American Star

by Jackie Collins

  "I'm in New York."

  "Shame."

  "I need a favor."

  "What?"

  "You remember that dinner party you took me to when we were shooting

  Night City?"

  "We went to so many places."

  "The hostess had on all those crazy bracelets."

  "You mean Jessie George."

  "That's the one. What's her number?"

  Carlysle giggled. "Oooh, Nick, isn't she a little old for you?" w "I

  need to ask her something."

  "Wait a sec, I'll get my book."

  She gave him the number and he hung up and dialed.

  All he had to say was "Nick Angel," and Jessie knew exactly who he

  was.

  "Nick, how nice to speak to you," she said. "I so enjoyed Night

  City.

  Memorable performance."

  "Thanks."

  "What can I do for you?"

  "Do you have the number of Help Unlimited?"

  "Unfortunately they're not in business anymore."

  "They're not?"

  "No. But I do have another caterer I can recommend."

  "Remember that girl . . . the one who did all the cooking?"

  "Do you mean Lauren?"

  "Who was that guy she was about to marry?"

  "Oliver Liberty. They got married in the Bahamas."

  "What does he do?"

  "Oliver owns the biggest ad agency in New York-Liberty and Charles."

  "Can you give me his home number?"

  "Certainly. By the way, I'm having a dinner party tomorrow night.

  I'd love you to come.

  "Well, uh, I don't know I'm only here for a few hours. Gotta get back

  to L. A.

  "What a shame-Oliver and Lauren will be here."

  "Maybe I don't have to get back so fast," he said quickly.

  "Eight o'clock. Casual. I'm putting you on my list."

  So, Lauren had actually gone ahead and married the guy. This wasn't

  good news. But then again, all he wanted to do was apologize, it

  wasn't like they were going to fall into each other's arms. A long

  time had passed. They were both different people now.

  Yeah, sure. And what else was new?

  Odile Hayworth was the most exquisite woman Cyndra had ever seen and

  she hated her on sight. Gordon belonged to Odile. Odile belonged to

  Gordon. It was patently obvious.

  ù Marik had arranged a cozy dinner for four at a French restaurant and

  Cyndra was loathing every minute of it. Odile was uncommonly pretty,

  with amber eyes, fashionably short black hair and a wide smile.

  She was also at least thirty-five.

  Old, Cyndra thought. Surely he needs someone younger?

  "Marik tells me you used to be a model," Cyndra said politely, not that

  she cared.

  "Yes, I was-until Gordon came along and rescued me," Odile replied,

  squeezing her husband's hand. He squeezed hers back.

  How sweet, Cyndra thought.

  "I saw her across the room at a crowded party," Gordon said. "Took one

  look and knew my life was over.

  They all laughed.

  "Hmm," Odile said, pretending to sound cross. "Your life was only just

  beginning, and you know it."

  He grinned. "She's right. Before Odile I was a womanizer. After I

  met her I repented."

  "Oh, yes, did you repent," said Odile, smiling at her husband.

  "Before you met me you were a dog!"

  Marik took Cyndra's hand in his. "I kind of feel the same way

  myself."

  This was news to her. She knew he liked her a lot, but he'd never

  expressed any serious intentions.

  "It looks like you two are pretty cozy already," Odile said. "Do I

  hear moving-in-together noises?"

  Gordon sipped a glass of brandy. "We like to see our artists happy.

  And I have some news, Cyndra, that should make you very happy

  indeed."

  "Yes?"

  "Your record broke the top forty."

  She was wild with excitement. "It did?"

  "True."

  "Oh, this is so great!" She turned to Marik. "Did you know about

  this?"

  He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I knew, but Gordon's the boss, he wanted

  to tell you himself."

  "I needed some good news in my life."

  "Baby, you're gonna get all the good news you can handle," Marik

  said.

  Later they made love. She thought about Gordon at home with his pretty

  wife and his two little children. He'd never so much as secondglanced

  her. She was a recording artist-his recording artist, and that was all

  she meant to him. One of these days he'd look at her in a different

  fashion. One of these days he'd want her as much as she wanted him.

  Cyndra knew there was no such thing as an ungettable man.

  Later that night Nick dropped by to catch Joey's act. The club had not

  improved in his absence, nor had the lackluster hostesses.

  Joey was funny. He had genuine talent-a talent he was pissing away in

  this joint.

  "You promised you were comin' out to stay with me," Nick said.

  "Hey, man, you're like a nursemaid," Joey complained. "Stop checkin'

  up on me."

  "Tell you what-you come to L.A. an' I'll try to get you a role in my

  new movie.

  Joey's lip curled. "Oh, big star now. You can get me a role, huh?"

  "Maybe. But not if you're sitting on your ass in New York."

  "I ain't sittin' on my ass, man. I'm workin' for a living."

  Nick took a good look at Joey. He wasn't an expert, but he could've

  sworn his friend was back on drugs.

  "I'm sending you a ticket," he said.

  "I can buy my own ticket."

  "Hey, listen-I got more money than you. Take advantage of it while you

  can.

  "Fuck you," said Joey, grinning.

  "Likewise," Nick replied.

  He called Meena when he got back to the hotel. "I need a favor."

  "Just tell me one thing," she said, sounding annoyed.

  "What?"

  "Who said you could fly to New York without telling me?"

  "Am I supposed to check in?"

  "No, but you are supposed to be in costume fittings tomorrow morning at

  nine a. m. sharp."

  "I'll be back in forty-eight hours."

  "In the future, tell me."

  "Yes, Mommy."

  "Hilarious, Nick," Meena said dryly. "What's the favor?"

  "I got this talented friend. I'd like him to have a part in the

  movie.

  She couldn't control her amusement. "Who do you think you are -Burt

  Reynolds?"

  "At least get him in for a reading."

  "What part did you have in mind?"

  "He'd be good as the jail snitch."

  "They've got someone they like."

  "Make em see him, Meena. He's good."

  "Very well, Nick, I'll try to arrange it. By the way, what are you

  doing in New York?"

  "My publicist taught me one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Always keep em guessing!"

  In the morning he took a brisk walk through Central Park. A couple of

  girls recognized him, clutched each other and fell into fits of

  hysterical giggles.

  Back at the hotel he called Jessie and told her he was definitely

  coming to her dinner.

  "I'm delighted," she said. "Will you be bringing a date?"

  "No, I'll be alone." He paused for a moment. "Uh, Jessie "Yes?"

  "Put Lauren
next to me.

  "You mean Oliver's wife?"

  "Yeah. You see, Lauren and I . we, uh . . . we knew each other along

  time ago."

  "I wasn't aware of that."

  "We lost touch, so it would be nice to catch up on old times. No big

  thing-but if you can seat her next to me I'd appreciate it."

  "Of course, Nick. I look forward to seeing you."

  Jessie put the phone down thoughtfully. Far be it from her to read

  anything into it, but it did seem rather odd that at first Nick had

  called to get Oliver's number and now he was requesting that Oliver's

  wife be seated beside him.

  Oh, well, it wasn't for her to question, it was just for her to do.

  She had an interesting group planned, and Nick Angel would make it even

  more so.

  If her instincts were correct it was going to be quite an evening.

  Lauren had been back from her trip to Rome for five weeks when she

  realized something was wrong. She'd been feeling queasy for a few

  days, and when she checked her calendar she realized she was late.

  This was unusual, because she was never late.

  One big thought loomed at the center of her mind-was she pregnant?

  Once she'd started to think about it she couldn't stop. She went to

  the gym and vigorously worked out. Then she came home and sat in a hot

  bath for an hour. She wanted a baby, and yet it wasn't possible

  because Oliver had never made love to her. So, if she was pregnant,

  how was she going to explain it?

  I will not have an abortion. I will not kill another baby.

  What are you going to do now, Roberts?

  I don't know.

  See where your little jaunt in Rome got you?

  Shut up! Shut the fuck up!

  There was only one answer. She had to get Oliver to make love to her

  properly.

  He arrived home from the office early for a change.

  "Can we talk?" she asked, handing him a martini.

  He seemed distracted. "If we're going to the Georges' tonight, I have

  several calls to make before we leave."

  "Oliver," she said evenly. "I'm requesting a conversation. Is that

  too much to ask?"

  "Of course not. I am merely pointing out I must make these calls

  before we go. Can our talk wait until later?"

  "You're always tired when we come home."

  "I won't be tired," he promised. "I'll make time for you."

  Oh, how generous! The truth was he was beginning to get on her

  nerves.

  She wondered if she could cancel the dinner engagement. If they didn't

  go she'd have Oliver to herself and maybe, just maybe You have to get

  it up before you can get it in, Roberts.

  I told you-shut the fuck up!

  The thought of calling Jessie and canceling out at this late hour was

  not one she relished. Jessie would throw a fit, especially as they

  hadn't seen her in a while.

  With a sigh she realized they'd have to go.

  She put on a simple black dress, brushed her hair and took extra care

  with her makeup. Then she stood back and surveyed her image.

  Since she'd been doing the Marcella girl campaign there was a certain

  glow about her. Oliver called it the glow of success.

  She wondered if it was the glow of having great sex with Lorenzo.

  Once.

  Once was not enough.

  She was too guilty to do it twice.

  Walking into the Georges' apartment she felt as if she should head

  straight for the kitchen and start cooking.

  Jessie had gathered together her usual interesting mix, it would not be

  a dull evening.

  She lifted a drink from a passing waiter, and spoke briefly to one of

  Oliver's competitors from a rival agency.

  "Congratulations," the man said, standing too close. "I've seen the

  Marcella ads-they're very sleek. Trust Oliver to find the face of the

  year and marry it."

  "I'm glad you like them," she said, backing away. "You have excellent

  taste."

  He chortled. "So does Oliver.

  She had her back to the door, but she sensed somebody important

  entering. Turning around she was startled to see Emerson Burn. His

  mane of hair was longer and wilder and he had acquired an even deeper

  suntan. Pale beige leather pants emphasized his long legs and he wore

  a stylish fringed jacket. The girl with him looked about twelve.

  It didn't take long before he made his way over to her. "How you

  doin', luv?" he said, as if they were best friends. "I ear you got

  married."

  "I hear you got divorced," she responded coolly.

  He didn't seem too concerned. "It was bound to appen. Nature drove me

  bleedin' bonkers. Crazy bird."

  Lauren indicated the young girl hovering by the door. "Is that your

  daughter you're with-or a date?"

  "Ha-ha, still a comedian."

  "You always bring out my sense of humor, Emerson."

  "That's not exactly what you bring out in me." He pointed at Oliver

  across the room. "Is that the old geezer?"

  "Don't call Oliver an old geezer.

  "He ain't exactly in the first flush of youth," he said, scrutiniz

  her.

  "You're lookin' pretty good. Marriage must agree with ing you.

  "You should know. How many times have you done it now?"

  "Enough to know better."

  Lorenzo swept down on them. His suit was impeccable. His accent was

  charming. He kissed her on both cheeks. "Ah, bellissima, every other

  woman in the room pales beside you.

  "Cor blimey," Emerson said. "I've 'eard a load of cobblers in me time,

  but this takes the cake."

  "Emerson, meet Lorenzo Marcella."

  "It is my pleasure," Lorenzo said, proffering a manicured hand. "I

  listen to your music-it brings me much delight."

  "What do you do, Lorenzo?" Emerson asked.

  "He owns Marcella Cosmetics," Lauren said quickly. "It's an Italian

  firm whose products are just about to hit the American market."

  "Em." Emerson's petite young girlfriend marched determinedly over with

  a frown on her face and a plaintive whine in her voice.

  "You left me standing over there by the door. I don't know anybody

  here. How can you do that to me?"

  "Shush, luv, there's grownups present."

  "Yes," Lorenzo said, ignoring the interruption. "Lauren is the

  Marcella girl. Starting next month you will see her face

  everywhere."

  "Well," Emerson said cheerfully, "it's a pretty enough face."

  Shortly before dinner she began to feel queasy. She hurried into the

  bathroom, soaked a towel with cold water and held it to her forehead.

  I'm pregnant.

  How do you know?

  Because I do.

  Then it's your own fault.

  Oh, God! How was she going to explain it to Oliver?

  Sweetheart, I know we've never had proper sex, but something miraculous

  has happened. We've had an immaculate conception.

  It didn't sound too convincing.

  When she emerged from the bathroom everyone was seated. She entered

  the dining room and slid into her seat. Lorenzo was on her left. "Are

  you feeling all right?" he asked solicitously.

  "Fine, thank you."

  She turned to see who was seated on her other side and could not


  believe it.

  "Hi, Lauren," said a familiar voice. "It's been a long time."

  Nick.