Reese sucked it up, put her ego and emotions in check, and focused on survival. “When do I get the money?” As it was, she barely had enough to make it through the day, and her cell phone had just been cut off for nonpayment. She’d called her family for help, but of course they regurgitated every snotty and condescending remark she’d ever fed them during her days of riding high. Her mother wouldn’t even let her come home to live, and her slacker brother started bitching about the basketball tickets she never gave him, and parties she didn’t invite him to, blah, blah, blah.
“As soon as you sign, I’ll have the contract couriered over to Chris’s attorney. He promised to have the money wired immediately. So, let’s say first thing in the morning.”
She was picking up the pen to sign her life away when Paul’s assistant barged into the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Nolan, but Paulette Dolliver is on the phone for you.”
“Tell her I’ll call her back later.” As bad as things were, the last thing she needed was a conversation with Paulette. Besides, she couldn’t imagine what Paulette could possibly want that would be urgent enough for her to track Reese down all the way from California—in her attorney’s office, no less.
“But she says it’s urgent.”
Agitated, Reese picked up the phone, which sat on the credenza behind her. “What’s up?” she answered.
“Have you signed the contract yet?” Paulette asked, sounding breathless.
“If you’ll let me off the phone, maybe I can.”
“Whatever you do, don’t sign those papers!”
“Are you crazy? You know I don’t have any money.”
“Listen to me and you’ll have a lot more than what you’re about to get.”
Still aggravated, Reese planted a hand on her hip. “Paulette, what the hell are you talking about?”
“If you had your cell phone on you’d know already.”
“Are you suggesting that I’ve intentionally not paid my cell phone bill? Remember, I have no money!” she shouted.
“Which is exactly why I’m calling you,” Paulette bitched.
“Would you get to the point?” Reese and Paulette had the strangest love/hate relationship. Since they were both hustlers, they were also thick as two thieves, but knowing each other so well, one didn’t really trust the other. Neither of them identified with Lauren, who was way too Goody Two-shoes, nor with Gillian, who was too esoteric. Reese and Paulette had both grown up having to scrape for every crumb, and didn’t know how to operate otherwise, even when bread was plentiful.
“Chris was arrested last night!” she finally announced. There was glee in her voice. Paulette was the kind of person who took delight in other people’s misery; it always made her feel so much better about herself.
“What?! You’re kidding!” Bewildered, Reese shifted the phone from one ear to the other. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was one of the straightest arrows she knew, so it was hard to imagine what he could possibly have been arrested for. He wasn’t a drinker or a partyer, and he didn’t do drugs. It would be easier to image Mother Teresa in cuffs.
“Listen, honey, I wouldn’t kid about anything this important. This is the break we’ve been waiting for.” She’d been trying to reach Reese since she heard the news from her private investigator early this morning.
“What happened?”
“He was stopped in Beverly Hills at four this morning. They charged him with auto theft and drug possession.”
“Auto theft? That makes no sense; Chris can afford any car he wants. Why would he bother stealing one? And the man barely takes a drink, so I can’t believe he was doing drugs, especially the night before a big game.”
“I’m hearing that it was a mistake. Apparently he rented an Escalade and had valet-parked it at the Peninsula, and when he got ready to leave he just didn’t recognize that the one he drove off in was the wrong Escalade. And, of course, an LAPD cop, seeing a black man driving an expensive car at four in the morning, that had been reported stolen, wasn’t hearing any of that.”
“What about the drug charges?”
“Apparently his passenger had Ecstasy and coke, and some meth was found hidden in the car.”
“That’s what he gets for fucking around with Kira!”
“It wasn’t Kira, Reese. It was a guy.”
Reese ignored the instant swell of relief that she felt at knowing Chris hadn’t been with Kira. “This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with me and my empty pockets?” For Reese, the only urgent matter was the near-zero balance in her bank account.
Paulette was never happier than when she was dishing or stirring hot gossip. “There’s more,” she teased.
“I’m listening.”
“Try this on for size. Chris and his mysterious male passenger had just left a get-together at the Peninsula Hotel.”
“And?”
“It was a down-low party, Reese. Your soon-to-be ex-husband is a bona fide bisexual. He’s been on the DL for years.” Had there only been time, Paulette would have flown back to New York to drop this bombshell in person, just to witness the look of shock on Reese’s face.
She looked as though someone had told her that Mrs. Saint Nick was a dyke. “Wait a minute! I don’t believe that for a minute. Hell, he’s a baller!”
“In more ways than one.” Paulette laughed. “I know this is hard to believe, especially since you were married to the guy, but trust me. Besides, this is just the ammunition we need to get you a bigger check.”
The mention of cha-ching put things back into perspective for Reese, so she pushed aside her shock and got back down to business. “Do you have proof?” She dropped the pen she’d picked up as though it were suddenly poisonous. To think she had been this close to signing a settlement for a measly two hundred thousand dollars.
“How’s this? My detective, who fortunately was still tailing him, was able to use a high-powered lens and got a good shot of him getting a blow job—by someone who obviously isn’t a girl—through the hotel room window.”
“I’ll be damned.” Reese had to sit down. The thought of the man she’d slept with for five years having sex with another man was earth-shattering. And what about AIDS? Oh, my God, she thought, I could be infected!
Paulette was oblivious to Reese’s mental repercussions, and was still in story mode. “Apparently this down-low sex party is a monthly event for a group of like-minded high rollers. That’s how they keep it so discreet. They all have a lot to lose: reputations, wives, girlfriends, kids, and the picket fence. It’s some shit, girl!”
Reese was beginning to feel physically sick. The more she thought about it, the more she was determined to make him pay for what he’d done to her. “Bottom line, how much is it worth?”
“This shit is priceless! But for starters, tear up that ridiculous contract that you have there, and have Justin reopen the negotiations, starting at twenty million. He can afford it, and more important, he can’t afford not to. I’m sure his Nike contract is already in peril, but if we add this to it, he’s doomed—not only with Nike, but with any potential sponsors. He’d even lose his negotiating clout with the NBA, so I say we go for the jugular.”
This was the best news Reese had had in months. Suddenly her future didn’t look quite so bleak. Two hundred thousand was one thing, but $20 million…Now we’re talking!
She hung up the phone, picked up the contract, tore it in half, and turned to a bewildered Justin. “We need to talk,” she said, as visions of shopping sprees danced in her head.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“What a difference a couple of months make,” Paulette quipped, as she and Reese strolled past Brandon’s formal butler into the foyer of the impressive twenty-room estate that Gillian now called home. She looked every bit the madam of the house, draped in a burgundy silk Valentino kimono and crystal-enc
rusted house mules. Her skin was flawlessly effervescent, thanks to lazy afternoons by the pool, weekly spa facials, and the other trappings of the good life. As striking as Gillian had always been, she’d never looked better.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Gillian replied to Paulette. The pregnancy had brought about change for Paulette, wrecking havoc on her appearance, which had always been marginal at best. Some women glowed with the light of life when pregnant; Paulette, at six months, was not one of them. Generally, she looked tired, run-down, and swollen. Her prepregnancy main attractions—her boobs—were now as large as vine-ripened watermelons. It was not attractive, particularly when coupled with a double chin, a spreading nose, and an extra thirty-five pounds. “The last time I saw you, you didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby and a baby daddy,” Gillian continued.
The three women embraced one another, scattering a succession of double air kisses among them.
“Where’s Lauren?” Paulette asked. She was looking forward to seeing her cousin. Even though Lauren still didn’t know the bombshell news about her baby’s paternity, Paulette nonetheless enjoyed a twisted glee at carrying Lauren’s husband’s child—something Lauren couldn’t give him herself. To Paulette, her pregnancy was a physical confirmation of her superiority over Lauren. When she wasn’t miserable, she was conversely ecstatic with nearly orgasmic joy. Her only regret was having to wait to break the blessed news to Lauren and the rest of the world about herself, Max, and their child.
Regretably, she hadn’t heard from Max since she told him about his impending paternity. Of course, she’d called him almost daily, left a slew of messages, and even shown up at his office unannounced twice. She figured he just needed a little time to get used to the idea of their being a family, and soon it would all be good, especially once she told him that they were having a son: Maximillian Neuman IV. Her first order of business was to get him back in pocket; then she’d tell the world about their relationship. In fact, she’d already put the plan in motion to help get him there.
He simply needed a little extra motivation to extract himself from Lauren and embrace his new family. Paulette, of all people, realized that doing the right thing wasn’t always so easy; therefore it was necessary for her to add a bit of pressure. It came in the form of a letter containing the barely veiled threat that if he failed to “acknowledge his responsibilities” she would force an investigation into his handling of her grandmother’s will. For legal reasons she would rather have applied this pressure in person, but since he wouldn’t talk to her, she was forced to put it in writing instead. She was a master of positioning and spin, and was very capable of getting her point across without implicating herself, especially since there was no evidence against her. Thank God she had had the foresight to record a conversation that clearly implicated him. If his forgery of the will were discovered, not only would it cost Max his career and reputation, but he could also go to jail for quite a long time. So Paulette was sure that he would fall in line quickly, though it was a damned shame that she had to give him such a hard push to get him there.
The three girls were settled in the cozy garden room, which overlooked the Hollywood Hills, sipping champagne—sparkling apple juice for Paulette—and watching the sun set, when Lauren walked in carrying gifts up to her eyebrows. “Hey, girls,” she sang.
When the gifts were lowered onto a coffee table, the women all looked at Lauren with their mouths open; she looked incredible! Not at all like the calm, reserved girl they all knew. Of course, physically she had always been beautiful and exquisitely dressed, but what they saw today went way beyond that. Lauren looked like a woman who was in love and getting sexed really well, on the regular. Of course, this wasn’t something she was necessarily aware of, but anyone with half a brain and a little intuition could see it clearly.
Paulette wanted to scratch her eyes out, since she automatically assumed that Max must have made up with her, and maybe they were back in love and fucking like bunnies. It never occurred to her that Lauren might have taken a lover of her own.
Reese was under the impression that Paulette and Max had kissed and made up, since that was the delusional portrait that Paulette had painted for her, so she automatically assumed that Lauren must be getting some on the side, and consequently wanted to give her a high five.
Gillian gave it less thought than the other two, and simply said, “Lauren, girl, you look awesome! What have you been doing?”
“Yes, please share your secret,” Reese said, hoping to stir something up. She was definitely in a better mood these days after getting the goods on Chris, and had already had two glasses of champagne to celebrate.
Since Chris was caught with his pants down, literally, their attorneys had been negotiating back and forth at a furious pace. They were up to $15 million, and Justin had successfully negotiated a goodwill interim settlement of one hundred thousand dollars that had already been wired into her previously empty bank account. The first thing she did was to march into Barneys on a shopping spree, drop in at Joseph’s hair salon for a haircut and conditioning to take care of the atrocious split ends that poverty had caused, and scoot by Mario Badescu for a series of intense treatments that included everything from glycolic acid to sea salt. After she’d been spit-polished and was back in fighting form, she sauntered into Nobu to eat a decent meal, and see and be seen. It felt good to be back on the fast track. She dreamed day and night of getting her millions from Chris, and finally being a free and single woman with all that money at her disposal—enough money to lure an even bigger catch than the one she’d thrown back, someone with class, style, and money. Maybe someone like Brandon?
Now, he was a catch! One that Gillian certainly didn’t deserve. Reese had been secretly hoping he’d be here today, so that she could test the waters with him. Reese ran her fingers through her silky hair as she imagined lording over a house like this one, complete with a butler and chauffeur-driven Maybachs and Bentleys. She started, almost yanking out a fistful of hair when she heard her name called and realized that all eyes were upon her. Thank God they couldn’t read her thoughts.
“What are you daydreaming about?” Paulette demanded. “We’ve been trying to get your attention, and you’re sitting over there looking like you’re miles away.” By now they were on the third bottle of champagne, chasing it down with caviar, pâté, and an assortment of French cheeses.
“Not at all.” Which was true; Reese was right there, all right, plotting to replace Gillian. “I’m sorry; what were you guys talking about?” She took another long sip of the delicious rosé Champagne Paul Goerg, savoring the crisp, effervescent bubbles. It was her favorite, and having just emerged from poverty she had a lot of champagne drinking to make up for.
“Well, I was just thinking about how much has changed, at least for you guys, since we were last all together. Gillian is about to be a big-time actress out here in L.A., and Paulette is going to have a baby!” Lauren hugged her cousin, and was genuinely happy for her.
Yeah, with your husband, you ditzy broad, Reese thought. She took another sip and shook her head. The whole silly affair was too stupid for her to comprehend. How could Lauren not know that her cousin has been screwing her husband for over a year now? Instead of taking care of business and figuring the shit out, she threw the bitch a baby shower! Reese had never found Max terribly sexy, especially after she got to know him; otherwise, friendship aside, she’d probably be the one taking him from Lauren. But what woman wanted a man who was as pretty as she was? She liked her men to have some edge. In fact, she didn’t even mind a little roughneck action from time to time.
“So, who’s the lucky man?” Gillian asked Paulette. “You’ve still not told us.” Her catlike sixth sense told her there was something fishy going on with Paulette. She’d been evasive and coy whenever she was asked about the father of her child. As big a blabbermouth as that girl was, there had to be a really good—or r
eally bad—reason that she hadn’t publicized her baby daddy’s identity to the whole world.
“You’ll all find out soon enough.”
“Since when did you, a premier publicist, become tight-lipped?” Lauren asked, amused by the change in her cousin.
These days it took little to amuse Lauren. Life was beautiful. She saw Gideon at least a couple of times a week, and lived for those stolen hours when they would lie in bed, talking, kissing, and making love; in fact, she realized that she was in love. At first she didn’t know what that light-headed, heart-palpitating ailment was, since she’d never had it before. She thought about him every waking hour; Max barely existed for her anymore. She was vaguely aware of his feeble attempts to gain her favor lately. He’d even shown up one night with flowers and a diamond bracelet. When she asked him what the occasion was, he answered, “Because I love you.” There was a time when she would have melted in his arms like heated butter at such a sappy gesture, but now it hardly even mattered. What did matter to her was getting out of the marriage. She’d already consulted an attorney and was preparing for battle. Thanks to her grandmother they did not have kids, so it should be a relatively easy one to win.
On her wedding day, Priscilla had counseled Lauren not to have his child, no matter what he or her mother said, until she was 110 percent sure that she was the most important thing in his life. Morning after morning she’d woken up and asked herself that question, and when the answer wasn’t a resounding yes, she’d take another birth control pill. Originally she felt deceptive for doing it, as if she were cheating Max out of a child and her mother out of a grandchild, but as time wore on she became convinced that she was doing the right thing. When Reese had Rowe and pawned him off on a staff of nannies right after the umbilical cord was cut, Lauren reaffirmed her vow never to have a child for the wrong reasons. That was one mistake she wasn’t prepared to make. It was one thing to mess up your own life, but why start fresh by messing up a child’s?
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