She was disappointed, yet at the same time kind of pleased. She had a mental vision of him opening the door, finding no TV making noise, no bright lights. “What the bloody hell’s goin’ on?” he’d roar. “The bloody maid’s been in here.” Then he’d discover her. Man, would he be shocked!
Grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar, she drank it down, then hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Soon they’d be enjoying a great reunion. It was certain to be an amazing night.
CHAPTER
* * *
14
Isabelle Sanchez was a Lola Sanchez wannabe. Older than her sister by five years, and thirty pounds heavier, with a mass of frizzed red hair, thick eyebrows, and too much makeup, she still considered herself pretty hot stuff, even though she was married with two kids. “I should’ve been the actress in the family,” she was fond of saying to whoever would listen. “I would’ve kicked butt.”
Like I don’t? Lola thought. Only she never said anything, because family was family and it was best to keep the peace.
Selma was her favorite sister, but Selma was busy with her job at the bank and couldn’t get away, so Lola had to settle for Isabelle, who couldn’t wait to dump her two small boys at a cousin’s and accompany her famous movie star sister to a spa.
“We’re gonna have ourselves a time!” Isabelle singsonged in the limo on their way to a luxury women-only spa in Palm Springs. “Will we get to see any famous people?”
Lola shrugged. “How would I know?”
“You could find out,” Isabelle insisted, wagging a finger in her sister’s face. “You’re someone. They’ll tell you.”
“No they won’t.”
“Yes, they will. You have to learn to work it, Sis. You’re supposed to be a star.”
Lola soon realized that she’d made a mistake. They’d been in the car for only ten minutes, and already Isabelle was driving her crazy. Plus her sister had doused herself with so much cheap perfume that Lola thought she was about to be asphyxiated.
“I love this!” Isabelle exclaimed, playing with the automatic tinted windows. “Luxury living is so fine. I suppose you get to do it all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Lola replied, willing Isabelle to shut up.
“Yeah,” Isabelle continued, stroking the leather seats. “An’ I bet you get everything for free.”
“Sometimes.”
“Well,” Isabelle said knowingly, “it’s not as if you have to work for a living. It’s all handed to you on a silver plate.”
“Platter.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
And so the journey progressed, with Isabelle in full nag about how tough it was raising two kids, holding down a job—which she was currently out of—and taking care of her husband, Armando, who was on sick leave from his job because of a minor injury to his foot.
“I’ll tell you frankly,” Isabelle said, just before they pulled up to the spa. “We’re stone cold broke. We’re gonna need help to get us outta trouble.”
Lola couldn’t believe that they hadn’t even arrived yet, and already she was getting hit up for money. The year before she’d given her sister at least fifty thousand dollars because of an emergency with her house and delinquent car payments. Now she was after more.
It wasn’t that Lola didn’t have the money—she did. But she’d sooner give it as a gift than be asked. It galled her that they all expected something for nothing.
She’d left the house with Matt still firmly ensconced in front of the TV. He’d waved her off, completely unaware that he wouldn’t be there when she returned. Otto had promised to take care of things, and he’d better deliver, otherwise she’d be looking for a new lawyer.
Tony had not returned her call. She wasn’t worried; Tony wasn’t going anywhere. When she was ready, he’d be back in her arms, exactly where he belonged. The sex was too hot for him to resist.
• • •
“More potatoes?” Martha Cheney asked her handsome son-in-law.
“No, thanks,” Linc said, shaking his head. “But I gotta tell you, your cooking is delicious.”
Martha smiled modestly. She was fond of Linc, even though he was an American. She and her husband had been quite disappointed when Shelby had first moved to America to pursue her career. They’d accepted it, because they knew that her acting was important to her, and she certainly had talent. But they still hadn’t liked it. Then Shelby had met and married the very famous American movie star Linc Blackwood, and they knew they’d never get her back.
To Shelby’s surprise, Linc seemed to be on his best behavior. He’d had a sherry before they sat down for dinner, and during the course of the meal he’d drunk only one glass of wine. Maybe he wasn’t going to embarrass her.
When her mother got up from the table to clear the dishes, Linc got up too, grabbing Martha around the waist. “Martha, you’re some wonderful woman,” he said enthusiastically. “You and your daughter, you’re both the greatest.”
“Why, thank you, Linc,” Martha said, quite flustered as she attempted to escape from his powerful clutch.
“So,” Linc said, finally releasing Martha and turning to George, “have you seen your little girl’s new movie?”
“Not yet,” George said, lighting his pipe. “However, I hear she gives an excellent performance.”
“Oh yeah,” Linc said, shooting Shelby a spiteful look. “She gives a performance all right. You’re in for quite an eyeful.”
“Linc,” Shelby said sharply. She’d already warned him that she was not allowing her parents to see Rapture; it was not their kind of film. Besides, she refused to upset them, and viewing their daughter with her clothes off in an explicit sex scene would definitely upset them.
Linc was set on making trouble; there was no stopping him now. “You told them about your movie, sweetheart?” he asked, all loving and innocent.
Now it was her turn to shoot him a look. Sometimes he could be a mean sonofabitch. And this was obviously one of those times.
• • •
Cat slept fitfully, all the while waiting for Jump to return to his hotel room. Finally she was awoken by a key in the door and a mumbled “Fuck!” as he tripped over a shoe.
She held her breath. He’d say more than “Fuck” when he discovered her in his bed.
She could hear him fumbling for the light switch, then suddenly the room was flooded with light.
“Surprise!” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed.
“Holy shit!” Jump yelled. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
• • •
The spa was buzzing. There were three famous women there, all in the process of getting a divorce. Isabelle had all the news when she rushed into Lola’s room a couple of hours after they arrived. “I got the skinny from one of the girls in the beauty salon,” she said excitedly. “Guess what? Petra Flynn’s here. Seems like her old man beat the crap out of her. She’s got a black eye, and a leakin’ boob. It’s a horror story. She’s come here to recover before she hits the lowlife with a lawsuit.”
Petra Flynn was a sexy TV star with the biggest implants this side of Texas.
“Really?” Lola said, not at all interested.
“And that’s not all,” Isabelle continued, “there’s that girl, the one who sued that billionaire guy for like, y’know, a zillion dollars a week for child care. She’s here, too.”
“How do you know all this?” Lola asked.
“Mm . . . it’s easy,” Isabelle said, shrugging. “All I had to do was ask the questions. And,” she added, “this is the best one of all. Serena Lake’s here.”
Serena Lake was a perky girl-next-door movie star, married to a successful heart surgeon. Several months ago she’d run off with her co-star, a macho English actor who had a wicked reputation with women. Her marriage had broken up, and then the English actor promptly and quite publicly dumped her and returned to his girlfriend in London. According to the tabloids, Serena was now despe
rately trying to win her husband back.
“Do you know any of these people?” Isabelle asked, her eyes wide with gossip. “We should all get together, have kind of like a hen party, where they’d tell us everything. What d’you think?”
“I think we’re keeping to ourselves while we’re here,” Lola said, completely uninterested in hearing about other people’s problems. “And I also think you should stop asking questions.”
“It’s good you’re happily married,” Isabelle said, inspecting her sister’s clothes hanging in the closet. “Otherwise this place could be called the Divorce Club. How about that?”
“Yes,” Lola said flatly. “How about that?”
• • •
They were in a cab on their way back to the Dorchester when Shelby finally spoke. “You’re a bastard, you know that?” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“How come it took you so long to find out?” Linc answered, egging her on.
“I wish I’d never married you.”
“A little louder, sweetheart. I don’t think the driver heard.”
“My parents are nice, sweet people; there’s no need for them to hear you talking trash about me.”
“What trash?” he said casually. “All I told ’em is that you flash your tits. You’re hardly doing a Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Although if the part was right, I guess you’d do that too.”
“Shut up,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t want to speak to you.”
“Oh, I see,” he said sarcastically. “It’s okay for you to talk trash about me in an interview, but God forbid I mention your movie to your parents. Then it’s the end of the fucking world. So sorry, Miss Fucking Perfect.”
She stared out of the cab window, ignoring him. He’d embarrassed both her parents. Her father because he couldn’t stand the thought of his daughter on-screen without her clothes, and her mother because she felt let down and humiliated that Shelby would do such a thing. They didn’t understand that it was a brilliant movie, and that the nude scene was an integral part of the action. It was hardly exploitive, merely necessary.
Damn Linc! Why couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut?
They rode the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. When they arrived, Linc refused to leave the cab. “I’m going gambling,” he said. “Wanna come?”
“No,” she replied, getting out of the cab. She was tired of being his nursemaid. Let him go lose money, let him get photographed falling down drunk, let him pick up women. The way she felt about him right now, she simply didn’t care.
There was a group of fans gathered outside the Dorchester. The last thing she felt like doing was signing autographs, but it was cold and the doorman informed her that some of them had been waiting all night. A few were holding glossy photos from her early days on British TV.
She placed a smile on her face and signed their pictures, then, shivering, she entered the hotel.
Safely upstairs, she called her mother. “Don’t take any notice of Linc,” she said, attempting to smooth things over. “He received bad reviews for his film, so he isn’t in a good frame of mind.”
“Your father’s upset,” Martha said, sounding quite frosty. “You always promised us when you became an actress that you would be respectful of yourself, and never lose your integrity.”
“I am.”
“Being respectful of yourself means no nudity,” Martha said sharply.
“It’s an acting role, it’s not real,” she protested. “And nudity was necessary for the role. I didn’t mention it to you before because I knew you’d be upset.”
“You’re old enough to do what you want,” Martha snapped. “However, I must say that I’m very surprised you would do this to your father.”
“I’m not doing anything to Dad,” Shelby objected, feeling like a little girl again. “I’m thirty-two years old. I’m an actress playing a role. People are saying all kinds of great things about my performance, so please try not to be small-minded about this.”
She knew it was useless trying to explain. Her parents were old-fashioned people with old-fashioned values; they would never understand.
She wished there was someone she could talk to; she hadn’t kept in touch with her friends in London, because along with her career, Linc was a full-time job.
It suddenly occurred to her that somehow or other, Linc had managed to isolate her from all her old friends. It was sad, yet she’d allowed it to happen.
No more. Things were about to change. This time it was different. If he didn’t do something about his drinking, she was seriously thinking of leaving him.
• • •
“You are the craziest bird in the world,” Jump yelled, hugging her. “How’d you manage to sneak in here without me knowing it?”
“Booked me a ticket, got on a plane,” Cat said, with a huge grin.
“Gotta say I’m chuffed t’ see you, darlin’.”
“I should hope so. I came a long way for you. And . . . guess what?”
“What?”
“I wore my best dress.” Giggling, she leaped out of bed totally nude.
“Hello, Sydney.” Jump whistled.
“Hello, you,” she said, locking her arms behind his neck while twisting her long legs around his waist.
He responded appropriately, and before long they were cavorting around on the messed-up bed.
Exactly as Cat had imagined, it was a great reunion.
• • •
As soon as Isabelle left to track even more gossip, Lola picked up the phone and called Tony.
This time he answered on the first ring. “Yo, Tony,” she said. “Did you get my message?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“So . . . ,” she purred. “Are you excited?”
“ ’Bout what?”
“About me, of course.”
“Where are you now?”
“In Palm Springs, at a spa with my sister.”
He sighed. “What d’you want, Lola?”
“What do I want,” she said slowly. “Hmm . . . let me see . . . I want double helpings of chocolate ice cream, an Oscar, a new Porsche, and, oh yes, I want us back together.”
“In that order?”
“Maybe I’ll give up on the ice cream and put you in first place.”
“Lola—”
“Remember the fun we used to have, Tony?” she interrupted. “The games we used to play.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Mind games.”
“No, I mean the games you got off on,” she said seductively. “Like—oh—I don’t know . . . the schoolgirl and the teacher, or the housewife and the repairman, or how about the starlet and the big producer? That was always one of your favorites.”
“Tempting, baby. Only I gotta tell you—there’s no way we’re gettin’ involved again.”
“And why is that?”
“ ’Cause I ain’t interested in your old man chasing me down with a shotgun.”
“The only shotgun Matt’s got is between his legs. And trust me, Tony, he does not know how to shoot.”
“When you comin’ back from this spa place?”
“In a day or so. Right now my lawyer’s getting rid of Matt.”
“What’s he doin’—burying him in the desert?”
“That’s not funny, Tony.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you, babe.”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “he’s offering him mucho bucks along with his prenup settlement.”
“No shit?”
“We both know he’ll take the deal, then you and I are free to be together. And this time, Tony, there’ll be no hiding out. I want the world to know how much I love you.”
“You do, huh?” he said, warming up.
“Bet on it.”
“Uh . . . Lola.”
“Yes?”
“There’s somethin’ I gotta tell you.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m . . . uh . . . kinda gettin’ engaged
.”
She laughed disbelievingly. “Tony, Tony, Tony, you always were the master at making up stories. It must be the director in you.”
“This is no story, babe,” he said quickly. “It’s real.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No,” he retaliated, getting angry. “You’re the crazy one, thinkin’ you can walk back in on me like nothin’ happened.”
“Whoever it is, dump the puta,” she said, unperturbed, because there was no way Tony would choose another woman over her. They were soul mates, tried and true.
“Just like that, dump her, huh?” he said.
“Yes, baby, you can do it.”
“Jesus, Lola—”
“I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when I’ll be back.” She put down the phone as Isabelle entered the room. “I wish you’d knock,” she said irritably.
“Who were you talking to—your lover?” Isabelle joked, picking up her sister’s Chopard diamond-studded watch and admiring it.
“What have you found out now?” Lola asked, not really interested.
“It’s all good,” Isabelle said, fastening the exquisite watch on her wrist. “We have to go downstairs to the dining room for dinner.”
“And exactly why do we have to do that?”
“To see everyone,” Isabelle answered vaguely.
“No. I’m ordering room service.”
“You’ve got to come down,” Isabelle pleaded. “If I go sit by myself, nobody will know who I am.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell them,” Lola said dryly.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Isabelle said, still admiring the watch. “I’m your sister; it’s a treat for me to see famous people. You see them all the time, so it’s not fair to shut me out. Please let’s go down.”
“Fine,” Lola said reluctantly. “Just this once, ’cause the rest of my time here I’m only leaving the room for treatments.”
“Okay,” Isabelle said, heading for the closet. “Can I borrow one of your silk shirts? My clothes are crap. How about the purple one? It’s not a good color on you.”
“Go ahead,” Lola sighed. “And give me back my watch.”
“Can I wear it to dinner?”
“I suppose so.”
Hollywood Divorces Page 14