two bottles of Stolichnaya vodka and several glasses. The other table
was piled high with scripts.
Nature bounced over. "You remember Lauren, don't you, darling?"
Emerson removed his shades and stared at her with his dreamy gray
eyes.
Lauren stared back, wondering if he used mascara on his long curling
lashes. "Uh . . congratulations," she mumbled.
"Thanks," he said, putting his shades back on and lifting his chin to
catch more sun.
"Come back inside," Nature giggled. "I'll give you the grand tour."
By the time Nature had dragged her all around the huge mansion, Lauren
was exhausted. "Can I take a shower?" she asked hopefully.
"Yeah, ave a sleep, too, cause tonight we're gonna party!"
"I didn't come here to party," she objected. "I came to help you
out."
"Don't need any help, luv-Emerson's got sixty thousand people working
for im. I'm entitled to ave a friend visit, ein't I? I just got
married, for God's sake." She paused by a mirror in the hallway,
attracted by her own reflection. "Hmm . . I'm getting' fat," she
remarked, pinching her slim waistline.
"No, you're not," Lauren said firmly. "How can you say that?"
"It creeps up on you, luv," Nature replied, frowning as she turned this
way and that, inspecting her body. "Oh, by the way, what did Samm
say?"
"She wasn't exactly ecstatic."
"I bet the old bag wasn't. Did you teller to cancel all me bookings
for the next month?"
"No, I thought we'd discuss it first."
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Just because you're married doesn't mean you should give up your
career.
"Who's givin' it up? But I ein't workin' me bleedin' arse off when I
can stick with Em." She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper E
can't be trusted, y'know. Ave you any idea what happens on these
tours? Rock stars got dumb little groupies crawling' all over em like
bleedin' fungus. I'm gonna travel with im, protect me interests."
"You won't be very popular if you cancel your bookings."
"This ein't a popularity contest," Nature retorted, flinging open a
door and leading Lauren into a large sunny room overlooking the pool.
"Ere's your room.
"Oh, my God! It's bigger than my apartment!"
"Everything's bigger and better in California," Nature announced.
"You'll soon get used to it. How long can you stay?"
"Three days."
"You ave t'stay at least a week."
"I can't run out on Pia."
"Shel manage."
"Three days, Nature."
"Four days."
"Okay. Deal."
Nature smiled knowingly. "By that time you'll be beggin' to stay
longer. Ave a lie-down-someone will wake you at six."
Lauren took a shower in the marble bathroom and then lay in the middle
of the king-size bed. Within minutes she was asleep.
When she awoke it was late in the afternoon. She wandered over to the
window and observed Emerson Burn in the pool. He was swimming laps as
if his life depended on it. Anything to keep in shape.
Her first Hollywood party and everyone was dressed to over-kill. The
mansion, owned by a record tycoon, was bigger and better than Emerson
Burn's. Servants abounded.
Ave a gander over there," Nature said, nudging Lauren sharply in the
ribs. "It's Jack bleedin' Nicholson, ein't it? Wanna meet him?"
"No," Lauren said, horrified at the thought.
Nature giggled. "When you're out with me you can meet anyone you
want.
Who do you fancy?"
"I fancy sitting in a corner by myself."
"You're having fun, ain'tcha?"
"You know my idea of fun. I prefer to watch."
"Very kinky!"
"Do me a favor-go off with your husband and enjoy yourself. I'm
perfectly happy."
Nature didn't need much encouragement. "Okeydoke. I'll check you
later."
Looking around, Lauren couldn't get over the fact that there were more
waiters than guests. She requested a club soda from one with a blond
crew cut and found a corner for herself, trying to remember everything
she saw so she could tell Pia.
Not only was Jack Nicholson present, but she recognized a whole slew of
other famous faces. A smiling Burt Reynolds, a gorgeous Angie
Dickinson, a strutting Rod Stewart, a dignified-looking Gregory Peck.
The little girl in her said, Why didn't I bring my autograph book?
The big girl said, I don't want to be here. Let me out!
Everybody kissed each other, only their lips never touched.
Conversation seemed transient. The women wore jewels the like of which
she'd never seen.
Nature reveled in it. Lauren watched her as she fluttered from person
to person. Emerson didn't follow her around, he sat at the bar and
everybody came over to pay homage. He was a rock star. It was his
due.
Lauren found it easy to blend into the background. Although at one
time she'd been the prettiest girl in Bosewell, she certainly didn't
impress anybody in Hollywood. Not that she was trying. In fact, as
usual she'd played down her looks-her hair was neatly drawn back, she
wore no makeup and her simple outfit blended into the background.
Nature often screamed at her about the way she dressed, and Pia was
into giving lectures claiming she didn't make the most of herself "I'm
perfectly happy the way I am," she'd told them both.
By midnight she was ready to leave, but Nature was still going strong
and Emerson showed no signs of moving. The house had its own
discotheque-a mirrored room with flashing strobe lights, black granite
floors and a wasted-looking disc jockey.
Lauren managed to grab hold of Nature as she fluttered by on her way to
dance. "I'm falling asleep," she whispered. "Do you mind if I go?"
"Don't worry," Nature screeched. "We'll be out of ere soon."
"Maybe I can take the car and send it back for you?"
"Do what you want," Nature replied vaguely, continuing on her way.
Tucker was outside talking to a group of drivers. "They're not ready,"
Lauren said, "but I am."
Tucker nodded. "I'll bring the car around."
Sitting in the back of the luxurious limo she closed her eyes all the
way back to Emerson's mansion. When she arrived she couldn't wait to
fall into bed.
Sometime before dawn she was awakened by a screaming fight between
Nature and Emerson.
What else was new?
he next few months passed quickly. Nick had his apartment, a stash of
money from the Tijuana job and Joy Byron's class to keep him busy. Joy
Byron had turned out to be the teacher of his dreams. She didn't
criticize, she nurtured-carefully watching every move he made. The
other students in the class couldn't wait to pick everyone's
performance to pieces. Fuck em. As long as Joy thought he was good,
that's all that mattered.
"I've decided to give you extra coaching," Joy announced one day, her
watery eyes darting around the room.
"Can I afford it?" he asked, half jokingly.
"Probably not," she replied crisply.
"But you'll pay me back .
one day."
He began visiting her rundown house way up in the Hollywood Hills on a
regular basis, and in her dusty living room he got to do anything he
wanted. Joy Byron had bookshelves piled high with every play ever
written, it was better than a trip to the library. She allowed him to
indulge himself-reading with him, giving him pertinent advice on
diction, posture, timing, makeup, the best lighting and camera
angles.
"This information is invaluable," she said. "You, my dear boy, are
going to be big."
He wasn't intimidated by her. "Hey-I know that," he replied cockily.
"Good," she said, unfazed by his arrogance. "Confidence is
everything."
When she came on to him he was taken aback, the woman had to be at
least sixty-five. He quickly made up a fiance'e, a true love, waiting
patiently for him in his hometown.
Joy did not believe him, but she backed off anyway, remarking that she
had plenty of lovers and certainly didn't need the likes of him.
He wondered if it would make any difference in their studenti teacher
relationship. It didn't.
Annie was not pleased. The only time he ever saw her was in class and
she'd taken to ignoring him.
"What's the matter?" he asked one day. "You're treatin' me like I got
a bad case of B.O."
"You used me," she said, turning on him full of pent-up anger. "All
you wanted was an introduction to Joy, and now that you're her pet
project nobody hears from you. I don't appreciate being used, Nick."
"Hey-what's wrong with me getting' everything I can out of this?"
Annie refused to be placated. "You're kissing her ass.
It didn't take long to realize most of the other students felt the same
way. Well, fuck em. If they didn't like it that was their problem.
He fully intended to learn everything he needed to know.
Joy announced she was putting on a student production of On the
Wateffront. Naturally she gave Nick the coveted Marlon Brando role.
This did not go down well with the rest of the class, who resented him
even more.
So far Joy had advised him not to seek out an agent or manager.
"Many important people come to my shows," she informed him. "I'll find
you the right agent. Follow my guidance, dear boy, and we can't
fail."
That was okay with him, he had no desire to traipse around agents'
offices getting a series of turndowns.
DeVille was still living in his apartment, somehow she'd never gotten
around to moving out. He didn't mind, it meant he didn't have to go
looking for sex-she was always ready and available. Occasionally he
asked her to read with him. She wasn't half bad and soon started
dropping hints about maybe accompanying him to class.
That, he didn't need. He was having trouble enough-he could just
imagine what would happen if he showed up with DeVille on his arm.
As for Manny Manfred and Glamour Limousines, he'd never gone back. As
long as he had enough money, who needed to work for a living?
Cyndra had called to complain she never saw him. "I'm going to be
playing Vegas," she said, full of enthusiasm. "Reece has me booked to
sing at one of the best hotels. Will you fly out?"
He'd assured her he would, but he still hadn't gotten around to it.
He was too busy putting all his energy into preparing for his upcoming
role.
In between rehearsals he continued to spend most of his time at Joy's
house. The night before the big event she came on to him stronger than
ever. "I bring people luck, Nick," she announced grandly, her bony
hand hovering dangerously near his thigh.
"Yeah?" he said warily, backing off as usual.
Her watery eyes bored into his. "If I told you about some of the men
I've slept with, famous men . . . powerful men. They all claim I
bring something . . . special into their lives."
By this time her hands were all over him.
He knew there was no way he could get it up, and yet he couldn't risk
alienating her. "Joy, you're a very attractive woman," he said,
speaking fast while desperately removing her hand from his leg. "But
like I said-I got this fiancee, an' we promised we'd never cheat on
each other."
Joy muttered something lethal under her breath and threw him out.
He drove back to his apartment hoping he hadn't made a mistake.
Hell, no-gotta have some principles.
When he arrived home DeVille was sitting in a chair facing the door.
Next to her were two packed suitcases.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, throwing off his jacket.
She smiled a trifle sheepishly. "I'm finally moving out. Remember, we
discussed it a couple of monffis ago?"
He threw open the fridge and surveyed the meager contents. DeVille was
a lousy housekeeper. "I didn't ask you to go," he said, reaching for a
can of beer.
"What happened?" she'd asked furiously.
"We gotta get you more experience before we hit the big time," Reece
explained. "This is a fine start, honey."
Reece talked a good game. First the demo recordings which failed to
take place. Now Vegas and this crummy place.
Cyndra told herself she shouldn't blame him-at least he was trying.
But he'd made such big promises and look where they'd got her.
When they returned to their motel room she'd refused to speak to him.
Now he was sitting in the audience like nothing had happened, expecting
her to join him.
Well, screw him, he could think again.
She narrowed her eyes and checked out the table. At least he was
alone.
Hmm. . . he probably wanted to apologize.
Hmm. . . maybe she'd give him a second chance.
He got a real buzz performing before an audience-a sensation he'd never
felt before. Better than sex-almost orgasmic in a way. Jeer!
This was it. Give him a steady diet of applause and he'd be a happy
man.
Joy hovered at the side of the stage, encouraging, criticizing,
whispering in his ear every time he came off. Do this. Do that. More
gestures. Use your voice.
Fuck you, lady, I'm flying! I don't need your help.
And the audience loved him. They fucking loved him! Marlon, move
over-Nick Angelo is here to stay!
By the end of the show he was on fire, adrenaline pumping through his
veins like pure heroin.
Joy was pleased. She had a big smirk on her face, especially when half
the audience came piling backstage to congratulate her.
He wished he knew who was important and who wasn't, it wouldn't do to
waste his charm on the wrong person. He looked to Joy for guidance.
She was deluged by people.
"Not bad," Annie said grudgingly, passing by with a group. "We're
going to the Hamlet on Sunset. Want to join us?"
Hamburger Hamlet was not exactly what he had in mind to cele She pushed
back her pale red hair. "I know, Nick, but I've stayed long enough."
"Where's your next stop?"
She lowered her eyes, almost afraid to tell him. "I met this guy.
Funny, but he wasn't at all jealous. "Yeah? What guy?"
/> "A producer."
He snapped the can open. "A real producer? Or some Hollywood
phony?"
"He's asked me to live with him."
How come you never mentioned him before?"
"It didn't seem necessary.
Nick wasn't used to being walked out on, but so what-there was no way
he was begging her to stay. If she wanted to get conned by some
would-be producer it was her problem.
That night he slept restlessly. He had a hunch that starting tomorrow
everything was going to be different.
"Come over here, darling'," Reece said, patting the empty seat beside
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