American Star

by Jackie Collins

  "Yes."

  "Then you should go-it's important."

  "You wouldn't mind?"

  "Of course not."

  Screw Oliver. He honestly didn't care. He was sending her to Europe

  with an eligible, devastatingly attractive Italian lech.

  "It's settled then," she said.

  The next morning she had coffee with Pia in her apartment.

  "You're going to Rome with Lorenzo?" Pia said, almost spilling her

  coffee.

  "Oliver seems to think there's nothing wrong with it."

  Pia leaped up. "Ha! Howard wouldn't let me exchange a handshake with

  Lorenzo Marcella! Those Italian men are lethal-especially when they

  look like him."

  "Why?" Lauren asked casually. "Do you think he's attractive?"

  "What a ridiculous question. The guy is devastating-he looks like a

  movie star.

  It wasn't his looks that attracted Lauren, it was his attitude.

  "When do your ads start appearing?" Pia asked.

  "They'll be in the Christmas issues, which means they'll hit the stands

  at the end of November."

  "Wow, that's exciting."

  "Can I see the baby?" Lauren asked.

  "She's sleeping."

  "Why don't we wake her?"

  Pia grinned. "Why not?"

  The private jet was the most luxurious form of travel Lauren had ever

  imagined.

  "It's nothing," Lorenzo said, with a sweeping wave of his hand.

  His idea of nothing was a state-of-the-art cabin fitted out with stereo

  equipment, a kitchen, a marble bathroom and a bedroom in the back.

  The interior of the plane was decorated as lavishly as any penthouse

  apartment. It was the company plane, but Lorenzo had full use of it

  whenever he wanted.

  "I'm sorry your husband was unable to accompany us," he said, strapping

  himself into the seat next to hers, not meaning a word he said.

  "I'm sure you are.

  "No, really, bellissima. I would never pay attention to another man's

  wife."

  He could have fooled her. "Have you ever been married?" she asked.

  "No, my princess, I have yet to meet the woman of my dreams.

  Besides, we have but one life to live-why confine oneself to the same

  meal every day?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "You're beginning to sound like a

  chauvinist."

  "What is a chauvinist?" he asked innocently.

  "You know what I mean-comparing a woman to a meal. That's hardly very

  nice."

  Watching her closely he said, "You are the most beautiful woman in the

  universe. I love it when you speak. The way your mouth moves, the way

  your lips quiver. Everything about you is so so tempting."

  "You're full of it, Lorenzo."

  It was her first trip to Europe and she couldn't help being excited.

  Lorenzo was amused. "I have crossed the Atlantic so many times that I

  have lost count," he boasted.

  "Lucky you," she replied, fastening her seatbelt and tensing for

  takeoff. Every time she flew it made her nervous.

  Lorenzo seemed totally at ease. He took her hand and turned it palm

  up.

  "Ah you, too, will be very lucky," he said, studying her palm.

  "I see it here."

  "What, Lorenzo?"

  "Did I not tell you that my grandmother was a gypsy? I read palms, I

  can foresee the future."

  "And what do you see in my future?"

  "You will be very famous, and very rich. Ah, you notice this broken

  line here-it means you will have a divorce."

  "Lorenzo," she scolded, pulling her hand away.

  "No, no, my princess, I am not joking." He took her hand again.

  "Maybe lots of bambinos-two, three, ah, yes, four. He frowned. "I see

  something else," he said, peering closely.

  "What?" she asked, alarmed.

  "I see they are not American babies-they are half Italian."

  She began to laugh. "You're bad, you know that?"

  "Ah, yes, I have been told many times. But I am not bad where it "And

  where's that?"

  "In the bedroom."

  He had seductive eyes, a thin nose and sculpted cheekbones. She liked

  looking at him, and so did the two stewardesses, who paid him avid

  attention.

  After takeoff they sipped champagne, ate a delicious meal, and then

  Lorenzo watched a movie while she fell asleep.

  He woke her gently when they were preparing to land. "Ah, bell issima,

  you were exhausted. Twenty minutes and we will be in my home

  country."

  She struggled awake and went into the bathroom to repair her makeup and

  brush her hair. What had her life become? Here she was on a plane

  with a very attractive Italian while her husband had elected to stay

  behind in America. She knew she was going to be tempted. It was

  inevitable.

  Let's see how you handle this one, Roberts.

  I can do what I want.

  There was a welcoming committee waiting to greet them. A small child

  in a long white dress rushed to present her with a bouquet of roses.

  She accepted it gracefully, although several of the thorns stuck into

  her flesh. A television crew captured every moment.

  Lorenzo introduced her to several people at once. They shook her hand

  and kissed her on both cheeks. She was overwhelmed by all the

  attention.

  Lorenzo rushed her out of the airport into a limo, which sped through

  the streets of Rome as if it was competing in a race. She hardly had a

  chance to view the sights. The limo deposited her at the Villa

  Marcella, where the guest suite was bigger than the apartment she'd

  lived in when she was single in New York. "Tonight you will rest,"

  Lorenzo said. "And tomorrow there will be a big reception gala in your

  honor." He put both hands on her shoulders and placed a tender kiss on

  each cheek. "I have things to do now.

  Anything you want, just ring. Tomorrow, bellissima."

  The next few days were magical. Rome was the most beautiful city she'd

  ever seen. Lorenzo arranged a tour for her and she saw everything from

  the incredible ruins of the Coliseum to the Appian Way and all the fine

  buildings and monuments in between. She particularly loved the narrow

  cobblestone streets and colorful sidewalk cafes.

  She met Lorenzo's family. His father was an older version of him and

  his mother was a frighteningly chic blond woman. Everybody treated her

  like a queen. She visited the factory and met many of the employees.

  Her picture was everywhere.

  "They love you," Lorenzo said. "They have named you the innocent

  American girl."

  "I'm not so innocent," she said.

  "You have that special quality Grace Kelly possessed. It's very

  appealing to Europeans."

  She'd expected him to make a pass, but Oliver was obviously right

  -Italian men flirted a lot, but took it no further.

  On their last night in Rome he invited her to dinner at an open-air

  restaurant located near the bottom of the Spanish Steps. She'd

  expected it to be the usual group of people, but it turned out to be

  just the two of them.

  "Tonight we enjoy the typical Italian meal," he said. "No champagne,

  no caviar. We have pasta, a little fish, plenty of vino-we relax."

  He amu
sed her with stories about his past and she found herself having

  a wonderful time. Later he invited her back to his apartment.

  "You will see the best view in Rome," he boasted. "Or maybe you'd

  prefer to go to a disco?"

  "No, I'd like to see your apartment."

  She knew she was treading on dangerous territory. She'd drunk too much

  wine and the city was so seductive, luring her to misbehave.

  He held her captive with his eyes. "Are you sure, Lauren? I don't

  want to force you to do anything you do not wish."

  "All I'm doing is coming back to your apartment."

  He smiled. "Yes, bellissima, that is all." Although they both knew

  this was not the case.

  His apartment did indeed have the best views in Rome and was furnished

  most luxuriously.

  "Now is the time for champagne," he said. "To finish the evening."

  He poured them both a glass, put Billie Holiday on the stereo and held

  open his arms. "Good Morning Heartache" serenaded her and for a moment

  she thought about Nick. Then she closed her eyes and allowed Lorenzo

  to sweep her into his arms. They danced slowly, their bodies pressed

  closely against each other.

  I wonder what Oliver is doing now?

  Ha! Working. What else.

  You never loved him, Roberts. Why did you marry him?

  That's my business.

  Lorenzo's fingers pressed through the thin material of her dress.

  When he started to lower her zipper she didn't stop him. He peeled the

  dress from her shoulders and expertly unhooked her bra.

  She knew she was about to be unfaithful to her husband, but somehow she

  couldn't stop herselœ retha Mae stared at Cyndra as if she'd seen a

  ghost.

  "Mama?" Cyndra said softly, shocked at how thin and wasted her mother

  looked. "Mama, it's me, Cyndra."

  Aretha Mae shook her head in disbelief.

  "Can we come in?" Cyndra asked, standing at the door.

  "Oh, girl, lookit you," Aretha Mae said, speaking in a low shaky

  voice.

  "You so pretty."

  Cyndra's face lit up. "Yes, Mama, you think so? You really think

  so?"

  "I should be spanking your ass," Aretha Mae said, recovering her

  composure. She peered at Nick. "And what you have to say for

  yourself?"

  Christ! This was just like being a kid again. "It took us a while to

  find-you," he mumbled.

  "I would've left you an address if I'd known where you run off to," she

  said tartly-the same old Aretha Mae.

  They followed her into the small room she called home. The place was

  cluttered with stacks of newspapers and magazines. On the mantel were

  two old photos of Luke, surrounded by several burnt-out candle

  stumps.

  "What are you doing now, Mama?" Cyndra asked, running her finger along

  the mantel and finding thick dust.

  "Don't work no more," Aretha Mae said, fiddling with the glasses

  hanging on a string around her neck. "Don't have to. Got me some

  money, enough to manage on.

  "Is Harlan here?" Nick said, anxious to see him and get the hell

  out.

  "What you wanna know bout him for?" Aretha Mae said suspiciously.

  "Is he okay, Mama?" Cyndra asked. "The tornado happened after we

  left. We knew nothing about it-we only heard today. Were you all

  right?"

  Bout as all right as a person can be when their home gets destroyed,"

  Aretha Mae snapped.

  Cyndra sat down on the worn old couch. "If I'd known I would've come

  back."

  Aretha Mae pursed her lips. "You did right, girl, getting' out."

  "I'm a singer now," Cyndra said proudly. "I got a record, they're

  playing it on the radio. And Nick's in a movie.

  Aretha Mae shook her head from side to side, her expression blank.

  "Don't get out much," she muttered, her voice weak again.

  "Maybe Harlan knows?" Cyndra said hopefully. "Where is he?"

  "I don't see your brother no more," Aretha Mae said sharply.

  "Isn't that why you moved to Ripley-to be close to him?"

  Aretha Mae stared accusingly at them both. "Who told you those

  lies?"

  she demanded.

  "Mr. Browning," Cyndra said, frightened by her mother's strange

  behavior.

  "You saw that cracker?" Aretha Mae sneered. "Why'd you see him?"

  "We had to track you somehow."

  "Why'd you go near him?" Aretha Mae asked, narrowing her eyes.

  "You shouldn't've done that."

  "Cause I had to find you."

  "You found me, girl. Here I am."

  "We heard about Primo," Nick said.

  Aretha Mae began to cough, the harsh sounds racking her thin body.

  w Cyndra jumped to her feet. "Are you all right? Mama? You sound

  terrible."

  "I feel fine."

  "Have you seen a doctor about your cough?"

  "Doctors! Ha!" Aretha Mae shrieked with crazy laughter.

  "You should see one. You're too thin."

  Aretha Mae frowned. "Don't go tellin' me what to do, girl."

  Cyndra tried to put her arms around her mother. "I'm sorry I left

  you.

  I always meant to write. I know I didn't, but that doesn't mean we

  can't be close now, does it?"

  Aretha Mae darted across the room to escape her daughter's embrace.

  "You always saw things your way, Cyndra. It always had to be your way

  or'."

  "That's not true," Cyndra objected.

  "Oh, yes, it is."

  "No, it's not."

  "Where're you living?"

  "We live in California. Los Angeles."

  "That Hollywood place-fulla sex an' drugs an' all those bad things I

  read bout," Aretha Mae said churlishly.

  Cyndra laughed. "It's not full of sex and drugs. Maybe you'll visit

  me one day. I'd like that."

  "I wouldn't."

  "So tell us about Harlan. Is he working?"

  "You don' want nothin' t'do with him."

  "Why not?"

  "He got himself in trouble."

  "Maybe we can help," Nick suggested.

  "You don' wanna help him, oh dear me, no."

  "That's our" Aretha Mae glared at him. "You don' wanna help no pansy

  boy.

  "What?"

  "Pansy boy. Sells himself down on Oakley Street. Gets in a car with

  anybody, he does. He ain't my son no more. Luke's my son-the only one

  I care about. Him and Jesus."

  "Jesus?" Cyndra said, glancing quickly at Nick.

  "Yes, girl, Jesus. An' you better learn to repent your ways.

  Otherwise, Jesus gonna shut you out, an' your fancy black ass gonna

  burn in hell."

  "Mama, I never did anything wrong."

  "Oh, yes, you did wrong, girl," Aretha Mae said, her eyes burning

  feverishly. "Oh, yes, you led Mr. Browning on. You led him into

  Satan's bedroom."

  "I didn't," Cyndra said, her eyes filling with tears. "You know I

  didn't."

  Aretha Mae sat down in an old chair, wrapped her arms across her chest

  and rocked back and forth. "Deny all you want, but Jesus knows, Jesus

  sees."

  Nick took Cyndra's arm. "We gotta get going'."

  "Don't say that, Mama," Cyndra said, pushing his hand off. "Don't say

  that to me.

  Aretha Mae cackled. "An' the guilty shall burn in hell. An' the />
  fire'll take out their eyes. An' a girl like you-a temptress-will be

  the Devil's playmate. You done things no decent person can forgive."

  Cyndra was frantic. "What are you talking about? I didn't do

  anything. Benjamin Browning raped me-you know it."

  A strange smile snaked around the corners of Aretha Mae's downturned

  mouth. "You sinned, girl. Mr. Browning-he be your daddy.