorry for him.

  ‘I don’t need to go in the main house,’ Gregg said. ‘There’s a box in the pool storage room that contains some of my possessions. Letters from my mother, personal things like that. You can understand why I’d like to retrieve them, can’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Danny said unsurely. ‘What are you asking me to do? Get you the box?’

  ‘No, there’s a lot of junk in that room. I need to look for it myself.’

  ‘Well…’ Danny said, thinking that there couldn’t possibly be any harm in Gregg collecting his personal letters, especially since they were from his mom, and probably had sentimental value. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow at ten. I’m sure if you came when the pool man is here, nobody would object to you taking your box of personal letters. As long as you don’t go anywhere near the house.’

  ‘What time does he come?’

  ‘About noon.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny, you’ve been a big help. I always knew you were a good guy, in spite of Lissa’s comments.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, Mr Lynch,’ Danny said, wondering exactly what Lissa’s comments were.

  ‘And remember,’ Gregg added.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s always two sides to every story.’

  Danny hung up the phone full of mixed feelings. He knew he was supposed to hate Gregg Lynch, only he couldn’t. And what possible harm could there be in the poor man claiming some of his personal stuff?

  By the time Lissa arrived home, Danny had conveniently put the phone call out of his mind. Not that he would have told her. She would be livid if she knew he’d spoken to Gregg.

  Some things were better left unmentioned.

  When Taylor arrived at the studio she felt fucked, literally. Montana sensed it immediately: she had an uncanny knack of psyching into people’s private secrets.

  ‘Hmm…Larry must be performing better than he was when he was married to Susan,’ Montana remarked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Taylor answered, sitting down in the makeup chair.

  ‘It’s written all over your face. Somebody had great sex this morning, and it wasn’t me.’

  ‘I never discuss my sex life,’ Taylor said primly. ‘I’ve always found that people who do are usually not getting it.’

  Montana laughed. ‘You’re so right.’

  ‘How late did you stay at the party last night?’ Taylor asked.

  ‘Long after you,’ Montana said. ‘I’m directing Kyndra’s next video as a favour to Norio. We go back years, he’s a very interesting man.’

  ‘I’ve always liked him,’ Taylor said.

  ‘Where do you know them from?’ Montana asked.

  ‘There’s a group of us who get together for lunch whenever we can. Lissa put everyone together. When she was first starting out she sang back-up for Kyndra.’

  ‘And how did you meet Lissa?’

  ‘I had a small role in one of her movies and we bonded. She’s the best. Never changes.’

  ‘Yes, she does have a dynamic presence,’ Montana said thoughtfully. ‘I’d love to work with her.’

  ‘Then you should,’ Taylor said. ‘Anything’s possible, right?’

  ‘It certainly is.’

  ‘And speaking of anything being possible,’ Taylor added, ‘guess what I did last night.’

  ‘I’m not into guessing games.’

  ‘I actually asked Larry why he didn’t put me in one of his movies.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Montana said. ‘It’s about time you did that.’

  ‘I mean, here I am, an actress, married to one of the most powerful men in town, and he’s never even suggested that I appear in one of his films.’

  ‘What was his reaction?’ Montana inquired.

  ‘He got very edgy and changed the subject, started talking about my project, which he’s finally decided to help me with.’

  ‘What’s your project?’

  ‘I developed a script I’ve been trying to get off the ground for two years. One of the reasons I haven’t been able to is because Larry would never put his weight behind it. Now that I’m acting again, it’s making him nervous. So he’s hired a young writer to do another rewrite, and he’s also promised to attach himself as executive producer. It’ll make a big difference.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Montana murmured. ‘Who’s the writer?’

  ‘Oliver Rock,’ Taylor answered casually.

  ‘Don’t think I know him.’

  ‘He’s a young guy who just sold a spec script for a lot of money. Larry seems to think he has plenty of talent.’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ Montana said, ‘but that means nothing ’cause I don’t read the trades. Gave them up a long time ago when I realized they were full of deals that never materialized.’

  By the end of the day on Wednesday Michael knew he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He had to call Carol.

  She was still at her office. ‘I might’ve sold a two-million-dollar house today,’ she said cheerfully, as if nothing else was going on in their lives.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said.

  ‘Good!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t you mean great?’

  ‘Yeah, uh, that’s great, honey,’ he said, wishing he never had to see her again. ‘And thanks for dinner last night.’

  ‘I knew I could snare you with my cooking,’ she joked.

  He laughed nervously. ‘Uh…Carol, I’m off to Vegas tomorrow. It’s work, and I won’t be back until Monday. So Monday night you and I should sit down and talk.’

  ‘Yes, Michael. My place or yours?’

  ‘I’ll come to you.’

  ‘Around seven?’

  ‘See you then.’

  He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, he only knew that something had to be worked out. He’d alread
y decided he would support the child financially; it was the least he could do.

  Memories of Bella kept drifting back to haunt him–the little girl he’d thought was his. He remembered the day she was born, her first steps, the way she’d called him Daddy. He tried to put her out of his mind. It was impossible.

  Quincy put his head round the door and asked if he wanted to drop by the house for dinner.

  ‘Does Amber know about Carol?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I didn’t tell her, man,’ Quincy assured him. ‘Not me.’

  ‘So you’re saying she does know?’ Michael said, lighting up a cigarette.

  ‘Carol talked to her,’ Quincy admitted.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘She’s cookin’ her famous fried chicken.’

  ‘I’ll pass.’

  ‘You’re not pissed at me, are you?’

  ‘No, Q. I’ll be better off alone tonight.’

  ‘If you change your mind—’

  ‘Thanks. I gotta pack, get ready for tomorrow.’

  He stayed late at the office, and by the time he got home he was too tired to think. He switched on the TV, watched ten minutes of The Sopranos, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Nicci was frantic. Evan’s mother was impossible, sticking her nose into everything as if she had a right. During the course of the day, the maid almost quit, and the gardener mumbled a few Spanish insults in Lynda’s direction after she’d nagged him about the state of the grass, the hedge and the flowers. Unfortunately, Lynda understood Spanish, so then she was hot to fire the gardener.

  Nicci called Evan. ‘Your mom is driving me totally nuts!’ she complained. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was arriving today?’

  ‘I would’ve if you’d called me,’ he said, still in an uptight mood.

  ‘When will you be home? I can’t take her on my own. She’s impossible.’

  ‘I don’t believe you said that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re talking about my mother, Nicci. She’s only trying to help.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’ve already spoken to her, and she’s told me the maid and the gardener are both useless.’

  ‘Oh, really? So what do you suggest we do? Dump them right before our wedding?’

  ‘My mother can handle it, she’ll find us new people, she’s an expert at that.’

  ‘No!’ Nicci said sharply.

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘No, I’m not allowing her to walk in and upset everything.’

  ‘Don’t be childish, Nicci.’

  ‘Did you call me childish?’

  ‘Why don’t we discuss this when I get back.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to hell?’

  She slammed down the phone and marched into the kitchen where Lynda was busily reorganizing the canned-goods cupboard. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Some of these cans are out of date,’ Lynda said disapprovingly. ‘Serve them, and you could be serving pure poison.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Nicci said, very close to losing it.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Lynda assured her. ‘A friend of mine had to be rushed to the emergency room after eating a can of soup three months after the date.’

  ‘That’s a sell-by date,’ Nicci pointed out, grabbing a can of tomato soup earmarked by Lynda to be thrown away.

  The phone rang. Saved by the bell, Nicci thought.

  ‘Hello,’ she said bad-temperedly, thinking it was Evan.

  ‘Cariño! This is your father.’

  ‘Antonio?’

  ‘You have another father?’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘We are here, at the Peninsula Hotel.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘We come early because Bianca wishes to do the shopping on Rodeo.’

  ‘Bianca?’

  ‘Contessa Bianca de Morago. My wife.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  By the time Michael arrived at the house on Thursday morning, Lissa was in the front hall, all packed and waiting to leave.

  ‘I’m not late, am I?’ he said, quickly checking his watch.

  She gave him a cool smile. ‘I said ten o’clock, it’s five minutes before, you’re perfectly on time.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Why don’t you wait in one of the limos? I have a couple of last-minute things to take care of.’

  He walked outside. She was being off with him, and he didn’t blame her.

  ‘Good morning,’ Fabio said, emerging from the house. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Michael Scorsinni.’

  ‘I am Fabio. Lissa’s hair and makeup artist,’ Fabio said, tossing back his mane of hair.

  ‘Nice meeting you, Fabio.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Fabio said, looking Michael up and down and licking his lips.

  There were two limos parked in the driveway. Michael wasn’t sure which one he was supposed to get in. He walked over to Chuck, who was talking to one of the drivers. ‘Morning, Chuck,’ he said. ‘Which car d’you think she wants me in?’

  ‘Ride follow-up,’ Chuck said. ‘I’ll go with her.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, taking out his dark glasses and putting them on, because even though it was early, the sun was quite bright. He remembered when he’d first moved to L.A. and partnered with Quincy. It was the weather that had lured him, followed by the laid-back lifestyle.

  Danny emerged and started speaking with Fabio.

  ‘How’s everything?’ Michael said, going over to him.

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ Danny said, ready for his Vegas adventure, all dressed up in a pale yellow leisure suit.

  ‘Who’s going to be on the plane?’ Michael asked.

  Danny produced a list. ‘Let me see, there’s me and Fabio, Chuck, and Madam, of course, and you. Everyone else is flying commercial.’

  ‘So we’re on a private plane?’

  ‘Yes, the hotel is sending it,’ Danny said. ‘It’s the only way to travel.’

  Michael got in the limo, followed by Danny and Fabio.

  They sat there for ten minutes until Lissa finally appeared. She stopped and talked to Chuck for a minute.

  Chuck came back to the second limo. ‘Miz Roman wants you to ride with her,’ he said to Michael, his face expressionless. ‘I’ll go in this car.’

  Fabio and Danny exchanged knowing looks as Michael got out of the limo and headed to the front one, where Lissa was already sitting.

  He climbed in and took off his dark glasses.

  ‘How are you, Michael?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ he replied, copying her cool tone. ‘And everything’s good with you?’

  ‘Seems to be,’ she said, putting on a pair of Gucci sunglasses with pink-tinted lenses.

  ‘Heard any more from Gregg?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I guess he’s gotten bored and gone away.’

  ‘Let’s hope.’

  ‘I am suing him,’ she said. ‘I mentioned that, didn’t I?’

  ‘You told me you were seeing your lawyer.’

  ‘He seems to think I have a case. Then again,’ she mused, ‘do I really need the publicity?’

  ‘No,’ Michael said. ‘You should do what I advised and get him to sign a confidentiality agreement–one that’ll shut him up for good.’

  ‘I told my lawyer that.’ A long beat while she thought it over. ‘Maybe I’ll drop the case. I don’t need to put myself back in the headlines.’

  ‘You look beautiful, Lissa,’ he said, unable to stop himself–the words just came pouring out.

  ‘Don’t tell me that,’ she said brusquely.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we don’t have a personal relationship, Michael. You made it very clear that you’re not interested. So please save the compliments for your girlfriend or girlfriends, whatever you’ve got going.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say you look beautiful?’ he asked, wondering if she was planning to shu
t him out the entire trip.

  ‘I’d prefer that you didn’t.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, deciding to go along with whatever she wanted to do. ‘We’ll keep it all business. You’re right, Lissa, that’s the way it should be.’ He was furious with himself for weakening, but it seemed that the moment he was around her, he couldn’t help himself.

  They rode in silence to the airport.

  Michael wondered why she’d wanted him in the car with her if she didn’t have anything to say to him. Then his thoughts moved on to Carol and the baby she was carrying–his baby. By the time they reached the airport, he’d slumped into a deep depression.

  The Desert Millennium Princess had sent a sleek Gulfstream IV plane to fetch Lissa and her entourage. Two extremely attractive hostesses in short, white and gold, form-fitting uniforms, were waiting to greet her as she got out of the limo and started up the steps to the plane. The two pilots stood on the top step, eager to say hello.

  Lissa was gracious to everyone, smiling and shaking hands.

  As soon as he was aboard, Michael walked around the interior of the plane, checking it out. There was a small luxurious bedroom with its own private marble bathroom, a spacious living-room area, and a rear cabin, where Fabio and Danny settled. Lissa sat in the living-room area, which featured a round dining table and several comfortable seats, plus a bar and large-screen television.

  ‘Michael, you sit in here with me,’ she commanded.

  For someone who wanted a business relationship, she was certainly giving him preferential treatment. Chuck threw him a look and went into the rear cabin with Fabio and Danny.

  ‘You look tired,’ she remarked, fastening her seat-belt.

  ‘I’ve had a rough couple of days,’ he said, sitting in the seat next to her and buckling up.

  ‘Chasing more cheating husbands?’

  ‘Everything’s fallen on my shoulders since Quincy can’t do too much on account of his leg. Apart from that, I’ve, uh…got kind of a personal problem.’

  ‘Join the club,’ she said, as one of the stewardesses approached, a tall, leggy blonde.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Miz Roman?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Evian, please.’

  ‘Certainly, Miz Roman,’ the stewardess said. She then turned to Michael, giving him a long, flirtatious look. ‘Mr Scorsinni? How about you?’