American Star

by Jackie Collins

  "Whatever you want," Freddie had replied, totally unfazed.

  Being a superstar meant never having aspirations you couldn't

  achieve.

  The lights began to dim. Nick hunched his shoulders and slid down in

  his seat. It was all so unreal, this movie stardom shit. He'd done

  nothing to deserve it, and yet he was now at a height where the

  atmosphere was so heady he could hardly breathe.

  Nick Angel, superstar. How had it all happened?

  He tried to think-clear his mind. Every day there was so much going

  on, so many demands on his time. He never had a moment alone. Sitting

  in the darkened theater was a pleasure-no one to bother him, no fucking

  leeches clinging to his every word.

  Annie fidgeted beside him. Annie who'd turned into the definitive

  Hollywood wife. She gave to charity-yes, Annie was extremely generous

  with his money.

  This was the first time she'd seen Hoodlum. She hadn't gone to any of

  the screenings or sneak previews that gauged early audience reaction.

  No. Annie had told him she didn't care to sit through his latest movie

  more than once. Bitch! If she could find an opportunity to put him

  down she did.

  According to Annie he'd sold out, become a movie star instead of the

  fine actor he could have been. Bullshit. What was wrong with making

  six million bucks a movie? He noticed she had no trouble spending

  it.

  They'd moved three times in the past seven years. First the modest

  little house above Sunset with a breathtaking view of the city. Then

  the larger house in fashionable Pacific Palisades. And finally the Bel

  Air mansion.

  Who needed a fucking mansion? He certainly didn't.

  Annie was into decorating. She'd surrounded herself with a bunch of

  gay interior designers and they all had a high old time spending,

  spending, spending.

  His name appeared on the screen and there was a ripple of applause. He

  didn't have to turn in a performance, they loved him anyway.

  He wasn't quite sure how it had happened-he only knew it had happened

  fast. From modest success to cult superstardom. Three easy steps.

  Meena Caron had taken him the first two levels and then Freddie Leon

  had whisked him into the stratosphere.

  The movie started and his image filled the screen. His co-star was a

  moody blonde with a downturned mouth and smoky eyes. They'd had an

  affair. It was one of the perks of being a superstar, you got to fuck

  whoever you wanted-and leading ladies were up for grabs.

  Freddie could do the same thing if he wanted, but Freddie never availed

  himself. He'd once told Nick that the high he got from a great deal

  was far more satisfying than any transient fuck.

  Lucky Freddie. He had his power-base agency, an attractive,

  intelligent wife who'd been his college sweetheart and a couple of

  wellbehaved teenage kids. He had it all.

  Nick did not consider himself so lucky-although some might say he was

  the luckiest man in the world. How many red-blooded males would love

  to be in his position? He was a star. He could have any woman he

  wanted. People laughed at his jokes. He got the best tables in

  restaurants. He was feted wherever he went. He was adored, worshiped

  and loved.

  But it wasn't enough. He didn't have Lauren.

  He often thought about the last time he'd seen her in New York at

  Jessie George's dinner party. When they were together it was like no

  time had passed. They'd ended up in the bedroom, about to renew their

  relationship when Jessie had interrupted them.

  Lauren had promised to call. He'd never heard from her again.

  Five long gut-wrenching days he'd sat in his hotel room waiting, before

  he was forced to fly back to L.A. to start the new movie.

  When he got back he'd tried to contact her, but she refused to take his

  calls.

  Soon after their meeting in New York, photographs of her had started

  appearing in all the magazines. He'd been prepared to forget her, but

  it wasn't possible. There she was staring out at him-that beautiful,

  incredible face. The Marcella girl.

  Over the years she hadn't gone away. As his star had risen, so had

  hers. She was probably the most famous model in America now. And he

  was probably the most famous movie star.

  But it wasn't enough. Not by a long way.

  When he returned to L.A. after the New York trip Annie had been waiting

  as usual. He'd been considering having a talk with her, saying it

  wasn't working out. But he was sure if he did, she'd run straight to

  the police. She had him where she wanted him-and she knew it.

  Annie had greeted him with unexpected news. "We're having a baby."

  What did he have to lose? Lauren was married, and obviously didn't

  want anything to do with him, so he'd married Annie because he didn't

  like the idea of his baby growing up with no father.

  Bridget and Meena had thrown a fit. According to them marriage was a

  career killer. They'd made him keep it secret for two months, until

  one day Annie had blurted it out to a reporter-by accident, she said,

  but nobody believed her.

  After that she'd started getting the attention she thought she

  deserved. Mrs. Nick Angel got a lot more kudos than plain Annie

  Broderick.

  Joey had finally made his way out to the Coast, and Nick kept his

  promise and got him a part in his movie. Joey had taken to California

  immediately, and Nick was so pleased that he'd made it a ritual to -put

  Joey in every movie he made. Eventually Joey had overdosed on his

  minor success. Three years after coming to live in L.A. he was found

  dead in his girlfriend's apartment with an empty vial of crack beside

  him.

  Nick had not blamed himself. He'd done everything he could for his

  friend-but drugs won. Joey's death was inevitable.

  Sitting in the theater, Nick began getting that old restless feeling.

  Watching his face on the screen drove him crazy. Sometimes he wished

  the fame had never happened. Hadn't he been happier in Chicago running

  the bar for Q.J. and living with DeVille? No pressure then. Now there

  was so much fucking pressure he sometimes thought he'd explode.

  He got up.

  "Where are you going?" Annie hissed.

  "Gotta take a leak."

  He walked outside, grabbed an usher and handed him a hundreddollar

  bill. "Do me a favor. Run to the liquor store and buy me a quart of

  Scotch. Keep the change."

  "Yes, sir," said the kid, fully impressed.

  He paced around the lobby until the usher returned with the bottle,

  then he went into the john and took a few solid swigs. The strong

  liquor burned a hole in his stomach. He hadn't eaten all day-had to

  keep the gaunt look, had to keep the Nick Angel image.

  Peering in the mirror he wondered why it had happened to him.

  Yeah, sure, he looked okay, but he was certainly no Redford or

  Newman.

  Shit! The trouble was he had everything, and yet he knew for a fact it

  could all vanish tomorrow.

  Why wasn't he happy?

  Because he was living with a woman he didn't love, and it m
ade him feel

  empty inside.

  He swigged enough Scotch to give him the strength to go back to his

  seat.

  As soon as he sat down Annie smelled the liquor on his breath.

  "Couldn't you wait?" she said in an angry whisper.

  Screw you. Get out of my life. Go to the police if you want. I've

  paid for burying that body a million times.

  And yet at the back of his mind he knew she could ruin everything if

  she exposed him.

  Cyndra was unconcerned, but Cyndra lived in her own world, she thought

  nobody could touch them.

  After the movie there was the obligatory party. He didn't minglehe

  didn't have to. He sat at a table with Freddie, while people trooped

  over to pay their respects.

  "Sometimes I feel like the Godfather," Freddie joked, loving every

  minute of his silent authority.

  "You've got the power," Nick said, gulping a glass of Scotch.

  "So've you," Freddie replied, sticking to Perrier.

  Nick got along with Freddie because Freddie didn't give a damn about

  anything except the deal. There was something likable about his steely

  single-mindedness.

  Freddie's wife, Diana, engaged Annie in light conversation. They weren

  t exactly bosom buddies, but Annie was about as friendly with Diana as

  she was with anybody.

  Annie was no social butterfly. Women didn't warm to her, because she

  was too critical and outspoken. She was also bitter and a bitch.

  She and Cyndra had stopped speaking long ago. Cyndra knew that Annie

  had forced him into marriage, even though he tried to deny it.

  "Listen, I made her pregnant," he'd explained. "I wanted to be a

  father to my baby." Cyndra wasn't having it.

  He had to admit that he loved his little girl, she was quite a

  character. The only time he was really at peace were the afternoons he

  spent with Lissa-teaching her to swim in the pool, running around the

  garden with her, watching her play with her toys.

  Annie always managed to spoil their times together. She'd appear k: at

  just the wrong moment and summon Lissa in for a piano lesson or a

  dancing class.

  "Leave the kid alone," he'd say.

  "I want her to have all the advantages I never had. Don't try to stop

  her progress.

  "Fuck you," It had become his lament. Fuck you, Annie.

  Hoodlum was well received. The critics loved it. Right now he could

  do no wrong. Each movie he did received more and mQre praise.

  "The brooding intensity of Angel's performance movie to new heights,"

  read one glowing review.

  "Angel scores again! A dark performance filled with bitterness as only

  Angel can portray it," read another.

  propels this pain and He'd thought about taking a break, maybe visiting

  Hawaii with Lissa and the nanny.

  Annie soon put a stop to that. "She has to go to summer school," she

  said. "I want her to learn Spanish."

  "She's only six years old," he objected. "Give her a chance to have

  some fun."

  Annie glared at him. "You control your career. At least let me

  control what happens to our child."

  Over the next few months he met with the writer and director of his

  upcoming movie, Miami Connection. It was the kind of role he hadn't

  tackled before and he liked it a lot. A young cop who gets caught up

  in a drug scam, is coerced by the villains and eventually turns the

  tables.

  The search was on for a co-star. The director wanted a big name.

  Freddie, who had very good instincts, suggested they go with somebody

  new.

  "Let's discover somebody," Freddie said enthusiastically. "I'm in the

  mood to make a new star!"

  Carlysle Mann phoned Nick and told him she wanted the part.

  "It's not up to me," he said.

  "You're full of shit," she said.

  Ah, Carlysle . . . still as sweet as ever.

  A few days later he was having lunch in the private dining room at the

  I.A.A. offices when Freddie picked up a magazine and threw it across

  the table.

  "Take a look at this girl," he said. "She's the top model in the

  country. I've been asked to represent her. What do you think? Should

  we bring her out for a screen test?"

  Before Nick looked at the magazine he knew who it was.

  Lauren.

  "Yeah," he said. "I'll test with her myself. Fly her out."

  Lauren sat behind the desk in her Park Avenue office. The room was

  light and bright, furnished with sleek bird's-eye maple furniture and

  comfortable beige couches. On the walls were framed covers of all the

  top fashion and women's magazines featuring her. The Lauren Roberts

  image dominated. Sexy. Sweet. Thoughtful. Provocative.

  She could be anything the photographer required-hence her enormous

  success. A block of Vogue covers took pride of place. She'd asked

  Samm for one cover. She'd got it, and gone on to be their favorite

  cover girl for the last seven years.

  Concluding a meeting, she stood up, walked around her desk and shook

  hands with the two men and one woman. "I like your ideas," she said.

  "Put everything in writing and I'll give you my" "As soon as possible,

  I hope," said one of the men, his bull neck flushed with the thought of

  success.

  "It's your move," Lauren replied, smiling.

  "I think we can lay out a deal that'll please you."

  "Good. I'll look forward to it." She ushered them from her office and

  closed the door. "No way," she said, turning to Pia, who sat

  unobtrusively in the corner.

  "How come?"

  Cause they're a nickel-and-dime operation. I knew it was a waste of

  time meeting with them."

  "They're offering you a lot of money for one simple exercise video."

  "What do you want to bet it's all deferred payments? I'd sooner deal

  with legitimate people and make less money."

  "In that case, why did you agree to see them?"

  Lauren grinned. "To test out my gut instinct. Trust me, it's still

  working."

  Her secretary buzzed. "Mr. Liberty on line two."

  She picked up the phone. "Oliver, what can I do for you?"

  It struck Pia that she talked to her husband as if they were working

  colleagues rather than man and wife.

  "Okay," Lauren said, rather irritably. "I know. I'll be there." She

  put down the phone and glanced at the art deco Cartier clock on her

  desk. "Oliver's getting panicky. I promised I'd go to the Raleigh

  cocktail party. Damn! I'm running late. Do you think I have time to

  go home and change?"

  "You look great," Pia said, and marveled at exactly how great Lauren

  looked. She was staggeringly beautiful, although it was no longer the

  innocent, somewhat naive beauty she'd once possessed. Lauren was

  sleek, almost feline with her long thick chestnut hair streaked with

  blond, unusual tortoiseshell eyes and full sensuous lips.

  At thirty she was more stunning than she'd ever been. Glossy, slick,

  but still with that faint vulnerability-Lauren was the face of the

  decade.

  Sometimes Pia thought she envied her. Other times she knew she

  didn't.

  Lauren had everything,
and yet she had nothing. She had an empty

  marriage, no children, a business empire and great fame, but she was

  always chasing more. She wanted to be tops at everything she did. It

  wasn't enough that she was one of the most sought-after models in the

  world, that she had lent her name to a very successful clothing line,

  that she had co-authored a beauty book. Now she was looking into an

  acting career.

  "Why don't you take some time off and enjoy your success?" Pia said to

  her one day. "You're always in such a hurry to conquer new

  mountains."

  "I love working," Lauren had replied. "Working is my life!"

  ù No wonder she and Oliver got along. Twin personalities.

  Her car was waiting outside her office. She had her own limo and

  driver-preferring not to share Oliver's. Their schedules were never in

  sync, so they needed separate cars.

  She told her driver where to go, then reached for the day's newspapers,

  stacked neatly on the seat opposite her. She did not believe in