American Star

by Jackie Collins

him.

  Cyndra hesitated, she had no intention of sitting with Reece at the

  small round table in the cocktail lounge of the busy downtown casino.

  The night before, she'd joined him and two of his so-called

  "friends."

  As soon as she'd sat down he got up and vanished for over an hour.

  The men had started making suggestive remarks and trying to grope

  her.

  She soon put them straight. When Reece returned he was furious.

  "Those were important guys," he told her. "Real important.

  What's the matter? You dumber than you look?"

  His words had stung like a slap. How dare he talk to her in such a

  way-he never had before. But since they'd been in Vegas he'd changed,

  and it wasn't for the better. First of all there was the matter of the

  hotel where she was to perform. Reece had assured her it was going to

  be one of the big ones. "Which one?" she'd asked, imagining her debut

  was to be at the Sands or the Desert Inn.

  "It's a surprise," he'd said mysteriously, not looking her in the

  eye.

  Some surprise. A downtown dump full of hookers and hustlers with only

  a piano player to back her-a surly Puerto Rican who could barely speak

  English and was usually half drunk.

  brate his triumph. Plus Annie was really beginning to piss him off Why

  couldn't she tell him he was fantastic, what was with this "not bad"

  shit? She was such a downer.

  "Maybe," he mumbled. If nothing better comes along.

  Joy beckoned him. "Nick, come over here-I want you to meet someone.

  The someone turned out to be Ardmore Castle-a small time agent well

  known for his penchant for good-looking young actors.

  "Hello, Nick." Ardmore had anxious eyes, plump jowls and a hungry

  expression. He was chasing fifty.

  Joy moved away. Nick nodded, scanning the room. Ardmore Castle's

  reputation preceded him. Maybe Joy figured if she couldn't have him,

  then Ardmore was in with a chance.

  The agent fixed him with a lecherous stare. "I enjoyed your

  performance.

  "Uh . . thanks."

  "Very macho."

  "Yeah, well, it's written that way.

  "You brought something special to it."

  Major eye contact. Jeer! Where was Joy when he needed her?

  Ardmore cleared his throat. "Perhaps you'd care to join me at my house

  later. I'm having a few friends drop by."

  "Gee . . . sounds great, but I got a date."

  "Bring him," Ardmore said boldly.

  "It's a her," he responded quickly.

  Ardmore realized he was getting the brush. He pursed his lips. "Suit

  yourself."

  "I intend to."

  "Very bold. For an unknown."

  Joy descended on him, accompanied by a hatchet-faced middleaged woman

  in a man's pinstripe jacket and black pants. The woman brushed past

  Ardmore as if he didn't exist.

  "Hello, Frances dear," Ardmore said, determined to be acknowledged.

  She blew cigarette smoke in his face, barely nodding in his

  direction.

  Joy grabbed Nick's arm in a proprietary way. "Nick dear, meet Frances

  Cavendish, the casting director." She said "casting director" in

  meaningful tones. He got the message.

  Frances didn't bother with pleasantries. She was a strong-jawed woman

  with an I take no prisoners demeanor. She was also fast-talking and to

  the point. "My office. Tomorrow. , she said, flicking a business

  card at him. "Might have something for you."

  Deftly Joy pJucked the card from his hand. "We'll be there, Frances

  dear," she said, smiling sweetly.

  "Don't need you, Joy. I'm sure Nick can walk and talk on his own."

  What was this little scene? He felt uncomfortably like a piece of meat

  lying on a slab while the dogs sniffed around deciding who'd get

  lucky.

  Ardmore expressed his disapproval. "You need an agent," he said.

  "Someone who'll protect your interests."

  "Yes," Frances said dryly. "Someone who'll allow you to keep your

  pants on.

  Nick took a deep breath, snatched Frances Cavendish's card back from

  Joy and mumbled, "I'm outta here."

  "Where are you going?" Joy asked, hands fluttering.

  "Gotta get some fresh air. See ya."

  And he was gone before any of them could object.

  ature took on the role of tour guide, deciding that Lauren had to see

  everything there was to see in Los Angeles.

  "Can we take a break?" Lauren begged, after they'd been to Disneyland,

  Universal City and Magic Mountain all in one day.

  Nature looked surprised. "What for? You're only here a few dayswe

  gotta do everything we can. Besides, I've never been to any of these

  places myself. It's a kick!"

  While they were out exploring, Emerson lay out by the pool working on

  his suntan and reading scripts.

  "He's looking for a movie for us to do together," Nature confided.

  Sure, Lauren thought.

  Every day around noon the rock star's entourage arrived at the house

  and stayed until he threw them out-usually not until two or three in

  the morning. They laughed at his jokes, assured him he was the best

  thing since Elvis and freebied all over the house.

  The pack was led by his manager, Sidney Fishbourne-a lanky man in his

  forties with shoulder-length frizzy black hair.

  Sidney was usually accompanied by April-a thirty-year-old married

  redhead he referred to as his executive assistant, although everyone

  knew she was his mistress.

  The rest of the entourage consisted of Emerson's clothes designer, his

  makeup artist, his hair-stylist and his personal publicist.

  The group spent most of their time discussing Emerson's image for his

  upcoming world tour.

  "You gotta get wilder," Sidney insisted. "Break a few guitars, throw

  stuff around the stage, get the girls screaming."

  "No fuckin' way," Emerson said adamantly. "I'm not doin' all that

  sixties shit again."

  "He should be involved in a cause," his publicist said, twirling her

  worry beads. "Perhaps something to do with nuclear power or the

  environment."

  "It's all in the clothes," his designer insisted. "No more black

  leather. I think suits."

  "Suits are old," Sidney snapped. "We gotta start appealing to a

  younger audience."

  His designer persevered. "Sophistication is very in."

  "Who gives a shit," Emerson said flatly, and that was the end of the

  suit discussion.

  Nature complained to Lauren that she felt left out. "All we ever talk

  about is im. What about me? I'm famous too."

  "You married a rock star," Lauren pointed out. "His first interest is

  obviously going to be himself, especially with a world tour coming

  up.

  "It's not that I'm jealous or anything," Nature continued. "But I'm

  hardly the bleedin' girl next door. I should get more attention, don't

  you think?"

  "It depends," Lauren said carefully. "Do you really want attention

  from that bunch of ass-kissers?"

  Nature giggled. "You're right, as usual. Who cares about them?"

  "What you should do is get back to work. You're not the type to sit at

  Emerson's feet.
Show him you're independent-that's why he married you,

  isn't it?"

  "Hmm . . ." Nature wasn't entirely convinced. "I dunno."

  "Well, I do," Lauren said forcefully. "Never give everything up for a

  man.

  It didn't take long before Nature and Emerson were embroiled in another

  of their famous fights. This one was triggered by April, who

  innocently remarked she'd seen Selina, Nature's archrival, on

  television discussing her first movie role.

  "Ha!" Nature said spitefully. "What's she playing-dumb cunt of the

  year?"

  They were all sitting in the breakfast room picking at an array of

  salads and fruit plates. Emerson was into losing a few pounds, which

  meant no real food allowed.

  "C'mon, luv," Emerson said mildly. "Selina's never done anything to

  you.

  That was all Nature had to hear. She exploded in a jealous rage,

  lashing out at everyone.

  "Got the rag on, ave we?" sneered Emerson, furious with her display of

  temper in front of everyone.

  "Fuck you!" Nature screamed, picking up her plate of Caesar salad and

  flinging it in his face. "Go back to Selina if that's who you really

  want!" And with that she stormed out of the room.

  Lauren was embarrassed for both of them-Emerson with small pieces of

  oil-covered lettuce stuck to his face and hair, and Nature, who'd made

  a jealous fool of herself in front of everyone.

  Emerson glared at his entourage. "Get the fuck out," he commanded.

  "Show's over for today."

  Obediently they all filed out. Lauren started to follow. "You don't

  ave t'go," Emerson called after her.

  She pretended not to hear and hurried upstairs to her room, where she

  called the airline and booked a flight back to New York the following

  morning. She'd kept her promise and stayed four days. It was more

  than enough.

  Later that afternoon she ventured down to the pool. She'd seen Emerson

  leave in the limo, and Nature had not returned from her lunchtime

  exit.

  Lying out in the sun with nobody around was wonderfully peaceful.

  No rock music blaring. No Nature shrieking. No entourage making inane

  conversation.

  She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift-thinking about

  Bosewell and her parents, Meg, Stock, all the old crowd. And finally

  Nick.

  Oh, God, she didn't want to think about Nick. She tried to keep r him

  out of her thoughts as much as possible-it wasn't worth reliving

  memories so bittersweet and painful.

  Nick Angelo with his black hair, green eyes and killer smile.

  Nick-whom she'd given herself to totally.

  Nick-who'd taken off without so much as a goodbye, leaving her pregnant

  and alone.

  She opened her eyes, forcing him from her thoughts. Standing over her,

  straddling the end of her lounger, was Emerson.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, startled.

  "Watching you," he replied, and she smelled the liquor on his breath.

  She attempted to move her legs so she could get into a sitting

  position, but moving meant touching his crotch-and oh no, she could see

  his hard-on, the brief bikini he wore did nothing to hide it.

  Stay calm, she warned herself. Stay in control and nothing will

  happen.

  "Is Nature back?" she asked, trying to sound casual as she quickly

  pulled up the top of her swimsuit.

  "I want you t'suck my cock," Emerson announced, swaying drunkenly.

  Voices screamed inside her head. Don't react! Don't panic! Stay

  cool!

  There was a long moment of silence. Neither of them moved. She

  noticed the small, spiky black hairs on the inside of his thighs and

  the tiny spot of moisture staining his bikini.

  "Emerson, don't do anything you'll regret later," she said, trying to

  keep her voice even.

  "Who says 111 regret it?" he slurred.

  Where were the servants? Or Tucker? If she screamed would they

  hear?

  Would they care?

  Damn Nature for putting her in this position She remembered Bosewell

  and Primo and that fateful day five years ago.

  I think I killed a man.

  No. The tornado killed him.

  She'd never know the truth.

  Her mind began to race, formulating a plan of action. If she raised

  one knee sharply and unexpectedly she'd catch him right on target,

  probably giving her enough time to run. But where would she run to?

  Surely if there was no one in the house she'd be putting herself in an

  even more vulnerable position?

  Emerson stuck his fingers in the top of his bikini and began pulling it

  down.

  Perfect! As soon as it was down far enough he'd immobilize himself and

  she'd make her move.

  She made one more attempt to warn him off. "Don't do this, Emerson.

  Please don't. You're drunk. You're not thinking straight."

  He looked surprised. "C'mon, Lauren, you know you've been dyin' t'suck

  my dick ever since you got here."

  They moved together like clumsy ballet partners. He pulled his bikini

  down. She brought her knee up. He fell to one side, cursing.

  She struggled to her feet and started running toward the house. A

  count of three and he was behind her, kicking his bikini away from his

  ankles, running naked.

  She sprinted across the marble terrace, hardly daring to glance behind

  her because she knew he was close.

  He caught her by the steps to the house, slammed her from behind, and

  they both fell to the ground.

  "Gotcha!" he yelled triumphantly, as if they were in the middle of a

  fun game. Then he pinioned her arms behind her head and rolled on top

  of her. "Now I'm gonna fuck you like you never been fucked before," he

  rasped, gripping both her arms with one hand while attempting to roll

  the top of her swimsuit down with the other.

  "Don't you have enough girls," she gasped, turning her head.

  "Girls who want to be with you. Understand me, Emerson-I don't."

  "Better believe it, baby. You'll want me so much you'll be beggin' for

  it," he said, ripping at her swimsuit, rolling it down around her waist

  and grabbing her breasts. "You hear me? Beggin' for it."

  He tore at the crotch of her swimsuit, pushing it to one side, doing

  his best to enter her.

  "You son of a bitch!" she screamed, suddenly losing all control.

  "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" If she'd had a knife she would have stabbed

  him, just like she'd stabbed Primo.

  Now he was really enjoying himself. He had her where he wanted and

  there was no way she could escape. "Temper! Temper!" he mocked.

  "Mustn't use dirty words. Mummy wouldn't like it."

  She felt the tip of his penis about to force an entry and she was

  filled with despair.

  Suddenly a new voice filled the air. "You dirty low life, scumbag

  rat!"

  It was Nature's unmistakable shriek. "You lying, cheating,

  motherfuckin' pig!"

  Emerson's hard-on deflated.

  Lauren seized the moment and rolled out from under him, pulling up her

  swimsuit, fighting back angry tears.

  "And as for you-" Nature turned on her, blue eyes blazing.
"I thought

  you was me bleedin' friend. But you're just like all the rest of the

  slags-couldn't wait t'get your hands on me old man."

  "Now wait a minute-" "Get outta me house," Nature shouted, her cheeks

  red with anger.

  "I never want to speak to you again."

  Emerson began to rock with laughter. He had no intention of coming to

  her defense.

  What a couple, Lauren thought. The truth was they deserved each

  other.

  She ran into the house without looking back.

  re you straight?" Frances Cavendish asked, as if it was the most

  normal question in the world.

  "Want me to pull down my pants an' prove it?" Nick replied, damned if