Double Lucky (41 page)

They lingered over dessert, until eventually Oliver leaned across the table, took her hand, and said, “How about coming up to my room for a nightcap?”

She was thankful she'd thought of removing her wedding ring as she considered the possibility. She was not naive—she knew exactly what Oliver had in mind. And why not? She was about to be a free woman, and Luis had rejected her—which she did
not
appreciate, and even now Anthony was probably bedding down his Miami bimbo.

“Yes,” she murmured, the wine loosening her inhibitions. “I think I'd like that.”

“Good,” he said, signing the check.

Once they were in the elevator on their way up to his room, Oliver moved in close and kissed her, a dry kiss, unlike Luis's passionate tongue kisses, but it got her juices flowing all the same, and when they reached his room she was ready, and so was he.

He pushed her back on the bed, lifted her skirt, and pulled down her panties. Then he gave her head for approximately one minute, reached up and fondled her breasts for another minute, then unzipped his pants, put on a condom, and was inside her within seconds.

She lay there thinking about Luis, and how he worshipped her body, how he spent time kissing every inch of her body, how different his touch was.

When Oliver climaxed, she didn't.

“That was very, very nice,” he announced, rolling off her. “You're quite a woman. Did you—”

“Yes,” she lied, searching for the right word. “It was wonderful.”

“Now we can enjoy our nightcap,” he said, getting up and going over to the minibar. “Brandy? Liquor? What's your pleasure?”

“Do you have wine?” she asked, adjusting her clothes and getting off the bed.

“Anything m'lady wants,” he said, opening a half-size bottle of red wine and a miniature bottle of brandy.

She sat at a small corner table as he handed her a wineglass and pulled up another chair. Then he toasted her and told her once again that she was quite a woman.

She didn't feel like quite a woman, she felt empty inside, and it occurred to her that sleeping around was not a very satisfying way to go.

Five minutes of conversation, she'd drink her wine and make a graceful exit. “So, Oliver,” she said, remembering that she still had not asked him what he did, “what business are you in?”

“You'll never guess,” he said, smiling at her.

“I think I will,” she replied, trying not to stare at his crooked front tooth, which she'd never really noticed before. “Let me see, you're a lawyer.”

“Wrong.”

“A doctor?”

“No,” he said, still smiling.

“Then you're right—I'm unable to guess.”

“I don't tell everybody what I do because it's a little daunting for some people,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Hmm … sounds intriguing,” she said, playing with the stem of her wineglass.

“Some people would say it is, and some people would say it isn't.” He paused for a moment. “I'm in the drug enforcement business.”

“Excuse me?” she said, startled.

“Yes, I'm a drug enforcement agent,” he said, obviously proud of his job. “Y'know, we're the ones who chase down the bad guys and throw 'em in jail.”

“You do?” she gasped.

“Are you aware that Acapulco is the drug capital of Mexico?” he said, all businesslike.

Was this some kind of cruel joke? Her first date, and he turned out to be a drug enforcement agent.

“I, uh, I need to use the bathroom,” she said faintly.

“I'll be waiting,” he said, giving her another steady smile.

She got up and almost ran to the bathroom, desperately trying to control her sense of panic.

Oliver Stanton was a drug enforcement agent.

Her husband was a drug lord.

This situation was totally out of control.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Throwing herself back into rehearsing for the one-night show to celebrate the opening of the Keys was therapy for Venus. She had every intention of putting on a spectacular show for her friend. After all, Lucky had worked so hard planning and building a magnificent hotel complex in the desert, and Venus, who had never played Vegas, was doing it as a big favor. However, favor or not, she'd decided it had to be the best one-nighter she'd ever put on.

It was quite satisfying getting back to rehearsing with her backup dancers and singers, her director and musical arranger. Spending time with Billy was fun, but climbing up on her pedestal was just as much fun in a different way. Sometimes it was hard for her to realize just how famous she'd become. She'd made it all the way from nothing, now here she was—Venus—known worldwide by only one name, like Madonna or Cher. It was quite an achievement.

During a break she checked her cell and saw that Billy had called twice. He'd also text-messaged her once again saying how sorry he was.

His apologies were sweet, but a bit late in the day. Why hadn't he been sorry last night on the way home?

He's too young for you
, she told herself.
This older woman/younger man crap is just that
—
crap.

She should be with an older, wiser man—not quite as old as Cooper, maybe somebody around her own age. Yes, a George Clooney.

Although the thought of losing Billy filled her with sadness.

It wasn't time. Not yet.

*   *   *

“Jesus Christ!” Billy exclaimed.

“Oh man!” Kev yelled, reaching an orgasm at exactly the same moment as Billy barged in.

Ali jumped up and ran into the bathroom. They could both hear her spitting into the sink.

“Charming,” Billy said, disgusted. “What did I tell you, Kev? What the fuck did I say? I told you hands off, remember?”

“She came on to me,” Kev said somewhat sheepishly. “I'm hardly gonna turn it down.”

“What do you mean, she came on to you? What did she do? Unzip your pants and whip it out?”

“More or less.”

“Ah, jeez!”

Ali emerged from the bathroom wiping her mouth with a crumpled Kleenex. “I thought that's what you wanted me to do,” she said sulkily. “I thought that's the only way he'd give me a part.”

“
He's
not the one giving you the freakin' part,” Billy said, exasperated. “He's gonna talk to the director's assistant, who'll try an' fit you in a scene.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Learn it,” Billy said sharply. “Running around this town giving everyone b.j.'s won't get you shit.”

“That's what Marilyn Monroe did.”

“Yeah, a hundred years ago. Girls don't have to do that anymore.”

“Oh, yes they do,” she argued. “How do you think I got that waitressing gig at the party the other night? I had to blow the caterer.”

“Jeez,” Billy said, shaking his head. “Look, I think I've arranged for you to get a walk-on in the next scene, but you'll have to behave yourself. Don't go offering b.j.'s to everyone who asks.”

“Nice trailer,” she said, flinty eyes checking everything out. “It's bigger than where I live.”

“Where
do
you live?” Kev asked, obviously in deep lust, and not at all embarrassed at getting caught with his zipper down.

“Hollywood,” she answered vaguely. “In a room with a coupla other people.”

“You a runaway?” Billy asked, inexplicably feeling sorry for her.

“What makes you think
that
?” she said, giving him a wary look.

“Just a thought. How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough,” she replied, full of false bravado.

“You got money?” he asked, remembering what it felt like arriving in L.A. with exactly nothing.

“I told you,” she said. “I don't want your money. What I want is a part in your movie. I wanna get discovered.”

The great Hollywood mantra:
I wanna get discovered.

“Okay,” he said, wondering if Venus had ever uttered those same words when she was young and broke and desperately trying to make it in a town crammed with hopefuls. “Kev'll take you to meet Maggie, the director's personal assistant. She'll see you get a walk-on, an' you'll get paid too. You've got a SAG card, right?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

“That's something.”

“I need to get a line,” she added.

“Got a feeling Mags can't pull
that
off,” Billy said, thinking,
No way!
“Alex's scripts are written in stone, all speaking parts are cast way before he starts shooting.”

“I want a line,” Ali repeated, her pointed face setting into a stubborn expression. “Otherwise—”

“Okay, stop trying to blackmail me,” Billy said. “It doesn't make you look good.”

“I'm not here to look good,” she said, glaring at him.

“I'll see what I can do.”

This was getting ridiculous. What had happened to his simple life before stardom? Before Venus. Before Alex Woods. Although he couldn't really blame Venus and Alex—they'd discovered him. Truth was he owed Alex a lot, and if the director would stop bad-mouthing him all over town there was a good chance they could be friends again.

As for Kev, well, he'd deal with him later.

To add to the joys of the day, Janey, his publicist, knocked on the trailer door and came charging in.

“Hello? Are you on lunch break?” she trilled. “I'm here to remind you that you've got an interview to finish, Billy. With Florence Harbinger. She's here and she's waiting. Can I bring her in?”

Oh, shit! It was one of those days.

*   *   *

Venus was sweating, which was exactly the way she liked it when getting back into one of her vigorous dance routines.

Her dancers were young and energetic and thrilled to be back in business. They gave their all to her hit song “Tornado.” She loved the feeling of camaraderie it gave her working with her dancers again. They were an enthusiastic mixed-ethnic group with unbridled stamina and a whole lot of energy. They inspired her to do even better. Soon she'd be going out on tour again, and this was a nice way to ease back into the rigors of the road.

During a break she took a call from her daughter, Chyna, who seemed to be having a great time at summer camp. After camp, Chyna was off on a European vacation with her father, and she was very excited about that. Venus missed her cute little girl, but as long as Chyna was having fun, it was okay. There was another text message from Billy on her phone offering to cook his famous chili for her that night.

Hmm … Billy was definitely trying to make amends for losing it with Alex. And so he should.

Okay, she'd go along with it. Why not? Billy was obviously here to stay.

For now.

*   *   *

“Pete,” Maggie said to the first assistant director. “There's a girl Billy would like you to place somewhere in the next scene.”

“Is she an extra?” Pete asked, chewing on a wad of tobacco.

“She is now,” Maggie said. “Our star is asking for a favor, and we don't want to turn him down, do we? After all, he just had the crap beaten out of him.”

“Does Alex know about this?” Pete inquired, still chewing.

“Alex trusts
you
when it comes to extras,” Maggie said. “You'll know exactly where to place her.”

“Okay, but what if he asks me?”

“Why would he do that? She's a slip of a girl, he won't even notice her.”

“Are we talking about the same guy? Alex notices it when the camera operator drops a fart!”

“You can swing it, Pete. Have her walking past a car or something.”

“Whatever you want, Maggie.”

“You're a doll, Pete.”

Maggie was very popular on the set. She was the buffer between Alex and his crew. Alex Woods was known for his uncontrollable temper and furious outbursts, and Maggie was the only one who could always be relied on to calm him down.

She hurried back to Billy's trailer and told him the good news.

“How about giving her a line?” Billy suggested.

“Now you're asking the impossible,” Maggie said. “I got her into the scene, be satisfied.”

“She wants a line,” Billy said.

“I don't think I can manage that.”

“You can manage anything, Mags.”

“No I can't, Billy, I wish I could.”

“All right, get her in the scene and see how it goes.”

“Where is she?”

“Outside with Kev smoking a cigarette.”

“Don't allow them to smoke in your trailer, huh?”

“That's right.”

“Who is this girl, anyway?” Maggie asked.

“A friend of a friend from back home,” Billy said vaguely. “I'm trying to do a favor.”

“Sure,” Maggie said, not believing him for a moment. “Are you going to lunch now?”

“Gonna eat in the trailer an' nurse my bruises. Gotta do a second interview with Florence Harbinger for
Manhattan Style
.”

“Do
not
talk about the fight between you and Alex,” Maggie warned. “Not even off the record.”

“You think she's heard about it?”

“Everybody's heard, and according to my spies, it'll be all over
ET
tonight.”

“How do people find out these things?”

“A waiter. A parking valet. A paid snitch.”

“Great!”

“Okay,” Maggie said. “I'll take your girl over to the wardrobe department and—”

“She's not my girl,” Billy interrupted, irritated that Maggie would think she was. “Her name's Ali, and she's not my girl.”

“Merely a term of speech.”

“She's a friend of a friend.”

“I know. You told me,” Maggie said patiently, used to dealing with actors and their requests, especially when it came to getting random girls walk-ons. “Have a pleasant lunch, and watch what you say—
especially
about Alex.”